#I am sure they meant telling me about it on Pride Sunday to be a good thing

[glompcat]

No time to stress about quitting my job, I guess, because I have an interview for an actual dream job lined up for Wednesday.

[padfootagain]

Pride

Hello lovelies ! Just a cute little piece to celebrate Pride, as June comes to an end.

Hope you like this fic! Tell me what you think!

And happy Pride to you all!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: None. Absolute cuteness. A very supportive and loving boyfriend, these are always dangerous, of course…

Summary: You ask Ben to come with you to Pride, and he’s more than happy to show he’s a proud boyfriend.

Word Count: 1828

Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Masterlist

June was coming, with its warmth and sunny days, and the light breeze carrying the fragrance of blooming flowers.

Happy times filled with lazy afternoons, long walks on the beach and Sunday mornings spent in bed, as Ben was staying in LA for the whole month.

With his busy schedule, it was pretty rare these days that he would stay home for such a long period of time. Six full weeks of rest, during which you had your boyfriend all to yourself.

But June also meant Pride month, and you intended to attend with a couple of friends. But this year, you also wanted Ben to come.

You had been together for almost two years, but the previous year he was away working on Shadow and Bone, so you went to Pride with your friends. And that was perfectly fine, you had had a great time. But Pride meant loving yourself, and celebrating your love, so… what better way to do that than spending the day with your amazing boyfriend?

You were a little nervous at the idea of asking him to come with you, though, as he had not mentioned Pride at all with you.

Still, you gathered your courage on this quiet Sunday afternoon, and walked over to the small balcony, where Ben was reading a book in the sun, a glass of lemonade by his side.

He looked up as he heard you coming closer, and welcomed you with a warm smile.

“You look very comfy out here,” you smiled at the sight of him, his legs stretched, lounging on the comfortable chair, his sunglasses slightly lopsided on his nose.

“I am, actually,” he grinned.

“How’s your book?”

“Quite good. Are you going to read too?”

“Maybe… but… I wanted to ask you something first?”

He frowned at that, sitting straighter and putting his book away.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, of course. Everything’s fine, I just… I just want to ask you something.”

“Of course, darling. What is it?”

You took a deep breath, and asked your question as fast as you could.

“Would you like to go to Pride with me?”

You were about to give him some arguments, but he merely grinned.

“Of course!”

You were left blinking a few times.

It was… way easier than you expected.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I don’t know… I’m going with Paula and Jeremy too.”

“Oh… I bet that these two will handle the make-up for the group! At your birthday their make-up was absolutely out of this world.”

“Of course, they are! Their make-up skills are…”

You gestured something gigantic, making Ben giggle.

“You’re getting some make-up too, by the way, if you’re coming,” you warned him, and he let out a laugh at that.

“I’m used to it.”

“But maybe we can do something a little fancy…”

You saw Ben wincing at that, making you laugh.

“Oh dear… what have I gotten myself into…”

“You need glitter. Pride without glitter isn’t Pride.”

“Sure… and you know what… I want eyeliner. That’s my condition! I want eyeliner.”

“Eyeliner?” you looked at him with surprise painted all over your features, but he shrugged.

“Why not? Eyeliner is cool!”

“Is it?”

“Is it not? Since when is it not cool?”

“It is! It is! I’m just… surprised you want eyeliner.”

“I’m full of surprises and mystery, darling.”

You both laughed at that, and you walked over to him to give him a hug and kiss the top of his head.

“I’m so happy you’re coming!” you squealed, giving Ben a happy wiggle, making him laugh.

“It’s gonna be fun.”

“We need to look for an outfit.”

“Pride is in three weeks…”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

He fondly laughed at you again, before pulling you down for a kiss. You smiled mischievously as you pulled away.

“Can’t wait to see you with this eyeliner!”

You were at Jeremy’s, getting your make-up done by your friends. Your make-up would match the colours of your flag, which you would wrap around your shoulders for the parade. By your side, Ben had gotten his eyeliner, as promised, and was now struggling against Jeremy who wanted to put even more glitter in his hair.

“That’s enough, that’s enough! I’m already shining like a bloody Christmas tree!” Ben complained, making you and Paula laugh.

“Add more!” you encouraged Jeremy. “There’s never too much glitter!”

“More! More!” you and Paula started chanting the word, and Ben finally gave up with a roll of his eyes and a grumpy mumble.

“Alright, alright, go ahead…”

More glitter was added – because, indeed, there is no such thing as too much glitter – while Paula was bringing the last touches to your make-up.

“You need some little rainbows on your cheeks, babe,” you decided, looking over at Ben. “I’ll draw them!”

He chuckled at your excitement as you jumped out of your chair, grabbing the colourful crayons, ready to apply the make up onto his cheeks.

You straddled his lap to be more comfortable, and held his chin between your fingers to guide his face upwards.

A mischievous smile spread across his features.

“Well, hello, beautiful!”

“Hi, handsome.”

“I do like this position,” he said in a low, husky voice, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

And he loved the way you shied away a little, bit your lip, and glanced over at your friends who were, luckily, not paying attention to you in the slightest.

“I bet you do,” you teased.

“You should do my make-up more often, if that’s what I’m getting every time,” he kept going, the flirtation in his tone making your skin warm up.

“If you don’t let me focus, you won’t get a pretty rainbow on your cheeks! And you’ll look ridiculous all afternoon.”

“But do I get a kiss from my gorgeous girlfriend?”

You chuckled at that, struggling to calm your rushing heartbeat.

“Only if you behave and let me finish your make-up.”

He hummed, staying still while you traced colourful lines across his cheekbones, right above his beard.

You grinned down at him, admiring your work.

“You look amazing, babe. And you were right. I am digging the eyeliner, it looks awesome.”

“Told you! Very 90s-rock-band vibe…”

You agreed with a laugh, but gave Ben his kiss, as promised.

“Thank you for coming with me to Pride,” you whispered against his lips.

“I’m very happy to come, there’s no need to thank me for that.”

You hugged him tight anyway, letting him bury his face into your neck, his beard tickling your skin in the best way, a hand on your thigh and the other splayed across your back to keep you even closer.

And you felt so unbearably loved…

It was a little too hot outside, but you didn’t really mind.

You had brought lots of water, luckily, and Ben was making sure that you were staying hydrated.

You were singing at the top of your lungs along YMCA, that was blurted from some speakers set on a truck ahead. Everyone was singing, and dancing, carrying flags and signs and having, all in all, the time of their lives. And you were no exception.

Your flag thrown over your shoulders, you were holding hands with Ben, struggling to keep on singing while he was dancing ridiculously on purpose every time you looked his way. It was just to make you laugh, and it worked wonders.

Paula and Jeremy were by your side as well, throwing confetti at people, and screaming at the top of their lungs, jumping with the music.

And you were so happy, so filled with joy. Having Ben by your side for this moment, when you could feel so outrageously proud of yourself, felt special. It felt right.

You had to let go of his hand when a giant flag was unfolded over the crowd, and you raised your hands to guide the fabric along, making the flag move across the large crowd. You were lost in the fabric for a second, the person before you stepping away and thus bringing down the section right in front of you, and you let out a squeal.

“Where are you?” you heard Ben’s voice by your side, distorted by a laughter.

You struggled out of the fabric, reappearing a little dishevelled, making Ben doubling with laughter.

“I’m drowning in queerness!” you answered, making him laugh so hard, he did this adorable crinkling of his nose.

“Love, don’t disappear again!”

You let out a little cry as more fabric was thrown upon you, flailing your arms in the air in an attempt to make the meters of fabric move faster, but you disappeared once more.

Ben’s sides were painful at this point, and he struggled to keep up with the movements of the fabric over his head. Under the bright sunlight, the fabric painted your frames and the pavement in red and orange hues.

“There she is!” he grinned as you reappeared.

“Damn, that thing is more tiring than I thought it would be!”

“Or you’re just slow…”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s true!”

With much maturity, you stuck out your tongue at him, making him chuckle.

“I love you too, darling,” he grinned.

And there was no way to be annoyed at this man, really, even if you liked to claim the contrary.

“Stop teasing!”

Right at this moment, you reached the edge of the flag, and it kept travelling across the crowd behind you, the sun now warm upon your skin once more.

“Aww, poor baby!” he cooed mockingly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“No! I’m mad!”

But the smile across your features was giving you away.

“You can’t be mad at Pride, love!”

And when a new song blurted out of the speakers again, and you started to jump and dance along the melody, you couldn’t pretend to be mad anymore, no matter how much you wanted to tease your boyfriend.

By your side, Ben was bopping his head to the music, but you took his hand to make him spin, both of you exploding with laughter as he played along. He gave in and danced with you for a handful of seconds, before the blush over his cheeks was too much to bear and settled back into a more discreet walk.

You kissed his cheek as a reward, knowing how much he hated dancing in public.

“Thank you for being here. I feel so happy,” you confessed, and he pulled you into a proper kiss.

“Do you feel proud?” he asked, and you could read that he was proud of you upon every detail of his features, and in the depth of his black eyes.

You took a moment to admire him like this, with glitter shining in his hair, and some silly eyeliner, and colourful rainbows on his cheeks.

And you were so madly happy and in love…

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel very proud of who I am, right now.”

***********************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @sergeantbuckybarnes @wolfmoonmusic

[delicatetaysversion]

it's been a year since i lied to you and told you that yes ive moved on so can we please be friends again. can you really blame me? i thought getting good at suppressing our memories from that one month meant moving on. i didn't know that i would feel a lump in my throat when you called me suddenly in the middle of a sunday even tho the plan was to talk once a week and we had talked only 3 days before. i didn't know i would feel butterflies in my stomach when i heard your laugh so close to my ear, but can you really blame me for being reminded of you giggling talking about the logistics of kissing on your study table?

but it's been another year since we've talked on the phone. those memories are so distant and blurry and full of light and happiness that i can't even believe they happened to me, it feels like they happened to a different person. so you don't have to worry, because ive moved on now.

remember when i used to tell you that i miss you so much i can't think about anything else, that i spend all my day reading our old chats? and you used to say, you need to stop and there are other people in the world? well, you don't have to worry about feeling uncomfortable now. i passed the exam i failed because i was too heartbroken over you. i go to tuitions and then i go to internship and i come home so late that all i do is eat and sleep. ive been doing better these days.

and you were right, there are other people in the world. but do you know, i asked a girl to come watch barbie with me, and she made a disgusted expression and said she'd already watched it and she hated it? this happened after we shared a coffee and realising we live next to each other and finding out that she watches kdramas and i listen to kpop. so surprising isn't it? someone who probably understands toxic masculinity and gender roles are fucked up still has internalised misogyny in her? nobody can compare to you, you lecturing me about feminism in tenth standard and your little book club with assigned reading as a thousand splendid suns and you having tears in your eyes showing us harry styles with pride flags in his concerts and you being mean and blunt saying i need to talk about my internalised homophobia. im starting to think you were one in a million and i was a fool to lose you, and an even bigger fool to have had you back and then lose you again.

but do you understand now? you told me you didn't, two years ago. i asked you, don't you understand that i was going crazy dealing with my psychotic family and i was depressed and tired and couldn't talk? and you said no, you're sorry, you really don't, you don't understand how someone can not share why they're sad to the person they supposedly love the most in the world. as i was writing this, daylight by taylor swift started playing. ironic, isn't it? there are many memories ive tried to erase from that one month, but this one i cannot forget- me coming into your room the night we planned and asking you if you're sure about this and is this like an experiment thing a oh what's kissing like thing or is it a we're in love with each other thing, and you smiling softly and saying girl yes i am sure it is one hundred percent a we're in love thing.

ive been getting better at sharing my sadness with my loved ones. my parents haven't stopped fighting, my dad shouted at my mom today morning because my brother lost the car keys, but it's okay, ive learned to tune it out. he only lives here for half a month, he stays somewhere else the other half so it's been easier to bear. my sister moved out, finally. ive been sad because of it but i know she's obviously happier there so it's okay. we have a neighbor and they have this tiny tiny annoying si kid she always comes to her house after her mom scolded her to sulk and watch tv with us. how is your little sister doing? i think of her when our neighbor devil comes. and how is your mom doing? are they settling in well to the new city? and how are you doing? have you been okay? we don't have to be exes trying to be friends again. but can't we just be childhood friends (if age 15 was childhood) who drifted apart briefly but found their way back to each other? please?

but it's okay, if we can't. cause like i said, ive moved on.

[drawlfoy]

detention retention finale p.2 (the real finale!)

masterlist (catch up on parts 1, 2, and the first half of the finale here!)

request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no my original idea

summary: gryffindor and friend of the golden trio y/n y/l/n is tasked with getting close to malfoy to learn his secret in 6th year. things quickly become more complicated.

warnings: (please pay attention this time around) nsfw content, implied sex, swearing, character death. however, if you are sensitive to gore know that this one is a lot less graphic than the first half of the finale

a/n: wow. here we are! this part is going to be considerably more light hearted than the first part. ngl while writing this i reread my 8th grade diary when i spent hours overanalyzing what my crushes did/said and i kind of wanted to emulate that school crush feeling of “does he like me does he not”. if this seems like a weird turn considering how dark things were in the last chapter, i’m sorry i just really wanted to give poor draco and y/n a break fdajkfls. i hope you guys like it :) 

word count: 16.1k (the longest part of them all...lmfao)

tags! @sycathorn-slush @writeandtranslate  @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss 

here’s a spotify playlist i made for this!

enjoy!

Back at the Gryffindor tower, she was met with a surprise: Ron, sitting cross-legged on her bed, paging through a random Quidditch catalog he stole from Fred. 

“Hi, Ron,” greeted Y/N tentatively. Despite the fact that Harry and Hermione had both been outwardly stand-offish towards her, Ron had, for the most part, remained neutral. “What’s up?”

He jerked his head upwards, his eyes wide. “Sorry, er, you scared me. Hey, Y/N.” Ron awkwardly waved. 

“Is something...going on?”

“Oh.” He uncrossed his legs and sat up straight, his thumbs twiddling together in his lap. “I just wanted to, erm, have a chat with you. I know Hermione and Harry are a little angry with you still, but I miss you. And I don’t think they’re right in doing this to you.”

Y/N allowed her shoulders to sag in relief as she joined him, letting the bed sink under both of their weight. “I understand why they’re upset. I just felt so bad, you know. Drac--Malfoy is going through a lot right now, and even though he’s been a prat to you guys, all of a sudden it was like I would be a horrible person to ignore what’s been going on with him.”

“Harry and Hermione think it’s because you’re a pureblood,” Ron said. “That’s mostly why I came to talk to you. Harry said something before the day in the bathroom about how he wasn’t surprised ‘your kind’ was so quick to turn on us.”

“Does he not know that you’re literally a--”

“Exactly.” A nervous laugh left Ron’s lips. “I mentioned that, and I think he realized how messed up that line of thought was. Anyways, he feels proper terrible about hurting you the way he did. I think you’ll have to wait around a bit before he swallows his pride and apologizes to you himself, but he hasn’t been the same since what happened before the break.”

“Wow.” Y/N allowed that thought to sink in. “And...Hermione?”

“She’s still hurt,” admitted Ron. “Can you blame her, though? One of her best friends starts messing around with her childhood bully?”

She winced. “I know, I know. Believe me, I know. But we’re not...like that.”

“I think you should try talking to her again. I’m not sure why you’re so insistent on keeping a promise to Malfoy, but nothing’s going to change unless you tell her why you did what you did.”

“Thanks, Ron.” Y/N reached out to lay her hand on his shoulder. “Also, I don’t want to be gossipy or anything, but I think you should leave Lavender for Hermione.”

Ron balked. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just an idea,” said Y/N, shrugging. “I just have a feeling you two would be really cute together. I dunno what it is. Just an inkling of a thought.”

“I would never leave Lavender,” he said, frowning as his eyes hazed over. “I would never do that…”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Y/N smirked, elbowing him in the side. He grinned at her, the dimples easily forming in the freckled skin of his cheek. 

“Shut up, Y/N.”

Hermione Granger was not a difficult witch to locate. All Y/N had to do was wait until prime studying hours before searching the library’s long halls until she found the bushy head of hair craned intently over a large textbook.

“Hermione.”

At her voice, Hermione snapped to attention, a sour expression forming on her face. “What do you want?” She didn’t even wait for a response, dipping her head back down and continuing to take notes.

“I want to apologize, properly, for what happened,” Y/N said, settling into the seat across from her and dropping her voice. “I know I didn’t give you a very good explanation about what was going on, and I know I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

“I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say right now, Y/L/N.”

She brushed off the pain of her last name being used instead of her given name and continued. “I know you must be really hurt that I got close with Malfoy, especially considering how cruel he was to you.”

Hermione remained silent.

“I know that I’ll never understand how it feels to be an outsider in this world,” she said. “I’m sorry that I can’t change what happened in the past. You’re allowed to be as angry as you want with me. Believe me when I say that I never meant to lie to or to deceive you. You had to have noticed how different Malfoy looks. He needed someone, and I was there. He might not deserve that kind of treatment, especially not from you, but it would’ve been wrong of me to just let him suffer on his own.”

Hermione finally met her eyes, a few tears shining in the deep brown depths of her stare. “I don’t understand how you could overlook all the things he’s said about me. Is...that what you think of me, too?”

“Of course not, Hermione,” exclaimed Y/N. The angry shh from the table over made her drop her voice once again. “You’re twice as capable as my entire bloodline combined. You have every right to be part of this world. You are part of this world and you always have been. If I thought that Draco hadn’t changed, I wouldn’t have become friends with him.”

“You call him Draco now?”

“He’s my friend. And I think that if things were a little different, he’d actually defect from his family’s beliefs and join our side. Living firsthand in the close proximity of Death Eaters really took a toll on him.”

Hermione chewed her lip. “This is really hard. I don’t know what to say.”

“I miss you,” confessed Y/N. “And, to be honest, I felt quite left out, too. I know you and Harry and Ron have important confidential business to attend to, but the way it was treated made it seem like I was too stupid to hear about or understand it. Draco didn’t make me feel that way, and I liked it.”

To her surprise, Hermione’s features softened. “I’m sorry. I really am, Y/N. I don’t know why I didn’t realize earlier how unfair we were to you about that.”

“Really?” 

She shrugged. “I think so.”

“Are we okay, then?”

Hermione frowned a little deeper as her idle hand allowed her quill to dribble ink over the fresh parchment she used. “Not really. I think I need some time. It’s hard for me to feel like I can trust you again after all of this.”

“I completely understand,” Y/N rushed out. “Hopefully one day things will be better, yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Hermione offered her a small smile before turning back to her work. If it had been another time, Y/N would’ve invited herself to sit across from her and distract her as she tried to study, telling Hermione all about her day and how much she wanted to drop kick Goyle across the Quidditch pitch, but it was different now, and she knew that. 

Without another word, Y/N got up and left her old friend in her library. 

Her dorm was rather quiet as she settled back into her bed for the second time that day, this time happy to find it entirely empty. It was a Sunday, after all, and she had an entire stack of homework to try and drag herself through before her classes the next day. 

As her fingers began to card through the messy parchment of her desk, she took notice of an item that hadn’t been there before--a crimson red envelope, embossed with glittery golden piping and a roaring lion. Her family crest.

Y/N tore into the parchment as she wracked her brain to try and guess the contents. A howler? No, she’d been (mostly) good. A gift? She hadn’t been that good. What awaited her was much more underwhelming--just a boring old piece of parchment with black ink penned in her father’s handwriting. 

But the news that it brought her had the memories from Christmas Break rushing back.

~

The next day, he was sitting in his Potions seat, making small talk with Pansy that coaxed a few laughs out of both students like nothing had happened the day before. Their eyes met briefly before he uncomfortably cleared his throat and turned away, back to Pansy’s animated speech over how ridiculous this class was. 

Her heart ached at the sight. How could he act like nothing had ever happened between them? How could he just evade eye contact like that? Y/N felt a wave of uncontrollable jealousy wash over her when the thought of Pansy lying in his silk sheets with the knowledge that she was actually HIS, that he actually wanted her. It was all she could do to avert her eyes and pretend it didn’t happen, though Draco wasn’t exactly ignoring her anymore, which was almost worse. Now that she knew he only saw her as a friend, it only hurt so much more when he would chivalrously offer to walk her back to the library at night or say polite hellos to her in the halls. 

The days began to bleed into each other again, speeding along even quicker now that she actually had people to sit with during meals and to talk to during common hours. Hermione and Ron had begun speaking to her again, though Harry was still making himself sparse whenever she appeared in a group.

To her surprise, though, that changed one day when a paper crane fluttered onto her desk in Charms. She opened it quickly, hoping desperately (and against her will) that it was from Draco, but instead she was greeted with a messy scrawl that she knew very well.

Meet me after practice on the pitch if you’d be okay with talking to me. -Harry

Despite the recent events, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the many times that Harry had written her similar notes, back when their relationship wasn’t rocky and she was actually helping the Trio. That wistfulness was quickly replaced with anxiety when she tried to figure out what to expect from Harry.

“Y/N,” he greeted her a few hours later. She rose from her seat on the bleachers and began to walk alongside him.

“Hi Harry.”

“Listen,” he began, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I know I’m not very good at talking about feelings--that’s why I’ve been putting this off for so long--but you deserve an apology for what happened in Myrtle’s bathroom. I don’t think I’ll ever understand your connection with Malfoy, but that isn’t an excuse for what happened.”

Well, this was going better than expected. “I’m not going to lie and say that it’s okay that you hexed me, but I don’t blame you all that much.”

Harry let out a nervous laugh. “That’s, er, really good to hear, Y/N. I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” responded Y/N. “Madame Pomfrey even said that the scarring might go away.” The way the blood drained out of his face made her realize that that probably wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Oh, Merlin, there’s scarring?”

“Forget I said that,” replied Y/N, placing a hand comfortingly on his arm. “Water under the bridge. It really is okay.”

“Well…” He coughed awkwardly as they neared the castle’s entrance. “I think I owe you an explanation as well. If you want one, that is.”

“Shoot,” she said. “Preferably not a deadly curse at me, though.”

If Harry thought that was funny, he certainly didn’t show it. “Looking back on what happened, it was all just a complete blur. I lost control.”

“Because I hadn’t told you about Malfoy?”

“Oh, well…” He cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes. “Obviously I was angry that you’d lied to us. And I was angry at Malfoy over Katie Bell. But that wasn’t what made me lose control. It was seeing you together. There was this moment before either of you noticed I was there and it just made me sick to my stomach to watch. Merlin, the way he…” Harry trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. “The way he looked at you. It just boiled my blood.”

“What do you mean?” asked Y/N, beginning to grow more and more confused. How could Harry have seen something that wasn’t even there in the first place? 

“And the way you two looked at each other in Potions,” he continued, clearly not planning on answering her question. “It makes me sick. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“He doesn’t see me that way, Harry,” she said, her voice little.

“Has he told you that?”

“As a matter of fact he has.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she replied, holding his palms up in a surrender. “It’s not as if it came as a surprise or anything. Plus, not like I care. Just because I don’t want to see him get hurt does not mean I have feelings for him.” Y/N was talking too animatedly, something that prompted her friend to tilt his head and send her a curious look. 

“Right. Well…” Harry stood up, brushing his robes off. “If I didn’t make it clear enough already, I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what you see in him. But you haven’t lost me. I just hope I haven’t lost you.”

Y/N gave him a grateful smile before launching into his arms. He started, but once Y/N had her arms around his neck, he hugged her back. She breathed in the familiar woodsy smell she’d known since she was 11 and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I missed you, Harry.”

“I missed you too. So much.” 

She was just about to poke fun at him for being sappy when someone pointedly cleared their throat behind them, prompting her to spin around and prepare to tell someone off for interrupting her conversation. Once she saw who it was before her, though, she froze. 

“Try and keep the PDA at a minimum, yeah?” Draco Malfoy said, his lips twisted into a bored scowl.

“Draco,” she warned. He simply arched an eyebrow at her before swiftly passing by the two, being sure to brush harshly against Harry’s shoulder.

“What has gotten into him?” she asked in astonishment. “Merlin, it’s like we time traveled back to 5th year or something.” 

He scoffed at her side. “Y/N, what did I tell you?”

The next day, Draco wasn’t at breakfast. Y/N tried not to think too much about his empty seat as she listened to Ron ramble on about how crazy Lavender was being. She had finally migrated over to the Gryffindor table, bringing her new Ravenclaw friend along with her. Hermione was still giving her side eye, but it was better than being treated like a complete outcast. This time around, Parkinson was gone from the Slytherin table, too. The thought of Pansy being the one to comfort him filled her chest with the slimy coolness of jealousy, but instead of dwelling on it further, she stabbed her fork through the strawberry on her plate and took a bite. If he wanted to mess around with her, he could. Merlin knew he needed some sort of distraction. But her most private thoughts couldn’t help but wonder if he ever had feelings for her. There were so many moments that made her think otherwise--the way he’d blush when she said anything flirtatious, how eager he had been to walk her to her dorm, all the glances sent her way…

It was at moments like these when Y/N sternly reminded herself that they were just friends and that was all he’d ever seen her as. Friends brushed hands. Friends walked each other to their dorms. Friends stared across the room at each other sometimes. Friends gave each other gifts. Hermione, Ron, and Luna had all acted similarly to her in the past and it was entirely platonic. She was just overanalyzing.

He didn’t show up to Potions, Charms, or Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape was giving her the eye, and Y/N uncomfortably shifted in her chair as she wondered if the wizard had found out it was her who stole the Veritaserum.

“As you all may know,” he drawled, stalking the perimeter of the classroom, “A particular potion of mine has been...misplaced. If any of you happen to know where it is, I suggest you confess now.”

Nervous chatter erupted around the room as Snape’s eyes bored into hers. Was he using Legilimency on her? Wouldn’t she feel something? Despite her worries, he broke eye contact and spun around to the board, scrawling the topic of the lesson on the chalkboard. Y/N reminded herself to breathe. 

He wasn’t at lunch, Transfiguration, or dinner. Y/N was starting to believe that Draco had just up and left Hogwarts as she began to get ready for bed, showering off the day and dressing in comfier clothes. For once, her homework load had been lightened to the point where she could put it off for a full day. Diffuser on, windows open, and sleeping clothes on, Y/N was ready and settled into bed early with nothing but her racing thoughts to keep her company.

Was Draco okay? Did something happen with his task? Where was he?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light rap on her door.

“Y/N?” A young girl’s voice, muffled but distinguishable through the heavy wooden door shook her out of it. She groaned, throwing the blankets off her and closing her hand around the doorknob. She wasn’t even a prefect, but for some god-forsaken reason the first-years always went to her instead.

“Candace,” she greeted. “What’s cracking?”

“Someone wants to see you.” The first-year’s voice sounded shakier than usual. Y/N finally cast her eyes up from the short girl to take in the sight of a rather disheveled looking Draco Malfoy standing in her hallway.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” 

He cleared his throat. “Are you busy?”

“Candace,” Y/N said, addressing the eleven year old in front of her first, “Thanks for helping Draco. You should go to bed, you know. It’s late.”

Wide-eyed, Candace dashed off without any protest. Y/N cast a raised brow to Draco and tried to look like she hadn’t spent the past 12 hours obsessing over his disappearance. “You better have a good reason for showing up at my dorm in the middle of the night and scaring one of my first-years to death.”

“She wasn’t scared,” he argued.

“You must be horrible with reading children,” stated Y/N. “Anyways, is this a conversation that you want to have in my dorm hall? Or would you prefer to come inside?”

He tilted his head towards the doorway. “May I?”

“Er...sure. Come on in.” She bit back the quip about already offering. “What’s going on? You missed all your classes today.”

“I’m aware,” he responded drily as he sat down on the same spot she’d just been nearly asleep on. “I just...something happened last night. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Y/N tried not to blush at how flattered she was. He didn’t even like her. Why was she acting like that still? Friends did this sort of thing. Friends were there for each other. “Oh. Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to just take your mind off of it?”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment before exhaling a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe take my mind off it until I feel ready to talk about it.”

Y/N gave him a small smile, leading him by the cuff of his sleeve over to her window. “I think I know something we can do. Grab a pillow and a blanket.”

He did as she asked while she opened up the window wider until it was large enough to crawl through, spelling the tiles of the roof outside clean. 

“Are we going on the roof?”

“As long as you’re not too scared of heights, yeah,” she responded, using her desk as a stepping stool while she swung the rest of her body out on the old Hogwarts roof. Despite the age of the castle, the structure was thankfully sturdy. “Pass me anything you want out here. I’ll get it set up for us.”

“I’m not sitting on that dirty roof,” he said, his usual snotty tone creeping into his voice as he handed her a blanket for each of them. 

“Okayyy, Your Highness.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “We can sit on my blanket.” True to her word, she took the one she usually slept with and covered the tiles. “Will you come sit with me now?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He settled in next to her, his own blanket barely draped over his knees while she sat cross legged at his side, trying not to shiver from the cold late winter air. “Wow. This is actually a better view than from the Astronomy tower.”

“I know, right?” she said, trying to ignore how her heart fluttered every time he looked at her. “You can see Hogsmeade from here, too.”

The pair watched the scenery before them in silence. Y/N drank in the landscape bathed in soft moonlight, the winding creeks leading into the Dark Forest reflecting the moon while the Black Lake’s waves gently lapped at the shores. 

“I come up here sometimes when I get stressed,” she confessed after a little while. Draco turned to look at her, his lips slightly quirked up and his eyes soft. 

“Yeah?”

“It just helps clear my head,” she continued. “I feel really lucky to live in the Tower. It must be kind of weird to know that if you opened your window you’d just flood your room.”

Draco snorted. “You get used to it.”

Y/N hummed in something that felt a little like agreement.

He shuffled, clearing his throat. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you this since that night. I’m…sorry that I can’t give you what you want.”

“It’s really okay,” she said, her cheeks growing hot. “I understand. You can’t change how you feel. I’m happy to be your friend and eventually that’s all I’ll ever want.”

Draco dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement when a brilliant display of lights suddenly exploded over Hogsmeade. Fireworks. They were obviously magic, charmed to glitter in the shape of the words, “Happy Birthday, Margie!”

“Oh my god, happy birthday Margie,” Y/N echoed, eager for the distraction of their conversation.

“I wonder how old she’s turning.”

“I bet she’s 34,” said Y/N. 

“32.”

“33, maybe, but that’s pushing it.”

She returned his grin before she felt something hit the top of her head--a raindrop, fat and cold--and roll down the back of her neck. “Shit. I think it’s going to rain soon. Do you want to go back in?”

As if to accentuate her point, the clouds above them rumbled. Draco shrugged. “If you want. I kind of like staying out here, though.”

“Me too.”

They sat in the quiet for a few more moments, the only sound coming from the soft patter of the rain and the occasional boom of Margie’s birthday fireworks. Y/N began to shiver as the raindrops became more frequent, her loose sleeping shirt and her shorts not really doing much for her. All of a sudden, she felt something fuzzy on top of her head.

She looked to her left to see that Draco had lifted his blanket to drape over both of them, creating a tent of some sort. “Thanks, Draco.”

“Don’t mention it.” His smile set off the butterflies in her stomach once again, but she beat them back. The fireworks continued, now switching to a glittering sage green. “I bet Margie was a Slytherin.”

“Or maybe she just likes sage green,” argued Y/N. 

“Maybe.” He held her gaze for what felt like a second too long before clearing his throat and turning his attention back onto the night sky. It occurred to her at that moment that they could’ve just transfigured the pillows they were sitting on into umbrellas, but traitorously, she didn’t want to mention it if it meant she lost her chance to be near him. 

She felt something lightly brush past the hand she had rested in the space between them but thought nothing of it, instead focusing on her breathing and making sure she didn’t sound like she was hyperventilating because she most certainly felt like she wanted to. She’d never shared her special roof spot with anyone, not even Harry or Ron. But he didn’t know that. 

The fireworks exploded with a crescendo of motion as multiple green sparkles were launched into the air, crackling and sparking with energy. At any other point in time, Y/N would’ve found it easy to focus on the beauty of the show, but something else caught her attention: the fact that Draco’s hand was now set directly next to hers, the edge of his touching her with the lightest of pressures. Every nerve ending in her left hand felt like it was burning with energy as Draco, without even sparing a glance in her direction, inched his hand over just enough for his pinky to overlap with hers.

Y/N tried to remember how to breathe as her thoughts ran wild. Friends touched hands sometimes. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he didn’t even know it was her hand.

She heard Draco’s own breath hitch in his throat as his hand finally slipped under hers, intertwining their fingers and turning them so her hand rested in his palm. 

Friends held hands sometimes. There was nothing romantic about this. Nope. This was normal. Y/N’s frenzied thoughts were interrupted by Draco’s voice.

“You know how much danger my family is in,” he said, finally revealing what had him so shaken up. “Well, I got a letter from my mother last night. Apparently she’s been getting these strange, veiled threats. She can’t identify the owl and it seems like whoever this is is hell-bent on breaking into the manor. My aunt and the rest of the Death Eaters have been ridiculing her for even worrying about it.”

Y/N started to feel a guilty pit in her stomach. The letter her father sent her was beginning to make more sense. “Draco, that’s awful.”

“Do you think that maybe they’re the ones who are sending them to her?” he asked, his voice raising an octave at the end, flourished with a small crack in his tone. “As a way to rush me to the end of my task?”

Draco had slowly leaned into her as he told her his worries, and Y/N found herself gently squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this on top of everything else. This isn’t fair to you. Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need help solving the cabinet?”

He shook his head, casting his gaze down to their hands. “Is it okay if I just stay here for a little?”

“Of course you can,” she said, immediately regretting her words. Having him around would only make her feel worse. Was this how he treated all of his friends? She held back an ill-timed chuckle at the thought of him holding hands with Goyle. 

“Thanks, Y/N.” His eyes were so light that she could still see the silver hue of them in the dark, reflecting what little moonlight found him under the blanket. “You know, I’m glad we had detention together. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Pansy kept badgering me all day about how she could help instead of actually listening and Blaise just told me that if I kept moping around he’d nab my mother himself.”

“Oh,” said Y/N. Jealousy surged through her as she thought again about Pansy. When she held hands with him, she probably never had to wonder what it meant. “Do they know about…”

“Not everything,” Draco clarified. “That’s just you. They just know about my current house guests. I haven’t told them any specifics.”

Another pang of guilt rattled through Y/N as she ran through the information she’d gotten the night prior in her head while he squeezed her hand back, his thumb running along her skin. She felt like the shame of not mentioning it earlier was burning her up.

“Draco, I need to tell you something.” The makeshift blanket tent all of a sudden felt like the most intimate location in the world as he turned to face her fully, now gripping her hand with two of his own and leaning closer, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What is it?”

“I…” She trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut as she mentally ran through the contents of the parchment on her desk. For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of rain and Draco’s breathing. 

“If this is what I think it is, then I--”

“I’m not about to confess to you again literally right after being rejected,” she snipped back, pulling her hands from his grip in a moment of unexpected humiliation. “I’m not that stupid.”

Draco took his own hands, now empty, and folded them neatly on his thigh. He stopped meeting her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t--I wasn’t going to--”

“It’s--no, I’m sorry.” Y/N found herself angry that she gave up her excuse to hold his hand. “That was just a little embarrassing for me. I promise I won’t bring it up again. This is something totally different.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” To her surprise, there was no usual teasing lilt to his tone; he was being entirely genuine.

“I want you to know that we can call this off at any time,” she began, watching his blank expression carefully should it change, “But I hope you think about this.”

“Think about what?”

“I’m kidnapping your mom.” 

There. It was out. Draco’s mouth had long since fallen open, a look of mild horror on his face. “What the actual fuck?”

“Let me explain,” Y/N rushed. “The Order owes my family a favor. My mom knew yours. I may have mentioned something about the treatment towards her over the holidays and now my family is orchestrating a way to fake a kidnapping-turned-murder situation to get her out.”

He blinked at her.

“Of course we can call it off anytime you want,” Y/N repeated. She cast a quick Accio (something she was surprised worked considering how shaky she was) and summoned her father’s letter from her desk, thrusting it into his arms. “Read this. It has all the details.”

Draco scanned the document without a single word leaving his lips.

“You’re scaring me, Draco. What do you think?”

“You have an Italian beach cottage?” he asked. 

“Apparently so,” answered Y/N. “I’ve never been there, but we haven’t actually registered it through the British Ministry. If we hide your mother there, no one is going to be able to find her. She’s not required to give up information to the Order, either--I mean, we kind of hope that she will, but there’s no mandated amount of intel to keep her safe.”

“And I can…”

“Yes. After your task is straightened out, you can join her if you want.” She hardly finished her sentence before Draco’s arms pulled her into the tightest hug she’d ever been given in her life.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he mumbled, his voice strained. “How did you...wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder. “I’m just glad I could help.”

He finally pulled away, still keeping his hands gently placed on her forearms. She tried to keep her thoughts from straying too much as he gazed down at her, a slightly sad downturn in his lips. The way he was looking at her began to make her even more nervous.

“Well, it’s getting late,” she stated. “I want to get up early tomorrow so I’m not too late to Potions. Are you feeling better?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Er, yes. I suppose so. Thanks again, Y/N. I’m assuming this is when you kick me out?”

“Don’t say it like that.” She spelled her blanket clean from under him and stepped back into her room, turning to face him. “I’m just tired. That’s all. I’m glad you felt like you could come to me.”

He sent her a small smile before swinging his legs over the windowsill and making his way to the door. “I hope you have a good night. Sleep well.” He went in for another hug, but this time Y/N accidentally leaned the same direction as him, nearly crashing her lips into his.

“Shit, sorry,” she murmured as she quickly corrected herself to lean the other way--and was horrified to find that he had done the exact thing as well, barely dodging him this time and instead reeling herself back as far as his hold on her allowed. Draco let out a nervous laugh, letting her go and stepping away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well. That was poorly timed considering the conversation we had,” he pointed out. What stellar observational skills.

“Er, yeah. Well…” Y/N held her hand out and immediately felt herself cringe. “Here’s to being good friends.”

He took her hand in his and tentatively shook it, a sort of half-smirk dancing on his lips as his eyebrow raised. “To being good friends. I’ll see you later.”

Then he was gone, and Y/N was able to flop back on her bed and frantically sort through her thoughts in peace. He’d almost--no, she’d almost--well, they both had almost kissed. As friends, though. Obviously.

This is ridiculous. She pulled a blanket up around her and immediately froze when she breathed in--black tea and sage, just as she remembered. She decided it was high time to switch her blankets anyways and tossed that one in the laundry bin.

~

“And then guess what she said?”

“Come on, we’re waiting,” Y/N said to Ron as they chattered over their cauldron in Potions together, flanked by the rest of her Gryffindor friends.

“Lavender said I’m obviously pining after Hermione because I keep asking her to study with me.”

“No!” came from Neville after a theatrical gasp. “She did not.” 

“She literally did, mate,” Harry cut in. “I saw it myself. Honestly, I think she might be onto something. I’ve always sensed some sort of tension between you two.”

“I think Harry’s right, as much as it pains me to say it,” she teased, giving her friend a little shove. Seamus had just opened his mouth to start talking when the sound of shattering glass prompted them all to whip around to face the Slytherin section. Draco Malfoy stood awkwardly clutching the broken remains of a glass vial in his hand like he was still in disbelief over what had occurred. 

“Malfoy, boy, is everything alright over there?” Slughorn asked from the front.

“Yes,” he said quickly, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened.”

“You should sleep more,” the professor continued. “It’s harder to control your magic when you’re young and exhausted.”

Draco just nodded, his gaze turning over to meet Y/N’s worried one. She tilted her head, mouthing, “Are you okay?”. He sent her a tight smile and nodded, though Pansy sent her a very dirty look. 

“So that was weird,” said Y/N, turning back around to face Harry. “I haven’t broken glass by losing control of my magic since I was a kid.”

“One time I let a snake out in a muggle zoo,” said Harry, his eyes miles away as he traveled down memory lane.

“You what now?”

“I can’t believe I never told you that.”

“I think I would’ve remembered that. What’d you do, whisper in its ear about how the only thing it has to lose is its chains or something until he was motivated enough to escape?”

Harry laughed. “No. I vanished the glass. And then it thanked me, which was horribly alarming for a kid who had no idea what magic was.”

“You poor, poor thing,” she mocked before Slughorn dismissed them and they began to make their way together down the hall. “Suffering from success.”

Harry chuckled, and Y/N felt a surge of affection for the fact that they were friends once again. “Basically the story of my life. Anyways, I’m off to see Snape.”

“Merlin, are you okay?” asked Y/N, holding her hand to his forehead and miming the motion of checking for a fever. “On your own time?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright,” he said, suddenly looking more somber. “I’m just serving detention for what happened in the bathroom. I am still very sorry about that, you know. If you wanted to curse me to get back at me, I’d understand.”

She shoved him forward, a smile dancing on her lips as she said, “Go on, suffer for my honor.” Then she felt a hand pull her back into an empty, dark classroom. 

“Let go of me!” she exclaimed, twisting around to try and see the person who had grabbed her.

“Boo,” whispered a familiar voice in her ear. 

“Draco, you do realize you could just talk to me in the halls like a normal goddamn person,” she chided, finally being released from his grip so she could give him a stern look. He only shrugged, a slightly impish look displayed across his features.

“But it’s more fun this way.”

She tried her hardest to frown at him, but it was honestly difficult when he was smiling at her the way he was. “So, what’s up? Did something happen?”

“Nothing really,” he admitted. “I just know that we both have free periods. Do you want to spend it together?”

Friends, friends, friends, friends, friends Y/N chanted in her head. He’s only saying this as a platonic thing.

“I guess I don’t really have anything better to do,” she teased. Despite her light hearted tone, she couldn’t help but notice the shift in Draco’s behavior. In a matter of days, he was looking more like himself than he had all year--the color finding its way back into his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkling up when he smiled, the food on his plate in the Great Hall actually being eaten. 

If there was one thing that Y/N was quickly learning about Draco, it was that under all of his snobbery, he was endearingly weird. He’d memorized all of the captains of the Slytherin Quidditch team, read everything there was in the library about alchemy, and always sent her the dorkiest fucking waves whenever their eyes met. 

So, in spirit of Draco’s newly recovered persona, Y/N spent the rest of her free period sitting in the empty classroom and chatting with him about a whole load of nothing. They’d both sat on top of adjacent desks, and sometimes Y/N would swing her feet so she kicked his shin. He’d always promptly return the favor.

“So,” she said after a while, “Have you been thinking about what I told you? My family’s plan, and all?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, his gaze cast down to his hands. “A little. I guess I’m just a little confused about what I should do with my task or when all of this is going to happen.”

“I’m only asking because I’ve been thinking about it,” confessed Y/N. “I think I’ve figured out what you should do with your task. If you want to, that is.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’ve already established that You-Know-Who has nothing to hold over your head without your mother at stake,” began Y/N, searching his face to find agreement, “But it’s going to look suspicious if you suddenly stop sending progress reports.”

Draco reached his hand up to scratch his cheek. “One problem, though. I don’t think I’ll be able to repair the cabinet. I’ve hit a complete dead end anyways.”

“That’s fine,” said Y/N. “That doesn’t matter. Fake the progress reports. I don’t think that you should fix it at all, to be honest. I think you should leave it broken and still invite Bellatrix and her friends to travel through it.”

“And kill them?!”

“Or maim them,” offered Y/N. “I know it’s not ideal, but I think that if I tweaked the cabinet’s lunar belt just right, I might be able to control how the space-time continuum is warped and simply incapacitate them so the Order can take them into custody. Of course, the dark magic as an element may throw a curveball, but it’s worth a shot. And if you do this, it’ll mean that the Order will trust you more.”

“Hm.” Draco caught his bottom lip on his teeth while he shut his eyes, obviously stewing over everything. “That’s quite the risk.”

“I can run it by my family to get their thoughts on it,” she offered. “But the only caveat is that I have to mention what you’re trying to do.”

His eyes shot open. “Maybe don’t mention the part where I’ve already made more than one attempt on the headmaster’s life if we end up going down that route.”

Y/N shrugged. “The Order might already know. Isn’t Snape onto you?”

“He’s not ‘onto me’, he was instructed to help--” Draco stopped in his tracks as he stared at her. “Wait, what?”

“Oh,” she said, both of them frozen as they realized what they’d revealed to each other. “Erm...forget I mentioned that.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” he mumbled, sending a half-hearted kick at her. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Love it,” she said absentmindedly. “Anyways, will you go to Slug’s Valentine party with me next weekend? As friends, of course. He wants all of us to bring dates and I don’t know who else to ask.”

Draco looked like he was glowing. “Really? You wouldn’t bring Potter?”

“Eh,” she responded. “I’m pretty sure he’s going with Ginny. Plus, I see him around the common room enough as it is.” Y/N waited a few moments. “So? Are you in?”

He shook himself out of what looked to be a weirdly stupified state. “Er, of course. Just let me know when you need me.”

The Hogwarts bells began to chime outside, signifying that the third period block was beginning. 

“Saturday at 8,” said Y/N, turning to leave. “You can meet me in front of the Great Hall.”

“I’ll just walk you from your dorm.”

“Then you have to be there earlier.”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t mind. Anyways, I’m off to Runes. Enjoy Divination.” He bumped her shoulder as he walked past, sending a thrill through Y/N. How had he even known that she had Divination? That was one of the few classes they didn’t share, and she probably just mentioned it in passing once. 

Then again, they were friends. And just because Ron and Hermione hadn’t memorized her schedule, it didn’t mean that Draco was the same kind of friend.

Things only got more confusing as time went on. Draco found any excuse to talk to her, especially when she was with Harry. If he were any other boy, Y/N would’ve immediately assumed the obvious: that he had a crush on her and was jealous. But, obviously, that was impossible. He’d told her upfront that he didn’t have any feelings for her. So why was his behavior so different after that night they spent together on the roof? 

It got even weirder on Friday. Draco once again pulled her away from a conversation with Harry to shove a little box in her hands.

“What’s this, Draco?” she asked, frowning as she turned it around in her hand.

“It’s just something I thought you might like,” he muttered, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Her interest piqued, Y/N opened the box.

“A quidditch bracelet?” Y/N gulped as she looked down at the enchanted diamonds, each glittering with a gentle silver pigment--as well as a slight lavender purple sheen. This was not a normal gift to give to your school friend. This was at least a few thousand galleons--probably even more, considering the enchantments that made the stones glow. Even her considerably wealthy family wouldn’t buy her one because of her horrid track record with jewelry.

He shrugged. “I picked it up while I was at Barnaby’s a bit ago. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want. I remembered I had it when you asked me to Slug’s party and I thought I’d see if you’d be interested.”

“Erm,” said Y/N, stammering, “I’ve never gotten a gift like this from someone before.”

“Believable.” Draco snorted. “Take it and do me a favor. It’s not like I’d wear it. It might as well be appreciated by someone.”

“It’s beautiful, it really is. I’m just worried because I have a bit of a habit of forgetting I’m wearing jewelry and breaking it….”

“I assumed. That’s why I charmed it to be unbreakable,” said Draco quickly. “If you don’t want to wear it, I won’t be offended. I’m just offering.”

Y/N couldn’t help but be thankful that the abandoned classroom he’d pulled her into was dark. Otherwise, he might’ve seen how red her cheeks were. “I guess we’ll figure out how strong your unbreaking enchantments are shortly.”

“Is this your way of saying yes?”

“Help me put it on, will you?” 

She could see dimples form in his cheeks as he allowed a small, close lipped smile to spread across his face while he unclasped the bracelet from the box and gently turned her arm so her palm faced up to the sky. His touch lingered over her skin for a few seconds. Y/N had to remind herself to breathe.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice suddenly low, “About what we talked about last time we were here. About the cabinet, and the Order…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I want to do it,” he said firmly, finally pulling his hands away from her arm and tossing the empty wrapping into his pocket. “Just tell me what you need from me.”

“Nothing yet, really. Just your consent to tell my family about your task. I’ll let you know if they want anything else.” Though Y/N’s response was truthful and concise, her mind was elsewhere as she came to a depressing realization. He wasn’t giving her the quidditch bracelet because he secretly liked her and wanted to spoil her or whatever. He was doing it as a thank you for what she was doing for him and his mother. An elaborate gift for an even more elaborate favor. 

“That’s easy enough,” Draco mused. “In the meantime, I’ll keep sending progress reports.”

“Good plan,” said Y/N, her voice a little deflated. “Thank you again for the bracelet. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left the classroom and spent the rest of her night stewing over the poor decisions she’d made regarding her emotions over the past week. She knew about the effect that Draco had over her, yet she still invited him to Slug’s party like an idiot. And then she’d let herself get her hopes up over dumb little things like the way he looked at her in class or the quidditch bracelet when he was really just being a friend trying to pay her back for a big favor. 

Saturday night was going to be rough if she couldn’t get her feelings in line.

~

At 7:50 sharp, Y/N waited by the portrait of the Fat Lady. Peeves wailed above her as she tried to practice slow breathing--in for 5 seconds, out for 5 seconds. I am in control of my feelings. I control my own reality.

Then she saw him, and all of the work she’d done trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of him amounted to nothing. He looked breathtaking. Y/N bit her tongue as she tried to violently beat back the thoughts of all the things she wanted him to do to her. 

“You look nice,” he said smoothly once he was close enough for it to be socially acceptable. Her mouth went completely dry as she drank in the sight of him in an all-black suit.

“Thanks. So do you.” She internally congratulated herself for getting through that without stumbling over her words too much. Gingerly, she pushed herself off her position of leaning on the wall and began to walk alongside him.

As they ascended the steps, her heel teetered. She reached for Draco’s hand in a moment of sheer panic--and, surprisingly, he latched onto her and held her up. 

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you to not wear shoes you couldn’t walk in?” he said, amused. He didn’t move to let go of her hand. 

“Don’t be rude, Malfoy,” she fired back.  

“You’re not wearing it,” he noted. His lips slightly turned into a frown as he cast his eyes downwards.

Y/N stared at him, her mind barely functioning at this point. “What?” 

“The bracelet,” he said, letting go of her hand to motion to her wrist.

“Oh,” she responded lamely. In truth, she’d tossed it into his quill box while she was in the throes of self-pity over the whole ordeal of unrequited feelings, but she could hardly tell him that. “I took it off to shower and it took too long to put back on.”

“You know, you could’ve just asked me to help again,” he said with a teasing lilt. “I’d only judge you a little.”

She smiled, grateful he wasn’t pushing it any further. “Ever the gentleman. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

They made it to the fifth floor in no time. Slughorn only seemed slightly concerned with the presence of Draco, but he didn’t say anything to Y/N. As she expected, Hermione and Ron gave her a little bit of side-eye once they saw her choice of a date, but neither of them brought it up and even spoke to her for a little--though they never verbally acknowledged Malfoy. While she was constantly overanalyzing the little things that Draco was doing--the way he offered her a sip of his drink when she spaced out on the way his hands looked holding it for too long, the way he was always touching her in some way, whether it be a hand on her lower back or a lingering grip on her waist--she couldn’t help but feel overcome with the relief that her friends seemed somewhat accepting of her new friendship with Draco. 

Then Harry opened his mouth. 

“Malfoy,” he greeted through gritted teeth. 

“Potter.”

Ginny met her slightly panicked gaze with one of her own. To her surprise, though, Harry just flicked his gaze to where Draco’s hand was lightly poised on her waist, raising an eyebrow. “Congratulations for finally being honest with her. I always thought Y/N deserved a bloke who outright admitted his feelings. I never thought I’d say this, but maybe that is you after all.”

Draco’s hand immediately dropped. “Do me a favor and bugger off.”

“Or maybe I’m wrong,” replied Harry, looking Draco up and down with possibly the pettiest look she’d ever seen on a wizard before. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“That was weird,” said Y/N, though she secretly revelled in the fact that Harry was picking up on something too.

“I suppose.” Draco slid off one of his rings, running his fingertips over the ridges of his family crest.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Y/N, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded. “I’m fine. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve just never really been a party person.”

“I imagine it’s probably not helping that Harry’s here,” she said, giving his arm a little squeeze before releasing him. “Do you want to just get out of here? I think we’ve been here for long enough to justify ditching.” His grateful smile told her everything. “I had a feeling. Where do you want to go?”

He pondered this for a bit. “I’m not sure. Anywhere but here.”

“Anywhere but here” quickly turned into his dorm as they wordlessly made their way down to the dungeons, passing by Marvin the raven outside Snape’s stores. Y/N’s pulse sped up every time their hands brushed--which seemed to happen far, far too often for it to be accidental on either of their ends. 

“I can’t believe you broke in there,” he said finally, chuckling as the raven cooed at her appreciatively. “And just for me? I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” grumbled Y/N. Obviously she’d done it just for him--she was hopelessly obsessed with him. He knew that. She found herself profoundly grateful that she’d been under the influence of Veritaserum that time instead of now--if she’d had so much as a drop of truth serum, she’d spend the entire night telling him how much she wanted him. “Anyways, I’m sorry for how weird Harry was back there. I don’t get why he feels the need to make assumptions about everything.”

Draco hummed, tapping his fingers on her wrist. Just friends, just friends, you’re just friends. Merlin fucking damnit, why did he have such nice hands? “I don’t know. He was certainly sure about it.”

“And I have no clue why,” Y/N said, pretending like she was in disbelief instead of acute pain. “I know you don’t see me like that. I’m not really sure where he’s getting that from.”

“Oh?” Draco let his hand fall, a weird tone coming over his voice. “You aren’t?”

“Well, I remember what you said,” she said matter-of-factly, trying her hardest not to read into the way he was staring at her, watching every fidget of her hands. “It’s not like I’d be self-loathing enough to expect anything different.”

He let out a huff of frustration. “Y/L/N, honestly. I sent you a box of special Wurgie’s lavender chocolates on Valentine’s day. I spend all of my free periods talking to you.”

“Ok?” Y/N couldn’t help but be taken aback by how argumentative his tone was becoming. “I suppose I see how Harry could read into that. But I have to spend my free periods with someone, right? And sometimes I get my friends chocolate on Valentine’s day too.”

“I bought you a whole enchanted quidditch bracelet. It’s the only one of its kind,” he snipped, obviously becoming more agitated. “I spent an entire day trying to find the right unbreaking spell. My father literally wrote to me from Azkaban to ask me why the Gringotts bank statement recorded me taking out that many galleons at once. He thought someone had broken into our account.”

“He doesn’t know that.” Y/N was becoming keenly aware of how close he was standing to her now that they’d stopped walking, her back a few inches from the wall as he leaned into her space. “Even if I had worn it out, there’s no way he could’ve known it was from you.”

“That’s not what I’m--” he began waspishly before clearing his throat and collecting himself. “I’m just saying, those things aren’t exactly platonic.”

“Okay,” said Y/N slowly, trying to turn her thoughts away from how soft his lips looked, “I’ll concede that some things that we do can be read as something more than friendship. But I know how you feel. You told me.”

He wet his lips. “Do you actually think I care about whatever goes in that dim brain of his?”

“Normally, no. But considering the fact that we just had an argument over it, then maybe I’m incorrect in assuming.”

“Well, I don’t,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. He was close enough that she could smell the traces of that expensive cologne he always wore that reminded her of loose leaf lapsang souchong and fresh parchment. “And I was never trying to argue with you about his perception. I was talking about my actual intentions.”

“What?” Y/N choked out as she tentatively glanced up to see his jaw set. Her heart was pounding so hard it must’ve been audible. What the hell was he talking about?

Instead of answering, Draco gently reached up to her shoulders, walking her back until she was pinned up against the wall. His other hand came to tilt her chin so their eyes met. She would’ve been deceived into thinking he was confident by his unwavering stare, but she’d felt how his hands were slightly unstable. “Merlin, are you going to make me spell it out for you? How many different ways am I going to need to tell you?”

In the end, she wasn’t quite sure who it was who closed the gap--just that, at some point, one of them did, and that she was all of a sudden kissing Draco Malfoy with a fervor that she didn’t know she had in her. His mouth was hot against hers as he pressed her up further into the wall, his knee rising between her thighs to prop her up.

In the recesses of the back of her mind, it vaguely registered that this didn’t add up with what he told her the last night they spent together--but she decided to brush all those concerns off to the nebulous concept of later when his hands tangled into her hair.

The sound of footsteps and students giggling echoed down the corridor, making the pair jump apart. Y/N wiped her lips, trying to fix the smear of her lipstick as Draco frantically straightened out his tie that she’d tugged loose. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t make herself meet his eyes. 

“Do you still want to go back to my dorm?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

She dared to look up at him, not expecting the sight of his pupils blown out and his cheeks slightly rosy. “If that’s okay, yeah.”

Neither of them attempted to make conversation as he led her through the empty Slytherin common room. She could feel her heart crawling into her throat. She’d never gone to a boy’s dorm before other than during the Veritaserum incident--sure, she’d kissed some boys before, she’d even gone to the Yule Ball with a cute Beauxbatons boy--but she didn’t know how this worked. Was she supposed to immediately start kissing him the moment his bedroom door was closed? Was she supposed to be kissing him now? Was she supposed to be kissing him at all after that?

They made it into his bedroom before Y/N could come to a decision on her next action, so she decided to just not make any moves. Fuck, that was almost worse. Where would she sit? At his desk? No, who the fuck does that? Next to him on his bed? No, too suggestive. Just stand by the door? Merlin, no. She wished that the ground would just open up and swallow her whole so she could sit back in her dorm and think about the way he’d kissed her in private. 

“So,” said Draco. 

“So,” echoed Y/N, finally giving in and sinking down onto the bed next to him. 

“So, I take it that you still like me?” A small smirk danced on his lips. 

Her cheeks blushed into a furious red. “Draco, please don’t make this any more embarrassing than it has to be.”

“What are you...huh?” He shifted so he was on his side, propping up his chin with his palm as he studied her with agonizing attention. “Why would it be embarrassing when I was the one who kissed you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that this isn’t the first time? And the fact that I’m waiting for you to tell me you didn’t mean it again?”

“You think I didn’t mean that?” Draco’s eyebrows raised. “Do I need to do it again to get it through that thick skull of yours?”

“I--what--don’t be rude,” she stuttered. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t lose the upturn of his lips. “I guess so. I suppose I was planning on it anyway.” 

All her nervousness melted away as Draco edged closer, the coolness of his rings pressing pleasantly into her neck. Instead of kissing her immediately like she expected, he traced the outline of her neck up to her ear where he wound his fingers into her hair, finally leaning in so their lips met. 

His skin was soft against hers as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss and pulling her into his lap, his fingers spanning the width of her waist and twisting in the satiny fabric of her dress. When she was out of breath and the pillow she was next to was beginning to get pushed dangerously close to the edge, she finally broke the kiss. 

“Can’t you just tell me how you feel with your words?” she prompted.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Draco. 

“I thought it was obvious last time.”

“Well, it was. That was before I knew that I was relieved of my task,” he explained, his grip around her waist tightening to tug her ever closer. 

“Why would that matter?”

“Because,” he began, a slightly exasperated look in his eye, “If I had my task and my mother was still at stake, I would’ve had to go back home over the summer. And You-Know-Who would see you in my memories. Plus, I think that being a full-time Death Eater makes it very difficult to be a good boyfriend to someone who’s best friends with Harry Potter. That would complicate things. I knew that if I told you I felt the same way I wouldn’t be able to say no to you.”

“So…” She swallowed. “Does this mean that you’ve liked me all along? Like, from the start?”

“What do you think?” he drawled, his fingers ghosting over the zipper of her dress. “Do you think I just go around kissing random girls in my bed?”

“Well, what about Pansy?”

“Yeah, actually, what about her?” he asked, a little glimmer appearing in his eye. “We haven’t been together since, what, the middle of 5th year? I talk to her as much as I talk to any of my other Slytherin friends. I don’t know what’s got you so up in arms over her.”

“She obviously isn’t over you,” Y/N pointed out. “I just know it.”

“And? I’m over her.” He gave her a knowing look. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t know!” she exclaimed. “I thought that maybe there was something. It’s not like I’m keenly aware of the Slytherin social going-ons.” 

“Sheesh, so defensive,” he tutted, his thumbs now rubbing circles into her shoulders. “It’s almost like you like me or something.”

“Draco!” She swatted at him, but he caught her hand in midair and kissed each of her knuckles, giving her an almost sheepish look. It was all she could do to keep her laughs from getting too loud as he dropped her hand and swept towards her again, kissing her fully. 

Before she knew it, they were rolled over so he was on top of her, hovering over her with his elbows supporting his weight as he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses along the bare curve of her neck. She closed her eyes and let a soft sigh escape her as his lips drags across the spot under her ear, pushing up further into him.

“You liked that, huh?” He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Shut up,” she said, reaching up to thread her fingers lightly through his hair. It was just as soft as she imagined it to be. Something possessed her to wind her fingers through the locks on the back of his neck and close them into a fist, awarding her with a sharp intake of air from Draco. “You liked that, huh?” she mocked.

He rolled his eyes, muttering a “fucking hell” so quietly that she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hear it. Despite the exasperation in his tone, his mouth was still fixed in an upturn as he looked down at her, his eyes soft. She couldn’t help but move up to kiss him again, and again, and again, until her lungs were screaming for air and her neck was cramping from the angle.

She let her head fall back onto his down comforter, taking in the sight of Draco with swollen, well-kissed lips. 

“What?” He tilted his head as he regarded her.

“I just love you like this,” she said shyly. “Oh, Merlin, wait, I didn’t mean it like…”

Draco let out a chuckle. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I love you like this, too. You’re not as difficult.” He rolled off of her, taking a moment to shed his dress coat and pull off his tie.

When he was close enough again, she rewarded his tolerance with a smile and a delicate, nervous kiss on his collarbone, dragging her teeth over his skin for just a moment. The hand that was placed on her back scrunched up the material of her dress as Draco’s breath caught. 

“Your hands are bloody cold,” he complained as her fingers wound themselves under his dress shirt, exploring the new expanse of exposed alabaster skin.  

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, pulling away and letting go for just a second before he grabbed her wrists together and hauled her back.

 “No.”

“I’ve never…”

“That’s okay,” he said as she settled back onto his lap, reveling in the soft way that he was treating the skin that was exposed by her dress. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“I’m just scared,” she suddenly choked out. Where did that come from? “I want you, now, but I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to you telling me that you can’t do this or that you didn’t like it or…” She trailed off, distracted by the way he firmly tapped the outer edge of her thigh.

“I’m not going to do that to you,” he said. “I promise. I made that mistake once. Plus, the burden of the performance is kind of on me anyways, so there’s nothing to be nervous about if that’s a hold up.”

She snorted. “Don’t make me change my mind, Malfoy.” 

Despite her words, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I mean it. If you want to just lie there that’s fine. As long as you enjoy it, it’ll be great for me.” His hand came up to gingerly brush away the pieces of hair that had fallen in her face before dropping to gently toy with the top of her zipper again--a question. Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be helped out of the garment, letting it fall to the ground before turning back to attack the buttons on Draco’s chest. He made an amused sound as she struggled, eventually unsheathing his wand and opening it up in a second.

“I could’ve done that, you know,” she said rather defensively.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, hardly masking his teasing tone. “You’re very capable. Now come here.”

 And so she did.

The idea of sex had always been scary to Y/N. Someone, especially someone attractive enough for her to want to sleep with him, seeing her fully exposed made her want to freeze up and dive under her blankets. But that was before Draco. Somewhere, hidden deep in the back of her brain, lay an anxious switch that flicked off as soon as she was pinned under him with his knee pushing up to part her legs. She no longer felt like she had to be self-conscious--despite how intimidated she was by him, she’d never felt more adored. 

Y/N learned three surprising things about Draco in the span of that night: one, that in some places his skin felt like crushed velvet under her fingers; two, that he melted in her hands when she pressed her lips to the sensitive spot on his neck; and three, that he had a freckle under his jaw. And on his left shoulder. And at the spot where his thigh met his torso.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured to her after they’d slumped together, his duvet haphazardly flung over their bodies while his fingers traced patterns on her back.

“I’m just so glad you feel the same way,” she admitted. “I thought I was going crazy over your actions not lining up with your words. It was driving me insane.”

Draco let out a little laugh. “I thought it was painfully obvious.”

“Remember when you tripped up the stairs that time you walked with me after detention?”

“Remember when you tripped up the stairs today?”

“You’re ruining this,” she said sourly as she swatted his chest.

Instead of responding, he just snatched her hand and held it hostage. “I’m not the one resorting to physical violence. Which, now that I think of it, is pretty commonplace for you.”

“Hey! If I hadn’t thrown the york pudding at Pansy, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Draco was silent for a few moments.

“You know I’m right,” she pressed. To her surprise, he shifted uncomfortably under her.

“I’m not so sure,” he finally admitted.

“Huh?” Her features flooded with confusion. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I’m lucky it worked out like this,” he said hesitantly. “And...so soon. You hated me.”

She sat up, pulling away from his embrace and folding her knees under her. “What are you talking about?” 

“I dunno.” Draco refused to meet her eyes, his fingers instead playing with the edges of his sheets. “This is probably stupid, but do you remember the time we brewed Amortentia in Slughorn’s class?”

She nodded. 

“You told me that it reminded you of a memory,” he continued, “And that you knew you had to have danced with them at some point.”

“I’m aware.” Y/N blinked down at him as she tried to piece the puzzle together.

He finally flicked his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I guess you don’t remember it, but in fourth year we danced together once. I’d never talked to you before--I knew you were friends with Potter and the like--but I just never really stopped thinking about it since.”

“This is so embarrassing,” said Y/N. “How do I not remember?”

He shrugged. “I think you were a little tipsy at the time. I did, though. I’ve never forgotten.”

“Then why were you so mean to my friends?”

“I stopped for the most part,” he pointed out. “And, if you’ll notice, it was mostly towards Harry.”

“I thought that was because he’s the Chosen One.”

“No, it’s because I could see that he liked you and I was jealous. Eventually I just gave up around 5th year, around when I started dating Pansy. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell that I was ever going to be able to be with you, especially not after getting my task.” 

“Oh,” Y/N said as she mulled over this information. “My story isn't as romantic. I suppose I’ve always had a little crush on you too, but I was definitely in denial. I just always found you ridiculously attractive and tragically funny considering what you used to support.”

He glowed down at her, pressing the pad of his thumb into her cheek. “Well, I’m glad I can finally give you what you deserve.”

“Me too.”

~

The weeks began to pass faster after that. Draco never really struck Y/N as a PDA type of guy, but he was surprisingly affectionate. When they began to brew potions together again, he was quick to tuck away her hair behind her ear when she was looking over the cauldron and sent her sweet, private smiles that made her heart flutter. He even sat with her every once in a while at the Gryffindor table when the trio was busy doing whatever they had to do to save the world. Y/N pretended to not notice the whispers that were elicited from her peers when Draco would casually touch her.

They spent as many nights together as they could, but considering how often her friends were giving her dirty looks for stumbling into Potions after not being seen in the Gryffindor Tower for the past day, they had to be reasonable, cutting it down to three or four nights a week. 

Y/N treasured every moment she had with Draco, even when they were fleeting and in between classes. She learned everything she could about him--how he was actually terrified of snakes, how he preferred his tea black, how he had an elaborate morning routine he hardly ever deviated from--and committed it all to mind. Her favorite version of him in her head was the way he looked when he was between her sheets, fast asleep with his arms draped over her. Whenever she woke up before him, she tried to memorize it.

He was absolutely ridiculous with the kind of gifts he gave her. Y/N swore that one day she’d wake up to find that he’d bought the British crown jewels because he “saw them” and “just thought of her”. She now had enough Barnaby’s quills to rival the number of feathers on the country’s entire population of geese, but instead of feeling overwhelmed with gratitude, all Y/N could feel was the impending doom that, one day, those gifts would be the only thing she had left of him. He seemed to know this, too.

Draco always found some kind of reason to pull her away and kiss her senseless, whether it be behind a tapestry or in a broom closet when Filch heard them walking around the castle after curfew. In a way, it was like they were just normal teenagers, enjoying the thrill of the moment and acting out. When she thought of it like that, it made the inevitable events seem more bearable; at least they had some time together.

The letter came with no more context than just a simple “Tomorrow.” Y/N knew exactly what it meant--Narcissa Malfoy was going to finally be taken from the manor. Bellatrix needed to be convinced over the next 24 hours to enter the Borgin & Burke’s Vanishing Cabinet as a distraction, and Y/N needed to be sure of her work on the cabinet.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Y/N mused absentmindedly as she sat in front of the cabinet. Draco’s head rested on her shoulder after recounting all of the changes he’d made. “That was clever, switching out the conductor clasp with a copper fitting.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. “I’m not totally daft, you know.”

“Of course I know,” she said, her voice dropping into a soft murmur. Fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her thigh as he pulled her onto him. “Draco, I have to fix this first. Then we can do whatever you’d like.”

“Hm,” was all he said, burying his face in her neck once again and letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you worried?”

He was still for a few moments before dipping his head slightly in a nod.

“You’ll be okay,” she promised, winding his fingers through hers. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“I should be comforting you, not the other way around,” he said softly. “I dragged you into this.”

“I pushed myself into this,” she corrected. “And, plus, it’s not my mother on the line. It’s okay to care, you know.”

Y/N got up, making her way towards the cabinet and meeting his eyes once. They shared a knowing glance as she brandished her wand and whispered a quick fracturing spell, sending cracks down the eastern side of the lunar belt. Her hand shook as she shrank back onto the couch until his arms found her shoulders and turned her towards him. “I can’t believe I just...I just did that.”

Instead of responding, he simply sat up straight and delicately pressed his lips to her forehead, his hand coming around to cradle her for just a moment. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Out of here” once again turned into Draco’s dorm room.

“I can’t believe this will all be over tomorrow,” Draco said, his back turned as he loosened his Slytherin tie. “I’m going to be gone by Sunday morning.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tried not to let the lump in her throat garner too much attention at the thought of losing Draco into what was essentially the Order’s witness protection program. 

He seemed to notice her uncharacteristic silence, frowning at his reflection before making his way towards her and diligently pressing kisses on her cheeks. Instead of grabbing onto his sleeve cuffs and pulling him closer like she usually did, she just let out a tiny sigh and kept her eyes fixed on the tie slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey,” he murmured, moving so she had to look at him. 

“Hey.” She sent him a watery smile, hoping that he couldn’t see how close she was to tears. 

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N just shook her head, anchoring her bottom lip with her teeth so she didn’t choke up. “It’s nothing.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t pull that with me. I’m not falling for that. I’m going to ask again. What’s wrong?” His hand came up to pull her chin up again so their eyes were level, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

Y/N tried to tell him; she really did. It wasn’t her fault that the most pathetic sounding sob of her life came out of her mouth instead of a confession. Instead of asking any more questions or trying to get her to talk, Draco just pulled her into his arms and held her there, letting her weep into him. His hands came up to rub her back as she struggled to breathe normally.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“This isn’t about me,” said Y/N miserably. “It’s about you. What if something happens to you while we’re apart? What if I don’t get to see you again?”

Draco made a small sound in his throat, almost like he was holding back a sob himself. “Y/N, don’t worry about me, okay? It’ll all be alright, love. Don’t worry.”

Despite the fact that Draco was doing his best to comfort her, Y/N knew one thing for sure: his word couldn’t stand against fate, and if he were meant to die or disappear during the time that he was hidden away in Italy, there was nothing either of them could do about it.

She turned her head and found herself pressing her lips to his with so much desperation that she hardly even noticed the few stray tears that had made their way down her cheeks. He met her with much more tenderness, his fingers gently brushing away the wetness on her cheeks. For someone as cocky as Draco, he could be so shy when he kissed her, almost like he expected her to change her mind halfway through. 

“I don’t want this to be over,” she whispered as she pulled away, leaving the slightest gap between their lips. 

He cupped her face, his eyes shining. “It’s not over. We have a few hours left.”

To her horror, another strangled gasp left her lips. Draco had her tucked into his arms in an instant, his lips pressing into her hairline. “It’s not over, okay? I just don’t want to hold you back if you aren’t allowed to see me. Don’t wait around for me.”

“I don’t care,” choked out Y/N. “I’d wait forever if it meant I got to have you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But it’s not fair of me to expect that from you. I don’t know how long this war is going to last.”

“I don’t care about fairness,” whispered Y/N. “I just want you.”

They spent the rest of the night tangled together in his sheets, just waiting for the morning to come. Neither one got any sleep. Instead, Y/N entertained herself by playing with his hands and asking him questions about his childhood--anything to keep her from remembering what was in store for both of them.

It had been decided earlier that Y/N would have no part in the cabinet plan after they ran the information by the Order. Actually, it was decided that she’d have no part in anything beyond just bringing the situation of Narcissa Malfoy to attention. “It’s crucial to your safety that you don’t connect yourself and by extension our family to this,” one of her father’s earlier letters had read. “Doing so puts you and everyone you love in jeopardy.”

That evening, just as dusk set in, she stood with Draco in her dorm for what was the last time, shaking with unshed tears. He just clung to her for the first few minutes, her head tucked under his chin as his hands were clasped around her back. 

“Give me your hand,” he said finally. “I want you to have something.”

She felt something slide on her thumb, her eyes widening as she realized what it was--his family ring.

“Draco…”

“I probably shouldn’t have this on me, anyways,” he explained. “And I want you to have something of mine, something that’s really mine, not just a gift. Just...maybe don’t wear it in public, and if you do wear it as a necklace charm or something. The last thing I want is you to get connected to this--”

Y/N cut off his rambling by pressing her lips to his, his hand feeling oddly bare as it came up to touch her cheek. “If anything happens to you, I love you. I hope you know that.”

He smiled, then kissed her again--so long that it seemed like he was savoring every moment of 

it before finally stepping away. “You know I love you. Always will.”

She managed to fit in one last kiss before he left.

Monday turned into Tuesday which turned into Wednesday which turned into the next week. Before she knew it, her 6th year was almost over. Neither Draco nor Narcissa had contacted her. The Order had been cagey about the details leading to the Malfoys--while she obviously had a general idea as to the location of her Italian vacation home and thus by extent the Malfoys, she hadn’t heard anything about their travels there. All she’d heard was the basic news that everyone had--that Bellatrix Lestrange had been found dead and that the Ministry had taken both Fenrir Greyback and Antonin Dolohov into custody with near fatal injuries.

But that didn’t make her miss him any less. Y/N found herself longing for the nostalgic, innocent time when she shamelessly flirted with him in detention and only worried about whether or not the Trio would like her again. It all seemed so long ago. 

Falling asleep was the worst. She couldn’t smell the lavender of her diffuser or her room spray without relating it to him, couldn’t slide under her sheets without remembering how it felt to fall asleep in his arms. Around May, Y/N came to the most disturbing realization: she wasn’t entirely sure if she remembered what his voice sounded like anymore. Not in the way that meant she wouldn’t recognize it if he called out to her--she would, of course she would--but she couldn’t replicate it in her mind or replay their interactions with convincing accuracy.

Sometimes, on the nights when she couldn’t sleep at all, she envisioned her last interaction with Draco: his snow blond hair ruffled and his face grim as he turned to leave. Even though she couldn’t hear his voice quite right as he told her he loved her, she remembered the scent of his cologne against her jumper and the feeling of his skin against hers as he slipped his family ring onto her hand. It was killing her that she didn’t know exactly what happened to him. He could’ve been taken by a surviving Death Eater and held hostage at the manor. He could be dead. The papers had printed that he’d been pulled into the Vanishing Cabinet and, true to the name, completely vanished, caught in the space passageway between it and the sister cabinet. She’d known that that was the angle the Order was going to take from the start, but it did nothing to ease her anxiety. 

It was even more concerning when she remembered that they’d never agreed upon anything in the future--just simply that they cared about each other in March. At that moment it had been enough. But it wasn’t anymore. All she wanted was for him to appear, give her that stupid wave he sometimes sent to her from across the dining hall when she saw him enter in the morning, and sweep her up into his arms. But that was hard to do when he was countries away. 

N.E.W.Ts had been cancelled, much to the dismay of Hermione, so Y/N had even less things to distract her with. Harry was off with Dumbledore doing Merlin knows what to try and defeat Voldemort. She was left with nothing to do but wallow in her own pity.

In early June, days before Hogwarts classes were officially concluded, someone knocked on her door.

“Come in,” mumbled Y/N. While she had thankfully gotten past the habit of crying every day, she’d instead slipped into a sort of anxious paralysis, lying on her bed after all of her tasks were done.

“It’s me.” Ron’s voice made her sit up in surprise. He hadn’t really spoken to her privately since he’d brokered the peace between her and the rest of the trio. “Do you have time to chat?”

“Sure,” she responded, moving over so he had room to sit beside her. “What’s going on?”

“Lavender just broke up with me,” muttered Ron, his hand coming up to brush at something on his cheek. “And I’ve never felt this way before. Is this what it feels like for you? With Malfoy?”

Y/N met his eyes and saw the same kind of hopelessness in them, the edges pricking with tears. “Yeah. I think so.” It was hard to choke back her own sob, so she just hugged him. He smelled of caramel and spring grass.

“Not to be a prat,” he said, “But you shouldn’t waste any tears over Malfoy. I don’t care if he switched sides in the end, he’s still a snot-nosed tosser to me. When this is all over, we’re going out together so we can find you someone better.”

“You know he switched sides?” She pulled back in surprise. Ron sent her a little wink.

“Of course not. I’m not sure why I said that. I’m sure if it was true, it’d be confidential Order information.”

“Who else?”

“Just Hermione and Harry,” he replied in a low voice. “But we weren’t supposed to figure it out--it was an accident over Easter break while we were eavesdropping on an Order meeting. That doesn’t change anything, though. You could definitely do better.”

“And so could you,” she said. “Remember what I said about you and Hermione?”

He laughed. “I’m working on it.”

Her conversation with Ron shed light on something else that had baffled her as of late--the tentative rekindling of her friendship with Hermione. The witch was actually inviting her to study nowadays, making small talk with her despite steering clear of all topics regarding Malfoy and Death Eaters. 

The last day of school rolled around before she was ready, the final ceremony being spoken by McGonagall instead of Dumbledore while he was still traveling with Harry. As she got up from her seat in the Great Hall, Hermione grabbed onto her sleeve.

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

So, instead of walking straight up to the Gryffindor Tower on the route they’d used countless times since the beginning of their educational career, they took the scenic route along the Black Lake, away from the hordes of students. They walked the shore quietly until Hermione spoke up.

“Draco needs a tutor to cover what he missed this year.” 

Y/N snapped to attention. “What?”

“Narcissa Malfoy has been requesting it and all the professors are busy with Order work,” continued Hermione, not bothering to repeat herself. “They want me to do it. When they ask, I’m going to turn them down and volunteer you instead. Is that okay?”

“Um…” Y/N stuttered. “I’m going to be a pretty shit tutor. Why would you do that for me?”

“I’m going to try and help Harry this summer,” she explained. “And even if I wasn’t, consider it my formal apology. I know it wasn’t right how I treated you this year. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just hope you understand why I was hurt.”

“Of course I understand!” said Y/N, reaching out to touch her elbow. “Considering the way he treated you, I can’t blame you for feeling betrayed. I should be the one apologizing. It just...happened the way it did. I didn’t want to fall for him, but I did anyway.”

Hermione covered her hand with her own and gave it a little squeeze. “I know. Do you think we can put this all behind us? I’ve missed my best friend. Ron and Harry have been driving me crazy this term. Ron told me to tell you that you have permission to smack me if I ever say something condescending to you again.”

“Please, let’s. And I think I’d resort to throwing a nice york pudding instead…”

The familiar bittersweet feeling of looking forward to putting school behind her yet dreading leaving her friends consumed her as she filed onto the Hogwarts Express, looking back onto the castle for the last time. She didn’t know it then, but she wouldn’t be returning. At least not for a long time.

“Luna!” she exclaimed as she ran into someone trying to find her seat. The blonde Ravenclaw sent her a dreamy smile.

“You certainly look happier.” Luna tilted her head as she studied her features. 

“I never got to properly thank you for this,” said Y/N, “But you absolutely saved me this year. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you in January.”

“You don’t need to thank me for being your friend,” responded Luna. “If you really want to, owl me this summer. I think I’ll miss you quite a bit.”

“I’ll miss you more.” She let her new Ravenclaw friend pull her into a hug before she finally retired to her respective seat next to Hermione, who pressed a package into her hand.

“McGonagall just gave it to me,” she whispered into her ear. “Don’t show it to anyone. I think it’s a Portkey.”

True to Hermione’s prediction, it was a familiar object from her manor--an ornate vase that was normally on display in the main foyer. A piece of parchment was rolled up inside.

Activates at 9am on the 10th of June. Closes 5 minutes after the hour. Do not be late.

~

Instead of feeling excited to see Draco, all she could feel was her nerves as she stared at the vase in front of her at 8:55 in the morning. It’d been so long since she’d kissed him that she wasn’t even sure if she remembered how. She literally felt as if her virginity had grown back like her leg hairs did the morning after she cast hair removal spells. 

And not to mention, seeing Narcissa again--that was terrifying. She’d always been a very intimidating woman, dressed impeccably with sharp, aristocratic features much like her son. Y/N doubted she’d take kindly to her son’s tutor being more interested in him than the actual job at hand. 

That assumed he even wanted her still, anyways. Maybe three months in isolation made him come to his senses and realize he’d been absolutely off his rocker for liking her in the first place. Merlin, did he regret it? Was he going to tell her they couldn’t?

Swallowing her worries as the clock chimed at 9, she wrapped her hand around the vase and allowed herself to be pulled across international borders.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Instead of the florally pine forest that surrounded her family’s main manor, she was greeted with the scent of sea salt and the sound of cawing birds. The sun had long since risen, the temperature a pleasant warmth to her skin after she’d spent a year in the cooler English air. 

Y/N stepped forward, towards the looming white structure that she assumed was her beach cottage. Her feet sunk in the sand as she made her way across the beach. Did he even know she was coming then? She would’ve thought he did, considering that anyone approaching the safe house unannounced would no doubt send everyone into some sort of a panic. 

Finally, she made it to the front door, tapping her wand on the enchanted knocker to signal that someone was at the front door. It creaked, and all of a sudden she was looking into the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy. He looked less pale than he did the last time she’d seen him, like he’d actually begun to spend time in the sun instead of locked away in the Slytherin dungeons. His hair looked somewhat sunbleached. She could see the faintest beginning of unfamiliar freckles across his nose. 

“Hi,” she said shyly, toying with her nails in front of her and not sure whether or not to embrace him. “I’m not sure if you knew, but your mother wanted someone to review the material you missed this year and Hermione didn’t want to, so--”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence before he crossed through the door, swept her up, and kissed her with conviction. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he whispered when he pulled away. Her eyes pooled with tears as his voice re-registered in her head. 

“I missed you,” Y/N managed. She let her fingers run over his cheekbones and the rest of his face and hair like she couldn’t believe he was actually there in front of her again. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“Something kind of did,” he admitted. “My aunt died.”

“So I’ve heard. Sorry about that.”

“It was her own fault. She brought a dagger enchanted with dark magic and it messed with the energy.” His smile had morphed into something more tense, so she stood on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, a bit tentative after not touching him since March. 

“You were all I could think about,” she admitted. “I’m not going to be much good at teaching you anything because I honestly stopped paying attention after you left…”

Draco’s smile widened, and she felt her legs turn to jelly. “I don’t mind. You were all I could think about, too. If you ever run out of things to teach me…” His fingers ghosted along her jawline as he spoke, “...I’ve had three months with nothing better to do than to think up ways to make up for the time we’ve spent apart.”

As she basked in the warmth of his embrace and the gentle sound of the Mediterranean ocean lapping at the earth, she allowed herself to relax for the first time in months. There was a war on the horizon, her friends were in danger, and her parents were once again risking themselves to aid the Order. But she’d gotten Draco out of his task. They had at least a summer left together. And at that moment, that was enough. 

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, tugging her chin up to meet his eyes once again.

She shrugged. “Nothing. Just kiss me again.”

And so he did.

final a/n: thanks for hanging in there! i hope you guys liked it! first off, apologies if my fluff scenes are choppy or repetitive. i’m not very experienced with writing them yet. also, i decided to write draco this way last minute because i like to imagine him as someone who has never had to actually admit feelings for someone and put himself on the line--instead i think he’d try his hardest to get you to confess that you like him if he’s afraid of messing it up. also if you were confused the quidditch bracelet is supposed to be the magic equivalent of a tennis bracelet lol...when i was shopping w my mom i may have been inspired when i saw those bc literally who wears diamonds around their wrist that cost thousands of dollars every day? i asked the saleslady how much the smallest one was and she was like “only 4k and you can wear it anywhere!” like girl i work a minimum wage customer service job and that shit would break in a few seconds. no i would not wear that everywhere. tennis bracelet rant over but anyways ig i was saying that a tennis bracelet def has draco malfoy energy per se

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say no to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

knight!natasha x lady!reader

sort of royalty au (there’s social hierarchy and a king and queen and knights and commoners and all that so- yeah it’s a royalty au nvm lmao)

warnings: this is fluff, angst, uh, basically everything but smut and serious angst.

word count: 2.5k, starting off short before we get into this 

part one!

also, to the very few people who look for fics up here- i promise i’m alive, sorry for being m.i.a! work and school are bodying me right now 

A lot could change within a year.

In a year, one was expected to grow wiser and older, and for you, because you were a woman, prettier. And because you did all three of those things in one year, you were herded off like cattle from your small farm, where the old pig you would soon be forced to call “husband” had seen you in the first place, and carted away to his large estate. You were supposed to be his wife, bear his children, and love him unconditionally even though you knew nothing about him, and he was supposed to do not even half of that for you. He had chosen you purely because your father had an abundance of wheat and animals, and he thought you were nice looking. He would surely never go hungry if he had the owner of a relatively large farm’s daughter with him.

Regardless of his reasoning for wanting to make you his wife, it ended up happening. You cried yourself to sleep the night before, and when you were done consummating the horrid marriage, you cried after he fell asleep, unable to shut your own eyes. That was how you spent your first night at the female counterpart to your lord husband, and as Lady Mirellis.

The marriage was loveless. The only thing you got out of it was a nice roof over your head and some silky clothing that made you feel like you were betraying who you really were. He was a brute and a pig, and he hardly ever spoke to you other than to tell you to get on your back, your knees, or something else as equally vile. You were the lady of his large manor, considered a small castle, but that was all you were. You made friends with the staff around, and that made things just the tiniest bit better. He was still cruel and crude, still insanely aggravating, and getting more and more angry with each month that you weren’t carrying his child.

And then, all of a sudden, he grew ill. And, within a month after he fell ill, he died. And then you were a single woman who had a large estate to her name, and a growing line of suitors who wanted nothing more than to have their last names attached to the great patch of land. You were the lady of the house without a lord, still young and still capable of marriage. After a large fuss over whether or not a young woman from your background was fit to take over, you had inherited everything.

So, yes, a lot could change in a year. And you decided that the changes that took place in that year were ones that you could barely handle.

§§

You knew exactly what the letter with the King’s Seal on it was when it was put into your hand, and you very easily guessed the contents of it.

You supposed that you should have seen it coming. Miraculously, your late husband and lord had gotten out of the Hosting, which could have been seen as treasonous or dishonorable if he had been any less careful. You grew up on a farm, and you had no idea how to go about denying or questioning royal decree, so you weren’t going to. You were going to have to Host, for the first time in your life.

Your family was never important enough to have to do it, so you had no experience with it, other than knowing that a high up lord of a small castle, or big estate, whatever one wanted to call it, was in charge of having a knight in their home while the knight completed his year long training. The training was said to come from within, and the job of the knight was to be a good, honorable guest, and to come back to the castle after their year expired as a new and improved person.

But it was rare that they truly soul searched, you had heard. Mainly because they were ninety nine percent male and thought with their penises more than their brains and hearts. The Hosting was a knight’s last stop before true knighthood, more or less a time that humbled young knights. It was a test of the true intentions of a knight, the true desires of a man who wished for glory and authority.

“For you, Milady.” You grimaced inwardly at the title, the title that you used to have to call the lady that you used to bring barrels of hay to on Sunday mornings. You nodded at the young boy, a smile on your face. He was new, and it was clear that this was his first task that involved him to speak to a “higher up” person.

You patted his head. “Thank you,” you said, and his eyes widened comically before he laughed and ran away, obviously shocked by the way you spoke to him back.

It wasn’t against the law, but it was frowned upon for nobles to speak to servants more than necessary. A noble person was not required to have manners or ask kindly for things, and when they did, it was certainly an out of the ordinary experience. You knew that well enough.

You broke the red seal and took in a deep breath, going to sit at your late husband’s desk (that you of course inherited, as you inherited everything the man had) and finding your name in perfect and Royal handwriting.

Lady Mirellis,

As you know, the time for the selection of The Hosting has come. Your house was not a host during the previous Hosting, therefore, you will be required to sponsor a knight this year. Out of respect for your late husband and all he has done for me, I will choose a knight for you, a knight that I trust. You will be safe with my choice, and the year will flow smoothly. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.

Please expect your knight within the fortnight, Lady Mirellis.

With respect, King Anthony Stark.

§§

Two weeks later, your keep was buzzing. You hated hosting things, even if they were short dinners. And you knew that you were going to hate hosting a person for an entire year. A brand new knight who was full of himself, no less.

King Anthony had given you what he thought was going to be an easy charge for a reason. New knights were known for being rowdy, disgusting, perverted, and authoritative when they shouldn’t have been. No lady should ever have to deal with the crude words or behavior of a man—certainly not. And with you and your poor husband gone, that meant that no one was there to help you.

You appreciated the kindness, but it was obvious that every man thought that women were only an extension of their husbands. If you weren’t able to handle the loud voices and taunting shouts of men and boys, you would have melted or turned to dust by the time you were thirteen years old. If you had survived a man who carted you off and away from your family like you were cattle, you could handle a boy who was staying under your roof.

Nonetheless, your people were busy, and so were you. They were making accommodations to the largest guest room, because it was to be someone’s for an entire year. They were cleaning things that you never thought would be cleaned, washing random sheets and hanging them to dry. And you? You were making the welcoming package.

You had never made one before, but you were trying your hardest. It was more or less a care package to make the knight feel comfortable. It was a starter kit, so that they wouldn’t have to ask for much or seem unfit for knighthood, because it was all about pride. So help anyone above, you wouldn’t be dealing with a knight with a bruised ego.

“Men,” you scoffed out, rolling your eyes as you fluffed the silk pillowcase and folded the top of the woven basket over, closing in everything and tying the top with a bow. 

“Y/N,” a woman’s voice called out, and you turned to it with a gentle smile.

Of course it was Wanda. Her and her brother were always by your side, ever since you had arrived at the keep. Pietro was the messenger boy for Lord Mirellis, because he was so fast on his feet. He delivered a message meant to go hundreds of leagues away and came back within days, when it would take others weeks. You liked Pietro a lot. He was a funny man, cheeky, but he knew his boundaries with people, whether they were lowborn or highborn. He had the same amount of respect for everything, and you admired that about him.

Wanda however, was your favorite person in the castle. She was the first kind face that you saw when you walked into the keep. She was the first person to actually ask you if you wanted help being dressed or brushing your hair. She was able to see that you needed help with your corset before you even asked. There were so many trivial things that Wanda did for you that made you so loyal to the friendship you shared, but there was one thing you were sure to never forget.

She had been the one to help you out of bed after a rough consummation night. She was also the only woman who had offered you even a sliver of sympathy, and for that, she was your greatest ally, and on a deeper level, a true friend. 

You had barely even seen her for more than five minutes before you woke up in bed by yourself the morning after that horrid night, crying silent tears and feeling sore between your legs. A knock sounded on the door, and instead of her turning away and apologizing for coming in on such an improper moment, she shut the door and asked you if you needed help, without any fear of being scolded. Wanda Maximoff was different. That’s why you liked her so much.

She was standing beside you as you waited, even though waiting for a knight was somewhat improper. You were supposed to wait inside and have them knock on your castle door, and you were to welcome them inside and have a warm dinner ready. That was how it was always supposed to go, but you decided not to do that.

You were standing outside, like the lady you had been forced to become. Your chin was slightly lifted and your hands were at your sides, even though you were desperate to fiddle with your thumbs. You took in a deep breath as you heard the sound of a carriage coming, horses and the chatter of men getting louder with each passing moment.

You would be a liar if you said that you weren’t scared to have a man in your house that you didn’t know. Not only would he be a man, but he would be a man that knew how to do things that most didn’t, such as how to properly wield a sword. You were a woman alone, a widow to a lord, and people had tried things with you before, ever since your husband had died. Most of the time, those things ended up with their hands being cut off as the legal and unyielding punishment for their attempted crimes.

“No one here is going to let a stupid knight hurt you, you know.” Pietro had come out of nowhere, chest puffed out as he looked to his sister for a moment, and then back at you. “Wanda is practically with you every second of every day, and I’m never too far.” It was true. There were guards around, as well, but you were still scared.

“If you don’t like it this year, you can always say no next year.” Wanda offered, but you whined under your breath when you remembered that this was no visit. The man would be living with you for an entire year. “And King Anthony said he would be giving you a man he trusted to sleep under your roof. I trust his word.” 

“As do I,” you said quickly, ringing out your hands one last time before the carriage got closer. “I’ll be fine, you two. Thank you.” And they knew just how grateful you were for them.

The carriage was being pulled by two white horses, both looking around carelessly and cluelessly as the coachman pulled them to a stop. “Lady Mirellis,” he said, looking you up and down, clearly judging you for not yielding to tradition. “It is very kind of you to meet us outside.”

“I thought it may be easier to begin the tour early,” you said, remembering at the last moment to school your voice into sounding ladylike. The stark difference between your public voice and the one that you spoke to Wanda and Pietro with always made Wanda smile a bit, and you knew that you would have laughed if you were looking at her. “I don’t want to give my new guest too large of a culture shock. I am not quite sure if he would appreciate being hoarded inside a place he hasn’t seen before.”

The coachman gave you an odd look, almost like he wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Or maybe, why you were saying it. But, he knew that because of your status, your word outweighed his, and he would do as you said. Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest as you watched him climb out of his chair and walk around, and you saw his hand wrap around the handle of the white and gold carriage.

There was a flash of brilliant red. That was all you saw at first, and then you saw shiny armor, glinting in the sun. Your eyes trailed up from the shoes that you knew were crafted specifically for knights, up to the legs and then to the breastplate, which you noticed was curved outwards. Your brows furrowed as your eyes got stuck in that place, and you willed yourself to believe that it was a trick of the eyes. There was a pinch on your arm, and you realized that you had been staring without speaking for much too long. In your embarrassment, your eyes flickered up to meet the man’s, and then, you nearly choked.

The knight was no man at all.

*****

so this is a series! this idea has been cooking up in my head for a while now, and i figured it was finally time to go through with it! i’m really excited about this one, and i’ve already got most of it planned out. i hope you guys liked this!

also- if you would like to be tagged, you are free to ask! (bold of me to assume that any of y’all want a notif for this bye 😭) please interact with this if you liked it, it makes me so happy and motivated to hear from you guys!

[onlyfreds]

Cupid’s Chokehold | F.W.

Title: Cupid’s Chokehold (band!au)

Requested: Yes/No [x]

Summary: Fred hasn’t always been known to not be serious about a girl, until he meets Y/N and finds himself in Cupid’s Chokehold

“You okay sweetheart?” Fred asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder as their band wrapped up practice.

I nodded, fiddling with the end of my shirt, “Yeah, just a bit nervous.”

“For what?” He asked, “Meeting my parents?”

I nodded, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple, “Don’t be nervous. They’ll love you. Even if they don’t m, that won’t stop me from loving you.”

I looked up at him, “Really?”

“Of course. I’d even tell the whole world if you want.” He said before hopping on to the stage and grabbing the microphone, pointing a finger in my direction, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

I laughed, “Freddie, you don’t have to do that.”

My boyfriend grinned, “There’s that radiant smile!”

—

I looked up at the house where my fate would be decided. I felt like my heart would jump out of my throat as we were mere inches away from the door.

“You okay?” George asked, “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Yup.” I said, “Just dealing with some nerves.”

Fred pressed a kiss to my cheek, “You’ll be fine sweetheart.”

George knocked on the door, causing their mother to open it and engulf the both of them into a hug, fussing about them getting thinner with all the practice they’re doing.

When Molly’s attention turned to me, a smile grew on her lips as she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, “You must be Y/N! Goodness, you’re so beautiful! How was my son able to snag someone like you?”

Fred laughed, “I ask myself the same question everyday.”

Dinner with the Weasleys went by smoothly, we gathered around the living room exchanging stories when I excused myself to get some water from the kitchen.

That’s when I overheard Fred and Molly’s conversation.

“Fred, are you really sure about her?” Molly asked.

Fred nodded, “Mum, this is going to sound like a really bad joke. But, it’s safe to say she’s my new girlfriend.”

Molly sighed, “I know, but she is the first girl that you brought home. You have to, at least, be serious about her.”

“I am serious about her. I know it sounds old, but Cupid got me in a chokehold. We even got a secret handshake. And she loves the music that my band makes. I know I’m young, but if I had to choose her or the sun: I won’t have any second thoughts about choosing her.”

—

“Good morning sweetheart.” Fred greeted, wrapping his arms around my waist as I transferred the pancakes unto the plate.

“You ready for your show later?” I asked as he scattered soft kisses along my neck.

“Just a tad bit nervous.” He admitted, “But, knowing that you’ll be there in the front row makes me a whole lot better.”

“Is that my favorite pancakes?” He asked, peeking over my shoulder.

I chuckled, “Yeah. Just thought you would like some.”

Fred smiled, burying his head into the crook of my neck, “If this ain’t love then I don’t know what love is.”

—

Fred and his band performed perfectly, receiving a standing ovation from the audience.

I pushed through the crowd of people, making my way backstage when I felt somebody tap my shoulder.

I turned and saw a girl giving me a small smile, “You’re the lead singer's girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah. I am.” I said.

She giggled, “You’re so lucky to be his girlfriend and it was sweet of him to dedicate the last song to you.”

I smiled, “As far as I know, that song was about me. But, you’re right, he is a gentleman and I’m lucky to have him.”

As soon as we finished our conversation, I headed backstage and almost walked into another conversation.

Fred’s voice could be heard, “Dad, I’m trying hard not to talk fast. But, I finally have found the one. She is the type of girl that will make you way proud of your son. She’s my soulmate, I can tell by the way she says my name.”

Arthur smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m already proud of you.”

—

I glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall: 11:30 am. The band’s practice time must’ve been extended.

I then heard the door open as Fred came in. He had a slightly pissed off look on his face as he took off his coat and threw it on the couch, dropping his bag on the floor.

Sensing his exhaustion, I left my chore and ran into his arms, breathing in his musky scent.

“Bad day?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Better.” He mused, kissing the top of my head, “Now that you’re here in my arms.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I said.

My boyfriend shook his head, “Maybe later. Right now, I just want all of my attention on you.”

—

Another week has ended, which meant another Sunday dinner at the Weasley household.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Charlie said, “You can’t tell me that Fred’s girlfriend is this gorgeous!”

“I told you!” Bill said with a small laugh, “It’s hard to believe that he managed to snag someone like her.”

Fred raised his hands in mock surrender, “I know you guys think that I slipped her a love potion or something. I,myself, can’t figure out how she fell for a dork like me. I mean, look at her: she’s got a smile that would make the most senile. Her eyes are comparable to sunrise. And it doesn’t stop there, she’s got the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard. When I start to build my future, she’s the main component.”

“Simp.” George snickered, teasing his twin.

Fred draped an arm around my shoulder, “Call it dumb, call it luck, call it love, or whatever you call it but no matter what you say, she’s the one for me.”

Ginny shushed him, “Why don’t we ask your girlfriend.”

I suddenly felt all eyes on me, “Well, Fred may be a dork. But, he is the sweetest and most caring person ever. He always knows what to do to make me feel better. As cliche as it sounds, he brings out the best in me. That, and the fact that he is handsome and hot.”

Fred beamed at me with pride, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @gostupid-godumb @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @lunylovelovegood @thefallengodesse (Send a Message/Ask if you want to be added!)

[gwydionmisha]

Strange New Worlds

I am still digesting Strange New Worlds: All Those Who Wander

Here there be Spoilers:

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I am still so angry about the ableism and the teasing us with what looked like could have been a really interesting character and rare representation if they had wanted to explore it, then yoinking it right the fuck away, that I'm struggling to work out what to say, but I'm going to try.

The thing is, I actually was liking it up until that point despite the issues and some choices I was not best pleased by.  I rather liked them making Pike the man Kirk ended up spending his entire adult life trying to be and not pulling it off.  I was cool with them showing how Uhura started to become Uhura, because it meant that character getting a real arc, and they definitely are showing the canonical character's strengths, even if the drifted into Starfleet thing was not a choice to my taste.  This is a thing early 20somethings can struggle with.  Just because I'm not the intended audience (I hardly ever am outside of things like Torrchwood, Black Sails, and Our flag Means Death) doesn't mean a thing is bad, if that makes sense.  I really like the Nurse Chapel upgrade, even though I have concerns about what they might do with her Spock wise.  (I'd rather see her with Erica Ortegas).  They gave me men in my age range to look at who are worth looking at.  I liked the pretty doctor, but I am really hoping there is more to him in season two.  I really, really liked Erica Ortegas, even though I feel like the writers didn't bother to develop her properly, trusting Melissa Navia's charm and swagger to paper over them not bothering to give her an arc.  I rather liked them giving the original series network execs the finger by bringing Una back.  I have hopes that La'an's arc will do more with recovering from/learning to live with trauma, since they laid some ground work there.

I don't want to get into the whole Spock T'Pring issue or the Spock issue in general because that's a whole other massive and complex ball of string and I wanted to be asleep an hour ago.  Just... take as read my thoughts are complex here and I'm still digesting, okay? (Update: two and a half hours ago as of this going up on Tumblr Sunday morning.)

And then there was Hemmer, who was my favorite, once they started to give the actor things to do, because the actor was really fun to watch and it's hard to emote that well through that much make up.  (Yes, I know the actor knew when they hired him.  This isn't about that).  Seriously, they had all the ingredients to do all sorts of interesting things with him.  They could explore his culture.  They could explore his back story.  They could expand on the nubbins of a character they had only started to hint at that i had every faith that the actor could have pulled off.  There was so much potential for this to be a break out character and... They decided to fridge a rare character with a disability played by an actor with a disability on the first day of Disability Pride Month because... Why?  Shock value?   Because they realized killing off the barely characterized fat character by himself wouldn't pack a punch and we know a bunch of the characters need to survive for ToS?  (Were there any other fat characters with names on the ship?  it's possible I missed one, but the fact that I can't think of one is telling.  Fatphobia is an exhausting problem in media too).  Because they need to make the Xenomorphesque Gorn the new Borg so instead of killing some red shirts, they decided to kill the OC off with the most potential who also happens to mean a lot to an under-represented group of viewer Paramount doesn't care about to make the stakes feel real?

I don't know, but I'm so angry about it, I'm not sure even Ortegas and Chapel can keep me watching, or my curiosity as to how certain other threads develop.  (Not a sentence it would have occurred to me at any age I would be writing about nurse Chapel until this show premiered).  I have a year to think about it, but I don't trust them any more at it will take a lot to win me back to this show.

Which brings me to my other main point: a lot of the problems not counting the finale are because they had so much stuff that needed to be in the first season and not enough time.  We know fuck all about Ortegas and hemmer's backgrounds and lives.  They didn't get arcs of their own.  Lots of characters had stuff seeded for future season(s) that would have had some essential breathing room if they'd had an traditional trek length season for wiggle room instead of the shortened prestige format.  

Trek needs that room to breath in order to work a lot of the time.  You have all these characters in a first season to meet.  They need to establish a group dynamic.  The audience needs enough exposure to each to get an idea of what's their deal, basically.  (Ex: Pike's foreknowledge of his fate, Una being a secret Illyrian, La'an's Gorn trauma, etc.).  Every episode needs a puzzle or an actiony thing or a mystery or whatever plot.  Every episode needs to advance one or more character arc.

The heart of Trek has always been it's characters and relationships every bit as much as the world building and science fictiony social commentary bits.  When Trek works well it balances these things.  (I still think DS9 is far and away the best old Trek and the Kelvinverse movies are unwatchable.  No, I won't be taking criticism on this, reasonable people can disagree and you won’t change my mind).  You need Serious episodes and big plot episodes (if you are TNG era or later) and silly episodes and exploring a culture or concept episodes and gee whiz episodes and weird historical exploration episodes and RL social commentary reflection episodes and cool puzzle episodes and character arc episodes, etc..  You need to be doing 2-3 of these things in each individual episode and pretty much all of them in a season.  It is pretty much impossible to jam all that into thirteen episodes when traditional Trek had approximately twice as many.  Were some of the individual episodes not great?  Absolutely.  (I grew up on ToS in endless syndication and watched the animated series in real time when they were new.  A lot of the oldest trek is not great.  TNG is super uneven and the first two years... not great.  I bailed out of Voyager a few years in.  I only managed a few episodes of Enterprise.  Even my beloved DS9 had duds here and there).  The thing is though?  The longer seasons gave them room to shake out the bugs, to experiment, to really explore cultures, and from the start of TNG on explore character and do long character development arcs, to build a real sense of who the crew are separately and together.

The season was too short to fully develop most of the characters.  It was too short to do more than give some of them, like Una, more than one character issue for us to look at.  Una is an Illyrian and second in command, but what else?   Dr. M'Benga is the Doctor and had a sick daughter, but what else?  Ortegas is butch and an excellent pilot, but what else?  Hemmer is blind and the chief engineer, but what else?  And yes, I basically know the TV shows and the movies (except the third kelvinverse one, halfish of Voyager, lower decks, and most of enterprise).  I loved that novel Garak's actor wrote about Garak.  I think we read some of the Diane Duane expanded trek tie books on tapes on care trips around the turn of the century?  I know the stuff I know pretty well, because I've seen the bits I like often.  I don't know the expanded universe outside the visual media much at all.  I know fuck all about Aenar and I'd really, really like to, but oh well.

I just...  idk.  I was really enjoying it, but I don't trust them to fix the problems.  Not anymore.

To be clear, I’ve noting against short formats in general, I just feel like this was better suited to a longer format schedule.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (21)

   jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst but it’s for a good cause

words: 7.7k

   chapter twenty-one

The next week was, as expected, full of frustrating epiphanies each time you checked your phone and realized you had no business waiting for anyone’s call or text. Not to mention, Inna’s hopeful eyes followed you whenever you were in the same room as her; she was eagerly awaiting the moment you and Jungkook would make up.

You hadn’t heard a word from him since the last party and his family hadn’t reached out to you, either. You couldn’t help but wonder how the dinner on Sunday had gone, and what excuse Jungkook used to explain your absence – he’d have to come up with a good one because you didn’t think the chances of you two talking again were very high.

In fact, you thought they were non-existent. He’d walked away from you for the second time in just one lifetime – you didn’t think it was supposed to be you who had to take the initiative and get to the bottom of things. And Jungkook would, most likely, have too much pride to offer an explanation.

So, no, you didn’t think you’d hear from him again soon. Not in the next seven years, at least.

However, life had a funny way of throwing your expectations out of the window – as you came to learn as soon as you left your final class the next Wednesday afternoon, five days after you’d last seen Jungkook, and spotted his mother looking at you expectantly from the end of the hall.

She waved at you as soon as you caught her eye and, walking over to her, you weren’t sure what to expect – her face was the perfect mask of polite indifference, so you couldn’t guess if she was here because something terrible had happened to Jungkook, or because she was getting remarried and wanted you to be her bridesmaid.

“You look lovely, dear,” was the first thing she told you when you approached her. That was enough for you to understand that she wasn’t going to be entirely honest today – she never was – because she was here in a designer two-piece, while you were wearing a—stained from an unsuccessful attempt at lunch—gray hoodie and your favorite sweatpants. “Do you have a moment to spare?”

“Sure,” you nodded after giving her a mandatory hug hello. “Would you like to get coffee? There’s a café across the quad.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, allowing you to exit the building first. “I’d love that.”

The two of you crossed the campus quadrangle towards the café next to the library and neither of you said a word. You’d hoped Jungkook’s mother would offer an explanation why she was here instead of making you ask her outright – that felt impolite – but that seemed less and less likely with each silent step that you took.

“You can choose a table, I’ll go place the order,” you said once you’d reached the café, “what would you like?”

“Just black coffee, no sugar, please,” she replied and then looked around the place, smiling pleasantly at every weary-eyed student that turned to look when they saw this lady with a very expensive aura come inside. “I think it’d be nice to sit by the window, hmm?”

You gave her a nod of approval and went over to order, choosing to wait by the coffee machine so you could brace yourself for what was coming when you’d join her at your table later.

Once you finally sat down opposite Jungkook’s mother, your caramel macchiato had turned from pale orange to plain white from how much your hands were shaking. His mother thanked you and, leaning forward to purposelessly stir her coffee with a spoon, she cleared her throat.

“Something happened,” she said simply. “Am I wrong?”

You didn’t want to misunderstand her. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Jungkook,” she clarified. “He said you were busy when he was over for dinner but I could tell that wasn’t it. He looked different.”

You looked away from her to think. You were glad that Jungkook hadn’t missed the dinner even despite you not being there with him. That was a mature decision, you were almost proud of him for it.

“I… I don’t really know what to tell you, to be honest,” you said, watching your coffee and wondering why you even bought it. You didn’t feel like drinking anything. “We got into an argument after his concert last weekend, and we hadn’t talked since.”

She nodded knowingly, without the slightest change in her expression. As if this was a normal thing that she’d expected to happen sooner or later anyway. And, because she was prepared for it, she also knew just how to proceed.

“I’m not supposed to pick sides because, I suppose, I would be biased,” she started to say, giving you a warm smile as she clutched her cup in both hands, “but I have a feeling that you weren’t the one that started the argument. Am I right?”

Inhaling deeply as you shrugged your shoulders, you replied with, “actually, that’s hard to say,” and then you took a long gulp of your coffee, ignoring the burning of your throat as the hot – and unwanted – liquid struggled to make its way down.

Jungkook’s mother watched you drink in silence. She knew you were doing it only because you weren’t comfortable admitting to her that her son had never learned how to handle conflict – and who else was there to blame for that, if not his parents?

Sighing, she finally confessed, “I told myself I wouldn’t mention this to either of you because, well, it’s really none of my business, but I was backstage before Jungkook’s last concert.”

You turned to her. Noticing the confusion in your eyes, she explained, “his father and I came back to the venue early and I had to use the restroom. One of his bandmates showed me where to find the nearest one and, as I was on my way, I saw the two of you.”

Thinking what moment in particular she could have seen, you unconsciously squeezed the porcelain cup in your hands so tightly, the china almost started to crack under your fingertips. Even worse, as soon as you realized what she was getting at, you let go of the cup so quickly, it nearly tumbled off the table, splashing the contents around.

“Oh,” you said, more alarmed by the fact that his mother had seen you force him into a cold shower, than by the fact that your sweatpants were now stained with the caramel from your drink. “I was just—”

“You kicked some sense into him,” she finished for you, nonchalantly handing you a napkin, “in a way that I’d never seen anyone do before. And,” she chuckled in a good-natured way that did not conceal the admiration in her voice, “I’m his mother.”

“That’s…” you stopped yourself, choosing to wait until the warmth on your face receded and you felt less flustered. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you said, still not looking at her as you wiped the table, “kids aren’t easy to raise and Jungkook was a-a... a different sort of challenge. You did your best and he loves you for it.”

She was the one who was forced to look away from you this time.

“I thought I was doing my best,” she said. “I… I know it can be hard to understand, but I’d always had his best interest at heart. His and yours. You two were like two pieces of the same set when you were young.”

She smiled despite herself, but when you dared to lift your eyes to meet hers, there was a tear glistening on her face, slowly descending down her cheek. You didn’t know if it was caused by the memory or by something else that she hadn’t said yet.

“It’s…” she tried but couldn’t find the words, “I feel—ah. I don’t know how to tell you this without making you hate me. It’s my fault that you and Jungkook were apart from each other for so long.”

She struggled to keep talking and you struggled to find a way to tell her that you already knew that.

Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been hard to reach out a hand and touch her shoulder, tell her that Jungkook had already told you about this. But, by doing so, you’d have to admit that everything was fine. That you didn’t hold a grudge. That you’d moved on.

And part of it was true – you didn’t hold a grudge. But it wasn’t fine. And you hadn’t moved on.

So, you stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I thought it was for the best,” she said, “you two, being apart, I mean. I thought it could save you both from the damage your close relationship could do to your futures. But,” shaking her head to herself, she scoffed, “that wasn’t what happened at all, was it?”

“Hmm,” you shook your head slightly, “no, it wasn’t. There was always this gap—t-this empty space in my life. It was kind of like losing a tooth. You can get it replaced, get an implant, but it’s not the same. Even if the hole isn’t there anymore, you’re still missing a tooth.”

Another tear cascaded down her face as she listened to you, only daring to nod her head when you glanced at her – which was once, right before you finished speaking.

She noticed how you didn’t question her or asked her to elaborate; you understood what she was saying.

And she understood that you had already known about this.

“You blossomed,” she said, smiling even though there were tears in her eyes, “but Jungkook never recovered. He needed you. Probably more than you needed him.”

“No. That can’t be,” you disagreed instantly. “I—I need him, too.”

Noticing the present tense, Jungkook’s mother smiled. “Then don’t be apart from each other anymore. You’re not meant to be.”

That was simple. So simple, that it got you to smile in this ironically sad way. But because this could have been one of the last times you’d ever see her – since your future with Jungkook, despite how much you said you needed him, was very unclear – you chose not to mention it.

Instead, you figured now was as good of a time as any to come clean about the real status of your relationship with her son.

“You know…” you started, “when we first came to your house, we weren’t—we weren’t really together. We were just—”

“I know,” she said and, just when you were about to continue, she finished, “that you think so.”

“I—sorry?”

“You think you came for dinner, pretending to be dating so it would leave a good impression on his father,” she explained.

It felt ridiculous to hear her say it when she wasn’t supposed to know about it. Apparently, both of you knew a lot more than you let on.

“T-that’s… yeah. That’s what we did.”

She shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Not really. You came for dinner together.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Sweetheart, no,” she took your hand into hers. “You’d been together from the moment you first talked to each other after all those years. And, every day following that, you were more and more together.”

Feeling the warmth from her hands wash off to yours, you asked in a hushed tone, “why do you say that?”

“Because I’d watched you grow up,” she said, a smile on her otherwise clouded face. “I know you love each other in a different way than most people. You don’t have to go on dates and get to know each other before you get attached and form a connection. You don’t have to spend months with each other to fall in love. It’s already happened. Maybe it happened even before you were born. Maybe it was written in the stars, so to speak.”

She laughed as she said that last part and—because you’d been watching her with such intensity, you didn’t blink once—you felt yourself smile in response.

Then, you asked, “do you really believe that?”

“Ah,” she leaned back in her chair, exhaling. She did seem like the sort of person who believed in the happily-ever-after and she didn’t mind this image. But, because this was nor the place, nor the time for acting, she chose to be honest with you and admitted, “normally, no. But with you two? Yes. Absolutely.”

And that meant a lot more than anything else she’d ever told you when she was busy trying to maintain the look of an untroubled, completely satisfied member of a rich family.

She was human now. And she was rooting for you – she’d always been, even if she didn’t always choose the best ways to express that.

“Do you know what he did during our last dinner?” his mother asked after a moment.

Thinking she was about to tell you that Jungkook knocked his father out, you were afraid for her to continue.

“He renounced his position as the heir to the company,” she said and you saw her tears stop, a smile spreading on her lips instead – like she was proud of him. “I’ve never seen him so determined before. I don’t think his father has, either. I… I think he’s been expecting it, though. Jungkook never expressed much interest in the family business, not unless it meant pleasing his father.”

You were shocked she’d noticed Jungkook’s eagerness to be a good son to his father, but perhaps you shouldn’t have been – she was his mother. She knew him best.

Funnily enough, she thought the exact same thing about you.

“He wants to talk to you,” she said after a while, her hand still holding yours as steam ceased to rise from your cups, the drinks inside of them gradually growing colder.

“Did he tell you that?” you asked, surprised.

“No, but that’s obvious. He’s been antsy throughout our dinner on Sunday,” she spoke, “almost like that gap you’d mentioned before was especially prominent when he was supposed to be with his family, but one member just wasn’t there.”

You felt a quick spark of honor in your chest – they still considered you to be a part of their family – but you lowered your eyes, hoping to hide it.

“What bothers me the most,” you admitted slowly, “is that his method of solving arguments is so unconventional, I can never guess what he’s going to do.”

“What do you want him to do?”

“I want him to—I…” you couldn’t finish.

You didn’t want much, you just wanted to be able to admit to yourself that every time you’d been angry at him since last Friday night, was all pretend. All because you were supposed to be angry. But, the truth was, you weren’t; you were just hurt. And what you wanted most of all was to see him.

“I want to talk to him,” you said. “Because if he’s thinking of spending another seven years not talking to me, then he better give me a direct warning, so that I can tell him I won’t do this again. I won’t go through—if he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not going to wait for almost a decade for him to change his mind.”

“That was never the case,” his mother said. “He always wanted to be with you even when he wasn’t supposed to.”

“See, but he keeps making these decisions,” you said, “these wrong decisions. He seems like he’s learned to tell right from wrong in all of these years, and yet he still—”

“He’s trying, though, isn’t he?” she interrupted you. “He fails a lot, but he always gets back up and tries again. I love him with all of my heart, but I hated to see some of the situations he’s gotten himself into over the years. He’d had to make a lot of choices for his future and he made a lot of wrong ones. I used to think that, maybe, the only right decision he’d made, was choosing to give you some space to grow seven years ago—”

“No,” you stated immediately, your voice firm and unwavering for the first time today. “The only right decision he made was talking to me again after seven years.”

His mother’s eyes watched the expression on your face change from hopeless defeat to assured confidence, and she finally let go of your hand, but not before you saw the hairs on her skin stand up as she shivered.  

“You’re right,” she spoke, her voice in awe over how quickly you defended Jungkook even though, at the end of the day, you and her both knew you needed that space. You needed some time away from him.

She had come here with the intention of getting you to give her son another chance – because, God knew, Jungkook was taking his sweet time asking for it himself – but she could see now that her visit was largely pointless.

She didn’t need to ask you to fight for your relationship with Jungkook – you’d been fighting for it from day one.

“Talk to him, okay?” she asked, even though she knew this wasn’t going to be the end of your story. It couldn’t be. “As his mother, I even give you the permission to kick his ass if he won’t reach out to you first.”

You snickered at this and then looked at her as you spoke, “I’ve really missed having conversations like these with you. Not about Jungkook—I meant, over coffee, when it’s just us two.”

“I’ve missed that, too,” she replied, responding to your warm words by allowing an uncharacteristically big smile to appear on her face, “but we’ll have plenty of those in the future,” she added, “because we just got you back and we’re not letting you go.”

The next day, you were almost afraid to run into Jungkook because a conversation with him seemed inevitable, and you didn’t think you were ready for it.

The universe – that is, your class schedule – cared little whether you were prepared or not, however.

As soon as you were done with your last class of the day, you cautiously turned your head to Jungkook’s usual spot—across the auditorium from you—and found him already watching you.

The two of you eyed each other in an almost formal way – the way you would look at your professor as you approached her to inquire about a paper that was due – and then you both got up, packed your things, and, exchanging a yet another meaningful look, you both headed for the exit of the building, every single movement of your bodies completely in sync even though you hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

There was a mute agreement between you and him: you haven’t seen each other since the party last week, but now that you have, you simply had to talk again. Those were the rules for people like you – people who’d spent nearly a decade avoiding all conversation with each other, and had promised they would never go through that again.

You figured the first thing you’d say to each other after last week would be “sorry” but, as it turned out, your first words were your coffee orders as the two of you had automatically left the building to head to the campus café.

“I know my mom came to see you,” Jungkook broke the uncomfortable silence when you found an empty table at the back of the café. “Sorry if… she made you uncomfortable. I didn’t ask her to come, I swear.”

He didn’t start to speak because he had a lot to say. He started because, even though you came here with him naturally, without a single word, he knew you hadn’t come here just for a cup of coffee. You’d come to hear his explanation, his excuse, and, eventually and most importantly, his apology.

“I know,” you said even though you didn’t. It made sense for Jungkook not to ask for anyone’s help, though. “It’s okay.”

“But I’m glad she came,” he revealed, “because now I have an excuse to tell you that I, uh… I fucked up.”

Resisting a relieved sigh – because you’d been worried that resolving this argument would require the sort of maturity that neither of you had, but Jungkook was surprisingly determined to solve it the same way you solved all of your fights: by turning half of it into a joke – you sat opposite him and shrugged.

“Not the first time,” you said.

Scoffing, Jungkook agreed, “yeah. Definitely not. But I, uh… you haven’t done anything wrong. I was pissed at—I was pissed off and I let my frustrations out on you. And that’s not fair.”

You nodded, agreeing with the way he’d interpreted your last conversation.

“Well,” you said then, “that’s probably not the first time, either.”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, a flash of concern appearing in his eyes before he clicked his tongue and said under his breath, “alright, open and honest. That’s good. I deserve that.”

You didn’t reply this time. You didn’t encourage him to keep going, either, but he took your silence as a sign that he’d obviously not said enough to make up for his words that night.

“I was wrong,” Jungkook said and paused. He couldn’t believe he’d spent every night the past week, trying to think of a way to say this to you, when it was literally all so simple. “I asked you to leave because I genuinely believed you’d be better without me, but I—I’ve never felt more afraid than when I saw you turn around and walk away. I thought it’d be for the best, but the thought of never seeing you again was terrifying. That sounds selfish now that I’ve said it, but I’m not saying it because I’m scared to lose you, even though I am. I’m saying this because I’m sorry.”

You’d forgotten how to blink as you watched him, and you thought you’d misheard him when he apologized. That was something that was understandable – a person did something they regretted, and they apologized for it – but Jungkook was never one who behaved in conventional ways.

And yet, he continued, “I’ve been caged my whole life, always blamed for the things I did that did not fit the person that I was supposed to be.”

Contrary to the conversation with Jungkook’s mother that you’ve had in this exact same spot, now you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off of him as he spoke. Jungkook, meanwhile, scratched his temple with a nervous finger and proceeded to count the wooden tiles on the floor.

“But you’re not like them,” he was saying, not specifying who ‘they’ were because he didn’t have to, “no one’s ever given me the sort of freedom that you did. You’re the only one that allowed me to think about what I wanted. You’re the one who told me to act on it. As long as I didn’t self-destruct along the way, of course.”

He tried to lighten the mood, smiling as he said that last part, but your face remained stoic and, for a moment, Jungkook worried you hadn’t heard him. Or, worse – you had heard him, but he wasn’t saying the right things.

In all truth, that was precisely the case – you thought he was giving you too much credit. He’d blamed you for taking control of his life that night at the bar, and now he was thanking you for it.

You didn’t think you deserved the blame or the gratitude: you never wanted him to do whatever you commanded him to do. You just wanted him to stop making decisions that would lead him to an early grave.

“You…” he continued, more tentative now, “you’ve put up with me for so long and I was overwhelmed by the fact that there’s no one like you in my life. So, I guess, for a moment, you didn’t feel real to me, either, because how could you be? A-and so, I ended up blaming you for the things that I should have never blamed you for.”

You nodded, acknowledging it all, even the sleepless nights that he hadn’t told you about – he didn’t have to; the dark circles under his eyes said more than enough. You’d recognized them with ease because you’d seen them in your own mirror every morning this week.

And then you spoke, returning to the one point of your last argument that he hadn’t brought up.

The one point that may have angered you more than anything else he’d said that night.

“I didn’t agree to help you with your parents because of the company,” you said.

“I know,” he said.

Jungkook seemed to remember almost every part of that night – although, blissfully, he’d forgotten what he’d done after you’d left; there were bruises on his knuckles and his face to show for it, though – and you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

If he didn’t remember what happened, that could have been a sign that he was wasted out of his mind and that was why he’d said what he’d said. But that was a very poor excuse, considering that a drunken tongue often voiced out sober thoughts.

At least now you didn’t have to remind him of his own words – that would have made this conversation far less calm. But, at the same time, the fact that he could remember arguing with you, meant that he was sober enough to get himself in control back there. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d allowed his instincts to take the wheel: he’d won against the alcohol, but lost against his own impulses.

Taking a deep breath, you thought now was your only chance to explain your reasons for being with him because you weren’t sure how this coffee date was going to play out just yet. And if this was the last time you’d see him, he deserved to know the whole truth.

“I agreed to help you,” you said, “because you asked me to.”

Nodding before you properly finished, he said, “I know—”

“But also,” you cut him off, your voice growing louder and then falling into an almost hushed tone as you said, “because I couldn’t say no to you. Not when you were desperate to get me to say yes. I—I had been in love with you for a lot longer than—than either of us realized, probably. And, maybe, I’d also wanted to know what it’d be like to be with you.”

Admitting that you wanted to play a relationship with him felt childish, and you couldn’t lift your eyes to meet his. But, even so, it also felt relieving.

You’d said it.

You’d admitted it to yourself and to him. You’d chosen to strip down to your vulnerability, and that was difficult and bold, but it also freed you from being the only person in the world who knew this.

“And,” Jungkook exhaled shakily, “what was it like?”

You felt your lips curl into a hesitant half-smile. “Not too terrible, surprisingly.”

He laughed with his whole chest and you found yourself leaning back a little, so you could take in the sight in front of you.

A beat passed as Jungkook recovered, a small smile still on his face. Then, you dared to speak again.

“I’m sorry I always tried to take care of you,” you spoke, each word calculated. You had already thought about telling him this, so you knew you chose your words right; you just weren’t sure what sort of reception awaited you.

Jungkook gave you a long look, his eyes accepting your apology while, simultaneously, trying to tell you that it wasn’t necessary.

“I’m sorry I always asked you to,” he countered, “and then demanded that you don’t.”

You smiled. “I’m sorry I’m starting to think you need to see a therapist.”

“Yeah,” he snickered, nodding, “don’t be sorry about that one. I…” he lowered his eyes before saying, “I’m sorry I accused you of controlling me when I’m the one who never lets you make your own decisions.”

Your eyebrows did a little dance, rising in surprise at first – because he’d said something you weren’t expecting – and then lowering into a frown – after you’d digested his words and came to the conclusion that you didn’t like the way they tasted.

“No, that’s—I can stand up for myself if I have to,” you said, defending both, yourself, and him, too.

“You can,” he didn’t disagree, sighing, “really well, too. No matter how much I try to stand in your way,” he paused for a minute. Then, he said, “I can’t. Stand up for myself, I mean. I think I can, but unless I’m hitting someone in the face, I—but I’m trying. Only, I’m not doing a very good job at it, clearly.”

He stopped talking even though he’d inhaled as if he had something else left to say. You watched him, waiting and slowly realizing that he had either forgotten what he was about to say, or he thought there was no point to say it.

Neither was the case. He just needed some time to gather the words.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “I need you. A lot. And I’m sorry about that, too. I’m sorry I rely on you so much.”

You looked away, shaking your head, “you don’t.”

“No, I do,” he disagreed. “I always go back to you. I need you in my life and then I push you away, I’m—”

“That’s what I mean,” you cut him off, your voice more frantic than before. “You don’t rely on me. You want to, but you’re holding yourself back. I’m here for you. I was always here for you.”

The sound of his rapid heartbeat deafened him for a moment and he wasn’t sure if he really spoke, or if he just thought about it, as he tried to ask, “even though I don’t deserve it?”

“You—well, sometimes, you really don’t,” you admitted, not sugarcoating it because the expression on his face needed you to be truthful. “But, at the same time, I couldn’t think of any other person who would need someone to rely on more than you do.”

Now the beating of his heart wasn’t just deafening – it was painful, too, each beat like a sharp stab that did not merely scratch the surface of every organ inside of him, but seemed to suck all oxygen out of his lungs, too.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, “and I know it would be better for me to leave. But I—well, I can’t. I… I think that maybe—uh, maybe I picked that fight with you at the bar just so you’d walk away from me.”

His hypothetical reasoning hurt almost as much as actually walking away from him did.

“What makes you think I can walk away from you?” you asked, sounding brave but only because you hid your face behind your coffee cup as you took a sip.

“You know you can,” he replied.

Lowering the cup, you phrased yourself differently, “what makes you think I would want to?”

His blood pulsed with a desperate need to hear you say that again – a dozen more times, at least – but Jungkook tried, for once, to remain rational.

He’d gone too far that night at the bar, but it gave him the opportunity to get the closure you didn’t get when you talked to him that night in your bedroom, moving past the Seven Year Silence as if it didn’t matter anymore. As if you didn’t need to talk about that ever again, even though the lost years lingered behind you like a forgotten tail that you kept tripping over each time you took your relationship a step further.

“I’m bad,” Jungkook spoke. “I’m bad for you.”

He’d said it – and that was it. He’d stepped on the tail. Purposefully this time, with scissors in hand. Only he didn’t yet know what he’d end up cutting – the past that he couldn’t seem to move on from, or himself, out of your life.

“You’re—you’re annoying as shit. Impossible sometimes, even,” you said, remembering how irritated he’d made you feel at times. And how little it mattered, at the end of the day. “But you’re not bad for me. You’re not bad, period.”

Jungkook exhaled and opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue with you further, but didn’t know how.

In the end, he didn’t think he deserved you because he thought he was too far gone, but, as you watched him, you knew that that was exactly the reason why he did deserve you. Because he only saw his flaws – always only flaws – and he refused to consider how much more of him there was.

“I never meant to hurt you. Ever,” he said, “not even when I said those stupid things—it’s all because I’m—fuck, it all just sounds like an excuse, doesn’t it? An excuse to make me feel better about staying with you despite being bad for—”

“It might sound like an excuse,” you interrupted gently, “but it’s the one part that isn’t. You’re not bad if you didn’t mean to be. You’re not bad if you’re trying to be better.”

He thought it over for a minute and then, looking up from his abandoned cup of coffee, he gave you one final excuse, “I love you. Too much, probably.”

Inhaling sharply because the confession took you off-guard, you replied with a slight tremble in your voice, “I—I love you, too. You know I do. But I don’t want that to be something that… something that you take for granted.”

That had never been his intention – which was why his stomach clenched uncomfortably after you said this – but he knew he’d been doing exactly that: treating you like you were a constant in his life. As if he’d never lost you before. As if he couldn’t lose you again.

“I know,” he said, “I didn’t mean to. We’ve already been—”

Reading his mind, you cut in, “thank you for not waiting for seven years to apologize this time.”

Jungkook had to give you a good look before he allowed himself to react. When he saw the small grin on your lips right before you took another sip of your coffee, he laughed.

“No, I’ve learnt that lesson,” he said, “I promise.”

“Just that one, then?” you bit, not cruelly.

Jungkook lowered his eyes, taking the blow in silence.

Putting your cup of coffee down, you exhaled and kindly reminded him, “you know, you, uh—you’d promised me you would think before you acted.”

“I promised to try,” he corrected, careful. “And I’m trying, really. I’ve kept my other promises to you, haven’t I? I never lied to you.”

You nodded, “sure.”

“I’m getting myself together like my father wanted,” he stated and, looking out the window of the café, he added, “but I’m not doing it for the company.”

Surprised and, consequently, alarmed, you almost didn’t want to ask him what he meant. You were afraid there was a reason – a person – that he was trying to grow up for. You were afraid he might say he was doing this for you.

Because that would mean that his determination was temporary. He’d try to behave, try to mature, try to grow but only as long as he got a reward for it. Never because that was his own goal.

“No?” you questioned lamely, your voice almost a squeal.

“No,” Jungkook confirmed, “I’m doing it so I wouldn’t lose my teeth before I’m fifty.”

Startled at first when you recognized your own words, you felt your face break into a surprised smile. Jungkook was glad you remembered.

“I’m doing it for myself,” he said then, “so I could be with you.”

You did not say anything else – but not because you had nothing left to say. In fact, it was the opposite – you had too much to say and you couldn’t choose where to start.

“I want to…” Jungkook broke the momentary silence between you but he too struggled to find the right way to begin his next sentence. Clearing his throat and straightening his posture, he tried differently, “I want you with me through everything, but only if that’s what you want, too. If it’s not, then—”

Cutting him off with an aggressive clear of your throat – you didn’t mean to, but he was spitting out his words so quickly, you couldn’t find the right moment to interrupt him – you slid to the edge of your seat and shook your head.

“I want to be with you,” you said and then added in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ve always wanted that. But I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what you need—do you need me to be with you quietly, or do you need me to say something? Do you need me to stay or do you need me to leave you alone? Do you—”

“Stay,” he said without hesitation. “I always need you to stay.”

Leave, his voice echoed in your mind, the night at the bar still painfully fresh in your memory.

“I need you to tell me that,” you said, feeling a lump in your throat, “when you feel like you’re not thinking clearly. When you want to do something so you’d get rid of all that you’ve bottled up inside. I need you to talk to me.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you will if you don’t mean it,” you warned, noticing the determined look on his face. “I don’t want for us to keep going back and forth, because I don’t like it when you tell me to leave, only to say the exact opposite later.”

Wincing, Jungkook was forced to remember how the night ended yet again. Not wanting it to turn into another tail that you never addressed, even though it obviously strained your relationship, he cleared his throat before explaining.

“I… I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time on me,” he said, “I—I know I keep saying I’ll try to get myself together and learn how to—well, be an adult, but no one knows how long that’ll take me to learn, least of all me.”

Jungkook expected you to hesitate but your response was immediate.

“I never asked you to promise me something that you didn’t believe in. And I know that our future isn’t clear,” you said with a sympathetic nod because he didn’t give you an excuse right now. He gave you an explanation. “I’ve always known that. And I’ve stayed so far, haven’t I? So… how about you don’t worry about how long it’ll take for you to grow up? Worry about the end result instead. Worry about making sure that, at the end of the day, neither of us is wasting our time, pretending to be bigger and better than we actually are. Worry about us becoming as big and as good as we’re pretending to be. However long that takes.”

“I feel like the only way to really make sure we’re not wasting our time,” he confessed, “would be for me to leave.”

Groaning in defeat, you said, “you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook needed a moment to understand why, but he got distracted by your exaggerated groan, so he just went with it, “yeah, I probably am.”

“You tell me that walking away is the right choice one more time,” you threatened, “I swear, I will punch you. And then you’ll really need stitches.”

He’d forgotten about his wounded eyebrow and the band-aid that he’d clumsily glued on it yesterday – after he accidentally ripped the wound open and didn’t want the blood to get in his eye.

Smiling now, he asked, “I thought violence wasn’t the answer?”

“You’re too thick to hear me otherwise.”

Jungkook laughed. You realized that, despite knowing him for twenty-three years now, you haven’t seen him laugh nearly enough times to get used to the sight.

“I need you, too. Okay?” you found yourself saying, hopeful that he’d really hear you this time. “A lot. And, believe me, I make it complicated for myself enough without your help—I overthink, I get scared, I hesitate, I waste my own time. But, see, I think it’s worth it. I think we’re worth it.”

He nodded, taking mental notes to ease his uncertainty about this. He had to know that being with you really wasn’t selfish on his part.

But even with your glittering eyes on him, he still needed more reassurance.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked. “I know you said I need to talk to you, I-I get that. Okay. But what do you need me to do so you wouldn’t look back at this, and think of every minute you’ve spent with me as a minute wasted?”

You didn’t have to think long about your answer.

“I need you to give yourself a break,” you told him. “You’re not something I have to “put up with”. You’re not bad for me. I need you to understand that I genuinely love you and it hurts me when you refuse to see it.”

Ready to apologize again, Jungkook suddenly stopped himself. An apology would have only been genuine if he knew what he was apologizing for – and he wasn’t sure that he did.

“I’ve never… no one’s loved me like that before,” he admitted, his eyes low.

You shook your head because that wasn’t true at all, and it was painful to know that he’d spent his whole life thinking so. He’d gotten so used to believing that he was only loved as much as he was useful, he couldn’t even see how some love was completely unconditional.

“Yes, they have,” you said, speaking slowly because you waited for him to look at you again, “your mom—she loves you much more than you see. Let her. Let me. Learn how to stop thinking of yourself as someone not worthy of love.”

“It’s—but I wasn’t always this way,” he said, not just stepping on the tail, but gripping it tightly, too. “Seven years ago. I’d been putting myself first every day before that. But that day—that last day—t-that was probably the day when I’d made the only smart decision in my life – I did the right thing by not putting myself first. I thought of you, and I walked away.”

You and him kept going in circles -- with Jungkook beating himself up for not being good enough, and then finally giving himself a moment to breathe only to return, yet again, to the loudest voice in his head: he thought he was selfish for being with you. He thought it’d be better to leave.

His mother had thought so, too, and she’d said the exact same thing to you. You’d disagreed then and you disagreed now.

“And how’d that “smart decision” work out in the end?”

“Well—”

“It obviously didn’t,” you answered for him, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But, you know what, you’re right about one thing – maybe the moment you overheard your mom say that she was worried about your influence on me, was exactly the moment you convinced yourself that you weren’t worth it. That you didn’t deserve to be loved unless you became exactly what you thought people wanted you to be,” you finished and Jungkook looked frozen, not daring—and not being able—to move a muscle. You felt the need to add, “so, you’re, uh—you’re right. You weren’t always this way. But this change—that wasn’t a good change. You hadn’t made a good decision. It was stupid. Walking away was stupid.”

It took him a minute to regain control of himself and when he did, he wasn’t sure what to say because, mentally, he was across the table, standing right behind you and holding you so tightly, neither of you was able to breathe.

“I was—” he said and almost choked, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he tried again, “I-I was trying to look out for you.”

“I understand your reasons,” you said, not needing him to explain it again. “Let’s say you were. But I’m not in the ninth grade anymore. You said so yourself, I can walk away. I know my limits.”

Jungkook nodded, keeping his respectful silence as he listened.

“You push them every day,” you added.

Blinking, he scrambled for a way to reply, “I—”

“And,” you weren’t done yet, “I let you know when you do. I tell you. And if you told me about what you were thinking, too, then we could work on it,” you paused, wondering if you’d said everything. Then, deciding that you hadn’t, you added, just to strengthen your point, “walking away is not the best solution. Not when it hurts more than staying.”

Jungkook feared what you would answer, but he still had to ask, “does staying with me hurt?”

Your skin prickled at the sound of his small voice.

“No,” you admitted.

“Does leaving?”

“Yes,” you said. “Always.”

Inhaling sharply, he longed to reach over the table and touch your hand, but he felt himself freeze again – as if this whole afternoon had been one dream, and he was now paralyzed: his mind awake, but his body still asleep.

“Come to my show this Friday night,” he finally asked, his breathing shallow while his words poured out of his mouth in an uncontrollable stream, “fight me and punch me if I’m wrong. Argue with me and completely shatter whatever was left of my ego after I fell in love with you. Leave me by myself if you’ve had too much. Walk away if you need some time to breathe while I learn how to be better. But always come back to me,” pausing because he needed one more moment to brace himself before saying this again, he asked, “stay with me, please.”

keep reading | masterlist

[softomi]

Overdue

prompt:  I know I’m running late – I’m sorry. Things haven’t worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

- A Postcard by Lang Leav

pairing: atsumu x reader (ft. osamu)

general taglist: @graykageyama

Being the older brother, even if by mere minutes, Atsumu always felt that he had to look out for his sibling. After all, his mother instilled into him that no matter what, he should always be there for Osamu and vice versa. On many occasions Atsumu took that to mean that he could take his stuff, as long as he returns it (which he never does), because after all, they’re brothers.

On other occasions, it meant that Atsumu had to learn to be the first to set his pride aside. He reasons its because he’s the older brother, but Osamu knows that Atsumu is just too clingy to stay mad at his brother for a long time.

But there were many times, many days, many fleeting moments where taking care of his younger twin made him think “I wish I didn’t have a brother.”. Yet, the moment something happens to Osamu, he’s quick to act as the third parent.

“Why are you so stupid!” Atsumu screams at his brother’s back, “You shouldn’t have climbed that stupid tree.”

Osamu turns on his heels, gritting his teeth, “Shut up! You did the same thing last week!”

“Yeah! Well!” Atsumu is balling his fist, their mother entering the room due to the commotion, “What if something happened to you? Huh? Mom would blame me for not watching you!” The young Atsumu begins to blubber, “What if something happened?”

Osamu learned at the young age of ten, just how much being the older brother put a toll on Atsumu. So on their eleventh birthday, Osamu decided to give Atsumu a birthday present.

“I’ll be the older brother this year!” The young boy declares, “So it’s my turn!” He points at his confused brother, “To take care of you as the older brother.” For something so seemingly simple, Atsumu was star struck with the idea.

And every year following, they took turns being the big brother.

They even drew up a contract, the big brother responsibilities contract. As the older brother, you must take care of the younger, you will take responsibility for the younger brother’s actions no matter how stupid, and above all else, the older has to sacrifice things for the younger brother. Signed by both Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu.

When they were thirteen years old, Osamu took care of Atsumu when he caught the flu. When they were sixteen years old, Atsumu used the last of his money to buy pizza for his hungry brother. When the clock struck midnight, signaling their seventeenth birthday, Atsumu asked for the money back. During their twentieth year, Atsumu took a month off school and training to help Osamu set up his business.

“You don’t have to.” Osamu tried to reason with his brother.

Atsumu lifted a box from the back of the rented van, eyes staring up at the glow of the restaurant sign, “It’s what big brothers are for.”

Osamu stops Atsumu by the shoulder, “We’re not kids anymore, who cares about the big brother crap.”

“I do!” Atsumu scowls.

Osamu realized at the later age of twenty, that Atsumu clings to the title of older brother. As he watches his brother carry the box into his new restaurant, Osamu wondered if there would ever be a point where Atsumu would stop being there for him. But he also wondered, if there would ever be a moment where he could finally grant Atsumu release from the title.

At the age of twenty-three, you waltzed into Atsumu’s life.

Atsumu likes to say that it was a meet-cute. You like to say that it was the day he tried to take your head off. You interned for the Black Jackals as a sport psychologist. On your very first day, as you walked the sidelines towards the coach; you heard a mere shout. You ducked out of reflex, just barely missing the ball as it smacked against the ground behind you. Atsumu jogged with an apologetic expression and a compliment that your reflexes were killer.

Throughout your internship, you refused to go out with Atsumu. Even though the first time you bluntly rejected him, Atsumu says that you never truly said that he didn’t have a chance.

“You said.” Atsumu liked to push your buttons sometimes, “I remember.” He’s got a silly grin on him, “The first time I asked you out, you said ‘Sorry, I don’t date athletes I work for.’” Atsumu looks at the time on his phone, he takes your badge off you, “Your internship is officially over. You no longer work for the Black Jackals. One date, it’s all I ask.”

It truly wasn’t the romantic date. He was shamelessly taking you out to eat at his brother’s restaurant. You were no stranger to his twin but when you two sat in the booth, Osamu coming over to personally take your orders; Atsumu wasted little time in announcing, “Order anything you want, the most expensive item even. My big brother is paying.”

“I thought you were the older brother Atsumu?” You vaguely recall Atsumu mentioning Osamu as the younger twin.

Osamu rests a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, his grip causing Atsumu to yelp, “Yeah, we like to do this thing where every year we switch off being the older sibling. I just can’t wait! For our twenty-fourth birthday. I’ve been eyeing a new set a knives that’ll match the new dish machine I’m planning on getting next year.”

“Hey hey, we promised a limit!” Atsumu shouts.

That was the first date of many and loving Atsumu came easily. He kissed your fingers with eagerness, held you like you were the most important person in the world, and gave you all of his undivided attention. Atsumu followed you like a map leading to hidden treasure that was your lips.

You were perhaps everything he could have ever wanted, everything he ever wished for. For the first few months of the relationship, you wondered why previous girlfriends of his would ever let him go. He reasons that they all said he loved many things, but they were just simply not one of them.

Atsumu knew that when he loved something, he was always there. He attends every volleyball practice, he attends the family Sunday dinners, and he attends your college graduation.

But just like Atsumu had mentioned, he loved many things.

“Hey. Where are you?” You were shivering, hands wrapping around your arms.

“Shit.” Atsumu speaks, “I’m so sorry babe, I was helping Samu pack his things. He’s moving apartments and you know how he is, he does things last minute so I’m making sure he’s starting early.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, “But did it have to be today? This was really important to me.”

“It’s just a gathering. Samu really needed my help.” Atsumu clears his throat, “But if you want, I can head over there right now.”

“It’s fine.” You speak, “Just, next time, be here.”

“Of course!”

Osamu looks up at his brother, “Were you supposed to be somewhere else?”

Atsumu grabs some of the empty boxes, “Yeah, y/n was getting together with some of her friends. Something about introducing me to them I think.” Atsumu’s foot hits some of the book he’s stacked on the floor, “Dammit Samu, how many cookbooks do you need? You’re such a hoarder.”

“You should have gone.” Osamu watches him stack the books neatly into a box.

“Then no one would be here to help you.” Atsumu clicks his tongue, “Mom and dad are out of town, the guys are all busy, even your girlfriend isn’t over here helping; good pick there Samu.”

A book smacks Atsumu on the head, “You’re so stupid!” Osamu throws another book at him, “You ruin my life.”

Atsumu grins, sticking a tongue out to his brother, “You ruin my life too.”

If volleyball was his first priority, Osamu would be his first, first, priority and you concluded, you must fall behind both. That night was the first of many, and loving Atsumu became harder.

“Just go!” You threw your hands to your side.

Atsumu was hesitant, a jacket in his hand, “Look, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He takes a step to you. You turn your head away when he leans in for a kiss, instead, he presses a slow peck onto your cheek, “Samu just really needs me right now.”

“Yep.” You state bitterly.

“I’m sorry. Happy birthday.”

It’s the last thing he says before he runs out the door. Instead of eating the cake with you that night, he spends it taking a drunk Osamu home, patting his brother’s back as he vomits into the toilet bowl. Even though they were twenty-seven, Atsumu took responsibility to make sure his brother was okay.

“I think we should break up.”

Atsumu thought you were joking, “Hahaha, very funny babe. You have my full and undivided attention.”

“I’m serious.” Your expression didn’t falter.

The cheery sound of the restaurant didn’t match the way Atsumu’s world was crumbling. He was still in disbelief, “What?” He tried to put up a smile, “Stop joking.”

The brief tune of happy birthday is played in the background, the workers clapping along as they sing.

“Atsumu, I just feel like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I entered this relationship.” You were trying to keep him calm, you’ve known him for five years, you’ve loved him for five years; just as hard as he loved, it was hard to let go.

You gathered your things. Atsumu slammed a hand onto the table, “Stop!”

The restaurant quietens, a spotlight on you two as you sit back down, “Atsumu.”

His phone rings. You raise a brow, his brother’s contact showing up. Atsumu picks up the phone, “What?” Atsumu frowns, “Now?” He hangs up the phone, “I have to go.”

You rub the back of your neck, “Of course.”

You two walk out of the restaurant together but you leave alone.

“Samu?” Atsumu walks into his brother’s restaurant, “Everything good?”

“We’re getting married!” The two in front of him wave their hands in his face. It was almost taunting, “I proposed this morning.” Osamu can’t help but stare into his lover’s eyes, “I wanted you to know first before we tell mom on Sunday.” When Atsumu doesn’t answer, Osamu checks the way his brother’s fists are balled, lips in a scowl. Osamu knew the telltale signs, like they were ten years old again, Atsumu was about to break, “Tsumu.”

“Couldn’t this have waited!” Atsumu, quick to anger but quicker to tears, “Couldn’t you just have told me on the phone.”

“I thought you’d be excited to be the first one to know.”

Atsumu uses his hands to push away stray tears, “I have to go.”

At twenty-eight, Atsumu feels as though the weight of the world was on his back. The silence of the apartment was like a gunshot wound and you packing your things shot another bullet into him.

“Let’s talk.” He’s refusing to let you leave.

You set the suitcase onto the ground, “Atsumu.”

“Don’t call me that.” He wants to sound strong, because he has to be strong, “You never call me that.” But he can’t sound strong when it feels like he’s losing everything he’s ever wanted.

“Atsumu.”

The more you said his name, the more it hurt, “I can fix it, whatever is wrong, I can make it better. I can be there more, I’ll stop being late, I’ll clean the whole place for the rest of our lives.”

“Let me ask you something.” He’s hopeful at your words, “If we got married, if we had kids; would Osamu still be your priority?” Your words felt like a blow, “Because I’m okay right now, as your girlfriend, I am okay. I understand that he’s your brother and you absolutely love him to death. You run to him when he needs you and he runs to you. But when I look to our future, why do I still see you running to your brother.”

“We don’t need to worry about that.” He takes your hand into his, “We just have to worry about right now.”

“But even right now, it’s always later.” Palm rested onto his cheek, “I’m sorry Atsumu.”

He holds you by the wrist, “Give me one chance. One more time to prove to you. It’s all I ask.”

Maybe it was the way he was so sincere, just like the day you fell in love with him, “Okay.” His shoulders are lifted when you whisper, “Next month on the 20th, I leave for Tokyo. 4pm. Send me off.”

“That’s it?”

You nod, “That’s it.”

He marked it on his calendar, set reminders leading up to the day and for the days in between, he was there. He was at every lunch, always home early, wrapping you in his arms to remind you of the bliss. But the closer the day got, the more anxious you felt. The more you wondered if he would remember that the 20th was a Sunday.

“I’ll meet you out front.” He kissed your lips, “I promise I’ll be here to send you off.”

You kept your arms wrapped around his neck, “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Atsumu was on edge the entire day. He checked his phone constantly; it didn’t help that his phone went off every hour to remind him. Nothing, he was thinking nothing would ruin the day.

“What’s up Samu?”

“Hey, so did you want to take the same car to mom and dad’s?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday.” Osamu spoke, checking the calendar just in case, “Yeah, it’s Sunday. So you wanna take the same car or what.”

Atsumu looked at the time, four hours until you were to leave, “I don’t think I can make it this Sunday Samu.”

“Why not?”

“There’s something important I need to do today.”

“Okay, but you know you’ll have to make it up to mom.” Osamu sighs, “Her precious boy missing will be like the end of the world to her.”

Atsumu laughs, “Yeah yeah yeah. I’ll see you guys next Sunday.”

At two hours left, Atsumu was prepared to arrive earlier. A bouquet of flowers in his passenger seat as he drove down the highway, ready to greet you, ready to keep you in his life. Then his phone rang.

“Samu, seriously, I’m not coming.”

“Atsumu.” This wasn’t the voice of his brother, it was his fiancée, “We won’t be able to make it to the dinner either, are you sure you can’t go?”

“It’s fine babe, it’s not that serious!” Osamu’s voice heard lowly in the background.

“Not that serious? You’re in a hospital bed.”

“I just bumped my head.” Osamu yells.

“You have a concussion!” She shrieks back at him. Her tone lowered when she turns back to the phone, “Atsumu, you still there? Samu said you had something important to do today and it’s totally understandable if you can’t go to the dinner; but maybe you could stop by the hospital; they want to keep him over night, I could go to the dinner and explain to your parents.”

An hour and thirty minutes until you leave.

Osamu’s fiancée ran out the door the moment he stepped in. Atsumu scowled at his brother, “What stupid thing did you do this time.”

Osamu is happily eating a jelly cup, “Climbed a tree.”

“Of course, what if something happened Samu?” Atsumu lightly pushed Osamu’s head, “You’re so stupid.”

“So,” Osamu tosses the empty cup into the trash, “What’s so important today that you are skipping dinner?”

Atsumu looks at the time, “Y/n is leaving for Tokyo, she’s got some work to do there for a few days.”

Osamu notices the way his brother looks pressed for time, “So romantic, you’re gonna send her off.”

“You’re not gonna die are you?” Atsumu’s leg is bouncing.

“No.”

“This is why I said you gotta be careful Samu.” Atsumu’s phone goes off, he stops the alarm.

“Look, if you need to leave then go.”

Atsumu crosses his arms, “I can’t always be there for you!” His voice was starting to get louder, “I can’t always be responsible for taking care of you!”

“Okay!” Osamu’s growled, “You didn’t have to come here!”

“If I didn’t then who else would be here!” Atsumu began to weep, his lips in a scowl, “I’m older. I’m the older brother, through and through, if I wasn’t there for you, who knows what would have happened.”

“You act like you’re ten years older than me!” Osamu barks, “You’re only 4 minutes older! Stop treating me like I’m a burden! You’re the older brother, so what!” Osamu falls back onto the bed.

Atsumu’s phone goes off again. An hour left.

Osamu looks at the anxiousness in his brother, “Just go.” Osamu waves a finger, “Whatever it is that’s going on between you two, it’s more important than me. Just go.”

Atsumu doesn’t waver, “But.”

“You wanna sacrifice for me, get out of here.” Osamu catches the way his brother’s lips twitch to a smile.

“I’ll bring you back food, whatever you want, just text me.”

Atsumu is running out the door. Forty-five minutes left when he enters his car. He curses when he hits a red light. Fingers finding your contact, your voicemail plays in his ear.

“I’m on my way!” He’s shouting, heart beating out of his chest, “Please, believe me, I’m on my way. I’ll be a little late.” He’s heavy breathing, “but I’m coming.”

Fifteen minutes left but he’s still twenty-five minutes away. You listened to his voicemail, waiting patiently on the sofa. You have to start getting ready to go. You wish the elevators would move slowly, maybe get jammed for a second. Even as the taxi pulls up, you linger outside of the car door.

“I’m sorry, could we just wait a few more minutes.” You say to the driver.

Five minutes passed.

“Do you still want to wait?” The driver asks.

A sigh leaves your, “No.” You were already behind schedule, “Let’s go.”

You stare at your phone screen, hoping for a message from him. The sudden jolt of the car makes your head collide with the passenger seat. Your hand rubbing the throbbing part of your head as you hear the driver yell about a lunatic.

“I’m here!” Atsumu ignores the driver, banging on your window, “See, I’m here.” He’s pulling the locked handle of your door, frustrated that it wouldn’t open.

When you unlock it, he swings it wide open. Out of breath, he’s pulling you by the back of your neck; the kiss making your head spin. Before you can even register it, the sunlight bounces off his fingers; a gold band sitting between his index finger and thumb.

“And I will always be here.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw is dropping, “What are you doing.” He’s getting on his knee, your breath caught in your throat, “Don’t.”

“Will you marry me?”

Your palms are pressed together, your fingers pressed to your lips. There’s a long pause and you take his hands into yours, “No.” The way his smile falters makes your heart clench, “Not like this.”

“What do you mean? This is what you wanted right?” He holds the ring out to you.

You run a hand through your hair, “I only wanted you here and you did that. You’re here.” You take the ring, settling it against his palm, “That’s all I ever wanted, that’s all I asked.” You pull him by the cheeks, squishing his face with a smile on yours, “You proved to me that you can be here; I mean you’re late but we can work on that.” You peck his lips quickly, “We can talk about marriage another time, but I wasn’t asking you to propose to me. It’s a really cute but very extreme gesture.”

His eyes are brimming with tears, “I thought I’d lose you forever.” Atsumu was truly soft hearted.

Your phone goes off, the alarm breaking the air between you two, “Shoot.” Your hands fall from his cheeks, “I’m late. I don’t think I’ll make it to the train.”

“I’ll drive you.” Atsumu perks up, “Right here, right now.”

“You’re kidding.” You laugh but the thin smile on his face says otherwise, “You’re literally so busy. You have volleyball practice tomorrow, it’s Sunday you’re parents are expecting you for dinner, and what if something happens to Osamu while you’re gone.”

“Practice doesn’t start until nine in the morning, I can make it back if I don’t sleep; my parents aren’t expecting me today, and Samu is in the hospital with a concussion plus he has his future wife. He doesn’t need me anymore.” Atsumu rests a smirk on his lips, “Give me something harder.”

“Wait, Osamu is in the hospital?”

Atsumu blinks, “Yeah, that’s why I was late. Oh yeah, I borrowed this from Samu too.” The ring twirls on his finger.

“You were going to propose to me with your brother’s ring.”

“Hey!” Your gaze shoots behind your shoulder, the cab driver pressing his horn, “Am I taking you or not?”

Atsumu is apologizing to the driver, grabbing your bags from the back of the car, he still pays a hefty tip to the driver for the inconvenience. As the driver leaves, Atsumu lifts your bags with one hand, the other extending out to you.

“Shall we go on a road trip.”

You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his, “But first, we should stop by the hospital; you need to return the ring.”

“You’re right.” He nods, “It’s too ugly for you. You need something big, something grand. I’m thinking diamonds.”

You cackle while settling yourself into the passenger seat. Two hours into the drive, Atsumu peeks at your sleeping figure. His thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. He presses a kiss your fingers. He knew all too well that diamonds would never suit your taste. You were about simplicity, less was more, actions louder than words. How he was going to propose, what ever ring he was going to choose, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you; that you were with him and that with one phone call, he’d be running to you.

[cabensonsgirly]

👼Home Is Wherever I'm With You (Alice Macray)[NSFW]👼

Alice Macray x Fem!reader

👼Part 2 of SP getting reader pregnant👼

👼Wordcount: 2714👼

👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼

👼Content: Fluff, some angst, homophobia, Phyllis and Alice's husband are trash garbage, some smut, strap-on, wlw magic, pregnancy, Alice is an angel, mentions of religion.👼

👼There was one person who never left your side though, even if it meant they were put in the firing path of Phyllis, and that was Alice. She, in all her sweet innocence, didn’t understand why it was such a big deal that you happened to like women, surely if God didn’t want the “lovely lgbts” then he wouldn’t have created them. Alice was religious, went to church on Sundays, said grace before eating, prayed before bed, but she wasn’t the type to go around telling people that they were sinning or judge them because they weren’t religious, if anything, she just wanted people to be happy.👼

It had been a number of years since you had moved to a slightly more progressive part of town, ever since Phyllis found out that you had – as she put it – “homosexual inclinations” it was made very clearly that you were no longer welcome in that area. And because she ruled with an iron-fist, no one dared to speak out against her, even if they had said to you in private that you were still the same wonderful person they had always known.

There was one person who never left your side though, even if it meant they were put in the firing path of Phyllis, and that was Alice. She, in all her sweet innocence, didn’t understand why it was such a big deal that you happened to like women, surely if God didn’t want the “lovely lgbts” then he wouldn’t have created them. Alice was religious, went to church on Sundays, said grace before eating, prayed before bed, but she wasn’t the type to go around telling people that they were sinning or judge them because they weren’t religious, if anything, she just wanted people to be happy.

It had hurt when you moved because you had grown close with Alice and her kids, even if her husband harboured ill feelings towards you because you were a “dyke” and “we can’t let our children around that dyke, Alice” but she managed to calm him down enough so that you could still come around. But you hadn’t seen Alice and the kids much since moving, and you missed them something wicked. Yes you had spoken to them, mainly Alice, on the phone but it was brief and happened very rarely. You missed her. You missed them.

The days where she called you had you wanting them to last forever, you could wander around your home just listening to her talk about how things were going, how much she enjoyed her job, how the kids were doing in school. You found yourself feeling like a high schooler talking to their crush after school on the phone, laying down on your bed with the dumbest grin on your face. However, that grin changed to a shocked expression when you let slip how you feel about her. “Alice, fuck – sorry I know you don’t like swearing but… Alice, I love you so much and I miss you, I miss being around you and being with the kids. It’s been miserable not being able to see you, but-“ you hear a sharp intake of breath “I- I’m sorry, I have to go.” Before the line goes dead.

Seven months, twelve days, thirteen hours, and fifteen minutes it had been since that call and you hadn’t heard from her. You weren’t usually the type to count these things, even when you had important events to look forward to, you wouldn’t count down the days. You guess it was some form of way to torture yourself, counting the length of time since you fucked up one of the few good things you still had in life. She was radiant like an angel, put the beauty of the moon to shame, and you- you were like a horseman of the apocalypse, ruining everything you touched. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, you haven’t ruined everything you touch but you certainly have relationship wise.

You had a few spare rooms in your house, you’d hoped that one day you would be able to have your own family, a bedroom for each kid: two bedrooms and one room as the nursery. No, that was a lie, you had dreamed about having Alice live with you - be with you – the boys would have their own rooms to decorate how they please (under the watchful eye of Alice) and… a nursery so you and Alice could have a child together, so that the boys would have a little sister (hopefully) to protect from the big kids.

To be honest, you had already started making renovations on the house so that it would be better suited for a family like that anyway, the bedrooms had a fresh coat of paint, nothing that was specifically catered to boys or girls – you wanted the kids to pick the colour themselves if they wanted a change – and made sure the windows had latches to prevent them from opening too far so that no one could fall out of them.

You were most proud of the kitchen though; it was your pride and joy of the entire property. That’s where you currently find yourself, applying the final sealing coat on the marble countertop so that no liquid seeps into the pores of the material. You had music playing through the radio, just loud enough to drown out the sound of the odd car that drove by. You were humming along to this when you heard the doorbell ring, this surprised you because not many people stopped round to your place, and if they did they would usually knock. You put the paintbrush in the sink and put the lid back onto the tin of sealant before you made your way over to the door. You didn’t bother to check your appearance or anything because you thought it was probably some girl scouts or a random, so in all your messy renovation glory you swung the door open to greet whoever was on the other side.

“Hi there, what can I-“ Your voice catches in your throat and colour rushes to your cheeks as you lay eyes on the woman before you. Now you were wishing you had at least wiped the sweat from your face and the grime from your hands.

“Hi… I- I know we- I know I haven’t spoken to you since…well…” She trails off quietly, looking down. You bite your bottom lip slightly and shake your head, willing the tears to remain unshed “It’s- It’s fine Alice, really. It’s in the past… You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s fine.” The older woman shakes her head and looks at you again, her eyes glistening slightly “I want to. Can- can I come in, please?”

You step back and hold the door open so she can make her way inside, closing and locking the door behind her before leading her to the lounge. “I- I wanted to apologise for hanging up the way I did…and for leaving your life without saying anything.” She takes a seat in an arm chair, hands immediately starting to fiddle with the cushion “I just- I didn’t- I don’t”

“You don’t feel the same way. I- I know. It’s okay. I- I got over most of the hurt-“

“No- no that’s not what I meant. I didn’t understand why you felt that way and- and I didn’t understand why I- why I” she shakes her head, her grip on the cushion tightening before she blurts out “why I felt something I hadn’t felt since the joy I felt when I had my boys.” She lets out a sob and buries her face in her hands as she starts crying.

You rush over to her and wrap your arms around her gently, rubbing her back as you hush her gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Shhh… It’s okay, Alice” She moves so she can hug you tight, burying her face in your shirt as she continues crying. “hey, hey it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Shhh.. It’s okay, Alice.” You continue rubbing her back, only slowing down more as her breathing starts to return to normal. “There we go, there we go. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t pull back but you hear her mumble out “my- my husband- ex… he- he found me crying after the call and he asked why. I- I told him that it- it was because I think I- I was in…love with someone else. A- A woman… And- and he” she lets out a sob before continuing “he told me how- how disgusting I- I am. That- that I was going to- to ruin my- my kids. We- He filed for divorce a few weeks later… It’s- it’s supposed to be split custody but- but I guess the boys like me more so- so they stay with me a majority of the time. They asked why I was so sad, why I didn’t bake apple pie as much anymore, why I- why I never called you. I didn’t answer them for so long, just- just said it was some- some trial that God was putting me through. But… a few days ago they asked again, and- and the looks in their eyes…” she lets out a bit of a laugh “they looked like they wouldn’t judge me no matter what I said, they- they really are my boys. So…I told them.”

Your breath catches and you still your movements before continuing, encouraging Alice to continue. “I told them everything. Well- well excluding what their father said about- about me. I just- I said that their father didn’t- didn’t approve of- of who I had…fallen in love with. They- they were confused and asked how it was possible for someone to- to fall in love when already married. I said sometimes- sometimes it happens and that it- it doesn’t mean I never loved their father, but I had discovered that- that maybe I…liked women. A woman. Gosh… You should’ve seen the looks on their face, it was like I’d given them their birthday presents early. I hadn’t even told them who but… they’re so wonderful.”

She pulls back and wipes her eyes on her sleeve, giving you a small smile “I told them that the woman I was- I am in love with is you. That- that I hadn’t known what to do so that’s why I was sad for so long because I just… Anyway… They said I was silly and should go tell you everything because they miss you and want to see me happy again.”

You blush deeply and look away, a shy smile settling on your lips before Alice gently turns your head to face her. “I- I love you, yn.” She leans in and tentatively brushes her lips against yours before kissing you, you gasp softly in shock before melting into the kiss.

One year, three months, two weeks, three days, and nine hours. That’s how long Alice and her boys – your boys – have been living with you for. After she kissed you that day, she asked if she could make love to you but emphasised that you would have to guide her because she’d never been with another woman. Alice was a quick learner and once she had a solid understanding of what you enjoyed…she made it very clear that she was the one in charge in the bedroom. This surprised you but you weren’t going to complain, if the love of your life wanted to be called “Miss” in the bedroom and boss you around, you bet your fucking ass you’re going to do just that. Although she did burst into tears after you went down on her because she didn’t know something like that was supposed to feel that good.

She asked you why there was an empty room one day while the boys were at tutoring, and you told her it was because you hoped to have a baby one day… Hopefully with her. She was shocked and had blushed profusely but the smile on her face reassured you she wasn’t put off by the idea. You said you knew it wouldn’t actually be possible for her to get you pregnant but you saw a fierce determination in her eyes that made you feel like she would find a way. Alice didn’t bring it up again for quite some time, and you didn’t press about it either, just put it down to her having forgotten or maybe not actually being into the idea.

One evening while the boys were at their fathers Alice said she had something to show you, said it was really important. When you walked into the bedroom you nearly choked on your bottled water, Alice was standing there, looking down as she adjusted - what appeared to be a strap-on – to fit her comfortably. She still had her simple white bra on but to you she still looked sexy, with or without clothing you were attracted to her; the look of utter concentration on her face made you giggle though, drawing her attention to you, a blush settling on her face as she smiles.

“I- Hi. I- So I did some… I did things to try and- and figure out if there was a way I could get you…pregnant… And- well, I know you don’t always come to church but- No I didn’t ask around church, silly. Every time I prayed, I asked for there to be a time where it would be possible for me to get you pregnant, so- so I could have a baby with the woman I love. And- and so it turns out that tonight is that night. I saw a sign, and I know that sounds cra-“ You cut her off with a deep and slow kiss, hands cupping her cheeks gently before you pull back “Alice, baby, nothing you say sounds crazy to me.”

She blushes more and flusters a bit before continuing “I saw a sign, well- well what I hope was one and knew that it would be possible tonight. That- that it would be possible for me to- to” she tears up, some tears spilling onto her cheeks which you wipe away gently “to get you pregnant so we can have our baby.” You sniffle a little, having teared up at her words “Alice… You’re so- you’re so wonderful. Please take me to bed, make- make love to me.”

Alice takes your hand in hers gently and leads you to your shared bed where she lays you down gently on it before crawling on top of you, her hand stroking your cheek gently. “I love you so much, yn.”

“I love you too, Alice.”

You looked up at the woman you loved, her hand ghosting gently between your legs and roaming over your body before she starts to remove your clothing, kissing your skin as each item is removed. She trails kisses up your thighs before moving up to kiss you, her lips were still sweet from the dessert she had made, her tongue slips between her lips and runs against your bottom lip before you part them to brush your tongue over hers, you both moaning at the feeling. A gasp falls from your lips when you feel her touch your slit, fingers rubbing your clit lightly before dipping the tips of two into your pussy.

“You make the most beautiful noises, my love.”

There had never been a moment before now where you had felt so much love when having sex with someone. It wasn’t only because your girlfriend had managed to find a way to try having a baby with you – having her baby, it was because there wasn't a single moment the entire night where the love in her eyes disappeared.

You wouldn’t know if Alice’s prayers had been heard until you took a pregnancy tests a few days later, but there was a feeling in your bones that made you think that things would work out – that you would have her baby. On the off chance, or more likely chance, that you didn’t get pregnant, that would be okay too. Your sweet Alice would probably try her best to find another way though, she was determined like that.

You and Alice both shared a nice bubble bath after your lovemaking, just enjoying being in each other’s arms. “Alice baby, I love you so much. Thank you for tonight. Thank you for coming back to me. Just- just thank you.” She hums softly in response, her eyes drifting closed “I love you too, Yn. I’d always find my way back to you anyway.” You press a kiss to her head, enjoying the feeling of being content and happy with a woman you love, and with the chance of being pregnant with her child.

[snickerl]

Of Miracle Births and Other Wonders

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

The lady behind the reception desk sends Mulder and the two kids up to the fourth floor of the hospital. They find another reception area with another helpful nurse. She tells them a doctor will be with them very soon to give them an update on Scully's condition. The few minutes they have to wait tears every nerve in Mulder's body, putting his patience to a hard test. Then, to his great relief, a good-looking woman in her late thirties approaches them. "Hello Mr. Scully, my name is Dr. Hanson, I am taking care of your wife," she says, holding her hand out to shake his.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Doctor, but my name is Mulder. These are our children, Emily and William," Mulder says, nudging them both in front of him. "How is Scully? I mean, my wife? How is she?"

"Hello everybody," the doctor says good-naturedly. "Your wife is perfectly fine, Mr. Mulder. She is doing great with her breathing technique. Her cervix is at 5 centimeters, so we still have some way to go. The baby is in good shape, she is in good shape, so we believe we will have a smooth delivery in a couple of hours. Are you all coming to the delivery room?"

William is aghast, his eyes saucer-wide. "What? Ew, no way! Gross!" He shakes his head vehemently. "Never ever!"

Mulder looks at his daughter. "Em?"

Emily thinks for a moment but quickly decides against it. The thought of seeing her mother in pain, even if it was for a good cause, makes her uncomfortable. "I'd rather stay with Will. We don't want him sitting here all by himself," she says.

"I don't need a sitter," William snaps, "I'm not a baby."

"But you definitely behave like one," Emily fires back. "Now shut up and be nice so dad can look after mom and doesn't have to worry about us at each other's throats out here."

"Alright," Doctor Hanson says. "The waiting area is over there. There are magazines and a vending machine. If you need anything, ask the nurse at reception. Follow me, Mr. Scully...I mean Mr. Mulder, sorry...your wife will be happy to see you." She leads the way to the delivery room. Mulder presses a kiss on Emily's hair and waves at William who has already plummeted into a chair. "Okay, kids. See you later then," he says and hurries to follow the doctor.

"Say hello to mom from us," Emily shouts after him, "and good luck!" She looks after her father who disappears through a swinging door marked Deliveries, then trots toward the waiting area to join her brother. She places herself in a chair next to him, looks around, gets up again to leaf through a pile of magazines on one of the tables, finds nothing of interest, goes back to her chair, and lets herself fall onto it with a sigh.

"You could've gone with dad, if you wanted," William tells her without looking up from his phone.

"Nah, I'm good."

Both sit in silence for a while. William is totally absorbed in a game on his smartphone, Emily pulls a history book and some pencils out of her backpack and starts reading, writing notes on the pages in different colors here and there. William shakes his head when he sees her doing that. "That's so old school, sis."

"Well, it's good for me. This way, the information stays longer in my brain than when I read it on a screen. You may call it old school, bro, I call it efficient mnemonics."

"Whatever," he sighs, his eyes back on the screen.

"Hey, what you said in the car, that mom doesn't care about us anymore, what did you mean by that?"

"I meant what I said, whatever the baby needs comes first, and we will play second fiddle. Or maybe even third. But I don't care. If things get unbearable, I will ask to go to boarding school. They can play house with the new baby then and I won't be there to bother anyone with my presence."

"You're being ridiculous, Will. Mom and dad will never let you go to boarding school, and I can't believe it will be anything like you just said."

William only shrugs. The narrative in his head has solidified like concrete, and he can't imagine a worse place to be right now. The best he can do is immerse himself in this online game and forget about what is happening at the other side of the door his father vanished through. After some hours of playing (thank God he brought his charger) and a short nap with his head leaned back against the wall, his stomach grumbles. "Are you also hungry, Em?"

"Well, I could have a snack. How long have we been waiting?"

"We came here at 10:45 am, now it's almost 6," William tells her, looking at the big clock on the wall of the waiting area.

"Wow, seven hours already. Poor mom. I wonder why dad hasn't given us an update."

"Do you think something is going wrong and he doesn't want to tell us?" William says, his voice trembling a bit.

"I don't think so."

"It's not so unlikely at mom's age."

"And how do you know?"

"I read stuff."

"You read stuff. Where?" Emily has problems picturing her brother behind a pregnancy textbook.

"On the internet, where else? If you google 'late motherhood' you get thousands of hits. And they all tell you women should have babies in their twenties and thirties, not their fifties. There is a reason for that. Nature doesn't want you to have a baby when you're old."

"Mom's not old."

"For having babies she is. She should be a grandmother rather than giving birth."

"Well, if she was a grandmother, I would already have a baby," Emily points out pensively, then adds a determined, "no thanks!"

"I just can't believe they let this happen."

"Let what happen?"

"Getting mom pregnant. Why? How?"

"Well, I can tell you how..."

"Ew, don't!" William imitates a gagging sound. "But why?"

"I guess it just happened."

"There are ways to prevent getting pregnant, I hope you are aware of that, unlike our parents apparently. I don't want to be an uncle on top of this any time soon. How could they have been so dumb? I don't get it. For all the times mom lectured us about condoms and safe sex, she didn't follow her own words." He shakes his head showing his disapproval and lack of understanding quite clearly. "I will never have sex, that's for sure."

Emily gives a slight chuckle. At fourteen, her brother most certainly doesn't have any idea of the joy of it. When he gets older and starts fancying girls, he might rethink his attitude, but something else is hitting her the longer their conversation goes. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Well, what else was I to do? It has been the main topic in our house for the longest time. I guess, sometimes they even forgot I was still living there."

"Bullshit."

William is done explaining his thoughts. His sister obviously isn't getting the point either, just like his parents. "Now are we getting something to eat, or what?"

"You hangry?" Emily asks with a smirk and he is glad she has taken the bait and they changed the topic.

"After seven hours of wasting my time in this stuffy waiting room, I think I am allowed to have a bite to eat. Do you have change for the machine?" The boy is inwardly fuming at his father for once again neglecting him by not giving him money for food.

Big sister overtakes Em again, "I am definitely getting us something more nutritious. There has to be a cafeteria somewhere with sandwiches and a drink with less sugar than what I see in that machine." The idea of having to deal with a cranky brother on a sugar-high isn't very appealing. She gets up from the chair, her mind set on improving her brother's mood with a tasty snack. Plus, the hunt for food will give her something to do instead of mulling over what her mother is enduring at this very moment in the delivery room. "Text me, if you hear something," she tells her brother before she leaves him alone.

He tries to distract himself with the game again, but his thoughts keep going back to six months ago when his world turned upside down. The situation was surreal. His parents had prepared one of their usual Sunday family dinners, Emily had come to join, and with the dessert they served them the news of the pregnancy. His sister's piercing shriek of surprised joy hurt his eardrums and he almost choked on the pie he had in his mouth. His mother annoyed him with science book citations about the finer points of late motherhood and male ongoing virility that made him want to cover his ears entirely and yell 'too much information' at her. The worst was his dad though. The puppy eyes with which he was looking at his mom and the silly petting of her still flat stomach caused a severe tickling in William's throat. To this very day, he hadn't gotten past the shock. He shakes his head to make the unpleasant memories disappear.

And then, of course, what had to happen happens: Emily is gone for about fifteen minutes when Mulder appears in the waiting area with an ear-to-ear smile on his face. "Waiting time is over, the baby's here! It's a girl! A healthy, beautiful little girl," he announces, his voice full of pride and also relief. He looks around, surprised to find William alone. "Where is your sister?"

"Getting us a snack. Is mom alright?"

"She is. She did great. I am so amazed by that woman." Mulder's whole face lights up. "She sent me to get you guys. When will Em be back?"

"I don't know. She's been gone for about 20 minutes now, it shouldn't take her much longer. I mean only if she hasn't met a cute guy she needed to get into a conversation with." William rolls his eyes so hard he sees the back of his head, his voice high-pitched on 'cute guy'.

Mulder is still so high on adrenaline that he doesn't chime in, although he too has been annoyed more than once by his daughter's tardiness, and the reason has often enough been a 'cute guy'. "Okay, gotta go back to Scully, I don't want to leave her and the baby alone for too long," he says. He points toward a long gray hallway with several doors on each side. "We're in room 302 over there on the right. As soon as Em gets back, come and join us. Mom is waiting for you guys."

"But dad," William laments in vain, his father is already around the corner. "Great," he mumbles to himself. First, they drag him out here and make him wait endless hours in an uncomfortable chair only to be here when the baby is born, and now that it is born, they don't have a problem with him standing around for God knows how long until his tardy sister is back. Typical. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, types in 'get here asap', his fingers flying over the screen, and slams the send button.

Impatience gets the better of him soon. There is no more sitting in the chair and playing online games for him now, he is pacing the waiting area, glad that nobody else is there to see him in this state. If Emily isn't back soon, he'll explode, he thinks, but it takes another 20 minutes until he sees her leisurely strolling down the hallway. He sighs in relief when she finally stands in front of him, a cardboard tray in one hand filled with two drinks and something to eat he can't quite figure out, and some flowers wrapped in paper in the other. "It's about time!" he lets her know.

"Sorry," Emily says quite relaxed, "I was just standing in line to pay for the food when I got your text. This hospital complex is huge and a bit confusing to be honest. I'm not sure I took the shortest way on my way back. Healthy muffins, iced tea, and something for your sweet tooth," she says with a grin, holding the tray out to William. "What happened?"

"What happened? What do you think happened? The baby's here, of course, and mom wants to see us!"

Emily gives a girly shriek that hurts William's ears once again. "Yay! Great! You could've been a bit more specific in your text rather than simply summoning me back here. I thought you were just craving the food."

"Yeah, well, there was food right in front of our noses." William points to the vending machine, unable to keep his outstretched index finger steady. "But you had to go on a hunting trip for some salad leaves and made me stand around here alone wondering."

"Where are they?"

"In room 302. They are waiting for us. It's this way." William nods in the direction Mulder showed him.

"Okay, let's go then."

Side by side, Emily and William take long strides toward the room they were told. "Boy or girl?" Emily asks on the way.

"Girl."

"Yay again! Ah, that's wonderful. I have a little sister," she chants.

William isn't sharing an ounce of his sister's enthusiasm. If he had been given a choice, he would have passed on this experience as a whole, but now that they are standing in front of room 302, by opening that door what he has tried to deny will become real. If only his mom is alright, he will accept all that comes with it: sleepless nights because of the baby crying, smelly diapers, more Thai takeout, and an annoying younger sister on top of an annoying older one. If only his mom is alright. Emily knocks and he hears his mother's voice say "Come in!" It sounds weak, he thinks, and his heartbeat accelerates. When he follows his sister into the room, he braces himself for the worst.

[mutants-and-soldiers]

The Proposition (Ch. 1)

summary || You've been thinking about Steve's proposal a lot. Part of you wants to decline but a bigger part of you wants what he's offering.

pairing || alpha!Steve x omega!Reader (Past alpha!Bucky x omega!Reader)

word count || 3,706

warnings || A/B/O, eventual smut, therapy talks, kink negotiation, lots of dialogue — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes || I can't get this story out of my head, really! First chapter is all about setting up the smut so I apologize but I believe in talking things out. Thank you to everyone who commented on the first part of the series! I'm going to try and be better about answering comments from here on out! Keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you guys so much!

You can also read it on Ao3. Do not copy, translate, rewrite or repost any of my work, even if you credit me. I always welcome comments and reblogs!

Sequel to Helping Hands: One Two Three Four Five

Divider courtesy of the talented @firefly-graphics

After so many years of going to see Dr. Beta, you were used to the routine when you stepped through the doors. It was late in their work day so you were the only person in the office other than Valarie, the receptionist, who gave you a kind smile. “Good afternoon,” she said, typing something onto her computer. “Dr. Beta’s just about ready.”

“Thanks, Valarie,” you say, setting your bag down to take off your suit.

It had been weird the first time Dr. Beta had demanded you not wear the suit during your sessions. You protested but in the end, she won out. There were a lot of reasons for choosing a female-only office but this was the biggest one. They accommodate you so much just to make you feel welcome and safe in your own skin. It was one of the few places that you could take the suit off and feel comfortable.

The suit was just being zipped up into your bag when the door to the doctor’s office opened. Dr. Beta was a matronly middle aged woman with plenty of laugh lines and crow's feet from years of laughter and joy. She was a kind beta who had done wonders for your mental health and self esteem. Without her, you probably wouldn’t have gone through with the job proposal.

She called your name with a gentle smile, “You ready?”

“Yep,” you smiled, walking over to step into the room. The blinds were closed tight but there were several lamps around the space that allowed a soft light to keep it illuminated. The wooden diffuser was pumping out the soothing smell of lemon and sandalwood. Dr. Beta had always said the lemon helped cut the potency of your powers but you weren’t sure if that was true or if it was something she said to make you feel better.

The two of you settled into your usual spots before the doctor asks, “Anything new since we last saw each other?”

It had been a month since your last session. The milestone of going monthly instead of bi-monthly had been huge for you. There was a time that you saw her weekly, which was when you were at your lowest. You were glad to be where you were.

“Where do I even start?” you laugh, leaning casually back on the leather couch. The cold material felt nice on the bare skin that peeked out from your denim shorts and athletic tank top. “I’ve been meeting regularly with three guys to run with them every Tuesday and Thursday. We also go out for drinks and the game on Sunday.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic!” she gushed, genuinely excited for you. She even sat her clipboard and pen down to lean forward with her elbows on her knees. It was something she only did when you made some kind of...positive choice in your life. The way it made your chest swell with self pride was silly and kind of childish but the woman had always been extra motherly to you. “Clients?”

“One of them was,” you nod, trying to keep the flush of excitement from making you seem too eager. “They’re really nice guys and they invited me to start sparring with them next week after our runs.”

A gentle look crossed the doctor’s face that had you melting. It was a look that she gave when she was proud and the way your name came out of her mouth spoke volumes. “I’m so proud of you,” she said aloud even though you knew it by her body language. “It’s been a long time since you took time for yourself in your personal life. Are they on your level of martial arts?”

“Better!” you said, excited to have a good challenge.

“Better than you?” she laughed, sounding incredulous. “I’d have to see that to believe it!” You join her for the laugh. “Anything else?”

Your mind flutters to a certain blond and his proposition but decide to keep that to yourself for now. It wasn’t good for you to hide secrets from Dr. Beta and you usually didn’t, however, she would definitely encourage you to take him up on the offer. You didn’t think you were ready to come up with reasons (lies) for why you couldn’t do that yet.

“Not really.”

She nods, grabbing her clipboard to flip the paper. “Dr. Noland said you were going to get your heat early this time around. She said you mentioned you might know why?”

Damn it. You forgot how much the two doctors communicated between each other about your health. It was the program you were in and, while amazingly helpful, could be very annoying at times. Case in point, now you need to make a choice on whether to point blank lie to Dr. Beta or just tell the truth. Lying by omission was much more your style.

“Yeah,” you sigh, resigning yourself to the conversation. “The last client I helped had...intense pheromones. I think it may have kicked me into my heat cycle early.”

The doctor’s hazel eyes widened in shock, “Even with the suppressant you took?”

Nodding, you look away for a second. “The client was a super soldier,” you admit, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Understanding blossomed on her face when she made a guess as to who you were talking about. “Well, that might do it, for sure,” she nodded, making a note. “Still, I’m going to have Dr. Noland change your suppressant just in case it’s not working.”

She stood up, going over to the cabinet behind her desk. She took out a large bottle, tossing it to you, that had heat vitamins in them. Another bottle was thrown your way full of pills specifically for healthy slick production. The last thing she came over with were a few vouchers for omega-centric energy drinks and heat-snacks.

“I know you hate this question but I am legally required to ask,” she chuckles. “Do you have someone you trust to help you through your heat?”

You hesitate. “No.”

Her head snaps up, hazel eyes pinning you to the spot. “You hesitated. You never hesitate,” she points out with far too much excitement. She sets the clipboard down, doing the lean again. “Do you have someone in mind?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag and now you couldn’t lie because she would never believe you now. “I was...propositioned,” you admit, feeling stupidly relieved that you had been honest with her. She had conditioned you so fucking well to feel better when you told the truth as opposed to lying. It had been a ‘bad coping mechanism’ you created during your childhood to gain some control of your otherwise uncontrollable life.

“By one of your new friends?” she asked, already getting the gist of the conversation. “Was it your client?”

“No, not my client but his...best friend,” you whisper, feeling a little embarrassed that you were having this conversation.

Dr. Beta is quiet for a moment, contemplating how to ask the question. “What’s the big deal then? Why not take him up on the offer?”

You cringe. “There are…a lot of reasons but I’m sure you’re going to make them seem like they’re not problems but things I’ve blown up in my mind.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You know your feelings and worries are valid! I just help you see things in a more logical light. I think you should really talk this through with him but...would you like to practice with me?”

You bite your lower lip but give a heavy sigh when you realize there’s still nearly forty minutes left of your time with her. “Fine. It can’t hurt.”

You sat in the booth twitching with your napkin. You and the owner were good friends from back in your academy days so he allowed you to pay a certain amount for the whole rooftop terrace. It meant you could enjoy a meal with someone without having to wear your suit. You also got the same female server every time who knew your situation and didn’t care.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” you heard a familiar voice say to your left.

Not really sure why, you stood up when he approached. He was wearing a thin blue zip-up jacket over a blue and white plaid button up shirt that was unbuttoned enough for you to see the white t-shirt he had under it. His jeans were dark and fit far too well around his massive thighs. A plain blue ball cap sat on his head and some fake glasses to help hide his identity. The smile he gave you was enough to make your preheat brain purr.

It took you by surprise when his big arms wrapped you up in a hug that smothered you in his masculine scent. Your hands touched his back, hugging him hesitantly. The squeeze lasted a little longer than you expected, just enough for your head to be perfectly swimming in his pheromones.

You pulled away when he did, allowing him to sit at the far side of the table, facing towards the rest of the area. He had insisted that you come without your suit so it was the least you could do to keep the waitress from noticing his erection.

“It’s okay, I ordered some water for us,” you smile, genuinely happy to see him. It wasn’t often that you saw any of the three men individually. They usually hung out in a pack and you were happy to know that you fit into the group pretty well. “Get whatever you want, Steve. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a look. “I would prefer it if you let me pay.”

Your heart gave a hard thump in your chest. There was something about the way he said it that was just short of a command. You look into his blue eyes, trying to gauge his intent before setting down the menu. “Is this some old-fashioned pride I see leaking through?” you tease, giving him a mischievous grin.

“No, I just figure it was only right that I buy you lunch before helping you with your heat,” he said so casually it made your face heat.

“What makes you think I’m going to agree?!” you laugh loudly.

There is a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. “Isn’t that why we’re here? Alone?” he questioned easily, looking up just as Julia came to the table.

“Welcome back,” she greets you, setting two empty glasses and a pitcher of water down on the table. “My name’s Julia.”

“Nice to meet you Julia,” Steve responded with a neutral smile. It caught you a little off guard because it...definitely wasn’t the smile he gave you. Was it just part of his disguise?

You both ordered a beer and your entrees. It wasn’t until Julia walked away that you focused back on the alpha across from you. He was already looking at you with an intense expression. You feel like he’s basically prying into your soul.

“I...spoke with my therapist yesterday and…” you start, finding it very hard to talk about this kind of thing. It was so easy to soothe your clients but so hard to give yourself a break. “She...convinced me to talk with you about my...worries.”

His expression softens a bit. “I’m willing to work with you,” he soothes, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and solid. “Tell me everything.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of hurting you,” you blurt out. “You can take me even on your worst day. I’m...embarrassed to count myself among the small population of omegas that go...feral during their heat. I...fight my partner. Dr. Beta says it's because of the trauma I experienced. Trauma doesn't just disappear during heat...it gets worse. I’m just not the usual kind of docile omega that society seems to exemplify.”

He looks up to alert you that Julia was returning with your drinks. He didn’t speak until she was back inside the building. “Truthfully, I’m actually more intrigued than put off by the notion,” he finally said after taking a sip of his beer. “Do you fight the whole time or just in the beginning?”

It wasn’t a line of questioning that you expected so you gaped at him like a fish out of water for a few seconds before finding your words. “I don’t...know,” you admit sheepishly, sipping your hard cider. “I’ve only been with one alpha during my heat and he had to go to the hospital a few hours into it.”

Something dark and tempting flashed through the blond’s eyes. “How do you feel about restraints?”

Your core throbbed at the simple question. It probably showed on your face because his smile started to widen in understanding. “Yes, that’s fine,” you breathe, trying not to think too hard about the implications.

“Would you prefer to do this at your house or in my suite?” he asked as if you had already agreed to the whole thing.

Your mind screamed at you to say decline. It was dangerous and there were so many things that could go wrong. Your omega brain though had already bought into the whole thing. You wanted this big, powerful alpha to hold you down and take you in the most forceful of ways. You wanted him to restrain you to your nest and have his way with you until the heat fog cleared.

“Wait, wait,” you say, trying to finish your thoughts before deciding anything. “I’m serious when I say I’m insatiable. I don’t have any refractory period between one wave and the next.”

Julia opens the door, alerting you both that she was coming out with food. You both wait until everything is set and she walks away before continuing. The food smells delicious so you grab the burger and bite into it. You always craved red meat before your heat so when the flavors burst across your taste buds, you hum in appreciation.

Steve took a few bites of his own meal before responding. “The super soldier serum makes it so I don’t have any refractory period,” he shrugs casually with a smile. “I’ve never met someone who could keep up with me so...I’m interested to see if you can. Any other worries?”

Heat blossoms across your cheek and in your chest. “I don’t want our friendship to be jeopardized,” you finally admit after finishing half of your burger. You grab some of the fries and eat them while thinking.

“Did helping Bucky keep you from being friends with him?”

“No, of course not,” you sigh, running out of excuses. Dr. Beta had been right, talking with him had definitely made you a little more comfortable with the idea. “Fine, okay, I accept your offer.”

“My place or yours?” he asks with a genuine smile.

You mull over the question for a bit before shrugging. “I have all of my nesting supplies at my house so we can do it at mine,” you chuckle, feeling a little nervous but excited too.

He nods. “Do I need to bring any supplies? Snacks or drinks?”

The two of you continue talking about the logistics of your heat while you finish the food. It makes you feel a lot better knowing you wouldn’t have to go through with it alone. You had already taken the initiative to send a message to all of your clients to let them know you would be out for your heat. You even went ahead and took an extra week just for yourself.

After you pay and you have your layers back on, the two of you stand outside the doors to the restaurant. You don’t want to leave him, truthfully. He smelt so good and you were so close to your heat that it was hard to separate from him. “Thanks for talking with me,” you smile despite the bonnet covering everything but your eyes. “I’ll give you a text when I’m ready.”

“Of course, thanks for lunch,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead through the layers. “Here, take this for your nest.”

He shucked his jacket and offered it. Your hand reaches out to take it slowly. “Thanks but this might just push me into it faster,” you laugh brightly, holding the large jacket close to your chest. You could smell the scent of him even through all of your layers. It made your head foggy.

“That’s the idea,” he smirked, turning towards the tower with a wave. “Just let me know when you want me to come over.”

You watch him walk away, eyes lingering on the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his shirt and down until you stared at his toned ass in those jeans. It was obvious how close you were to your heat when sweat started to form along your temples and slick started to dampen your panties.

Once you got back home, you arranged your snacks and vitamins on the counter so they were easy for Steve to find. He might need to feed you for the first few waves because you weren’t sure if you’d be coherent or not. Then you went into your extra bedroom that you used for your heats and started getting it ready.

You pulled out all of your slick-resistant pillows, cushions and blankets from the closet to make a nest on your king sized bed. It was a nice four post bed that had your mind in dark places. All you could think about was being restrained with cuffs around one of those posts while Steve fucked into you.

It didn’t take long before you needed a pad for all of the fucking slick that was making everything so annoying. The nest took a lot longer that you would like to admit because it just didn’t seem...right. You’d never had this kind of issue before but your omega brain wanted Steve to be comfortable and happy too.

Looking back at the closet, you debated on whether or not you wanted to pull out the box of toys. You weren’t sure if Steve would want them or need them or…

“Fuck it,” you mutter, grabbing your phone to send the alpha a quick text. Toys or no toys?

You were adding his jacket to your nest when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Instead of the one or two word answer that you expected, it was...something else.

Definitely toys. I’ll enjoy teasing you until you’re begging for my knot.

Fuckin’ hell! Was this the same blond with the surprisingly boyish face that you had met during lunch today? The same guy that Sam teased about being an old virgin?

You didn’t think the pad was going to hold up to all of the slick that gush from you at the text. How does one respond to a text like that? You grabbed out the delicate pink box out of the closet, wincing at the color because it was the only color that the shop had to store your toys. Omegas were feminine right?! They liked pink, right?!

Laughing at yourself, you set the box on the little table in the room. You opened the lid and set it to the side so you could look at your assortment of toys. It was a collection you started when your first heat hit you at sixteen. You had been a late bloomer because of your constant martial arts training, which stilted your omega hormones.

It had all the necessities and even some extras. You had your typical knot dildo, a vibrator, a clit vibe, a few different types of condoms for when you weren’t in your heat, a bottle of lube that encouraged slick production, a bottle of regular lube, and a few different sized anal plugs. The last few were just because you enjoyed the feeling of being full when having sex.

Quickly you took a picture of the box and sent it to Steve as a reply. It was the best you could come up with. You had never really been good at those kinds of things. Well, you’d never had someone try and sext you.

Happy that everything was prepared, you cuddled under your fuzzy blanket in your nest. Comfort flooded through you as you nuzzled into the man’s jacket, deeply taking in his scent. It was nice and musky and made you feel warm and safe.

The phone buzzed. You’re okay with anal during your heat?

Your pheromone idled brain made you giggle, “Consent is important,” before you could text him back. Yes, I like being stuffed full.

It didn’t even register how inappropriate the text sounded before you hit send. You were obviously a lot further along than you had previously thought. The subtle throb of your core was starting to get worse but you weren’t too far gone to see his last text.

Good to know. Get some rest. Need me to come out and check on you before dark?

You groaned as a cramp hit your pelvis, slick becoming an issue. It simultaneously hurt and felt good. You were so distracted that you couldn’t answer the text message. Everything was suddenly too hot so you threw off your clothing, slipping your hand down to brush against your clit. It was already so sensitive it hurt but you needed relief.

It wasn’t enough and you knew that it would be futile to try and get yourself off with just your fingers but your brain wasn’t working. You groaned helplessly as the lackluster orgasm washed over you. It wasn’t enough, so frustratingly not enough. Sweat dripped down your cheek from your hairline making you kick off the blanket so you could turn over.

You didn’t care how it looked with your ass up because the scent of Steve on the jacket helped clear your head a little. It made your core throb but it also helped you become coherent. Enough so that you grabbed the phone and typed in a one word response that only said:

Now.

Credits for the pictures in Moodboard:

Unsplash photographers:

1. Kelly Sikkema

2. Vulkan Olmez

3. Toa Heftiba

Like, comment and reblogs are always welcome! Thanks for reading!

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist here 

AO3 link here

Author’s Note: And we’re at the penultimate chapter! Am rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!! Thank you for following this fic with me <3

He stays away from her over the next two weeks. He still picks Shino up from childcare - he’s never leaving his little girl again - but takes Osamu’s advice to duck into the kitchen the minute he hears the bell chime to mark her entrance into the shop. 

‘Is everything alright with Atsumu?’ he hears her ask Osamu after a week of radio silence from him. 

He imagines Osamu just shrugs, because his twin later gives him a look of askance that he ignores. 

‘Meet me on Sunday afternoon? Was hoping to have a quick chat and pass something over to you since my arm is out of its sling.Osamu agreed to take Shino for a couple of hours, so don’t worry about her’, he texts her. 

‘Fine’, she texts back. ‘Works for me’. 

‘Hey’, he greets her as she opens the door, fighting the impulse to scruff his shoes into the ground like a nervous schoolboy on his first date. 

‘Hey yourself’, she responds without heat, slipping on her shoes. ‘Shall we?’ 

He nods, turning on his heel and she follows suit, their footfalls matching in pace, though they angle their bodies to avoid each other’s gaze in the lift. They do not exchange a single word until they reach the car park, and he leads her past all the cars to a dim corner, lit by a single flickering electric bulb.  

‘Atsumu - what’s this?’ she says, staring uncomprehendingly at the motorbike parked in front of her, the exact replica of the bike she sold when she got pregnant with Shino, albeit updated with a shining coat of new paint and the latest modifications, top of the line. 

‘Surprise?’ he tells her, unable to hide a grin when she runs a hand reverently over the seat of the bike. 

‘I can’t accept this, ‘Tsumu. It’s too much’, she demurs but he knows she’s fallen in love when she’s unable to tear her eyes away from the bike.

‘Sure ya can! I registered it under yer name, and paid for the parking fees for the year, and look! It even comes with a helmet!’, he assures her, crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘Ya can ride it whenever ya have time to yerself - I’ll make sure I or ‘Samu will take Shino-chan for a couple hours every weekend so ya can go break some speed limits on the bike!’ 

‘This isn’t a bribe, right? Or some attempt to trick me into agreeing into something I don’t want to do?’ she asks him suspiciously. 

‘No - no tricks, I swear on my life. Look - I’ve signed the divorce papers, they’re in my bag. I just wanted to give ya the bike as a partin' gift’, he says, keeping his voice deliberately light. 

She stares at him, searching his face for any sign of duplicity, but he holds her gaze until she turns away, satisfied. 

‘You never do anything by halves, do you ‘Tsumu? But thank you anyway’, she laughs breathily and his heart lurches to a start when he sees her slowly start to glow whilst fussing over the bike, exclaiming to herself as she admires the paint job and the extra compartments he’d gotten the mechanic to install. 

Watching her brings back memories of their adventures together before Shino came along. She’d pick him up for a ride to the outskirts of Osaka on their rare days off, in search for a spot to lay their picnic mat down and shoot the breeze. They’d never found that perfect picnic spot, but that just meant that there were more places to explore, more roads to traverse, more adventures for them to go on. That’d all stopped once Shino came along, and he wonders if they wouldn’t be in such a state if he’d put in more effort to carve out more time for them.   

And even before that - there was the time she’d surprised him by turning up in Kobe for one of his matches, sweeping him away from his confused teammates right after the match to celebrate over egg mayo sandwiches at 7-11. He suspects that was the day he’d fallen in love with her, half realising that she was probably the only person crazy enough to burn hours on the road on the back her rusty old bike right after an exam, just to stay up all night sitting cross-legged in a dim combini with mayo in her hair, listening to him ramble about his volleyball match. 

Wow. 'Samu's right. Even the reason he fell in love with her was fucking selfish. 

‘Hey ‘Tsumu’, he hears her say after a while and he looks up. ‘Wanna go for a ride?’ she asks brightly, twirling the keys around her finger. 

‘Huh?’ he responds, genuinely perplexed. 

‘A ride, you idiot. Don’t you want to find out how the bike feels on the road, especially since you’re the one who paid for it?’ 

‘Sure’, he says, a little lost - but then again she’s always found ways to keep him on his toes. ‘But there’s only one helmet’. 

‘I still have my old one upstairs. Give me a second so I can get it!’ she rushes off, a spring in her step he’s sorely missed seeing and despite the ache in his heart, he smiles. 

His smile vanishes the moment she kicks the bike full throttle and hurtles through weekend Osaka traffic at breakneck speed, making such sharp turns he almost falls off the bike if he weren’t already clutching her waist for dear life. ‘Oi! Look out!’ he yelps, as she weaves her way through narrow gaps between cars, seemingly deaf to the horns of outraged drivers behind her - and fuck he wants to puke but can’t because there’s no way that doesn’t end badly for him. 

‘Slow down, you fuckin' maniac’, he manages to shout when his stomach gives itself up for dead, but the wind swallows his words and she only whoops in response. The neon city lights blur into a mess of colours and he runs through his repertoire of curse words. He swears she’s evil - it’s not enough that she’s killed him once by divorcing him, her insane riding is going to make sure he’s doubly dead.

They burst onto the highway in a squeal of tires, the city skyline fading into a sea of lights, and they’re both so focused on the road ahead of them, well – she is, at least, he’s trying his level best to stay on his seat - that neither of them notice the dark clouds gathering above until the first splatter of raindrops on the road. 

The sky is threatening enough to make her swerve off the highway into a quiet neighbourhood, screeching to a halt at the nearest park with an empty shelter large enough to fit both of them. They jump off the bike, helmets dangling over their arm, and she catches hold of his hand as they splash their way through muddy puddles in a bid to escape the incoming storm. 

‘That was amazing!’ she laughs when they reach shelter, twirling on the tips of her feet, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, looking so happy and bright and alive -  like a bird spreading its wings to fly high in the sky, the way she used to be before their marriage broke her wings and shackled her to the ground. 

If only he hadn’t been blinded by the false allure of his dreams to appreciate what was right in front of him - a woman bold enough to whisk him away from the clutches of deranged fans on the back of a motorbike, fierce enough for Osamu to assign her to deal with his bullshit - and most of all, crazy enough to marry and have a child with him. And he knows she isn’t his, not anymore, but he's a greedy, selfish man, and he wants her one last time, so he throws his jacket over her shoulders as a pretext for drawing her close to him, slanting his mouth gently over hers. 

She stills for a second, and he’s about to pull away when she melts into him, tilting her chin up to grant him greater access to her lips. An unexpected heat coils in his stomach when she tangles her fingers in his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp, a thrill running down his spine as he loses himself in her familiar softness and warmth and groans.

She gasps, jerking away from him, tracing her bruised lips with her fingers, looking up at him with wide eyes.

‘Tsumu’, she begins to say, but he cuts her off, frantic with worry that he’s scared her off before he’s had the chance to say his piece. 

‘I’m sorry - I know I shouldn’t have but I just...can I just say what I meant to say to ya before this?’ he asks, banking on the fact that she hasn’t slapped him yet, and to his relief, she nods. 

‘I’ve thought about what ya said, and yer right -  I’ve taken so much from ya I don’t deserve to ask ya for anything else, not when I should be the one making it up to ya for the rest of my life,’ he says, his heart cracking beneath his ribs (so it’s true, a heart can actually break) – because he knows now she’s lost to him, has been the second he'd forsaken his vows and stormed out of her life, but he gulps a breath to calm his pulse, forcing himself to continue on. 

‘All I want is for ya to be happy and free - and if signing these papers is the price I have to pay, I’ll do it for ya’. Then he draws the brown envelope from his bag, holding it out to her with shaking hands. 

She makes no move to take it from him. 

‘Do you even love me, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks, her voice feather light, a wisp in the wind. ‘Be honest with me, you don’t have to lie’.

There’s a searing pain in his chest and he closes his eyes, losing himself to the undercurrent of regret pulsing in his mind. 

‘I do’, he manages to choke out, peeling aside the rotting layers of vanity and greed and selfishness and pride to flay his chest open to present his heart to her, in all its bleeding, broken glory. 

‘Yer everythin’ I could’ve ever asked for, and it’s killin’ me to watch you walk away - but I deserve it cos I’m a fuckin’ idiot for not realisin’ that sooner, and ya have no idea how fuckin’ sorry I am for hurting ya so badly and making you think that I don’t love ya - because I do, gods, I do, I love ya so goddamned much.’

‘Does our marriage mean that much to you?’ she stares at him, her eyes clouded with an emotion he can’t make out. 

‘Yes’, he says simply, his response both a confession and a prayer. He makes no move to touch her, fearful that any misstep might tip them both over the edge, the storm of emotions swirling within him already threatening to swallow him whole. 

‘Then ask me again, ‘Tsumu’ she whispers, her fists clenched, trembling by her side.    

He blinks at her, but his confusion morphs into elated disbelief when she takes the brown envelope from him and rips it cleanly in half. 

Oh. 

‘Ask me again, ‘Tsumu’, she repeats, the clouds in her eyes clearing into pools of light. He wonders if it mirrors the rush of warmth and love and most of all - hope, overflowing in his heart. 

‘Wanna try jumping off a cliff again?’ he asks, voice shaking, echoing the request he made of her years ago.

She steps forward into his waiting arms, her smile like golden sunlight spilling through grey rain.  

‘Only if you promise to jump with me’, she says softly against his chest. 

He catches her forgiveness desperately in his hands, and seals his promise with his lips. 

[harryhandstan]

wonderful and warm

gif credit

I’m so excited to share this piece with y’all for @tbslenthusiast​‘s dad-a-thon!! I’ve been debating whether or not to expand more on I Want Your Belly for a while now, so I’m considering this part two to that, though you don’t really have to read it first to understand this one. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

thank you @peachybloomss​ and @tbslenthusiast​ for beta reading for me! love y’all both!!

word count: 2.6k

//

You had been adamant about not telling anybody for at least the first two months. 

Your mom’s complications with each of her pregnancies prompted a fear in you that you might share in that gene she carried, so you just wanted to be sure. Make it to your first ultrasound at least to confirm the baby was happy and healthy. Harry, of course, had agreed to whatever it was you felt was best. He wanted you to be comfortable and truth is, all the complications or things that could go wrong, terrified him too.

But the second you put this man in front of a crowd, all his previous filters go out the window and it was slipping from his lips easily, telling the world that you were having his baby. You were angry at first, spending half of the show trying to calm your shaky hands. Honestly, most of it was just nervous energy at the idea of so many people knowing. It was out, and you had no control over the reactions of the millions of people that shared in loving your Harry. He was quick to remind you that you were the one he loved, no one else’s opinion mattered to him and it shouldn’t to you either.

Making such a public announcement meant the news reached your families ears a lot faster than you’d planned too, and you just didn’t want any of them to be hurt that they weren’t told first.

Anne is the first one to contact Harry from his side, promptly inviting you to dinner the following weekend with a small group of Harry’s family. But the closer you get to the day, the more anxious you are and he once again reminds you how much his family adores you already, would now love you even more.

“Even more than they love me now, probably,” He chuckles, taking your hand on the drive to his mother’s house, “Gonna be just like any Sunday dinner at Mum’s, innit? We just have something a little extra special t’celebrate now, lovie.”

Gemma answers the door to let the two of you in and she tugs you in for a hug, pulling you into the house without so much as a glance to her younger brother.

“Nice to see you too, Gem.” He follows the two of you inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Ignore him..someone’s just jealous they won’t be Mum’s favorite anymore.” She giggles, rolling her eyes as she leads you into the kitchen where Anne mimics her daughter’s greeting, scolding Harry playfully that he spoiled the surprise so soon.

By the end of the night, the two of them are already making predictions about what the baby will be, giving family name suggestions, and planning a baby shower for you. 

//

Calling your family was a whole new level of anxiety you hadn’t experienced yet on this journey, and you paced back and forth in front of the desk where your iPad was already set up to FaceTime them. Harry sits on the foot of the bed, waiting for your nerves to settle enough to contact them.

“D’you want me to join you?” He doesn’t look at you, just continues to fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt.

Your head pops up to where he sits, “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, “S’just..sometimes I think you might still be a bit mad at me. For letting it slip earlier than we wanted. Thought you might wanna talk to them alone first..in case they’re upset with me too.”

“I was never really mad. And I don’t think they’ll be upset..just may take them a little longer to accept that I didn’t tell them before you told everyone. They may not have even seen it yet.”

That was a lie. Your sister had texted you last night saying that she was thrilled to soon have a niece or nephew, but your mom had cried for a two whole days after they saw a clip from the show and your dad refused to even talk about it. Your brother was normally so far out of the loop that you truly didn’t know if he had heard the news, so you make a mental note to call him later too. 

You wouldn’t tell Harry any of that though, not now anyway. Maybe later, when everything didn’t feel so tense. You knew your family wouldn’t be upset forever, they loved Harry almost as much as you did. The joy of having a new baby added to the family would soon override any hurt they were feeling now.

“Harry, whatever they say..this is still happening. I’m still having your baby. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy that makes me.”

The smile he gives you makes your heart flutter, drawing you closer to sit next to him.

“Say that again.”

“What? How happy I am..”

“No, the part before that.”

A giggle works its way up through your chest, a deep blush flushing your cheeks, “I’m having your baby,” You can’t resist, the tune now stuck in your head, changing the lyric slightly to fit, “It’s none of their business.”

“What? S’your family, of course it’s their..oh, right.” He shares in your laughter, melting away any tension that had settled in the room, restoring your confidence that everything would be alright.

//

As many changes as your body had gone through during pregnancy, one thing that hadn’t changed was Harry’s love for your belly. His obsession had grown with each month, constantly finding reasons to be close to you throughout your days spent together. Usually it was a hand nudged gently against the side of your bump, trying to coax the baby to kick or move for him.

Your child already adored the sound of their dad’s voice, would normally start to wiggle around the second Harry would start talking or singing anywhere around you. The first time it happened, the two of you were attending a birthday party for a friend and Harry was halfway across the room, animatedly telling a story to a group of your mutual friends. It was one of the many reasons you had fallen for him so quickly, his ability to have a room full of people so captivated by a tale you were sure they had heard at least 5 times before. 

But he doesn’t seem to care about anyone else’s reactions, his eyes continuously flicking back to gauge your feedback, knowing which parts make you laugh the hardest no matter how many times you’d listened to him tell it. When your mouth falls open with a soft gasp and a hand clutching the side of your belly, he hurries through the ending to weave his way back through the party to you.

“You okay, love? Somethin’ wrong?” The tears falling on your dress don’t match the glowing smile radiating across your face and he’s turning his head amusingly from where he hovers over you.

“Everything’s great, H. Think someone just loves the sound of daddy’s voice.” You take the drink he still holds in his hand and set it on the table in front of you, turning your body to face him and tugging his wrist down to where you had felt the kick moments before, “Say something else now that you’re closer. See if she moves for you.”

“She? You find out somethin’ you wanna tell me, darlin’?”

“No, just a feeling. Haven’t you thought about which you would rather us have?”

He shakes his head no, his eyes bright with a pride you’ve never seen burn so intensely, “As long as you and they end up happy and healthy in the end, s’all that matters to me.”

He scoots his body to sit on the bench next to you, bending his head to speak softly, “Hello, little one. S’daddy. Mummy’s here too. Wanna move around a bit more f’us?”

He rests his head there for a moment, a hand rubbing along the side of your stomach, not caring who at the party may see the two of you or how silly he may look. He looks like a child who’s just been granted his one and only wish when your baby responds, a foot landing against where his cheek is pressed.

“There you are, baby. You kickin’ at me? Cheeky little thing y’are already..just like mummy, huh?” He turns to kiss the spot where the foot had been, ”We’re g’nna have so much fun when you get here, angel.”

//

Harry watches your feet a lot more closely these days.

You didn't notice it at first. But today as you're coming down the stairs, you catch his eyes watching carefully as he waits for you. One of your hands cradles your bump that seems to be growing daily now, while the other glides along the railing to keep yourself steady.

"Am I wearing mismatched shoes or something?" You lean forward in an attempt to look at your feet over your belly, nearly toppling down the last few stairs. The look on Harry's face would have been comical if it wasn't laced with so much fear as he lunged forward to meet you and help you the rest of the way down.

"Careful!" Even with you settled safely now against his side, his voice is full of worry, "Nothing's wrong with your shoes, honey. Just wanted to make sure you made it down safely, know how clumsy y'are."

"You worry too much, Harry. I would've made it down fine if you hadn't been staring at my feet."

"My girl's carrying my baby..m’allowed to worry about you both. Y'sure I can't convince you to stay home and let me do the grocery shopping this week?"

"No, I wanna go. Last time you forgot the bagels."

"Are you ever gonna forgive me for that?" You're glad to see the fear has fallen away from his face as you both reach the bottom of the stairs together.

"Maybe." You shrug, "Might take a few more kisses though."

"Deal." One of his hands comes to rest warmly on the underside of your belly, the other one still supporting the small of your back as he bends down to place kisses across your face.

A kick from within your stomach has both of you giggling and looking down to where it's pressed between the two of you.

"Are you mad at daddy too, hmm? Already two against one around here, I see. Alright then, baby gets kisses too."

//

“Harry will you please get up? We only have an hour to get ready and make it to the appointment. I don’t wanna be late!”

He rolls over, intending to pull you closer to him for a morning kiss, an important part of his usual routine. He frowns when he finds you’re already out of bed, digging through drawers of your dresser to find what you need to get ready for the day.

You haven’t noticed he’s awake yet so you keep encouraging him, “C’mon, made you breakfast. It’s an important day!”

“You’re not allowed to do that, y’know.”

“Do what?” You’re only half paying attention, tugging a dress over your head and scowling at your reflection in the full length mirror when it doesn’t fit over your belly. You quickly pull it back off and toss it in the pile you’ve already tried (and failed) to stretch over your growing bump.

“Daddy’s s’posed to make breakfast for mummy while she sleeps in, not the other way ‘round.”

“Well, mommy was too nervous to sleep in so she’s up getting ready, as daddy should be!” You tug one of your maternity shirts from a hanger in your closet and throw it over your head, declaring to yourself that it’ll just have to do. Thankfully it pairs well with the black leggings you’ve already struggled through pulling on. You plop on the edge of the bed, a deep sigh falling from your lips as you look around at the mess you’ve made of your shared bedroom.

“Mummy needs to relax. She looks beautiful in whatever she wears, no matter what day it is.” He rubs a hand along your back, up to soothe over the pinch between your shoulder blades.

“Nothing fits anymore, swear this belly gets bigger by the day. If I find out today you put a set of twins in me, Styles, you are gonna be in so much trouble.” 

He throws his head back, a deep rumbling laugh erupting from his chest, “Aww c’mon, lovie. Twins would be so fun! Think we’d get lucky and have one of each? A boy and a girl?” He kisses your shoulder.

He’s pulling you in to rest against his chest now, the fabric of his well worn t-shirt cool and soft on your cheek. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss firmly to the top of your head.

“Just lay with me a minute, hmm? Did you get any sleep last night? Felt you tossing and turning for half of it.”

“Maybe a couple of hours. I was too nervous.”

“You should’ve woken me. Hate the idea of you being awake and nervous alone, honey.” One hand trails up to cup your chin, a thumb smoothing over the tension set in your jaw.

“I honestly don’t know how you got any sleep. I wasn’t alone though, I think I kept the baby up half the night too.” You shift to face him, resting your chin on his chest, seeking the comfort of his face, “Are you okay? You’re not nervous at all?” 

“M’fine. What’s to be nervous about? We get to see our baby today, find out what it is. I couldn’t be happier about that.” He brushes a strand of hair softly away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Maybe it’s more excitement than nerves. I just felt..restless. Maybe it’s silly, but I just wanted to look nice today too and none of my good clothes fit me anymore.”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, baby. But now? I’ve never seen anyone look as gorgeous as you look now. S’important to me that you know and believe that as much as I do. I’ll remind you everyday if y’need me to.”

“You really mean that, Harry?”

“‘Course I do. I know this has been new and scary for both of us, and I’m so proud of you. You’ve fallen into this with such ease and grace, already started gettin’ our home ready for our little one. I can’t wait to see you with them when they’re born.”

“You’re gonna be the most amazing dad. Teaching our child kindness and love, reminding them it’s okay to be whatever they choose to be. It’s important to me that you know how much I adore you and seeing you become the dad you were meant to be? It’s gonna be incredible. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

“Me either. Think I’d be miserable if it were anyone else.” 

“Nah you’d get used to them eventually. Especially if they were having your baby.”

He laughs again, pulling you closer to smush his lips against your temple. 

“Alright, up we get,” He scoots away to push himself up and off the bed, offering you his hands to help pull yourself up, “Let’s go see if our little bub got blessed with your nose or cursed with mine.”

//

You’re over the moon every time you see Harry’s beaming smile when he passes the black and white sonogram photo now proudly displayed on the refrigerator; your son’s nose a perfect mixture of yours and Harry’s.

[fishmongeringstudies]

scene four: tongues

one time someone asked me to say sorry.

'huh?' the asparagus clamped between my chopsticks began to slide towards the bottom of my lunch box, forgotten. i frowned. 'did i do something wrong?'

'no,' he said, laughing. 'i just want to hear how you pronounce it.'

'so i'm saying it wrong.'

'that's not what i mean.'

'then what do you mean?'

'i mean i'm curious.'

i stared at him. 'no.' i picked up my asparagus. he poked at his biscuits with his fork. time passed, birds sang overhead, snow fell outside the window.

'you know-' he started.

the asparagus on sundays sucks. on weekdays they roast it but on sundays they boil it in a huge pot of water in that grim, white-tiled kitchen that i've only gotten a few glimpses of and then it's a straight path to the metal pans that appear behind the glass when you step into the dining hall, hoping someone will betray your well-set expectations and for once, the 'fish' will be 'salted'. i didn't know why i'd asked for it to begin with. last week i hadn't. this week i had brought what i hoped would become a friend with me, though he was, by all accounts, still a stranger.

'what.'

'the way you say sorry feels kinda canadian to me,' he said thoughtfully. 'not justin bieber-canadian, but, like, old-fashioned canadian. see? like this.' he puckered his lips. 'sooh-ree.' he nodded to himself like he'd just accomplished an incredibly impressive feat. 'the way you emphasize the 'oooh' sound. no one says it like that here.'

when i was ten i had a weird phineas and ferb phase. we didn't have cable tv so i'd look up the episodes on youtube in splintered halves and thirds, watch whatever i could find in 240p and look up the plot synopsis for the bits i couldn't. perry the platypus was my favorite character at first, because he was turquoise (turquoise was my favorite color when i was ten) and he had a cool hat and he had a knack for appearing in places that one typically didn't expect a platypus to appear in, which both resonated with and annoyed me, but eventually i lost interest because perry the platypus didn't have a voice. he was a platypus, after all.

'huh.' there were still two spears of asparagus left in my box but i didn't feel like eating them anymore.

he leaned over the table, his eyes bright and searching, like a child's.

'am i right?'

when i was ten i sounded sort-of-american for a few months. i remember even my mom picked up on it after a while, commenting mildly over dinner that i was speaking differently wasn't i, i almost sounded like i did when i went to the international school, and i remember flushing with pride, choking on my rice, having to excuse myself to the bathroom immediately afterwards to hack it all up in the sink. after all, i'd been practising. if perry the platypus had had a voice, i would've practised his lines too. but he didn't. so i practised with the others. i hit pause and play and pause and play, repeating things out loud, sounding out the vowels, trying to nail each word to the wall on the other side of my room like i was holding a pistol in a gunfight, not my heart.

the first time i went outside in america we were in washington dc and my friend took me to target. it took everything in me to say thank you to the lady behind the counter. i don't know if she heard me.

am i right?

i shrugged. 'i dunno.'

'admit it,' he said smugly, which i thought was quite bold of him seeing how all i really wanted to do right then was punch a hole through the wooden floorboards and drop into the freezer section of the cafe below like a cannonball, killing myself and everyone in a fifteen-mile radius around me instantly. 'i got it right.'

there were a lot of things i could've said to him in that moment. i could've said i was born in texas nineteen years ago to parents from fifteen other parts of the world, or i could've told him about the dream i'd had last night where i was stuck in a supermarket and someone had ripped my vocal chords out but left every other part of me intact, or i could've told him about how there are between nine and ten thousand species of birds on earth and all of them are pretty cool, what do you think of birds, dude, what do you think of this country? did you know? most americans don't think they speak with an accent. to them the american accent is the default, is the way english should be spoken, is the thing they'll stick in the dictionary that the martians will discover thousands of years from now when humanity finally wipes itself out and the trees are left to retrieve their hands from their coffins. when you're american you're always right. the rest of us are deviations from the norm. aberrations. mistakes.

the first time i saw asparagus in america i was getting dinner in the dining hall and it was monday, so the asparagus was roasted, not boiled. 'can i get the asparagus?' i asked. the lady behind the counter looked at me for a moment, expressionless, then pointed at the stalks of green vegetables in the metal tray to her right. 'you mean the asparagus?' i nodded.

in the spring i took a class called intro to linguistics, taught by a kind, square-shaped man with round glasses and minecraft stans for kids who told us on the first day of class, his green beatles background flickering awkwardly behind him, that there is no such thing as bad english. i didn't believe him at first the way i am inclined not to believe anything i'm told without being slapped in the face with it a few times in times of dire need, but eventually i came around. 'i feel like every time i open my mouth i am standing on a big empty stage with a microphone in one hand and everyone is waiting for me to speak,' i wrote in my first assignment for that class. what i meant was: i am scared to death of being heard. what i meant was: i do not feel like a person here.

did you know? as far as we're aware, humans are the only species on this planet that uses words. we built this damn thing out of sawdust and sadness, pouring centuries of sound and sight and sensation into a system that's so fucked up, your only options are either to be born in it or to force your way in with a chainsaw. every day some guy in the youtube comments section of your favorite video, you know the vine where the kid smiles into the camera like she's just shaken hands with god and then points at the field of ducks behind her and goes, 'look at all those chickens!', every day some guy goes to that exact video and replies to some stranger's comment to let them know it's 'you're' not 'your'. every day someone derails a discussion about bitcoin on reddit with a well-placed apostrophe. every day someone laughs at a friend and says they sound a little old-fashioned, a little canadian, none of the kids say it like that anymore, you know? it's weird. you're weird.

so be weird. be a public riot. be that one guy who goes into the dining hall every day and mispronounces half the words on the board, because who the fuck learns how to pronounce asparagus in history class? english literature? i don't even LIKE asparagus. i'm just trying to eat my fucking vegetables, for fuck's sake. i'm just trying to make sure that every once in a while when i open my mouth and something climbs out, someone else catches it. like maybe one day it'll be something beautiful. like maybe one day it'll be a star.

and if you're ever trying to eat your fucking vegetables and someone tells you you're speaking funny, breathing funny, shaking your left leg under the table funny, and if ever you find yourself far from home and struggling to make the words look less like monsters and more like symbols for sadness and someone laughs at that, someone thinks your pain is amusing, then you know what? eat them too. and don't you even think of saying sorry.

::

in the remastered version of this scene he asks me am i right and i say no, you're a dick, and then i leave.

05.24.21

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: By Your Side (an extra)

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: hello i am back with more RCG, my children, my loves, my everythings. i got a request for a wedding blurb and these two immediately came to mind. enjoy peak softness, some smut, and just general big RCG energy. this is an extra, set months after the end of part two. enjoy some Hicely and come talk to me in my inbox about them!

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Harry could hardly hold it together.

The church pews in front of him were full with their neighbors and a few people from Cicely’s life before they had met, but by and large it was the people they had met since she had found him. Wide-brimmed hats and plenty of color, everyone in their Sunday best for a wedding between the infamous Harry Styles and his beloved Cicely. But it wasn’t the people that had Harry’s heart pounding.

It was the fact that he was about to marry the love of his life.

Harry had never really believed in fate—not after he had lost so many people, after he had been dealt bout after bout of pain. But then he found Cicely on a road in the middle of a thunderstorm and fell in love, and suddenly fate was the only thing that could’ve possibly explained it. How he had fallen in love in a matter of days, how he had let her in as he had never let anyone in before, how she matched his every trait and complemented him perfectly. Soothed him in his darkest moments, challenged him when he deserved it, pushed him when he needed it, and loved him every second of every day. Walking out of the ring and into her arms was a kind of peace he had never known; waking up to her body curved against his quieted his mind in the ways he never knew he needed.

And now she was about to be his for the rest of time.

He shifted from foot to foot, wiping his sweaty palms on the heavy material of his black suit jacket. Josiah had bought it for him—claimed it was his wedding gift to the couple, making sure Harry had a nice suit. It was the nicest piece of clothing he owned, tailored to perfectly fit the cut of his body and one look at it showed how expensive it was.

Frankly, he felt uncomfortable in it.

“Harry.” He turned his head to where Jack stood, his best man, flanked by Josiah and Tommy. “Stop worrying, you look like you don’t want to be here.”

“I just hate fuckin’ waiting,” Harry said under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d have to stand up here with all these people starin’ at me.”

Jack gave him a look of sympathy and understanding. “She’ll be here soon.”

As if right on cue, the music started up, the church organist playing from their corner as they did every Sunday. Except this time, it was for Harry and Cicely. Then, the doors to the room pushed open, and Harry felt his breath catch, the rays of the Saturday afternoon light streaming in the stained glass windows as Pippa stepped into the chapel, tossing rose petals onto the aisle way. It had been one of Cicely’s few requests for the wedding—that Pippa be their flower girl and Clarence their ring bearer, her affection for the neighbor children evident.

The little girl walked down the aisle grinning ear to ear as she dropped petals on a slow interval, soft coos from the audience at the sight of her pale purple dress that Josiah had purchased for her, wanting her to have a nice new dress for the wedding of his close friend. Behind her entered Clarence in a suit that was slightly too big on him, but held room to be grown into, also a gift from Josiah. His eyes were on the floor in front of him, as if he was nervous that he was going to trip on the tile.

Finally, the love of Harry’s life entered the room in a cloud of white and sunshine.

Her white satin dress glinted under the mid-afternoon rays, the floor-length material gathered at her side, a dip at the neckline that hinted at the cleavage Harry had run his fingers along the outline of only the previous day. A white cap sat on her head, the perfectly curled curves of her blond hair peeking out from underneath, and a long white see-through and embroidered train falling to the ground as she moved towards her. Long sleeves gathered at her wrists, where her dainty hands held a large bouquet of flowers, ones picked out by her mother, who stood at Cicely’s side.

In the months since Cicely had returned to Harry, she and her father hadn’t reconciled, but she had faithfully sent letters to her mother to keep her updated on her life. She had sent her an announcement for the wedding and her mother had replied saying she would attend, and asked to help plan. Through the process, she had demonstrated how much she loved her daughter, and when Cicely asked her to walk her down the aisle in the place of William, her mother cried. Now, she stood next to her daughter in a deep purple dress, a smile of joy and pride on her face as she guided Cicely down the aisle towards Harry.

Harry didn’t know if he had every seen someone more breath-taking than Cicely in this moment.

Well, she always took his breath away, but her she was in her wedding dress walking towards him with that wide smile that was reserved only for him, her brown eyes glowing with joy under the bright light of the room. His eyes trailed down her figure, taking in the sight of her and memorizing every curve of the material and the sight in front of him because he never wanted to forget what she looked like on the day she married him.

To even have a woman as magnificent as she was marrying him felt like his life’s work accomplished. He could never be more proud than he was to be her husband, because there was not a single title that meant more to him. No matter how many matches he won, nothing could ever top marrying her. Despite the fact that a year ago he hadn’t even known her, it felt as if he had been waiting for this moment for his entire life.

And now that it was here Harry couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Cicely King walking up an aisle to become his for the rest of time.

Distantly, he heard the organ playing in the background as she reached the front of the chapel, her mother helping her adjust her veil around her. Her hands were covered in silk white gloves that when up her forearms, and then she finally stood within arm’s reach, he couldn’t resist immediately grabbing hold of them, desperate to touch her even if it was through fabric. She was beaming at him, and when her thumb brushed over his knuckles, his heart clenched. He couldn’t find the words to describe this moment, the sight of her in front of him, about to marry him.

But then he did. He found the words when he repeated his vows, his gaze never breaking hers. “I, Harry Styles, take thee, Cicely King, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold,” the word wife falling off his tongue like butter, a term meant to be there. “From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

He saw the tears at the corner of her eyes and admittedly, there were a few in his as well. He wondered if she could feel the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he said the words, his voice cracking a bit as he said “I pledge myself to you.” They had been able to choose between pledging their faiths to one another and pledging themselves to one another, and for Harry it was an easy choice.

She was his life. There was nothing else in the world he was loyal too besides her. The church, the country, the King, not even Josiah—none of them were more worthy of his life than she was.

The chapel was quiet when Cicely began to speak, the sound of her soft and loving tone filling his body as she recited her vows. “I, Cicely King, take thee, Harry Styles, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

Her blog hair curled into her face and Harry resisted the urge to reach up and push it behind her ear, the light blush on her cheeks making him break into an even wider smile. He didn’t think he had ever smiled this much—he didn’t smile very much before Cicely. But she made him laugh when she woke him up in the morning with kisses on his cheeks, smile when she walked up behind him and hugged him tight, grin when he saw her walking towards him with books she’d bought and wanted to share with him. Just simply being around her made him want to constantly be smiling.

Next to him, he heard the priest introduce the ring exchange, and Clarence moved towards where he and Cicely stood, presenting the simple wedding bands they had picked out. Cicely had been the one who insisted on their simplicity, telling Harry as they laid in bed one morning that it didn’t matter how expensive the rings were, it was what they represented that mattered to her. Told him that she had spent her life caring about people’s perceptions of herself and she didn’t care anymore—she wanted a ring that was hers and was from him, and that was all.

And that was how she had ended up with the engagement ring she wore now, and the thin band he now held in his palm as he recited the words to the ring exchange. “With this ring,” he said, taking in the sight of her looking at him with nothing but love in her eyes, “I thee wed.” He slipped the ring over the silk glove on her hand, the metal nestling between the folds of the silk, fitting her just as well as the glove she wore.

Then, Cicely picked up Harry’s ring and he saw it for the first time—a wide silver band, and when she turned it slightly he saw an inscription glint on the inside. She had gotten an inscription on it, he thought to himself as she held it in her palm. For some reason, that thought made his chest tighten, and it only got tighter when she began to speak. “With this ring,” she said, rotating his hand so it was aligned with the ring, “I thee wed.”

It felt no heavier in weight than the other rings he wore, but the meaning behind it made it more precious than the other metals he wore. The fact that it was what represented his bond to her made him vow immediately to never take it off unless he was fighting, to wear it with pride for the rest of his life.

With their hands clasped, the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Harry’s love chuckled softly when the words You may now kiss the bride were spoken. Harry had never moved fasted in his life, not caring who surrounded him—he slipped his hand to her waist and tugged her into his chest, desperate to feel her body against him. His home, his love, his life, everything in the world that mattered existed in the body of a single person: her.

The sound of her giggle when his lips met hers made it all the more perfect. The taste of her lipstick and her mid-day tea, the scent of her perfume that had imprinted itself in his mind. When he kissed her, nothing else mattered—she was his, finally.

As they pulled away, just an innocent and chaste kiss unlike the ones they usually shared, Cicely pressed her fingertips to his cheekbones, brushing softly against his skin. She was all he could see, her features filling his faze, and he had never seen a more stunning sight. The joy in her expression overwhelmed him—how could he make another person feel that way? How could he make her feel that level of happiness? How could he be the reason for the smile that was so wide it blinded him?

It boggled his mind, but when she kissed his lips softly, one more time, a chuckle rising from his best man, he knew why: because she loved him just as much as he loved her. There wasn’t a soul on the earth who could illicit an emotion that would surpass the feeling that rested in both of their chest as they stood in the chapel. They were meant for one another, crafted and sculpted to fit each other’s nooks and crannies, designed to match.

A cheer rose up from the crowd—one he knew originated from Josiah’s men who were too rowdy to keep themselves together any longer than they had to, but he didn’t mind. It made Cicely laugh, and that sound was one Harry would’ve fought in another war just to hear one more time.

“Did we just get married?” Cicely asked him, just loud enough so he could hear it, her fingers intertwining with his as they turned to face the crowd.

“I think so,” he answered, squeezing her palm in his. “How do ya feel, Mrs. Styles?”

The corners of her lips turned up and she pressed her arm closer to his. “Happier than ever before.”

After the ceremony, there was at the pub, the first one Josiah ever bought and where the beer was always free for Harry, and by extension, Cicely. They closed the place down for the night and the barkeep was constantly carrying pints around the place, the barmaid laughing and handing drunken men and women their beers from across the bar. In the corner of the room, sat Harry and Cicely in the booth, his arm slung around her shoulders and a rare grin on his face.

They had decided to leave on their honeymoon the following morning—they wanted to celebrate with their friends. Friends who had become their family, who had protected and fought for them every step of the way. They would have plenty of honeymoons if Harry had it his way, the memory of their time along the sea one of the brightest days of his life. It paled only in comparison to this day, the day when he married his love.

Cicely still wore her wedding dress, mainly because Harry refused to let her change, and her fingers crawled up the material of his pants stretched tight across his thighs. “Our friends are menaces,” she said under her breath and Harry snorted in response.

It was a sound she rarely heard outside of the comfort of their home. This Harry was the one she had pulled from his shell, the one who laughed and smiled and tickled her until she swatted at him to stop. To experience him like this out in public meant something, even if only Cicely knew it. It meant he didn’t feel like he had to hide anymore or pretend. That he could simply live for the first time in a very long time.

“I want another pint,” she told him, pressing the pads of her index and middle finger into the inside of his thigh, earning her a wide-eyed glance from Harry.

“Do ya now?” He replied, rotating his upper body ever so slightly, just enough so that he could face her full-on. “When I met you, you’d never even had one before, and now you’re askin’ me for another.”

He shook his head and Cicely leaned in slightly, the drunken haze of her mind letting the barrier she usually kept up between them in public falling. “I was corrupted, I suppose.”

His eyebrows lifted at her words, surprised to hear his normally innocent girl say such a thing. “Were ya now? And who by?”

“A man,” she answered, running her fingertips along the seam of his pants. “A man with bloody knuckles and a soft touch.”

Even though she meant it to be tantalizing, Harry couldn’t help the tug the words had on his heart. He had always feared what he did for a living would scare away the most precious thing in the world, but she managed to find his humanity amidst all of the pain he caused. “That man must be quite lucky,” he told her with measured breath, his hand heavy on her shoulder, “to have the honor of touching you.”

Cicely’s eyes didn’t leave his as her hand crept to his knee, running her finger in a circle along the inside. Harry gulped at the pressure and watched her closely as she leaned in, closing the space between them. “He is,” she said, “but he’s not doing it nearly enough right now.”

Just as he was about to respond, a glass slammed down onto the table and he looked up to see Tommy standing there, grinning ear to ear. “The newlyweds!” He said, spreading one arm out. “To Mr. and Mrs. Styles!” He raised his pint and the entire pub cheered, echoing his words as they took a drink.

Cicely had the wherewithal to smile and wave, but Harry was too distracted by what she had said. Suddenly, it felt like his purpose in life was to touch her, to feel her skin against his. And she was wearing too much fabric—the long sleeves, the gloves, the long skirt. He couldn’t see her in the way he needed, and the need was something carnal inside of him. The desire to touch his wife.

His wife.

“You’re my wife,” he said out of the blue, drawing her attention back to him.

“Pardon?” Perhaps she couldn’t hear him over the boisterous singing that had taken over the pub, but Harry couldn’t hear anything bu her.

“You’re my wife.” When he said the words he ran his thumb across her cheek, from the apple of it to her ear, before sweeping his digit down to the hinge of her jaw and the slope of her neck. “My wife.” He said in a whisper, as if in awe with the concept, the reality of it settling in for the first time.

Reflexively, she leaned into his palm, resting her head in his touch. “My husband,” she answered. “I can’t quite believe it.”

The smile he gave her was soft, the edges of his mouth curving upwards only barely, but the real smile was in his eyes. The sea of green that she swam in every moment of her life, the edges of his irises that she bathed in in her dreams. “Will it feel more real in the mornin’?”

“I don’t know,” she told him, because she didn’t. She didn’t know what the morning would hold for them, other than a train ride to a cottage where they were staying for a fortnight. “Perhaps.”

Gently, he rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t think it’ll ever feel real,” he whispered. “I can barely even process that you’re real sometimes, much less that you’re mine.”

This was something they battled constantly—the fact that Harry constantly feared losing her. It had happened once and neither of them wanted it to happen again, but for Harry it was his darkest nightmare, the one that rattled him to his core. Sometimes, they bled into the daytime and he struggled with the concept that she was truly there with him, that she wasn’t a figment of his imagination or an angel come to take him away.

Cicely had grown used to it, though, as much as it hurt her. She was used to his requests to remind him and she did so gladly, reciting their story in the darkness and the light, no matter what time of day he needed it. Sometimes he would call her on the telephone he had gotten installed so she could speak to her mother, and he would beg her in a broken tone to remind him, to remind him of reality. He’d call from the boxing ring, breathless and mind whirling, struggling to piece it all together and she’d help him. She didn’t mind. She only wished that one day he would understand that she felt just as lucky to have him as he did her. That he was just as precious to her, that she would fight for him for the rest of her days, that he was worthy of every second of joy they experienced. It broke her to see him in pain, and sometimes he struggled to understand that—that she loved him just as deeply as he loved her.

To remind him on this occasion, she lifted her hands to cup his face, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Just as you are mine, my love.” Her fingers combed through his hair, the locks that she kept cropped to his preferred length. “And I will love you for the rest of my days.”

The pub around them continued to celebrate their union as the happy couple existed in their bubble, impenetrable from the love and adoration flowing between them. Cheers and song lasted well into the night, until the beer nearly ran out and Jack finally forced everyone out, the sounds of joy spilling into the narrow streets of Balsall Heath. The place where two people fell in love, despite who they were and the barriers that stood in their way.

The place where Harry and Cicely fell in love.

Josiah demanded that Harry and Cicely let one of his men drive them home, saying that newlyweds didn’t walk home after the pub. So instead they ended up getting dropped off at Harry’s home, the black car pulling away from the curb and leaving them alone in the dark, quiet night. They still lived in the same home, the same green-wallpaper and small kitchen, but Cicely had made a few updates.

“C’mere,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her body into his.

“What are you doing?” She said in a harsh whisper when he picked her up, her legs draped over one arm and the other tightly gripping her upper body.

“What does it look like?” He asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “‘M carryin’ my wife across the threshold.”

Cicely giggled as he stepped inside, crossing the threshold that they had each crossed an innumerable amount of times, but for some reason it felt different. It felt different between Cicely’s white wedding dress hung from her body as he set her on her feet, and she held the her veil in her hands so it didn’t drag along the floor. It felt different because when Harry’s hand pressed into her back, there was a new ring present on his fingers—one that she had placed there.

Inside, the home was still Harry’s, but by this point it was Cicely’s as well. Photographs sat on the hall table, ones of the two of them—one from a horserace they’d gone to, Cicely laughing into Harry’s chest as he held her, another of them at the sea. She’d even put up one of her and her mother in the living room next to the one of Harry and his family—who hadn’t been present at the wedding, as much as she had tried to force him to invite them. The bookshelf was littered with Cicely’s favorite books and her many bookmarks laid on various surfaces in the house, random scraps of paper that she would tuck between pages. On the floors were rugs that she had picked out at the markets, warming up the house that was now her home.

In the kitchen was new cutlery and plates and glasses, ones without nicks at the sides. The pantry stayed stocked because suddenly it wasn’t just Harry who ate dinner at the small dining table every night, it was Harry and Cicely. Her favorite tea was tucked in next to his in the drawer, and she’d sewn napkins from their old curtains which she had replaced, claiming they needed more color in their home.

Upstairs, she’d replaced the sheets with a pristine white and the duvet cover was now a dark blue, a soft material she had searched high and low for. In the armoire were her clothes lying next to his, her dresses hung up in the wardrobe and her shoes right alongside his. On the bedside table was Cicely’s favorite photograph: one she had had Pippa take on their front steps when they’d gotten back from the sea, a rare smile on Harry’s face as he looked at Cicely, their eyes both filled with love.

Now, Cicely leaned against the banister and looked at her husband, her eyes drawing down his body as he locked the front door behind them. “Why are ya starin' at me?” He asked, stepping towards her, the whiskey and beer making his accent more prominent and his words clipped at the end.

“Hmm,” she murmured, sliding her palms up his suit jacket. “I was looking at my husband.”

“Were ya now?” Harry’s voice was rough as he said the words, his body closing in to hers and pressing her flush against the banister, her back digging into the spindles. “And?”

“And,” she replied, her hands slipping down, fingertips brushing over where she knew the barbells sat under his clothing, taking joy in the hollow groan that fell from his lips. “I think I’d like to undress him.”

The sounds that slid from Harry’s mouth were sinful, a combination of curses that she would never allow him to say in front of their children, her name, and wordless, broken, moans. “Would you like to do that here or upstairs?” He asked, leaning in and brushing his lips to her jawline, nipping at the thin skin that covered her bone, reveling in the gasp that left her. “Your choice, love.”

She pushed back his jacket, not so far that it fell off his shoulders, but enough that she could run her hands up his dress shirt. Then, with a steady gaze that left him gasping for air, she hooked her fingers in each of the buttons of his shirt, popping each one with precision. “Partly here,” she answered once she had access to his chest, her fingertips pressing into his warm skin, his mind going haywire no matter how many times she had touched his bare chest. Then, she leaned in and her soft lips met his sternum, leaving a trail of kisses and pulls on his skin, the pop of her lips when she drew away the only sound other than the light exhales of her name in the air. “And partly there.”

Harry would let her do anything. That had been established long ago. He was a mere mortal to her holy aura, just a scrap of paper in a book of poems that were all her compositions. He was hers to do as she wished, and he never desired to be anything else. “As you wish,” he rasped, eyes darkening when her leg hooked around his calf and tugged him closer.

It was as if a gun had been shot off, one of the ones that were tucked into the jackets of Josiah’s men—suddenly they were hands and lips, a flurry of touch. Cicely couldn’t get enough, her desire to touch him having built up all day and was bursting at the seams. All she wanted was his bare skin under hers, to touch him and feel every rise and fall of his body. So when she hooked her hands under his shirt and tugged, neither of them cared that the remaining buttons were still clasped and that they were pulled free from the thread. Neither of them minded when they fell to the floor along with his suit jacket and his shirt, the fabric long forgotten in favor of Cicely touching every inch of his chest.

“Ci,” he whispered when she licked across his collarbones, drawing a path and humming his name under her breath. “Ci, Ci, Ci,” he chanted, her name the only thought he could process at the sensation of her so close yet so far away.

Her tongue dipped into the hollow above where his bone jutted out, and then down, nibbling at the skin absentmindedly before dipping her head and sucking harshly on the swallows on his chest. She had a mission—she wanted to lick and pull on her favorite part of him, the piercings adorning his nipples, the very things that had so intrigued her the first time she had seen them. And when she did, Harry did the same thing he always did, gripped her hips in his wide palms and clenched his jaw, barely holding himself together.

Warmth spread across his skin as she licked up, down, and in a circle over his right nipple, a rumble from her throat making goosebumps rise on the area surrounding it. Her thumbs brushed up her sides, the feeling of her touch overwhelming his senses—he could smell nothing but her perfume, the smoke in her hair and the lingering beer on her breath. She was sweetness and Balsall Heath all rolled into one—she was home, the only home he had ever truly known, the only one that ever mattered. She was his, to have and to hold, for the rest of his days.

And he would never let her go.

Cicely could’ve stayed there for hours, neck bent as she licked and pulled at his nipples, the cold metal beneath her tongue and pressed against her lips, exploring the sounds he made and the way he touched her body. But Harry’s fingers curled into her hair and pulled her face up to look at his, their eyes meeting as their chests rose and fell.

“Love,” he murmured, irises blown out as he looked at her, thumbs brushing up her neck gently. “I need ya.”

She didn’t even need to reply, she just pulled on his neck and connected their mouths finally, the press of Harry’s lips to hers pushing every other thought in her head to the side. He consumed her, the imprint of his body against hers as he held her close, the pull of his teeth on her bottom lip, the soft chuckles leaving his mouth when she squirmed in his grasp. “Harry,” she said, words caught in her throat when he drew a line down her neck of searing kisses. “Upstairs.”

His head bounced up at that. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she answered, raising her ankle that was around his calf higher so it was hitched around his knees. “Want my husband.” Her sentences were incomplete, but they always were when they were like this. When their minds went blank, devoid of anything other than one another, their souls intertwined.

Harry’s eyes softened at her last word, hands falling from her ribcage to her hips. “Can I carry you?” He asked, knowing sometimes she liked to walk herself, but other times she didn’t mind it when placing all of her trust in him. Sometimes it made her feel powerless, the feeling reminding her of that dreaded day in the streets with her father and the police. When that happened, Harry let her lead the way, let her hold all the power in the moment so she didn’t slip into the depths of her mind as she sometimes did.

Tonight, Cicely said yes, the word light in the near-darkness of their entry hall. They’d turned on no other lights when they had entered, but they didn’t need them. They could describe one another perfectly without light, having memorized each other’s bodies long ago. But more than that, they could sense one another’s moods—Cicely knew what Harry wanted and needed, and vice versa.

They could survive in the dark.

They had before.

Harry carried her up the stairs of their home, Cicely’s lips sweeping across his shoulders like wildfire, hands curled around his shoulders as he held her in his arms. When they reached what used to be his room, and now belonged to the both of them, he set her down on the floor, knowing he would need her standing to undress her.

First, he bent to his knees and removed her heels, the white satin ruined from the mud in the streets, but he knew she didn’t mind. He placed them next to where she stood, balanced on the kitten heels, and then stood back up. “Turn ‘round for me,” he said in the quiet of their room.

She followed his directions immediately, turning so the back of her wedding dress was revealed, her veil forgotten somewhere downstairs. Harry’s fingers swept down her back, Cicely’s breath constricting at the sensation, and then popped each of the tiny buttons on her dress, revealing bit by bit of her skin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, perhaps to no one but himself, but Cicely heard it. He said it every time he saw her like this, even if it was just the sliver of skin above her stockings, it was beauty to him. To see her bare skin was a sight he would never forget, and he always reminded her of how to him, she was the most stunning creature on Earth.

Then, his lips met her spine, and Cicely sighed, heavy and wet in the room, her hands reaching behind her to hold onto something—she caught the top of his trousers and curled her forefingers into them. “H,” she rasped.

“I’m tryin’ to savor you,” he said, humming against her skin. “Let me, please, love.”

She couldn’t refuse him, not when it was a request such as this. So she let him continue on his adventure, murmuring praises into her as he popped each button, imprinting his love on her skin so it would never leave her. It was like a tattoo, like the black ink on his body, except instead of ink it was the wet heat of his tongue and a trail of searing kisses.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. He knew he was torturing her, but he knew she enjoyed the words he spoke and the way he touched her body. How he pushed the material off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, the light weight of the silk hitting their wooden floors in a whoosh of air. And in front of him stood his love in nothing but delicate white lace. “Ci,” he whispered, fingers crawling down her exposed back, brushing over the back of her brassiere and down her spine to where the tops of her underwear laid.

Slowly, she turned, her body just a hair’s distance away, and he saw the rest of her body—the rise and fall of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, the angles of her hips and the length of her legs. The flush of her cheeks and the glow in her eyes meant only for him. “Your turn,” she said, and popped the button on his trousers, which were all that remained of his wedding attire.

“Wait—“ he said, grabbing her hands. “My shoes, forgot my shoes.”

She giggled and the sound pulled them out of the heat of the moment for just long enough for Harry to poke her side and fall to his knees, untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off, letting them fall to the side next to her heels. “Done?” She asked when he rose back to standing.

“Impatient,” he mumbled, pushing the hair back from her forehead and behind her ear.

She laughed softly, air from her lips hitting his chest. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Oh?” It had taken them so long to get to his point—where Cicely felt comfortable asking for what she wanted, feeling confident in situations such as this. What had changed was the realization that their time had no end date, no expiration, that they had forever together. There was a sense of calm and comfort in that discovery, and it had allowed her to open up a part of herself she never had before, the part of her that toyed with him and prodded and taunted him just as much as he did her.

Cicely returned to the task at hand, her hand brushing against his cock and smiling when Harry jerked under her touch. Then, she pulled down the zipper on his trousers, and let them fall to the ground. He was wearing boxers, a rarity for him, if she was being honest, but she decided to leave them for the time being.

For a breath, they stood and stared at each other, eyes searching one another’s and taking in the moment. And then, Cicely sat down on the edge of their bed and scooted backwards, her underwear riding down on her hips slightly as she moved, and laid back.

Harry couldn’t breathe for a moment. Despite sleeping with her every night, his body curled up against hers, he never tired of the sight of her spread out in front of him, of how she reached out for him with one hand, waiting for him to join her. He took her hand and his knees hit the duvet, inching towards her, his knees on either side of her body as he made his way up.

“I love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead to her cheek, head bent and eyes shut. He did this sometimes hen he was simply overwhelmed with his emotions, unable to even put them into words. His eyelashes fluttered softly against her skin, and her hands swept up his back, nails lightly scraping across his skin to calm him. “I don’t—I—“

“Me too,” she answered, knowing what he meant without even needing to hear the words.

He lifted his head, took one look at her face, and closed the narrow space between them, lips slotting between hers. Gently, he lowered himself, needing to be closer to her, wanting his skin pressed to hers, and placed his knees between her legs. He laid flush against her and Cicely loved it, adored how he let his weight drop to her, how he let himself go in her arms. Her knees moved upwards and her ankles hooked around his lower back, and when she did so, they both groaned, the feeling of their centers brushing lighting a fire in both of their bellies.

She needed more. Anything he could give her, she needed. She wanted it all, every part of him, forever. “For the rest of my life,” she murmured when his lips met her jaw, then her neck, and down to her chest. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”

Harry pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see her fully. “Rest of my life,” he agreed. “Only you, Ci.”

With that, they were clamoring for one another, Harry unclasping her brassiere and pulling it away, her hands tugging down his boxers, desperate for him. It was as if it was their first time all over again, even thought it was anything but—they’d had one another so many times they couldn’t remember a night without each other since Cicely had returned to him. They didn’t know how to sleep apart, in fact.

When Harry pulled down her underwear and bent to lick into her, Cicely pulled on his hair softly, making him meet her gaze. “No,” she said gently, “need you.”

He looked at her, at the desire in her eyes, and moved back up her body so he was hovering over her. Then, he pulled her leg up so it slotted around his hips, and ground his pelvis into hers ever so slightly, just enough for his length to rub against her folds, her fingernails digging into the skin of his chest where he was bound to have marks tomorrow, but he didn’t mind. She would be the only person he would be seeing for days, anyways.

“Please,” she begged, voice breaking, fingers tugging on the skin at the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Harry.”

The way she said his name had him unraveling for her. “Okay, love, okay,” his forehead fell to hers, pants of air leaving both of their mouths, and they could hear nothing but each other. He reached between them, pumping his length roughly, desperation seeping through his body.

Her hand met his all of a sudden, palm enclosing around his, and she built a harsher pace, one that had him bucking against her hips and hissing through his teeth. When his eyes found hers again, she licked her lips slowly, and then she shifted, brushing his tip against her entrance.

She was wet, like she always was for him, and it made Harry’s hands curl in the duvet, trying to anchor himself as she slipped him inside of her. Every time she was warm, wet, and tight, accepting him willingly, her body arching into his and sighing in relief. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed fully into her, feeling her walls constrict around him. “Fuck, love.”

And then he began to move, knowing she didn’t need much time anymore—from the way her fingernails dragged down his shoulder blades, he knew she was wound up as tightly as he was. He wondered if she had been thinking of this all day as he had, of having her alone, of having her to himself finally.

Now that he did, he never wanted it to end. The sound of her breathy moans in his ears, how she panted as he pushed slowly in and out of her, building a gentle rhythm because the emotions taking hold of his body wouldn’t allow for anything more. He wanted to show her with each press of his body how much he adored her, how she was his everything, how nothing could ever compare to her. She was chanting his name, mixed in with I love you and it broke him, a stray tear slipping from his eye that she kissed away, littering his eyelids with gentle caresses of her lips.

Cicely couldn’t think, much less find the words for how she felt in that moment. She had loved Harry from the beginning, had known he would be hers for just as long, and yet this felt new. This feeling of permanence; that no one could take him away, that he would always be hers and no one else’s. As he thrust into her, his face slotted against hers, their cheeks brushing every time he moved, not a centimeter of space between them, she didn’t know how it was possible to love someone this much. For it to overtake her every sense, for it to permeate every bone in her body, every part of her soul. He was everything to her.

“I love you,” he echoed in her ear, repeating it over and over again as his hips met hers. “Love you so much.” He was unabashed in his confession, needing her to know, and she did.

Her fingers found his hand, parting his digits so she could nestled hers between them, and he gripped her hand. She tucked her head, pressing searing kisses to every part of his face and neck she could reach, and Harry’s mind was short circuiting. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, but she was making it impossible for him.

How she was holding him inside of her, how she curled her body into his, how she held onto him like she was sinking and he was her life raft. Her bare skin on his, the brush of her breasts against the barbells tucked into his nipples, making his entire body even more sensitive. How she sucked harshly on his jaw, most definitely leaving a mark that she would giggle at in the morning when they woke up.

“Closer,” she begged suddenly, her request reminding him so vividly of one of their first times together. “I need you closer, Harry.”

He would give her anything she requested, and that one was first on his list. So he picked her up, just as he had many times before, arms curling under her back, and sat back on his heels. With her situated on his lap, her legs draped around his waist and her arms around his neck, there was nowhere either of them could escape to, their entire worlds caught up in that one moment. “Better?” He asked, pressing her hips down onto him more.

Her head tipped backwards and he took advantage of the exposed skin, nipping and sucking on her pulse point. “Perfect,” she rasped when he thrust up into her. Then she cursed and he smiled, loving when she let completely go and her posh self disappeared, replaced with the real Cicely who had no walls. Not for him—they’d broken them down long ago.

“Not going to last much longer,” he murmured, face nestled into the crook of her neck, buried deep into her hair. “Sorry, love.”

“Shh,” she said, squeezing at his hips as he pushed deeply into her. “Me either.” He was keeping the pace slow and it was killing her, but also making everything more intense, her boy craving each and every time their hips met. It was as if she couldn’t get enough, clawing at his back when he drove harshly into her than before, a mumbled apology leaving his lips.

“Ci,” he begged, not even sure what he was begging for, just her. Her. Something more, some more shred that she could give him.

She knew immediately, carding her fingers through his locks of hair and scratching at his scalp, a murmur of his name in his ear, and then she tightened around him. Her climax was rushing towards her in a storm, the sweat between their bodies and the press of their skin heightening everything about the moment, the hushed tones of love and desperation in their throats. “Stay inside me,” she whispered, lips brushing over his cheek.

“Wha’?” He asked, eyelids fluttering. He was so close that she felt it, his long eyelashes on her skin.

“Want it inside,” she repeated, not even really knowing the words for what she wanted, but hoping he understood.

“I—love, that means—“ A baby, he thought to himself, his hands tightening around her waist. They’d spoken about it, both knowing they wanted it, but they had said after the wedding. And now, he supposed, it was after the wedding.

“I know,” she said softly. “Please, H.”

His forehead rested against her clavicle, utterly overwhelmed. “Okay,” he said, voice hoarse from the prospect of their child mixed in with the love already rushing through him. It was too much—he could feel himself rapidly nearing his end, the buck of his hips speeding up. “I’m—“

“I’ve got you.” Cicely’s hands swept across his back and peppered his hairline with kisses, her legs tight around his waist. “I’ve got you, darling.”

Darling. That word was one she used rarely and only in private, but that made it even more meaningful. It made his heart clench, and when he lifted his head to let his eyes meet her, he was done for. She was crying, light tears streaking down her cheeks, but her eyes were filled with nothing but love, not a trace of heartbreak. No, she was crying for joy. From the knowledge that this love, it was unending.

That was what did him in. It was what had him stuttering in her grasp, body shaking slightly as he came inside of her, ropes brushing her walls, his thrusts slowing. He brushed her bud, not wanting to leave her behind, and their names mixed, one from each of them. Promises of love, echoes of adoration, reminders of what they meant to one another filled the room.

Cicely’s body was shivering in his hold, her high leaving her body mush. She could feel him inside of her, and she quite liked it, if she was being honest—liked having a piece of him left behind.

Her hands cradled his head and she gently said, “I love you, Harry.”

He didn’t even need to say it back, she could see the words written in his every feature, but he did anyways. “I love you, Ci. Always.” Then, he kissed her, letting their lips tell their story again and again.

Later, they laid in bed and whispered about their future together. He couldn’t help but sweep his palms over her belly where one day their child would rest. Before Cicely, Harry didn’t know if he would ever be a father. But now, it was the only path that was certain. A path with her, their child, their family, that was all he wanted. The rest of the world was meaningless without them.

Cicely’s fingers intertwined with his as they lay there, the clink of the metal of their rings softly sounding in the room. “Thank you,” she said.

He looked at her, curious. “For what?”

“Everything.” She didn’t have words for all of the individual things he had given her, and she hoped he would know what she meant.

And he did. He knew it all, every part of her, and adored each piece. He pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, and tucked her in closer to his chest, a silent answer that there was nothing to thank him for. That he would do it all over again with every reincarnation, that they would find each other again every time. After all, they were meant for one another, two halves to a whole.

Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry.

Until the end of time.

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