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crimsonheart01 · 2 years ago

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Why'd You Go Away? (Happy Lowman x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Happy will always be it for me. The number one, the first. What does it say about me that he’s my comfort character? Who knows, all I know is the Tacoma Killer is the character I run to for love and support. I didn’t think I had any more content for him in me, but here we are. This is filled with angst, hurt and comfort. There’s a lot of unresolved feelings in this one. Y’all know me, love to break my own heart and then leave it open to interpretation.

I took a very realistic approach to the relationship here and if you’re new to my Happy, he’s the dangerous and scary hitman for the club, but his run loves deep for his brothers and the women he chooses to let in.

I’m dedicating this to @thegirlwhowritesfics it’s here and ready to rip our hearts out, and to @thats-so-rhyan it’s no Red Lighter but y’know, same vibes. Figured you’d want to cry with me, and @scribbuluswrites because you’re always in my court and it’s Happy, so why wouldn’t I?

If you’re crying too, come hit me up because I still haven’t stopped and need someone to cry with me. Come hold me please! Word Count: 8.4k Playlist: Dancing With Your Ghost - Sasha Alex Sloan Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, open casket funeral. ✨ If you are under 21, please do not interact.✨

“Never got the chance To say a last goodbye I gotta move on But it hurts to try” Dancing with your ghost - Sasha Alex Sloan

The sun had already completely set as she merged off the freeway, entering the small town limits. Her eyes barely registered the welcome sign as she drove in. Nothing on the road changed with the years gone. Settling into the ingrained pathways, she functioned entirely on autopilot, mind blank as she navigated the old streets of her hometown. Her hands twisted and turned the wheel without any conscious effort of her own.

Bittersweet memories flashed before her eyes, watching in slow motion as each corner store, park, and side street showcased a black and white rendition of her youth. The tree she fell out of and broke her arm from at 12, still standing tall in the schoolyard. The diner where every graduation lunch or dinner had been held. The bar on Mainstreet where she drank too much too many times and called her brother to bring her back home.

It didn’t take long before she was driving down the empty street. All families tucked away in their homes and enjoying the evening together. Leaving her to navigate the night alone. She pulled to a stop, idling by the curb, staring out at her brother’s house. She gripped the steering wheel and swallowed. The lights were off which made sense, but it was jarring all the same. A house that had been full of life was now devoid of everything.

She exhaled, crushing the steering wheel with her hands, watching as her knuckles paled at the force. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. If she stayed, would the chain of events have been different? Would they all still be here? Had she been the glue that kept them together? She clenched her teeth, opened her hands and pushed back. She let out a scream and slammed her hands against the wheel, cursing herself and everything that led to this moment.

With clenched teeth, she concentrated on her breathing, straightening her back and unfurling her fingers one by one. She remembered the days when the club was a fun and exciting adventure. None of them taking stock of the real toll it would take. Karma catching up with them. She missed the golden years. She missed the carefree and reckless way they were living. No fear of tomorrow or death. She reached forward and cut the engine off, pulling the keys from the ignition.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the console, she pulled on the handle, shoved the door open and stood up. She wrapped her fingers around the top of the car door, pausing to take in the full expanse of the darkened house before her. Rounding the door, she popped it closed with a hip check and then took a step forward. Taking a smoke from her pack, she brought it up to her lips, followed by a lighter and inhaled. As she exhaled her first toke, she crossed her arms over her chest, staring into the nothingness.

A pang of guilt hit her heart as she stood there. She deliberately cut everyone off after losing Dad. Much like the last straw. Too many people were affected, and too many people lost. Their violence taking everyone away from her. But most of all, she hated herself for not trying harder. Maybe if she kept in touch she wouldn’t be one of the last ones standing. Or maybe if she actually tried to get to know his new wife better, they could have cancelled out the downward spiral. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

She hugged herself, thinking about the turmoil that the club had brought on her. Someone who wasn’t even affiliated, at least, not anymore. First, her brother took the fall for the group of them, ending up in prison for several years. That event planted the seed, the one that brought her around to thinking that they were no longer indestructible. It was salt in the wound as the club got rich while Ope was locked away. Donna was alone with the kids, Dad helping when he could but he had his own problems and then there was her, caught up in the throws of a man who was barely around.

She should have done better by Donna, but she was young and in love. Swept up in the whirlwind of her own biker love story. She sighed to herself. Losing Donna had been a rude awakening for them all. It became her catalyst, the one that had her cutting her ties with Charming and backing away from her own blossoming romance. The club continued to destroy and she couldn’t sit idly by. She didn’t want to run out on Opie, not when he was left alone with the kids, but she selfishly needed to put distance between herself and them.

There were only a handful of people she kept in touch with and even then it was mostly Dad and Ope. Opie understood her stance the most. In another life, she figured he would’ve followed her out, but he was in too deep at that point. When she got the call from Opie about Dad’s passing, it gutted her. She hadn’t been expecting to lose Dad to the same violence. He was already sick enough that she figured he’d be the one to go peacefully. Neither she nor Opie were the same after that.

She hadn’t known how bad things had gotten for Ope but it was soon after that that the calls between them dwindled to almost non-existent. The only times she heard from him is when she called to talk to the kids or when he let her know he was getting married again. For a moment, things seemed ok but then Opie started pulling back, caught in his own storm of issues. It was then that she probably should’ve come back, but hindsight was always 20/20.

She let out a quiet sigh, flicking the ash of her cigarette away when she heard the heavy footsteps coming across the asphalt. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His presence was palpable and she’d always been in tune with him. It didn’t matter how many years passed between them, she would always recognize him from his scent and gait alone.

“I thought you quit?” He commented, coming to stand directly beside her, facing the house.

She sighed, turning the smoke up to look at it before taking another pull, “I did.”

She heard the creak of his leather before she saw his hand appear in her line of vision, plucking the cigarette out of her fingers. She didn’t protest, only curled her arms in closer around her chest. She took a moment to steel her nerves before shifting to look up at him. Still a full head shorter than him. There were some things that would never change.

She watched the cherry of the cigarette glow brightly in the darkness as he took a pull from it. She counted the seconds that passed before he exhaled a stream of smoke, aiming it away from her. He lifted his other hand, switching the smoke between his fingers and then threw out his freed arm to drape it around her shoulders and dragged her closer to him.

She slammed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, rolled her lips together and burrowed into his side. He curled her in closer at her response, bringing her around to his front and squeezing her tight. Still her anchor. Still, the man to keep her grounded.

“You’ve been waiting for me.” She murmured against his shirt, turning her head to rest against his shoulder and staring up at the empty house.

It wasn’t a question, they both knew it was the truth. There was a time, when they were younger, that he promised he would always wait for her, and at this moment, knowing that he was dead serious then, meant more to her than she’d ever admit aloud.

She’d broken both their hearts when she left Charming behind. It didn’t matter that he was based out of another city, he was still a Son and she was running away from them. They’d been through more together than most knew. She wasn’t even sure if Opie knew everything and he’d been their closest confidant.

In the beginning, there had been a lot of vitriol passed between them when things fell apart and they both said things they wished they hadn’t. However, she was there when he was released from Stockon. She never came back to Charming and refused to even step foot over the county lines, but she found a loophole for him. That moment started a long routine of running back to each other when things were rough. They were each other’s foundation. It didn’t matter how far apart they were, they gravitated toward each other.

She never lost his number, and he never gave up hers. She was the first person to know when he was deciding to go Nomad, and then when he patched over to Charming. He was the first one to know about the program she’d been accepted into and when she graduated. It didn’t matter how many years, or how far the distance, there was never any love lost between them.

It was unfortunate that they’d never be able to truly be together, their lives on opposite spectrums. Doomed to run parallel to each other and never cross over or meet. Their opposing opinions of the club forced a wedge between them. However, she’d choose to have him as her best friend over anything less, every day.

He looked down at his hand, flicking away the ashes of the shared cigarette. He elicited one curt nod, more to himself than anything before turning to press his nose into her hair and leaving a kiss on the tip of her head.

“Knew you’d show up sooner or later.”

She melted into the small token of affection, uncurling her arms from her chest and turning to slip them under his kutte and press herself snug against him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted as he dropped the smoke onto the ground and snuffed it out under his boot before properly circling his arms around her and holding her firmly.

~(SOA)~

He settled into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. He doubted he’d get any real sleep that night. He stared up at the black ceiling, trying to do his best to forget how sad she looked. Ope was gone. Her entire family was taken away by the club. He hated to admit it, and it didn’t matter how much it still hurt to this day, she wasn’t wrong when she turned her back and left them. She was protecting herself, and her heart, even if she needed to break all of theirs in the process.

He lied to himself for years, saying that he’d never forgive her, or understand. But, the truth of the matter was that he knew she made the right choice. They were nothing but a liability to her. She may be the love of his life, but he could never live with himself if he held her back. Kept her in Charming, or associated with the club. His eyes burned and he blinked away the dryness.

SAMCRO had a way of destroying the women aligned with them. That much was true. Luann and Donna killed in retaliation. Gemma chewed up by the grind, kidnapped and assaulted. Lyla widowed with three children to take care of. Tara’s career as a surgeon still up in the air after her injury. Were any of these fates he wished upon her? Not in the least. He may have hated not being the man to keep her protected and safe, but the reality was she was safer and better protected far away from him. He ignored the irony of that thought.

In a way, he felt as though this loss was his fault. He hadn’t done a good enough job looking out for their brother. Or the rest of the club. Everything was turning to shit. They were all caught up in an internal war, fighting between loyalties and who held the upper hand. He never thought he’d see the day when the mother charter was falling apart. There was a moment where he considered going Nomad again, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t abandon his brothers now. Not when they needed the solidarity the most.

Granted, he understood the repercussions of choosing the life he was living, but he couldn’t help but be reminded that it wasn’t only the club that felt the blowback when someone was taken away from them. Regardless if it was from infighting or from an enemy. Not to mention he’d spent the majority of his time with the club, either Tacoma, Nomad or Charming, with one job to perform and he did it well. A career path not generally taken by most and he didn’t hate it, but on nights like these, he considered that he could be hurting more people than just those he was paid to take out.

He operated under the same notion as everyone else. You didn’t get into this life to live a long one. You entered into this life to live a good one. That was the payoff. Live long or live good. There was no alternative. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been given opportunities to choose the honest life, but there was nothing there for him. He excelled in his current career, he had a knack for it. However, his skills as a hitman didn’t translate well into everyday life.

He was torn from his thoughts as his ears perked up at the sound of the bedroom door creaking. He paused, listening harder to the silence of the house. After a long pause, he heard her footsteps padding down the hall. He counted them and held his breath when she reached the bathroom door. When her approach didn’t stop there he knew she was coming straight to him. He remained still, closing his eyes for a minute and remained still, for fear of startling her.

He hadn’t been able to let her go earlier and offered her his bed to sleep in. He had no idea how long she’d be in town. He doubted she’d stick around for long, especially now when she’d had her family ripped away from her. If he hadn’t been able to convince her all those years ago, he’d never find a way to get her to stay now. Selfishly, he wanted her to stay. Move in with him, take over his spaces with all her things, and have her decorate his barren walls. He knew it was nothing but a pipe dream but on a night like tonight, he let himself indulge.

Her footsteps came to a stop next to him. He turned his head to see her silhouette in the darkness, her face angled down, looking at him. Her arms were tightly hugging herself and he felt the sorrow dripping off her. Without a word exchanged between them, he uncrossed his arms and she crawled over him, snuggling herself between him and the back of the couch. He turned onto his side, sliding one arm under her neck and the other over her waist to engulf her in his embrace. She didn’t say anything, only pressed her cheek flush against his bare chest.

No one had ever fit in his hold like her and no one else ever would. He’d come to terms that she was bound to move on and start a life without him, but she would always be it for him. He wasn’t interested in anyone else. Not after all this time. There was only one woman who knew him, and who owned his heart, and she was here, tucked in his arms, where she belonged. For now.

He felt as the floodgates opened and his grip on her tightened, gathering her in as close as humanly possible. She broke down, finally letting herself grieve. He clenched his teeth as she sobbed against him, her fingers clutching at him, her nails digging into his back. He hated when she cried. He never knew how to handle it, but he’d never turn her away. He may not have the words, but he would hold her for as long as she needed him.

There weren’t many moments where he felt helpless, but in this one, he knew he had nothing substantial to offer. Nothing more than a warm embrace to feign keeping her together. He desperately hoped it was enough to console her but wouldn’t disillusion himself by pretending that it was. He would weather any storm for her, especially this one. He reached down to the throw down by his hips and tugged it up, over both of them.

With his teeth still clenched, the tick in his jaw became more pronounced as she continued to let it all go. It was little solace to him that he knew he was her safe place, the one to always catch her if she fell. He wished it wasn’t his association, his brotherhood, that was the cause of her pain but it was par for the course. Somewhere deep in his heart of hearts, he was glad she got out. That she hadn’t been subjected to the same bleak path as women of the club. While she may have lost her family to them, she hadn’t lost herself and that was more than he could say for himself.

Not long after she’d gone quiet, her breathing levelled out and he could confidently assume she’d fallen asleep. He loosened his hold on her, instead letting his hands slip under the shirt he leant her to sleep in and lay his palms flat against her back. He knew he didn’t have her back for long and wanted to soak in as much as he could. The simple pleasure of having her here, in his house, wearing his clothes, reminded him of simpler times. When there was nothing but the open road before them.

He wished things had turned out different. That their paths weren’t fated to never cross. If only he could give her the life she deserved. He was nothing more than a hindrance to her. Loving her from afar was the best option for her. Closing his eyes, he settled, preparing to spend the on the stiff sofa. He wouldn’t dare upset her more by waking her to move her to his bed. All either of them needed right now was each other.

Drifting off into a light slumber, he pressed a chaste kiss to her temple, lingering several seconds too long before angling his head up to rest comfortably against the armrest.

“I love you, Girl,” He murmured against her hair, “Always have, always will.”

~(SOA)~

Happy led the way into the clubhouse while she followed close behind. They both donned dark sunglasses, the bright Californian sunshine seemingly sacrilegious on a day like this. She wished she was coming back to this place under better pretenses. She stepped across the threshold, Happy standing inside, his hand flat on the door and his arm extended to keep it open for her. The light from outside illuminated the short entryway. She couldn’t help but notice the stark shadow her body caused. Stepping up next to Happy, he let the door go, allowing it to close on its own.

She hesitated as she stood there, frozen and staring at the Chapel’s opened doors. The only room she’d never been allowed in. Their church. Where only brothers were welcomed. She pushed the sunglasses up, the reality of the situation sinking in, seeping deep into her bones. The casket visible to her from here. There was no denying it now. His fate set in stone. Her brother. Her big brother. Was gone.

Happy didn’t rush her, standing diligently at her side. The tears spilled over, streaking down her cheeks. Her hands went numb as she lifted them, to swipe across her face. Sniffling quietly, battling herself for composure, she took one step forward, then another, and then another. Until, in no time, she was across the bar and stepping directly into the Chapel.

There, laid out against black silk, was her big brother. She lifted the back of her hand to her nose and sniffed, the tears flooding her vision. She bowed her head. All the energy drained from her at that moment. Nothing left in her. No anger, no sorrow. She curled her hand around the lip of the casket and dug her nails into the wood. Her heart shattered as she tried to call back his laugh and came up short. She’d never hear it again. She’d never see his smile again. He would never be on the other end of the line again.

She suddenly felt lost, without a course forward. Where did she go from here? Back up north? To what? A regular 9 to 5 job. To a simple apartment? What was left? What was the purpose of every decision she made in life that led her to this moment? Were they worth it? Had they made her life better? Wasn’t this the outcome she was trying to avoid? The one she was running away from.

A scuff of shoes against the floor alerted her to a new presence behind her. She looked up and locked eyes with the baby blues of Jackson Teller. There was a brief moment of surprise as he registered her standing there but then nodded. She saw the procession of men collecting behind him and knew it was time.

Both her and Jackson stepped forward, closer to each other. As they were brushing past the other, they both reached out and caught each other’s forearms. With a quick flex of their fingers, they acknowledged the grief and solidarity with each other and then continued in the opposite directions. She entered the bar to a current of whispers. She felt foreign eyes on her and she had to scan the room for familiar faces.

Her saving grace came in the form of the Matriarch, Ms. Gemma Teller. She reached out and beckoned her over. She realized that the petite blonde standing next to her was Lyla, Opie’s wife. Having recognized her from the few pictures she’d seen. Their eyes met for a moment, both expressions an echo of each other. Empty. Gemma pulled her in closed as Jax ordered the crew to cover the casket before it was lifted and carried out into the main room.

They raised the casket of their fallen brother high above their heads, everyone tipping their drinks in offering. They were silent for a minute, in memoriam of Opie then Jax pushed forward, Bobby, Tig, Chibs, Happy, and a new member she didn’t recognize following behind. Gemma fell into line behind the boys, Lyla on her other side and then hooked her arm through hers.

More members followed after them, creating a grand procession out into the lot. She didn’t possess the capacity to feel anymore as she watched his club slide his casket into the hearse. However, while the emotions in her may have disappeared, the tears hadn’t. She let them fall freely, her hands hanging limp at her sides. All the boys backed away, falling into the crowd surrounding the vehicle. Happy fit himself on her free side, his shoulder millimetres away from hers.

Gemma gave her a forearm a pat before letting go and turning in closer to Lyla, crossing her arm across her midsection to wrap around Lyla’s wrist. An offer in solidarity. A note that she still had someone to ground her. Someone to support her. Something brushed against her arm, a gentle stroke, breaking her eye contact with the gentle moment between the Matriarch and an Old Lady. She refused to acknowledge the lump in her throat, a split second of shame at herself for running away. There was a time when she would’ve given anything to be an Old Lady, under the tutelage of the original one. The one who set the standard for any of those to come.

She flicked her gaze down to where Happy’s arm was lightly pressed against hers. Without a second thought, she slipped her fingers between his and squeezed tightly. It may not have ever been official between them but the sentiments had always been there. No one else had ever compared to him. Another thing Charming ruined for her. She would never be able to settle for anything less than a Son. Damned to be alone forever as she refused to let herself become like Lyla, Gemma, or Luann. Or any other woman who married into the club, only to have their partner violently taken away from them.

Jax slamming the hearse door shut snapped her attention back to the present. As if on cue, everyone backed away. She pressed in closer to Happy, as they moved with the crowd. He may not be outwardly affectionate but he used his presence to reassure her, remind her that he was always there for her. She pressed her shoulder into Happy, thanking the crowd for keeping their connection discreet. No one else would notice their close proximity, not unless they were specifically looking for it.

Jax stood at the helm, watching as the vehicle backed out, adjusted course and drove away. The main group remained still, staring off into the distance while the less familiar started to break off and step back into the clubhouse. One by one, they all retreated, stopping to embrace Jax, then Lyla, then Gemma, and lastly her.

She’d forgotten how much love these men had for each other and their brother’s families. It didn’t matter that half of them had a less than stellar opinion of her. It didn’t matter what they thought about her leaving Charming. Right now all that mattered was that she was here. They continued to offer their condolences and support. A true definition of the word family.

Happy hung back, keeping close and waited until he was the last one left. It wasn’t until Jackson turned around, moving to approach his mother when Happy stepped forward. If Jax was surprised by Happy’s lingering, it didn’t show in his expression. Heads bowed together, Happy murmured his condolences to his President and then broke away, meeting with Gemma and then Lyla. Leaving her for last.

He didn’t make a big statement, both of them recalling the night before. He wrapped her up in a quick hug, pressing her close to him for a few seconds before letting go. He backed away, turning towards the clubhouse and she lifted her arms up to wrap around herself, trying to stifle the cold creeping in now that he was no longer near.

She kept to herself as Jackson laid his forehead against his mother’s, both thankful to still have one another. Murmuring quiet condolences to one other. Breaking apart, Gemma approached her while Jax moved to pull Lyla into a hug. Gemma’s hand circled around her wrist and she glanced up at the woman, tears welling in both their eyes. They nodded to one another, neither trusting themselves not to fall apart. Gemma backed away, waiting for Lyla.

She turned back to the open gate of the compound. The hearse was gone, and so was Opie. She stared into the dark street beyond, lost to herself for a few moments. It wasn’t until Jax stepped into her line of vision that she was broken from her melancholy. She swallowed as she looked up at him, both of them echoing the same hurt in their expressions. She was the one to pull Jackson in, opening her arms and whipping them around him. He bowed his head down, pressing his forehead on her shoulder and clutching his arms around her middle.

“He missed you,” Jax mumbled, “We all did.”

She thought she was numb to any more emotions but Jax’s muttered words shattered her heart and her knees buckled. She clung to Jackson, her breathing heavy and tears free falling. There wasn’t anyone in this world closer to Opie than Jax. They were brothers in more than just the club. He was family in everything but blood. Her bonus extra big brother. She had no idea how he was coping but she wasn’t really coping either. Both of them broken by losing their oldest friend.

They squeezed one other, acknowledging the pain they were both feeling before straightening up and breaking apart. They stood staring at one another, neither knowing what to say. Something over her shoulder caught Jackson’s attention and she turned to see none other than Tara Knowles standing at the back end of the compound. She laid a hand on Jax’s arm and patted it before breaking off and making her way back to the clubhouse.

~(SOA)~

When she reentered the clubhouse, there was a lot more chatter and some low-playing music than there had been before. With a glance around, she could see that they were now celebrating Ope’s life instead of mourning his death. Her heart constricted in her chest, a mixture of sorrow and a secondary emotion she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, feeling it too early to be anything more than sad. She steered clear of the bigger group, opting to sit over on the couch and watch from afar.

While she wasn’t ready to fully participate, she was perfectly content to be here surrounded by the people who knew her brother best. The ones who loved him even at his worst. Something that she wasn’t sure she could say about herself at the moment. She smiled faintly to herself as her eyes roamed the room, seeing all the members pouring out their drinks in her brother’s memory. In her perusal, she caught Happy’s eye.

He tilted his head at her in question, asking her if she was ok. She gave him a subtle nod, letting him know that she was good. For now. He nodded back and then gave his attention back to the conversation he was a part of. While she sat on the couch, keeping to herself, a few people found their way over to her, offering their sympathies and then striking up superficial conversation. She entertained it all, thankful for the reprieve of distraction it gave her.

At some point, Lyla found her. It was an awkward beginning but as the minutes past, their stilted conversation become much more friendly. Lyla reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together and admitting that she wished they’d gotten to know each other better before today. Relief rolled off of her at the confession and agreed. She wished she’d been more available to her, Opie and the kids.

The two of them sat together, crying, laughing and smiling. Lyla filled her in on all the good things she’d missed in the last few years, while in turn, she filled Lyla in on all the shenanigans Opie used to get up to as a kid and teen.

“Mind if I cut in?” Gemma asked, settling herself in the chair next to them.

Both her and Lyla regarded Gemma, sensing the shift in energy coming from the woman. She knew she was about to get an earful, and she only hoped that Gemma kept herself contained. She wasn’t sure she could handle the Matriarch coming down on her full force.

“How long are you in town for?” She asked, knowing full well she wasn’t going to get an answer that she deemed appropriate.

She licked her lips, meeting Gemma’s gaze head-on, “I’m leaving tomorrow. Right after he’s been buried.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed and Lyla took this as her invitation to leave. Silently, and without any fanfare, Lyla got up and walked across the bar, leaving her alone with the Matriarch.

“That’s it then?” Gemma questioned, “Roll into town when someone dies and then take off again before their body is even cold? Do you care about anyone other than yourself?”

She felt as the rage ripped through her at Gemma’s words but swallowed it down, knowing how she worked. She was only looking out for her own, the club, her boys. She couldn’t fault her for wanting the best for them.

“There’s nothing here for me,” She said, “Hasn’t been for a while.”

Gemma scoffed, “What about the boys? You’re just going to leave your nephews high and dry? Not even their own flesh and blood aunt to stick by them after losing their dad?”

She sighed, “I’ll always be here for the kids, Gemma and Lyla has all my information. I’m not leaving them behind.”

Gemma shook her head, unimpressed with her answers. She flicked the nails of her thumb and index finger together before leaning in closer.

Dropping her voice into a stage whisper, Gemma hissed, “And Hap? You’re just going to break his heart again? When he needs you the most?”

She gulped, closing her eyes and gripping the armrest tightly. She knew Gemma was trying to get a reaction out of her. She wanted her to lose control. Something to show her that she was getting under her skin.

“Happy and I haven’t been together for a long time now, Gem. You know that.” She broke eye contact with Gemma to find the man in question, admiring his side profile from across the room, “He made his choice and I made mine. We want different things, and that’s ok. It doesn’t mean I love him any less.”

Gemma inhaled, not prepared for my confession. She was prepped for a fight, one that she would’ve indulged in as a younger woman. But, not today. Not with how everything had turned out. It was somber but it was the truth. Gemma stared at her for a long moment, a conflict of emotions crossing her features. In the end, the older woman chose to be accepting to their predicament.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, baby.” Gemma muttered, her gaze flicking between Happy and the woman sitting across from her.

Neither of them had anything to add to the conversation and they let it die out. Gemma relaxed in the chair, turning to speak with another Son who’d stopped by to top up her drink. The night blurred together, Happy being the only slice of clarity for her. After tomorrow, there really was nothing left in Charming for her. Happy would always choose the club first, and she didn’t fault him on that. When they were younger she did, but she understood why he was loyal to them. She didn’t like it but she respected it.

They were two completely different people but both headstrong and opinionated. This is where he belonged, among those who cared for him the most.

~(SOA)~

The morning blew by in a whirlwind, none of them taking full stock of what was happening around them. All of them going through the motions but not really acknowledging the implications of the day. He’d stuck close by her all morning, making himself available to her whenever and however she needed it. He caught the looks Gemma shot over at them, and the way Jax always left enough room for him to stand near. He ignored them completely. Acting as if he didn’t know what they were doing, or why they were looking.

Before long, they all found themselves back at TM preparing to go on with their respective days. He curled his hands into fists, knowing that this was it. Their final goodbye. He knew it was coming but nothing could have prepared him for the actual moment. He didn’t hover as she said her goodbyes. All brief but some tearful, others with half smiles. He kept himself off to the side, leaning against the picnic table, watching but staying away.

Their era was coming to an end, he could sense it. He didn’t want it to be true but this was it. This was the moment where they made the final decision. Choose each other, or move on. Too soon she had started walking towards her car. Her steps slow and steady, as if she was prolonging her exit. Jackson came to stand next to him, keeping silent but Happy knew why he chose to stand with him. Jax was imploring him to at least say a final farewell. Not to let her go without saying his piece.

Happy inhaled deeply before pushing forward, following behind her. He knew every eye was on him, soon them, but he found he didn’t care. He couldn’t let her leave yet. Not without making himself clear. She pausesd when she heard his footsteps coming up behind her and she cast a glance over her shoulder. When she registered that it was him, she stopped, turning around to face him.

He continued forward until he was standing directly in front of her, staring down at her while she tipped her head up to look up at him. He reached out, resting one hand around her side, and leaned her back against the door of her car. She blinked owlishly up at him, unclear about his intentions. He leaned in, ducked his down and captured her lips with his. Damned be everyone watching right now. He didn’t care what they had to say.

She gasped against his mouth on contact but fell into him, her hands snaking up his torso to clutch at the lapels of his kutte. She tugged, lining her body against his and gave as good as she got. He reached for her with his free hand, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her forward. The flame between them no longer simmering but in a full blaze while they came to terms with their ending.

All to soon, they were breaking apart, panting. He pressed his forehead against hers and they both opened their eyes to meet each other’s gazes. He noted the wetness welling in the corners of her eyes and in a momnet of true affection, he lifted his thumb to run across her undereye, catching as many tears as he could. She blinked several times, sniffling and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her anguish.

His fingers scratched lightly back and forth on the back of her neck. He wasn’t expecting her to say anything to him, aside from a goodbye. He was content with this. At least both of them still well aware that nothing had changed between them. He watched as she took a deep, centering breath and then crept up onto her tiptoes, brushing her nose against his.

“I love you Happy Lowman,” She murmured, “I always will.”

His hold on her tightened for a brief moment at her confession. His gaze poured into hers, searching for an opening but all he found was resignation. He nodded his understanding. Neither was willing to drop their choices. Still at odds on that front. He slid his hand up and down her side, memorizing the feeling of her figure in his hands.

When he backed away, he was overcome with a wash of cold air. Raw to the world around him. A void growing deeper within his chest.

He walked back up towards the clubhouse, Jackson holding out a hand to stop him. He fought the growl wanting to erupt in his chest and regarded his President with a glare. Jax raised an eyebrow at him, the question clear in his face.

Happy tore his gaze away from Jackson and glowered at the Reaper logo adorning their clubhouse, “I can’t give her the life she deserves.”

Happy chose not to acknowledge Jackson’s shock response because knew what he was thinking. The proof was right there for everyone to see. Everyone knew there was a long history between them but none had fully understood why it never worked out. Not when it was so clear that they were still madly in love with one another. However, his response cut through all the bullshit and showed Jackson exactly what was keeping them apart.

Happy glanced over at Jax when his arm dropped and he watched as his statement resonated with him. He knew about the life he was trying to plan with Tara. The one where they got out, where he went straight. The only difference between him and Jax, was that he was willing to let the love of his life walkaway while Jackson couldn’t. It didn’t make either of them a better man, it only put their choices into perspective.

~(SOA)~

She took her time rolling away from the compound. She kept glancing back in her rearview to watch Happy watching her drive away. She swallowed thickly, and turned down the street, making her way towards the freeway. She kept looking back to try and catch a glimpse of TM but once she turned the next corner, it was gone from view entirely.

Unable to see the clubhouse anymore struck a deep-rooted panic within her. She broke down into hysterical sobs, the force strong enough to call her attention away from the road and causing her to swerve. She overcorrected, pulling herself completely off the road and parked haphazardly against the nearest curb.

She laid her head against the steering wheel, hollering with sorrow. How had it all come down to this? Where did everything go wrong? What led them all down this path? If she could go back in time, she’d have forced them all to come with her. Start somewhere new together. Create something of their own instead of following the tired small-town storyline.

She pushed back, gripping the wheel until she could hear the material rub with the stress of her hands. She pulled one hand back and wiped furiously at her tears. She nodded to herself, forcing herself to stay angry instead of crying. Once her vision cleared of her tears, she threw the car back into gear and maneuvered her way out of her parking spot.

She hit the highway in no time and ignored the leaving Charming sign as she drove past it. There was nothing charming about that town and it would remain in her rearview permanently.

~(SOA)~

It took years for them to successfully get themselves out of the life, transitioning to a bonafide group of motorcycle enthusiasts and nothing more. He never pictured his life taking this turn, resigned to being the hardened criminal for the rest of his days. He didn’t know what life looked like with crime. He wasn’t entirely sure who he was, not really, not anymore.

He veered off the main road and onto a quiet, suburban side street. The houses were almost identical, with only three varieties of architecture down the lane. Every third one repeating the pattern. He was a stark contrast to the cookie-cutter neighbourhood. A disruption to the sheltered residents. He didn’t have to see the people to feel their eyes on him. He knew they were there, hiding away and watching from afar.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he wondered if he should have left the Harley behind. For the first time, he was cognizant that his presence may reflect badly on her. He growled at himself, unsure of where this uncertainty had been born. He was the Tacoma Killer. He was a Son. He didn’t care what the general public thought of him. Their opinions didn’t matter.

Ignoring the directions his thoughts were trying to take him, he began counting the house numbers. Odds on the left evens on the right. He scanned through them, looking for any familiar identifiers. Something that made it hers. Something that signalled to him that she lived there. Low and behold, he spotted her old beater in the driveway. Standing out against all the high end SUVs and minivans of the surrounding houses.

He couldn’t fight the smirk that grew on his mouth, seeing that some things really didn’t change. He knew there was a perfectly fixed up old muscle car hidden away in her garage but seeing that she still deferred to the beat up ford made him smile. He pulled up to the curb, idling. He took stock of the house before him. It matched all the rest on the street, but there was a little extra pull from it. A certain air surrounding it that told him she was here, that this was hers. He couldn’t place what it was, but this was her house.

He killed the engine, the sound causing the typical chatter of the neighbourhood to filter back in. Birds chirped from the treetops, sprinklers clicked to life in several yards, and the sound of children’s laughter rang through. He pulled the paper with her address on it from his pocket, staring at the number and then up at the house.

He was in the right place. Now all he needed to do was walk up the walkway, up to the front door and knock. He folded the paper closed and tucked it back away in his jeans pocket. He wondered if Lyla had given her a heads up, but that didn’t seem likely. Lyla wasn’t one to get actively involved in other people’s business. She only gave him the tools to find her and then left it up to him to take action. Alternatively, he never mentioned to anyone that he was headed out. Virtually no one knew where he was or why.

Itching for a cigarette, his fingers twitched but he stretched them out. He’d been doing well with his quitting. He was already a few months in and the cravings were mostly gone, except for in high-stress situations. Much like the one he was currently in, at his own implication. He couldn’t turn around now. He wasn’t a coward. If she turned him away then he’d leave without contest. She held all the cards. All decisions were in her hands. She was running this show, whether she knew it or now.

He trudged up the driveway, drifting onto the small walkway up to her entryway. He scanned the porch, noting the few décor items that made it her own. He lifted his fist to the door, poised to knock when he noticed the doorbell. Was there a certain etiquette about using one over the other that he wasn’t aware of? Shaking his head he rapped his knuckles against the door, making his choice.

He pulled back a full step, staring forward and slipping his hands into his pockets. He listened carefully, noting that there was movement coming from inside. He heard a muffled shout but couldn’t make out the words and then the flip of the lock. The door opened with a whoosh of air being suctioned forward into the house.

Her head was tilted, holding a phone between her ear and shoulder. There was a welcoming smile on her mouth as she turned her face up to greet him. He assumed she thought he was a neighbour, or possibly a delivery guy, but when she registered that it was him, everything stopped. She straightened her head, staring straight up at him and caught the phone as it fell from her shoulder. Her smile didn’t disappear but the warmth behind it faded into hesitation.

“Lyla gave me your address.” He mumbled, giving her all the details from the start.

She nodded, mulling over the information and the fact that he was standing on her doorstep. A tinny voice sounded from her left hand and she startled, shifting her eyes down to her phone. She blinked rapidly a few times, realizing she forgot she’d been talking to someone.

She lifted the phone to her ear, her eyes finding his again, “Hey, I’ll give you a callback, ok? Something - uh - something came up.”

He couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation and he doubted that she did either. Within the next few seconds, she was murmuring non-committal noises, lifting the phone away from her ear and tapping the screen to end the call. They stood in silence, neither of them sure what the next move to make was.

He wasn’t sure what to say. No explanation seemed good enough, not considering everything they’d been through in their lives. He braced himself for her to turn him away, he knew he deserved it. So, he waited in his patented silence, knowing that he didn’t have anything extra of worth to contribute. She knew why he was here. She was everything to him. Always had been. Always will be. His only hope now was that that still rang true for her too. If he was too late - well then - that was on him for not stepping up when he had the chance.

She took a deep breath and then stepped to the side, pushing the door open wide and allowing him the space to pass through. “Do you want to come inside?”

He let out a breath he hadn’t known that he was holding and nodded. He took one step forward before he was stopped abruptly as she ran forward into him, throwing her arms around him. His arms came up around her automatically, one hand resting on the back of her head, the other across her back. His left foot slid back, keeping them balanced with the force of her embrace.

He felt her shoulders shake against him and he closed his eyes, hoping beyond all hope that she wasn’t crying. He never wanted her to cry again, not because of him. Not when he’d been the source of those tears for far too long. If she let him, he’d spend the rest of his life making up for it all.

He felt, and heard, the shuddering breath she took in. Her arms tightened around him and he dipped his head down, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head and echoing her sentiments with his body language. His hold on her tighter than a few seconds before. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the moment. It didn’t matter how much time was lost between them, they always found their way back.

He hoped that this time, it was permanent.

#happy lowman #happy lowman x reader #happy lowman x fem!reader #happy lowman x f!reader #happy lowman imagine #happy lowman imagines #happy lowman fanfic #happy lowman fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy imagines #sons of anarchy fanfic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #samcro #samcro imagine #samcro imagines #samcro fanfic #samcro fanfiction

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leftoverenvy · 2 years ago

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Tastes Like Sugar (ch. 11)

Summary: India Mae, or Indi, is a music major, struggling to pay bills, tuition, work, and make good grades. Emily Prentiss is a BAU profiler, as well as a DC socialite thanks to her huge family fortune. The two enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement: Emily will pay for Indi's school if Indi accompanies Emily to her social functions for a few months, posing as her girlfriend. As weeks go by, the lines between their arrangement and their true feelings start to blur. But money can't buy love, right?

Pairing: India Mae Banks x Emily Prentiss; OC x Emily Prentiss

Warnings: eventual smut; sugar baby relationships; age gap (16 years - but all over 18)

Word Count: 2.5k

Read on Wattpad | Ao3 | Previous Chapters

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @5raysofsunshine 🌮; @reidselle 🦭; @milfprotector 🐝💚; @gaelic-symphony 🎻 ; @scargarcia-magshotchner 💜; @sadgirlml 🌻💌; @hotchs-bitch ; @multiverse-mxdness ; @spencersendgame

Chapter 11 - Meet the Family

Emily's POV: I frantically flew down the stairs, trying to figure out how I could make it to work in fifteen minutes when I lived over half an hour from Quantico. No matter how much I rushed, I knew I couldn't make up that time. It was my own fault for being so late this morning. Last night, I had stayed up far too late daydreaming about Indi. And then my daydreams turned a little explicit and I couldn't help but relieve some of that tension. I had been up all night, sleeping only a couple hours. So it wasn't surprising when my alarm went off this morning that I hit snooze. And hit it again. And several times more until I was extremely late.

Indi was so sweet trying to help me get out the door. She grabbed my briefcase and put it by the back door for me. She rushed around the kitchen trying to make me breakfast. When I finally was ready to leave, I remembered that I didn't have a go-bag at work. I hadn't packed one after the last case, and I was supposed to do it days ago, but I wasn't used to having such a distraction at home. Not that it was Indi's fault – obviously, it was mine.

I rolled my eyes, groaned, and ran back upstairs to hastily shove a bunch of clothes haphazardly in my duffle bag. It wasn't the bag I liked, but I had no idea where my other one was. If we were called on a case today, I would look a mess. I couldn't even remember if I packed underwear, but I had to go.

I jogged back down the stairs, placed my go-bag on the kitchen counter, and turned to grab my briefcase. "Wait!" India called. "Don't forget breakfast, Em! You need it. I know you done't eat lunch at work." She looked so cute standing there with huge, sincere eyes and her tiny hands holding breakfast out for me.

I couldn't resist her. I was already late, so what was a couple more seconds? I walked towards her, placed my hands around her cheeks, and kissed her on the forehead. I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe her in so she would stay with me throughout the day. "I appreciate it so much, Indi, thank you," I said grabbing the food from her hands. And then I was back to rushing, trying to mitigate Hotch's inevitable anger at my tardiness.

During my drive, because I was so late, traffic felt like it was moving exceptionally slowly. I silently fumed in the driver's seat, my grip turning white against the steering wheel. But I finally made it – thirty-five minutes late. I opened the back door of my car, my hand automatically reaching in for my go-bag only to be met with an empty seat. I popped the trunk, but it wasn't there either. I checked the front seat and the back seat again. Nothing. I groaned and slammed the door closed. It was so unlike me to forget my go-bag, and I had wasted time this morning packing it only to leave it on the kitchen counter.

I didn't have time to go back home to grab it, so I berated myself the whole way up to the BAU for letting myself be so distracted by and involved with a girl. India Mae was one dangerous creature. It was remarkable how I had changed so much of my life for her in such a short amount of time. When I got upstairs, for the first time in my life, I was grateful we had a paperwork day. It meant I didn't need a go-bag. Even if I hadn't forgotten my go-bag, whatever was erratically thrown in that duffle bag probably wouldn't be helpful for a case anyway.

I continued to chat with the gang for a few minutes, trying to put off my inevitable conversation with Hotch for as long as possible. Though we didn't have a case yet, it wasn't completely off the table that we'd be called in later today. And I wouldn't have time to run home if that were the case. I knocked on Hotch's door.

"Come in," Hotch said gruffly. Great, he was in a stupendous mood for this conversation. I walked in and he stiffly pointed out, "You're late, Prentiss."

"I am." There was no excuse and I knew he didn't want some bullshit reason to come out of my mouth. Besides, what would I even tell him? Sorry I was so horny last night and stayed up too late, so I couldn't bother to get out of bed on time this morning? I was certain that would be well-received.

"Don't let it happen again. What do you need?"

I bit my lip, nervous by his grumpy demeanor this morning. "I, uh, well in my rush to get out of the house this morning, I seemed to have forgotten my go-bag at home. I know we don't have a case now, but I wouldn't have time later today to get it if we did have a case. So I was wondering…" He stared at me blankly. "…should I go home now to get it? Or do you want to gamble us getting a case?" He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and started thinking, his pointer finger coming to rest over his mouth. I was uneasy under his hard gaze so I looked out the window of his office. And to my complete surprise, India Mae was standing in the bullpen, my go-bag in her hand.

My heart warmed at the sight. If she were here so quickly, it meant she saw my go-bag and immediately left right after me. I absolutely did not deserve her selflessness. She would be late to class because of this; the thought caused guilt to flood my chest. And then anger replaced that guilt when I saw Derek leaning into India's space and her leaning away. I had no right to feel possessive over her, but my feelings wouldn't let me be rational. All I knew was that Derek was a player, and he was moving in on my girl. Not your girl, I reminded myself.

"Excuse me," I said distractedly, rudely running out of Hotch's office in the middle of a conversation. I walked briskly around the catwalk to the stairs, my eyes never leaving Indi and Derek.

"What can I help you with, sugar lips?" he asked in a smooth, confident voice. I almost threw up.

"I'm looking for someone," I heard India say.

"I'm someone," Derek flirted back. Oh hell no. I loved Derek, but he needed to back off.

"Never gonna happen, Morgan," I said with a little too much bite in my voice. I saw Indi's shoulders relax slightly.

"Now hold on now, Prentiss," he objected, his eyes never leaving Indi. "You don't know that." I saw Indi smirk.

"I do," I said firmly. I moved closer to India, pulling my duffle bag from her hands. "Thank you for bringing my go-bag, baby," I said pulling her under my arm. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was Derek's still-lingering eyes, or maybe it was the fact that no one – including her – knew she was mine. My lips pressed against her temple, and she leaned into me. "I appreciate it."

"Prentiss!" Derek said in shock. "Who's this?"

"My girlfriend," I said a bit smugly. "India." I felt her lean further into me, and I smiled down at her, rubbing my thumb against her shoulder. She fit so perfectly into my side it was like we were made for each other.

"YO REID!" Morgan shouted. I felt her flinch at his loud voice. Reid poked his head up from his desk. "Did you know Prentiss was dating someone?"

"What's this?" Rossi asked, poking his head out of his office. "Emily's dating?"

"Emily's dating?!" JJ asked coming around the corner from the kitchen. I could kill Morgan for shouting so loud and summoning the whole team. Especially JJ. I wasn't ready for our history to come out in front of the team, and I prayed she wouldn't say anything horrible to India. I wasn't sure why I was acting so serious – this wasn't real for her. No matter how real it was getting for me, it was just a business deal for her.

I felt India shift under my arm, probably uncomfortable by all the attention. She hated attention on her.

"So," David said excitedly, "Introduce us!"

"Hi," she said shyly and I thought I'd melt from how cute she was. "I'm India Mae. I was just dropping Em's bag off. I didn't mean to disrupt the whole office."

"No worries, India Mae," I smirked at David using her full name. "We are thrilled to meet you. Emily doesn't date. Ever." I cringed, hoping JJ wouldn't pipe up. "So we are all too thrilled to meet you. Prentiss, you must bring her to dinner soon. I'll make pasta alla Rossi."

I smiled warmly, already thrilled David was making an effort to include her. "Indi's allergic to shrimp," I told him.

"Em," she lightly protested, embarrassed.

"No shrimp," David assured.

"Uh," Indi shuffled her feet. "I need to get to class…"

"Oh god! Baby, I'm so sorry!" I could have smacked myself on the forehead. I knew she was going to be late, but I was so wrapped up in showing her off to the team. "Thank you again for bringing my go-bag. I can't tell you what a savior you are."

"It's not a big deal, Em, really." She looked down, obviously embarrassed.

"Yes, it is," I corrected. I kissed her longingly on the forehead, my eyes closing at the contact. "Have a good day in classes, today. I'll see you tonight," I said stroking my thumb over her cheek bone. "And if we're called away on a case, I'll send you a text, okay?"

She nodded, and said, "Bye…" Her word trailed off, her eyes not leaving mine. Was she pulling out of my arms reluctantly? "It was nice to meet all of you," she said as almost an afterthought. Her eyes remained on mine. I didn't know if I was reading too much into things, but I could swear I saw my own longing reflected back in her eyes.

The team remained silent as India walked across the bullpen, but as soon as the glass door closed behind her, they jumped on me like ravenous lions.

I heard the following questions at the same time, each voice indistinguishable from the other. "How come you didn't tell us you were dating?" "How long have you been dating?" "Since WHEN are you dating??" Okay that last one was clearly from JJ's bitter voice.

"Guys, please! It isn't serious. We've only been together about a month," I fibbed.

"A month??" Morgan asked incredulously. "And you're already bringing her around? It must be serious to you," he pointed out.

To brush off how much I liked her, I quickly pointed out, "Well, it's not like I 'brought her around' today. I just forgot my go-bag."

"Uh huh," Derek smirked, not buying it.

"So," David said suggestively.

"…So…what?" I asked.

"How did you meet?! We're dying to know."

"You are nothing more than a rotten gossip, David Rossi."

"And?" he asked with raised eyebrow.

"And we'll have nothing to talk about at dinner if you don't let up." I needed to ask JJ about earlier. It would eat at me all day if I didn't. And I didn't want to bring India around if JJ had unresolved business. "JJ can I talk to you privately?"

"Wait!" Morgan protested. "Prentiss, you can't just bring a girl here and then walk away!"

"I can and I will. JJ?" I asked walking away from the group of animals I called friends.

When we settled in the kitchen, alone, she turned to me, anger burning in her eyes. "What?" she asked sharply, her arms crossing over her chest.

I put my hands up defensively. I didn't want this to become a fight. I had fought with her enough for a lifetime. All my fight was extinguished; she wasn't worth it. "I just wanted to ask what that comment was about earlier."

"It's nothing." I stared at her. She couldn't be serious. "I just didn't expect you to move on so quickly. Especially with someone so young." I stiffened. "And after I tried calling you a few nights ago…" she said softly.

I gasped. "It's been MONTHS, JJ. What? Did you just expect me to be on your hook forever? Keep me on the back burner in case things didn't work out with Will?"

"How dare you?! What! You think Will and I won't work out?"

I shook my head, baffled by that. "I never said that, JJ. Stop putting words in my mouth." She opened her mouth to say something else, but I raised my hand. "I didn't come here to fight, JJ. I'm done fighting with you. I'm happy now. Just, please, let me be happy with her and stop calling."

"How old is she?" Why was she so hung up on this?

"Twenty-two." She scoffed. "Don't," I warned.

"Whatever," she said brushing past me. I hung my head and blew out a large exhale. Would it ever be easy with her?

"You okay?" Rossi asked tentatively. I cleared my throat and looked up at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry if you had to hear that."

"When did she get like that with you?" he asked, fatherly concern lacing his voice. I swallowed thickly. The last time he used that tone was when I was telling him about my past abortion.

"It was always like that, really," I admitted. "Look, please don't make this a big thing. It's in the past."

"Okay," he said putting his hands up. "We don't have to talk about it. I just came to say that India seems great."

"Yeah," I said flatly. "She is."

"Is she not?" he asked confused.

"No!" I rushed to correct him. "She's incredible," I said genuinely this time. "She's really something else." My tone turned morose thinking about how she wasn't really mine.

"She seems great for you. What's the problem?" He looked at me with critical eyes narrowing in thought. "Don't tell me you're running at the first sign of something real."

"It's not that…"

"Then what? I saw how you two looked at each other! I know love when I see it. Believe me, I've had three wives."

I chuckled at his lame attempt at a joke. "No, you don't understand Rossi…I-" I stopped, embarrassed to tell him the truth. Acknowledging the reality of our relationship out loud made it real. It closed off the door to anything more. He was waiting so patiently while I shuffled my feet around and picked at my fingernails. "I actually did take your advice," I said softly, "and continued on that website. That's where we met. She doesn't love me. What you don't understand is that this isn't actually real."

"No, Emily," he said sympathetically, "What you don't understand is that it IS."

_ _ _

Continue to next chapter

#🌬 fics #tastes like sugar #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x oc #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds au #wlw writing

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butterbeerblurbs · 4 years ago

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tired but never of you (f.w.)

💌 : when you look tired and fred can sense it, he does what he does best. stealing you away from the crowd and self-care freddie activates.

📝 word count: 2,618 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸 a fluffy mess

💬: just... live with me thru this guys 🤡

after numerous hours of studying and days of all-nighters, you finally had room to breathe again. It was nearly a couple more days before christmas break and boy oh boy you were excited to get a long week full of rest ahead. (though, you doubt you’d be able to squeeze in a week, maybe a day or two. mindful that you’d be spending christmas with fred and his family back in the burrow)

as you decide what to wear for a night out, there’s a knock on your door. angelina announces she’ll go answer and you reply with a mindless thank you as you stare yourself in the mirror, debating between two outfits on hangers over your body. with a small pout, unsure of which to choose, you hear the door closing and you call out to-”angelina, could you help me choose?”

you remain looking at your reflection, and when it feels longer than the usual time angelina takes to rush to you, you’re greeted with-”would freddie be alright?” you flinch at the pair of arms that sneak around your waist and you gasp as fred pops his head over your shoulder, grinning at you through the mirror.

your elbow nudges him playfully, getting him to move but he refuses, only squeezing you tighter, “you cheeky prat,” you huff at him, only to literally have heart eyes sparkling at him as he smiles at you with such warmth it’s making your heart full.

“hey there, beautiful,” fred murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, earning himself a satisfied smile from you. he pecks your lips a couple more times until he’s satisfied, moving himself away to sit on your bed as he watches you get dressed. you turn around to face him, now making him decide since he probably shooed angelina out of her shared dorm with you (as fred weasley would).

“help me choose, freddie? which one looks better?”

the boy snorts, “neither. maybe consider your pajamas?”

your brows knit together, face scrunching in confusion, “love, we’re going to the three broomsticks,”

“yeah,” he nods, leaning back into your pillow as he stares at you, “but you should be going to bed,”

he watches as you take a couple of seconds to process his words, before you groan and roll your eyes at him. you decide to go with your first option - a black velvet turtleneck dress paired with a white wool duffle jacket, shoving the other into the closet. fred makes himself known as he pulls your shirt off your body, staring at you through the mirror.

“c’mon, love, you know i think you look gorgeous everyday, anytime - even now! but you look like you got hit by a train,”

you nod a couple of times, a little preoccupied with getting dressed, half-ignoring him, “yeah? do i?”

he nods firmly, arms crossed in front of his chest, “absolutely. like the train dragged you for a few rounds to reach hogwarts and decided to keep going, too,”

“you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, weasley?” you huff at him, blowing your fringe from your face as you grab ahold of your shedded clothes and shove them into the laundry basket. as you gather your hair to the side, fred smirks at your back exposed in front of him. but when you frown at him at the mirror at his lack of helpfulness, he decides to play later and helps to zip you up.

before you can reach for your jacket, he smoothen his palms on your waist, reeling you in as you make grabby hands at-”i want my jacket, freddie!”

“and i want you to stay in with me,” he tuts, spinning you around and locking you in front of him, not letting you budge even when you hit his chest playfully.

“y/n, you hadn’t had proper sleep the past few days. you promised you’d sleep as soon as christmas break rolls around,” he frowns, swaying you back and forth and he watches as the small movement is already driving you to sleep. yet, you keep your feet grounded, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him down so you can kiss him. he’s a little surprised, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it as he reciprocates the kiss, pressing his lips deeper against yours and relishes in the soft mewl he swallows from your lips.

before he can go any further, you push him back enough for you to have space to snatch your jacket, rushing out the door in a hurry; not bothering to check if fred is coming after you. but the rummaging from behind you, followed by loud thuds, already indicate fred is running.

“hey! at least change into your boots first! your feet are going to be ice before we even get there!”

“it’s not too late to back out now, y/n,” fred whispers into your ear as the whole lot of you make your way together. george and angelina were taking lead in the front, followed by katie, jordan and oliver in the middle and the pair of you were in the back. you squeeze fred’s hand in his pocket, hissing at him, “you can’t be serious! i got dressed for this!”

he presses a kiss to your temple, swinging your hand back and forth as much as he can despite being confined in his pocket, almost child-like it’s making you giggle, “and you look absolutely gorgeous! but you would also look much better if you had some sleep,”

“why do i feel like you don’t want me to have fun?” you pout at him, and he huffs, “hey, that’s not fair and you know it. you know how much fun we can have together,-”yep, no lie there. sometimes, you and fred alone caused more havoc than fred and his twin. that statement is a lot coming from most people-”-it’s just, you know, love. i’d want to have fun with you when i know you’re enjoying it too,”

“but it feels wrong to miss this,” you whisper this time, and fred leans down a little so you wouldn’t need to reach him with much effort, “we won’t see them in a bit and i promised i’d come. didn’t want to be a downer,”

“love,” he calls out, earning a huh as you look up to him. he sneaks in a kiss to your lips, grinning at how you blink at him profusely before you register what he had done the thing he’s done countless of times before, “you can never be a downer. have you seen yourself?”

your mouth opens to respond and you swear you see fred about to lean in to shut you up but-“oi! lovebirds! try to keep up, yeah?” george hollers as they’re a good distance away, seeing there’s already enough snow to cast between you and your friends. you yank your hand along with fred’s out of said boy’s jacket, pulling him to follow your lead, “coming!” you only laugh as you hear him yelp, trying to keep up at your sudden spurt of energy.

the place was already packed with people but it wasn’t a surprise to any of you. of course it would be, nearing a time like christmas and all friends would be on their different ways (except a couple), but the vast majority would be. so it wasn’t a surprise a lot of friend groups would try to sneak in one last meet up like the ones you had with your friends (and boyfriend, and boyfriend’s brother).

drinks were poured and downed, a couple of bites here and there but a shared feeling of comfort and belonging. secrets being exchanged, chatters of what happens within the castle, out of the castle - the works. it’s a cogwheel of how the group functions - all in good fun, mutual excitement and trust that what is said here would stay here.

it’s been a little over an hour and a half since the group started getting loose and shaking off the nerves of the semester ending, buzzing for the holiday soon arriving. fred would enjoy it without a thought as well but seeing how the light alcohol is getting the best of you, lulling a bit here and there in the midst of loud chatter, leaning against him for support, he decides to call it a night. especially when there’s a lack of response coming from you.

it captures the group’s attention as they watch how your cheek is pressed to fred’s arm, though, seeming like you’re trying your hardest. fred has puppy eyes as he stares at your sleeping figure against him and he can’t help but allow his heart to swell at the sight.

“i’m always fascinated by this,” katie snorts, earning a nod of approval from oliver, “i’d say. truly, the only person who can tame the wild fred weasley,”

fred exhales deeply and as he wiggles his brows to your group of friends, they already know what’s to come. “well, we’ll be taking our leave now,”

“just make sure you don’t lock me out,” angelina chastises, remembering the night fred did that by “accident” and she had to snooze off in the common room. “you’re welcome to join me, if he does!” george calls out, earning a fake look of disgust from angelina before she decides to laugh it off.

the short yet loud interaction between george and angelina jolts you awake with a yes?, snapping out of your slumber almost instantly. your lips quickly zip shut as you notice how all eyes are now on you, and fred is like your shield, willing to bat away any takers to tease you. before they can, however, fred is reminded of the many reasons why he loves you. a joke, is something you can take, never making it an awkward situation on anyone. (unless necessary)

“good morning, your highness,” george coos, and you grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, “good day, sire!”

“had a good rest?” katie chuckles, reaching out to playfully mess with your hair. you managed a small yawn, covering your mouth with your hand, shaking your head, “could’ve been better. this place is too loud for a nap,”

the group erupts with a small round of laughter before fred pulls you up with him, preparing yourselves to exit. it’s not after a quick moment for you to say goodbye to everyone and wish them a good break (including george, who he reminds you he’ll be with you during the break because you’re going to stay at his house, as a matter of fact his room too with freddie that it makes you blush before laughing it off). once that is done, fred quickly snatches you away and the pair of you make your way back to the dorms.

fred keeps your hand warm together with his in the pocket of his jacket, idly humming the walk back. it’s peaceful, being in fred’s presence and the way he checks on you every now and then to make sure you’re still walking, doing his best in creating conversations with you so it actively keeps you up. your heart feels all sorts of things, mainly love as you stare at fred’s side profile.

when he catches you staring, he can’t help but tease.

“enjoying the view there? might want to look where you’re going, love,” he says quietly, yet, seeing there’s no affect on you as he effectively dodges anything that’s coming your way, guiding you to a safe path. when he sees your eyes aren’t shifting from him, he’s full on laughing, enjoying the attention he’s receiving.

“hello? is my girlfriend still awake? may i ask the reason why she’s staring at me and not saying a word?”

“she’s... enjoying the view,” fred swears he feels his heart almost leaping out of his chest when he glances to see her smiling so wide, her eyes dissolve to mini crescents. he stops walking and it grants her to do the same. he grabs onto her shoulders and gives her a light shake, “woman, you can’t be this adorable even when you’re sleepy. choose one,”

this was a coded question for: “are we going to have fun tonight? or sleep?” (though, you know fred already knows the answer as they line the under of your eyes, another yawn escaping softly).

“sleep, please,”

“yes, ma’am.”

you think in your past life, you must’ve saved an entire kingdom to be with fred. (no doubt, he’d say the same thing about you, if not double up and say two kingdoms but these are your thoughts and he can’t possibly argue with you in your mind). still, you think it’s very much true when fred patiently undresses you and redresses you in your sleeping clothes - a loose sweater and joggers, followed by a t-shirt underneath because it gets a bit more chilly as the night transcends.

now bundled up in the covers, in his arms, his warmth, scent and his voice is the perfect recipe to lull you to sleep.

before you do, though, you’re staring at him and that’s when fred says: “you’ve done so well, y/n. get some sleep, hm?”

“this is so unfair,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the way he adores and is amused at the same time. he decides not to show it as much, only squeezing you around him as he stares down at you, allowing you to let your train of thought escape your mouth as you fall into deep slumber. “you can’t be that handsome, that clever and love me that much... you’re...” there’s a small yawn that captures fred’s heart even more “...absolutely... bonkers...”

fred only snorts quietly, watching as your eyelids flutter shut and you’re dozing off pretty quick from all the all-nighters and lost sleep due to papers and assignments. not only were you trying to be on top of your grades, he recollects how you’ve helped him as well, which he was very grateful for. his eyes remain on you as you get the rest you truly deserve, his hand coming up to brush your hair from your face and he stares at you lovingly.

you were unfair, too, he thinks. you, the person who accepted him fully for who he is and encourages him to chase for his dreams, willing to be by his side regardless of what happened. you, who was insanely patient with him, yet, took no bull and gave him the honest pill he needed from time to time. you, who came into his life like the light he’d been searching for in the dark, only to get blinded once he was within reach. when he was in your heart, however, his days have been warm ever since.

as you snuggle up against him, arms gingerly wrapped by his torso and resting your face to his chest, fred smiles at the thought he’s able to return the gesture you’ve done to him. his eyes close after a while, hoping to see you in his dreams as well.

as he's halfway drifting into sleep, he hears a soft murmur of freddie... that makes him smile, certain his smile would still be there when he wakes.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagines #harry potter fanfics #harry potter stories #harry potter scenarios #harry potter fred weasley #fluff #i know there's this thing where the stairs to the girls dorm are probably enchanted and boys can't go up #but i'm going based off that they can go to each other's dorms ;w;#aaaand that y/n and angelina share a dorm #and fred and george share a dorm hehe #OK THATS ALL GOOD NIGHT #:D

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

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

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

��Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n

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bi-bard · 3 years ago

Text

Picture Perfect - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Picture Perfect

Pairing: Winchester Brothers X Child!Reader

Requested: by @isatkj

Word Count: 1,356 words

Warning(s): mentions of death, potential violence.

Summary: (Around Season 8 or 9-ish) The perfect town... that wasn't supposed to exist. Now, Sam and Dean have to figure out what caused this city to suddenly pop up on the map.

Author's Note: I took so much inspiration from season 14, episode 15 because of the general vibe of the whole episode.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

--Third P.O.V--

Dean pulled the impala up to an open gas pump. While his brother got the gas, Sam opened the passenger door so he could go over the facts.

"So, there have been strange occurrences around a small town about three hours outside of Seattle, Washington," Sam relayed. "Insiders rarely come out and the outsiders that go in don't usually get back out."

"No one's making a huge deal about this," Dean asked.

"Well, it's supposed to be an old ghost town," Sam explained. "But it's not. Functioning stores and living families."

"So, something has got this town up and running but the people in it are... what performing sacrifices," Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged.

"How far out are we," Dean asked.

"A few more hours," Sam replied.

"Hold on boys," the brothers looked over to see Death standing in front of the car. "I have some information you need about this little town."

"And that is...," Sam asked after Death had trailed off.

"You shouldn't go in," the being replied. "The person running that town is incredibly dangerous. You'll be dead in moments. The residents won't let you get close enough to harm the child."

"The child," Dean noted.

"The child is raising the dead," Death continued. "This upsets the natural balance of things. The source must be removed."

"'The source' is a child," Sam argued. "You can't just kill a child."

"I can, and I will," Death just seemed to shrug.

"Do you know why this kid wants to bring people back," Dean asked. "Before you become an asshole and murder someone who hasn't even gotten to middle school?"

"Almost a year ago, the child lost both of their parents," Death explained. "That's when their powers first spiraled. It started with only their parents. It then spread, like a virus. Soon, a whole town was standing in a spot where there should be rubble."

"You're going to kill a kid that lost their family," Sam asked.

The brothers stared at Death in shock. Death seemed annoyingly unaffected. To him, this was the only way to put things back in order. To the boys, this was a clearly scared kid that went through the same pain that they did.

"You can't do this," Dean shook his head. "We won't let you."

"You don't have a choice-"

"Give us a chance," Sam snapped. "It's a kid. A scared kid. Give us a chance to talk to them. Just a chance."

"No."

"Come on!"

"I'll give you one chance," Death replied. "If you fail, I will finish the job."

As the word "job" was spoken, Death vanished from the boys' sight.

Sam and Dean jumped back into the impala and took off. What was supposed to be another three-hour drive was done in a little over two. Neither brother knew how they didn't get pulled over but they didn't care.

Dean pulled the car over to the curb.

"Woah," Dean mumbled as they got out.

It was the picture-perfect town. There was a small dinner, a library that was actually being used, cookie-cutter houses. Sam and Dean looked at each other.

Locals were looking at them as the brothers walked by.

"So, where do we find this kid," Dean asked.

"Well, look at the signs," Sam pointed at the businesses. Most of them had (Y/l/n) on their signs. "It's the most common name. If we can find that house, we can find the kid."

Everyone's house had little signs. It was very clear this town was designed by a child.

"Well, hello," a man walked up to the brothers.

"Hi," Dean said awkwardly.

"Can I ask why you boys have decided to visit our little town," the man asked.

The boys looked at each other for a moment.

"We were admiring the lovely houses," Sam lied. "We have been considering moving for a while and this town seems lovely."

"Well, there aren't any vacancies," the man replied.

"Oh, that's a shame," Sam shrugged. "Is there someone else we can talk to? A mayor or something? I don't want to insult you but maybe you missed something."

The man's smile dropped, "You can't go near them."

"Why," Dean asked.

"You'll hurt them," the man glared.

It was like that was a signal. All of the people on the street stopped, turning to stare at the brothers. The brothers looked all around them.

"We're not going to hurt them," Sam tried to explain. "We're trying to help."

"No," the man snapped. "You're trying to take us away."

When the man stepped forward, the brothers knew it was time to run. They sprinted down the street as almost a whole town chased them.

"Sam," Dean yelled, pointing at a house. "There, look at the sign!"

"(Y/l/n)'s house!" was written on the sign.

The brothers ran through the front door, locking it. No one banged on the door.

"They don't want to hurt (Y/n)," Sam said. "We should be safe here."

"Hello there," a man and woman walked out to see the brothers.

"The parents," Sam mumbled.

They looked up to the stairs when the floor creaked. There was a young kid standing up there.

"Hi, (Y/n)," Sam said softly, trying to keep from scaring the kid. "I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean. We're here to help."

"Why," the kid asked. "I'm happy here. Everything was fixed."

"Do you know why," Sam asked. The child seemed confused at the idea that something caused this. "You brought them back, remember?"

"Don't," the dad said in anger. "You don't get to hurt (Y/n)."

"Sam," Dean mumbled.

One more shared look and the two took off. They ran up the stairs, the undead parents on their tails.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, leading (Y/n) back into their room. Dean slammed the door, locking it and being ready to hold it shut.

"What are you doing," (Y/n) went to fight Sam, but obviously didn't get far.

"(Y/n)," Sam knelt down and grabbed (Y/n)'s shoulders. "You created this town. Your parents died and your powers went out of control. No one here is supposed to be alive."

"You're... You're lying," the child yelled, shaking her head. Dean leaned into the door when (Y/n)'s parents started banging on it.

"I know it's hard," Sam continued. "It's terrifying but you aren't going to be completely alone. Right now, you're putting yourself in danger. That's not good, is it?"

(Y/n) shook their head.

"I lost both my parents too," Sam said. "It's scary but you have to let these people go. They have to move on. I promise, they'll be much happier."

"I don't wanna be alone," the kid mumbled, tears falling down their face.

"You won't be," Sam promised. "Dean and I will make sure of that."

The banging stopped. Dean stood up straight again.

The cookie-cutter house faded. Instead of falling from the second floor like they should have, they were just on the ground by an old building, already crumbled and destroyed.

Sam pulled (Y/n) into a tight hug as the kid sobbed. Dean walked over to them. He and Sam shared a sad look. Sam slowly stood up, letting the kid hold his hand as they walked to the impala.

Death was waiting for them.

The brothers froze, Sam pushing (Y/n) behind him.

"Good job boys," Death complimented. "However, there's still a problem. The child doesn't have control over their powers."

"We can teach them," Dean argued. "We have enough experience with powers that we can help."

Death took a step forward.

Both the boys moved to be more in his way.

"Fine," Death stared at (Y/n), who was still hiding behind Sam. "I'll have my eye on you."

With that, Death disappeared again. (Y/n) stepped out from behind Sam.

"He's not very nice," the kid mumbled. The brothers couldn't help but chuckle. Understatement of the century.

"Come on, kid," Dean nodded toward the car. "Let's make sure we have a comfortable place for you to sleep for the night."

The boys didn't expect to leave the town with a kid but it definitely wasn't the weirdest hunt they had been on.

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

Masterlist

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folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

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cloveroctobers · 3 years ago

Note

i was wondering if you could do an imagine where olivia is sexually assaulted and after her behaviour around the house drastically changes until she eventually tells jordan + her parents? i just wanted to see a protective, baker family imagine that focused on her :))

TW: mentions of s******* assault, trauma, bodily fluids, college parties, panic attacks, depression, etc…

A/N: took me a minute to decide if I wanted to write this piece since it’s slightly triggering for myself and can be to others. Not overly detailed ofc but I hope when I do fully get back into writing we’ll have some happy moments to come! Especially for my girl Liv.

SOMETHINGS WRONG — O. Baker

Olivia Baker felt like she could make a list of what she can now label herself as which held negative connotations:

The pill popper

The drunk

That mixed girl

The other twin

The girl with no solid friends

The boyfriend-stealer

The wannabe woke girl

And now the victim

She couldn’t get her mind to grasp that. That this happened to her, that she let this happen to her. If she was in her right mind she would realize that this isn’t something she could ever blame herself for but she knew others would, if she ever let them know. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t.

What was supposed to be a fun weekend in Atlanta turned into a moment she wouldn’t forget. It was all fun and games, it actually felt like the one true moment in time where she felt free and happy. Surrounded by good people with good intentions, which only consisted of Spencer, Jordan, and Simone. These were her main people, her right hands, and her go-to but that seemed to fade the night her life drastically changed—yet again.

The events that occurred that night were burned into her mind in spurts. Olivia couldn’t piece them all together but she knew. She knew something was wrong with the way that she felt even though she was dressed as if nothing occurred. She knew the moment she pulled herself off the floor in her own drool to look at herself in the mirror that something was wrong. She knew it in her appearance and in the way that she felt. Her confirmations were proven correct when she decided to use the bathroom, what she felt, and what she saw.

She was gagging and struggling to breathe. Olivia Baker knew something happened to her when she realized she woke up alone on the cold bathroom floor. She was doing so well and thought she was stronger than this, how could this be added to the things of what happened to her or what she allowed to happen to her? Her mind was weak, somewhere in the night she let her guard down and now she was here. It all felt like her fault.

What will they say about her now?

Olivia’s experienced a handful of trauma in her teenage life before but THIS…this was something else. She felt like she was going to pass out again until she found the strength to let the anxiety take its course in subsiding. Pushing herself up with a huge whimper and wince, she began searching the bathroom for her phone as it was not on her body. She remembered the first thing she wanted to do was document this because as soon as she got back to Simone’s aunt’s house she was going to wash away the filth she felt.

Perhaps that was another mistake but she couldn’t erase what she felt beneath and on her skin. It felt like Olivia was moving in slow motion searching the fancy bathroom, stumbling and shoving items out of the way in search of her device. When she slipped on something in the bathroom, she failed to catch herself, her cheek colliding with the tile floor, she knew that would leave another bruise along with the rest on her body. Her eyes connected with the object which looked to be covered in what appeared to be blood.

With a shaky finger she reached out to it, and recoiled back as her finger became coated in the copper stench. That’s when the tears began to cloud her vision and she wanted to cover her cries but she felt frozen, like she did hours prior. So she cried until her body ached internally and furthermore externally, and with a shaky breath those came to a halt when she heard something rattling.

She moved painfully slow, ripping the shower curtain back to see her phone tossed in the stone shower face down. Swallowing, she picked the phone up to see that the now missed call was from Jordan. She had over thirty missed calls and fifteen text messages. Blinking Olivia unlocked her phone and opened up her camera and angled her phone before hearing multiple shutter speeds.

At least that part of her mind was still functioning. She thought to herself bitterly as she went over to the mirror once again, setting her phone down on the counter to call a Uber back to Simone’s aunt’s house.

This was just another scar in her story, she guessed. So she rinsed her face, and gave Simone a call first…feeling as if this was the best option out of the three…when all she really wanted to do was call her mom.

“Olivia!” Simone greeted, “Girl, where the hell are you? Last night was so crazy and Jordan was trying to stalk you but realized you turned off your location, which he said is something you’d never do but I figured since you went off with Othello and them you would be fine.”

It took a minute for Olivia to respond. Her vision still locked on her reflection as that name sent something through her. Making her eyes close shut as she heard the voice introduce itself with that name but she couldn’t connect the face to it. However it seemed like Simone was familiar with who Olivia disappeared off with.

“I’m in a Uber on my way back to your aunt’s house.” Olivia knew she sounded like herself to Simone but her face was stoney and she did not feel like herself…as to be expected.

Simone nodded, “okay…cool! I’m glad you got back to one of us because we were getting a little worried.”

“Worried I’d relapse?” Olivia stated but cleared her throat knowing Simone didn’t deserve the brunt of her trauma, “Please tell me Jordan didn’t call our parents.”

Simone chose to ignore that, wishing later that she didn’t—however her and Olivia were still trying to build their relationship as in-laws so they were still feeling out each other’s temperaments and personalities, “No. I persuaded him not to…although I know that would have changed if you didn’t show up at some part today and I don’t blame him. Him and Spencer are getting a little stir-crazy without you. So please bring your butt here so my aunt can take us to this flea market she keeps going on about.”

“Alright,” Olivia breathed out a laugh that felt humorless to her, “I should be there in ten according to the ride but we all know down here in the south it’s really thirty minutes.”

“Tell me about it! It’s always ‘oh, it’s right down the street!’ But why we still driving tho?!” Simone laughed, “see you soon. I’ll let the boys know you’re on your way.”

And with that they ended the call.

Olivia shoved the clothes she worn that night back underneath her bed, still unwashed and out of sight. She went searching under her bed after her black oil pastel pencil slid off her bed. It was always in the back of her mind that the clothes rotted underneath the place where she lay her head. Sleep no longer existed to her but it’s not like a good portion of concealer didn’t help hide her puffy bags.

Olivia was violated going on about three weeks now and she was expected to go on like everything was okay. That was the challenge. And it was exhausting and moments throughout her day felt like someone would hold onto her throat and squeeze for minutes at a time.

She kept up with her therapy so that nothing about her seemed suspicious. She had thoughts about her pills and the thoughts about sipping alcohol made her stomach turn—so perhaps that part was a good thing. Her dad moved back into the house so the family dynamic was shifting yet again, her mom made it her mission to not have any booze in the house and any over the counter medication that was addressed to any of them in the house would be under only her and Billy’s care.

Those wouldn’t be strong enough for Olivia anyways, and that thought alone made her laugh bitterly but she was glad someone was taking the initiative to her health. Liv was not to have any access to it. It might not have been said but Olivia Baker always paid attention to everything.

She was doing well at hiding, almost flawless in her mind; that something had changed her life for the worse. Whereas with her pill popping/partying had been out in the open and her drinking was slightly undercover, Olivia thought she was doing well acting like her assault didn’t take place—yet the signs were there however it was cautious on how to approach. She had been careless, leaving her phone unlocked when she went off to the bathroom and with iPhone’s broadcasting your memories with photo’s was what lit the flame.

Laura was sitting at the island previously with Olivia while the boys were seated on the couch watching some game. She was sipping her voss water when Olivia’s phone let out the alert, which was closer to Laura’s view. At first Laura thought they were nudes but when she picked the phone up to click on the photo’s, she felt her heart drop to her stomach. A gasp unknowingly left her lips, causing Billy to look over his shoulder at his on-again wife.

“Laura, baby? Are you alright?”

Before she could say anything else Olivia walked back into the room, rubbing the hand cream further into her hands as she made her way over to her mom. When Laura snapped her head up to stare at her daughter, Olivia immediately stopped in her tracks feeling her mother’s eyes almost stinging her skin.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Olivia tilted her head to the side, wondering why the blonde woman appeared distraught.

Laura wanted to hold the phone up but felt a protectiveness come over her not wanting to gain the attention of the two men in the house, even though Billy already had his body turned sideways at the exchange.

“Olivia, what is this?” Laura whispered, pointing at the phone.

It didn’t dawn on Olivia right away what her mother could be possibly be talking about, in a sense she tried to forget but when she looked back at her art pieces, once she completed them in her sketch book, she realized unconsciously it’s not something you can just forget.

Laura swiped against Olivia’s phone at each picture making Olivia sharply turn her head to the side and swallow the lump that formed in her throat.

“Who’s in these images, Olivia?!” Laura didn’t mean to raise her voice, but she wanted answers.

Now she gained the attention of Jordan who broke his eyes away from the commercial playing on the television.

Olivia chewed on her chapped lips not wanting to say anything. She didn’t want anyone else adding this to their list of things to worry about when it came to her. It was ironic really, Olivia Baker was always involving herself in everyone else’s issues but pushed her own pain to the side. She vowed with Spencer that they would start to only worry about themselves this senior year and yet Olivia seemed to not do that. In a sense…she going to therapy, she was picking back up her old hobby to ease her mind but the huge problem about this was she wasn’t talking about it. To anyone.

“Olivia—

Laura seemed to take a different approach, using what she learned in family therapy to level her tone and to not make her daughter feel cornered. However she was highly concerned and she wanted to hear what she already suspected from these pictures. She kept her eyes trained on Olivia who reached out to the island to balance herself, now feeling the room spin. Laura pushed the bar stool back and went to Olivia’s aid but she flinched, ripping her body away from her mother which made Laura let out a small sob.

“What’s going on?” Billy asked, now getting to his feet.

Laura didn’t want to show Billy the pictures but with the way she was clutching Olivia’s phone to her chest made the man snatch the phone from his wife’s grasp.

Billy on the other hand was furious. He rubbed at his face and Olivia didn’t want to see the expression on his face so she kept her back to the both of them now. It was when Jordan towered over Olivia, hoping that he could get an answer out of her opposed to what their parents were failing to do, he didn’t touch her but he paid close attention to the way she was acting right now and how his father was trying not to scream in the kitchen.

Something was wrong. Jordan could feel it more than sense it from what his parents were demonstrating, and yeah they were twins but they haven’t radiated the same energy off the other since they were kids. And who’s to know that might have just been in their heads like many people tried to argue but Jordan and Olivia were extremely close as kids, they shared a whole womb together so they had to share more connections outside in the world too? Their bond was much stronger as children but they were making their way back to each other as they got older. Yes they were their own people but it’s undeniable if they said energy was never a factor in their relationship as twins.

Jordan was calm as he peered down into Olivia’s for eyes, patient, waiting for her to say what she willing to say. Everything was silent to her ears, Olivia blocked out Billy wheezing out his frustrations as he crouched down in front of the island and Laura’s cries.

Olivia felt so small.

Jordan knew before Spencer said something that Olivia was acting a little off. He tried to be better as a brother in paying attention to her as she always did for him. He was worried when she disappeared off with some kid named after Shakespeare that Simone used to spend summer’s with as a kid. Sure Simone said he and his friends were good people but they were also a year or two older, settling into the toxic part of college life. He was the last one with Olivia after they watched some performances with Spencer and Simone already on the dance floor with other people.

“You let Liv go off with these people we don’t even know?” Jordan remembers Spencer saying to him after he got off the dance floor.

Jordan didn’t like how Spencer said this to him so he replied back with, “you were just on the dance floor with someone you don’t know. None of us control my sister, Spence. She’s allowed to hang out with whoever she wants. Plus Simone says Oscar is good people.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that man,” Spencer tried to come correct, “Simone said she only spent summers with othello,” He informed Jordan of the guy’s actual name which Jordan sucked his teeth at, “so that doesn’t mean she really knows him all that well either.”

“Are you trying to question my girl, right now?” Jordan furrowed his brows, always looking for a fight due to his impulsiveness.

Spencer raised his brows, “I’m not questioning nothing. I’m just stating the obvious. We don’t know nobody out here, we not from here. We just have to be smarter is all I’m sayin’.”

Jordan didn’t like to be wrong but he felt like he wasn’t completely wrong? Sure his big brother instincts should have kicked in stronger but he was too focused on some corny dude pushing up on Simone. That was a little foul now that he thought back on it, Olivia should have been just as important—and she is. Which is why he wanted to do right in the present.

He noticed before Layla pointed out a couple of times that Olivia was bringing out the darker fashion choices and that it was nice to see sometimes, since she ��did it so well.” He noticed before Simone told him to tell Olivia that she would be over to help her straighten the back of her hair out and he noticed that she was wearing eyeliner in her waterline again.

He noticed the long showers and staying outside in the rain, he noticed she’s been slacking on her podcast and scribbling in her old sketch book. He noticed her listening to nothing but Fiona Apple, Billie Holiday, old Alicia Keys songs, and Fefe Dobson instead of her usual song choices like: Aaliyah, Jorja Smith, Billie Eilish, H.E.R., Doja Cat, and Mereba. He even fought with himself at night standing outside her closed door to say something. He did remember asking her one night at dinner, which she barely ate, if she was okay and with a smile that didn’t reach her rimmed eyes…she said she was.

To Olivia it was silent as she admitted her truth about what happened to her in Atlanta, but to the rest of the Baker’s it was loud and clear. Over the course of three weeks, she gathered it all. The memories came back when they needed to and the fact that he reached out to her twice since she returned home was appalling. Olivia didn’t know if it was the guilt—that might have been a stretch…she didn’t know the piece of shit of a person at all, the audacity, or the curiosity on his part to see what she was going to do about this. If anything. She gave no information away in the DM’s, in fact she barely sent anything back.

There was no weight that lifted from her chest as she spoke her secret into the air, she still felt pain that she tried to numb down but it just felt like another burden she inflicted on her loved ones and she hated that idea. That she caused this. Most days she felt numb but she knew anger was brewing along the horizon.

Jordan went to Olivia who stepped back, which felt like Jordan just got punched in the gut. And he’s taken a lot of hits before in his eighteen years of life but this one might have been the worse blow he’s experienced. And that’s coming from a guy still healing from a concussion.

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Liv I—.” She heard Her twin say to her but it sounded like she was under water.

Life has been that way for awhile now, if you truly asked her.

‘I don’t want pitty.’ Her inner thoughts hissed. That was last thing she wanted. She was now coming to terms that she wanted this emptiness to vanish, if that was what this even was. She wanted to be back to where she was or at least as a kid where she didn’t have to worry about a damn thing. She didn’t want to endure what she’s been feeling since she entered her teenage years. Olivia Baker wanted so much more out of this life but lately it seems as if her purpose was to only be handed out shitty lessons instead.

What lesson was this? To showcase how the world can take away anything it wanted and leave you to deal or not deal with the aftermath afterwards?

The anger was indeed setting in.

Olivia didn’t realize that eventually Jordan put his arms around her and she gripped onto him for dare life. Her body didn’t shrink into itself like it commonly did weeks after what happened whenever someone touched her.

Her parents kept their distance picking up on the fact that she didn’t want to be touched but her other half held onto her and that seemed to be a step in the right direction for now. Instead Billy and Laura held onto each other too, their heads whirling around with how to further provide the best possible care for their daughter.

#all american #all american imagine #all american fanfiction #all american cw #Olivia Baker #Olivia Baker x reader #Jordan baker #Jordan Baker x reader #Billy baker #laura baker #spencer james #Simone hicks #Layla keating

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draconic-ichor · 3 years ago

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In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 10: Crash and Burn

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, mentions of trauma/ parental death

Summary: It’s finally time to give Sturm a test drive. Everything should go just fine….Right?

Feedback appreciated. 18+

No smut this time…sorry

The day had arrived: Sturm was finally ready for a real test drive. Heisenberg was on cloud nine, waking up Juniper early. He greeted her bedside with a cup of coffee, urging her up and into the kitchen. After she was awake enough to cook, they made breakfast together.

Heisenberg fried sausage links while Juniper buttered toast. A shared breakfast was rare between them with their differing times of rising.

They sat at the table across from one another. Heisenberg smiled at her, thinking they looked like a perfect little married couple. She looked so sweet to him in the mornings: curly hair a mess and cheeks still rosy with sleep.

Juniper moved her breakfast around her plate pondering, “Hey, why does the Duke allow you to have a tab when it’s apparently ‘against policy’ ?”

Heisenberg stabbed a piece of sausage before he spoke, “Well, do business with him damn near a hundred years and he may work more with you.”

He chewed a mouthful before continuing, “And besides I only use a tab when I send you out to pick up my orders.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t trust you with a satchel of lei.” He smirked.

“That’s rude.” Juniper wrinkled her nose, “And sexist.”

Heisenberg nodded along with her as he ate.

Seeing him agreeing made her lips curl in a small smile.

“Misogynistic?” He asked, mischief in his eyes, pointing his fork to her with a raised brow.

“It may be.” She giggled.

“And dare I say, stereotypical?” He fixed her with a mock seriousness.

“All of the above.” She agreed, trying to mimic the tone.

They held the stare down for a long moment, both trying to keep their lips from twitching.

They failed.

The kitchen erupted with a storm of laughter. Heisenberg put his knuckles to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound, causing Juniper to lose her composure even further.

She loved to see his eyes crinkle with real glee.

Juniper followed him down to the workshop, assisting in getting the comatose Sturm onto a cart and clipping the restringing bands into place.

He kissed her forehead, thanking her for her help as he began to push the cart towards the elevator.

They didn’t go to the arena, Sturm not quite battle ready. This was just his first test drive, to let him fully power on in an open space.

Heisenberg picked the room that Juniper had previously laid waste to, seeing as it couldn’t get much worse. Or so he thought.

He sat the cart down, unbuckling the restraints and instructing Juniper to stay plenty back.

He joined her, excitement oozing from him.

Sturm powered on, the hum of his motor filling the room. He stood up, taking several heavy steps before pausing, the sound like a motorcycle emanating from him as he revved his engine.

Juniper glanced at Heisenberg, seeing worry pricking his face. His jaw was tight but his eyes didn’t leave his creation.

Suddenly Sturm surged forward, moving as fast as his legs would allow. The chainsaw propeller turned wildly as he went.

Sturm didn’t stop or even slow down until he ran headfirst into a series of pipes in the walls. Juniper frowned, seeing the overly large core on his back flickering dangerously.

The creature tugged backward once, finding itself stuck.

Heisenberg made a sound of aggravation, starting to walk forward to assist. It was too late.

Strum lifted his arms in an attempt to free himself easier. Before Heisenberg could get close enough Sturm had pulled away from the pipes.

His propeller instantly spun back to life, without the foresight to remove his arms.

“Shit!” Heisenberg yelled as Sturm’s arms were quickly and efficiently sliced off at the elbows.

Black blood spurted out from the stumps as the creature struggled to turn around. The forearms fell like stones on the floor, fingers twitching.

Juniper’s stomach fell as she watched the creature almost slip in its own puddle of blood clumsily. It was clear he wouldn’t function smoothly.

“What the fuck are you doing, you piece of metal garbage?!” Heisenberg yelled, storming closer. Juniper felt the pressure rise in the room.

Sturm stomped just enough out of the way of Heisenberg, surging forward a second time and just running with wild abandon across the room, spilling gore as he went.

Heisenberg didn’t move for a moment, watching Sturm bump into the opposite wall, almost dumbfounded.

But as the shock evaporated it was replaced with pure rage and embarrassment.

His charms clinked together as a heavy hum started to rumble around him.

All the little pieces of metal started to rise and vibrate.

“….Karl?” Juniper called out worriedly, taking a tentative step toward him.

Heisenberg’s head hardly turned toward her before he growled, “Get out.”

Juniper shook a bit, her compassion overriding her sense of self preservation, “Karl, please talk to me.”

He looked at his hands, the metal swirling more erratically.

“I said, get the fuck out!” He bellowed, baring his teeth. His muscles were tight and the air seemed to pop.

Juniper turned and fled, running up the stairs. As soon as she was a safe distance away she heard the room explode with noise. The sound of scrapping metal and things being thrown with inhuman force reverberated throughout the factory.

Heisenberg's voice could just be heard over the chaos, screaming obscenities.

Juniper kept moving, grabbing her coat as she went. She’d never seen him that bad, that far into his anger. Slight fear swirled her stomach, she wanted fresh air.

She didn’t stop moving until she burst through the entry door, her boots meeting snow.

She stopped, bracing her hands on her knees as she took ragged breaths. Her heart hammered like a scared bird in her rib cage.

She could still hear the muffled impacts of Heisenberg’s anger, even up here.

She steadied herself, needing more space. She looked up to the back gate, the way leading to the mountains.

As soon as she was past the gate she was greeted with company. A group of Lycans, and even a varcolac, decided to follow her.

They all started the trek up the mountain path.

His boiling anger slowly turned into a simmer, the rage becoming a dull throb. His arms fell limply to his sides, sweat soaking into his shirt.

Sturm still wandered around the room, haphazardly getting caught in the pipes.

Heisenberg’s breath was ragged as he watched the creature bumble around. He hated it, hated that it was such a glaring failure.

All the time he wasted on him made his stomach turn. He looked down at his gloved hands, grimacing, the conviction to destroy more leaving him.

Now the displeasure of his failure seeped into his bones and he hungered for something other than chaos. He wanted comfort.

He looked around the room, at all the destruction and sharpness of twisting metal.

“Doll?” He called out, hoping she had stayed somewhat close. He waited for a long moment, listening above the grind of machinery, for a response. Silence greeted him.

Sighing he made his way to the apartment, it being her normal escape from his outbursts.

It, too, was oddly quiet. Heisenberg’s chest tightened as he explored further, finding the bathroom and balcony also vacant.

Worry started to etch deeply into his features.

He headed back into the factory, his sharp eyes catching that her coat was missing from its hanger near the door.

“Buttercup?!” He called loudly down the open elevator shaft. When no answer came the worry became a stinging thorn in his chest.

Had he gone too far this time?

The thought poisoned him as he made his way down each level. Doors rattled open by themselves as he passed, his fingers almost itching to press the alarm. When only the familiar sounds of the factory greeted him he began to shake.

“Juniper?!” He called out finally, unable to keep his voice even. He found his way to the main door, pulling it open quickly.

There were footprints in the wet ground, much fresher than the rest.

His heart sank, eyes following them in the directions of the mountains.

The varcolac seemed to enjoy her company, padding besides her heavily as she went. In truth she had no real destination, just wanted time away. The creature’s tongue lolled out happily, other Lycans joining in. They seemed more grouped up then usual.

Juniper wasn’t scared as she’d been in the past, aware they wouldn’t harm her without being provoked.

They would even chase after small items she found if she threw them. She giggled, seeing two fighting over an old children’s toy.

Feeling a burn in her legs she decided to rest. She chose a sunny outcropping of rock.

The sun baked stone felt warm under her as she sat. The varcolac scrambled up to join her, flopping down with a deep sigh.

Between the sun and the heat radiating from the hulking beast, she was comfortably warm enough.

Juniper closed her eyes, listening to the wind through the mountains. In an odd way it was peaceful. Even when surrounded by death and twisted monsters there was an almost soothing silence.

It was in moments like these she could attempt to process everything she’d been through. The trauma that hid in the dark parts of her mind, waiting to pounce on her when she was weak.

She tried to remember her life before.

So much was stripped away. Flashes of her past coated in pain and haze. She couldn’t remember the faces of her family, or her mother. They were gone, but now even their memories were taken from her.

She felt a tear run down her cheek, like a bead of fire down her chilled face. She pulled her legs up to her chest, sniffing. As much as she tried to ignore it everything just felt fragile and foreign. She burst into broken sobs.

The varcolac shifted besides her, sniffing at her coat when it heard her anguish.

She wiped her nose on her coat sleeve, trying to calm down. Juniper attempted to fill her mind with all the positives: she was alive, had a warm bed to sleep in and didn’t go hungry. Touching her compass, her mind went to Heisenberg. Although he was rough and capricious, he was hers. She truly cared for him, so much more than she thought possible. Her heart swelled, the feeling soothing her.

The Lycans stirring and scurrying away caused her to look up. Heisenberg stood on the trail a few paces down. He was still, his eyes a mix of anger and fear behind his shades.

The varcolac gave a low growl as he took a step towards her.

His head snapped towards the creature, baring his teeth. It whimpered, shrinking back before scrambling off the rock.

Heisenberg huffed out before looking back at Juniper. She didn’t feel like she could breathe, her earlier thoughts still hanging heavily over her.

“What the hell are you doing?!” He looked over her, previous worries making his voice harder then he intended.

His tone caused her to spill over again. Juniper blinked up at him with large glassy green eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks as her face scrunched up.

All the anger drained from Heisenberg’s form, worry and fear quickly replacing it.

He crumpled down, throwing his arms around her. She yelped as he pulled her into a desperate hug. He clutched her tightly, giving a pleading whisper into her hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” He gulped, all the words tumbling from his lips, “Please don’t leave.”

He thought she was running away?

That realization struck Juniper like a bolt of lightning. Her hands found his back, returning the hug and burying her messy face into his coat.

She felt him tremble a bit under her, causing her to sob anew. Unaware of the true reasonings behind her crying he scooped her up off the rock, not wanting to lose her for a moment.

“Please come back.” He whispered, almost crushing her to his chest.

“I-I…” Juniper sniffled, trying to formulate a full sentence.

Heisenberg let her go enough to look at her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks a mess, hair clinging to the moisture. He reached up with a free hand and smoothed the hair away.

“I…I wasn’t.” She looked down, “I wasn’t running away.”

Heisenberg shuttered with relief, his lips weakly twitching into a smile.

“You were so angry…I.” Juniper sniffed, “I just wanted to go outside for a bit…to see the mountains. I don’t want to leave.”

His heart soared, cradling her back to his chest.

She gulped, feeling the stress flow out of his form.

Juniper held onto him until her breathing slowed.

“Karl?” She chirped.

“Hm?”

“Can we go home?”

“…of course.”

He didn’t allow her to walk until they were almost all the way back, instead holding her close as they went. She didn’t argue, enjoying his warmth.

Once back in the apartment Heisenberg showered first. After washing away all the filth and somber feelings down the drain he haphazardly dried then sprawled across the bed. He lay looking up at the ceiling with glazed eyes, fidgeting with his necklaces.

He listened to the sound of the shower as Juniper cleaned herself.

He didn’t realize how much it would hurt finding her missing, she had become a normality in his chaos.

“Karl?” Juniper chirped, approaching the bed. “Hm?” Heisenberg raised a brow, scratching his chin. He lay down across the sheets in only boxers and a light shirt.

“I was cleaning up the storage room the other day and found some old books.” She sat on the bed, one of them in her hand.

She held it up; its old leather cover showing delicate gold text, worn with time.

“I think it’s in Dutch.” She mused, opening it up.

Heisenberg shifted closer, looking at the pages.

His eyes scanned over the words for a moment before he made a sound of realization.

“It’s not Dutch, it’s in German!” He smiled. He snaked his arms around Juniper’s waist pulling her backward, deeper into the bed.

She giggled a bit as he shifted into a more comfortable position, keeping an arm around her. She cuddled into his side, looking over the words.

She was unable to read the words, but still liked looking it over in almost a childlike way.

“Why do you have so many German books?” She asked, “Can you speak German?”

“When I was younger I could.” He placed his chin on her shoulder, “Very rusty now.”

She bounced a bit, smiling excitedly.

“Say something in German!”

“Why?”

“I want to hear it.”

“Shit, give me a second”

His pale eyes clouded with thought, hugging her closer as he did so. She cuddled into his side. Juniper loved his warmth, like an electric blanket.

He shifted enough to look into her eyes.

“Du bist die sterne meiner nacht.”, his voice was gentle, the thicker accent surprising her a bit.

The way his lips moved and the way the words hit her ear enthralled her.

“What does it mean?” Juniper blinked up at him.

“If you wanted to understand me you shouldn’t have asked me to speak German.” He smirked, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“You’re a bastard!” Juniper lightly shoved him, causing him to bark with laughter.

(Du bist die sterne meiner nacht: You are the stars of my night)

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #heisenberg smut #resident evil

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itsjustmyfantasyroom · 4 years ago

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Paper Surprise part 2

Follow on from: Paper Surprise

Just want Miguel to have a happy ending cause I love him. Thank you @beccabarba for reading over it to see if it was ok before I posted it.

Warnings: Smut.

WC: 2511.

Enjoy x

You were walking around the gallery doing some final touches on the multiple art works hanging around the walls while the catering staff set up the food and drinks. You made sure all the lights over each piece of work was on, there was no dust on them and they were hanging straight. You had just walked into the break room to put on your heeled boots when you heard the bell of the front door,

“Sorry we’re closed” You walked out of the room pushing your skirt down over your stockings and you stopped in your tracks freezing. You pulled your glasses off your face to make sure you weren’t seeing things,

“Y/N” His voice sent a shiver down your spine just like the night on the beach just a couple of years ago. You stood there raising an eye brow at him and crossing your arms in front of yourself leaning into one hip “I was hoping you still worked here”

“What are you doing here Marcus? Wait no, I mean Miguel”

Miguel walked over to you resting his hand on your elbow. You didn’t shy away from his touch and a smile pulled to his face. You looked down at his long fingers resting over your clothed elbow before your eyes scanned up his arm, up to his neck, over his bearded face and locking eyes with him,

“I want to talk to you. That night at the club. You haven’t left my mind” he sighed.

“But you lied to me” you snapped back.

“And I’ am sorry I did, but I didn’t have a choice, I thought if I changed my name- I was naïve, it’s the biggest club in Cabo it was going to catch up with me”

You snorted and nodded your head at him.

“The opening is in 20 minute’s”

“Meet me after? Please?” Miguel titled his head looking down at you “The café on the next block over- midnight?”

You looked up into the sea of brown, your knees trembling threatening to give way and you instantly felt comfortable despite knowing about him.

“Ok” your voice was horse till you cleared it and you nodded.

Miguel lent forward, his warm lips landing on your boiling hot cheek. You sighed into them, your eyes closing for a brief moment before he pulled away giving you a quick wink and turning on his heels to walk out the door. You stood there frozen watching as he walked out, getting into a black SVU and it driving off.

Before the opening you had messaged Alice letting her know what had happened and giving her the details of the meet up, just to be on the safe side. You flicked the gallery lights off at 11.45, walking out and locking the door, a big smile planted on your face at how successful the show was and how pleased your boss was that you had managed to secure buyers for every piece, all deposits paid in cash within a couple of hours.

As you made the short walk to the café, you stopped at the store front next to it, looking at your reflection. You fixed your white button down in your skirt and you hooked you hair behind your ears. You opened your bag pulling out your gloss, quickly reapplying some and walked to the door opening it and walking in.

Your eyes scanned the dim, somewhat crowded room, when you found Miguel sitting in the back corner looking directly at you. You weaved your way through the tables and he stood up as you got him, walking around the table to greet you. Miguel lent over kissing your cheek and then he moved the chair out for you to sit down and he sat down across from you. You both put in your orders and then sat back in your chair looking at Miguel leaning on the table,

“How was the opening?”

“Great. Sold all the pieces” you smiled at him.

“Congratulations. Thank you for meeting me Y/N”

“No worries. What did you want to talk about?”

Miguel took a deep breath licking his lips “I want to explain why I gave you a different name. I want you to see me for me, not for anything you have read or heard”

You sat there and listened on as Miguel explained everything to you. About his family, about him, about the bad things he done without going into detail, about his marriage, why he left Santo Padre and what happened in the last two years.

“Ok” you took a deep breath sitting up in your chair leaning on the table “That’s a lot to take in. You have a very colourful past Mr Galindo”

“I do, I have a lot of regrets. I didn’t want to add you to the list Y/N. That night- it felt amazing to be wanted again, for me”

“I’ am not going to lie, you haven’t left my mind since then. Even after everything I read. But what are you doing now?”

“Helping out with club in the Height’s, hopefully opening another one and running that”

You nodded and fell silent for a moment, sitting back in your chair, “Legit business?” you said out loud and Miguel nodded back.

“For the first time in my life. Y/N, I can understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after lying to you and you hearing all that. It’s a lot and I did a lot of things I’ am not proud of and still haunt me. But I didn’t want to lie to you again. I didn’t want to hide anything if you do decide to give me a chance and if you don’t I’ll never disturb you again, but I’ll never forget you”

“Are you really done with that life?” Miguel nodded back.

“Sleep on it” Miguel grabbed your hand. "I’ll be at the club tomorrow night covering a private function. If you show up, that’s your answer”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then that’s your answer” Miguel squeezed your hand.

***

You walked into the club when most people should be sleeping. You had a talk with Alice and she told you to go for it,

“Y/N, it’s been two years! He’s done more than enough to prove himself and he has been honest with you, what more do you need?”

You walked into the overly loud, overly crowded room getting up on your tippy toes to try and see over the sea of heads looking for the private room. You noticed the ‘Private Function’ sign and started to make your way through the crowd. You made it to the bar standing in line when you felt an arm come around your waist and a pair of lips at your ear,

“Guess I have my answer” You smiled wide and turned, coming face to face with Miguel “See those stairs over there” Miguel nodded towards the side of the room “Go up and wait for me”

“Ok” you nodded and smiled.

You stood up in the office space looking out the big roof to floor window, looking down at the dancing crowd, the strobe lights flashing and bouncing off the walls and the bar que 20 people long. You saw Miguel walk out of the private room and to the bar saying something to the bar tender, who hurried off and he looked up at you giving you a wink before the bar tender was back handing him a bottle and two glasses and he started to walk across the dance floor.

You were tapping your foot to the beat of the music when Miguel walked in through the door closing it behind him and walking to the desk sitting the bottle of wine and the glasses on it. He was behind you in a flash, his arms going to wrap around your waist pulling you back into him. You bit your bottom lip as he kissed up your bare shoulder, the feeling of his beard brushing on your skin making you giggle and squirm against him,

“You came” Miguel purred into your ear “I’ am glad”

You turned your head, looking out of the corner of your eye at him, a grin pulling to your face.

“I’ am glad I did too”

You pushed back into him and a growl escaped him, pushing his crotch into you. You wriggled your hips over his hardening cock and his arms around you tightened.

“I promise you, Y/N” one of his hands ran up to cup your breast over your shirt and the other ran down to your thigh toying with the hem of your skirt “I will be completely honest with you”

You moaned nodding your head. Miguel’s hand slid up your skirt, up the inside of your thigh.

“And” you gasped when his finger slipped into your panties “If your past comes back to bite you, you need to tell me. Oh Miguel” you groaned when two fingers slipped into your warm wet core and he started to pull you back from the window backing you both towards the desk.

“I promise” he whispered “But for now, it’s been two years” His thumb connected with your clit and you groaned, your knees trembling as his fingers started to move in and out of you fast “I know this is going to be as good as I remember”

The pit in your stomach was filled with knots and your skin caught on fire as the knots snapped, your breathless moans bounced off the walls and your knees threatened to give way as you came hard on his fingers.

“Good girl” Miguel grunted into your ear thrusting his hard cock into you, pulling his hand out of your panties bringing his fingers up to your lips, while his other hand slid up your shirt, his hand rested on your belly button.

You grabbed his wrist parting your lips and sinking his long fingers into your mouth, running your tongue around them, pulling them out with a pop and Miguel groaned in your ear. Miguel pulled his hand from out of your shirt and stepped back, reaching into his pocket pulling out a foil wrapper. You turned, reaching over to undo his belt buckle, pants button and unzipped the zipper pushing them down to land at his feet. Your eyes locked with his lust filled ones as you hooked your pointer fingers into the waist of his boxers, pulling them down and letting them slide down to meet his pants. You ran your hands up the tops of his thighs, one of your hands resting on his hip and the other wrapping around him, stroking him lazily.

Miguel surged forward, his lips finding yours, the kiss intense and deep straight off. Miguel’s free hand run up your arm, up over your shoulder, over your neck and up into your hair, balling his hand into a fist pushing your head into him more. His pre cum covered your hand and he pulled back taking your bottom lip between his two, stretching it out and then letting it go for it to snap back into place.

His hand came out of your hair and he ripped the foil packet with his teeth, throwing the wrapper on the floor and rolling it one. You licked your lips watching his long fingers moving over him as he rolled on the condom. Before you knew it, Miguel grabbed your hips spinning you around and bent you over the table, pushing the middle of your back forward so your chest was resting flat on the cold metal desk. You felt his fingers at the hem of your skirt again pulling your skirt up over your hips and his fingers traced down over the lace edge of your cheeky cut panties,

“See you came ready for me, dirty girl” Miguel’s fingers grabbed the waist of the panties and pulled them down letting them slide down to your ankles.

“Miguel’s dirty girl” you purred, pushing your hips back into him.

A smirk came to his face and both of Miguel’s hands gripped your hips and you felt the head of his cock starting to push up into you, the stretch an amazing burn. Miguel saw your mouth drop open and he thrusted up the rest of the way till he bottomed out. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to him before he was slamming into you hard, deep and fast, hitting the right spot every time. You lifted your chest up off the table, resting on your elbows, pushing back into him, his balls smacking into you.

You felt the familiar sensation starting to wash over you and Miguel started to feel your walls clamp around him. One of his hands started to run up under your shirt running up over your back and his other snaked around to your clit rubbing it with his pointer finger,

“Fu-Miguel” you panted out loud.

Miguel thrusted his hips up into you hard, his movements getting sloppy, his own release not far behind. You pushed back into him hard your hands balling into fists on the desk, chanting his name and your eyes slamming shut tight while your orgasm raged through you. Miguel trusted up, his balls tensing and he fell forward, his hands landing on the desk as he spilled his seed deep inside you, your name and Spanish words pouring out of his mouth.

Miguel lent over you, kissing your shoulder up to the base of your neck before pushing up off the table, pulling out of you and moving away to clean himself up. You finally caught your breath pushing yourself up off the table, bending down to pull up your panties and push down your skirt. You used the back of your pointer fingers to wipe away smudged mascara. You turned around searching for Miguel and he looked over at you with a smile on his face as he did up his belt buckle walking over to you.

When Miguel got to you he cupped both your cheeks, his lips meeting yours kissing you sweetly and then peppering your face with kisses wrapping his arms around your shoulders pulling you into him. You wrapped your arms around him, you both melting into each other, Miguel’s head resting on top of yours. You both staying like that for a long moment.

After a while you felt Miguel reach up taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tipping your head back,

“Thank you”

You frowned looking up into his face and then raised an eye brow,

“For?”

“For being my second chance” Miguel brushed his nose over yours “I promise Y/N, I have learnt from my mistakes”

You pulled your chin away from his fingers and reached up to cup his cheeks. You ran your thumbs over his cheeks and he smiled down at you

“Hey, I just want you to be you. Everything is in the past. New York, New Miguel.”

Tags: @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @withmyteeth @alwaysachorusgirl @amorestevens

#miguel galindo #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo smut #miguel galindo x you #mayans mc #mayans fanfic #maynas #mayans smut #mayansmc

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thedistantdusk · 3 years ago

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y + T W O

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

#harry/ginny fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #x-files #canon compliant #au

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