#I never even noticed cause this shelf was at my mums and I never go over there

[nockstormbringer]

I’m gonna be 16 in like 10 days. Me no wanna :((

[v-hope]

Wineless

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: What do you do when you’re out of whiskey and there’s a fancy bottle of wine lying around, which belongs to your girlfriend who just so happens to be out of town? You drink it. And then replace it before she gets back. Or well, at least you intend to, for there’s no way of replacing it when she arrives one night earlier and catches you red-handed.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (kind of obvious but still)

A/N: Hellooo, I had this request in my ask box for a longgggg time and I had wanted to write it ever since yet never found the right timing, until last night at 2am lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey.

Yoongi hummed inside his mind, tapping on the counter a couple of times as his eyes searched for the bottle of strong alcohol he could’ve sworn he had left on that very shelf three weeks ago. Or maybe it had only been half of it, now that he thought about it, for he had drunk some of the expensive liquor that same week you got it for him, when he had been struggling with one particular verse he could just not feel contented with.

Although there was also that one other time last week when he came home not feeling his best after a bad day...

He pouted, defeated eyes still searching around as realisation hit him that there was no bottle of whiskey on sight and there would apparently be no whiskey at all for him that night.

Bummer.

You wouldn’t be home until the next day and he would have a long, lonely night. Hoseok had called him a few minutes ago informing him the bridge of the song he had taken upon writing and needed to turn in by the end of the week was now needed by midnight tomorrow. So, there were only two ways to get the inspiration he so badly needed:

You.

Whiskey.

And right then, he had none of them.

Or well, maybe not precisely, but he could always use some variety, right? So he thought when his eyes fell on the fancy bottle of wine your mum had gifted you when you got the promotion you had so determinedly worked for — the one that had now taken you on a one week business trip to Tokyo, and far away from him and your shared place.

He thought about it for a while —that being three seconds—, before his hand was grabbing it and his feet moved over to where you kept the glasses, grabbing one of them as well before he made his way over to his home studio so he could get started on the new track right away.

Now, he knew how bad it looked, even more when he knew you had been saving it for a special occasion — what special occasion exactly, he had no idea, and he was pretty sure neither did you. But, in his defense, you would be back home tomorrow evening, and that gave him a good couple of hours to drive around the city looking for the same brand —and year— of wine he had stolen from you. Come on, he wasn’t leaving you wineless, of course. He wasn’t a douche. He was just drinking it without your permission… and then replacing it so you would never notice.

Yeah, that was it. That was perfect.

Only he didn’t count on one little detail, and that was you making it home one day earlier. Not wanting to have him worry and make some time out of his busy schedule to go pick you up at the airport like you knew he would, you had decided not to tell him — never having guessed such decision would end up backfiring on both of you. On Yoongi, for he would have no way to replace the bottle before you found out, and on you, for you were now left without that fine wine you had been looking forward to drinking at some point.

“Working so late?” your sweet voice had his head snapping in your direction in a heartbeat.

And maybe if you weren’t so caught up on the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, you would’ve noticed that part of them held some kind of panic in them — turning around on his chair and rolling it ever so slightly to his right so his body would block the empty bottle from your visual range.

“B-Babe…” he stuttered, partially because of the surprise your unannounced arrival had caused him, partially because of the alcohol having already started to hit. “You didn’t, um… I didn’t know…”

“I know,” you cut him off, knowing well enough what he meant. “Sorry I didn’t let you know, but I was getting here late, as you can see, and I didn’t want you to worry about having to go get me and all that…”

Just like that, he forgot about the wine of yours he was trying to hide altogether, smiling softly and stretching his arms out for you to hold his hands — that being exactly what you did not even two seconds later, having now fully entered his studio and letting his warm hands pull you close to him.

Not really giving you a choice —and not like you would’ve chosen any different—, he pulled you onto his lap, allowing you to sit comfortably on his legs before his hands left yours so they could rest on your back instead, smiling when you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and leaning in just enough to give your lips a lingering kiss.

“I missed you” he mumbled against your lips, earning a giggle from you and another small kiss to be pressed on his mouth. “Felt so lonely without you…”

“Have you been drinking?” you teased him, both because of his sweet words and because of the way his lips held a rather familiar bitter taste to them.

Of course you would notice right away.

He chuckled, because it was either laughing it off or panicking right before the inevitable happened. And that’s exactly when your eyes fell on the already emptied bottle resting next to a glass on his desk. The one bottle of yours you had been saving and that was now long gone.

It was fair to say, your previous smile was quickly erased from your face — an upset frown taking over your factions instead.

“Tell me that isn’t the one my mum gave me last month”.

And, you see, laughing in these kind of serious situations is never the best thing to do, especially when you know your significant other is upset. But, in both his state and how nervous he was at the idea of you being mad at him, it was all he could do.

“You’re laughing?” you scoffed. “You’re seriously laughing right now?”

He shook his head no, resting his forehead on your shoulder as another chuckle escaped his mouth instead of giving you a proper answer.

“Yoong—”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he slurred.

Although inevitably feeling your heart flutter, you rolled your eyes. “You are not trying to get out of this situation with that lame ass line”.

“But you truly are so, so beautiful, baby” he nuzzled that one soft spot in your neck, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

“Yah, Yoongi. I’m serious” you called him out, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders and gently pushing him away so you could stand up.

“No, no” he stopped you by wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. “I’ll replace it”.

“That’s not the p—”

“I’ll buy you all the wine in the world if you want” he promised. “I was going to replace it to begin with. You were supposed to get here tomorrow”.

“So now it’s my fault for getting here earlier?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “If you had let me know beforehand...”

Another scoff came out of your mouth, this time crossing your arms over your chest. “Unbelievable”.

“Please don’t…” a tired sigh escaped his mouth. “Please don’t be mad…”

You stayed silent, eyes fixed on the still half full glass next to the empty bottle as you could not help but sulk over the spilled milk, or well, the already drunk wine.

“You just—”

“Please,” he cut you off once more, this time speaking in that cute pouty tone of his you could never help but melt at. “I love you…” his words came out muffled as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t be mad... I’m sorry”.

This time, a sigh escaped your mouth. What else could you do anyway? The wine was already gone and you were left with a soft, drunken boyfriend who was really trying to make the situation better. Or well, at least trying as hard as his current state allowed him to.

“You better get me the exact same one, Min Yoongi” your threatening words didn’t match the way your face was now resting on his head, as he had buried his face in the crook of your neck by then.

“Mhm…” he breathed, eyes closed as he somehow managed to pull you even closer.

“I mean it, Yoongi” you stood your ground. “Tomorrow”.

He chuckled, planting one more kiss to the spot his mouth had been resting on before he went back up to your eye level. “Tomorrow” his lips parted into a gummy smile. “Don’t keep saving it for too long though…” he lovingly pinched your sides. “Might have to drink it on my own again”.

“Yah!” you pulled slightly away, squinting your eyes in a threatening way the he couldn’t help but find the cutest. “My wine. I will see when it’s the right time to drink it”.

“Our wedding night”.

You froze. “Huh?”

“Our wedding night, tops” he stated, and you were not sure if that was the alcohol speaking or he had really been thinking about marriage with you for a while now. “If you haven’t drunk it by then... we’re having it that night”.

A light, breathy laugh escaped your mouth. “Will we even be home that night?” you questioned, his eyes staring into the wall behind you letting you know he had not taken that into consideration. “Besides, in that case I would only get to drink half a bottle, whereas you’d technically had downed one and a half”.

“Pft,” his shoulders went slightly up. “Okay then, alcohol measuring police”.

Throwing your head back as you now let a throaty laugh out, you went back to him, running your fingers through the short strands of hair falling over his forehead and pushing them back, earning a smile and then a muffled giggle from him when you caught his bottom lip in between your longing ones.

“I will get you two bottles then” he quietly proposed when you pulled away. “One for you to share with me and one for you to get drunk on your own whenever you want”.

“Okay, okay” you giggled, not really minding the whole wine incident anymore as he pressed his lips tenderly on your cheek. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting, though?”

His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought at your question — eyes travelling to his left and wasting no time in grabbing the glass that still contained a good amount of wine in it. “You can have what’s left”.

You rolled your eyes. The proposal, he was forgetting the proposal. And you couldn’t help but find amusement in the fact that he had been so quick to talk about your wedding night when there had never been a proposal to begin with. Bold of you to believe you would get your drunken boyfriend to talk about it, though.

Nevertheless, all that aside, you did not hesitate for even a second before you took the glass from his hand.

“Oh,” he blurted out when you were taking a small sip, a smile once again parting his lips as he suddenly seemed to remember something important. “And you just wait for the ring”.

[celosiaa]

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender.  Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.  Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety.  It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin.  You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had.  Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse.  Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion.  He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and  you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch.  At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while.  He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.  

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow.  “You doing alright?  Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm.  “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly.  It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him.  “This was delivered for Jon this morning.  Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory.  “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie!  S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then.  Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting.  For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat.  “Come back and visit sometime, alright?  I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry!  Sorry.  I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual.  Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.  

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep.  He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage.  Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here.  Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder.  To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear  is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer.  saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream.  double chocolate fudge.  I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see.  God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash.  you’re unbelievable.  I can’t wait to tuck in!  love love love you <3

Sasha: good man!  I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow.  goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile.  “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.  

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept.  In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall.  Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor.  Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same.  His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders.  It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath.  “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear?  He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright?  Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury.  “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself.  “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath.  “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing.  “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH!  Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that.  On purpose.  I can leave you alone?  Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that.  To change, I mean.  You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back.  If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on.  Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time.  On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now.  Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open.  He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair,  now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something.  Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat.  “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon!  I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment.  “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.  

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.  

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it.  I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon.  Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay?  This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter.  “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly.  Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk.  “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right.  Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know?  The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right.  At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school.  I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right?  One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom.  And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table.  “Thank you for telling me.  That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again.  “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face.  After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it.  What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together.  “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress.  I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon!  Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns?  Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called.  Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want.  Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort.  “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway.  I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright!  I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said.  “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns?  Do you want to keep using he/him?  Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger.  That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them?  I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you?  Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away.  “Of course I will, Jon.  Do you want me to try it now?  I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay.  This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important.  I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So?  How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider.  “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon!  I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin.  I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk.  “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh!  Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood.  “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary.  “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons.  “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin.  “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

[weasleyswizardpleases]

And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied. 

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in. 

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes. 

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George. 

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George. 

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape. 

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is. 

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel. 

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it. 

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her. 

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins. 

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say. 

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings. 

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George. 

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly. 

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs. 

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter. 

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom. 

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.” 

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet. 

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all. 

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring. 

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies. 

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement. 

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop. 

“Alright Harry, your turn.” 

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry. 

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity. 

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?” 

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.” 

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously. 

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that. 

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!” 

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks. 

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny. 

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?” 

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully. 

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore. 

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck. 

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest. 

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body. 

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep. 

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

[newtonsheffield]

Hey, Hello, Hi.

Not a single person has asked for this, but occasionally a gal needs to further her own agenda.

You know what I'm talking about. Yes, It's my Gregory Bridgerton is a sweet boi and Lucy Abernathy is a lucky bitch™️ Agenda.

Here's just Gregory Bridgerton being a sweetheart.

@aspoonfuloffiction I know this is a special interest of yours, so if you want it here it is.

Gregory Bridgerton had never been more happy in his life than when Lucy Abernathy had agreed to be his girlfriend. Well, he hadn't really asked her, but he had told her he loved her, and then she'd called herself his girlfriend and that counted for something right? The problem was, he also felt, perhaps just a smidgeon guilty. Because she'd told him, while her cheeks flushed that she realised that she was in love with him in November. Ten whole months ago. And she had listened to him whine and complain that Hermione wasn't in love with him. Jesus she'd even helped him, or tried. Apparently he was beyond even her, very capable help. So really, wha this all boiled down too was that he, Gregory George Bridgerton, was going to try for the very first time in his life, to be perfect. Because it was what Lucy Abernathy damn well deserved.

So for the first few weeks of their relationship, he put away his star wars bowties, and bought a set of plain, pinstripe neckties that he'd seen Michael Stirling wear in a GQ shoot. He hid his popculture tshirts, and he bought a set of plain lacoste sneakers, his colourful, limited edition ones staying put on the shelf. He was going to be the kind of man that Lucy looked like she belonged with. Someone who had their life together.

He made her breakfast in the morning, omelettes, and french toast, and breakfast muffins, and when they hadn't spent the night together, he rushed to work early and met her in the carpark scanning for her Mercedes, pastry in hand. And she always looked so surprised, her eyes widening a little, her lips soft against his cheek. "I think I'll keep you, Greg." And God, he hoped she would.

He'd also decided that good boyfriend's gave their girlfriend's flowers. He knew that Anthony bought Kate a bouquet of tulips every Saturday, a handwritten dedication, and she loved it. They always made her smile, proudly displayed in their living room for the coming week. And yes, perhaps it was a little undignified that he'd shuffled into his mother's kitchen less than a day into his relationship, his fists clenched by his side and said "Umm Mum? What kind of flowers do girls like?" causing her head to practically spin off her shoulders her voice a little disappointed when she said "I'm sure I don't know what Hermione would want." Gregory had felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, a little for the bitterness but mostly for the fact that Kate hadn't immediately told her. "Umm actually, they're for Lucy?" His mother squealed in delight drowning out the rest of his statement "She and I... well she's my girlfriend." Finding himself wrapped in her arms seconds later. And an hour later, he had left the Florist with a bouquet of peonies in his hand, heading home to wait for Lucy. His mother had been right, as unfortunately, she usually was. Lucy had regarded him carefully at first, her eyes shining a little when she took them from him her voice very soft. "They're beautiful." "Mmm almost as beautiful as you." And maybe it was worth the 45 minutes of interrogation he'd endured from his mother and Hyacinth for the way she'd smiled at him.

And that really, was it's own separate thing. Lucy Abernathy, was absolutely stunning, every minute of every day. He'd been such an idiot, not to see how beautiful she was. And honestly, it cost him nothing to tell her. He told her when he woke up next to her, her hair spilling over his chest in a tangled array, when she got dressed and stood over the sink eating her breakfast, when they were in the lift at work, when they ate lunch together, when they ate dinner together, a constant shower of You're so beautiful La la la Lucy falling against her skin. Because she was, and he doubted that she heard it anywhere near as much as she deserved to.

So yes, he was trying, really very hard. And it was working, Lucy seemed so exuberantly happy, and he was as well. Blissfully, perfectly happy. Though of course, because she was Lucy, she noticed. She'd found his drawer of shirts first, and the entire mess had unraveled. The truth falling from his lips, how he'd been a little embarrassed because she was so perfect and he was just him. And he could barely stand to look at her afterwards, fighting the urge to flee. And then again, because she was Lucy, and she was perfect, she didn't care. "I think you're absolutely adorable." Her lips brushing his lightly, and Gregory's heart fluttered stupidly, his ears burning. "i just... Lucy, I think you're incredible, and I want to give you everything you deserve and you deserve someone who buys you flowers, and makes you breakfast and buys you lunch, and I don't know, has his life together." Gregory kept his eyes trained on the floor awkwardly, unable to look up as Lucy sighed sending Gregory's stomach churning.

"You know Greg, I think it's very sweet that you want to do all of these things for me but," Gregory's heart sank, he forced his eyes to hers, waiting for the rejection. "I realised I loved you when you showed me that stupid sonic screwdriver. So do you think, the sweet guy who wears Nintendo bowties could be my boyfriend too? Because he was pretty hot actually. Super cute glasses." She was smiling at him, standing on hr toes her fingers running through his hair and he couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "Yeah, I think he can be your boyfriend." Her soft smile widening as her lips met him again. "Is he still going to buy me pastries though?" She smirked when they broke apart, Gregory felt laughter bubble in his chest. "Lucy Abernathy, I'll buy you all the pastries you want."

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction | The Boys Have Baby Fever [Request]

A/n: Stopppp because I have major baby fever right now but I’m not ready for kids! I can’t even look after a potted plant or MYSELF how am I meant to look after a mini me….but I keep imagining the tiny little fingers and tiny little toes and I just….Ya’ll need to stop cause I want a baby

 [BTS X Fem!Reader]

Seokjin:

"Who's been such a good little girl for Auntie Y/n," You cooed as you carried the small baby girl out from the changing room in her nursery, Jin was sitting on the floor with your nephew while you cradled your three-month-old niece in your arms bouncing her back and forth while you smiled at her.

"Which one? Blue or green?" Jin questioned your nephew holding up two different cars for him to choose from,

"Gween." You smiled watching them interact with one another, Jin had always been great with your nephew ever since your sister-in-law had him a couple of years ago. You regularly babysat for them a lot so they could have date nights and when she asked if you would look after the new-born you jumped at the chance. It would give you some practice for when you had yours and would somehow give you the courage to tell Jin that you were carrying his child.

"Are you going to go for a nap now baby?" You questioned your nephew as you noticed the time, it was for him and his sister to go down to sleep for a while.

"Can Uncle Jin read me to sleep?" You looked at Jin with the same question and he nodded, telling your nephew to go and pick a book while you followed close behind him.

"He loves you," You whispered watching him search through his bookshelf, you bounced your niece who was still staring up at you and Jin,

"Princess and the pea?" You asked as you looked down at the book he was holding out for Jin to take,

"It's my sisters favourite, and auntie Y/n's but I'm not supposed to tell you that." You rolled your eyes, it had been one of your favourites as a child but who didn't love a good Princess book when they were younger.

Jin quietly closed the book before placing it down on the shelf,

"He's out cold." He whispered tucking him into the bed and walking over to you, you were standing over the crip of your niece rocking it back and forth while you watched her sleeping. She looked so peaceful and happy - as happy as you could get as a three-month-old.

"Look how small she is," He cooed stretching out his hand to move the blanket away from her face, she stirred and murmured in her sleep before turning her head.

"They grow up though Jin..." You were trying to warn him about it all, make sure he was serious about this because you knew where this was going. He'd had baby fever for months since your brother told you his wife was pregnant.

"Yeah but they're adorable, and they turn out amazing." You looked at him as he started talking about all the reasons he wanted his own baby. You'd only ever heard him talk about it a few times, mentioning that he just wanted to pass down his name and his talent but the more he talked about it the more you realised how serious he was about having a baby.

"We should make one." He whispered standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck and smiling as you both watch your niece sleeping, you took in a shaky breath.

"What if you already had one?" Your voice cracked through the sentence since you were nervous about all of this but his hands froze on your waist.

"I think I'd know if I had a son or a daughter out there somewhere." He chuckled thinking you were joking about everything but you smiled,

"What if they weren't out there yet, what if they were right here?" As you whispered you took his hand and placed it onto your stomach and giggling as you waited for him to slowly realise what you meant.

"Oh my god," You giggled walking out of the room and leaving him there to freak out a little bit while you went to make a cup of tea for yourself.

"We need to get ready, start planning. We have to tell the boys!" He was whisper yelling as he walked into the living room with you freaking out over everything he could.

Yoongi:

You'd been sitting in the waiting room of the hospital for hours, you seemed to be the least nervous one there as you clutched onto the small purply bunny you'd brought along with you.

"Guys?" You all looked up to see Namjoon walking out carrying a small bundle of blankets and you smiled knowing it was his son now coming to visit all of his uncles,

"Where are you going?" Yoongi whispered when he saw you going over to the room Namjoon had come out,

"To visit the new mum, stay here." You kissed his cheek gently and walked into the room to see Namjoon's wife, she was drenched in sweat and looked exhausted,

"Hi, mummy." You joked at her and she gasped sitting up in the bed and looking at you as you handed her the small bunny.

"How was it?" You questioned sitting down in the chair next to her bed, she told you all about the labour and how all the pain went away as soon as she saw her son.

"Why the sudden interest?" You smirked at her and bit down on your lip,

"I'm pregnant...But I haven't told Yoongi yet so keep it to yourself." You rushed out when you heard them coming towards the doors, you could hear those boys from miles away. Namjoon walked into the room and walked over to his wife while you stared at Yoongi who was holding the baby, he was bouncing him a little while he stared down at him.

"He's adorable," He mumbled causing the other boys to start laughing,

"Be careful Y/n I think someone is starting to get a little broody." Namjoon chuckled and the others all joined in telling you he hadn't put the boy down or handed him to the others since getting hold of him.

"Do you blame me? Look at his tiny little fingers and his tiny little fit," You'd never seen Yoongi like this with anyone before and it was sending butterflies to your stomach...it could have been the morning sickness but it was lovable to watch him like this.

"He needs to sleep Yoongi," Namjoon mentioned and he sighed taking their son over to him and giving him back to his mother.

"Come on you," You groaned pushing him out of the room, away from the baby to give him a clear head.

"I know you think it's just because we've been around them but I'm serious," You linked hands as you walked around the hospital together, you were on the hunt for a vending machine. Since becoming pregnant you'd gotten a craving for chocolate all of the time,

"Serious?" You questioned looking around for a sign of any food anywhere but you were lost in the maternity ward.

"About having a baby, I want one." You smiled at him as he stood you from walking and held you in place to make you look at him,

"Want me to steal one?" You asked nervously eyes darting around the hallway to avoid his gaze.

"Do you not want to have a baby?" His voice fell flat and he looked sad like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him kind of sad.

"W-What? No, I want one but Yoongi you're just-"

"I'm serious. I want one, I've wanted one for a while." You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded at him, if he was serious about it all then there was no reason for you to hide it anymore.

"Okay well...Consider it done, you have one." He frowned at you not following along with what you were telling him, his brows furrowed together making you giggle.

"I'm already pregnant..." You waited for a couple of seconds while the information registered into his head and as soon as it did he physically jumped into the air, screaming about how happy he was.

"I'm gonna be a father!" He screamed as people walked past you both, staring and glaring as he yelled while standing on a maternity ward.

"Shh Yoongi, we have to keep it a secret." You giggled trying to get him to keep it quiet until you'd had your first or second scan but you knew there was nothing that would stop him from telling all of the boys and as many people as he could.

Hoseok:

It was one of the rare occasions where Hoseok had the same night off as you did so you were spending the time curled up together watching your favourite show. He wasn't that invested in it since it wasn't his style of show but, he watched it just so that he could relax and unwind with you by his side.

"Look," You glanced up from your phone to see what he was talking about when you realised it was the episode of your show where the main protagonist had a baby. She was giving birth in a barn since they were miles away from any kind of hospital,

"Ah I know, so cute right." You let out a soft laugh thinking he was talking about how close the couple were but as soon as the baby appeared on the screen again he shook his head,

"The baby." You looked at the baby in their arms. You smiled as you felt a warm feeling spread through your body, you knew you were pregnant you'd been pregnant for weeks but didn't know how to tell Hoseok. You'd never really touched on the discussion of having kids together and you thought he would think he was too young,

"You want kids?" You questioned casually as the adverts started rolling he hummed,

"I always wanted kids, they're adorable. I don't know what it is but the last couple of weeks I'd been wanting one more and more." You laughed nervously, you'd read up somewhere that when a female was pregnant with her husband or boyfriends baby they tended to get a little broody and would feel the urge to have a baby more.

"What?" He questioned watching you closely as you got up and walked into the kitchen, he stared at you while you made him and yourself another drink.

"You're drinking decaf." He mentioned getting up from the sofa and going into the kitchen behind you, you nodded your head as you added milk into the bottom of your glass.

"Well spotted sherlock," You giggled sarcastically and he stared at you some more. As if he would somehow be able to work it all out from one simple hint of you drinking decaf coffee instead of the usual.

"You've been sick lately too." You dropped the spoon into your cup, he was being smarter about this than you thought he would be but you played it cool.

"You're pregnant!?" He yelled but it was more of a question than a statement as he stared at you trying to guess if he was right, you'd never been good at lying so you avoided his eyes so you could try and get away with it.

"I KNEW IT!" He screamed jumping over to you and engulfing you in a hug, putting his hand on your stomach. There wasn't even a bump yet since you weren't that far along but you could tell he was excited about everything,

"We're going to be the best parents out there," He promised you kissing your temple and looking at your stomach,

"He doesn't even have ears yet," You laughed rolling your head back as he began talking to your stomach,

"He? What if she's a she." You rolled your eyes at him as he started debating on the gender already with you, you knew that he and the boys were going to all place bets on which you were going to be having.

"We should get you booked for a scan, and then we should start clothes shopping and getting ready. Babies take up a lot of time." He walked away from you mumbling to himself and making lists in his head while you calmly continued making drinks, already having gone through everything on your own.

Namjoon:

It was no secret that Namjoon wanted to be dad, everyone that knew Namjoon knew he wanted to be a dad so when you found out you were pregnant you kept it a secret. You knew he wanted a son or a daughter but you had to make sure you kept it from him for a while, you just wanted to make sure you were pregnant, there were many false-positive tests out there though the 30 positive ones you had stashed in a box should have been a sign enough that you were pregnant and carrying his child.

"Don't you think it's the cutest?" Namjoon questioned while you stood at the back of a small hall, you were at a gender reveal party for your cousin. You hadn't planned on coming but when Namjoon saw the invitation he jumped at the chance, he loved your family and you did too but spending all day with them wasn't your idea of fun. The hall was decorated with blue and pink decorations since it was a gender reveal and everyone was placing bets on what she was going to have.

"I want one, soon." He whispered linking your hands together, you'd noticed he was getting baby fever a lot lately and while you loved the idea of him getting excited you had a couple of weeks before you could tell him yet. You were nervous about it, saying that you wanted to have a baby and then having a baby were two completely different things. That and Namjoon was famous so it wasn't just you and him that would be affected by this change in your life.

"I know," You whispered back to him, he handed you a glass and you stared at it wondering what it was.

"Wine, your cousin wants everyone to drink since she can't." Your lips tightened as you stared at the bubbling liquid inside of the glass,

"What's up?" He chuckled deeply watching you debating about raising the glass to your lips,

"You've normally downed the glass by now." You laughed it off telling him you were trying to give it up and he drank it for you while you looked around for something safe for you to drink.

(X)

A week passed and Namjoon had done nothing but talk about wanting a baby and you didn't blame him. Since being at the party you'd gotten a lot more broody where babies were concerned, you found yourself talking to your stomach whenever Namjoon wasn't around,

"Babe!" Namjoon's voice sounded strained so you rushed up to the bathroom to see what was wrong and you saw him holding a pregnancy test box, shit. You thought you'd thrown them all out,

"What's this?" You stared at him and then at the box,

"Did you forget how to read?" You quipped trying to shift some of the focus off you and change the subject but it wasn't working because he just stared at you,

"I know what it is but, what's it doing here?" You just gave him a look with a smile on your lips, his frown was slowly being replaced with a shocked expression,

"You're really-"

"Yes!"

"That's why you haven't been drinking!" He screamed throwing his arms around you before dropping to his knees in front of you and smiling.

"Hi little guy," You smiled as he started running his hand over your stomach and talking to the tiny bump like you had been doing for the last couple of weeks.

(Since it’s going out on his birthday!!!)

Jimin:

This was your idea to test the waters with Jimin and babies, that and your best friend had just had a daughter and you wanted to buy cute outfits for her.  That and it would give you some good time with Jimin to talk about babies. You'd found out you were 6 weeks pregnant last week and you'd been wondering how to tell him since.

"What about this?" You turned to look over your shoulder, Jimin was holding up the cutest onesie with a pumpkin on the front,

"It has this to match," He then pulled out an orange tutu with small black pumpkins around it. You teared up at the sight of it thanks to to the extra hormones that were running rouge through your body making you cry over the smallest of things. That morning you'd cried at a cereal advert just because the kid on it was too cute for words.

"Is it that bad?" He groaned holding them up in front of his face mumbling about how he thought they were cute,

"They're adorable," You pushed the small shopping cart over to him and he placed them in - the bottom of the trolley was lined with clothes. It was like you were buying a whole new wardrobe for her and you wanted to,

"Look at these!" He yelled holding up two tiny baby shoes and putting them on his fingers, you teared up once again and Jimin started chuckling as he found more and more clothes.

"This! This is perfect," You looked over at him to see him holding up a man's shirt and a matching boys onesie.

"She's having a girl babe," You laughed at him and he shook his head looking from the shirt to the onesie as he put them into the trolley.

"For our baby," You choked on the air you were trying to breathe,

"Our what? I-I'm not- How did you know?"

"Know what?" You both stared at one another for a couple of seconds trying to realise what the other one meant when he got the look of realisation on his face.

"No, you're not!" He yelled loudly throwing down the pieces of clothing into the trolly and rushing over to you, his hand was on your stomach within seconds and you groaned pushing him away from you.

"You're making a scene." You whispered looking at him as you glanced around hoping that no one was watching you closely,

"I'm going to scream it from the rooftops! Why didn't you tell me?!" He yelled and looked at you as you giggled at the way he was reacting. You had no idea he would be this excited over having a baby with you, you'd done nothing but worry for the last week that he would tell you he wasn't ready.

"We're going to have to plan everything, I'll get a party planner for our baby shower. The boys are gonna scream! Uncles!" He yelled looking at you and then around at the store you were in, it was a huge baby shop,

"I'm not starting to shop yet Jimin, I want to wait for my first scan." You told him as you stopped him from running away to go and get more baby clothes and products, he groaned finding it no fun.

"When is that?"

"Not for another six weeks." You laughed as his face fell flat again, and you told him you couldn't tell anybody until you'd had that first scan and checked that everything was going alright,

"It'll fly by, just keep that big mouth of yours shut." You laughed at him as he nodded promising that he would do his best to keep it a secret.

Taehyung:

Taehyung shifted over in the bed turning to look at you while you slept peacefully next to him, for the last week and a half he'd had countless of dreams about you being pregnant with his baby.

"Mmmm, Taehyung, what?" You groaned as he began shaking you awake from what was a wonderful dream, you eyes slowly fluttered open and you saw he was laying extremely close to you.

"I had a dream," You hummed closing your eyes again and trying to get yourself back to sleep but it was clear Taehyung wasn't going to let you sleep until he talked about his dream with you. You moved your head onto his chest and he began drawing patterns into the small of your back as he spoke about what his dream was.

"You were pregnant-"

"Again? Tae that's like the fifth one this week." You giggled at him wondering what could possibly be setting off the dreams he was having. You knew one of his close friends back home was having a son soon but you didn't think Taehyung would be the type to get baby fever or be effected this badly by it. Sure you wanted kids but you never got broody...Not much anyway.

"Don't you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?" You were far too tired to go into depth about babies right now but you knew that was exactly where the conversation was steering anyway.

"Babies, starting our own family. I can't stop thinking of tiny little baby hands and feet...with their tiny little noses." He yawned halfway through his sentence and you patted his chest telling him to just go back to sleep and you would talk about it in the morning.

(X)

Morning came but you were in no fit state to talk about babies, you had your head resting on the toilet seat waiting for the next wave of nausea to hit you. You'd spent the last hour throwing up while Taehyung spent it trying to keep your hair out of your face and giving you water whenever you asked for it, you groaned sitting back against the tiled wall. He smiled softly down at you asking if you needed anything and that was when you noticed the calendar behind his head. You were late. Four weeks late.

"Top drawer there's a pink bag, can you bring me it?" He left the room so you sat up and flushed the toilet getting ready to take the test he was bringing you,

"What's in it?" You pulled out a pregnancy test and his mouth formed an 'O' shape.

You came out five minutes later staring at the smiley face on the stick,

"So you're a psychic?" You questioned looking from the stick up to his face, he had one of the biggest smiles you'd ever seen stretched across it and you giggled at him.

"I'm gonna be a dad?!" He yelled out coming over to you and jumping up and down when you got hit by another wave.

"Gonna be sick." You grunted rushing into the bathroom and throwing up once again, you really weren't looking forward to the countless amounts of times you were going to be doing this but you and Taehyung were over the moon about being pregnant together.

Jungkook:

"He's asleep," You whispered to Jungkook when he came into the living room. You were looking after your best friends son while she went out on a long-overdue date with her husband. Jungkook looked down at the sleeping infant in your hands and started tearing up, he'd been experiencing terrible baby fever since the moment your friend dropped off her son at your front door.

"Hear me out..." He whispered sitting down next to you and touching the boy's cheek, it was so soft and you couldn't deny the urge to squeeze them every time you saw him looking up at you with his giant blue eyes.

"What if we made one?" He questioned looking from the baby to you while you processed what he was saying. There was one thing that Jungkook didn't know though and that was that you were already carrying his child, you hadn't told him yet because you were waiting for the right time. He'd been so stressed out with work lately that you didn't want to dump it all on him at once.

"Make a baby?" You questioned him handing him the baby before standing up to stretch and crack your back, you had no crip for him to sleep in so he was sleeping in your arms or in the car seat she'd dropped him off in.

"Yeah, I think we'd be good parents." He told you as he looked down at the sleeping baby,

"We think you'll be a great dad too," He didn't catch what you said so you smirked at him knowing you were going to have to be painstakingly obvious about it with him until he got what you were telling him.

"You're adorable with him Kookie, you're going to be a great dad in nine months." You stared at him waiting for some kind of reaction but there was nothing coming from him to suggest that he'd heard what you'd said so you smirked to yourself.

"Jungkook I'm pregnant and you're the dad." Nothing. He just sat there bouncing the baby from side to side while smiling at him. You rolled your eyes and went to make you and Jungkook something to eat instead.

(X)

"I can't believe he's gone." Jungkook pouted as you sat in the now quiet living room, he sat down next to you as you pouted.

"It's going to be so quiet," You added on to his sentence looking around the living room, you had to clean up a little but you could sit here for a couple more seconds.

"Only for another nine months, after that it'll be loud again." He casually said as he patted your leg and got up from the sofa. You stared at him as he walked into the kitchen to get a drink,

"What?" You questioned scrambling after him as you tried to ask him what he meant,

"Did you seriously think I didn't hear you dropping hints all weekend? You told me you were pregnant, I heard." You blinked at him as he smirked at you,

"So you heard me and said nothing? You just let me keep saying it to you over and over again?" He started nodding while laughing at you and you stared at him.

"You're evil Jeon Jungkook." You joked as he walked closer to you left a small kiss on your lips,

"You love me though," You hummed and looked around the kitchen, it was a tip from all the bottles you'd been making up that weekend.

"Rock, paper, scissors on the kitchen?" You both began battling it out on who had to clean what and where. 

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @snowy-meowl​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @lyoongx​ @fan-ati--c​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @innersooya​

[lumosandnoxwriting]

True Love - George Weasley

Title: True Love Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary: George may have married a girl his dead twin brother may have been in love with at some point but it’s really not what it looks like. A/N: this fic is born out of my hatred for a post I saw a few days ago that said George and Angelina only got together as a way to mourn Fred, and that they would eventually get divorced. Requests are open and feedback is always appreciated!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George is tiptoeing past Roxanne’s partially opened door to get a glass of water when he hears the little girl call out to him.

“Daddy?”

George stops in his tracks and shuffles over to her door, peeking in the crack. The only light in the room comes from a pink everlasting fire Y/N had produced in a jar for their daughter to use as a night light a few weeks ago. Roxanne is curled up in a ball in her bed, drowning in her fluffy comforter. George and Y/N had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight a few hours ago, so he frowns when he notices that her deep brown eyes are open and blinking up at him.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” George asks as he pushes her door open.

Roxanne sits up a little, reaching out to him. “Can’t sleep.”

George smiles at her grumbly voice, sounding so much like her mother does when she’s tired. He enters her room with a small laugh and takes a seat on the edge of her bed. He strokes her mess of curls they call hair and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Well that’s no good, pumpkin. How can Daddy fix that?”

Roxanne, smiles up at him, leaning back into her pillows. “Can I get a story? Please?” she begs.

George lets out a chuckle. “Of course.” He starts to reach for the copy of The Tales of Beadle the Bard that Y/N had placed on Roxanne’s night stand a few hours ago after she had fallen asleep. But he stops in his tracks when Roxanne grabs his forearm.

“Noo,” she coos quietly. “A story from your head, Daddy.”

George raises his eyebrows and chuckles at her demanding tone. Yep, there is no denying that she is Y/N’s daughter.

“Of course, pumpkin, how silly of me.” He brings his hand that had been reaching for the book back and places it on her cheek. “Any requests, darling? I could always whip out the one about the brave knight who lost an ear in battle.” George winks at his daughter while gesturing towards his missing ear, causing her to giggle.

“No, not that one. You always tell that one,” she teases.

George laughs again, tapping Roxanne on her nose. “Well sorry,” he drawls. “How about the one where the three brave knights rescue the King from the dungeon using their flying stead?” George frowns slightly at the memory of his twin, a pang of sadness in his chest. George gives Roxanne a questioning look when she shakes her head. “What do you wanna hear then, pumpkin?”

“Tell me the story about how you and Mummy fell in love,” she asks, looking up at him hopefully.

George bites his lip, contemplating the idea. Y/N and George had never really told their kids the full story of how they met, considering that it was pretty questionable. All they had told Roxanne and Fred ii is that they had been friends while at school, and a few years after graduation they met again and fell in love. They never mentioned the fact that Y/N used to date Fred.

“Well sweetie you know that story. Mummy and I went to school at Hogwarts together, and went our separate ways after graduation and then we got together a few years after,” George explains, trying to dodge the question.

Roxanne rolls her eyes. “That’s the short version. I wanna hear the whole thing. Please Daddy?”

George sighs, he can’t resist her pleas. “Alright, pumpkin. I guess our story begins on the morning of May 3rd, 1998.”

-

George is sitting on the ground next to Fred’s body, mostly alone. There are groups of people scattered around the Great Hall, some mourning the loss of their loved ones, others waiting for Madam Pomfrey and the other Healers that arrived from St. Mungo’s to help them. Everyone seems to be leaving George alone, allowing him to spend a few more fleeting moments with his twin.

He’s looking down at his hands, tears streaming down his face, so he doesn’t realize that someone has joined him until she speaks.

“Hey, George,” Y/N speaks quietly, voice shaking.

George looks up at the sound of her voice. Y/N is sitting on the ground too, on Fred’s other side, tears streaming down her face. She’s covered in dirt and blood and George can’t imagine that he looks any better.

“Hey, Y/N,” he mutters after he clears his throat. His throat feels raw, probably from a mixture of the crying and the fact that he hadn’t spoken in a few hours.

George watches as Y/N stares intently at Fred’s face, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. They’re quiet for so long that George jumps slightly when Y/N speaks up.

“It’s been years since anything has happened between us and yet I still feel,” she cuts off abruptly to let out a few sobs.

Y/N begins to cry harder and George places a hand over the one she has placed on Fred’s chest. He squeezes her hand tightly, wishing there was more he could do to make her feel better.

-

“Mummy used to be with Uncle Fred?” Roxanne asks, pulling George out of his thoughts. Roxanne and Fred ii had heard many stories about their dear Uncle Fred from both of their parents and various other family members throughout their lives. But George and Y/N made a point to make sure that no one ever mentioned her past with Fred. Not because she was ashamed at the fact that she had once been with Fred, but because she didn’t want to confuse them.

George nods, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “Many, many years ago, they were together. Back when we were at Hogwarts. Your Uncle Fred and I met your Mum when we were all in our first year at Hogwarts. You know we were all in the same house and played on the Quidditch team together. You’ve heard Uncle Harry talk about the Triwizard tournament, right?” George waits for Roxanne to nod before continuing. “We were all in our sixth year when that happened and there was this great huge ball on Christmas called the Yule Ball. Uncle Fred asked your Mum to be his date, and they dated for a few months afterwards.”

Roxanne purses her lips, thinking about what her father has just said. “And when Uncle Fred died, Mummy still loved him?”

“Not exactly,” he answers.

Roxanne groans and rolls her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

George rolls his eyes playfully. “Maybe if you hadn’t interrupted my story you would know by now,” he teases.

Roxanne sticks out her tongue playfully but doesn’t say anything else.  

“So, I guess our story continues in June of 1999.”

-

“Hey George. The store looks great,” Y/N speaks, shocking George. He turns around from where he had been stocking a shelf, a smile appearing on his face when he sees the familiar girl standing in front of him.

George hasn’t seen Y/N since the day they cried together over Fred’s body. He heard that she came by his funeral briefly, but he hadn’t seen her himself. Now, a little over a year later here she is, and George can’t help but think how beautiful she is. Her hair frames her face perfectly, and she is smiling warmly at him.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks, it’s definitely getting there. Not quite back at its prime but, it definitely will be soon,” he says wistfully, looking around the shop.

After Fred’s death he hadn’t been able to step back into the store he had started with his brother. It hurt too much, and it almost felt wrong to go back to work without his partner in crime. The store had always been their dream, and George didn’t think he could carry on without Fred. He spent the first six months after Fred’s death moping around The Burrow, spending most of his time in bed, alone.

Everyone in the family had been patient with him, all of them taking time to grieve as well. Until one night, Molly sat him down and with as much love as possible told him that enough was enough. She had reminded him that Fred wouldn’t want George to throw away their dream just because he couldn’t be there with him. That the best way to honor his brother would be to carry on making their dream a reality. George, realizing his mother was right, had started planning new products that very evening.

He spent the next 5 months after that developing new products and perfecting them. 2 months ago, he finally plucked up the courage to enter the abandoned shop for the first time and started to put it back together. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had officially been open again for 2 weeks and running the store has made George the happiest he’s been in months.

“Every time I would come to Diagon Alley I’d check to see if the store was open again, and I’m glad it is. If there’s anything people need these days it’s some Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Y/N says with a laugh.

There had been mass celebrations after Voldemort’s defeat, but so many lives had been lost that they were short lived, and the wizarding community had needed to slowly heal. Things had been getting back to normal, Diagon Alley was just as busy as it had been before, and George could hear happy voices and laughter every time the door to the shop opened.

George chuckles. “A bit of mischief makes everyone feel better. Things have been crazy since I reopened, I can barely keep up on my own.” He gestures towards the shelf he had been restocking when she came in, and the other various shelves that were missing products. “I never realized how much work it was, it was way easier when there was two of us. Between selling the products, making them and stocking them I’m exhausted,” he admits with a small laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it but, you look exhausted,” she teases, smiling at him playfully. “That’s um, kinda why I came in. I mean I obviously came in so I could see you,” she admits, blushing. “But also, I was wondering if you were hiring? I’ve been working freelance for The Daily Prophet but it’s not enough to keep me busy.”

George tries not to let his surprise show on his face. Y/N had always been supportive of George and Fred’s antics, but had never wanted to actively participate. George scratches the back of his head like he’s thinking about her offer, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah actually, that would be great. I could really use the help. I’ll have to get some references of course. Make sure you’re not too difficult to work with,” he teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, playfully shoving George’s shoulder. “We got paired together in potions one-time years ago and you’re still giving me shit about it, Weasley? Unbelievable.”

-

“Mummy used to work with you? Before Uncle Ron did?” Roxanne asks, interrupting the story again.

George hums as he nods. Once Ron quit the Aurors office and came to work with George Y/N had left. Her and George were beginning to start their family, and she wanted to be a stay at home mum. She started writing again as well and had become a pretty successful children’s book author in the wizarding world.

“Yup. Uncle Ron used to work with Uncle Harry at the ministry, before you and your brother were born. So, your Mummy helped out at the shop, and then me and Mummy got married and decided to have your brother, so Uncle Ron decided to quit his job and work with me,” George explains.

Roxanne has a bewildered look on her face, like she had never thought about the fact that all the people she loves had lives before she was born. “So how did you and Mummy get together then? Fall in love?”

George chuckles. “I’m getting there, missy, don’t you worry about it.”

-

Y/N had only been working for George for a few weeks when he realized he had a huge problem. He was developing feelings for her. He had always found her attractive, but when Fred expressed interest in her during their fourth year he pushed those thoughts away. He was always the more reserved twin and doubted that he would ever act on those feelings anyway.

But now that they’ve been spending so much time together and working together so closely he can’t help but feel those things again. She’s just as beautiful has she had been back at school but there was so many other things too.

Her smile was so bright that it could light up the whole shop. She was always there to offer him a warm smile and a helping hand, staying late into the night to help him restock shelves or coming in on the weekends to help make a new stock for the upcoming week. She was always sending him little winks too throughout the day as they worked. While she was upselling a product to someone, or when he just seemed down and needed a pick me up, all he had to do was look over to her and she’d give him a reassuring wink.

And it certainly didn’t help that she was so damn good at her job. She was always helping him to arrange the store in the best way possible, moving around displays and finding new, exciting ways to showcase their range of products. She was so good with the customers too, always able to help someone, their customers always raved to George about how amazing she was as they checked out.

And her touch, it sent electric waves shooting down his spine. Whether it was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders as he stirred a new potion late at night, or a hand on his back as she passed behind him his brain seemed to short circuit whenever they came in contact with each other.

It didn’t help that her presence had begun to creep into other parts of his life as well. She had only been working there a few days when Molly popped in to see how things were going. His mum had been so excited to see Y/N and invited her to dinner at The Burrow that night; since then it has become a weekly occurrence. He’s bumped into her at The Burrow more than once during the weekends as well, her and Ginny flying around each other and passing a Quaffle back and forth.

“Morning, George!” Y/N calls as she pushes through the shop door.

George jumps at the sound of her voice, not expecting to see her. It’s early on a Sunday morning, and George figured he’d be alone in the shop all day to catch up on the things they hadn’t finished the night before.

George stands up from where he had been kneeling behind the counter, trying to count out the safe, but mostly thinking of the girl who just entered the store. He smiles as she bounds up to the counter.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he stutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “But you were here late last night, I didn’t think you’d come in today.”

Y/N smiles at George, taking off her bag and placing it on the counter. “Well we didn’t finish everything last night, did we? You’ll actually be able to go out and enjoy your day if we’re both here working.” George gives her a look, prompting her to continue. “Besides I don’t mind being here all the time. I like being here.”

George’s smile fades, figuring that Y/n likes being here so much because it reminds her of Fred. They haven’t talked about that morning, when she had practically declared her love for his dead brother as they both cried, and George doesn’t plan on bringing it up.

He’s brought out of his deep thoughts as she passes by him, her hand brushing his arm and sending electric shocks up to his neck. He clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “Well thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem! What do you need me to do boss?”

George looks to the to-do list he had made after closing on Friday. Well the to-do list Y/N had made for him; she really was a huge help around the shop. Even if she did distract him from his work from time to time.

“Well looks like the next thing up on the list is,” he pauses, suddenly nervous. “Next thing up is to restock the love potions. But uh, I checked in the back earlier and we’re all out, so you’ll need to brew up a new batch.”

Y/N nods, heading towards the storeroom to grab the needed ingredients. “Yeah I can do that, no problem.” She pokes her head back through the door. “Or are you still hung up on that whole potions thing and don’t trust me?”

George laughs with her, his nervousness melting away at her playful tone. “Just get to work, yeah?”

With Y/N out of sight George is able to get back to work, and he had forgotten that she was there. That was until she interrupted him while he was stocking the shelves, causing him to shout and drop all of the Skiving Snackboxes he had in his arms.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Forgot you were here,” he says with a nervous laugh, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. He turns to face her, glancing at the cauldron in her hands. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you Georgie,” she says with a laugh, causing George’s knees to quiver at the nickname. “I haven’t made a potion in ages, let alone Amorentia. Just wanted to see if you could check it? Make sure I did it right.”

“Yea, ‘course,” George says quietly, leaning close to look at the potion. He stirs it with the silver spoon, checking to make sure the consistency is right. He’s a little nervous, leaning in so close to Y/N that he momentarily forgets what Amorentia does. “Forgot to mention, but that new perfume you’ve been wearing smells really good.” Y/N gasps, taking a small step back. George looks up at her. “What?”

“Thanks but um. I’m not wearing any perfume today,” she stutters out, refusing to meet George’s eyes.

George is about to question her, since he definitely just smelled her perfume, when it dawns on him. He wasn’t smelling her perse, but the Amorentia smelled like her to him. And he just admitted that.

“Look, Y/N I. I,” but he trails off, unsure of what to say. He opens his mouth to say something else but is stopped by Y/N stepping close to him and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. It lasts just long enough for George to grip her waist and for Y/N’s hands to tangle in his hair. Just as quickly as she had kissed him her lips were gone and they were just staring at each other.

She opens her mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out she closes it again. And before George knows it she’s rushing towards the counter to grab her bag. “I should go. Yeah I should go. I’ll see you later,” she rambles. And before George can blink again the door is shutting behind her.

-

“So, Mummy kissed you first!” Roxanne says excitedly when George stops talking.

“What? Like it’s surprising?” George scoffs with a chuckle.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders, playfully smiling at him. “I mean have you seen how pretty Mummy is? And you’re, well you’re alright I guess.”

George can tell that she’s teasing him, and as payback he tickles her sides, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“Shhh,” he whispers, realizing just how late it is. “We don’t want to wake your brother up, or your Mummy.”

Roxanne nods, taking a few deep breaths to settle down. “So, what happens next? You and Mummy kiss and then what?”

-

George is still horrified about what happened the next morning as he opens the shop. He’s exhausted, having stayed up most of the night finishing everything on his list. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, but he kept getting distracted, thinking of how Y/N’s lips felt on his.

He’s about to grab the door handle so he can unlock it and officially open up when the door swings open and Y/N is walking through it. They collide, and George instinctively reaches out and grabs her around the waist so she doesn’t fall to the ground.

A moment later he realizes what he did and he lets go, stepping back. His cheeks are red and he rubs his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t think you’d come in today so I was just. Sorry, sorry.”

Once he finishes his rambling he turns on his heel and practically runs towards the counter, not even daring to glance at Y/N. But he can hear her footsteps following behind him and when he turns around she’s standing at the counter, an apologetic look on her face.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Georgie. I shouldn’t have ran out on you like that. And I shouldn’t have kissed you that was… well anyway, I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

George opens his mouth to respond, but the door to the shop swings open and Y/N is off to help the few customers who came in.

“You need help with anything?”

George looks up from the papers on his desk to see Y/N poking her head into his office. They haven’t spoken since their weird moment this morning, and after the afternoon rush George excused himself to his office to work on paperwork while Y/N stocked some shelves and made up a new display. But that must have been hours ago now, as the sliver of shop George can see over Y/N’s head looks dark.

“Just been going over the books. Well trying to at least,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I let Fred do it the last time. Well no, I didn’t let him, he insisted on it. Some crap about how he needed to know how to do it. But boy was listening to him a mistake,” he admits with a sad chuckle. “I can’t make out half of what he wrote and the half I can is completely wrong.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but gives him a sad look. George feels awkward in the silence, so he continues to ramble on.

“And I wanna be mad at him, for not taking it seriously but. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way. And then I feel sad because he’s not here for me to just ask him what the hell it says and then I try and figure it out and get mad when I can’t and it’s just a vicious cycle.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything right away, trying to choose her words carefully. She comes into his office and takes a seat at one of the chairs across from George’s desk. George runs his hands through his hair again, silently pleading that she says something. A few more quiet moments pass before Y/N speaks.

“That sounds. Well frankly that sounds like hell. But it’s okay to feel like that, you know. It’s okay to be mad at Fred. It’s okay to feel whatever you want towards Fred, that’s a normal part of grieving, George,” she explains, leaning forward in her chair.

“So, years will go by and I’ll still feel,” George mumbles almost without thinking. He casts his eyes downward, not wanting to look Y/N in the eyes or see the expression on her face.

A pink blush flushes Y/N’s face. “You, um, remember that then? You never mentioned it, so I figured you forgot about it, or maybe never even heard it. I was kinda hoping that you never even heard it.”

George looks up at her then, staring deeply into her eyes. “Is that why you came into the shop that day? Why you started working here? So, you could feel closer to Fred? Is that why you kissed me?” His last question is quieter, practically a whisper. He feels ashamed as soon as he asks, he wants to take it back.

But then Y/N lets out a laugh, shocking George. He looks at her quizzically. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

Y/N shakes her head no, but continues to laugh, almost as if she can’t stop herself. It takes what feels like an eternity for her laughter to die down, and once it does she scoots closer to George, reaching out to touch his hand.

“That day, when we were sitting there in the Great Hall, I wasn’t talking about still feeling love for Fred. I never really loved Fred. Not in that way at least.”

George is taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”

“Georgie, Fred and I dated for like 4 months when we were 16. It was nice to have someone to go to Hogsmeade with or carry my books and it was fun spending time with Fred but I wasn’t in love with him. And Fred knew that, that’s why we broke things off.”

George looks at Y/N. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but he’s still so confused about everything. “So, what the hell were you talking about that day? Because I sure as hell thought you were talking about still being in love with Fred.”

Y/N bites her lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I was talking about feeling guilty, George.”

George suddenly pushes away from his desk, beginning to pace back and forth. “Feeling guilty for what, then?”

“Feeling guilty for being in love with his twin brother!” Y/N admits suddenly, causing George to stop in his tracks.

“Come again?” he asks, looking down at Y/N. His eyes follow her as she stands up and walks over to him.

“I was never in love with Fred. And after we broke up I started to fall in love with you. But I never acted on it because I felt guilty. I knew Fred had strong feelings for me, so I never tried to act on my feelings for you. And that day, when I saw you in the Great Hall, even though it had been years all of those feelings came rushing back. How I felt for you, how guilty I felt for feeling those things. That’s why I came over there that day, because I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. And I hoped that saying goodbye to Fred would make me feel okay to try and approach you.”

Suddenly it dawns on George. “That’s why you came to his funeral, then? To put those guilty feelings to rest once and for all.”

Y/N nods, taking one of George’s hands in hers. “That’s why I didn’t stay long. The second I saw you I wanted to run into your arms and kiss you. But I figured that was probably not the right time or place to fling myself at you.”

George laughs, trying to imagine what he would have done if Y/N had done that. He uses his free hand to reach up and cup Y/N’s cheek. “So that day you came into the shop, it was to see me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes but nods. “I said that, didn’t I dummy? That I came into the shop to see you. I would make excuses to head to Diagon Alley nearly every day to check to see if the shop was open. It took me two weeks to get the courage to actually walk in once you opened back up. And truth be told-“ she stops, letting her gaze drop to the floor. “I didn’t really need a job. I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Suddenly so many things started making sense to George. “So that’s why you would stay in late? Come in on days off?”

Y/N nods. “And why I agreed to come to dinner at The Burrow every week, and why I agreed to help Ginny with her Quidditch training.”

“Not to keep the memory of my dead brother alive?” George asks, almost unable to believe everything he’s heard. Y/N shakes her head. “But to be close to me, because you’re in love with me?”

Instead of nodding Y/N grabs George’s face and brings their lips together in a heated kiss. George is frozen for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with what’s going on. Once it does he kisses Y/N back hungrily, his hands gripping her hips tightly. They kiss for a few moments before Y/N pulls away breathless.

-

“And that was that. Your Mum and I got together and the rest is history.”

George stops with his story, waiting for Roxanne to say something. When she doesn’t he looks down, a smile spreading across his face when he notices her eyes have fluttered closed and she’s breathing slowly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and tucks her blanket around her tighter.

He’s closing her door behind him quietly when he runs into his wife, nearly shouting at the scare she gave him.

“Bloody hell, how long have you been standing there, love?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Long enough to hear you spill all of our dark secrets,” she responds with a quiet laugh.

George frowns. “Are you mad? I know we said we wouldn’t tell them, but you know I can’t resist her puppy eyes, just like how I can’t resist yours.”

Y/N doesn’t answer him, choosing to press a kiss to his lips instead. Y/N buries her hands in George’s hair as he deepens their kiss, his hands squeezing her hips tightly. They both can’t help but be reminded of the kiss they shared all those years ago that George had just finished recounting.

“Why did you get out of bed anyway, hm? You were sound asleep when I went to get my water,” George asks a few minutes later when they’re back in bed.

Y/N shrugs, snuggling up into George’s side. “You were gone for ages. Thought maybe you were sneaking some of those chocolate chip cookies I made, wanted to catch you in the act. ”George laughs, throwing an arm around his wife and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So, you weren’t lying in bed awake, thinking of my dead brother?” he jokes with a chuckle.

Y/N smacks him on the chest lightly, laughing along with him. “You’re lucky I love you, Weasley.”

“You’re right, my love. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

[ickle-ronniekins]

home for the holidays || christmas surprises

desc: fred’s made himself perfectly clear, thank you very much. he wants you. he really wants you. but the problem is, that you’re both at his family’s house for the holidays. the burrow is bustling with his siblings and his parents, but fred just can’t help himself. he’s hellbent on getting you alone for a bit and acts in stealthy ways. little does he know you’ve got something planned for him, too.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

A/N: yay here is installment three! special thanks to alexa @harrysweasleys for being so patient with me.. i was in a bit of a writing slump and couldn’t get myself to write this chapter. but then i threw on ‘body say’ by demi lovato and got into ~the mindset~ and this was the result. hope you love it!

word count: 2.3k

warning(s): it ain’t smut but it’s ~pre-smut~ i suppose, fred being a cheeky little bitch, mentions of sexual content and things [use your imaginations ok]

There was nothing cozier than the feeling of spending the holidays at the Burrow. There was something so homey about this place -- perhaps it was the throw blankets on each and every chair in the family gathering area, or the fact that it was always bustling with people and smelled of mint and lavender. Maybe it was because you dreamt of a home like this when you got married and had children of your own.

You tried to suppress the thought -- you had loads of time until that, didn’t you? It proved to be rather difficult to focus on other things, not when goosebumps appeared on your arms at the thought of Fred kissing you in the snow, squeezing your knee at dinner, telling you how much he loved you, and insisting that you sleep in his sweater, the newest one, of course, that Molly had knitted less than a week ago.

“I want that one,” you’d pointed at the rather lived-in one that Fred had changed into before evening tea. A smirk had appeared on his face as he folded his arms across his chest. “And why d’you want this one instead of the new one mum just knitted?”

He’d tugged you closer to him and you’d breathed in his scent. You’d turned your head to look up at him, rested your chin on his chest and grinned sleepily. “Because it smells like you. That new one’s too new. If I can’t have you wrapped around me in bed tonight then I’m taking the next best thing, aren’t I?”

The devilish grin that had appeared on his face reminded you that he was looking forward almost as much as you to getting back to school and sneaking up to one another’s dorms, without worrying about his parents just two floors below.

Now, you ran your fingers over the slightly faded ‘F’ in the middle of green patchwork on the sweater resting on your makeshift bed and grinned to yourself. It really was the happiest Christmas, wasn’t it?

You left Ginny puttering around with her new Quidditch supplies she’d been gifted and slipped out of her room into the dim lit hallway of the Burrow. As stealthily and quietly as you could, you climbed the stairs to the second floor and toward the room that was covered from floor to ceiling in prototypes of inventions.

Fred was busy fooling around with something that slightly resembled a firecracker when he spotted you. His grin brightened noticeably and you suddenly became very cold from the wind from the open window across their room. You pulled your bright red robe tighter around your shoulders and internally scolded yourself that you hadn’t purchased a longer one, for your exposed legs were now sprouting goosebumps.

“Just came to say goodnight,” you said sheepishly, and you hoped that neither of the boys could hear the desperation in your voice. But by the way Fred’s glance became deeper and he looked from you to George and back again, you figured he could see right through your innocent facade.

“Hey, George,” Fred started, placing the firecrackers carefully back into one of his many trunks marked Weasley. “Heard Ginny talking with Ron before about how she wanted to show you some of her new Quidditch gear. Go take a look, yeah?”

George, unaware of Fred’s terrible attempt at sarcasm, simply shrugged and placed little trinkets back onto the shelf behind his bed. He jumped up and high fived you as he floated out of the room but then stopped short in the hallway and whirled around. “Bloody hell, Y/N, aren’t you freezing?”

Without another word, he quietly walked down the steps and into Ginny’s bedroom, where the two of them erupted into animated conversation about Quidditch.

You turned back toward Fred who was sitting comfortably in the chair next to his desk with his arms folded across his chest and a devilish smile on his face. He stood up and stretched before pointing at you. “George is right, you know,” he told you, “you must be so cold in that little get up.” His smirk deepend.

You scoffed at the wiggling of his eyebrows and pushed on his chest when he finally got closer to you. He smelt faintly of cinnamon and citrus and you felt your heart constrict as the scents flooded through your veins. You suddenly felt slightly off balance, in the most wonderful way, but you kept your ground. “Freddie, relax, would you? I know what you’re thinking.”

“You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you actually wear this as pyjamas,” he said and slowly began to trail his fingers lightly across your shoulder blades.

“Shut up,” you teased back, pushing gently on him as he trailed his hands down to your waist and tightened his grip, “this isn’t for you, you know.”

“Sure it isn’t, darling.”

“Anyway, I’ve just come to say goodnight, and to thank you for a lovely Christmas,” you mumbled as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You needed to get back to Ginny’s room quickly, before Molly or Arthur wandered upstairs and found you and Fred together when you should both be in separate beds. It didn’t help that he was slowly tracing your spine with his fingers, earning himself whines from you that were completely involuntary. You couldn’t help it and you both hated and adored the way he could make goosebumps rise on your skin.

You softly brushed your lips against his and quickly parted before he could intensify anything. You peered up into his yearning eyes and placed a hand to his cheek before smiling and moving toward the door. But he gently took your wrist in his hand and turned you back toward him, and suddenly the room went eerily quiet and still. You were certain he was able to hear the thump of your heart against your ribcage, especially when he grinned the way he did.

“Come on, don’t go,” he whined quietly. He traced your jawline carefully before licking his lips. “Besides, I’ve got another gift for you to open.”

You threaded your brows together in confusion and let out a breathy laugh. “Freddie, we know that I can’t stay. Your parents -- no, your mum would absolutely kill us --”

It was no use, you reckoned. He cut you off by kissing you again, with more intensity than before. He gently glided his tongue along your bottom lip and you were rendered completely useless for the rest of the evening, as you felt your legs go completely limp and you let yourself fall into him. It was no matter, because he picked you up off of the floor only slightly and smiled against you, causing more moans of pleasure to escape you both.

“George is going to come back,” you mumbled, somehow getting out a whole sentence, “don’t you remember what happened the last time he caught us in the dorms?”

Fred broke a part from you to allow himself to laugh, clearing reliving the absolute most mortifying moment of your entire life (and George’s as well) when Fred had neglected to close the curtains to his four poster and George walked in to see you two entangled together in one another’s limbs and sheets and not much else. You slapped Fred playfully now as he grabbed his wand from the desk and muttered the Muffliato charm before returning his attention back toward you, where it belonged. “It’s Quidditch, love -- he’ll be down there talking about it with Ginny for hours.”

You heaved a great sigh and bit down on your lip to keep yourself from pouncing right on him. “And your parents?”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows again before slowly running his hands through your hair. “It’s about...one a.m., I reckon? They’re deep into a bottle of firewhisky right about now, always a Christmas tradition of theirs.. I promise you they’ll be passed out and snoring on the couch downstairs until the wee hours of the morning.”

You bit your lip and peered toward the door that was now locked and thought for a moment. You didn’t quite fancy being on Molly and Arthur’s bad side, especially because you were on such good terms with them. You knew Molly’s strict rules and really, really prided yourself on your ability to get along with parents.

But something about the way Fred was looking you up and down right now made you want to abandon all rationale and just not listen to the rules.

“I don’t know, Freddie..”

He whimpered as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, sending you spiraling. “They won’t know, I promise. I miss my girl,” he whispered, tilting your head up to look at him, “It’s been too long.”

You laughed. “It’s been a week.”

“A week too bloody long.”

“You’ll do just about anything to keep me in here, won’t you?”

He grinned and peppered more kisses into your hair, across your jawline, and down your neck. “I’ve never been one for giving up,” he mumbled.

“Clearly.”

“I told you love,” he started, sliding his hands underneath your silk robe and tracing circles onto your bare back, “I’ve got another present for you to unwrap.”

Confused, you began to look around the room for a parcel of sorts, wrapped with his infamous messy bow look, but he distracted you yet again with the mere feeling of his lips on yours and this time, he intensified it in a way he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. He pushed you up against the wall next to his bed and you entangled your fingers in his bright red hair, unaware of the world around you. Unashamedly, you tried to tighten his grip around your neck and kissed him deeply, wondering why the hell any of his clothes were even still on. He tickled your hips a bit, which caused a laugh to emit from you, followed by a muffled moan when he closed the gap between you both again.

You were suddenly so wonderfully appreciative of that muffliato charm, because Fred had a way of making you abandon your quiet, shy self whenever he got you alone.

It wasn’t long before you were slipping your hands underneath his shirt and ripping it over his head, desperate to get him out of everything and on top of you as quickly as you possibly could. Though the sight of him stopped you. You pulled back and eyed him up and down, noticing his very toned torso and abdomen that could nearly slice you in half. Being a beater really did wonders for his body. You gulped a bit, running your fingers across his chest, heavy with sighs, and down his stomach before circling just above the line of his boxers. Which, by the looks of it, were in tune with the holiday -- they were a deep crimson colour, equipped with light white snowflakes sprinkled over the fabric, with a bit of mistletoe stitched right in the middle. You pulled shamelessly on the white suspenders attached to them to bring him closer to you.

“Found these in my armoire this morning,” he told you, tugging at the edge of the boxers and then the suspenders, “these as well. Seems as though someone wanted me to have them, but they were a bit too much to open in front of others.” His smirk was nearly killing you.

You swallowed thickly and rolled your eyes. “These were meant for school.”

Fred laughed haughtily. “You’re an awful liar, you know that, right?” He then grabbed a Santa hat from his bed and pulled it over his head, his red hair sticking out just a bit, stark against the white trim. “If these were meant for school, how come you brought them here and stealthily placed them in my room, hm?”

You didn’t have an answer for him, because of course he was right. In truth, you wanted this as much as he did -- there was something so wildly invigorating about sneaking around with him, breaking rules far worse than the ones at school, and you loved this holiday just as much as he did, didn’t you?

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, still tugging on the suspenders, eager to get them and everything else off. You were surprised at how breathless you sounded, like the wind had been knocked right out of you. You laughed slightly to yourself, noting that the “gift” he wanted you to unwrap was himself, which, you had to admit, was kind of wildly attractive.

Spine tingling, even.

Hellbent on not letting your nerves get the better of you, you licked your lips and eyed him up and down before pulling on the hat and scrunching your nose. You caught his lips with yours again and felt as he explored you with slow hands, your breath hitching at the contact. And you figured that since he was giving you an extra present, you could do the same.

“You’ve got something to unwrap too, you know,” you mumbled against his lips.

You could feel him pause against you, that devilish smile creeping across his lips again before he let a small laugh escape him and began to gently pull the lightly tied knot, holding your robe in place. You could visibly see him tense and heard him clear his throat when your robe opened to reveal red, lacy lingerie that you knew he’d been dying for you to get into. His hands gripped your hips tightly and you watched as he breathed in deeply and felt his heart rate increase when you placed your hand to his chest. He muttered some type of expletive under his breath and bit his lip.

He picked you up rather quickly and you wrapped your legs around his back as he said, “Guess I’ve been really good this year, huh?”

A half laugh, half yelp escaped you as he gently dropped you onto his bed and hovered over you before pressing his weight against you, earning himself desperate whines. He took to your neck with his lips again as his hands went exploring, and you figured he was right. It was one week too long. “You know,” he whispered as he kissed your jawline, “I’ve been nice all year. I really want to be naughty now.”

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[pleaseleavemetowrite]

Potions Class | Sirius Black

reader has she/her pronouns but there's nothing that explicitly states the reader's gender apart from that. Also this is my first Marauders era fic so please give me feedback and stuff!

Requested: yes/no

requests are open!

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Summary: In which Sirius unintentionally falls for a half-blood he met during potions class.

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(Y/n) will never forget the day she became friends with Sirius Black. It was their fifth year and (Y/n) knew who Sirius and the rest of the Marauders were, they were practically unavoidable but it's only highlighted when you're in Gryffindor. However, just because everyone knew them, this doesn't mean they really knew anyone besides who they chose to. So, when Slughorn practically insisted on assigning partners for a potions project, (Y/n) and Sirius finally became (formally) introduced.

(Y/n) could practically feel the mild level of annoyance in the air around them and Sirius, she wasn't sure if she should be offended or not. It seemed to feel like she was unable to tell if it was being paired up with her or being assigned a partner in general that bothered Sirius. But, (Y/n) wasn't one to pry and just left him to do his thing while she read over the potion instructions. Once she finished, she finally made an attempt to talk to Sirius.

"Hey, can you go get this list of ingredients while I prep the cauldron, the quicker we get this done, the quicker you can go back to ignoring my existence." Her tone came off as more passive-aggressive then intended when they passed Sirius the small list of ingredients she had written out. But it seemed to work as he wordlessly took the list and left (Y/n) alone to relax her shoulders and gently roll them back before preparing the cauldron. And before she knew it, he was back. He seemed less annoyed then before but not happy either, it was a neutral medium of indifference but (Y/n) couldn't really blame him, she wasn't exactly thrilled to find out she had to work with Sirius.

(Y/n) began the process of chopping, crushing and measuring the ingredients for the potion when Sirius spoke up. "So...you come here often?" (Y/n) had an expression of mild amusement as she gave him a look to say really? Sirius lightly shook his head laughing, "Well what do you want me to say? We don't exactly know each other" (Y/n) breathed out a laugh as she replied, "Maybe not "you come here often" when we are literally in a classroom." Her tone was light-hearted as the potion suddenly became irrelevant. Sirius seemed to share the same idea as he slightly moved closer to (Y/n), leaning on the worktop. "So, tell me about yourself." He sounded genuinely interested, and while (Y/n) knew of his reputation she couldn't help but begin to tell him anything and everything that came to mind.

She told him all about her muggle friends at home, how hard it is to tell them that she isn't ignoring them she just goes to a "strict boarding school." and how her mum used to always take her to park after Primary School if she had been good, since she seemed to always "accidently" cause trouble by making a mess or being somewhere she wasn't allowed to because she couldn't control her magic yet. She told him about the book her aunt would read to her about a puddle duck named Jemima. and although (Y/n) was sure Sirius had stopped listening long ago, he hadn't. He hung onto every word of every story. In return, he would tell her stories about the backstories and reasoning of some of their most infamous pranks around school, and about some of James' more outlandish ways of confessing to Lily.

Before either of them knew it, the lesson was almost over, and Slughorn was assessing their potions. Suddenly, all their laughter ceased as they locked eyes and just began throwing random things into the cauldron and stirring it in hopes of something. However, it seemed like this wasn't the best idea as the concoction before them exploded right as Slughorn walked over. Successfully earning themselves detentions of organising the store rooms and cleaning the classroom for a few days. But neither of them could contain their laughter as their stupid idea literally blew up in their faces. In her laughter, (Y/n) tripped over her own robes and fell onto Sirius, who luckily caught her, but it only made them both laugh harder. Slughorn was fed up and dismissed them early so they could, "compose themselves." (Y/n) caught her breath and adjusted her robes as Sirius asked, "Where have you been all my life?" (Y/n) responded sarcastically, "What literally or...? Because if so up until 1st year I was in the muggle world. and past then, I was literally right in front of you." Sirius lightly rolled his eyes at her response.

"This was our last lesson, so do you want to walk back to the common room?" Sirius asked her, (Y/n) agreed. The pair made light conversation, exchanging stories and joking. Until they reached the common room as they realised they had to part and go to their respective friendship groups, with Sirius obviously with James, Remus and Peter and (Y/n) with Lily, Alice and Dorcas. It would be strange for Sirius to join (Y/n) and (Y/n) wasn't going to just leave her friends the second someone else gives her attention. The pair settled on just saying they would see each other later at dinner. But before they parted Sirius asked, "If your Evans' friend, how come I hardly knew you." "Because you only knew me as "Evans' friend"." (Y/n) then proceeded to give Sirius one last smile before Alice walked in and (Y/n) left with her. Leaving Sirius to think over what she had said.

The worst part was the longer he thought about it, the more he realised she was right, he had never thought to think past her being friends with Lily.

The thought stayed on the back of Sirius' mind as he went about his afternoon and early evening as he would on any ordinary day. After they had both finished, Sirius and (Y/n) walked down to the dungeons to organise the stores rooms as Slughorn had ordered them to. The walk was quiet and (Y/n) was growing uncomfortable with it and spoke up, "Hey, about earlier. What I said was rude and-" "What are you talking about, you were right." Sirius cut off and paused before continuing, "I won't lie what you said did bother me, but not because it was rude. It's because you were right. I never did think to look past the fact you're Evans' friend. I did the others and I just assumed you were like them, and no offence to them but they aren't really my type of people and-" "Sirius it's fine, I get it, really. I would be a hypocrite if I said I had never only saw you as what your reputation made you out to be." The both were now stuck in a limbo where neither of them had an issue with other but neither had anything to say.

So they laughed, they laughed all the way down to the store room. "What are we laughing about?" "The fact that we were both wrong." Their laughter died down as they entered the store room. "What a tip! No wonder it needs cleaning, no one's even thought about organising anything since 1896." (Y/n) sounded annoyed and almost astounded about how disorganised the room was and wondered how Slughorn even found anything they needed for lessons.

Sirius seemed amused by (Y/n) apparent distress at the state of the room and threw his arm around her shoulders and said in a teasing tone, "You were around in 1896 well you don't look a day over 50." (Y/n) rolled her eyes but didn't remove his arm. It was almost comforting to smell his cologne and how it mixed with smell of firewood that followed him and the dust in the air. Sirius also made no attempt to remove his arm as he could smell the lingering tones of her perfume and the muggle bubble-gum she had showed him earlier.

"Well you two better get to work you have a lot to do." The pair were snapped out of their daydreams by Slughorn suddenly entering and upon seeing the position they were in, he gave Sirius the task of bringing the boxes of the highest shelf and (Y/n) to begin to organise the ones on the bottom shelf. This seemed like an attempt to physically separate the two.

The first ten minuets were productive, mainly because they didn't want Slughorn to walk in again and deem that they weren't working hard enough. But all it took was Sirius either accidently or purposely nearly dropping a box of ingredients to make the pair start talking and joking around again. As the monotonous and tiresome work progressed, the two were becoming increasingly aware of how much they really did enjoy each other's company, even if they were in a somewhat cramped and definitely dusty potions store room.

It past curfew when they had finished so they didn't dawdle in the halls, as much as Sirius could probably get away with it, neither of them were willing to risk it after the mind-numbing task they had of alphabetising the store room. Once they reached the common room, they both collapsed onto the sofa as their exhaustion set in. "At least it's only cleaning for our next few, and not that. " (Y/n) tried to joke but her eyes were dropping by the second, Sirius seemed to notice this, "At least go to bed before falling asleep, these sofas aren't comfortable enough to sleep on, trust me." (Y/n) weakly nodded and muttered a small goodnight to Sirius as she borderline dragged herself up the stairs to her dorm.

In the following weeks, (Y/n) and Sirius spent more and more time together, not just in detention or class but outside of class as well. Somewhere along the way, their feelings for each other had manifested into something more. The lingering eye contact felt more intimate and when their hands brushed it felt like butterflies had swarmed into their vicinity and sent nerves down their backs. Although, it was obvious to everyone but them that they liked each other as something more, they were both adamant that their feelings were not reciprocated.

It wasn't until their final detention together that their friends decided enough was enough and took matters into their own hands, as it seems they had also grown closer based on their shared feelings of frustration of their respective friend's obliviousness. Lily and Remus worked together to quickly had Amortentia brewed quickly enough so that it would be in the potions room and James used his cloak to hide in the hallway while Alice and Dorcas distracted Slughorn long enough for him to not notice James tampering with the lock on the door.

(Y/n) and Sirius entered the room and closed the door, and that signified the success of their friend's plans. They both started with the first part of the routine they had curated for themselves from previous detentions. They began with clearing the desks, cleaning off any mess made, putting away the equipment used and then making their way to the unfinished potions at the back. The routine was simple but effective since they couldn't use magic to speed any of the process up. They went about the routine like they had all the previous sessions, making jokes and just talking.

Until they reached the potions and (Y/n) suddenly began to smell Sirius' cologne, it was unmissable for her, it reminded her of the boy she had unintentionally fallen for. But then the smell began to mix with the smell of butterbeer and the common room. "Really Sirius? Did you have to spray your cologne now? It's so bloody strong." Then without missing a beat, Sirius responded, "Says you I can smell your perfume from here, and that gum you keep complaining about because your mum won't send you more."

There was a silence that weighed in the air, as both of them were processing what this meant. Then it simultaneously dawned on them, Amortentia. Without any hesitation, they met in the middle of the room and pressed their lips together. The kiss was gentle but passionate, it release all the longing and yearning they had been holding for so long.

They then broke away from each other and smiled, relieved that they no longer had to hold the dread of fearing rejection.

"Sirius?" "Yeah?" "The quicker we get this done, the quicker you can go back to ignoring my existence." Sirius smiled upon hearing the passive-aggressive statement before replying, "You can't get away from me that easily, love."

[yellowsuitcase]

Christmas Morning // Ron Weasley

A/N: Hello! Happy first of December! I thought a great way to start off this month would be by posting a Ron Weasley fluff. (In this fic, Voldy doesn’t exist. ) Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

Summary: Y/N spends Christmas at the Burrow with her boyfriend Ron.

Warning(s): None.

Word Count: 2.3k

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light streaming in from the Burrow’s windows. She sat up slowly and stretched her arms up to the sky, letting out a soft groan. Once she finished waking up her muscles, she glanced around the room and noticed all the décor. It’s Christmas, she remembered. Through the floorboards, she could hear that the Weasley’s were already downstairs. Mrs. Weasley was yelling at Fred while White Christmas was playing on an old fashioned radio. A few weeks ago, Mr. Weasley had found it at a muggle consignment shop, Ron had told her. Y/N pulled back the red and orange bed sheets on Ron's bed and touched her naked feet to the floor. It was cold to the touch, so she walked over to her bag and pulled out fuzzy white socks her mother had gifted to her before she left to spend this Christmas at the Weasley’s. She slipped them on her feet and headed for the door. 

Y/N failed to contain her excitement as she practically skipped down the steps until reaching the bottom floor. She turned the corner, passing the warm fireplace and sparkling tree, and walked into the kitchen where the entire family was digging in. Upon noticing her arrival, Mrs. Weasley smiled and stood up from her chair. “Happy Christmas, Y/N!” she said brightly, opening her arms up for a hug. Y/N eagerly embraced her, laughing as she did so. “Happy Christmas,” she replied. 

“You’re just in time for breakfast; we’ve saved you a plate right next to Ron,” Mr. Weasley notified her. Y/N gave her thanks to him and sat herself down next to her boyfriend. Ron leaned in for a sweet kiss. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep okay? I didn't wake you, did it? It was hard to maneuver myself out of bed,” he chuckled. Y/N blushed and nodded. “I slept wonderfully, thank you, Ronald.”

“Eat faster. I want to open presents,” Fred said impatiently. “Fred! You’d better watch your mouth, or you won’t be getting any presents. Besides, Y/N just got here, let the girl get some food in her stomach,” Mrs. Weasley scolded. Y/N smiled softly, trying not to laugh at Fred. He glanced up at her and shot her a wink. “I’m only joking, Mum,” he replied. Mrs. Weasley scoffed as she sat back in her chair. Y/N started to eat her food. She, just as much as Fred, was excited to open presents. Ron, beside her, was nearly done with his plate. It only had a piece of toast left on it. He picked it up, folded it over, and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. Y/N promptly bent over with laughter, causing everyone’s eyes to turn to her. 

“Ron Weasley, I know you did not just put that entire piece of toast in your mouth.” Ron furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he asked with his mouth full. Y/N shook her head in disappointment. “He can’t control himself, that boy,” Mrs. Weasley mused as Mr. Weasley nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, the amount of times Mum has had to do the Heimlich on him is staggering. He used to choke every other day when he was younger,” George informed Y/N. Ron, who had swallowed his bread, spoke up. “I did not. And besides, it’s not like I set off a smoke bomb in the middle of dinner, just for a laugh,” he fired back. 

“That’s enough, boys. It’s Christmas; no arguing allowed. Now, take your dishes to the sink and let's gather ‘round the tree, alright? Y/N, dear, take all the time you need; we won’t start without you,” Mrs. Weasley told Y/N. The Weasleys put their plates away and headed for the living room, leaving just Ron and Y/N.  “Oh, no worries! I think I’m done. I want to save room for your delicious Christmas dinner that I’ve heard so much about!” Y/N replied happily. Mrs. Weasley blushed and waved her off. “It’s nothing. Now go on, you two, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Ron took Y/N’s hand and led her to the living room. They settled onto the couch and threw a blanket on top of their legs. Ron turned his head to look at Y/N. “I’m really excited for you to see what I’ve gotten you,” he told her before pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said quietly. Ron shook his head, adamantly. “Nonsense, you’re my girlfriend, of course, I got you something.” Y/N sighed but rested her head on Ron’s shoulder and squeezed his hand lovingly. Shortly, Mrs. Weasley came into the room and sat down in the wooden rocking chair next to the tree. It was drowning in colorfully wrapped boxes. “Ginny, dear. Why don’t you open one of your gifts first?” she suggested. Ginny nodded and grasped the closest present with her name on it. Y/N felt Ron shift uncomfortably next to her. “You’ll get to open yours soon enough, Ronald. So impatient,” she whispered. Her boyfriend responded by slightly shoving her, eliciting a little giggle from her lips.

Their antics were interrupted by Ginny gasping. In her hands were brand new quidditch gloves. They had red accents around the base to match her Hogwarts house. “Thanks, Mum! I needed new ones,” Ginny said. Her mother smiled proudly. “I’m glad you like them. I even embroidered the red bits on it, did you see?” Ginny nodded and placed her gloves tenderly beside her. She then grabbed a small box and looked at the tag to see who it was addressed to, but was stopped short by Mrs. Weasley's sharp inhale. “I forgot! Ginny, would you grab that large bag back there? It has gifts for everyone.” Ginny did as her mother asked and handed the bag to her. Mrs. Weasley, one by one, pulled out each gift and gave them to their respective recipients. Once everyone had their package in their hands, Mrs. Weasley smiled and urged them to open it. Y/N ripped the red colored paper eagerly, while Ron opened his unhurriedly. He knew what it was going to be, as did the rest of his family. Y/N, however, didn’t know what to expect. But when she pulled out a dark green sweater with her first initial knitted onto the front. She gasped and immediately pulled it over her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley! It’s so cozy,” she gushed. Ron smiled at his lover. He and his brothers and sister had received one of these sweaters every year. But for Y/N, she had never gotten one. And to receive one meant his mother regarded her as part of the family. This filled Ron with pride. And on top of that, she looked absolutely adorable in it.

After everyone put on their sweater, they continued with presents. “Dad, here’s one for you. It’s from Y/N,” Fred said as he passed his father the box. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have,” Mr. Weasley said lightly as he shook the box. “I wonder what it is,” he said while ripping the wrapping paper to reveal an electric razor. But it seemed as though Mr. Weasley didn’t know what it was just by the picture, so Y/N filled him in. “It’s an electric razor. You flick it on, and that way, you don’t have to go through the hassle of rinsing the normal little one. Does that make sense?” she asked. Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows were knit together as he opened the box and lifted up the small mechanism. “I think so, but I’m not sure.” Y/N chuckled. “I’ll go over the instructions with you later if you’d like,” she offered. He smiled and placed the razor back in the box. “What a curious little thing this is… Yes, that’d be great Y/N, thank you very much.”

Y/N snuggled close to Ron. She loved watching people open gifts; it made her feel fuzzy inside. They continued opening presents. Fred got a new scarf as well as a gobstone set. George got a scarf too, but instead of gobstones, he got a fanged frisbee. The twins were rather excited about that one. Ginny, along with her gloves, got a necklace with six rings to signify quidditch hoops. A large pack of chocolate frogs was gifted to Ron and another Chudley Cannons poster to slap on his wall. Mrs. Weasley got a new knitting basket full of supplies, and Mr. Weasley got a set of ties. Y/N got a large basket full of prank items from the twins, a makeup palette from Ginny, and a wallet from Mr. Weasley. She was extremely pleased with her gifts and promised each giver that she’d try them out as soon as possible. Once all the presents were gone, everyone began to scatter, some to test their new items and others to get properly dressed. Regardless, this left Ron and Y/N on the couch.

“So, are you ready for your present?” Y/N asked. Ron smiled, “I am. Where have you hidden it?” he asked. His girlfriend laughed. “It’s in my bag; hold on.” She wordlessly summoned the gift. It landed in her hands, and she passed it off to Ron. It was wrapped in red and silver striped paper and had a gold bow on top. Ron gingerly removed the bow and tore the paper. He was now left with a simple black box. When he opened it, he breathed, "Wow." Inside was a wooden wristwatch with walnut colored straps. Ron took it off the little pillow and studied it intently. Inside the face were various small holes, almost like the moon or perhaps a sponge. He unhooked the latch and wrapped it around his wrist.

“You like it?” Y/N asked nervously. “I love it, darling," Ron assured her. "Thank you. Could you help me latch it?” he asked. Y/N nodded and leaned over his wrist, her fingers nimbly pushing the prong through the hole and fastening it tightly. When she pulled away, Ron’s hand touched her cheek, and he drew her in for a kiss. She sighed softly, melting into him. “Now, it’s your turn,” Ron murmured after pulling away. He stood up from the couch and walked over to a shelf where he opened the top drawer and drew out a long, slender box wrapped in blue paper. He remained standing and handed Y/N the box. She looked at curiously, wondering what could be in such a skinny box. But when she removed the cover and saw what was inside, her face broke out in a genuine grin. Inside was an elegant red quill, spotted with gold flecks. Y/N ran her finger along the center, feeling its smoothness. She picked it up and held it in her dominant hand just as she would any other quill. It felt perfect. “Ron, this is beautiful. I hope it wasn’t expensive…” Ron smiled and awkwardly rested his hand on his neck. “It was a bit pricey, but I knew you’d love it so I had to get it,” Ron said with a blush on his cheeks. Y/N set the quill back in its box and stood up to face him. “Ron Weasley. I love you so much.”

Suddenly, the radio went silent, catching their attention. The pair turned their heads towards it, wondering why it was quiet. But then the telltale sound of winter bells filled the air. “Silver bells...silver bells... it’s Christmas time in the city…” Y/N averted her attention back to her boyfriend. He smirked at her and held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Ms. Y/L/N?” Y/N giggled at his playfulness but took his outstretched hand nonetheless. He pulled her close, gently pushing her head to lie against his chest. Her hand was still in his as it too rested on his chest. Ron’s opposite hand landed on her waist. They began to gently sway back and forth, letting the music fill their ears. After a few moments, Ron even started to hum along. The vibrations from his chest lulled Y/N’s eyes closed. She felt so happy, so peaceful in his arms. 

“Happy Christmas, Y/N. I’m really glad you’re here,” Ron whispered in her ear. Y/N took her head off his chest to gaze up at him. “Happy Christmas, Ron,” she replied. The couple’s dance was interrupted by the sound of a loud click. They froze in place as they snapped their heads in the direction from which they heard the noise. There stood Molly Weasley, a camera in her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, dears, but you two looked so sweet, I had to capture the moment. You can have the photo; it’s already been printed,” she said excitedly as she passed the image to Ron. He brought it towards him while shaking his head at his mother. Y/N grasped his wrist and pulled it down so that she, too, could see it. There they were, pressed against one another, swaying back and forth. Then the Y/N in the picture lifted her head to look at Ron. Real-life Y/N had to admit that the photo was definitely worth it despite their moment being cut short. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. This is the best Christmas gift, being here with you and your lovely family.” The red-headed woman blushed. “Of course, dear, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’ll leave you to it now, sorry for interrupting.” She scurried back to the kitchen, once again leaving the couple alone. Ron scoffed. “Can’t believe that woman,” he said. Y/N lightly whacked his shoulder. “Hush, you. Because of her, we now have this wonderful photograph,” she scolded. Ron sighed and brought the picture closer to his face. “It is a really nice photo,” he admitted. Y/N laughed at him, grabbed his face, and placed a tender kiss on his lips; he returned it eagerly, relishing in the feeling of his girl in his arms.

“This will probably end up being one of my favorite Christmases,” Ron said when she pulled away from the kiss. Y/N rested her head against his chest yet again, breathing in his comforting scent. “Yeah, I think so too.”

Taglist: @cutie1365​ @orangecrayon​ @sambucky8​ @emilianamason​ @raplinethereal​ @dixiethemorab24​ @prongsandprancer​

[omgrachwrites]

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly woman.

Warnings: angst, fluff, pining

Words: 2527

Disclaimer: These gifs don’t belong to me!

A/N: How are we on chapter thirteen already?! I think I said this in my last post but I’m going to be writing a Remus fic that will connect to this one, I want to make these fics into a little series. My Remus fic will still be a reader insert but she’ll just have a proper name otherwise it will be so confusing with loads of Y/N’s running around so I hope that’s okay! I hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Thirteen

Everyone – absolutely everyone – knew that Sirius and Y/N were at odds with one another, even if Sirius and Y/N didn’t know them personally; random people somehow knew that something was going on. Even the first years who had never spoken a word to either of them knew that something bad was happening because they’d watch Sirius joke and grin with his friends in the castle corridors, only for his grin to drop a moment later.

Whereas, McGonagall knew that something was wrong because Sirius had been unusually quiet in her class and he no longer exchanged wistful looks with Y/N from across the classroom. McGonagall missed his bold personality and even his incessant annoying pranks. She hoped that he’d be back to his usual self soon.

Sirius chewed his lip as he fiddled with the fanged Frisbee he was holding, scowling down at it when he felt it bite him and he slammed it right back onto the shelf in a huff. He didn’t think that he wanted it after all, “what did that poor Frisbee ever do to you Pads?” Peter smirked and Sirius narrowed his stormy eyes at his friend before turning to speak to James.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does Lily hate my guts right now?” Sirius didn’t want to cause a rift in his best mate’s relationship. He didn’t want to screw anything else up; he just wanted a quiet year from now on.

James sighed as he turned away from the display of nose biting teacups, “she doesn’t hate you mate, I think that she’s just disappointed,” Sirius winced, on second thought he would rather it if Lily hated our guts, “you have to understand Pads, Lily and Y/N have been best friends since our very first day at Hogwarts. Remember how inseparable they were by Halloween? She’d pick Y/N over anybody. I honestly wouldn’t worry about it too much; the boys and I are all on your side. You don’t have to work things out before you’re ready.”

Sirius looked up at the rest of his friends to see if they were of a same mind as James, Remus chewed his lip and immediately walked up to the counter to buy his items. Though, Remus needn’t bother trying to hide it, Sirius knew that Remus disapproved of the way he’d handled things.

However, Peter piped up which surprised Sirius, “yeah, we are on your side, Y/N could have at least told you about the fact she wanted to date your brother.”

It still caused Sirius a painful pang when he thought about Y/N – his Y/N – with Regulus. He looked outside, out of the rain streaked window, biting his lip when Lily and Y/N walked out of Honeydukes, munching on their sweets. Sirius wondered how sweet Y/N’s lips were with the sugar that was undeniably coating them.

“Be honest,” he started, turning back to his friends, “do you think that Reg and Y/N are properly going out?” he almost didn’t want to know the answer. But, he supposed that he couldn’t feel any worse than he already did.

James and Peter exchanged nervous looks, “well, I think if they were properly and seriously going out then they’d be walking down the corridor holding hands and they’d be snogging in The Great Hall like Lily and I do,” James chuckled before he got serious and he rested his hand on Sirius’ shoulder, “I know that I said that you didn’t have to work things out before you were ready but maybe you just need to shelve your pride and tell her how you really feel before she does get with Regulus for real. The problem is that you two are way too stubborn.”

Sirius rolled his eyes as he groaned internally, he didn’t want to lose his pride but he also knew that James was right. In these sorts of situations he was always right. The boys paid for their Zonkos’ products before they left the warm shop to join Y/N and Lily in the rainy country lane. Sirius made sure to keep a couple of paces behind.

A couple of days later, Sirius walked across the wet muddy lawn after dinner to meet James, he looked up with a groan at the dark sky that was threatening to pour down again and the air stank of wet grass. With the last two Quidditch matches looming James had become more frantic with his Quidditch practises; he wanted to win the Quidditch cup one last time. James had started scheduling them in the evening now as well as keeping his usual morning practises.

Sirius nodded in greeting as he noticed that James was walking up the hill, he was spattered with mud and Y/N was at his side, they both looked miserable. When Y/N looked up and saw Sirius, her eyes turned hard and cold and she brushed past James without saying goodbye to him. Sirius opened his mouth to say something to the pretty girl but she was already long gone. He turned back to James and saw that his usual warm and kind eyes were angry, “what’s the matter?”

James huffed angrily before prodding Sirius in the chest hard, “you need to make things right with Y/N, and soon. Because I need my amazing seeker back,” he grimaced at Sirius before storming ahead, leaving Sirius in the mud, he was utterly speechless.

Thankfully, by the time that Sirius had got himself up to the warm and mercifully dry common room, James seemed to have calmed down, he wondered whether it had something to do with Lily running her fingers through James’ hair. James gave Sirius an apologetic look as Sirius sank into the plush couch next to him, “sorry mate, practise has been so bad lately and I’m just so frustrated, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I think you were right to have a go,” Sirius smiled, he wasn’t going to hold a grudge against his best friend because of one stupid comment said in a moment of anger.

Later on that evening, the marauders were finally getting to work on that dreaded Potions essay that was due in the morning; however, Remus had already completed it somehow. Peter was going on about asking Evelyn out properly, she had gone to The Yule Ball with him in the end, “like what if she rejects me? James, did you ever feel this way before asking Lily out?”

Before James could reply, Sirius interjected loudly, “I wouldn’t if I were you Wormtail, when you show your feelings to someone, you only get stabbed in the back,” he didn’t know what made him say it, maybe his feelings had been bottled up inside him for too long.

A hushing silence fell over the common room as Gryffindor students looked between Y/N and Sirius as they waited for Y/N’s answer. It seemed like the whole room was holding its breath. Y/N glanced up from where she was sitting with Alice and she blinked with a confused expression etched upon her face. In a matter of seconds her face warped from an expression of polite confusion to an expression of rage as she angrily threw her quill down on her parchment, splotching ink everywhere. Sirius half expected to see steam billowing from her ears.

“Oh, would you just stop it? So what, your feelings got hurt, mine have too! But why do you have to make everything so much worse? Would you like to know why I took Regulus to The Yule Ball and why I’ve been spending so much time with him?”

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Sirius smirked as he raised an eyebrow as he leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. He couldn’t wait to hear her explanation.

“Y/N, don’t do this, think about who’s watching,” Lily warned but Y/N didn’t abide by her words.

“No Lily! He wants to know so I’ll tell him,” she narrowed her eyes as she walked over to stand before him and Sirius waited with bated breath, “your hag of a mother and my mum – the traitor – have taken it upon themselves to set me and Regulus up. For marriage, and you know what your mum is like when things don’t go her way, she’ll make my family’s life a living hell. The wedding is scheduled for Midsummer which is why I’ve been spending so much time with your brother. I don’t want to hate my future husband Sirius. What else do you expect me to do? I’m doing the best that I can,” her voice broke and those beautiful blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Sirius felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly as his eyes stung, he felt completely awful; he’d made such a huge mistake. He should have known that something else was going on, he should have just been an adult and asked her. The last thing he wanted was for Y/N to become his sister in law. Not when he was completely crazy about her. He knew that he owed her a massive apology, he’d said some really awful things, they both had.

“Y/N, I,” he sighed, at a loss for words. What could he possible say other than he was sorry? Y/N sniffled and looked away from him.

“Good talk Sirius,” she mumbled before crossing the room and she climbed out of the portrait hole. Sirius couldn’t let her go like this; he quickly stood up, not caring that the majority of Gryffindor were watching this scene unfold. He had to go after her to let her know how sorry he was. He had to let her know that he didn’t mean all those horrible things that he’d said.

However, Lily’s words stopped him before he could reach the portrait hole, “Sirius don’t, I’m sorry but I think that it’s too late.”

————————————–

You grinned happily as Alice positively gushed about her boyfriend Frank, they could compete against James and Lily for Hogwarts’ cutest couple. It was very clear that Alice was very much in love and you knew that they would go the distance. At first, Alice wouldn’t talk about her happy love life because she didn’t want to upset you but you had quickly explained to her that it was absolutely fine. You didn’t want her to censor the conversation purely for your benefit.

Despite everything that had occurred over the last few days you were feeling pretty happy and positive. It was a beautiful day sunny day and you had managed to ignore Sirius – and how beautiful he looked with slightly shorter hair. He knew the truth now and you thought that he knew how you felt; the ball was in his court now so you hadn’t worried about it too much.

You checked the time on your watch and saw that there was about twenty more minutes of lunchtime left, if you were going to help Remus then it needed to be now, “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” you grinned, feeling pretty excited.

“Bye Y/N,” Lily pulled you into a warm hug and Alice blew you a kiss.

“See you later honey.”

You smiled at your friends and wandered over to the Slytherin table, “hey, Reg?” you smiled sweetly as he greeted you with a kiss on your cheek; he was so adorable, “have you seen Morgana?”

He frowned at your question and you ignored how much he looked like Sirus when he did that, “I think she said she was going to the library. Why do you want to know Y/N?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and you laughed.

“Don’t look at me like that, I only want to talk to her,” you offered him a small wave and an apologetic smile as you hurried off in the direction of the library.

You navigated the extremely busy library with some difficulty and you smiled, with the amount of people in this one room it was surely pissing Madam Pince off. That thought made you happy. Eventually, you found Morgana at the back of the library with her head stuck in a book, you nervously approached her table. You didn’t know how she was going to react when she saw you, “Morgana?”

At the sound of her name she looked up and quirked a beautifully arched eyebrow, “Y/N. What do you want?” she drawled and rolled her eyes as she closed her book and she gestured for you to sit down in the free seat.

“We need to talk about Remus,” you said as you sat down, at the mention of Remus’ name, her whole demeanour changed. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour as she looked at the table before looking up at you almost shyly. It was a good look for her.

“What about him?”

“I need to know how you feel about him,” you started, your protective instincts kicking in, “he’s my best friend, he’s been there for me and I’ve been there for him. He likes you and I really don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Morgana sighed and chewed her lip as she fiddled with her fingers, “Y/N, I know that you don’t like me and you have every reason to be suspicious of me. I have a hard time truly opening up to people but with Remus, it’s just so easy, he makes it so easy. He’s been so amazing, so patient when I did nothing but push him away. It’s so different being with him, different in a good way. It feels more than sex; I want it to be more than sex. He makes me want to be a better person Y/N, I would never hurt him, please believe me. But there’s something you don’t know, and I’m not sure that I deserve him,” she seemed so sincere and you were glad to see this side of her.

She was incredibly human and you couldn’t help but believe her, Remus usually had a good judgement of people, “if you’re not going to hurt him then I’ll say that you more than deserve him. I believe you Morgana, why don’t you ask him out?” you liked playing cupid, it was fun.

Morgana looked away from you and wrapped her arms around herself, “oh, I couldn’t,” she hesitated before looking at you warily, “you’re going out with Regulus right? Would you be interested in a double date?”

You didn’t bother to properly correct her about Regulus, “yes, if that would make you more comfortable,” you sighed wondering whether you were playing with fire.

“Thanks Y/N,” she smiled.

After your talk with Morgana you made your way to Potions and grinned at Remus but before you could tell him the good news you noticed that Sirius was gazing at you. His stormy grey eyes were wary and vulnerable, and when he spoke to you it was in a civilised tone that you hadn’t heard in so long.

“Y/N, I think that we need to talk.”

You nodded at him, this was either going to be a very good thing or a very bad thing, “yes I suppose that we do.”

————————————– 

@approved-by-dentists​ @thefuturelawyer​ @a-miserable-hufflepunk​ @firelordmillie​ @seriouslysiriuss​ @sleep-i-ness​ @play-morezeppelin​ @pregnant-piggy​ @sleepingalaska​ @smiithys​ @blisfvll​ @rexorangecouny​ @findzelda​ @wangmangagavroche​ @the-moon-and-the-book​ @hxrgreeves​ @ghostofstudentspast​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @my-unique-mind​ @im-an-angel-of-the-lord-you-ass​ @acciovisio​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kashishwrites​

[snacc-noir]

Unseal and Reveal

You may remember @jattendschaton‘s amazing idea for Chat and Lb writing their identities in envelopes for emergency reasons, then I added, what if Nathalie finds it hidden in Adrien’s room and assumes it was attached to a romantic gift, leading them to think Marinette was his girlfriend and confronting Adrien about it-

and yes it was a while ago and yes it’s been written but I couldn’t not write a dramatic addition myself, so now with permission from the idea op, i will present basically the crack version 

( @hermionemonica @lady-charinette @aremmen @laadychat y’all got it but you’re getting it again)

-

Her idea sounds affable at the start.

Notice: her idea.

Ladybug’s.

(He’s just putting that out there before anything starts.)

The new guardian is pacing on rooftops, pen smartly rolling between fingers even though she’s focussed on nothing of it. She’s mulling, debating, as if they hadn’t agreed to this lawed debauchery five minutes ago. It’s not even bad, he knows, and although the thrill has set a kind of buzz under his skin, Chat’s not exactly worried.  

He never is, is he?

The paper smiles at him where he’s relaxing, the paper that will soon have her name. There’s an odd temptation to put the untouched stack in his mouth. Maybe he’s tired of waiting, or maybe he just really wants the paper. Maybe it’s a cat thing.  

“And we can’t let anyone see the envelopes.”

“Well, duh,” he says, as if he’s sure that’s not going to happen.

“Hide it. Keep it safe, don’t, uh, don’t open it unless—”

“You trust me, right M’lady?”

Her hand crunches the pen. A sigh. “More than anyone.”

She’s nervous, of course; no one is supposed to know either of their identities, and here they are planning to materialise them. But it’s for the best, they reason, with her being guardian and having no one to know who she is in case of a dire emergency.

Emergency, he reminds himself. Only in an emergency. In fact, it’s likely for nothing. He doesn’t want there to be an emergency, and he doesn’t want that to be how he finds her identity, but he also doesn’t want to never know the name sealed in the scarlet envelope.

When she finally sits, she scribbles on the pink paper, guarding even the movement of her hands by hiked knees. Chat takes time writing his message, dotting smiles and pictures when she’s already up to licking the paper as if the more salvia guarantees more seal.

Reluctantly, she passes it.

-

The first week, Adrien glances at the spot behind his CD rack at least twice a day.

Three months, then four, and he’s slim to completely forgetting he has access to the love of his life’s identity – the best superhero in Paris, the most beautiful and competent woman in the world, the—

“Adrien. Your father requests a serious discussion in the atrium.”

And her identity is especially forgotten the afternoon he realises his may be on the line.

-

Nathalie finds a red letter in the masked cabinet of Adrien’s CD shelf two minutes after believing this whole “catch why Adrien’s disappearing” thing would uncover nothing. When designing the Agreste mansion, it seems Gabriel’s request for secretive spots in his future offspring’s room to catch them hiding admonishments in later years succeeded in the very end.  

Because this is far too suspicious not to take back.

A pink note inside, a scrawl of a feminine name within hearts. Addressed, “to the best partner ever”, and alarmingly cryptic. No other message. Possibly, it could’ve attached to a romantic gift.  

Gabriel Agreste knows exactly what it means.

-

“Adrien.”

His voice is ice as always. His face is unreadable as always – though Adrien’s found guessing “disappointed” proves correct eighty percent of the time. So although the poor boy is dying for some indication that his father has not found out he is Chat Noir, there is nothing to pick up from the scene: Gabriel’s passive, and Nathalie, as always, stands a bit off with a face almost the same – like a sibling that’s ratted another out and is mirroring the scolding authority, even to the way her arms are behind her.  

Adrien swallows.

“Fathe—”

“How long did you believe you could keep your impractical relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng from members of this household?”

Uh…

…

Um.

Frankly, Adrien’s never been more confused in his life.

Excuse him,

But what?!

Adrien’s alarmed, squinting, and even the hounding worries pause to make sure they’ve heard right as Nathalie pulls her hand into view.

Marinette. Relationship. Him. No mention of Chat Noir.

Yeah… what?

“What do y—”

His eyes leap. Nathalie’s hand.

The envelope.

The envelope.

Red, unsealed, and far too familiar.

Adrien stills.

“I don’t tolerate this insulting feign ignorance. Explain this immediately.”

“Explain…”

How his mouth even does that baffles him – not like he could physically be any more baffled, but if he could, any words that could manage out his gaping face would’ve increased his puzzlement.

Marinette.

Marinette.

Marinette.

The Dupain-Cheng Marinette.

Her name was already bouncing in his head the second his father phrased an incredulous question that implied he’s dating her—his sweet and adorable and talented good friend—but you know, now—

Now.

Well, now he kind of wishes he is.

Identity. Ladybug. Envelope. Marinette.

The card is faced so he can read the confirmation of his last suspicions. He’s too close to pretend it’s too blurry to read, even to himself, so the startlement of his eyes catch every, single, scribble – every word, every letter, every heart.

‘To the best partner ever.’

And beside a dash, trying to look like the smallest signage ever, is franticly scrawled,

‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng.’

Oh no.

“Why do you appear happy?”

Happy? Uh, no, no! This is awful.

“I’m not happy.”  

“You’re clearly smiling.”

He totally isn’t.

“I’m not!”

“Adrien, you seem on the verge of tears.”

He stifles a fist on his mouth. “What?”

“You seem like you’re about to burst,” Nathalie probes.

His father runs him over with a cold look. “Amused, Adrien? Is this matter pleasing you?”

No way! This– This is terrible.  

Atrocious even! He knows Ladybug’s identity!  

“I’m devastated,” he says, eyes wet and grin hurting.

Ladybug’s identity.

His fist hurts his mouth. A small noise fissures behind his hands.

“Did you– Did you just squeal?”

“Absolutely not!”  

This is, truly, the worst news.

“Enough of these games, Adrien! You have disobeyed your authorities with all this tomfoolery and damaged how you excel in your extracurriculars. This secret affair is to be terminated, unless you can explain. If you can even recover this, that i—are you crying?”

To be fair, he didn’t mean to break down in sobs, but you know he feels no one can blame him understanding all that is happening right now. Plus, it’s more a dignified silent weeping (if you ignore how he’s practically vibrating) amongst muted chokes.

“I’m not, Father.” He wipes his face, hoping it takes his grin off too. (It doesn’t. Nothing can.) “Continue.”

Gabriel clears his throat. Nathalie’s still holding the note, not sure what to do with Adrien, whether it be… no, comforting’s never been an option.  

“Can you reason this affiliation?”

“That I’m dating Marinette?”

Gabriel nods, his face souring.

Adrien realises that, although there’s technically many things he can do and say, he doesn’t have a clue what. His options seem… pretty inexistent. So he narrows his criteria down:

1. He has to say he’s dating Marinette.

(Pretty easy, that wishful lie is already established.)

2. He must make sure he stays dating Marinette.

But then he realises he’s freaking Chat Noir and lying to save identities is pretty much most of job.  

“She tutors me. Ever since you were disappointed in my A- in Maths, she’s helped me in most subjects so I wouldn’t drop grades in them as well, so we started hanging out more and, well one thing lead to another…” He rubs his neck. “She makes me happy, Father. I was falling behind because I haven’t been too happy since Mum left, and Marinette, she, well,”

He beams, shiny-eyed and damp-cheeked. “She’s made me feel happy again.”

Ha, not even his Grinch-of-a-dad can say no to that.

Reason, sentiment, hitting the soft spot with mum? – yeah, that was good.

His father’s gaze is calculating, and if emotion ever touches him, it may have flickered in his eyebrows, but it smooths like steal.  

Nathalie glances at her boss.

“Is that so?” Gabriel muses. “I… can see what even the mention of her can bring you to. This must have been… some gift attached.” The way he gives him a once-over should make Adrien feel embarrassed, not chuffed, but it does.  

Gabriel thinks for seconds longer. The space in the Agreste atrium burns with tense anticipation that stretches Adrien’s sense of time.  

His father steps down and places a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Continue to the tutoring if it picks up your grades. But monitor how much you sneak around, and try not to let schoolwork distract you from extracurriculars too much.”

And just like that, Gabriel Agreste is—

“One more thing. Nathalie, book me an appointment. I see it that Marinette Dupain-Cheng will soon be attending a dinner.”

–Causing Adrien more problems.

Thaaaat’s right. Proving the lie. With Marinette.

With Ladybug.

With Marinette!

“Eeep!”

Nathalie jolts her gaze to him, panic set in her flamed eyes as he stares back awkwardly.  

“I’ll– I’ll go call her.”

After he screams a million times, of course.  

[prome-th3us]

My spirits

Ok this is not actually a part of my path but hey the next part will be about my spirit guides, a little bit of context is ok.

As I said in the introduction, when I was a small bean I used to see them around, even in hospitals and places that aren't my house. I was hearing my name being called a lot from female/male voice when only my dad or mum were at home at it wasn't their voice, but they were like "imagination girl, don't worry".

With time I stopped seeing them but I've always felt kinda uncomfortable at home: I knew someone else was there and that they were staring at me, even at night.

As soon as I started practicing witchcraft seriously, I started seeing shadows moving around and with time, at least at my house, I started to see their real aspect.

At my house I keep the energy under control basically constantly, so I know when something is around and I can easily find them. When I'm out I don't do that so no dead people around that I can notice

I have various visitors sometimes, I had a little child who got to me (idk why) and a middle-aged woman, but they weren't supposed to be there so I asked to a medium to help me with "leading them to the other side", idk how to call it.

Then we have two pretty loud guys: Mark who is a German soldier, died not that far from my home during the Second World War because and he got killed by his comrades cause he didn't want to follow the orders anymore (I will get into the situation of my city during this time when I will talk about my spirit guides, but just as you know: at that time Germany invaded Italy and I'm in a border city, so we had German soldiers, Italian soldiers and Slovenian soldiers all fighting here who were trying to control or help the population, it depends on the faction).

He had been roaming around for quite a while in the fields and in my city, then he met my grandma and my mum and he liked them so he stayed with them. Now he is with me because I can interact with him and he doesn't want to leave, but except knocking on my closet doors when he wants to play chess he doesn't do anything, so I'm ok with him.

The next one is Davide, he was one of my dad's friend who died when he was in his 20s. He is basically following my dad since that. Davide actually made me really uncomfortable at the beginning because I was feeling this really angry energy in different places of my house and I couldn't banish it. After the first try he started becoming loud always when I was home alone: I was hearing footsteps, things were knocked off from the shelfs, washing machines have been made without me starting them and a lot of objects were going missing.

I was pretty confused because some of those things are a Loki's thing so we had some arguments about that, like:"I'M HERE WHY DO YOU KEEP KNOCKING OFF MY BOOKS AND STEALING MY HEARINGS, JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED" "Baby girl I swear it's not me, it's a spirit"

And lol I wasn't completely believing him. Anyway I got tired of the situation so I grabbed my pendulum and in a very aggressive way I talked with him and then with my dad to have a confirmation. I didn't tell him that his dead friend was here with us but I asked how he was when he was alive, pretending that my dad already talked about him (he never did, still an open wound). Basically he was the type of guy who could steal your grandma and hide her under the sofa without you noticing, he loved throwing pranks and he was the LOUDEST person in the whole world. Yeah very much like his spirit.

Loki and he go pretty along together, they are making my life a little chaotic mess and even Mark, who is super quiet usually, now is going to the dark site.

I really love them tho, I always have something to laugh about when I'm not in the mood to do so and actually some of their pranks are good.

Interaction with them

Tbh I don't do anything in particular. I have an altar for the dead and here they have some glasses of water and a bowl with some dried food that I change once a week, when I do that for the Gods.

Sometimes they do want to interact more: with Mark I use to play chess (it's very long, I have to use a pendolum because a lot of time I just can't really see him, it depends on how tired I am. Sometimes Hekate or Loki help me too), read out loud some poetry/philosophy, talking about girls (he's 25 or something like that) and clothes cause he really loved dressing up when he was alive and not fighting.

For Davide it's a little different. He is very energetic so I can't do something easy with him. Usually he disappears with Loki and I really don't want to know where they are and what they are doing, sometimes he even messes up with Beelzebub which can get very pissed about it. When I want to distract him for quite a while I call him to watch some YouTube videos about Call of Duty (when Mark isn't around), I play some anime or I simply play some games like Halo. He also has some fidgets on his part of the altar, even tho I've never seen him interacting with them.

When they get too loud, considering that they aren't spirit guides and that they are literally messing up my house, I just shout:"PLEASE BE QUIET" and if they don't listen:"SHUT THE FUCK UP", cause I'm always polite and nice lmao.

[crowdedimagines]

Lights Up - Harry Styles

i literally have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out and i highly recommend. hope you guys enjoy xx an: italics are flashbacks

~

It’s been months in the process, but the day is finally here. Today is the day that Harry releases new music. We’ve been waiting for this for what feels like all year. He has been perfecting everything, making sure that this album can measure up to his first one.

“Hey.” I grin, walking downstairs and walking in to the living room. Harry is sat on our couch, his leg anxiously bouncing up and down. He has his phone in his right hand while he bites at the skin on his finger on his left. We’re home tonight. Harry decided he wanted a night in for when the single is released. A listening party can come later with the whole album.

“Hmm?” Harry looks up, completely having missed my greeting.

“How’s it going?” I reach out and run a hand back through his curls. It’s something I’ve picked up on since we started dating that he really enjoys. It manages to relax him and pull him from his own thoughts.

“M’nervous.”

“Yeah, isn’t that the way it goes every time you release new music?” I sit down next to him on the couch. He leans back and pulls me closer against him. He sets down his phone, there’s a good twenty minutes before the song drops.

“I guess. It’s just always so different when it’s just you. It’s not me and the boys, still not used to it.”

“Well, I know that the fans are going to absolutely love this. Harry, it’s a brilliant song.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet.” He smirks.

He’s right. I haven’t listened to it yet, not that Harry hasn’t offered. I was a fan before I met him, I did the late nights of waiting up. There’s a sense of nostalgia of being surprised with everyone else. It’s been difficult, but I’ve managed to refrain.

“Not yet.” I grin back. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I know this song is going to be a smash hit.”

Not that I haven’t heard him mumble words here and there. Harry is always singing the tune of something, whether it be Fleetwood Mac, One Direction, or something he hasn’t even recorded yet. He always has a song going in his head.

“I just don’t want to let the fans down. They’ve already picked up on so much. Some are expecting an album already.”

“Well, that’s coming soon anyway.” I stop running my hand and turn his cheek lightly for him to face me, “In all honesty the fans will just be glad you’re posting publicly.”

He rolls his eyes and chuckles. He is very aware of how the fans want him to post more often. A lot of people think he’s inept of using social media, but it’s quite the opposite. He just chooses to share only certain things with them, he has a private story for close friends. A lot of Harry’s fans come to my account now for content, just to make sure he’s still alive and well. I do feature him, with permission. I think he secretly likes that I post about us, even though he feels like it’s something he can’t do on his account. He’s afraid because of the messages I might receive, but at this point I’m past all of the hate.

Harry reaches out and grabs his phone so he can tweet out another picture and post to instgram. Every couple of minutes he makes a new update, which drives the fans even more mad.

“They’re going absolutely mad.” He laughs reading over the comments.

“I’m sure, I know the feeling.” I laugh as I get up from the couch. I walk into the kitchen to grab a late night snack.

“That’s true. How do I always forget that my lovely girlfriend was a fangirl?” He traps me proudly between him and the kitchen island. His arms graze against my hips.

It’s true. I was a fan before I met him. I listened to all of the music, bought the vinyl, went to a concert, and even bought a tee shirt. That shirt is probably the reason I even got to talk to Harry when we first met.

I skim through the records, hunting for anything new. I come here fairly regularly, it’s the only place in L.A that I’ve found that carries a wide variety of vinyl. Since moving here, it’s become one of the places I like to escape to. Thankfully, it’s still fairly undiscovered so it isn’t completely flooded with tourists.

“Erik, is there anything else new?” I shout over to the man standing behind the register.

“You mean since you came in last week? No, you’re looking at the only new shelf.”

“Well that’s no fun.” I mumble, I continue to look anyway.

“I’ve got quite a large collection at my home if you’re looking for something specific.”

I don’t bother to turn and look at the stranger who just gave me a very suggestive yet somewhat nice comment. There were two strangers in here earlier, I never noticed anyone new come in.

“No thanks, I’m just looking anyway.” I continue to flip through record after record.

“That’s what makes it fun.”

I finally turn to see the man I’ve started a conversation with. My breath almost catches in my throat. I knew that voices sounded familiar. It caught me off guard to hear it in person. Harry Styles.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I turn back to the records, trying to seem as unaffected even though I’m pretty sure both of us can hear my heart pounding in my chest.

“What? Now do you want to take me up on that offer?” I don’t have to look to know he has a smirk on his face.

“I don’t even know you.” I roll my eyes, hoping he can’t see the smile even though I’m sure he can.

“Your shirt begs to differ.”

I wish I could say it’s a fluke that I am wearing a band tee from his tour, but that would be a lie. It’s soft and I bought it oversized which just makes it comfy.

“I may know your music, but I don’t know you.” I counter, fulling turning to face him with a full blown smirk to match his.

“Well, let's change that.”

It’s been over a year since we first met. Everything has changed since then, in the best way possible. I can now say that I know Harry inside and out. He loves that I was a fan before we met, even if he likes to bring it up to tease every now and then.

“Don’t you have to like go be a famous rockstar or something?” I tease back, pushing my hips forward to meet his.

“I’m sure the fans wouldn’t notice a few minutes-” He starts to place kisses all down my neck.

“I assure you, they will.” I push back on his chest and manage to escape from his grasp. I grab a bowl of grapes from the fridge and rejoin him in the living room.

“What’s the countdown?”

“Three minutes.”

“This is so exciting!” I cheer.

Harry pulls up the premiere on our TV. The screen is flooded with the live chat going on with the fans.

“Lights Up.” I grin, reading the text across the screen.

“I really hope you like it.” He leans over to press a kiss to my temple, and steal a grape.

“I’m sure I will, bub.” I give him an actual kiss now.

Soon enough, it’s showtime. I countdown shows up on the screen, as soon as it hits one my lungs drain of all oxygen as I wait for the downbeat. Harry reaches out his hand to place on my thigh, the whole time I can’t decide whether to focus on the lyrics, notes, or the video.

“Play it again.”

“What?” Harry laughs.

“I haven’t fully absorbed it yet.”

Harry starts it again, this time I can fully grasp everything and it’s beautiful. The way he puts his feelings into such a beautiful song amazes me. I can feel a single tear glide down my cheek, The smile growing wider on my face as the song fades to silence.

“Love-” He reaches out to wipe away the wet trail on my face.

“I know, I’m lame. Whatever-”

“No, I just wasn’t expecting that reaction. Made my heart skip a beat.”  

“Harry, that song.” I shake my head, “It was something else.”

“I hope you mean in a good way.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I can tell he’s trying to joke, but the tone of his voice tells me he;s actually nervous for my reaction.

“Harry, in the best way. I will never be able to get over how you are able to convey how you feel into a song that is beautiful and somehow still relatable. I loved it.”

Harry tackles me down into the couch, his tight around the back of my neck pulling me into a hug.

“Don’t scare me like that, love.” Harry groans into my hair.

“Did you think I was sad crying?” I laugh.

“I don’t know!”

“Awe poor me, my amazing rockstar boyfriend just released a crappy single!” I mimic.

“Hey, teasing isn’t very nice.” His grips changes to focus on digging into my hip.

“Alright, alright.” I grin giving in, “It’s lovely, Harry. Well done.”

“Thank you.” He smirks, he sits up and pinches my bum, causing me to yelp. He reaches for his phone again, I’m sure to tweet more of the publicity images. He doesn’t stop straddling me as he scrolls through his phone.

“Give me a big thumbs up.” Harry turns his phone towards me.

“What? No!” I cover up my face. Between the pajamas and lack of makeup I would prefer to stay off camera.

“Just going to me mum.” Harry explains, “Want to tell her it’s a hit at home.”

I peek out and smile widely, holding a big thumbs up.

“Perfect.”

I manage to wiggle my way out from under him so I can grab my bowl of grabs again from the table. I reach out for one when I notice a twitter and instagram notification.

Harry Styles has tagged you in a photo.

“Harry Edward Styles.”

FEEDBACK PLZ

[queer-as-frikc]

Vampire Dream

Me and my little brother were on a walk in the woods near our home and got ambushed by some vampires. I put myself between them and my brother and managed to fight them off, getting scratched a little in the process. As soon as an opportunity presented itself I picked my brother up and sprinted home, and I could feel myself getting faster in the process. Worried that I was becoming a vampire, I called a Vampireologist when I got home to explain what had happened and ask for her advice. As soon as I told her about my increase of speed, she told me to stay calm and get lying down somewhere and that she’d be there ASAP.

Not long after the call, she arrived at my bedroom window and clambered inside, talking a mile a minute about how I needed to get on a special drip to try and kill off whatever Vanom (Vampire Venom) was already in my system and stop the rest from taking hold. The only catch was, the drip couldn’t be inserted directly into an area that was potentially a point of transmission. The only place I remembered that hadn’t been scratched was my foot, so a drip was (rather painfully) inserted into the bottom of my right heel. I was warned not to get up and move around much in case it came loose; the drip had to stay in for at least 24 hours to maximise the chance of removing the Vanom from my system.

Just after she left, there was a bunch of noise coming from the living room. I went to see what it was and saw my dad and big brother full-on brawling in the middle of the room. I swiftly moved to the other side of the room and sat on the chair next to the (open) window. Suddenly I felt a hand grip my shoulder and yank me almost completely out the window, sharp claws digging into my skin. I turned and saw it was one of the vampires from before, who grinned at my confusion (how was he able to reach inside?) and explained: apparently as long as they don’t set foot inside the house, Vampires can reach inside and interact with things without being invited. I fought to get free and asked what he was doing and he laughed and said he was finishing what he and his brethren had started in the woods.

Before he could do anything else, my Mum broke up the fight. She came over to talk to me and hauled me back in the window, asking what the hell the drip in my foot was. I tried to explain that it needed to be there to stop me turning (although I didn’t specify what into) and she laughed and told me not to be stupid and to get ready to go as we were heading out to have supper at a fancy restaurant. Deciding not to argue, I pulled on the clothes I’d worn earlier and grabbed my teddy bear, Taffy, from my bed, deciding that if I had to be out and about with this drip in my foot I wanted to have Taffy with me. As I walked down the stairs I realised the drip was worryingly loose, and just as we were heading out of the door it came out completely. I tried to tell my family to stop so I could put it back in, but Mum snatched it from me and threw it in the bin.

As we drove to the city near where I lived to go to this fancy restaurant, I could feel my heel seizing in agony where the drip should have been. I felt like I was on fire at the same time as being cold, and sweat was slowly forming on my forehead as my condition worsened. Several times I thought I would pass out from the pain, and each time I was jolted awake again by the shock of seeing someone staring through one of the car windows at me. I told my family multiple times that I felt sick and needed to go home but they laughed and told me to suck it up, even more so when I complained about my fever. All I could do was clutch Taffy tighter and hope that I didn’t throw up, since I knew that that would get me into even more trouble.

Once we arrived I bolted from the car, darting to a nearby bush and throwing up. My stomach was in agony now, a horrible mixture of being hungry and scared at the same time, coupled with the pain of having vomited so suddenly after suppressing the urge for so long. Mum yanked me away while I was gasping for breath, handing me a tissue to wipe round my mouth with and once again telling me to get over it. She hauled me back to the others and we went inside, and as we went to our seats and placed our orders I felt the need to vomit again. My phone started ringing and I excused myself, running to the bathroom and shutting myself in a stall before pressing the answer button. It was my Vampireologist friend, and she had some worrying news for me.

She’d been back to my house to check up on me and found some vampires trying to climb up to my bedroom, and had also uncovered the drip in the bin. I gave her a rundown of what had happened, and she immediately warned me that I needed to get away from the restaurant before the change completed; thanks to the second encounter with the Vampire and Mum throwing away my drip, the Vanom had been accelerated and I could turn any minute. The sound of hurried scribbling could be heard in the background, and when I asked about it she explained that she was trying to take note of the symptoms I was displaying as she’d never dealt with a scenario like this before.

I tried to sneak out the door but Mum stopped me, asking where the hell I thought I was going. I was about to reply but instead threw up again, attracting the attention of people nearby. Mum swiftly led me outside to the car and opened the boot, telling me that if I was going to act like a bitch I might as well get treated like one before demanding I get in. My legs gave way and I collapsed to the ground, desperately trying to catch myself before I smacked against the pavement. Growling in frustration, Mum picked me up herself and placed me in the boot before putting up the parcel shelf so I couldn’t climb into the back and closing the boot.

I waited a few minutes to make sure she was definitely gone before grabbing my phone and redialing the Vampireologist friend, updating her on what just happened. She asked if I was in a tunnel or something because I sounded really echo-ey, and when I told her I wasn’t she muttered that it must have been another side effect of Vampirism. While she scribbled that down, I looked around and found a glowey handle that I’d never seen before. I pulled the handle and the boot swung open, which I quickly updated my friend on. I was about to run off into the night when I remembered Taffy was still in the restaurant with my family. 

Unsure of how else to get her back, I decided just to march in and take her, despite my friend’s warnings against it. However, as I marched towards the door my legs nearly gave way again. Worried in case that happened inside and I ended up at the mercy of my parents, I snuck round the side until I found the window next to where my family were sitting. Grabbing a rock the side of my fist I took aim at the window and threw it, and much to my shock and confusion it went rocketing through the room and out the window on the other side. Thankfully the other window breaking distracted my family just long enough for me to grab Taffy, and by the time they noticed me I was already running away.

Mum leapt out of the window and began to give chase, and I started shivering uncontrollably as I desperately attempted to outrun her. Just as my legs began to seize up and cause me to tumble towards the ground, the vampire who’d showed up at my house zoomed past at super speed and scooped me up. He carried me for a minute or so, then stopped running and placed me on the ground leaning against a tree. He explained that he’d overheard my predicament while preparing to try and turn my friend, and decided to come and help me out. When I told him about the weird sickness I was feeling, he said that it was partly because he’d sunk his claws into me while I was still on the drip, and partly because the drip had come out before it could do much good for me.

I attempted to relax while the vampire kept watch to see if anyone came by, but panicked when I started slipping into unconsciousness like I had in the car. He explained that it would be best for me to “sleep” for now because it would make the turning process a lot less painful. I asked what would happen if I didn’t want to turn and didn’t “sleep” now, and he chuckled darkly and merely said that I didn’t want to find out. I told him that I at least wanted to get back to my hometown first, and he just shrugged and said that if that’s what I wanted to do, then that’s what we’d do. He scooped me up into his arms again and began to run, and I started blacking out in his arms as I woke up in the real world.

[localswordlesbian]

sweet talk

this is my submission for @martimweek for the prompt “club/pub/bar”! I’ve been wanting to write a martim one shot fic for a while and this gave me the inspiration to actually do it

read it on ao3 or below the cut

“I’m sick of this. I’m dropping out.”

“You say that every single time you leave an assignment to the last minute, Tim. You’d think you’d have learned by now.”

Tim glared at Martin from where he was dangling upside down off his bed. “I mean it this time. This paper is due tomorrow and it sounds like hot garbage. I’m probably just better off not handing anything in.”

Martin rolled his eyes, putting his own book in his lap. “You’re so dramatic, I’m surprised you’re not a drama major.”

“Why study for something I’m naturally good at?”

Martin groaned while Tim laughed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.” Martin grumbled. “Screw this paper.”

“Oh, hand it over, you oaf. You’re not submitting nothing, especially after writing ten bloody pages.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a saint, Marto?”

“Literally only you.”

“You’re a saint.”

Martin skimmed over the paper, a historical analysis of the Cold War and its more violent clashes. Martin was no history buff, but this paper was far from, as Tim put it, hot garbage . It was actually pretty good.

He told his flatmate as much, but Tim just scoffed. “You’re just being nice.” Despite his dismissive words, a glow of pride lit up his face.

“Just hand it in, you insufferable twat. You already knew that, you just wanted affirmation.”

Tim clicked his tongue. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, not really.”

Tim leaned back against the wall as Martin picked up his book again. “We should go to the pub tonight, you and me. To celebrate.”

Martin laughed. “To celebrate you turning in a paper? We do this every semester, Tim. Multiple times.”

Tim threw an eraser at his head, and Martin squeaked indignantly. “Fine, then you come up with a reason. I want to go to the pub, and I want to go with you.”

Martin looked up at his flatmate, leaning casually against the wall with his laptop perched precariously on one knee. His black hair was sticking upright from the amount of times he’d run his hands through it in the past few hours, and his tanned and chiseled face looked tired. Despite that, his lips were curled upwards in his telltale smirk.

Martin sighed. “Yeah, alright. Wanna invite the others?”

Tim shook his head. “Sasha’s busy, Daisy and Basira scare me, and Melanie has a date with her new girlfriend.” Tim raised his eyebrows. “Unless there’s someone you’d like to bring along?”

Martin’s face instantly heated up. “Uh, nope. Just the two of us is good.”

Tim chuckled. “I’m sure Jon would love to have a night off from studying, head to the pub with some friends –”

“Tim, I swear to god–”

Tim put his hands up in mock defeat, his grin more infuriating than ever. Martin knew perfectly well that his face was an alarming shade of red, bright enough to put firetrucks to shame, and he also knew that this amused his friend greatly. “Alright, just the two of us then.”

Night fell while Martin finished up his reading for his English class – The Yellow Wallpaper, a story about a woman who spent so long trapped in a room that she began hallucinating a woman living in the walls and trying to rescue her. The ending of the story gave Martin chills, and he quickly scribbled some notes into the margins before closing the book and putting it back on his shelf. Stretching his arms over his head, he winced as several of his bones cracked and his muscles strained from being stuck in the same position for hours on end.

Tim wanted to go to the pub in a few minutes, so Martin pulled a white turtleneck jumper from his closet, throwing it over his shirt. When Tim knocked, he didn’t wait for a reply – simply opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Ready?”

“Christ, Tim! Normal people knock! I could have been changing or something.”

“Which you clearly should be. You’re not going in those jeans.”

“My jeans are fine!”

“Nope. I’ll be in the foyer.”

Martin groaned as Tim shut the door, rolling his eyes as he turned back to his closet. He didn’t want to wear his nice trousers to the pub, but his jeans were old and worn and a little bit gross. Making a split second decision, Martin pulled a galaxy-patterned skirt on and grabbed his wallet and phone on the way out the door.

Tim was waiting by the door, one of his signature hawaiian shirts unbuttoned over a plain black tee. Martin’s heart skipped a little – there was a reason Martin had had a sexuality crisis when he’d come to university, and that reason was standing in front of him.

Tim raised his eyebrows approvingly. “Much better.”

“Bossy arse.”

“Come on, you love it,” Tim teased as they headed out of the flat and into the dark London street. “Your type is clearly bossy.”

Martin sputtered. “My type is not –

“Oh, come off it, Martin. Sims?”

“You don’t need to call him by his last name, he’s not a professor.”

“Alright, Jonathan, the librarian’s special little boy.”

“I don’t get why you don’t like them.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I don’t like them?”

Martin shrugged. “Well, yeah. You’re always so… snide and sarcastic whenever he’s brought up. Like now,” he added pointedly, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

Tim sighed. “Okay, fair. But I like them perfectly fine, I’ll have you know. He seems like a nice guy, if a little, what’s the word? Married to their work.” Tim threw his arm over Martin’s shoulders. “Look, Martin, I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t know how you get, especially when it comes to people you fancy.”

“How do you mean?” Martin asked slowly.

“You have a tendency to give yourself away, until there’s nothing left of you to love. I don’t want you to pursue this guy and have your heart broken cause he’s got his nose too glued in a book to notice you. Or your tea,” he added lightheartedly.

They reached the pub, and Martin sighed as they walked inside and made a beeline for a booth in the back. “Tim, I’m not dumb.”

“No, you’re crushing on a guy. And those two things are sometimes interchangeable – trust me, I’d know.”

Martin sighed, gathering his skirt into the booth. “Yes, Tim, you’re a dating expert.”

Tim flashed a grin as he ordered a drink for each of them. “I should write a romance advice column in the school paper. ‘Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Love.’”

Martin snorted. “If you want to increase the number of breakups, maybe.”

Tim punched his shoulder, and Martin yelped. “Rude! I give amazing dating advice.”

Their drinks arrived, and the beer mixed with lighthearted banter was giving Martin a happy buzz. He loved all of his friends, of course he did, but there was something different about having a night out just with Tim. They had an easy rhythm, the two of them, bouncing conversations and teasing and laughter back and forth like a beach ball, pausing to sip their drinks and order more, and soon enough Martin was feeling properly tipsy, and a look over at Tim’s flushed face told him he was faring about the same.

After downing his last drink, Tim turned in the booth to face Martin, one leg crossed under his other knee. “Why don’t you just ask out Jon?”

“Because I can’t,” Martin shrugged.

Tim scoffed, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Seriously? Why not? You’re way out of their league, if you don’t mind me saying, and he clearly likes you back. So what’s there to lose?”

Martin sighed. “Come on, Tim. I’d have no idea where or how to even start. Between my mum, and then my transition and anxiety fucking everything up, I never let anyone get too close. It feels too late now.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but they were fond. “Martin, I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you’re a dolt. It’s not too late, you’re only bloody twenty-one! So what if you haven’t had a relationship before? It’s not like he’s got anything to say about you being trans or having anxiety, and if he does I have a crowbar I keep in my closet for that exact situation.”

“Yeah, I know he won’t.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“God, Tim!” Martin threw his hands up in exasperation. He wasn’t annoyed at Tim, and Tim knew that; he was annoyed at himself, and the alcohol made everything just spill out without a second thought. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how to ask someone out without making a blubbering fool of myself, it was hard enough even becoming friends with them because, what are coherent sentences, even, when someone you fancy is talking to you? I’ve never even kissed anyone!” His voice quieted at the last sentence.

“Oh, well if that’s all, that’s easily remedied.” At Martin’s confused tilt of the head, Tim leaned in slowly, slowly enough that Martin could have easily pulled away, easily declined.

Perhaps a sober Martin would have hesitated, would have considered the aftermath, had overthought every aspect of what he was about to do obsessively until Tim pulled away, regretting having made the offer.

Instead, he closed the gap, and then Tim’s lips were on his, soft and tasting of beer. His hands were in Tim’s hair, the curls soft and welcoming against his fingers, Tim’s breath hot on Martin’s face as he parted his lips, pulling Martin’s lower lip into his mouth. He gasped, dimly aware that this was a terrible idea, he was kissing his best friend in the back booth of a student pub that stank of beer and sweat, and Tim’s hands were gripping his shoulders and his lips were soft on his. Tim kissed like he was drowning, and Martin’s lips were air.

Tim pulled away first, and Martin slowly opened his eyes, the dim lights in the pub suddenly too bright. Tim’s hair was still bunched in Martin’s hand, and he slowly disentangled his fingers while Tim released his shoulders, never taking his eyes off Martin’s face. His lips were swollen and red, and he was grinning. “That, my friend, is how you kiss. You’re a natural, nothing to worry about.”

Martin exhaled a shaky breath, causing Tim to chuckle. “Nothing to worry about, yeah?”

Tim grinned lopsidedly, pushing a strand of hair behind Martin’s ear. “Nothing at all.”

Martin nodded. “Cool.” That made Tim laugh. “What now?”

Tim tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re best friends, and we just, well, made out in the back of a pub. Isn’t this supposed to make things awkward?”

“Does it need to?”

“Hm. I guess it doesn’t.”

Tim scooted, bumping his hip against Martin’s, and it took Martin a second to realize he was trying to urge him out of the booth. They stood, swaying and leaning against each other for support. They left the pub and emerged into the chilly London night, arms around each other, concentrating on not walking into the street. “I’ll tell you what now.”

“Hm?”

“We’re going to get food on our way home, then we’re going to fight over who gets to use the shower first, and I’m going to win with my devilish charm. Then we’re going to go to bed, and wake up tomorrow with horrible hangovers and more schoolwork. Deal?”

Martin smiled. “Deal.”