#did not mean to get a little drunk but i put two shots of brandy in my sparkling water to be faaaaancy

[six-of-ravens]

tonight is going very well. made one of my fav recipes. dancing around the apartment to chappell roan. made an affogato (with maraschino cherries bc for some reason I have a jar of those?). playing totk for the first time in many weeks. a little drunk. it's a mood it's a vibe.

[xpeachesncream]

restart | six

[ SEQUEL TO PERFECTLY WRONG ] | [ series masterlist ]

summary: as you and taehyung start to build your life together post graduation, things become more complicated than what you expected it to be. while taehyung struggles with his inner demons, you’ve become the sole supporter, the pillar, juggling different jobs to keep you two afloat. your love for each other has been put to the test as your relationship continues to face hurdles - hurdles that have you questioning whether or not your relationship will make it through.

pairing: reader x fiancé!kth

genre: post grad au, established relationship au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.9k

warnings: cussing/mature language, jealousy, lots of insecurities and overthinking, angst, crying, arguments, y/n and tae get really mean with each other honestly, unprotected soft sex in the flashback scene, alcohol consumption, y/n really going above and beyond for her man though

note: taehyung’s one shot for the witchers one series will be coming out.. probably this weekend? i’ll continue taking some breaks in between posting new chapters for bands and restart so i can work on this too!

tags: @enchantaeduniverse​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @sapphirejeon @jwlmnbt​ @bluesharksandfish​ @ra-mun-e @brightcolorsoffendme​ @jungcrookthecookbook​ @sunniejinnie​ (please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

You looked at the new picture hanging on the hall at Jin's café. It was a picture of you, Taehyung and your friends in your graduation caps and gowns. You smiled to yourself seeing how happy you all were to finally overcome the milestone together, how happy you and Taehyung were to have gotten through it together.

It seemed like a distant memory.

"Hey." Jungkook comes behind you, his blonde hair almost covering his eyes.

"Hmm?" He follows your gaze to the picture.

"What time is your shift over?" He asks, trying to change the subject. You turn to him and sigh, checking the time on your phone.

"Mm, in a bit actually. I have to run home and get ready."

"Oh hey, you're meeting that girl today right? To see if you can sell some of your art and merch in her boutique?" You smiled from ear to ear.

"Yeah! She's such a sweetheart, I'm super excited. I hope it works out."

"I'm sure it will." He pinches your cheek. He doesn't say anything else, being that he can tell other things were on your mind but you weren't ready to talk about it yet.

Racing home to the apartment, you decided to hop into a quick shower and throw on some better clothes. You still couldn't believe Brandi had came up to you at the flea market, almost feeling like she was a blessing in disguise. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, the excitement peeking through as the minutes went by.

"Hey! Goodluck today, little one!" You picked up Jin's call as you walked out of your apartment and down to your car. Taehyung, for whatever reason, was nowhere to be found, and you figured he was just out with Namjoon or one of their other friends. You had left him sound asleep earlier, and you didn't think he had any plans today. But, you would just have to see him later and tell him all about the meeting. You were actually excited to, especially after last night.

➤ FLASHBACK

Taehyung gripped onto the headboard as he rolled his hips into you, your clit rubbing against him as his body lowered onto yours. He kept his eyes on you, his lips barely grazing yours as he softly hissed and let out small moans.

“Hmmmfuck.” You softly mewled. For once, the love making felt like old times - the passion. The fire. The feelings. It felt like Taehyung was making love to you like the world was going to end. And the thought of it, the feeling of his body against yours, the warmth - it made you feel complete, and like you never wanted to leave this moment.

"I love you so much, baby." He whispers as he continues to pick up his pace, rolling his hips and working in tandem with yours.

"I love you, too." You softly say as your fingers lock into his hair, his lips pressed gently against your neck as he laid soft kisses along a straight path and nipped at your skin. You arch your back slightly, the pleasure starting to bubble up within your core as you hear Taehyung moan against your neck.

"God, baby I'm gonna cum." He continues to moan. "Cum with me."

"Close." You moan softly, tugging on his hair as he picks up his pace and begins to thrust a little more aggressively. "I-I'm--"

"Uh huh." He nods. "That's it, love."

"I'm gonna cum." Your hands are now gripping his shoulders, nails digging deep and leaving red marks against his honey-dipped skin. It takes a few more rolls before you feel your body trembling under his grip, muffled moans trying to escape as you let the orgasm ripple through you. As you come down from your high, you feel Taehyung fill you up warmly, his body still ontop of yours as he tries to regulate his breathing. He presses his lips against your jaw, to your forehead, to your nose, then back down to your lips before he removes his softening member from within you and plops next to you on the bed. He instantly swoops you into his arms, your head laying on his chest as you ran your finger in circles around his collarbone.

"Baby." He says softly. "You mean everything to me. You know that right? I got you through anything, no matter what." You simply nod before he places another kiss against your head.

➤ END FLASHBACK

"Thank you. I'll tell you all about it later, okay?"

"Sounds good. I know this'll work out. I'm proud of you, you know that right?" Your smile lightly fades. Yeah, it was a big deal, but you still hadn't told anyone a lot of your other plans had been put on pause.

"I know." You softly chuckle. "K, I need to get going. I'll call you later."

"Love you, drive safely." He says before you return the love and hang up. You hopped into your car and began to drive off to the destination downtown. However, as you neared the boutique, another call came through to your car, but from an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Miss Y/L/N?"

"Yeah, this is she."

"Hey there. Could you come down to Jack's? We have your fiancé here. He's intoxicated and he's been giving the staff a hard time." You sigh and look at your watch. Jack's was on the opposite end of town. You were never going to make it on time for your meeting. You had promised you'd be there to make this work.

"Where is he?" You say as you quickly park your car and make your way to the restaurant. You see him slouched onto the bar, slurring his words to the police men. The bar stools around him were all turned over, glasses broken and flyers from the wall had been ripped off. You couldn't help but begin to cry because you knew this was all Taehyung's doing, and quite frankly, you had so many emotions - you were scared, upset, empty, exhausted. You didn't know what else to do, but you loved him.

And yet here you were again, pushing your goals aside to help the love of your life.

"Tae, baby. Let's get up, okay?" His eyes are glazed as they turn to you. He smiles, but he struggles to get up, the police man helping support him as you both bring him to your car.

"Baby girl." He mumbles.

"Shh. Just stay here." You shush him as you get him situated in the passenger seat, tears streaming down your face.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but this damage needs to be covered." You took the ticket from the police man, showing the restaurant charging over $200 worth of the damages.

"It's fine, I'll take care of this. I'm so sorry."

"If you need anything, please let us know." The cop couldn't help but sympathize looking at you. At this point your cheeks were hot, tears continued to stream down your face and your hair had become a mess having supported Tae back to the car. You silently climbed in, crying to yourself as you drove back to the apartment, Taehyung slumped and asleep in the passenger seat.

You did your best to support him back to your apartment, the security guard offering help but you turned him down. You had been doing good so far and you thought you had this in the bag. As you had exited the elevator, Taehyung stumbled upon his own two feet, bringing the both of you down.

"Babe, get up please." You cried, using all of your force to get him up. He did try his best to stable himself as you stood, but the five steps to the front door ended up being twenty, with a few more stumbles in between. "Please, we're almost there." You continued to cry.

You finally got Taehyung out of his clothes and into the bed, washing his face with a warm towel before you let him sleep peacefully. You made your way to the living room and just broke down. Your meeting was way past its time, and yet you had passed on another great opportunity because you needed to be there for Taehyung. You felt helpless.

You just didn't know how else to do it.

"Hello? How'd it go?" Jungkook asks on the other line.

"Kook, I don't know if I could do this anymore." You cried into the phone. "I can't do it." You cried silently, heavily.

"Y/N." He sighs worriedly. "What happened? Do you want me to come by?"

"No, I-I just—" You cry as you sink to the floor, your back against the wall. "I've given up so many things for him, and he even apologized last night. Saying he'd do better and all this shit, but he hasn't. I knew this would happen and-and I can't—" You ramble on and on, Jungkook worried as he tries to decipher what you're saying through your crying.

"Slow down, and tell me what just happened."

"I didn't even get to meet her, Kook. I was on my way when I got a call from the cops saying he was drunk and giving the staff a hard time at Jack's. Shit was torn up, the stools were turned over, flyers ripped off the walls." You mumbled through your cries. "I told them I'd take care of it and handle the damages. Why would he do this? Why would he do this to me?" Kook sighs heavily.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'm sure there's a lot of things going on in his head that can help explain this. And I can help you take care of the damages, it's not a big deal."

"No."

"Stop. Let me help you." He pauses. "Can you text Brandi and just let her know it was an emergency or something? I'm sure she'll understand."

"I'm so humiliated though, like I can't even face her after I stood her up."

"Listen to me. It's not like you meant to. Just text her and explain, she seems like a really nice and understanding person. Don't feel embarrassed. Shit happens."

"You don't get it, bunny." You cried harder, silently, hoping you wouldn't be too loud to wake up Tae. "This was the last chance I had. I-I told Jimin I wouldn't be working on the shop right now. I gave all this shit up for him and I really just can't do this anymore. I've set myself aside to be there for him, only for him to fuck me over in the end. He doesn't realize how much he's been hurting me." You're feeling so many emotions at once that you don't even know if you're making sense. You wanna say so much, but you can't. You wanna get back up on your feet, but you can't.

"It's not gonna be the last chance." He says softly. "You're always welcome to crash with me if you'd like, just to give yourself some space." You sigh, finally able to slow down your crying and regulate your breathing.

"I can't just leave him."

"Y/N. He's gonna have to learn one way or another." Suddenly, you hear some stirring in the room, causing you to frantically wipe your tears and get yourself together.

"I have to go, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Let me know if you need me, I'll be there." You hang up the call and turn your attention to the room when you hear Taehyung give off a small groan. You rush over, seeing him bent over on his knees on the side of the bed, his hands pressed against his face. "You alright?" You ask him softly, already prepping the trash can with a paper bag inserted inside in case he needs to release.

"I don't feel too—" And as you assume correctly, you hold the trash can up to him as he releases, your heart breaking at the sight of him struggling. You were torn - torn between wanting to do everything and wanting to do absolutely nothing at this point. You were spent, you had given him everything and you were left with nothing besides the uncertainty of your relationship and the umpteenth amount of tears you had been shedding.

This wasn't fair to you, and you couldn't let him keep doing this to you.

After he seems to be done being head first into the trash can, you set it aside to clean up later and give his face another good wash up with a warm towel. He seems a bit better and more sober after having vomited, but you get him to go back to sleep while you head into the kitchen to heat up some water and make some tea. You ponder on your thoughts, on your feelings, while waiting for the electric kettle to flip the switch, hinting that the water was done heating. You pour yourself and Tae a cup - green tea for you, while you whipped up some ginger tea with lemon for him. You walk over to the room seeing him asleep, but he slightly opens an eye when he feels your body dip into the edge of the bed.

"Drink this while it's hot." You say as you place the cup on the night stand.

"Thank you, baby." He manages to say raspily. "Stay with me?" You shake your head.

"I need to take care of some stuff outside." And with that, you don't turn to look at him or give him more of your attention before simply walking off. You bite onto your bottom lip as you head back to the kitchen, pulling out your laptop to start organizing the bills and figuring out which ones to pay off first. You almost forgot you had these deadlines to meet.

It's close to 8pm when Taehyung finally gets up and walks out to the kitchen, seeing you still hovering over your laptop. This time though, you had a bowl of ramen ready for him to go, while you had just finished devouring yours. You don't say anything as he comes forward to the kitchen island, but his eyes are locked onto you. You turn to face the sink and start washing your bowl when you feel his arms snake around your hips and his lips pressed against the back of your head. And as much as you wanna sink into his body, you don't.

"Baby, I'm so—"

"Save it." You aggressively throw your spoon down into the sink before turning to face him. "Don't."

"Y/N, please. Just let me explain."

"No, Taehyung. Not anymore. I've heard it way too many times and I'm tired." You say, your eyes starting to water. "I'm so tired. You knew today was the day I had to meet Brandi. Why couldn't you just hold off for a second, Tae? Do I literally have to give up everything for you?"

"Woah, I never said you had to—" You scoff as you cross your arms.

"You didn't have to say it. All this shit you've done, throwing the whole Jimin thing in my face, getting drunk and acting up." You cry. "You don't think I can catch on? I'm not stupid, Taehyung. Don't take me for a fucking dumbass."

"I've been here struggling with my own feelings too okay, Y/N? It's been a fucking shit show for me and I don't think you understand."

"You don't think I understand?!" You yell, appalled at his argument. As much as you didn't wanna play the pointing fingers game, you had no choice but to since Tae didn't seem to get it. He obviously didn't understand you even though he said he did last night, and that's what hits you. "I know you've been struggling and I've been doing my very best to be there every step of the way for you to help support you. I gave up this shit with Jimin and told him to hold off because I knew you were having trouble with it. I fucking went to the school event 10 minutes late and tired out of my goddamn mind, and I just got lucky Dr. Forneo wasn't done with his speech or else I would have been shit out of luck too! And then today, I was on my way to meet Brandi when I got the call that I needed to come get you because you decided trashing Jack's was the perfect way to show how frustrated you've been feeling. Don't tell me I don't fucking understand when I've done it all just to be here for you! I pushed myself aside for you, and quite frankly, I feel like I've just been wasting my life in this relationship." You say harshly, a little taken aback at the words that come out of your mouth, but you have no intentions of bringing it back. He scoffs, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looks at you, expression full of hurt and betrayal.

"If you've been feeling like that, why didn't you tell me sooner so I could have just left you alone? So I wouldn't have wasted all this time for you?"

"I love you so much, and I hate seeing you hurt. I wanted to do everything in my power to help relieve you, help you get rid of this pain you've been feeling, but I've just been hurting myself in the process. You haven't even realized it. I can't do this to myself anymore, Taehyung. I can't." In a quick moment, his expression quickly turns into more hurt and frustration, his brows furrowing as his tears continue to come down.

"Then fucking leave Y/N! Leave, if this shit isn't what you want!" He yells loudly that you're a little startled by his tone.

"You'd just let me go like that?" You ask shakily.

"Go and be like the rest of them, like I give a fuck." He says, sounding exactly like the asshole Taehyung you had dealt with the night of Jin's café party. "You don't know what it's like—" He shakes his head. "To feel so completely useless and unworthy. To have people remind you and throw it in your face constantly how much of a fuck up you really are." He pauses, glaring back at you. "You're just like Hana, you know?" He instantly regrets it the moment it slips, but it's too late for him to take it back. You cry harder at the statement because why in the fuck would he say some dumbass shit like that? You were not her whatsoever. And you'd like to think you've done a hell of a job sticking by him through thick and thin. Not like her.

"Don't ever say that shit to me again. I am not her." You put your foot down. "I know I can't relate but the one thing I do know is that I gave you my everything, and I did nothing but stand by you through thick and thin. As much as I want to do it all, you have to do your part in getting yourself out of this, too. There's only so much I can do for you. Don't tell me you're in this for the long run when you can't even realize that shit. This isn't how you're supposed to treat somebody who loves you, somebody you call your fiancé. This isn't how we get by together. And you know fucking better than that." You spit out, aggressively wiping your tears. "I'm going to stay at Yoongi's until we leave."

"Y/N." He sighs deeply, following you into the room.

"No, don't touch me." You look at him as you break free from his grip. "You said what you said. I'm not doing this shit anymore." You softly cry. "Clearly, we need the space." You began to pile your clothes and necessities into your luggage, removing all attention away from Taehyung.

"Fine." Is all he manages to say before he's grabbing a jacket and heading out of the room. You hear him yell a loud 'fuck!' before glass hits the wall and shatters, followed by the front door slamming shut. You break down onto the ground and cry everything you have left in you. What did this mean for the both of you, you had no idea. After all of this, you still wanted him and you still hoped this would work out. Half of you suddenly didn't want to leave on these terms, but you knew you had to - to give yourself some space and give Taehyung enough space to hopefully learn and snap himself out of it.

But shit, this fucking hurts.

Suddenly you look at your ring and you have no idea what to feel.

By the time you're done packing what you need to pack, you feel so groggy and beat that you can barely make your way to Yoongi's. Your head is pounding and everything around you feels like dull, white noise. Sleep is the only thing on your mind.

"Hey." Yoongi steps aside to let you in. He grabs your luggage from you and sets it aside, following you into his living room space. "You okay?" He asks, knowing damn well you aren't but he figured this is how he could get the conversation started. You simply look at him, silently shake your head and begin to cry into your hands again. You feel Yoongi engulf you in his arms as he sits you down into the couch and brings your body close to his. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. It's gonna be okay. I got you."

"It fucking hurts." You mumble into his chest and he simply nods before slightly pulling away. "He just let me go."

"Let's get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep in mine and I'll stay out here." You nod as you wipe away your tears, Yoongi also doing his best to get rid of the stragglers streaming down your cheeks. He brings your luggage into the room and gives you some space to change and get yourself comfortable. Which, you do, but it takes awhile as your body wants to do absolutely nothing at this point. You shove yourself underneath his covers, a weighted blanket on top providing you with extra warmth. You turn to face the wall, hoping you could fall into a deep sleep soon.

But, you can't, no matter how exhausted you are.

"In here?" You hear Jungkook's voice faintly outside before he gently opens the door. You don't move in your position, even though you've just been blankly staring at the wall. You hear Jungkook gently shut the door before you feel his body weight on the edge of the bed. His fingers are running through your hair, brushing it gently as you continue to stare at the wall. "Y/N."

"Not now, Kook." He sighs.

"I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine."

"Can I at least do anything for you right now?"

"I just want to sleep." He nods.

"Okay. I'll be hanging out with everyone for a bit outside. Just let me know if you need me." He says, gently caressing your covered arm before heading out of the room. You sighed and closed your eyes once more, hoping you could finally drift off into a deep sleep.

But your thoughts continued to wander to your fiancé and his whereabouts, whether or not he was okay and where he was at. They always wandered to him. It never failed.

And yes, it was the same for Taehyung. It was the same all the time.

He thought about you 24/7, he even thought about you now as he looks down at the notification lighting up on his phone.

The notification that gives him permission to come upstairs to her apartment.

but when i see you it hurts, when i see you it starts to hurt baby; i can see it in your eyes, I can see the pain in your eyes I'm sorry, tell me baby did it feel right to be with you and at the same time lose myself, my soul is burning out so casually

track four: lie 2 me - fern

[hello-everyfandom]

"James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Sirius becomes frustrated after a serious conversation about how much of a daft sod James is. 

Part One “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her, not me.”

Part Three “I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you.”

(Hello, my loves! I’m so excited to share this next part with you. Please read part one to this imagine linked above. This imagine has a little bit more comedy than angst, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy!)

Remus Lupin, as always, was right. James Potter woke up with a pounding headache, sore limbs, and face down in his bed. He groaned loudly, covering his head with his pillow to hide from the sunlight that peered through the dormitory curtains. He heard Sirius shuffle in his bed and sit up. His voice was croaky but louder than James would’ve wanted to hear first thing in the morning.

“Bloody hell, I feel like utter shite.” Sirius stretched. James groaned in response, “But hell of a party, eh mate?” James groaned again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever drink again, in my life. Or at least until the next party.” Peter, who didn’t make it to his bed last night, chimed in from the floor.

“I’d lecture you lot, but I think you feel the punishment enough,” Remus said, pulling on a sweater, standing near the chest by the end of his bed. “Any of you even remember what happened last night?”

“Last night?” Sirius whistled, “Last night I got with the fittest bird, mate, you should’ve seen her. I-”

“Yeah, Pads. We get it,” Remus grumbled, “you look like you’ve been massacred by the giant squid..” Sirius looked down at his bare chest and saw dozens of hickies litter his chest. He grinned proudly and attempted to fix his awful bed head.

“Wormtail, man, you’ve got to cool it on the brandy next time. I looked over once and saw you drinking like a horse.” Sirius said, making Peter moan and nod. “And you, Mr. Prongs, saw you getting in quite a row with Y/L/N. Looked like you two were in a romance novel.”

Underneath his pillow, James blinked rapidly. Images of last night spread through his mind like wildfire. He felt his back go warm. He remembered seeing your face, your perfect face. He remembered your jokes and his slurred speech. He remembered declaring his love for you. He remembered your shattered face when Remus dragged him away. James Potter wanted to hit himself, no, he wanted to bury himself or sink into the Black Lake with rocks in his pocket. He wanted to be swallowed whole by his bedsheets and never see the face of the Earth again.

“What’s that?” he mumbled guiltily. What the hell was he doing? 

“Are you cross with Y/N? What happened?” Sirius asked again. Remus leaned on his bedpost, watching intently. James could feel himself become anxious, scared even. He was entirely confused and extremely hungover. He knew two things: one, he loved you. And two? He had utterly and completely screwed up. He had hit your past boyfriends for being dodgy and now here he was, telling you he loved you in the common room whilst pissed drunk. He thought quickly in his mind. He could admit to the boys he loved you and risk destroying his relationship with you, or he could pretend he forgot and preserve what little was left of your friendship. The idea of being without you, in love or just friends, could alone kill James. Besides the hangover, James felt weak. He wanted nothing more than to run into the common room, sweep you off your feet, and kiss you. But, he couldn’t, could he? If he remembered correctly, it didn’t seem like you reciprocated his feelings. James felt the wallowing hurt that submerged in his ribcage. He swallowed thickly, his mouth becoming dry.

“Uh, what? I don’t think so.” James made his decision. He’d do anything to make you comfortable, he’d swallow his feelings if it meant keeping you in his life. “I mean, I don’t remember much, mate. I think I was smashed by midnight.” Remus narrowed his eyes and pushed off his bedpost.

“You don’t remember anything?” Remus questioned.

James sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes before putting on his glasses, “I don’t think so,” he paused, pretending to look confused, “Why, did I try and flirt with the Fat Lady again?” 

“Nothing at all?” Remus asked again.

“No, Moons, nothing. Why are you questioning me? Bloody hell, I’ve just woken up.”

Remus felt disappointed in his friend and sympathy for his other. Part of him knew James was lying, James even admitted to him last night how much he cared for you before he passed out in bed. But, what he couldn’t understand was why he was lying. Surely James would’ve known about your feelings for him, correct? It was all confusing and Remus found himself wanting to force you together in a room just to talk things out. However, all he did was take a whiff and say, “I love you all, you’re my best mates, but you three smell like goblin dung. Take a shower, all of you.” And with that, he left the room.

Remus found you sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. You had a book in front of you as well as a cup of steaming tea. You had enchanted your teaspoon to stir every so often, making a small clinking noise. He sat across from you cautiously, unsure of how you would act.

“Morning,” you said without looking up from your book, “I’ve made you some coffee, I know you don’t like my cuppas.” 

“Morning,” Remus said slowly, reaching for the cup of coffee you had next to you. He sipped and then said, “How are you feeling?”

“Not as hungover as I thought,” you replied.

“And... last night.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Remus,” you said calmly. But you felt less than calm. You felt panicked and hurt and every emotion between. You dreaded seeing James, worried about what he may say. Worried he would blame it all on the booze or say that his confession was nothing but a silly prank. Either way, you knew that today would hurt.

“But-”

“Remus, please.” Remus complied for a short while as he nippled on his piece of toast.

“What do you think-”

“Remus, I love you. But, all I want  is forget about it. In my mind, it’s forgotten.”

Remus clenched his jaw and thought it practically is in James’ mind. But quickly debated on telling you. He’s seen you at your lowest, not truly accepting your feelings for James hurt you in the most horrible way. 

“Y/N, I think I should tell you-” Remus was rudely interrupted by the sound of footsteps hurrying towards you two.

“I am starving, with a capital ‘S,’” Sirius said, sitting next to you. “Oh wow, Moony, nice of you to make me coffee.” Before Remus could interject, Sirius had already taken a sip of his coffee. “Bloody hell, you need some sugar in there. Some milk wouldn’t hurt either.” Sirius turned to you, sending you quite a dazzling for someone who just woke up, “Good morning, lovely!” He said, placing a wet kiss on your cheek.

You groaned and quickly wiped it off, “You’re an arsehole.”

“No, I’m not,” you silently begged him not to say it, “I’m Sirius!” You rolled your eyes and began to say a snarky comment when you saw James walk over. His head down, refusing to make eye contact with you. He placed himself next to Remus and Peter before grabbing himself a slice of toast. Remus studied you closely, watching your emotions turned from annoyance to sadness. That sorrow quickly was replaced by a fake smile.

“I didn’t think I’d even see you alive today, nevertheless in the morning!” your joke hurt to say, but you smiled through it. James looked up from his plate, scratched his neck, and laughed nervously.

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” you replied, taking a sip of your tea to soothe your nerves, “You were quite the life of the party last night.”

“Yes, well,” James’ next words would cause you the worst suffering you’d ever endure, “I was quite drunk. Don’t even remember hitting the bed. Think Moony got me up there, but not quite sure.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. You knew it was too good to be true. He didn’t remember. He didn’t want you. He didn’t love you. Last night was a figment of your imagination, your careless mind playing dirty tricks on you, and sprouting false hope of a relationship between you two. You nearly scoffed at the idea. James was drunk and said somethings he didn’t mean.

“Y/N, you should’ve seen the-”

“Sirius, I can see the hickies from miles away, cover it up you slag.” Sirius shrugged and grinned, continuing to tell you the details of the party anyways despite you attending and being there. As you pretended to listen to Sirius and Peter rattle about, James looked at you from the corner of his eye. You were even more beautiful in the morning. Your hair was pulled back, and your sweater covered your hands. You held your tea with both hands, one hand holding the cup and the other steadying it with your palm. He noticed when you laughed, you would bite the inside of your cheek. James Potter was in love with you and even pretending for a second that he wasn’t was destroying him inside and out.

“I’m so hungover, I think I may be sick,” Peter said from the common room couch. He had taken one entirely for himself and didn’t plan to move till dinner. You draped a blanket over him,

“That’s what you get for doing shots. I told you last time you best not compete against Sirius, you know he’ll win.”

“Yes, but, if I keep practicing-”

“Peter, you fool.” You tutted and sat in the armchair, legs crossed under you. You soon heard small snored coming from his mouth and you were glad you had given him a blanket so he did not get cold. Remus sat adjacent from you, looking at you.

“You know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You said, quoting something you heard off of a muggle television show.

“‘m not sure you’d want to see the photograph if I did.”

“Remus Lupin!” you laughed, “you’re a being a prat today, aren’t you?”

“Just being honest.”

“Do I really look that bad?” you joked, pretending to smooth out your hair.

“No, not at all, actually. You look quite nice. It’s just that, you seem.”

“Seem what? Seem confident? Bold? Perhaps even enchanting?”

“You seem hurt.” Your jokes stopped, your smile disappearing from your face as Remus said honestly. You wished you could correct him and tell him you had never felt better in your life, but he knew you better than that. “Don’t you think you should talk to him?”

“About what?” You humorlessly laughed, “About how he forgot he told me he loved me?”

“Yes.” Remus said sharply, “I think it’d do you two some good to really talk about it.”

“It’s really sweet you care so much, Rem, but...” you paused, inhaling and exhaling, “he doesn’t remember. Maybe it’s for the better.”

“Or maybe he does and he just doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Remus, James Potter publicly declared his intense infatuation with Lily Evans every year we’ve been here. When has he ever been one to shy away from feelings?”

Remus thought, biting his lip and scratching at one of his scars, “Yes, well. I do suppose that’s true, but this is different.”

“How is it different?”

“James is in love with you,” Remus said finally. You shrugged and stood up, Remus watching your every move. You headed towards the girl’s dormitory stairs before turning around and pointing at Peter.

“Make sure he doesn’t become sickly, and if he does. Well. That’s your problem.” and left for the dorms, leaving your heart and stomach in the common room.

“Something’s happened.” Sirius said to James. Peter and Remus had left to go prepare for Peter’s potions exam in the library leaving Sirius alone with James. It had been a few weeks since the party and Sirius, call it his doggy sense, could feel that something was off with his best mate.

“What’s happened is that you truly are bollocks at wizards chess,” James said before taking down another one of Sirius’ knights.

“No, I mean, somethings happened with you,” Sirius looked at James who peered up confusingly. 

“What you talking about, mate? Nothing’s happened.”

“Yes, it has, Prongs. Ever since the party you’ve... deflated almost. Something’s definitely happened.” Sirius was worried. He had never seen his friend so lowly, so upset with himself.

“Is this about Y/N?” Sirius asked, knowing full well it was. James was not the only person not themselves nowadays. The Marauders barely saw you, you slipped in and out of the cracks at Hogwarts and seemed to only talk to Remus who swore up and down he knew nothing about it. In class, when Sirius would make jokes to you, you’d laugh but it wouldn’t quite reach your eyes. And, it was alerting how much time you and James had spent apart. The most time you’ve been away from each other was in first year when James accidentally set all your homework on fire, including your astronomy essay you had been working for weeks on. That fight was finally settled when James allowed you to dye his hair pink for a week, even then James was still extremely apologetic. 

James continued to be silent as Sirius prodded on, “C’mon mate, talk to me.”

“About what?” James asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes exhausted. 

“I think something happened between you and Y/N, have you kissed? Or did something even dirtier and never spoke about it? I’ve been there, but Y/N is your best friend.”

“Oh Merlin, no. Y/N and I did not sleep together,” 

“Then what? What happened? You two are acting like strangers and quite frankly, it’s scaring the living shit out of all of us.”

James flopped down on his bed, putting the pillow over his head once again. He mumbled something incoherent that made Sirius’ ears perk up.

“What’s that?”

“I told...” James sighed, “I told Y/N that I’m in love with her.”

Sirius was stunned. Speechless. His mouth agape and shocked. He pounced on James’ bed and slapped his shoulder, “Mate! You did it! Bloody hell, I thought you’d never do it.”

“Shut up, Padfoot, or I swear I’ll shove my foot up your tight little ass.” 

“But, you love her!”

“I do. I love her more than anything.”

“I mean, wow. Blimey, I’m proud of you. I always knew you two would... wait.” Sirius paused, “What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is...” James said, his voice becoming incoherent again. Sirius grabbed his pillow and chucked it across the room. James covered his eyes with his arm, “The problem is, I told her I forgot about it.”

“You what?” Sirius asked, stunned yet again.

“I told her I was so plastered that I didn’t remember any of that night.” 

Before James could register anything, Sirius had walloped him on the shoulder quite hard. “You fucking idiot.”

“Ow! Mate, bloody hell that hurt.”

“You told her you forgot about it? What are you? Daft?”

“No!” James cried, “I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Well look where that’s gotten you now, you idiot!”

“I understand the problem here, Sirius.” James moaned. Why did he do this? Why couldn’t he just gather his courage and tell you his feelings sober? “I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable... I’d rather be her friend than nothing, man. I couldn’t lose her.”

Sirius sighed and pushed back the hair that had gotten in his face after punching James with his fist, “If you weren’t my best mate, I’d kick you into the dungeons and leave you there for the Slytherins.”

James moaned again, “Oh my god. What do I do? I must be the stupidest bloke in the bloody world right now. She must hate me.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, “She probably does.” James sat up immediately.

“What? Do you think she hates me?” He said urgently, panic rising in his throat.

“No! Jesus, James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”

James Potter sighed glumly and shook his head, “No, she doesn’t.”

“I’m not going to talk to you when you’re pitying yourself, honestly Prongs, it’s somewhat pathetic.”

“She doesn’t love me, I could see it in her eyes when I told her.” Sirius delivered Prongs another good punch to the arm, “Ow! Stop hitting me, damn it!”

“You actually are the stupidest bloke, she’s obviously head over heels for you. You’re just too thick-headed to see.”  

“Padfoot, I just want to forget about it-”

“Well shove that thought up your arse, it’s too late. And now,” Sirius sighed, “You’re to tend to the mess you’ve created as it is seriously causing me great stress.”

“It’s causing you great stress?” James said incredulously. 

“Pick up your balls that have so magically fallen on the floor, and go tell her you love her. Or, well, I’m not sure she’ll be here much longer.” 

James could feel his nervous rise up in the form of bile. He knew he needed to tell you, hell he wanted to tell you. But, the thought scared him. He loved you. That’s all that mattered. And he loved you enough to tell you how he truly feels. James stood up, Sirius’ eyes on him.

“You’re right. Bloody hell, you’re right. I need to tell her I love her!” James stopped, “Wait before I tell her, can you do something for me?” 

“Anything,” Sirius said. James raised his fist faster than any broomstick and landed a hard punch on Sirius’ arm. Sirius howled and rubbed where he would soon be bruised.

“You know what that’s for,” James pointed at him before leaving the dorm. Sirius grinned to himself, proud of his persuasion skills. The room was quiet for a beat until the door swung open.

“Actually, I do have something I need you to do. for me.”

“Don’t hit me again, or I’ll punch you in the crotch.”

“What? No. I need you to pretend to be Y/N so I can practice what I want to say.”

Sirius loved James. He did. He was like a brother to him. But, he’d never admit this to anyone. Sirius reluctantly agreed and pretended to be you and helped nervous James Potter practice his speech. 

“Y/N wouldn’t say that,” James argued.

“Are you Y/N right now? Or am I Y/N right now?” Sirius said snottily. It had been an hour, maybe two or James and Sirius working out the kinks of James’ love speech to you.

“Y/N wouldn’t say ‘I want to butter your beer and take you in the broom closet,’”

“How do you know! You’ve never heard her say that!” Sirius cried out, completely in character.

“I’ve never heard her say that because she would never say that!”

“You told me to be Y/N, so I’m being Y/N!”

“At least be a good Y/N then!”

“You know who is a good Y/N?” Sirius asked sarcastically, “Maybe Y/N!” 

“Shut up and let’s run it again,” James grumbled. The door flicked open as Peter and Remus walked in, confused as to why Sirius had put on a long shirt with no pants and James had thrown his pillows everywhere along with half of the contents of his chest.

“Do I want to know?” Remus asked.

“Not at all.” The boys said together.

“Padfoot, forgive me if this is rude,” Peter started, “You have quite feminine legs.” 

[thoushallnotfall]

God Bless the Children of the Beast - Part 13

Previous // Masterlist

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Notes: Sorry this took a minute to get out guys; it’s been a busy week! 

God so much happens in this update. We literally jump through like 3 years. 👀

Okay, so I'm changing some history here. (I'm mean I've already done that because, well, the movie did and that's what I'm following; but we're doing it again) I know Thaler took over after Doc, but since they cut him from the movie and made it kind of look like Nikki just sort of ran things, that's the angle I'm going with. 👍 Like I've literally been planning this from the get-go so I'm not changing it now.

Warnings: None

1990

A lot had happened in the last year.

Rehab had been a success for you and the boys, and you all had managed to stay sober through the recording of Dr. Feelgood–Motley Crue’s first number one album. Nikki had surprised you all and gotten married; and while Brandi seems like a genuinely nice girl, you were just glad to finally see your brother happy and committed to someone for a change. 

Still, not everything was going so well. 

You were back out on the road touring for the new album, and the band was feeling the strain. They had never toured without booze and drugs before, and it was clearly getting to them. Not only that, there was trouble at home for Vince and Tommy, and neither of the were handling it well.

Normally, they'd party their frustrations away–get drunk, do some drugs, then find some chicks to forget their wives with for a little while–but without that outlet to fall back on, they had to find other ways to cope. Vince took it out on his bandmates–usually choosing to argue with Nikki or Tommy–while Tommy chose to either argue with Vince, or bottle up his feelings entirely. Of course, they both still cheated, but without the drinks and drugs it apparently wasn’t enough of a release for them. You tried to talk to them about it, but they both brushed you off for one reason or another. 

Vince’s growing animosity with Nikki, and on occasion Tommy, made him start to keep you at arm’s length. He didn’t have a problem with you personally, but your closeness with the other two made it difficult for him to open up to you despite your efforts to talk to him. As time went on, he just kept pushing you further away, becoming more distant, and you worried just how far he would drift from you and the others before he would just disappear all together.

You and Tommy were just as close as always–closer even, since rehab helped you get past some of your old bullshit–he just didn’t want to talk about his problems with Heather. Part of the problem was that he didn’t totally understand what was wrong; what little he would say about it was that she was being ‘weird and distant’ and that she wasn’t answering his calls, so he didn’t really know enough to talk about. 

But you also thought part of him was just too scared to talk about it. Tommy had dreamed about true love his whole life, and he found it–it had probably never occurred to him that he could lose it. Things had always gone so well with Heather; for there to suddenly be signs of trouble brewing probably terrified him. You wanted to talk to him about it–comfort him, if you could–but if he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t want to force the issue.

Aside from the personal problems, there was also the issue of Nikki running the show. 

When Doc was fired, Nikki had taken over trying to manage the band alone. He wasn't doing an awful job, and you helped him out as much as he would let you given his control freak personality. Still, it was the cause of a lot of the fights between him and Vince.

—

You and the boys were sitting at a table in the middle of a strip club, drinking waters and looking miserable. A waitress walks by with a tray of lemon drops, offering you the shots. They look amazing, and you can just imagine the sweet and sour shot burning down your throat, but none of the boys had drank this tour and you weren’t about to be the first to fall off the wagon. Nikki sends her away with an order for another round of waters–Vince looking less than pleased. Trying to escape the tense atmosphere, you glance over your shoulder to look at Tommy. 

He was standing at the payphone, looking upset as he talks into the handpiece; Heather must still be dodging his calls. You stare at him a little longer–watch the frustration and confusion on his handsome face–and even though you should be happy that things weren’t going well, you couldn’t help but hurt for him. You didn’t want Tommy to be unhappy, no matter what the reason behind it.

“They’re keeping us on the road–15 new days in Canada.” Nikki says, bringing your attention back to the table.

“I haven’t seen anything about any new days.” Vince says, looking annoyed. Uh oh. This would end in another fight if Nikki wasn’t careful. 

“Check your itinerary man.” Nikki replies.

“I would, but apparently someone doesn’t think it’s important to let the lead fucking singer know what the fuck is going on here.” Vince snaps.

“I’ll get you a copy of the new itinerary Vince.” You reply, trying to deescalate the situation. Just then, Tommy plops down in the seat next to you.

“Guys I fucked up. Heather’s being all weird and distant and–I drank.” He says, looking ashamed. “Well, a little–I had one shot and I’m sorry.”

“I’m gonna have a fucking cocktail too man.” Vince says before you have a chance to respond. “What are you gonna do about it Nikki?”

“Okay look everyone falls off the wagon once and awhile–” Nikki replies.

“Oh fuck you man, fuck off! Fuck the rest of this tour! It is the no fucking fun tour, and I am sick and tired of not having any fun.” Vince shouts, standing up.

“Vince!” You call out to him as he walks off, but he ignores you.

“Just let him go y/n.” Tommy says as Nikki chases after him.

You watch as Nikki confronts Vince, who physically pushes Nikki away before taking a shot. Just like that, sobriety was out the window. Nikki comes back up and sits down.

“Shit.” He says, slumping in his seat.

“I’ll get him the itinerary when we get back Nikki, and we’ll sort this out, okay?” You say, trying to be supportive. “It was just one drink; he was just angry because he’s stressed out.”

“I can’t believe I forgot to send him the new fucking itinerary.” Nikki says.

“It’s fine, you’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t stress about it; I’ll take care of it.” You reply. He looks over at you.

“You probably wouldn’t have forgotten.” Nikki muses, before sighing, hanging his head. “You’re right y/n, I do have a lot on my plate–too much, probably. I’ve been thinking for awhile now that I’m not really cut out for this manager shit–that I should probably hand over the reigns to someone whose better suited to the work so I can get back to just focusing on the music.” He lifts his head to look at you. “So what do you say? You wanna be our manager?” You stare at him like a deer in headlights.

“Excuse me?” You ask, stunned.

“You guys are cool with that, right?” Nikki asks, looking over at Tommy and Mick.

“Fuck yeah dude! That’s awesome.” Tommy says, smiling over at you. Even after everything, his smile made your heart race.

“About time if you ask me; she’s the obvious choice.” Mick says, taking a drink of his water, a smile playing on his lips.

“You really want me to be your manager?” You ask, looking back at Nikki.

“Yeah. You already have experience helping me and Doc, and I mean who’s better qualified to take care of us than you?” Nikki asks, smirking.

“You are uniquely qualified for the position–you’ve got nearly 10 years experience cleaning up our messes.” Mick jokes.

“I don’t know, I made a lot of those messes too.” You reply, smiling.

“Hell yeah you did!” Tommy says, raising his hand expectantly. You laugh, giving him a high-five.

“I’m just saying; yeah, maybe we could hire someone with more experience in management–but we could never find someone we trust more.” Nikki says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been with Motley Crue from the very beginning–you deserve this–and we know you’ll always do what’s best for this band.” You had to stop yourself from tearing up.

“Okay, if everyone’s cool with this–I’ll do it.” You say, smiling from ear to ear. “But you have to talk to Vince about it too.”

“Yeah, yeah–I don’t see why he’d have a problem with it, but I’ll tell him tomorrow when I bring him that fucking itinerary.” He says, leaning back and smirking at you.

—

February 1992

The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. You knew there wouldn’t be–Vince had become so flaky since Sharise had left. You look at the others, all looking pissed as you slowly hang up the phone.

“I’m telling you guys everything is fucking all upside down and flipped flopped and while we’re waiting for our lead singer to get his head out of his ass we’re getting left in the dust man!” Tommy says, standing behind his drumset. You sigh. “I’m just saying bands replace their frontmen and it still works okay? Van Halen–”

“I know Van Halen fucking did it cause you say that every single time Vince misses a fucking rehearsal.” Nikki snaps.

“Come on Tommy, he’s just going through a lot right now.” You try to reason with him. “Wouldn’t you be a little off your game if Heather left you?”

“Don’t even fucking say that man.” Tommy says.

“I mean, can’t you all just try and be a little empathetic for once? Please?” You ask.

“Whatever; just call the prick again.” Mick says. You sigh, making your way over to the phone, while Nikki moves over to the fax machine. You have a feeling you’re not going to be happy about the message he's about to send.

—

You’re working on some paperwork while the boys continue with rehearsal without Vince, when the blonde comes marching into the studio. 

“Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Vince asks, clearly pissed.

“Let’s save us all some time, especially yours Vince as it’s clearly more valuable than ours!” Nikki snaps back. You stand up and move towards them.

“You’d better tell me what the fuck’s going on man.” Vince says again.

“What’s going on is we’re down here, and we’re working, and we wanna be here, but we are tired of forcing you to be here with us.” Nikki says.

“Maybe I’d come in more if I liked the material.” Vince jeers.

“Maybe you’d like the material if you were in the studio making it with us instead of staring at your fucking watch!” Tommy jumps up and shouts.

“Woah, let’s all calm down.” You say, getting between them.

“Yeah, I’m staring at my watch because this album is fucking stupid!” Vince yells back. There’s a silence as the boys all look at each other. “You know what fuck all y’all. You know, I’m done. Fuck this, I quit.”

“Vince!” You call after him as he makes his way to the door.

“Good, ‘cause you’re fucking fired!” Nikki yells back.

“Nikki!” You shout at your brother, looking between him and Vince.

“I quit already, dick.” Vince says, walking out. Nikki slams the door behind him. You look up at him, as the room fills with a heavy silence, the weight of what just happened hitting them. Before anyone has the chance to say anything, you quickly run out after Vince.

“Vince!” You called his name through the rain, but he was already getting into his car. You quickly make your way through the downpour and jump into the passenger’s seat before he can drive off.

“What the fuck?” He looks over at you in surprise.

“I couldn’t just let you leave before we talked.” You say, your wet hair dripping water on the leather of the seat as you look over at him.

“I’m not going back in there y/n–I’m done.” He says, looking out the windshield.

“So what, that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna walk away?” You ask, not even trying to hide the tears pooling in your eyes.

“It had to happen sometime y/n–we all knew this was coming.” He said, still not looking at you.

“It didn’t have to Vince–it still doesn’t. I can talk to them, I can–” He puts his hand on yours.

“It’s over y/n. Let it go.” Vince says, looking into your eyes. You feel a tear slide down your cheek.

“So now what?” You ask. “What are you gonna do?” He moves his hand away and looks back out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I’ve still got my racing–and hey, I could always try making it as a solo artist.” He smiles over at you. “You wouldn’t happen to know any good managers, would you?” You laugh.

“Oh the boys would hate that.” You reply.

“Fuck’m–it’s your life, do what you want.” Vince replies. “Just think it over and let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.” You reply, reaching for the door handle. You stop, looking back at him. “And Vince, I just want you to know; no matter what happens–any of the drama or the bullshit that may come from this–you’re still my friend, okay? You’re important to me, and I love you.” Vince blushes, looking away.

“Yeah yeah, I love you too–now shut up and get out of my car.”

—

1993

You somehow convince the boys it would be fine if you manage them and Vince, and things for him were going fairly well. His first solo album, Exposed, was doing moderately well on the charts. Meanwhile, you were trying your best to deal with a Motley Crue without Vince Neil. John Corabi was brought in to be the new lead singer for the band, and while he was a good singer and a nice enough guy–he just wasn't Vince.

The fans knew it too. As much as Nikki and the others tried to promote John, everyone just wanted Vince back. Of course you did too, but what could you do? The band had succeeded because they were a group of stubborn fools who didn’t know when to give up, but that also meant they didn’t know how to back down from a fight–even when they knew they'd fucked up. No one wanted to admit they were wrong and come ‘crawling back’ to the other, so they were stuck in a stalemate.

—

You were sitting at home in your office, going over some paperwork for Vince, when you phone rings.

“Hello, y/n Sixx speaking.” You say absently as you continue reading over the paper in your hand.

“Y/N?” It was Tommy. He sounded upset. You set the paper down on the desk.

“Tommy? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N, I-I fucked up man, I fucked up so bad.” He stammers. “Fuck y/n, I, I–”

“Whoa, Tommy! Calm down.” You say, clutching the phone tightly. “Just tell me what happened.” 

“There was this fucking article–someone got pictures. Damn I’m so fucking stupid!” He shouts.

“Tommy, you’re not making any sense.” After a long stretch of silence, you hear a sob come through the line.

“Heather knows I cheated. She left me y/n–she’s kicking me out.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

A rush of emotions hits you like a freight train–too many to sort through at once. Anger, sadness, pity, illation, hope, guilt; each coming one after another. Anger at Tommy for cheating again. Sadness and pity at the pain he must be going through. Illation and hope because finally, finally, you might have a chance with him. And lastly guilt, that you would even consider your own feelings now, when he was in so much pain.

“Y/N?” Tommy calls out to you, snapping you out of your trance.

“Oh, oh god Tommy I’m so sorry.” You say, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Um, if, if you need somewhere to stay for awhile, you’re more than welcome to crash with me.” You offer.

“Really? You’re sure that’s cool?” He asks.

“Yeah of course.” You say. “It’ll be just like old times.” He laughs through a sob.

“Yeah, old times.” He repeats.

“You want me to come by? I can help you bring some stuff over.” You ask.

“Thanks y/n. God, what would I do without you?” He replies, and you smile to yourself.

You didn’t want to be this happy about Tommy’s marriage failing, but it had been seven years–seven long years, and you had given up hope of ever getting your chance with Tommy. 

Now, you might finally have one–a chance–and that thought alone nearly made your heart leap out of your chest. 

[swaps55]

Little Spoon

Requested by @mallaidhsomo, inspired by @shotce‘s adorable artwork. 

~

Even when they try to celebrate something these days, it turns into something closer to desperate drinking before the end of the night. Most of the time the desperate drinking goes well into the early morning, and not, Garrus thinks, because everyone is that hell bent on getting drunk. More like they don’t want to let go of each other’s company and go to sleep, where the only company is the nightmare scenarios in everyone’s heads.

Tonight is no different, even though it’s supposed to be. Shepard didn’t want to celebrate his birthday in the first place, but once someone – Garrus’ money is on Traynor – let it slip, the entire ship latched onto it.

Which is why the lounge is currently the busiest place on the ship. Kaidan manhandles Garrus, Joker, James, Dr. Chakwas and Cortez at a rousing game of poker. Liara and Tali giggle – Garrus now has recorded proof that Liara can giggle – on the couch as they explain an Earth romance novel series to Traynor and EDI. Shepard, on the other hand, sits at the bar with hunched shoulders, swirling a shot of whiskey with a scowl. It would be more intimidating if a half-eaten slice of cake wasn’t sitting next to him and a party hat Traynor had fabricated from an omnitool wasn’t hanging around his neck.  

Garrus knows when to quit at poker, so when the hand ends he slides into the seat next to Shepard and pours himself a turian brandy.

“Did Kaidan clean you out?” Shepard asks.

“And then some,” Garrus concurs. His brow plates shift. “You’re not drunk enough yet.”

“No kidding.” He holds up the shot and clinks it against Garrus’ carapace, then kicks it back. Garrus drinks his, pours them both another one, then grabs a napkin and dabs the whiskey that’s now on his carapace.

“So why are you anti-birthday? I thought humans loved commemorating their ages.”

Shepard grimaces. “How fucking old am I, Garrus?”

Garrus blinks. “Shepard, I have no idea. I don’t have your file memorized. Ok, I may have your blood pressure memorized. And your typical heart rate, both in and out of combat. Oh, and after that incident on Korlus I got to learn all about human blood sugar. Specifically yours. But not your age.”

Shepard tilts his head. “What’s my blood pressure?”

“Now, or usually?”

“Usually.”

“One fourteen over seventy-six.”

“Well, shit.”

“Drink your whiskey.”

Shepard does, so Garrus does, and then pours them both another. Shepard’s Cerberus metabolism makes the actual ‘drunk’ part a lot harder than it used to be. Through a lot of trial and error, Garrus learned the key is rapid-fire shots and a can-do attitude. Sometimes the can-do attitude has to come from Garrus.

“Ok, so back to your weird hang up with age,” Garrus says.

Shepard finds an empty bottle of beer and starts picking at the label. From the couch, Traynor utters the phrase “that’s not how a strap on works if you’re going for realism,” and Garrus regrets having ears.

“I should be turning 30,” Shepard says, so quietly Garrus almost misses it trying to tune out Traynor. “Thirty’s a big deal for humans. I guess.” He goes back to swirling his whiskey, holding the shot glass up to his eyeline and examining it closely before kicking it back.  

“Ah,” Garrus says wisely. It isn’t hard for him to get drunk, something he always forgets when he starts matching shots with Shepard. “But then you died.”

“Yeah. So how old am I? Am I thirty? Or am I thirty-two? I missed two fucking years of my life, Garrus. Those years were mine. I wanted them.” He turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the poker game going on behind them. Or more likely, the biotic major who is kicking everyone’s ass at the poker game.

“Two years of birthday sex would be a shitty thing to miss out on,” Garrus says with a solemn nod.

That earns him a snicker. “Something like that. I’ll be honest, I feel more robbed of the cuddling than the sex. I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s—”

“Shepard, I am gonna stop you right there, because I am not drunk enough to hear about the intimate details of your sex life and I am positive that all of your crewmates on the couch are now listening to every word you say.”

“We are not,” Tali huffs.

Garrus flicks a mandible.

Shepard shrugs, unconcerned.  “The cuddling is fucking stellar.” He shoots the whiskey, slamming the empty glass back on the table.

“I know. So you’ve said.”

Shepard probably doesn’t realize just how much he’s talked about Alenko’s snuggling superpowers. It took Garrus awhile to figure out how spoons factored into it, but eventually he got there. It was a lot less…weird than he’d been picturing. Humans are so endlessly bendy.

“I just…don’t particularly enjoy celebrating the reminder that I’m never getting those two years back.”

Garrus’ mandibles quiver. “Well, you weren’t supposed to come back at all. Dying is pretty permanent for everyone who’s not you. Why not celebrate the fact that when you stop brooding and Alenko gets tired of taking Vega’s money, you’re going to go back up to your cabin and be the little spoon you were born to be?”

Shepard tilts his head. “You might have a point there.”

“Hang on, the universe just provided me with some rather cosmic timing.” Garrus gets unsteadily to his feet, walks unsteadily to the couch and unsteadily leans Tali forward so he can grab a small parcel he’d stuffed behind the cushion.

“Hey,” Tali protests.

“You’re beautiful and I’ll make that up to you,” he informs her before shuffling back to the bar with the package. He clears his throat loud enough for the poker table to hear. He and Alenko had created a code word for this, but fuck if he remembers what it is. Thankfully, Alenko isn’t nearly as dense as Shepard, and figures it out. He lays his cards on the table, gets to his feet, and heads to the bar, pausing to grab another hidden parcel.

“Happy birthday,” Garrus says, handing him the gift. The packaging is just a zipped duffle bag. Garrus figured that having the idea was more important than figuring out how to make taped paper look special.  

Shepard narrows his eyes. “You got me a birthday present.”

Alenko leans a nonchalant elbow on the bar, beer in hand. Shepard, as predicted, hasn’t noticed his costume change.

“Yeah,” Garrus says. “Because I don’t give a damn how old you are. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

Shepard unzips the bag and pulls out a hoodie. It’s a pullover, just like the one Kaidan now wears, with the word “little” emblazoned on the front, over the silhouette of a spoon.

Shepard blinks at it, brow knitting in confusion, until he looks up and notices Kaidan wearing its twin. Only his says “Big” over the spoon.

The confusion melts into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He laughs, and looks back at Garrus. “You are such an asshole.”

Garrus holds up his glass. “I learn from the best.”

Kaidan slips the birthday hat still dangling from Shepard’s neck off so he can put the hoodie on. Garrus half expects both of them to bail for the privacy of Shepard’s cabin to practice what their hoodies preach, but the desire for shared company affects Shepard as much as it affects the rest of them. He abandons the bar and switches to the couch, bringing Kaidan with him. Liara moves over to give them room. When they sit, Kaidan draws Shepard into his arms and traps him close.

“To spooning,” Traynor declares, holding up a glass of wine.

“We should add that to our Forbidden Ops story,” Liara says, sipping her martini.

“Way ahead of you,” Tali says.

Shepard smiles, settling deeper into Kaidan’s arms.

Savior of the Galaxy, and Kaidan Alenko’s little spoon. Garrus shakes his head. He has the weirdest fucking friends.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

Paul’s Broken A Glass

a/n: this one goes out to @princessleiaqueen ! A spooky mclennon story for her soon approaching birthday. And a two parter as well! I must really care about her or something 🤭

Summary: In the latter part of October, Paul and John steal some wine for a belated birthday celebration. Home alone, the boys are faced with a masked threat that ruins any planned fun.

Part One: Spooky Specter Sir

Orange and red leaves floated from the trees like lost embers from a flame. They danced among the sunburnt clouds in the dusk sunlight and demanded Paul’s attention. It was pulling a melody from his mind and twirling into the cool breeze to be lost in the quickly approaching night. He could barely keep up with it when he was snapped back to reality by a nasally voice.

“Right then daddy long legs,” John called out. He broke into a trot to catch up with Paul on the desolate sidewalk. They had found themselves in a suburban neighborhood sprinkled with tasteful Autumnal decorations. John was too blind without his glasses to make out the pumpkins and such but he did know they were nearing Mimi’s house by muscle memory. “Slow it down. I’m the one with the goods, here.” John patted his oversized jumper that concealed a bottle of brandy and some expensive wine.

“Aye, and so have I. Get your cardio up, why don't ya’.”

To speak of cardio, Paul had got his heart racing just 30 minutes earlier as he watched John expertly nick the bottles from the corner store. He was left to, subsequently, follow John’s lead. He managed to grab a much cheaper wine that was far from the store keeps view but nonetheless, it had him shaking with excitement.

They booked it out of the store and down the street with a shout and something clattering to the ground behind them. If Paul had taken a moment to look back he would have seen the store clerk had chucked a cricket racket at them. But his heart had been pounding so loudly in his ears that nothing could make him look back other than the need to grab John by the arm to lead him down an alley. But by then they were long out of the clerk’s pursuit.

Now, sweaty but breathing right, Paul agreed to slow his pace to match John’s, though he could feel the song in his head slipping away into the night as he pulled his attention to his friend. 

“You never said where your aunt was gone to.”

“Not important, really. Think she’s out to visit a cousin’s cousin’s uncle’s sick sister or something.”

“Bad time to be a cousin’s cousin’s aunt,” Paul shrugged.

“Aye but it’s great for us and a good time for a second round of celebration for me birthday, at any rate.”

“I’ll cheers to that.”

The two kept at walking and talking, making banter out of whatever came into their minds. They were nearing John’s street when Paul gripped John’s bicep with a painful force. John let out a stifled curse and pulled his arm away. Paul had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes staring ahead. 

“Who the bloody hell is that?”

John squinted into the distance but couldn’t make out any human figures.

“Oh, put on your fucking glasses, Lennon!” Paul gave him a shake, finally looking to him before going back to the apparent person.

“Fine, McCartney! Fine!” John fished his glasses from his pocket and the world jolted back into clarity, the fuzzy haze clearing and allowing for dizzying definition. After adjusting to his renewed sight, he could clearly see the man at the end of the street. He was in dirty overalls and a mask that resembled a scarecrow's head, obviously in fancy dress for some creepy character. “Bit old for trick-or-treat, mate! And a week early to boot,” John yelled down the street.

Another assault came to his shoulder this time, and he looked to Paul with a bemused smirk. “The man looks like a loon! You’ll have him after us like that.”

“No worse than your staring,” John laughed, pushing forward. “We don’t even have to pass your Spooky Specter Sir, there. My streets just before him.” John pointed to the street sign with a limp arm.

Paul rolled his eyes, his initial fright somewhat subsided by John’s confident vibrato. “Don’t egg him on further, alright?”

John only rolled his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose as he began to walk backward. “You have my word,” He bowed dramatically, almost tripping over his still moving feet. “Now hurry along,” His voice picked back up to a shout, “so we might get pissed before the stroke of midnight turns the ugly duckling, there, into a pretty princess.”

Paul marched forward, grabbing Lennon by the arm and turning him around as he grumbled, “That's not even how it goes.”

“Isn’t it,” John laughed as they went down his street. He threw his head back to see if he’d gotten a rise out of the creep but said creep was gone. John adjusted his glasses again. “Buggers fast, I’ll hand him that.” He twisted to walk backward again, eyeing the bushes for a sign of the man.

Paul looked back at the same, now empty, spot and felt a chill travel down his spine. He didn’t like a single thing about that man and he certainly didn’t want to interest himself in where he might have gone. He made to shake the fear from his mind and turn his attention back to John's ever-approaching house. Before he could get halfway through his head-shake, he walked, full force, into a barrier.

He felt John’s arm slip from his grip as he stuttered backward and fell to the ground. He quickly grabbed the bottle of wine under his shirt, not saving his own arse from the impact. Pain shot from the end of his spine and throughout his back as he winced. Above him now stood the man. Fleeting light from the reproaching sun gave the man's outline a blood orange glow while hiding some of the mask's features in darkness. Paul could have shit himself at the sight if not for John being there to haul him to his feet in an instant.

“Watch where your fucking going!” John was glaring at the masked man. They both stood in front of him, John still holding Paul’s upper arm. “Is your mind blown out or something?”

The man stood his ground. “You shouldn’t have that,” he pointed to the boy's stomachs, where the bottles obviously poked out. His voice was grated and higher than expected, though severely muffled by the mask. “You’re too small, little bitty babes. Give it to me, then. You shouldn’t-”

“And you shouldn’t have been dropped as a baby but here we stand.” He really did sound to be high on something or simply crazed, John thought.

“What sense have you walking around scaring people,” Paul added as they moved around the lumbering figure. He kept glancing back, even as John guided him forwards. The crazy man had turned to stare at them but wasn’t seeming to budge.

“You sound like Mimi,” John chuckled.

“Well he shouldn’t,” Paul’s voice raised indignantly but he broke into a smile as John continued to chuckle away.

“Alright, Auntie.” John grabbed either of his friend's shoulders and held him as if he couldn’t stand on his own. “Let's get you in before you slip in the dark and break a hip.”

Paul shrugged him off with mock laughter but he wasn’t wrong about one thing. Night was sweeping over the suburb, leaving only a trace of light to guide them to the front door. The cloudy sky left no room for the light of the moon to help at all. 

They were both pleased to enter the house and be greeted by the light and warmth. In the kitchen, they laid out their spoils and John went for the cupboard. While he was occupied, Paul slipped back into the entry and latched the lock securely in place. Music leaked from the kitchen as he peaked out an adjacent window, relieved to not be greeted with the haunting mask.

“Boo!” A pair of hands grabbed his sides and he practically jumped from his skin, spinning to face the culprit. His hands met John’s chest as John pushed him against the door.

“Bastard!”

John smiled and leaned into Paul. “You love me.”

“Then I love a bastard.” Both boys were all smiles, eyes searching each other.

John buried his face into the crook of Paul’s neck. Paul hummed at the warm breath on his neck, letting John melt into him. Every stress from the outside world had now been whisked away and only they existed. Paul’s arms wrapped around John’s back, his face buried in John’s hair. “You mean it?”

“That you’re a bastard? Of course.” John pulled away, trying to school his pouty features. Paul simply rolled his eyes and kissed the helpless boy. “I love you.” It came out as a whisper floating against John’s cheek.

“Good,” he pecked Paul’s lips and it was obvious that any sort of doubt was pushed away, for now. “Wouldn’t be sharing my drink with just any man like a harlot. What would the church think!” 

He parted from Paul, the warm feeling vanishing so fast that Paul almost pulled him back. But, instead, he followed his mate to the kitchen where two glasses filled with deep red liquid sat on the table. The record player was shoved, unceremoniously into the corner, something John must have managed before they met up earlier. A record was spinning around, music playing at a pleasant volume.

“So, not going to your room?”

John nodded, “Might as well take advantage of being home alone,” and grabbed something from the seat nearest him.

“John! Please, no. I-”

He had a monopoly box in hand and a grin on his lips. “ ‘John, yes’ you mean?”

“It’s not fun with two people,” Paul complained, pushing the box into John’s chest from over the table.

John played at seriousness, looking to truly consider Paul’s words as he took a sip of wine. “You’re right,” He placed the wine glass down. “We should call George over.”

“You’d have George come round with that nutter out?”

“He scare you that bad? He was just a drunk playing dress-up.”

Paul only glared over the brim of his wine glass.

“Oh! Or is it that you want me all to yourself?”

Paul’s lips curled into a smile around the glass.

“Naughty, naughty, Macca,” John sang as he set the box down and took a seat at the table. “At least get me tipsy first,” John exacerbated before throwing his head back and finishing off his glass. He looked to Paul with expecting eyes.

“Alright, we’ll play cards then, yeah?” He swirled his glass and went for the counter. Opening a drawer, he found a beat-up deck of cards and pocketed them so he could grab the bottle of wine while he was up. Before the drawer was half shut, intense banging echoed through the house. Paul jolted, his drink escaping his grip, the glass of wine shattering to the ground beside him. Three more loud bangs shook the pictures on the wall as Paul instinctively ducked down to clean up his mess.

“Come off it. I’ll clean it,” John grabbed Paul’s shoulder to pull him up but Paul fell forward, on to his hands, in the puddle of glass and wine. John jumped back as the younger boy cried out and cursed. “Oh-! You’re-”

“Fuck!” Paul was cradling one of his hands close to his chest, still leaning over his mess of glass. He curled in on himself, looking so small. “I’m fine. Just get the bleeding door.”

John held his hands up in surrender, almost afraid to touch him again. He looked between Paul and the door, suddenly anxious with which to attend to. His brain stalled until more knocks came. “Shit, sorry. Fuck- I’ll- I’ll just get the door. Fucking hell.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Familiar Things

Good news for anyone who thought they were free of my strange writing predilections! Not only am I back on writing for @drawlight‘s advent challenge, but I’ve once again taken what really should have been a fairly light story and taken a sharp turn into angst land!

14 - Eggnog (1,933)

Nanny Ashtoreth would never admit how good it felt to walk into that bookshop after months away.

Every Christmas, the Dowlings gave all their staff two weeks off while they traveled, visiting various heads of state. It was a great relief, not least because demons preferred to avoid elaborate Christmas celebrations.

Aziraphale’s bookshop was much as it always had been – crowded with dusty books on every surface, embarrassingly tacky angels tucked into every corner, gramophone playing an ancient, warped disc because someone refused to even upgrade to vinyl. The only concessions to the season were a few sprigs of holly and a string of lights in the window, drawing attention to the sign: CLOSED TODAY – TRY AGAIN TOMORROW!

The sign had sat unchanged for just about ten years.

Stepping through the door, the hat came off, the hair shook loose, and just for a little while Nanny Ashtoreth was Crowley again.

“Ah, my dear fellow, I’m so glad you could make it.” Aziraphale had all the boisterous cheer of the host of a banquet – though as always, it was only the two of them.

“Nh.” Crowley went straight to the sofa, flinging himself down, kicking his feet up onto the armrest. “Next time I have the brilliant idea to create a persona who only wears heels, remind me of this moment.” He settled down deeper into the well-worn cushions, feeling the ache in his back, legs and feet lessen just a bit. So good.

“Crowley, I’ve told you before, I don’t like your shoes on my furniture.”

“And I’ve told you, Angel, I don’t care.” He pulled off his glasses – small lenses, emphasizing the sharpness of his face; he’d need a new pair soon, and good riddance – then looked Aziraphale up and down. Another thing he’d never admit to missing: that tartan bowtie. “No more Brother Francis, then?”

The angel straightened his waistcoat and smoothed his lapels. “I arranged to have myself let go after the gardens were settled for the winter. I have a few ideas for next year, but I’ll need more time as myself to…prepare.”

“I’m staying on through the end of the school year,” Crowley said, leaning back to study the ceiling. “That only gives me about two months but…not as much to prepare, I suppose.”

Neither of them needed to say what they were preparing for. They’d hardly mentioned it for ten years, though they each thought of little else.

“Let me get you something to drink. Eggnog?”

“I’d rather have brandy.”

A moment later, Aziraphale pressed the glass into his hand. Crowley glared at the white liquid. “This isn’t what I asked for.”

“There’s more than enough brandy in there. I just thought I’d be a little festive.”

“Festive.” Must be all that time around the humans, going to his head. “That’s the last thing we need right now.” Crowley raised the glass to his lips just as Aziraphale circled the sofa and suddenly grabbed at his foot. “Oi!” Crowley jerked his leg away.

“Too much brandy?” Aziraphale asked with the sort of innocent expression that had never fooled anyone.

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, his foot, and his glass. “Too much nutmeg, actually. And leave me alone. My feet are killing me, and I’m keeping them up until they stop.”

The angel sighed. “I was going to help you remove your boots. So you could sit however you like without ruining the furniture.”

“Ah.” Slowly, Crowley lowered his leg back to the arm of the sofa. “Well, I suppose that…that makes sense.”

Not quite meeting his eyes, Aziraphale set to work loosening the first high-heeled boot. “These shoes are atrocious. I’m sure you weren’t wearing them ten years ago.” He finally worked it free, and Crowley gave a grunt of pleasure, which he tried to hide with another sip of eggnog. Aziraphale held up the boot by its four-inch heel. “Was this entirely necessary?”

“It felt more in-character.” Crowley shrugged. “Be careful with that, it needs to last until June.”

“I think you just like playing up for the humans.” Aziraphale got to work on the second boot.

“Oh, I’m the one playing up? And what was the purpose of that pirate accent?” Crowley smiled slightly, taking another sip of eggnog. It would probably be quicker to sit up and remove the blasted boot himself, but the angel seemed determined to try.

“It’s a rural accent! Brother Francis was a simple farmer from a rural community and needed a voice to match.”

“Was he? A caricature of a farmer, you mean, with a Mummerset accent.” Crowley chuckled, tilting up his glass. “Next time we do this, remind me to give you a lesson in deep characterization.”

The hands on his boot fell still, and Crowley lowered the glass. Neither of them wanted to say it. That this might be the last time.

“Here, let me get that,” Crowley grumbled, sitting up.

“No, you stay put.” Aziraphale grabbed the boot with both hands, pulling it free, probably casting a small miracle to get it off so easily, and tossed it aside. “There. Now you can put your feet wherever you want.”

Two feet sat crossed on the arm rest of the sofa. To a human, they may have appeared to be covered in some sort of black fishnet stockings, but supernatural eyes could see that the pattern was part of the flesh, wrapping around the toes and fading towards a regular skin tone somewhere above the knee. Every demon had to have some sign of what he really was.

Without warning, Aziraphale lifted his legs and slid under them, lowering the feet to instead rest on his lap.

Crowely went very, very still. “What. Uh. What are you doing?”

“Well, I thought…” Aziraphale’s face was carefully blank. Too blank. “Since they’re so sore, you might like a foot rub. It’s, you know, supposed to help.”

He put the glass of eggnog on the table by his head. “Angel. What’s going on?”

“Is it so strange I want to do something to make you comfortable?”

“Yes. It is.” Crowley shifted a little, sitting higher, which actually moved his feet to the middle of Aziraphale’s lap. But he wanted to look the angel in the eye. “We don’t…do that sort of thing. We never have.”

Aziraphale turned to face him, smiling – a soft, sad, uncertain smile, another thing Crowley would never admit to missing during the Brother Francis years. “I suppose we don’t. But I wanted to, well, give you something.”

“Give me something.” The eggnog soured in his stomach. “Angel. We’ve never given each other Christmas gifts. Or Solstice, or whatever came before that. Not ever.”

“Well.” Fingers hovered above Crowley’s scaled feet, not touching but not pulling away. “Perhaps now is as good a time as any to start.”

Crowley swallowed, trying to think of an objection. But those eyes, that smile – they did something to him. Always had. Finally, he slumped back down on the sofa. “Do what you want, then.”

The fingers trembled as they touched him, just slightly, and he fought not to pull away. Then a thumb found the point where the strain from wearing heels crossed the bottom of his foot and pressed and – oh, that felt good.

“It would seem you do like it after all.”

Crowley pushed a hand against his jaw, determined not to make that sound ever again. “’M just tired is all.” With growing confidence, the thumbs and the heels of Aziraphale’s hands worked their way up and down one foot, then the other, and back to the first.

It felt…not pleasurable, not intimate, whatever humans might say.

It was a relief, that’s what it was. The opposite of the pain that had been building up for months and months since he’d decided to put on those frankly magnificent torture devices.

And it was comfortable, like finding himself back on this sofa, so perfectly molded to his body.

Familiar, like a bottle of his favorite wine, discovered in a back room when he thought he’d drunk it all and it was gone forever.

It felt…right. Like this was something they should have been doing all along.

And, he supposed, if you got down to it…it was intimate. How else would you describe a relationship that spanned six thousand years? Intimate in ways humans could never imagine.

It occurred to Crowley that he was no longer describing the sensation of the foot rub, and he wasn’t doing a good job of stopping the tiny sighs of relief that kept finding their way out of his mouth.

There was a smile on Aziraphale’s face, that smug little bastard grin that always made Crowley feel lightheaded. “Let me guess. After this, you want me to do your feet.” He wasn’t even planning to argue.

Blue eyes shot at him, just for a second, then focused back on his toes. “Oh, no. Quite unnecessary. Unlike you, I’ve been wearing practical footwear.”

He didn’t like that light joking tone. “You must want something.”

“Well, if you insist, I…would like to talk.”

Crowley could have pulled his feet back, walked away. This wouldn’t end well, he could already sense it. “Talk about what?”

“Oh. You know.” He swallowed, the motions of his thumbs slowing against Crowley’s soles. “How do you suppose…things are. With Warlock.”

“I’ve told you. He’s normal. Almost too normal. You said that meant it was working.”

“Most certainly.” One thumb moved in an idle circle. “I just… We are prepared for… your final report, aren’t we?”

“Aziraphale. What are you getting at?”

The hands fell still. “Crowley. If we succeed, if Warlock refuses his role…what do you plan to tell your side?”

“I tell them my clever adversary outwitted me again. The angel Aziraphale turned the Antichrist to the side of good, nothing I could do against his brilliant scheming.”

“And they’ll just accept that.” Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s foot, not massaging now, just holding it. “They’ll just let you walk away?”

“That isn’t your concern, Angel.” Aziraphale shook his head, holding a little tighter. “It isn’t. The world will be safe, you’ll get all sorts of accolades in Heaven, and I…” He tried to keep his tone casual. “I’ll think of something. I always do.”

The angel shook his head again. “And if…if we fail? If Warlock does come into his powers?”

“No, Angel –”

“I’ll fight you, you know. If they order me to.” He turned to face Crowley, eyes hard and determined. But they were betrayed by the gentleness of his hands, and the way his lip trembled. “They probably will. So if the war comes, I’ll fight you.”

Crowley finally sat up, pulling his feet away. “I won’t.”

“They won’t give me a choice.” Already his expression was crumbling. “I can’t disobey an order. We’ve been adversaries so long and – And they’ll want me to hunt you down and – I – I will…”

“I won’t,” Crowley repeated, as gently as he could.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulders, but there was no strength in his grip. “I c – I can’t choose – If it’s you or – or my side – please, Crowley, don’t make me choose.” His breath was ragged now, all but sobbing.

“I won’t.” Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel, pulling him close. “I won’t.”

“Don’t,” Aziraphale sobbed, his voice tiny with fear. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” Over and over, as many times as he needed to hear it. “I won’t.”

And as Aziraphale cried into his shoulder, Crowley swore to find some way to keep that promise. To hold onto his angel and the life they’d built. No matter what the future brought.

[blackcatkita]

A Not So Blue Christmas

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce x MC (Kayla)

Word Count: 2925

This is my contribution to the 12 Days of Fictmas- 2019 edition and true to form, I am posting this at the literal eleventh hour. I was assigned “Blue Christmas” by the late and great Elvis Aaron Presley (may he rest in peace). Big thank you to @leelee10898 for hosting this event and wrangling us all and to @darley1101 for creating the awesome moodboard you see below. I hope you like it and happy holidays!

A Not So Blue Christmas

When Kayla matched at Edenbrook, some 980 miles from her hometown of Chicago, she knew there would be things she would miss out on. Her proud Irish family was huge and freakishly close; three brothers and one sister with Kayla smack in the middle, five aunts, three uncles, twenty-six first cousins and an absolute lunatic of a grandmother to round it all out. And that was just on her dad’s side. Birthdays, holidays, graduations, anniversaries; they were spent together whether you wanted to be there or not. Going away to college had been a blessing. For the first time, Kayla got to be seen as her own person instead of Sean and Connor’s little sister but she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss her family. The last time she saw them was back in June when she took Bryce home to meet everyone. Well, almost everyone. No one should have to be subjected to the entire clan on the first meeting, no matter how confident and easy-going her boyfriend was.

It was worth it though. She’d wanted to be a doctor for as long as she could remember and working with Ethan Freaking Ramsey on the diagnostics team was a dream come true. Her career fed her constant thirst for knowledge and allowed her to help people so she didn’t mind not being there for every little thing her family deigned worthy of celebration. Christmas was different. Christmas in the Donovan house was a huge deal.

The house would be so full it was fit to burst, food, candy, and cookies as far as the eye could see. Her oldest brother Sean and his wife Meghan sniping and snarking at each other, everyone spoiling the hell out of her niece because she was the first child, seeing what new bimbo was Connor’s latest flavor of the week because he was too stupid and too much of a playboy to find a nice girl, Gran handing out shots of whiskey and hitting on any poor soul whose only mistake was dating or marrying one of the Donovan girls; she’d had a field day with Bryce. Her dad and uncles escaping to the garage or basement, betting on how long after dinner it would take her mom to throw in the towel and switch from wine to liquor; Kayla was going to miss it all.

But Boston provided joys of its own; a group of friends she considered family that included the most supportive boyfriend the world had ever seen. Working as much as they did with no way in hell of getting off on a holiday meant none of them would be going home but that didn’t mean they would spend Christmas alone. Luckily, their apartment was spacious enough to house everyone for the open house party she and her roommates planned, though Kayla wondered why hosting always fell to them. Ethan had an even better apartment and you didn’t see him inviting anyone over. Rude.

“And, voila!” Kayla exclaimed from her post at the kitchen island. The cheese tray she put together looked damn good if she said so herself. Cheese ball in the middle with alternating yellow and white cheeses surrounding it in a pinwheel pattern. Yep, damn good indeed. “Sienna, where do you want the cheese tray?”

“Umm…” Sienna didn’t look up, too preoccupied with arranging upside-down raspberries on top of the chocolate ganache cake she made. “The banquet table by the window maybe? There’s more room for people to mill around over there.”

Kayla looked around, finding only empty space near the windows. “Banquet table?”

Glancing up, Sienna shook her head and went back to the raspberries. “Bryce!”

“Yo!” he called out.

“Where’s that banquet table you said you’d set up?”

“Oh, shit,” he laughed before bringing the table in from the living room where he and Elijah had been fiddling with the tv for the last half hour. “Sorry, ladies.”

“What are you even doing in there?” Kayla asked as Bryce unfolded the legs and flipped the table right side up.

“Helping Elijah with the surround sound,” he answered simply, taking a folded red tablecloth from the kitchen table and spreading it over the one he just set up.

“Do you really need to be doing that right now?”

Shrugging in response, he sauntered over, gave Kayla a quick peck on the lips while squeezing her ass, then snatched a piece of cheese, popping it in his mouth before going back into the living room.

Minutes later the front door opened with a thump and Jackie’s voice rang out, “Oh, hell no. You two don’t get to do whatever it is you’re doing in here while we do all the work. It’s all hands on deck so get your asses up and help. And before you say it, no, Lahela, I don’t care that you don’t technically live here. God knows you’re here enough it’s like you do. You can start by putting these bags of ice on the balcony.”

Eyebrows raised, Kayla slowly turned to grin at Sienna, finding her covering her laugh with a hand plastered to her mouth. “Remind me to buy Jackie a pony for her birthday.”

“Or a bottle of tequila,” Sienna giggled.

Kayla picked up her glass of red wine, waiting for Sienna to do the same before clinking their glasses together. “Hear. Hear.”

An hour later, people were trickling in. The cold food was moved to the kitchen table and the hot to the banquet table because that’s where the outlets were, the bar was set up, holiday music was playing and Kayla was mingling in a fitted midnight blue dress that was both sexy and elegant.

“I’m loving this party even more than your last one, Donovan.” Zaid’s tone was as dry as ever, expression impassive as he bopped to the beat of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Oh, thanks! It was a team effort.” A knock sounded at the door and Kayla excused herself before opening it with a smile.

“Rookie.”

“You came!” Kayla gasped, putting on an air of shock with her hand pressed to her chest. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“This is for you.” Standing stiffly in the doorway, he thrust a bottle of red wine into her hands. “I know you like red.”

“I do, thanks, Ethan.” Considering how reluctant he looked, she grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him into the room. “Come on, no one’s gonna bite you. Can I get you anything to drink? Bryce is supposed to be playing bartender but he’s fallen in love with my tv.”

A brief look of confusion flashed across Ethan’s face before he shook his head, probably deciding he didn’t care enough to ask. “What do you have?”

Kayla shrugged. “Everything? I can make you a brandy old fashioned or cranberry mule. Those are our signature drinks.”

“Old Fashioneds are generally made with bourbon.”

“Not in the Midwest,” Kayla smirked. “It’s really big in Wisconsin.”

“You’re from Chicago…” Ethan shook his head again. “What’s a ‘cranberry mule’?”

“Bryce,” Kayla called out. “What’s in the cranberry mule?”

Bryce’s voice came from by the tv, only now he had the thing turned to the side. “Four ounces ginger beer, four ounces cranberry juice, two ounces rum and the juice of half a lime.” His head popped up, looking at her over the top. “Put that in a shaker then pour over ice and garnish with a slice of lime and some cranberries. Make sure you use a copper mug.”

“Ok, seriously, what are you doing over there?!”

“I’m almost done.” Grinning, Bryce shot her a wink and ducked back down.

Rolling her eyes, Kayla turned back to Ethan. “Don’t ask because I have no idea what he’s doing.”

“I wasn’t going to. I don’t care.”

“Nice,” she stated, raising her eyebrow and pressing her lips into the tiniest pout. “Well? Your drink, Dr. Ramsey?”

“I’ll take Scotch if you have it.”

“Uh… if we do it’s probably not very…” Kayla grimaced, leading Ethan to the bar across the room. “Oh, wait! I think Landry might have left some here.” Reaching her destination, Kayla ducked down and pulled a bottle from the lower shelf. “Ha!” she exclaimed as she stood up. “Score one for the jackass.”

“Babe! Kayla!” Bryce shouted out over the noise. He smiled when she looked over, then his gaze seemed to move past her and he gave a subtle nod. “Can you help me with something quick?”

“Be right there!” she replied as she splashed some Scotch in a glass. She handed it to Ethan and gave him a little push. “Go have fun. Socialize. Be normal.” Ignoring his look of disdain, she moved back into the living room. “What’s up?”

“I need you to sit on the couch,” Bryce instructed, turning the tv back the right way.

“Why?”

“Because I need to make sure the angle is right.”

“Angle for what?”

Bryce’s eyes widened, brows raised to give her a look that said, ‘just do it’.

“Fine.” The couch that had been filled with various guests all night was miraculously empty and Kayla sat down carefully so she didn’t flash everyone with the new lingerie Bryce had given her. That show was for his eyes only. “Are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“Stop asking questions,” Bryce laughed as the conversation around them grew quieter. “Elijah?” The music cut out and the lull in conversations spread through the apartment. “Ok, now push the input button on the tv remote.”

Brow furrowed, Kayla reached for the remote on the coffee table. Whatever he had planned, it seemed like most of the people in attendance were aware of it. If it turned out to be a slideshow of embarrassing photos from throughout the year or a video of her drunk ass singing karaoke, Bryce was a dead man. All eyes on her, Kayla pressed the button and the tv lit up. She screamed, both of her hands flying up to cover her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. Before her, her family sat crowded together, enough of them they filled all seventy inches of the screen.

Her dad Sean leaned forward, squinting at the camera in front of him. “Is that it? Can she see us now?”

“Oh my god, Dad.” Squished against him, Kayla’s nineteen-year-old sister Brianna rolled her eyes. “Why do you think she’s screaming?”

“Shut up, you’re all ruining it!” Gran scolded from where she was wedged between Kayla’s dad and her brother Owen. “On the count of three… one… two… three…”

“Nollaig Shona, Kayla!” Everyone shouted as they smiled and waved, not exactly in sync but close enough.

“Nollaig Shona, everyone!” Kayla returned the sentiment, smiling and waving back. She looked around the room at her smiling friends and colleagues. “That’s Irish for ‘Merry Christmas’,” she explained. Her lip began to quiver and she looked at Bryce, waving him over as her eyes flooded with tears. “Get over here.” She felt her face crumple and pressed her palm over her lips as her boyfriend finally came over, looking uncharacteristically subdued. Sitting beside her, he slung his arm around her shoulders and she turned toward him, hugging him around his waist as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, trying to choke back her quiet sobs.

“Hey, everybody.” Bryce’s voice was tight as he gently rubbed her back. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, she could hear the smile in his tone. “Merry Christmas. Thanks for helping me out with all of this.”

The comforting movement of his hand didn’t cease as he continued to chat with her family and when she was sure the tears had stopped flowing, Kayla peeled herself off him. “Well, my make-up is officially ruined,” she laughed, swiping at her cheeks. Sienna appeared out of nowhere and with tears in her eyes, thrust a wad of Kleenex into Kayla’s hands. “Thanks, Sienna.” Kayla did her best to clean the mascara from beneath her eyes then smiled, shaking her head in awe. “I just can’t believe you’re all in front of me right now.” Her eyes watered again.

“That man of yours is more than just a pretty face, Kayla,” her sister-in-law Meghan said.

“And what a face it is,” Gran added, giving the most exaggerated wink possible.

“Oh, don’t I know it, Gran,” Kayla agreed. “Great hair, too.”

“And a body to boot!” Gran slapped her hand on her skinny little knee. “Bet he’s a right stallion in the sack. You young ones get all the action these days.”

“Okay! Enough of that!” her big brother Sean shouted, clamping his hands over his four-year-old daughter’s ears while Kayla’s dad dropped his head in his hand mumbling something Kayla couldn’t make out. If she had to guess, it was ‘Lord in heaven’.

“Sorry, Sean,” Kayla laughed. Her eyes roamed the faces in front of her; her dad, grandma, her sister and two of her brothers, a few aunts, and uncles and some cousins. “Hey, where’s mom and Connor?” Of all her siblings she was closest to Connor, they were best friends on top of being brother and sister and her mom was her biggest cheerleader. No way would they not be a part of Bryce’s surprise.

“Oh, I imagine they’ll be coming in the door any minute now,” her dad said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll let you get back to your party, Punkin. Don’t forget to call us now.”

“I won’t, Dad,” Kayla promised. “It was great seeing you guys and I love you all so much!”

“We love you too, Kayla!” they all shouted back, waving again as they said goodbye.

“Now how the hell do I turn this damn thing off…” her dad grumbled, looking down at his remote before the connection ended.

As the music started and the party resumed, Kayla turned to Bryce, who was looking mighty proud of himself. She grabbed a fistful of his sweater and pulled him to her, planting a kiss on his lips. The doorbell rang and she pulled away. “Duty calls but later, you’re mine.”

“I mean, we can just kick everybody out now,” he teased, leaning in for another kiss. She laughed, giving him a swat on the shoulder but he snuck one anyway. “Get the door, babe. I’ll even come with you.”

“Ah, now that your ruse is over you’ll join the festivities?”

“Something like that.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to her feet. When they reached the door, he stopped her a few feet away with an arm around her waist then stepped forward to open it himself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kayla shouted when she saw who was on the other side.

“Kayla Donovan!” her mom Erin scolded. “Such language!”

“And on Christmas too!” her brother Connor added in a mock scandalized voice with his eyes wide and a palm pressed to his forehead.

Her mom laughed, holding her arms out wide. “Surprise!”

The initial shock had worn off and Kayla launched herself into her mother’s arms. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She held tight for a moment, then turned to Connor.

“Brat,” he greeted.

“Jerk.”

Laughing, he grabbed Kayla around the waist and lifted her off her feet, bouncing a few times before setting her back down. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Kay. Bryce,” Connor nodded as Bryce turned away from the warm hug her mom had given him and held out his hand, doing that weird handshake-shoulder clapping thing guys did. “Good to see you again, too. Thanks for inviting us.”

“Let’s get you guys a drink. There’s a ton of people you have to meet.”

Heart full and cheeks sore from smiling, Kayla paraded her mom and brother around the room, introducing them to all of the people who had become so important to her. When Sienna eventually dragged them to the kitchen to eat, Kayla turned to Bryce, smiling up at him as she looped her arms around his neck. “You.”

“Me.” His warm hands slid around her hips, pulling her tighter until they were pressed against his.

“You’re the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“I know.” An easy smile spread across his cheeks. “Handsome, too.”

“And the smartest, most thoughtful,” Her words were punctuated by quick kisses. “most supportive, sweetest, the best lover, the…”

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” he laughed, then raised his eyebrow as his lips settled into a cocky smirk. “You’re not wrong, though. I am pretty amazing.”

“And so humble,” she laughed with him. Gazing into his eyes, she knew she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Bryce was home, no matter where it was. “Seriously, Bryce, this was… I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I almost didn’t think I would pull it off,” he admitted. “The Portal thing was supposed to be here weeks ago but it got lost somewhere in Ohio and just came today. Then your dad couldn’t get his to work and threatened to throw the thing in the lake, and now today your mom and Connor’s flight was delayed by like four hours. I’m surprised I survived.”

As he spoke, Kayla’s smile grew wider and when he finally stopped talking, she pulled him down to press a slow kiss to his lips. She pulled back, just enough to lock her eyes with his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Merry Christmas.”

[frangipanidownunder]

Fox Mulder’s Guide to Building a Pool: part 2

Read Part 1

A/N This is in answer to an anon prompt: Mulder builds a pool in the yard. It ran away from me so I’ll post it in two parts.

This is set post IWTB and assumes Season 10 didn’t happen. Because it shouldn’t have, am I right? Angsty to start with.

Winter

November rushed headlong into house and yard with blizzards and ice storms and squealing winds under the doors. The pool project remained as frozen as the ground but his brain was always planning. Winter was the end of things, yet, even as he scraped freezing condensation from the inside of the windows, he felt a kind of resurgence. Like his bare, unadorned spirit had rested enough to begin anew. It helped that he spoke to Scully often, random phone calls, text messages with links to articles she’d found on cryptid sightings or arcane deaths. Her emoji use was spot on. Aliens and foxes and ghosts and a solitary blue heart.

Christmas Eve and she sent him a message about a sighting of a ‘gargantuan, hirsute humanoid’ in a Florida forest and after reading it with a sense of comforting familiarity and relieved distance, he googled the meaning of the blue heart. Trust, harmony, peace and loyalty. Reading into emojis had to rank right up there on the Fox Mulder Chart of Weirdness but the idea of it, that she had carefully researched this colour and chosen it as the one to close off her messages to him, took root in his own heart and he felt a burst of that same restless energy that had plagued him for months.

He walked to the back door, chancing a look out. A smirry rain fell, leaving the bare branches oily in the low light. Further around, the pool, sunk below the hard, cold earth was a gaping dark mouth, the concrete bearing the marks of months of bad weather. In one corner, debris from the yard had collected, twigs and small stones, plastic wrapping floating in the grimy pool of melted snow that covered the base.

The sound of her voice as she picked up the call pulled a smile to his lips. She sounded pleased to hear from him. Excited almost.

“Hey.” It was an extended version of her usual greeting. A stretching of the word into something more. His heart skipped. “I know you don’t celebrate, but Happy Christmas, Mulder.”

It would have been typical for him to make some flippant remark about stockings or mistletoe but instead, he raked up the trash in the pool as he wished her season’s greetings and listened to her stories of wrapping gifts for the kids at work and the terribly formal staff dinner where the turkey was overcooked and the hasselbacks were rubbery and she left early so she could pull on her pyjamas and robe and watch It’s a Wonderful Life and then, after a breathy pause, added, that it wasn’t the same on her own.

“What’s that noise?” she asked.

He could have said it was the sound of his heart breaking free of his ribcage but he shook his head at himself and took a deep breath. “Would you believe me if I said I was cleaning the pool?” She laughed and he burst right through her green light. “Did you want to come over, Scully?”

She would very much love to, she said, and he held the phone to his chest while he scraped out the detritus against the side wall one-handed. The first flake of snow landed and he looked up to the silver heavens and whispered a thank-you.

Guilt crept in when he saw a parcel in her hand. “I didn’t get you anything, Scully.” He took her coat, the bag of groceries and the gift and she said she’d forgive him and he grinned at her as he rattled the box until she tutted and snatched it back from him.

“I’ll put it under the tree,” she said but the living room was empty of seasonal decor and she looked down at the gift and her feet and he wondered if he could pull out all the boxes in the attic to retrieve the decorations but she shook her head and laughed through her nose. “Don’t worry about it.” She could still read him like a book.

The intensity of the storm took them by surprise, heaping snow against the window sills and the door and Scully’s car until everything was silent-white and glistening. He poured brandy over ice and she sank into the couch next to him wrapped in a blanket and wearing a resigned smile.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not due at mom’s until New Year. I was going to be working but that changed, so I have no plans.” She squeezed his knee and there was a glint in her eye that had him almost believing that she’d engineered the weather, just like that Holman guy from years before, but Dana Scully MD was no lovelorn meteorologist. She was the sender of blue heart emojis, the bringer of turkey steaks and farmer’s market vegetables, she was the best present ever, the three wise men and more.

She was also a little tipsy, he thought, eyeing her reddened cheeks and the way she shucked off her boots to tuck her ankles under her ass. He hadn’t seen her so loose for years. He’d spent too long ignoring her that by the time she left she was coiled like wire rope and just as cool to touch.

“If this storm keeps up maybe we can skate on your pool,” she said and giggled, pressing her fingers under her nose.

“You want to rush me to ER with multiple fractures on Christmas morning, Scully?” He swallowed the liquor.

Her face straightened and she cleared her throat. “It will be strange, won’t it, being here tomorrow? Waking up on Christmas morning together. It’s not something we’ve done for…”

“Three years,” he said and let that settle between them before adding, “but I’m looking forward to it.”

“Because it feels like we’ve moved past…all that?”

All that. All that rage and disappointment. All that bitterness and rancour. All that unsaid. Too much said. “Because it feels fated,” he said. And she pulled a face. “Preordained, inexorable.”

“Destined,” she said, leaning forward. “Portentous?”

He chuckled. “That has a negative connotation, like foreshadowed. It’s more ominous than auspicious.”

“I’m going to have to take back that Thesaurus and buy you something else, Mulder.” She nodded to the present on the table.

“I used to be poor,” he said and she quirked her eyebrow. “Then my partner bought me a thesaurus and now I’m impecunious.”

Her snort was half-laugh, half-surprise. “We’re not…”

“I know.”

The next morning dawned clear and Mulder was already awake. Had hardly slept. Like a child at Christmas, he thought wryly, impatient for his gift. Scully wasn’t for unwrapping though. At this stage, he was lucky she was here to decorate his living room. The brightest star. An angel.

She was dressed in his old anorak he’d used years before to clear the yard when they first moved in. It surrounded her like a canoe, pointed hood above her head and falling to almost her ankles. She was dragging something behind her, leaving a thick trail through the snow. Mulder opened the door and she huffed through, revealing her treasure – a small pine tree, dripping melting snow in grey piles on the floor.

He found a box of decorations behind a wall of old books, dusted them off and climbed back down the ladder. She’d made cocoa and found marshmallows from that Mary Poppins bag of hers. She added a dash of brandy with a hair of the dog wink and they made the tree pretty.

Flipping pancakes, he watched her as she sat in the chair near the window, wrapped now in one of his sweaters, pink-stockinged feet crossed. “If you squint through these blinds, Mulder, and use your imagination, of which you received a wild and overly large share, it looks like there’s a snow monster in the pool.”

“Are you still drunk, Scully?” He bent beside her, close enough to see the dark skin on the mole above her lip.

“I am not, look! There. See it? It’s got shifty eyes and a long nose.”

He rubbed at his own features and she jabbed his hand away.

“It’s there. I swear. Come on, I’ll show you.” She shot up and dragged him outside where the cold shrunk his skin around his bones. The sky threatened to unload again and she shivered despite her layers. He slunk an arm around her shoulders and she swayed into him. “There. Look. See?” Her finger pointed but he couldn’t have seen a thing beyond the fact that she was there, right next to him in the dead of winter, gesticulating to a lump of frozen water.

“At least when Frosty the Snowmonster dies, the pool will be quarter full,” he said, holding open the door for her. She dipped under his arm and it felt like old times.

Spring

Blossom hugged the ends of branches, pom-poms of pink dipping on the breeze. The sun was watery-warm and birdsong amplified the hope of the season. He’d tiled the pool himself, enjoying he exact nature of the work. The water delivery contractor was late but the from his vantage point on the front deck, Mulder couldn’t care less. Just for an hour or so, he could afford to do nothing. He told himself he deserved it. He let his eyes slip shut.

“Can’t a girl get a fanfare any more?” Scully was standing at the foot of the steps, casual in blue jeans and a fitted mint-green tee, her hair was pulled back in a scruffy ponytail that usually signified she was about to get messy.

He made trumpet noises and she bowed when she reached the deck. From her tote she took out a bag of pastries. He liked this version of Scully. He liked her very much. This soft, coquettish variety gave him hope like the spring and made him feel lighter.

“I’ll make coffee,” he said and ushered her through with a theatrical wave.

The truck arrived two hours late but that was two hours passed with Scully who spent her time asking questions about the pump and the pool fence requirements and whether he was going to plant a garden and how much she loved the mosaic tile design on the bottom and whether he’d considered a shade sail. She wrinkled her nose and her freckles danced. He had a vision of her sunburnt and cranky.

“I’ll order one before the heat hits,” he said, solemnly.

“Don’t do it just for me,” she said, over the din of the hose being unravelled from the truck.

As though he would do anything for anyone else. He’d spent much of the time since the Father Joe case doing things only for himself. He couldn’t see it then, but his focus had narrowed beyond the scope of voiceless victims, beyond the purview of his domestic responsibilities and from his refreshed perspective, he could see now how Scully had been cut out of his orbit.

“Did you imagine this when we first moved in here?”

“You designing and constructing a pool, sundeck and safety fence? Mulder, when we first moved here you couldn’t have built a house of cards. Remember when the screen door fell off the hinges and you tried to fix it but ended up breaking the drill. You were so angry, a wounded animal fighting off any help. I thought…” she covered her eyes with her hand to watch the water running over the bottom of the pool, steadily rising, filling the void. “I should have left sooner. Maybe you would have rediscovered this…this spirit of yours earlier.”

“You think your leaving prompted me to do all this?”

“Didn’t it?”

“It took more than three years of you not…”

She sucked in a breath and it dawned on him that she was still hurting too. Would it ever stop? Or was the pain destined to be a constant companion to remind them of their failings? Was building a pool really just a diversion from the agony of Scully being gone? Was her position at the hospital just her version of a building project? She was building herself a better life and he was building a pool.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing gently. “For not trying harder.”

The drone of the truck’s motor stuttered to a halt and he looked down at her. She was gazing at the water as it slapped at the sides, settling. “You have nothing to apologise for, Scully. I closed off, shut down, kept you out and then got mad at you when you made a new life.”

“We were both pretty closed off, Mulder. Talking for hours but never saying enough. Remember how we used to spend days on the road and never have to say a thing. We could go for miles in silence. It didn’t bother us then, so when did that change?”

“I think the truth of it is that we were both just talking at each other, trying to get our voices heard, but we didn’t care to listen for fear of actually hearing.”

She raised those brows of hers and smiled. “That’s very deep and heartfelt.”

The truck reversed and he looked down at the water and the moving outline of the blue love heart he’d tiled at the bottom of the pool. “Just like my pool.”

The first time she came over for a swim, she presented him with a new beach towel. It had a fox face on it and she was so proud of herself. She let him splash her and she bombed him and he didn’t want her to leave but he watched her drive away and sat on the verandah for hours after the sun went down.

She phoned to say she was coming over again and that gave him an idea. After all, he owed her two gifts now. So he went online and shopped.

Taking the parcel, she dipped her head in gratitude. “This better not be a beach towel with Big Blue on it, Mulder, or I swear to God…” She ripped the package open scattering paper everywhere. She held it up. It was a one-piece swimsuit the colour of those Caribbean island beaches, azure, the colour of her eyes. She pulled a face, whispering a wow and telling him he shouldn’t have because people might talk.

“Let them talk,” he called out, as she slipped into the house to change. “What else could they say about us that we haven’t heard already, Mrs Spooky.”

When she returned, she was wearing the bathing suit and a knee-length cream sarong. She pulled a wide-brimmed hat out of her bag and went to put it on but he stopped her.

“Just one more thing,” he said, finding the smaller parcel. “This is a very late birthday or really early Christmas present. Take your pick.”

“Another gift? You already got me this suit and I’m wondering if I should really spend the afternoon with a man who buys lingerie for a single woman…”

“It’s lingerie?” His voice was high-pitched because he was genuinely curious and a little sorry about her use of the word single which seemed unnecessary but she grinned wickedly and he breathed out in relief. “Damn. If I’d have known that I would have bought that red lace number…”

“Don’t push your luck, Mulder.”

The small gift was wrapped in silver frosted paper decorated with a gold bow. She opened this one with much more care and when she lifted the lid and saw the silver chain with the blue topaz heart pendant, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s beautiful, Mulder. You shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

“Trust, harmony, peace and loyalty. Blue hearts. That’s what they mean.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned and he clipped the necklace under the hair. “You’re reading a lot into an emoji.” Was he? Maybe. Did he care? Not much. She turned to face him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him, softly, gently, with love. “But you’ve always looked beyond the obvious. And that’s why I love you.”

Love. Not loved. He took her hand and walked her to the edge. “Ready?”

She didn’t answer but tugged at his wrist and pulled him forward so they both plunged into the deep blue, going down and down.

[drumbanger]

Paradise City part 4

Summary: A boring town with nothing to do. Will the blue eyed drummer save you from it?

Chapter summery: You go to the boys show and you and Roger get drunk together.

Word cound: 1,7 k 

A/N: I havn´t proof read it, so there will probebly be a bunch och grammatcal errors.

Warnings: Mentions on smut, Alcohol

You walked in to the pub just five minutes before the band would start up. You went staright up to the bar, but before you had the chance to order anything, sombody tapped your shoulder, causing you to turn around. Brian was standing there offering you a weak smile.

“´bout to start, wanna come backstage instead of sitting back here”? he asked with an little amount of stress in his voice. You just nodded a smile and followed him as he began walking towards the stage.

When you got there, Brian excused himself, needing to do some set up last minute. There was a small couch next to the stage wich you took a seat on, waiting for the show to start. Just minutes later the band walked past you on their way to the stage, greeting you quickly, but you got a quick kiss on the cheek from Roger wich made your cheeks heet up, hoping no one noticed.

Roger sat down at his drumset while Freddie walked up to the mic.

“Welcome beautiful ladies and gentlemen, we´re Queen and we are here tonight to give you a little treat. This first song, we call The Night Comes Down”!

You now understood their name were Queen. You liked it, short but classy. Roger started hitting his drums. You remembered he was good, but not this good. Then the bass work started, wich really impressed you. God they were good, you felt so bad that only such few people had heard them yet.

The rest of the show went on like this, they playing what looked effortless for them and you being blown away by them. 

When the set was finished, all the boys walked staight to their waterbottles, standing at the side of the stage, close to were you were sitting.

Roger walked up to you moments later, laying down in the couch and putting his head in your lap. He had his eyes closed in exhaustion, you looked down on him, studing his beautiful features, he really was beautiful, and god you wanted to reach your head down and kiss him, but you didn´t want to give i just that easy. 

You brushed some hair our of his face and he hummed at the sansation. You softly caresed his face and he opened his eyes, looked up at you and gave you one of the softest purest smilses you´d ever seen. You reurned it and then leaned your head back against the couch and closed your eyes, enjoying the moment.

You didin´t know how long you had been laying there, when Freddie came up to you, softly asking if you wanted to come witch to the bar for a drink, like he was carfull waking someone up.

“We´ll be out soon” Roger answered hazy. You were pleased with his answer. You didn´t really feel like getting up just yet.

Freddie walked away and you made yourself comfortable again, when Roger quietly spoke up

“Can I tell you something” Roger asked, his eyes still closed.

You just hummed your response.

“I´m very glad I met you”

A smile crept upon your face as he said that

“I´m really glad I met you too Roger” the smile still on your face as you said so.

Roger got up from the couch and you opened you eyes

“wanna go out there now”? he held his hand out to you with a smile on his face. You took his hand, got up and Roger led you down to the bar where you ordered two shots each. But instead of drinking them at once, you made a game out of it.

“okay, so we´ll each ask each other a question and when you´ve answered the question, you take the a shot” you explained “I´ll go first” you said.

“go on then”

“how many people have you slept with and who were they” you smiled at your own question

“wow okay, well I think its about twenty- twentiyfive. And they were my two girlfriends, a few i went on some dates with and girls i picked up after shows and at bars” He told and drowned his first shot

“same question for you” he said after he put down his glass.

“seven people. Three of them boyfriends, two of them friends and two one night stands” you said and drowned your shot.

“how did it happen with your friends”?

“well one of them, we got really drunk at home and it just happend, the other one, well we were just haning out and figured we´d just try it out” you drownded your second drink “t´was a question” you said before Roger objected.

“But wow though. Are you still friends with these people”?

“yeah, of couse, she´s still my roomate and i´m still great friends witch the other guy”

“you and your roomate had sex? and it´s never akward, and she´s a she?”

“yup, we had sex, its not akward, why would it be? She is a girl, why?”

“just wonderin´” he said and took his second shot. You both orderd two new shots each, both feeling effected by the buzz and wanting more of it. 

The shots came and you drowned both of them together.

Secods later Brandy(you´re a fine girl) by Looking Glass started blasting trough the speakers of the pub and you jumped up from your chair

“I love this song! Roger pleaaaasee come dance with me!”

“you know i don´t do that” 

“you regreted not coming dancing with me last time, yeah? Do you really want to do that again?” you smirked at at him. 

“that is very true” he said as he got up from his chair. You took his hand and you two stumbled out on the dancefloor like a couple of drunk buffoons. You started dancing like fools and laughing your asses of. The alcohol got the best of you and you turned around an pressed your body up aganist his, he was pretty drunk himself and put his hands on your hips and swayed his body with yours. You knew you were looking like a couple of idiots but you didn´t care, you were having a great time. 

Then out of nowhere you both burst into laughter. You were out of breath and had to cling on each other for support. 

You then decided you´d find the other members of the band. You got out of the big crowd that was the dancefloor and went loking for the remainence of Queen. It didn´t take very long to find them, they were all sitting in a red leather booth along with two other girls wich you just could assum were groupies trying to get in to one, or more, of the bandmembers pants. And Roger certainly caught their interest when you two joined the table, but neither of you noticed that, being very giggly and dazed still. 

When you sat down you saw a full glass of some sort of liquid, not knowing whos it was, and grabbed it, drank half of its contains and handed the rest to roger sitting very close next to you

“thanks, love” he slurred while atempting to be cheeky. After he drowned the drink he turned to you, you faces only inches apart. 

“can I ask you something?” Roger spoke

“ofcourse you can daarniing!” 

“I´m not snooping but tell me how you had sex with that friend of yours that was a girl, I want to know how it workes then”

“well, it´s just like the kind of sex you´d have but like before you´d put it in, like you use your mouth, fingers and toys if you would want that, we didn´t, I mean ´m  no expert, iv´e only done it that one time”

“and it got you of properly?”

“defenitly”

“is it better?”

“oh i think that really depends on who it´s with”

“do you ever feel like doing it again?”

“yeah, sometimes” you said as you reached for a glass of a trey a waitress just put down and drowned it and Roger did the same.

“stop stealing our drinks, will ya” Brian turned to face you

“sorry Mr. May” Roger rolled his eyes and you giggled at him.

Thats when roger felt a hand on his thigh, first he thought it was your hand, but then he realised your hands were still on the table. He looked to his side and noticed it was one of the groupies whos´ hand was laying dangerously high on his thigh. He looked up at her and she batted her eyelashes at him obviously trying to seduce him.

“Hi” the girl cooed at him. Roger state of mind was very hazy at the moment and right now he was just really confused.

“Do you want sex, is that it?” Roger asked the her

“Mhmm” she girl nodded and moved her hand ever further up his thigh.

“Well in that case, this is your lucky day because I´ve heard this bird right here is a marvelous shag” he said tryning not to laugh while pointing at you.

“Indeed I am” you said, who had been watching the interaction “you interested?” you giggled and that turned in to a huge laugh fit beetween you and Roger. But the girl just ignored that and moved her hand impossiby higher up Rogers´ thigh, which did not go unnoticed by you. 

“Hey! Don´t do that. thank you” You exclaimed while you pushed the girls hand of Rogers´ thigh. The girl gave up and moved her attention to Brian, Who was in a converstion with John and one other guy you hadn´t seen before.

“Is sombody jelous?” Roger purred and you rolled your eyes

“Am not” you defended. 

“Oh , how the tables have turned” Roger smugly smirked.

“Yeah, Yeah, who even cares” 

“I do. And you are jelous” he teased. You just rolled your eyes but eventually it turned in to a yet another fit of giggles.

“Let´s get out of here shall we?” you suggested still giggling a bit. Roger smirked up at you and nodded. You got out of the booth not minding saying goodbye to the others. You two stumbled trough the pub together, with Rogers´ hand on the small of your back. 

You had just gotten to the door and were about to open it, when sombody beat you to it and opened the door from outside.

Michael.

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Thank you so much for reading (or not)? :)

Please give feedback<3

[grandtheftstarship]

Seducing is Science (Spock x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Kirk, Scotty, Leonard, and Spock go to a bar during shore leave, where they each try to get (y/n)’s number. Only one of them succeeds. 

Word Count: 1137 Warnings: none :) Posted: Tumblr, Wattpad Requested: On Wattpad

"Ship is in dock, Captain," Sulu declared, making some final adjustments.

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu," Kirk grinned as he turned to Spock. "Care to join Bones, Scotty and I at a bar?"

"Of course captain," Spock responded, hands held stiffly at his back as he followed him into the turbolift. The duo joined up with Scotty and Bones on the way, relieved to finally have a break.

Once the four of them finally found a decent bar on the station, they didn’t hesitate. Within the first twenty-five-or-so minutes, Kirk and Bones were tipsy, Scotty was drunk, and Spock was eyeing the bowl of chocolates behind the dark counter. The seats around the men were eagerly filled with people and aliens alike, all ready to blow off some steam with friends.

A certain woman caught their attention; dressed in a (favorite color) flowy crop top and a pair of high waisted jeans. Her (hair length) hair was thrown into haphazard space buns, messy in the best way. Jim nudged Bones and nodded towards the beauty, catching the attention of Scotty too.

"Betcha can't get her number," Bones whispered to Jim. He rolled his eyes.

"Pfft, you wish," the captain scoffed, launching himself from his chair. "This'll be no sweat."

Jim sauntered over to the girl, sliding into the seat next to her. She pretended not to see him.

"Brandy, please," he smirked. "On the rocks. One for me and the lady."

"No thanks," she replied nonchalantly, still refusing to look his way. "Two shots of vodka."

"Can't say I'm a vodka person," Jim said as the bartender placed his brandy and the two shots before them.

She rolled her eyes and brought both glasses to her lips, turning towards him as she threw her head back. "I never said it was for you."

Jim's cheeks were dusted with pink, totally unprepared for her response. He covered it with a chuckle.

"Fiesty, are we?"

She scoffed.  

Jim opened his mouth again, but she interrupted him.

"Look, buddy," she looked him in the eye again, causing Jim to stiffen.

"Before you try and ask for my number, I'm gonna have to decline."

Jim sighed, defeated.

"As you wish, M'lady," he said, picking himself up and walking slowly back over to his posse.

"Did you get it?" Scotty and Bones eagerly asked. Jim shook his head.

"Ha! I knew it! You're not as suave as you think, lover-boy!" Scotty laughed.

"Well, I bet you guys can't do it!" Jim argued indignantly.

"I'll try!" Scotty volunteered, jumping out of his seat.

"I can't believe I didn't get her number," Jim huffed.

Within minutes, Scotty came back as well, numberless.

"Okay, it can't be THAT hard to get her number," Bones said in disbelief.

"You go try then," Jim dared angrily.

"Yeah," Scotty chimed in. "The lass is as tough as nails!"

"Fine then," Bones got up and made his way to the woman.

In no time, he too returned with no success.

"Okay, so maybe it is hard," he muttered, sipping his drink.

"I won't stand for this," Jim smacked his fist into his palm. "One of us has to get her number before the end of the night."

"But we've all tried and failed," Scotty protested. "It would be quite ungentlemanly to go ask again."

"Not everyone," Bones said. The three of them slowly turned towards their pointy-eared friend, still eyeing the chocolate truffles three feet away from him.

"Are you kidding me?" Scotty exclaimed. "That Vulcan couldn't get a date with a rock! How do you expect him to get that pretty lady's number?"

"Well he's our last shot," Bones argued. "We can't go back over there but he can."

"What the harm in trying?" Kirk shrugged.

"I do not believe this is a good idea," Spock said.

"Oh come on!" Kirk groaned. "You don't even know what I'm asking yet!"

"I could hear you all talking since I am sitting right next to you," Spock intoned. He turned to Scotty. "And I do not understand your insult Mr. Scott since it would be illogical to get a date with a rock anyway."

"See what I mean?" Scotty motioned towards Spock.

"Ugh. Just- Just please try okay?" Jim pleaded. "I really want to know her number."

"Very well Captain. I will try," Spock started to get up, but turned around quickly to grab a chocolate, which he popped into his mouth. He made his way over to the girl quietly sipping at her martini. She looked up when he sat down.

"Hey there," she smiled.

"Greetings," Spock looked away from her, unsure how to act.

"Starfleet, eh?" she nodded at his uniform. "I'm in Starfleet too."

"You are?" Spock asked, intrigued.

"Yep," she popped the P. "Just got out of the academy actually. I've been training to be an assistant navigator."

"I see."

"So what about you?" she asked. "What field you in?"

"I am the first officer of the U.S.S Enterprise as well as the science officer,"  Spock replied.

"Damn," she raised her eyebrows. "I've always wanted to be on that ship."

"I believe the human term would be, 'I love my job'," Spock joked, though never breaking his stony expression.

"I bet," she chuckled. "So what's a handsome Vulcan like you doing in a place like this?"

"My captain insisted that I and our ships doctor and head of engineering accompany him to this bar," Spock explained.

"Oh, are those the looneys who tried to get my number earlier?" she laughed. "That's so funny."

"May I ask you a question?" Spock asked.

"Go for it," she said, finishing her martini and ordering another.

"Why did you shut the others down so quickly but continue to talk to me?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I've met other Vulcans in my lifetime, and they just seem way more attentive than people are, if that even makes sense. I guess what I mean is that without any emotions, they just feel more genuine. No offense, but your weird friends over there seem like they all just want to get in my pants."

"I see," Spock responded. "In that case, would you like to go on, what you humans tend to call, a date with me? I'm sure the Captain would be pleased if you joined our crew."

"That seems like an offer I cannot refuse," she smiled widely. "Here's my number. The name's [y/n] by the way."

"Spock."

[Y/n] scribbled the string of numbers down on a napkin, sliding it over to Spock and putting a twenty on the bar to pay for her drinks.

"Shall we go?" she smirked.

"Indeed," the corner of Spock's mouth twitched a little as he held his arm out and she wrapped hers around it. The pair walked past the trio, jaws on the floor as Spock waved the napkin in Kirks face before they left the bar.

[the-fanfiction-troll]

⚡️Harry Potter Headcanon⚡️

🧙‍♂️ 🧙‍♀️ This is an idea I had whislt reading the third book, its got text from the books but not exactly the same, its also a self insert but thats just my preference. 🧙‍♂️ 🧙‍♀️

Enjoy!

Harry Potter Twin HeadCanon:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry and Y/n, Harry left to open the door and there in the doorway stood Aunt Marge, her appearance was very similar to Uncle Vernon, mustache and all. She forced her way into the house, her bulldog under one arm and suitcase under the other and roared.

"Where's my Dudders, Where's my neffy poo?" to that Dudley came waddling down the hallway to greet her, thrusting her suitcase in Harry's face she seized Dudley tightly in a one-armed hug, when she let go Marge had spotted Petunia in the kitchen and with a shout she strode down the hall way to place a kiss on Petunia's cheek. After Marge had been settled with tea, fruitcake and whatever her dog Ripper desired Vernon started conversation while Y/n and Harry stood out of the way.

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," Boomed Marge, "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me." When Harry, followed closely by Y/n, Ripper growled in their direction, turning Marge's attention to the two twins. "Still here are you?" She barked, looking down on the two.

"Yes," Harry replied being the more confident of the two.

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungateful tone," Marge growled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have both gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep." Y/n could only guess what Harry was thinking to that but the thought resulting in a rather painful smile.

"Don't you smirk at me!" Marge boomed. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you, and you," She directed towards Y/n, "Still as silent as always, we are having a conversation! I hoped school would knock some manners into you." She took a big gulp of tea and faced Vernon again, "Where did you send them again, Vernon?"

"St Brutus's," Vernon replied, "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see," Marge said before suddenly turning back to the twins, "Do they use a cane at St Brutus's?" She barked at the two.

Seeing a curt nod from Uncle Vernon Y/n replied with a meek but loud, "Yes." with Harry adding for good measure, "All the time."

"Excellent," Said Aunt Marge. "I wont have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you both been beaten often?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry spoke, "Loads of times." Y/n just nodded in agreement.

Marge's eyes narrowed, "I still don't like your tone, boy," She said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in these cases." As she referred to the twins, Vernon then changed the subject.

As the week she was due to stay for continued slowly, Marge kept making subtle dark hints as to why the two came out so unsatisfactory, "You mustn't blame yourself for the way the two have turned out, Vernon," she started over lunch on the third day of her visit. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Harry attempted to concentrate on his food while Y/n was focusing on staying calm, "Its one of the basic rules of breeding, you see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch there'll be something wrong with the pup-" Just as she'd finished her last word, the wine glass she was holding exploded in her hand sending shards of glass in all directions. "Not to worry, Must have squeezed too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel's Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip." Both Vernon and Petunia however were looking suspiciously at the twins who thought it best if they skip pudding.

Harry stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall, "Harry, are you okay?" Y/n's quiet voice reached Harry's ears through his deep breathing.

"It's been a while hasn't it, since I've lost control and blown something up," Harry whispered back, which only caused a small sympathetic smile from his sister, when the two heard the Dursley's move from their seats they made their way upstairs to be out of the way.

On the final day of Marge's visit, they had all sat down to dinner, Marge having a few too many wine's, was looking rather red in the face. Harry and Y/n wanted nothing more than to disappear upstairs to their room but seeing the look on Uncle Vernon's face told them they'd have to stay put. "But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," Marge continued her drunken ramble, winking at Dudley. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy Vernon," Marge pointed to her glass which was then subsequently filled up once more, "Now, these two here," She jerked her head to the twins, Harry felt his stomach clench and Y/n tensed up like a deer in headlights, "He's got a mean, runty look about him, she's got a skinny, rat-like look. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred." Y/n could feel her stomach churn violently, and watching Harry try to distract himself didn't help either. "It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the results right in front of us."

Harry couldn't focus on his thoughts anymore as Marge's voice bore into him like a drill, Y/n on the other hand felt her head squeeze as Marge's word echoed throughout her mind. "This Potter, you never told me what he did?" Vernon looked about nervously before he spoke.

"He, didn't work," He glanced at the twins briefly, "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" Marge took a large swig of brandy and wiped her great chin with a sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who-"

"He was not," Harry suddenly cut in, Y/n placed a frightened hand on his shoulder and could feel the shaking, Harry had never felt so angry in his life.

"Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, aren't you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (Drunk I expect)-"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" Harry had suddenly shot to his feet, Y/n silently pleading with him to calm down, her hand on his arm.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar. You are an insolent, ungrateful little-" Marge had suddenly stopped, her swelling with anger wasn't just swelling with anger anymore, she continued to expand, the next second several buttons pinged from her jacket and bounced of the wall as she grew like some monstrous balloon. When Marge began to rise from her seat Vernon and Petunia rose to help her and before anyone could stop them Harry fled from the dining room with Y/n in tow. Harry began packing and taking her queue Y/n did the same, with their suitcases packed and owl cages in hand the two ran down the stairs as Vernon came screaming out the dining room.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" He bellowed. "COME BACK HERE AND PUT HER RIGHT!" in reckless rage however, Harry kicked open his trunk and pulled his wand out, pointing it at his uncle.

"She deserved it," And before they knew it the twins were outside lugging their trunks and cages along with them, Harry heaving heavily.

"Harry, stop walking and breathe," Y/n pleaded with her angry sibling, she was angry in her own quiet way but clearly not as angry as Harry was, he didn't slow his pace until they were several streets away, both were panting heavily from exhaustion when the stopped to sit on a low wall.

"Sorry, I got so angry, I'm probably going to be expelled from Hogwarts and you aren't even going to be allowed to Hogsmeade." Harry spoke, deflated by the consequences he'd brought upon the two.

"It's okay, at least I'll be with you." Y/n smiled her warm smile and shuffled closer to her sibling to attempt to gain some extra warmth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

😬 Please don’t crucify me! 😬

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke: Astia Valla Femundis

In which Fenris finds the balls to tell Hawke a little more about himself by getting drunk on the last few bottles of Aggregio. 

This is my heavy embellishment of the moment when Fenris tells Hawke about his escape from Danarius. More bad flirting, sexual tension, and the story of the Red Scarf™ (you all know the one). 

Read on AO3 instead; it’s a bit long (>3000 words). 

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

When Fenris finally decided to open up to Hawke, he made sure that he was drunk.

He opened the door and smiled lazily at her. “You’re just in time. There’s one last bottle of the Aggregio. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“You got started without me, I see?” Hawke complained as she followed him to the table. “I’m hurt. Don’t you know by now that it’s not a party until I walk through the door?”

“No party,” Fenris corrected as he uncorked the final precious bottle. He gallantly offered it to her. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Ooh. A private party with drunken Fenris? It’s like a dream come true.” She grinned as she sat at the table, then sipped from the bottle before handing it back to him. “What’s the special occasion?”

“The anniversary of my escape,” Fenris replied, then jauntily raised the bottle. “Astia valla femundis!” He sat and took a fortifying swig, and before he could lose his nerve, he planted his elbows on the table and smiled. “Care to hear the story?”

There, he thought. The hardest part was over, like ripping an arrowhead free from the flesh. Now that he’d put the offer out there, he couldn’t take it back.

Her amused little smirk slipped for a split second, replaced by a look of complete surprise. To her credit, she regrouped quickly; she sat beside him and kicked off her boots, then propped her feet up on the table as she always did. She reached for the bottle of wine and shot him a cheeky grin. “You can tell me anything you like. You know I could listen to that voice of yours all day,” she purred.

He smiled back just as flirtatiously. “There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman,” he drawled.

She gave a throaty little laugh, and Fenris was inordinately pleased by the rosy flush that spread across her cheeks. “All right, smooth talker, you’ve got me hooked. Tell me your story,” she said.

Tell me your story. It seemed so simple when framed in her playful voice, but in truth, this was a story Fenris hadn’t told anyone. In the years he’d spent in Hawke’s company, he’d never shared the details of how he’d come to be in Kirkwall.

It wasn’t for Hawke’s lack of interest. She’d asked him about his escape more than once during his first months here, but he’d always refused to tell her, too suspicious of her motives to risk the telling. And given her constant wisecracks, he’d figured she was hoping for an adventurous tale, but the story of Fenris’s escape was anything but entertaining.

Fenris knew Hawke better now. He’d seen past her incessant flirting, and he’d caught the occasional glimpse of sadness beneath her constant smile. Hawke’s heart held more melancholy than Fenris had originally thought, and after three years of working together - three years of battles and arguments and teasing - Fenris had decided that it was safe to let her see more than the malevolent marks on his skin.

Fuelled by booze-lubricated bravado, he’d finally decided to open the door and let her in a little bit.

And so it was that Fenris told her about Seheron. He told her about the fog warriors and how he’d murdered them all under Danarius’s command. He forced his way through the sordid tale, refusing to let the pain of it suck him in: how unworthy he was of their care, their strength and their pride and their fondness for each other and for him, the bodies he’d left broken and bloodied on the ground-

No, he told himself firmly. This was hard enough already. There was no point allowing himself to feel the agony of it. He took another deep drink from the mostly-empty bottle, then offered it to Hawke. “And now you know,” he drawled. Now that the words were free and floating in the air, Fenris was finding it hard to look at her.

She took the bottle silently, then drained the final few gulps of wine. She placed the empty bottle on the table, then slid her feet to the floor and leaned her elbows on the table. “That was worth waiting three years to hear,” she said softly.

Her words were kind but matter-of-fact, and he could feel his shoulders relaxing at her response. He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve never spoken about what happened to anyone,” he confessed. “I’ve never wanted to.” He eyed her contemplatively. “You and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but…”

“But what?” she asked.

He studied her for a moment. Her chin was resting on her fists, an innocent-looking pose for such a cheeky woman, but Hawke looked anything but impudent now. Her expression was curious and free of guile, and the wine was swimming nicely in his veins, making this moment feel just that little bit softer and safer.

“I have never allowed anyone too close,” he said. He reached automatically for the bottle of wine, remembering belatedly that it was empty.

Hawke unhooked a small flask from her pouch belt and offered it to him, and he nodded gratefully as he took it. She tilted her head as she watched him drink. “Shame,” she murmured. “Close to you must be a nice place to be. I bet that burning ball of rage in your chest would keep me nice and warm at night.”

He swallowed his mouthful of brandy and smirked at her. “Kaffas, Hawke. You are relentless.”

“Absolutely. I’m persistent to the point of stalkerish,” she quipped. “I’ll wear you down until you can’t resist, and then I’ll jump your bones. It’s a clever plan, no?”

Fenris chuckled and shook his head, then passed the flask back to her. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Hawke sipping from her flask while Fenris simply enjoyed this moment of quiet. Eventually she propped her feet back up on the table, and Fenris inspected the lean length of her legs with a fuzzy kind of appreciation. Even her bare toes were attractive, fine-boned and narrow, and Fenris couldn’t be bothered to care if Hawke caught him staring.

Finally she spoke, her quiet voice breaking him from his slightly lascivious reverie. “When you say ‘close’, do you mean… uh…What do you mean, exactly?”

Her cheeks were slightly pink, but her coppery gaze was as bold as ever. Whether it was her bluntness or the brandy, Fenris wasn’t sure, but before he could slap up his defenses, the truth was spilling from his alcohol-lubricated lips.

He lifted one hand and inspected the veins of lyrium on his palm. “When these markings were created, the pain was… extraordinary. And the memory lingers.” He returned his gaze to her face. “But you are unlike any woman I have ever met. With you, it might be different.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. “Wait. I must be dreaming. Are you… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

An alarmed little part of his mind was just as disbelieving as she was. He genuinely hadn’t meant the conversation to go in this direction, but now that it was… “If there was someone before, I have no memory of it,” he said.

Her eyes were growing wider by the second. “Not even after you escaped?”

“No,” he said. He took the flask from her hand. “I stayed nowhere for long. Who would I trust?”

She gaped at him, her fingers rubbing absently at the slim red scarf around her neck. “You trust me,” she said slowly. A teasing smile lifted her cheeks, but her eyes remained wide. “That’s what you’re saying, right? I’m not hallucinating? Even with all our, er, disagreements, you trust me.”

He huffed and shot her a warning look. “Do not make me regret saying it,” he said, then swigged from her flask. “I never thought I needed anyone, or wanted anyone. Until now.”

Suddenly her hand was on his wrist. “Fenris,” she said.

Fenris went utterly still, his senses suddenly sharpened by her touch. His sleeves covered his forearms, and she wasn’t directly touching his skin, but the feel of her fingers on his arm sparked a nervous kind of warmth in his belly.

Fenris didn’t like being touched. Before he’d escaped Danarius, the only touch he could remember was with intent to hurt, or to heal his injuries enough that he could tolerate more. After he’d escaped his former master’s clutches, no one had tried to touch him except to strike him in combat, and Fenris preferred it that way.

And then Hawke had come along.

She didn’t touch him often; it was rarely more than a friendly punch to the arm or a flirtatious brushing of his chest. And she’d never touched his bare skin. But the occasional casual touch of her slender hands was the only contact that didn’t make his skin crawl.

His eyes snapped to her face. Her amber eyes were intense and hot, and he’d never seen her look so serious.

“I want this, too,” she said. “I mean, I said so years ago, I don’t know if you thought I was joking, and you’re so hard to read sometimes… I mean, I love flirting with everyone, but it’s different with you. I mean it with you. Maybe it was - maybe I should have been more obvious, but it’s hard to be more obvious than telling you I’d like to strip you with my teeth-”

He snorted at the reminder of one of her more recent so-called advances. “I thought that was a joke,” he said. “Or perhaps I hoped it was.”

She released his wrist and buried her face in her hands. “Maker’s balls. I know, I’m dreadful.” She pushed her hair back and gazed at him for a moment, then straightened up and lifted her chin.

“Fenris, I want you,” she said. “And I’m serious. For once.”

The corner of her lips twisted in a wry little smile, but her gaze was focused and steady on his face. A burst of heat and nerves exploded in his belly, followed closely by a wavering feeling of unreality. He hadn’t intended things to go this way so quickly. He’d only meant to tell her about his past, not that he wanted… that he felt…

But Hawke was here beside him. And she was so fucking beautiful, and he’d been thinking about this for years, and he was so close to her that he could kiss her crimson lips if he leaned in just a little bit, and…  

And Fenris was drunk. He couldn’t... He needed to think about this.  

With a deliberate casualness, he leaned away from her. “Another evening, perhaps,” he said.

For a long, breathless moment, she stared at him. Then she leaned away as well. “Right,” she said. She fussed with her scarf for a moment, then ran her fingers through her hair. “Right, right,” she said, then rose to her feet and reached for her boots. “Well, I’ll, er-”

Oh. Belatedly he realized how dismissive he sounded. “Hawke,” he blurted.

She paused, her fingers twisted in her scarf, and Fenris scrambled desperately for a way to fix his gaffe. Finally his eyes fell on her abandoned flask, and he waved a hand toward it. “You’re leaving a drink unfinished? That is not the Hawke I know,” he said.

She eyed him cautiously, and Fenris nodded at her abandoned chair. Slowly she sat, then reached for the flask. “You know me too well, then,” she said. “Either that, or I’m much more of a lush than I think I am.”

He smirked, relieved when she slung her legs back up on the table and sipped her brandy. She handed him the flask, and as he drank the harsh liquor, he eyed the slender scarlet scarf around her neck.

She was still rubbing the fabric between her fingers and thumb - a nervous habit she’d had for as long as he had known her. He wondered if the scarf she now wore was the same one she’d had when they first met. Somehow he didn’t think it was; despite the years that passed, the accessory always remained a bright unfaded red.

He jerked his chin toward her scarf. “I have never seen you without that,” he said. “Was it a gift?”

“What, this?” She tugged at the scarf. “No, no. I made it. Or, well, I cut the fabric and hemmed it. It’s nothing special, just a kerchief. When one gets all worn and manky, I just make another.” She untied the garment from her neck and held it out for his inspection.

He took the kerchief from her. It was some kind of soft and thin material, and as Fenris stroked it gently with his thumbs, he realized it was still warm from its proximity to her neck.

He raised his eyes to her face. “You say it’s nothing special, and yet you wear it every day. Even when you’re at home.”

She smiled and lifted her chin. “Look who’s talking, Mister I-Don’t-Like-To-Change-My-Armour.”

He frowned. “Armour can be upgraded. This scarf serves no function.”

“Sure it does!” she retorted. She took the scarf back from him and rolled into a triangle, then tied it around her head the way Isabela wore her headscarf. “See?”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “You have never worn your hair like that.”

She laughed and pulled the scarf from her head. “Okay, fine, you’re right. I just like it, all right? Red is my favourite colour.”

Her smile was wide, but her eyes were on the slender strip of fabric as she rubbed it between her fingers, and Fenris studied her in silence until she spoke again.

“Red was my father’s favourite colour,” she said. She lifted her gaze to his face. “When we were children, he used to like it when we all wore matching red outfits. It made him laugh. And if Mother wore red as well, he’d call us the four chambers of his heart.”

Confused by the metaphor, Fenris frowned slightly, and Hawke lifted her eyebrows. “Oh,” she said blankly. “Er, you know how the heart has four… It’s not just one big pump, it’s like four little ones working together… Anyway,” she hurried on as his frown deepened, “that’s what he would call us. It was like a silly little thing he’d say. And when we got too old to wear matching clothes, whenever one of us would wear anything red, it would make him smile.”

Her own smile slipped as she looked back at the fabric in her hands. She was quiet for a moment, then she began to roll the kerchief into a slender band.

“After he died, Carver stopped wearing red,” she said. “Mother stopped too - said it made her too sad. Bethany wore a scarf like mine for a long time, but then she stopped as well. I think she just… moved on from the idea of it. But… I don’t know. I like it.” She shrugged and tied the scarf around her neck, her eyes determinedly on the table.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment, then finally lifted her gaze to his face. “Red is my favourite colour,” she said softly.

Fenris returned her serious gaze. “It is mine as well,” he told her.

She smiled slowly, then reached for her flask again. “Well well, what do you know? We have something in common after all.”

He grunted as she sipped the brandy, then took the flask from her outstretched hand. “It was bound to happen eventually,” he said.

“I don’t know, Fenris, sometimes I think you just enjoy disagreeing with me,” she teased. She propped one elbow on the table, then rested her chin delicately on her fist. “Maybe it turns you on to pick a fight with me. I, on the other hand, quite like the idea of making up with the likes of you.”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t suppress his smile as she slid her salacious gaze over his body. “You’re an idiot.”

“Only for you, Fenris,” she purred, just as he’d known she would. “Only for you.” She plucked the flask from his hand and swallowed the last gulp of brandy, then pushed her chair back. “Well, since you’ve no more wine to offer me, I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

“Hm. I see what my companionship is worth to you,” he drawled, and she chuckled as he followed her to the door.

With her hand on the doorknob, she turned and smiled at him. “Well, when you have something more tempting to offer me, you know where I’ll be.”

Her amber eyes burned with warmth, and Fenris admired the dimples at the corners of her mouth and the slender line of her neck as she tilted her head. He could brush his thumbs over those dimples if he wanted. He could press the tender skin of her neck with his teeth if he so desired. Hawke wanted him - she’d told him so in no uncertain terms - and he had no good reasons left to keep his distance from her, aside from the alcohol still moving sluggishly through his blood.

How odd it was to be thankful that he was drunk.

The silence stretched between them, dark and hot and expectant. Finally Fenris wet his lips, then bowed his head slightly and took a small step back.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he murmured.

She studied him for a moment, her smile curling into something even hotter than before. Then she slowly lifted her hand toward his face.

He froze, forcing back the instinct to flinch away. It was just Hawke, it was all right-

Very gently, she stroked his chin with her thumb. Then her hand dropped away from his face.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she whispered, and she left.

Fenris watched the swaying of her hips as she disappeared into the dark. He closed the door, then leaned back against it and exhaled a gusty sigh.

Fasta vass, he thought ruefully. This whole night had been… not what he expected. He’d thought he would tell Hawke about his escape, and she would make some childish joke to make it better, and that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t thought she would share more of herself in return. And he certainly hadn’t meant to admit that he wanted to sleep with her.

At least he’d only confessed to wanting sex. If he’d told her how deeply his longing for her truly ran…

Fenris groaned and dragged his fingers through his hair. He didn’t feel ready for this. He had hoped to end this evening feeling lighter, or purged somehow - hadn’t Sebastian said that’s how confessions were supposed to make you feel? - but instead, he just felt more tangled. Were things truly this complicated, or was he just making them so?

He closed his eyes and slid down to sit on the floor. His mind was a madly spinning loop of moments from this evening: Hawke’s fingers on his wrist, the throaty purr of her lascivious laugh, the openness in her face when he told her of his unforgivable massacre, the sadness in her smile as she smoothed her fingers over her scarf.

He rubbed his chin, remembering the gentle caress of her thumb. Despite the anxious rattling in his chest, he smiled.

He might be a muddled mess of wine and semi-formed regrets, but at least he could enjoy the touch of a beautiful woman.

[paybackraid]

Kiss It Better

Summary: Madam Christmas may not have been your average mother, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. The first in a collection of one-shots about a boy and his foster mother.

Words: 3754

Warnings: Aftermath of a car crash, nothing else

Chris was never meant for motherhood. That, she knew for a fact. God, be she Ishvala, Leto, or whomever, had not crafted Chris in the same mold that she did many other women.

She could barely handle aunthood.

“Hold his head, Chris!” said her brother, Arlan, a portly man with a head of dark hair. He took her elbow and situated it just beneath the head of the infant in her arms.

The baby giggled in delight and reached his toes up as far as he could. His little fingers were stretching toward her face, and it was all she could do to not take her face away and keep tiny grubby fingers from her.

“How old is he now?” Chris asked, if only to keep up conversation. The baby was all the new parents could talk about of late. Chris hadn’t minded at first, but it quickly got overwhelming. She was just glad that they had been so busy with parenthood that they weren’t calling her up at all hours anymore to talk about him.

“Our Roy-boy is nearly two months,” Arlan went on, “and he’s got my strapping chin to prove it!”

Chris looked down to the baby in her arms and found that she would disagree. Roy’s face was as round as a playball.

He stuck his tongue out and breathed hard, blowing spittle around. Chris did take her face away then, although she was sure a few specks hit her chin anyway.

“Roy…” said the boy’s mother, Jiao, who went forward with a handkerchief and wiped off his chin. Jiao came directly from Xing, though Chris could never remember which clan. She met Arlan on a trip to Amestris and just… never went home. It was love at first sight. Chris hardly believed in love at first sight but, by some twist of fate, it worked for the couple. They had been together for nearly five years and had been living together almost all of that time.

“Isn’t he a beauty?” Arlan went on, chattering as he always did when he was excited. “Takes just after my beautiful Jiao, so I know he’ll be a lady-killer.”

Chris snorted. She didn’t find babies particularly cute. Newborns certainly weren’t; at least this boy had grown into his skin.

But she didn’t dare say so to the happy parents aloud. “Yeah, he’s a cutie.”

Jiao suddenly cooed and went for her baby, pulling him into her arms and smattering his face with kisses. “We wondered if he would want to spend a weekend with you,” she said, with a hopeful little smile.

Chris and Jiao didn’t really agree on a few things.  It wasn’t that they didn’t get along; Chris found her stories of her homeland fascinating. Unlike her brother, Chris wasn’t much of a nationalist, and found hearing about other countries far more interesting than hearing about her own. Their opinions just often differed and clashed.

There was one thing, though, that Chris did like about Jiao. She was to the point. If she wanted something from you, she asked it. Chris was the same way, so she could respect it.

“I live in a bar,” she reminded the young mother. That, and she was useless when it came to children, let alone infants. “I wouldn’t be able to be with him, I’m afraid.”

Jiao’s hopeful smile fell to something less pleased, but Arlan just laughed and patted her back.

“There’s a reason Chris isn’t married yet, Jiao. Maybe give it a few years.”

Chris frowned and shot him a withering glance. She wasn’t married by choice. She had no interest in marriage. She could hardly take care of herself, let alone do the womanly part of the marriage for her husband, and she had no desire to act the traditional wife’s part.

Finally, Jiao laughed a little and smiled, bouncing her baby boy. “I get it,” she said. “Kids are tough. I hope some day he gets to spend some time with you.”

Chris smiled gently at her, a little nervous at the thought. Unless Roy was ten or more, she doubted that she would be any good with him. “Maybe someday.”

Chris nursed a brandy, seated at the bar. She kneaded her temples tiredly, leaning her elbow onto the bar and her face into her hand.

She thought she had aged ten years in three days. And she didn’t even have the kid yet.

“Chris?” asked Jess, her most experienced girl. Chris had only gotten the bar less than a year ago, and could use every bit of help she could get.

“I can’t do this,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t. I’m not a mother. I really can’t.”

“He isn’t even here yet,” Jess hummed, crossing her arms in front of her. “You can’t blow him off before he’s even here.”

“I can’t. Look at this. I live where I work. You can’t raise a child like that.”

“Who says you can’t?” Jess countered. “You were fine with it a week ago.”

“I only found out a week ago!” Chris rounded on her, eyes flaring. She didn’t like what Jess was trying to do to her nerves. She knew her fears were irrational, knew they were unnecessary, but surprise surprise, that was no help. “I’m just… I’m not a mother.”

Jess put on a little frown. She pulled out the stool beside Chris and sat in it, taking Chris’ shoulder. “Well, okay. It doesn’t work out. What happens then? What’s option B? You have until you sign those papers. Until then, if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”

Chris turned a heavy gaze on Jess, who was watching her steadily. Jess, and most of Jess’ life, had been the byproduct of insincerity and failing commitment. Very little meant more to her than sticking to your word.

What she was really saying was, “if you agree to do this, you stick with it until the end. No cutting out in the middle because it got hard.”

...And, she wouldn’t do that. Her brother had been family, and that was that. Family didn’t let down family.

“...Yeah.”

“You have two more hours to get used to the idea,” Jess reminded gently. She squeezed Chris’ shoulder again, leaning her face a little closer, “and you won’t be alone.”

Again, Chris nodded. She knocked back another swig and blew out a low breath, then stood. “I’m stepping out for a smoke. Watch the place?”

Jess smiled a little, clearly pleased. She knew Chris too well. Chris could smoke through a pack in a day seated in one place if no one got in her way. She didn’t mind the scent of the smoke or the heaviness in the air or the way that it hung around for hours in the bar.

No, when she stepped out to smoke, it meant she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She wanted her own, unbiased opinion. She had so many things to think about. Like planning the funeral for Arlan and Jiao.

They had been cut down in the prime of life, by a drunk, who chose to climb behind the wheel of a car they didn’t know how to drive. They had been on their way home from something as mundane as the grocery store. A run of the mill, day-to-day activity. Their son had been in the backseat, with the groceries, when it all happened.

Apparently, when he’d been pulled out of the wreckage, arm broken, covered in blood, pried from his mother’s arms, he had been covered in cracked eggs. Jiao appeared to have leapt into the backseat to make sure he was alright, knocking over one of the bags, and ended up bleeding out over him.

He had been sent to the hospital, and had been there for the past week. Chris had been informed that, since she was next of kin, she would be getting him until they could find a more suitable place, and had spent the past week getting accustomed to the idea.

Now, the kid was two hours away from being there, escorted by another police officer, and only now Chris was panicking.

Chris wasn’t a mother. She and Jiao weren’t cast in the same mold. She wasn’t a comforter, and she wasn’t a nurturer, and she feared that the kid would need exactly that.

...But, Jess had a point. Most of her girls lived at the bar with her so, if nothing else, she’d have their assistance.

And she couldn’t abandon her family. Arlan wasn’t always her favorite person, but in many ways he had been her best friend. She had met the kid once as an infant, and now… now she would be doing more than meeting him.

She didn’t need anymore time. She had the support of her girls, and the blessing of his parents. She was taking this kid in, signing those papers, and… becoming his foster mother. Until he didn’t need her anymore.

She smoked her cigarette to the butt and stood outside in the afternoon sun. She was glad she had shut down the bar for the day, in preparation for their visitor. She didn’t have the energy or the sense to prepare the bar for service tonight. She could certainly use a drink, but that could wait until after the kid was settled in his room.

Chris took one last puff of her cigarette and flicked the butt away, then decided to head inside and pick up the dining room a little. Cleaning had been finished from the night before, but it would be good for the kid to be introduced to a better-than-acceptable home and get comfortable.

Four of her girls soon joined her, cleaning up the bar and sitting area and polishing glasses. She appreciated their silent support, their unspoken promise to stay. These girls were like family to her, as much as Arlan and Jiao were. As much as the kid was.

Two hours passed by sooner than she expected, and soon there was the sound of a car pulling up to the bar. Chris took a huge breath and released it in choppy portions. Her life was two minutes from changing forever.

There was a knock at the door, and one of her younger girls, Juno, flashed a glance at Chris and then headed to the door. She flipped the lock and opened the door, changing the rest of Chris’ life with no hesitation.

Officer Barron stepped in first. Chris knew him personally, for many reasons. He was one of the officers that patrolled this area and regular stepped in to “make sure that she was alright”. She knew, though, that his inquiry was not genuine. What he really searched for was a reason to shut the entire establishment down.

Though that was true, he also stopped in three nights a week to share a bed with one of her girls. She didn’t much like him, because he was a terrible hypocrite, and she hated hypocrites. Hated the way that they lied, hated the way that they walked around with their noses up, like they were better than everyone else. Chris may not run the most honest, lawful establishment in Central City, but at least she was up front about it.

All she knew was that Barron visited here the way he did in self-centered ways. Whether he visited at night to gather evidence not as easily found in the day, or visited in the day to keep this establishment open for his thrice-weekly ritual, he was selfish about it either way.

...Still. Though his eyes roamed all around the room, eyed all the girls, and though hard eyes landed on Chris, he didn’t appear to be looking for evidence for once.

“Mustang,” Barron grunted.

“Barron,” Chris snapped back, crossing her arms over his chest.

He took a few steps in, then turned to the side. He carried a big black plastic bag over one shoulder, but was careful to keep it high.

Behind the officer, tucked in his shadow, there was a tiny figure, hugging itself. When Barron stepped to the side, he revealed the shape of a little boy.

“Come on, Roy,” Barron grunted, reaching his free hand back to push the kid forward by his head. The boy stumbled a little, then came to a stop just a step in front of Barron.

This was Chris’ little nephew, the orphan. His right arm was braced in a cast, and he was leaning heavily on his left side. His head was so low that his chin brushed his chest. He didn’t lift his head and he didn’t lift his eyes, didn’t even speak a word.

Barron dropped the bag to the floor and shoved it to the side. He put his hand on Roy’s back and pushed him again, a little harsher. Roy tripped over his little feet but managed to keep his footing. His right knee bent a little, standing on his toes. Something in the accident must have messed with his ankle, judging by the way he walked.

“Go on, Roy,” Barron said, voice a little snappish, a little impatient. His voice carried the undertone of a commander; he clearly didn’t know how to speak to a child.

Not that Chris did, of course. Maybe in this case, she was the hypocrite.

Roy flinched from his voice, then took a few more steps forward, limping lightly. He appeared to be waiting for permission for… something. More than anything, he seemed impossibly lost in a dining room no bigger than forty feet across.

Finally, after what felt like twenty minutes of silence, it was Jess who worked up the courage to come forward. She had two little sisters, only a little older than Roy, that she went to visit some weekends, so she at least knew how to talk to kids.

She moved forward and crouched in front of him, getting so low they were nearly eye level. Roy still didn’t lift his head, even seemed to turn his head away from her. “Hi,” Jess finally said, resting her hands on her knees. “You must be Roy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Roy turned his head back in Jess’ general direction. He didn’t lift his eyes, still stared at his feet. Very, very quietly, almost as silent as a ghost, he mumbled, “you’re not my aunt.”

Jess smiled a little, tilting her head to try and get into his line of vision. “No, but she and I are good friends. My name is Jess. I think you’re gonna like it here, Roy.”

Roy made a small noise with his mouth, but made no move and no other noise.

Jess smiled and let out an affectionate little laugh. “Come in, little one. Come meet the other girls.” She stood and reached for Roy’s good hand, prying it from his shirt. She pulled him forward until he stood right before his aunt.

Behind them, Barron exchanged a word with Juno, then stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving the big black bag, what must have been all of Roy’s things, behind.

Jess dropped Roy’s hand and stepped to the side. His hand returned to his shirt sleeve, knotting it in his fingertips.

After another moment, Roy finally lifted his head just a little, just enough to get an eyeful of the force of a woman before him. Very quietly, he opened his mouth and mumbled, “the of-ficer said you’re my aunt.”

“I am,” Chris agreed, feeling a little catch in her throat. “You can call me Aunt Chris, or Madam.”

“I don’t know you.”

Chris nodded a little and took a step closer. “I met you once, but you were too young to remember.”

“Daddy talked about you, though.”

“Good things, I hope.”

Roy shrugged, but Chris had a feeling that it wasn’t because Arlan had ever had something vastly negative to say. He started quaking a little, his cast jostling, and Chris could feel emotion rolling off him. He was scared, lonely, lost, and hurt, in a place he had never been and with people he had never met. And the two people in the world who could help him, the two people who loved him unconditionally, had died right in front of him.

Chris’ throat closed up for a second and she forced herself to turn away from the sight of a grieving child. She wasn’t terribly emotional, but this child’s parents—her brother and sister-in-law—had died only a week ago, and part of her struggled with that thought.

“I’m sorry about your parents, kid.”

A sudden hiccup left Roy’s mouth, and he lifted his good hand to press against his face. He started jerking and shaking, sobs leaving his mouth, as if everything that happened was coming down on him at once.

And Chris, who was no good with kids, who hadn’t dealt with anyone younger than eighteen since she had met Roy that first time five years ago, who was no good with her own emotions, Chris did nothing.

After a full moment of watching this child break down in front of them, finally did Mia stride forward and crouch in front of him. She introduced herself so he had a name to his comforter, then asked if she could pick him up. After a second, Roy nodded his head in a way that could almost be disguised as a quake from his grief, so Mia scooped him up and held him close, fitting her knee beneath his rump to get him higher against her. His good arm went around her neck, his bad arm fell to his side, and his head fell into her shoulder. Mia bounced him for a second, then turned to her boss for direction.

“Bring him upstairs,” Chris said, jerking her head in the general direction of the stairs. They had a room set aside for him, the one nearest to Chris’, with a little bed and dresser ready for him.

Mia dipped her head, rubbed his back, and took off for the stairs.

With the sobbing boy gone, the tension disappeared at once. Juno came over and shared a word with Chris, mentioning something about paperwork that Chris hoped Jess would remember, then she went toward the living room.

The last girl, her chef Dyna, dipped her head in Chris’ direction and stepped out. She was one of the few girls who had a place offsite, and she had a dog at home, so Chris didn’t mind when she left a little early.

“...So?” asked Jess after just a second, eyeing Chris.

“...We’ll keep him,” Chris said gently. She lifted her bejewelled hands and pressed one against smarting eyes, then took a heavy breath. “We’ll keep him. He has a… a home here. He’s one of us now.”

Jess pursed her lips, but the way her corners tilted up told Chris that she was fighting off a massive smile, which put a little warmth in her heart. Jess nodded and headed upstairs, leaving Chris to her thoughts. Chris sat back against the bar and pulled out another cigarette, giving Roy the time to calm down and become somewhat accustomed to his newest surroundings.

Several hours later, Chris retired upstairs. In the time between, she had taken the bag of Roy’s belongings downstairs. She washed and dried the clothes, and cracked open the three books he had brought with. The only other thing in that bag, besides a pair of boots, was a little stuffed rabbit with blood on its right arm. She did her best to clean it, but the poor rabbit would spend the rest of its life a little pink.

She carried the rabbit on one arm, and a fresh set of pajamas for him on the other. She wanted to check on him before going to bed, hoping that his stuffed rabbit would help him sleep through the night.

She cracked his door open without announcing her arrival. Mia had gone off to bed a while ago, saying that Roy asked that she leave him alone. He was suffering, she said, and felt he had no one. Chris could hardly blame him.

The bed was in the far corner, about three feet from a window. Despite the soft moonlight spilling in, Roy was turned away from it on his side. Judging by his shaky breath, Roy was not sleeping.

Chris quietly crept toward him and leaned over him. Indeed, his eyes didn’t appear to be closed, and he didn’t even look like he was trying to sleep. He just stared ahead at the plain wall, silent, shaking.

“Get up, Roy,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Get changed.”

Roy sniffed hard and turned his head a little to look at her. Now that she got a good look at his face, she saw that his injuries did not end at a gimpy ankle and a broken arm. There was a healing cut running down the side of his face, by his right eye, and another above his left brow. A bandage was taped onto his right cheek as well, but she couldn’t see what was going on beneath.

He eyed her, then very slowly sat up, wincing a little when he put strain on his arm. Chris helped him change without a word, then carefully led him back down into the bed and brought his blanket up to his shoulders.

“I w-want my Mama and Daddy,” Roy finally said with a shaking breath. When Chris passed him his rabbit, he buried his nose in it and started shaking against it.

Chris turned her head away when tears returned to his voice and his face. She patted his shoulder and, not knowing what else she was to say, she simply assured, “I know. Good night, Roy.”

And she, who was no good with kids and no good with emotions, who had just become this orphan boy’s foster mother, she walked away to rest up for a new day. Before she closed the door behind her, Roy breathed out a shaking breath, and seemed to fall quiet. She didn’t know if he fell asleep, or if he decided he was done crying, but whatever it was, Chris thought it would be good for him.

This was sure to present a lot of… interesting challenges in the future, but Arlan was her brother and Roy was her nephew. They were family, and you did not give up on family.

[janspar]

My Dear Cousin

My Dear Cousin,

It is not of our custom to give each other orders and make demands, but I must beg your indulgence on this occasion – by the time this letter reaches you I will be nearly at home, and I insist that you take me out so I can tell you of the adventures I've had on this tour.

My Master advised me not to take up with the Temar Company, and his warnings were not unwarranted. These past two hundred days have been an education in the misery and confinement of life aboard a vessel, the drudgery of the work, and the pettiness and venality of those souls who make their trade thus. He said little of the danger I would encounter, and yet again old Simas proved wise – had I known of the thrills and elation Company life would allow, I should have downed my tools and quit his yard six seasons since.

So much has happened I can scarce put the least part of it in a letter! When I reach Mirsvr I will come directly to your house, so I can be taken right away to the nearest spot for some proper brandy. They don't keep you short of strong drink aboard – least of all in the Company vessels, and least of all on my vessel, the Aspire, haha! – but proper brandy I have missed.

To whet your appetite, I shall tell you of one story that gives a picture of the life I've led. Thirty days ago, we were somewhere beyond the Ussin Belt – don't fear I have learned no navigation, Cousin, I just had been assigned to gunnery for a few days – and we encountered a smaller vessel, low on the horizon, crossing our bow. Now there is no reason for an honest vessel to be travelling that terrain, so low to the ground, and certainly not at its heading! So our Captain – a more ill-tempered woman I have yet to meet in my life, a bully and a cheat, but a master navigator and an uncanny tactician – gave the order to chase. We had the advantage of great speed over our prey, though, they gave us some trouble in the night and pulled a neat manouevre into the rising sun as dawn broke, almost blinding us and disappearing into the haze. Being on gunnery duty, I took little part in these affairs. But at last, we got directly above them and after a warning shot from our lowest battery, the smugglers – for that is what they were – struck their colours and halted. The Captain did not descend, but instead sent the First Lieutenant – a miserable gambler and a cheerful brawler – and the vessel's Weird – less of an oddity than you might expect, though deeply inscrutable – and a selection of six crew – myself among them! - to sieze the vessel and deal with those aboard.

They were a wretched bunch, ragged and ill, and the pickings of their cargo were upsettingly slim. The Captain ordered the Lieutenant and the Weird to return to Aspire, and I was left to take the vessel to the Company Depot back on the civilized side of the Belt. I landed the prisoners – don't fret, kind Cousin, the Company always leaves such disenfranchised souls upon a high vantage point, with rations, where they may attend to their own welfare until such a time as one of their kin will rescue them . Once I was airborne again I learned that the smugglers had been navigating purely on natural skill and familiarity with the land. There was not a single navigational instrument or chart to be found in that mean vessel – and I who had been working in gunnery, was lost in this land! Well, the Aspire was gone too far for me to signal or call back without appearing a fine fool in the eyes of my fellows, and risking the Captain's wrath.

So I struck out, with nothing to guide me in this unfamiliar land but the Sun! For two days I set the course by the Sun, and by night I guided my vessel by the moon or Fasaath gleaming low in the sky, and sure enough by dawn of the second day I found myself crossing the Belt. By noon of the third day I reached the Depot, and sure enough, they had expected me only that morning. I consulted the charts there and found I had travelled by near the closest route possible. Do you think it may be the Captain, experienced in the ways of smugglers, expected them to have no maps? And was testing me or perhaps trying to have me punished for lateness? Ah but I made a good time and not even my brute of a captain can deny it! Two days only by the sun, the moon, and the inner four planets, and I arrive within mere hours of her reckoning!

Ah but dear Cousin that is only one story, and the one I can mostly safely commit to paper. When you see me you must not let me leave or get too drunk without I have told you of the Binni Trader in Poradh, or the battle above the Selin Lake, or the card game my first week in the Barracks. You will delight in all these, I promise you!

I trust all is well in Mirsvr? Has my brother quite recovered from his illness? Do kiss your mother and father for me, and my mother should you see her. If you see my father tell him he is a scoundrel.

Yours,

Yar te Yarllen, Probationary Officer 2nd Class, Temar Company Fleet.

Ussin Province Depot

[rue-by-another-name]

“Love Me Do” -Part 2 h.s. a.u.

Part 1 

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Your first day on the job, Harry felt as though he was doing nothing but babysitting. It was almost as if everything you did, he had to walk behind you, both hands out as if directing a toddler taking her first steps, to only quickly undo whatever it was you had done.

He also quickly learned that you had zero concept of what any sort of alcohol was.

“What? Wha – no Y/N – I said the brandy. That’s vodka. How – never mind just grab the bottle with the darker liquid and the red seal.” Harry ran his hands through his hair as he watched you reach up on your tiptoes to reach a bottle. He suddenly had this vision of you falling and all the bottles breaking so he quickly ran up behind you and reached around you to grab the brandy bottle.

You stiffened at his touch, his warm and large hand coming to rest on the exposed expanse of skin on your hip as your shirt rode up.

“How do you not know anything about alcohol? You’re like, drinking age and in uni,” Harry chuckled, bopping your nose. The simple gesture weighed heavy on you, considering it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, and not something you would do for someone you fancied.

Again, you wanted to hit yourself for building up one simple touch in your head. Instead, you clutched the bottle close to your chest and gave him a hesitant smile. “My parents never drank. I’ve been doing homework all of my college life. And I live with two party girls who need to be constantly cared for.”

“You should let loose every once in a while,” Harry shrugged as he watched you attempt to open the bottle. He gently took it from your hands and opened it for you as he walked out from behind the bar to open it.

“I let loose when directing,” you called after him, “Through those I direct.”

Harry simply smirked before shaking his head. “Then what kind of life will you be living if you’re only living through others?”

“Oh God,” you groaned, “You’re such an actor. That was grossly cheesy. You should be ashamed.”

Harry laughed, “I guess it’s not something I can easily turn off.”

You went to say something else when the door opened and a blonde boy burst through. “I’m here!” he called before his eyes landed on you, “And you’re behind the bar!”

“Calm down Niall,” Harry rolled his eyes as he stacked the trays on the bar and handed Niall a beer. “She works here now.”

“I’m Y/N,” you said hesitantly.

“You’re that sad girl that always eats all the pretzels,” Niall nodded, “I remember ya.”

“I’m the who?” you asked, turning and looking to Harry who just put his hands up in defense.

“In our defense, you do always look rather sad,” he noted, “And Niall has no filter.”

“It’s nice to meet you Niall,” you grumbled before going back to cleaning out the glasses. The bell rang over the door again and Bea strut into the bar with a big smile on her face.

“Y/N! Babe!” she cried, “Look at you! Your first job not in a film store!”

You couldn’t help but blush a bit as you went to place a wine glass on the bar but missed the bar completely, the glass breaking at your feet as you stared at it in shock. Bea bit her lip and her eyes shifted from Niall’s to Harry’s before falling back to you.

“I’ve got it,” Harry chuckled, “Step away love.”

You felt your entire face burning red before you groaned and stepped away to where Bea was sitting and waiting for you.

“So it’s going pretty well, huh?” she asked hesitantly.

“I know nothing about alcohol and that’s the fourth glass I’ve broken,” you whispered.

“You’re doing great then,” Bea patted your shoulder, “And at least it can’t get any worse!”

You groaned and rested your forehead on the bar. “Chin up Y/N!” Harry called, “People are on their way!”

You watched the black silhouettes before they opened the door and actual real people walked in. The worried look on your face was noticeable to Harry and everyone else, but Harry quickly put you to ease.

“You’re only passing out beers,” Harry handed you four beers nestled between his fingers as you attempted to take the bottles in your significantly smaller hands. “And you can pour shots. I’ve watched you attempt to now five or six times. You’ll get the hang of it.”

He patted your shoulder before giving you a wink and going over to the ever-growing crowd of people. And the nice passed much like that – Harry was able to serve all the fancy drinks as you handed out beer after beer and did all the mathematics for each order. You handled all the tabs, and you rung everyone out. Harry watched you try to keep yourself busy, attempting to seem confident and in control of the situation. Your hair slowly started falling strand by strand from the ponytail it had once been placed in, and by the end of the night your face was flushed and your chest was slightly glistening with sweat.

“You did good tonight kid,” Harry offered his hand and you took it hesitantly before nearly dropping another empty glass, in which Harry quickly caught.

“I’ll get better; I promise,” you said earnestly. “I’ll research alcohol and –”

Harry laughed, “You don’t have to research anything,” he gave you a half-hug before grabbing a rag and tossing it to you. “Why don’t you wipe down the tables? Then you’ll be done for the night.”

You nodded and got to work. The rest of the work kind of worked out like this as well. You slowly got a bit more educated on how to make certain simple drinks, and continued to clean and hand out beers. Harry designated a stool in the back corner behind the bar for you to study and write when the bar was having a slow night.

The rhythm slowly set into place, and you started to feel a bit more comfortable around Harry. The more time you spent with him, the more at ease you would be whenever he looked directly at you, or his arm brushed up against yours behind the bar. You stopped letting his little comments like “kid” bother you, and just tried to do your job while getting your part of the script and planning done.

It was a Thursday when you jogged into the empty bar and slammed the binder down on the bar that Harry was wiping down.

“I was cleaning that,” Harry smirked but could see you were far too excited to care whatsoever.

“Here you go Mr. Styles,” you said proudly, “Your script.”

Harry picked it up and thumbed through it as he sighed. “Okay well, I see you’ll be using my bar as a set.”

“It’s not your bar, but considering I never see who actually runs this place –”

“He hates people.”

“- then I figured we could use it! Also, budget cuts,” you shrugged.

“So it’s a romcom,” Harry smiled.

“You’re a moody bartender, which shouldn’t be that hard for you,” you said gesturing dramatically to Harry, “And you’re in love with the florist across the street.”

“Across the street is an old abandoned bakery,” Harry looked out the window. “And you’re planning to turn it into flower shop?”

“Just for two days,” you nodded, “We’ll shoot everything in the store in two days so we can minimize the time we’re renting that place out. Also, I’m going to need to work a couple more hours so that we can rent that place out.”

“Isn’t your friend helping at all? Tad?”

“He’s doing what he can but his main job was to write the script. I edited it and changed some things after our talk and stuff, but he laid the groundwork.”

“Wait,” Harry narrowed his eyes, “You’re basically doing all the work.”

“No I’m not!” you gasped defensively.

“Yes you are!” Harry laughed, “You’re actually writing the script after Tad gave you what? 10 words?”

“That’s not how it went,” you rolled your eyes, “Just take the part and be grateful.”

“My name is Cooper,” Harry winced.

“What’s wrong with Cooper?!” you laughed.

“Basic,” Harry shrugged. You kneeled on the stool to reach over the bar and push Harry’s shoulder. He just laughed and continued to thumb through the script as you looked over his shoulder.

“I look forward to working with you then.” Harry looked up as you wobbled slightly and Harry grasped both your arms to steady you. Your faces were impossibly close, and you instantly hated yourself for putting yourself in such a situation.

“Oh fuck off,” you grumbled, climbing down and ducking under the bar to grab your waist apron.

“What?” Harry laughed and leaned against the bar with his arms crossed, “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m not in a mood!” you glared, “I’m just tired, okay? I’m not allowed in my flat tonight because both my roommates are bringing boys home. I’ve been at school all day and was so looking forward to a nap and night’s sleep but can’t anymore because I don’t have a boyfriend – again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, Harry. Again!” you burst.

“Well maybe you’ll meet someone tonight and can go home with him,” Harry shrugged, “That could be fun.

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” you grumbled, tossing your rucksack into the back before pulling your hair up. “But thanks for the pep talk; really appreciated it.”

You tried not to allow this rotten mood muffle your need to work as a peppy and happy person. And it was a good thing you decided this early on, because it wasn’t long before a large bridal party made their way into the bar.

“Hi!” one of the bridesmaids smiled as Harry greeted them with congratulatory shots on the house. “We have a game going on tonight and we get five points if we kiss a bartender,” she said flirtatiously, taking her shot as Harry looked on smugly.

Instantly your heart burst into jealous flames. Harry wasn’t yours; Harry was far from yours. But you still felt you laid some claim to him because of your hopeful heart. You could get more comfortable and allow yourself to relax around Harry all you wanted, but that still didn’t mean that your heart skipped a beat whenever you looked over at him. And seeing him now with these bartenders fawning over him surely gave you the jealousy you’d been trying to shove deep down since you’d started working here.

“And you have a girl bartender!” one of the already drunk bridesmaids said. “That’s perfect for Ryan! RYAN!”

The bridge and a handsome guy pushed their way through the crowd of ladies in pink sashes. You almost wanted to laugh at the “Man of Honor” sash Ryan was boasting on his strong chest.

“Just my luck then Lady Bartender,” Ryan gave an awkward bow as the girls all giggled and clapped.

“Yeah Lady Bartender,” Harry turned and smirked at you, “Just his luck.”

The night proceeded quite louder than you’d anticipated, and you retreated a bit to ringing up tabs and cleaning glasses as they were needed. You couldn’t stand looking at Harry flirting with all the bridesmaids, and you could tell he was milking this whole, “Which one of you should I kiss?” thing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he kissed them all on their way out the door.

“Excuse me?” You turned to see Ryan taking a seat at the stool opposite you and he smiled as you gasped and dropped another glass out of shock. Ryan winced at the sound of broken glass but it didn’t even phase Harry as he barely had to look for the broom before tossing it to you.

“I’m so sorry if I startled you,” Ryan bit his lip and your insides almost exploded. A boy was talking to you.

“I’m just a jumpy person in nature,” you sighed, “Harry keeps tabs of the glasses I break and makes me put money in a jar every time I do so.” You stepped aside for Ryan to see the half-filled jar of bills and cents you’d sacrificed in the past couple of weeks.

“You don’t strike me as someone here by choice,” Ryan chuckled, “You’re the quietest bartender I’ve ever met.”

“Keep tabs on bartenders, huh?” you joked. Ryan merely smiled.

“Just that you’re a lot less …” Ryan looked to Harry as he was leaning over the bar and talking rather closely with one of the bridesmaids. “… involved … than any other bartender I’ve met.”

Your eyes remained on Harry for a little too long before clearing your throat and turning back to Ryan. “Well, if I’m being honest I’m only here because I needed a job and a place to work with free wifi and Harry offered it.”

“Are you two a thing?” Ryan asked, taking a swig of his whiskey and gesturing to Harry.

“Oh God no,” you shook your head, “We’re from very different worlds, Harry and I. He would never go for someone like me and I would never waste my time chasing after someone like him.”

It wasn’t that Harry was listening in on your conversation, but considering you’d broken a glass and then he’d noticed you were talking to Ryan, he had perked up his ears a bit to hear where the conversation was leading. He frowned at this statement, looking over to see Ryan was still smiling and saying something to you that made you blush.

You were from different worlds? Harry knew people didn’t always have the most respect for struggling actors, but did you really think that differently or highly of yourself that you saw a difference? No, because you said he would never go for someone like you. Did that mean you thought you weren’t good enough?

Harry regarded you for a moment, watching the way you curled your one foot over the other as you laughed and leaned against the bar. You had a nice figure, but not a figure that would stop anyone in their tracks or make someone look twice. Your hair and makeup was always done nicely, you had a nice sense of style … but maybe it was just your mix of either too shy or too bored that turned people off. But you were sweet, Harry knew that now, and he wouldn’t say he had feelings for you in any romantic sense, but he cared for you and had gotten to know you well enough that he wanted whatever was best for you.

Regardless, the comment stuck in his head as he continued to serve people the rest of the night. He dodged bridesmaids left and right, and whenever he looked over to you, you would be tending to someone while Ryan still kept close. He was rooting for you, and hoped he didn’t see you at the end of the night.

“So you want to direct,” Ryan nodded, “That sounds like quite a busy job.”

“I’ve always loved movies but never enjoyed being in front of a camera,” you shrugged, “This seemed like the best bet. I don’t want to produce; I want to be where the action is.”

“You sound very determined,” Ryan raised his glass to you, “I commend your attitude.”

You blushed, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Ryan!” the bride-to-be came flying in towards the two of you and grasped his arm. “Come on! We have to get going if we’re going to get to the last bar on our list. We’ve already been here for way too long!”

“I guess that’s my queue to leave,” Ryan sighed as the ladies all bustled out. You caught sight of Harry and a bridesmaid making out near the door of the bar, and you were reminded that Ryan needed a kiss from a bartender in order to gain points for whatever game they were playing.

You turned to see Ryan paying off the tab before handing you the pen and smiling, “It was nice meeting you, Y/N,” he smiled, “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Of course,” you breathed as your heart sunk and fingers itched to cover your face upon realizing you weren’t going to be kissed. Harry watched after ushering the clingy bridesmaid away as Ryan turned away and your face fell. You took care of their tab, crunching numbers in the machine before sighing and going back to refilling shots and handing out beers.

The night quickly ended after that and you’d been mostly silent the entire time. Harry had let you have your space, seeing you were really far in your head, but as the bar closed and you started cleaning tables, Harry could tell you were distraught.

Grabbing one of the trays Harry had used to carry multiple beers out to whoever was sitting at the table, you gripped it harshly before feeling the sudden urge to slam it down onto the table. You did so, and cried out in anger as you kicked a chair away and threw your towel onto the table as well.

Harry watched your outburst with wide eyes, never seeing you so angry or filled with any sort of emotion before. “Y/N …”

“Not now Harry!” you yelled as hot, angry tears started falling down your cheeks. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot. Obviously we weren’t he only bar they were going to tonight. I’m sure there were way hotter bartenders wherever they were going. Jesus fucking Christ!”

You kicked another chair and Harry just let it happen, seeing you needed this far more than you cared to admit. “And here I was again, just the fucking place holder so he didn’t have to go out onto the dance floor with those thirsty bridesmaids!” you cried. Harry leaned against the bar and watched as you paced angrily, running your hands through your hair.

“Fucking hell!” you yelled, “I’m always the fucking safe option – never the exciting flirtatious option guys are interested in. I’m the girl they’ll know they have use to kill the time because I always fucking want something to happen and I’m so fucking goddamn lonely and desperate that they know they can come to me and I’ll listen. I’ll listen like a fucking psychiatrist because I hope so desperately that they’ll want me by the end of it and they never FUCKING DO!”

You were screaming now, your face red with anger and you were breathing heavily as you looked over to see Harry was making a drink.

“Are you fucking making another drink right now?” you cried, “Does this amuse you so much that you have to settle in and get a drink?”

“Oh no love, this is for you,” Harry slid the drink towards you and you eyed it wearily.

“I don’t dri –”

“Just try it,” Harry sighed, “Consider this your alcohol education.”

You sat down across from Harry and slumped a bit, taking the drink in your hand and sipping it suspiciously. The tangy citrus flavor filled your mouth and you hummed in approval. “This is good; what is it?”

“It’s a screwdriver,” Harry chuckled, “Orange juice and vodka.”

“I like orange juice,” you nodded.

“I figured you might,” Harry merely regarded you as you drank the rest of it and tapped the glass when you were done. “I’ll take another please.”

“That’ll cost ya,” Harry joked, but laughed even harder when you grabbed the jar of bills you’d stashed in the ‘Broken Glass Fund’ jar.

“At this point, you could poison me and I’d be okay with it,” you grumbled.

“I didn’t know you felt this lonely,” Harry said softly as you clutched your third screwdriver in your hands.

“It’s always been this way,” you shrugged, “Just a part of me, I guess. Never been in a relationship.”

“Never?” Harry raised his eyebrows as you polished off your third drink.

“Can you make me something else fruity please?” you asked, handing him back the glass. Under normal circumstances, Harry wouldn’t have given you another drink as you were definitely starting to get tipsy, but considering he figured you might just need to hang loose a bit, he mixed you up a Greyhound instead.

“I hope you like grapefruit juice,” he sighed, handing you back the new drink.

“I like it now,” you nodded.

“So if you’ve never been in a relationship, then does that mean –”

“I’m a virgin?” you asked bluntly, “That’s always the first question asked.”

“I was going to ask if that meant you’d never been kissed,” Harry smirked and brushed some hair from your forehead. “But that was definitely my next question.”

“Donny Telman kissed me in grade four, so I was an early bloomer there,” you sighed, “I’ve never really had a good kiss though, you know? Like I’ve never made out fully with anyone. Still kinda confused what to do with my tongue I guess?” you waggled your tongue around and Harry laughed, looking up at you from where he was leaning with his forearms on the bar and hands keeping his chin up.

“There isn’t really much of a rulebook,” Harry chuckled, “So you’re asking all the right questions those of us more experienced still ask.”

“I’m sure you kiss lots of girls,” you nodded. Your body felt warm, and the outline of Harry’s body was soft. In your eyes, he almost seemed to be radiating light, and so you groaned at the thought of Harry being anymore angelic than you already considered him to be.

“Can I try rum again?” you sighed, handing him back your now empty glass. You watched Harry’s back muscles work as he sifted through bottles and found what he was looking for before mixing your drink.

“Rum and orange,” he said, handing it to you. “Go nuts.”

“I have had sex though,” you nodded. Harry noticed your words were starting to slur and his dream of seeing you drunk ever since he’d met you was slowly starting to come true. You were far funnier than he ever could have imagined.

“Good for you, love,” he nodded.

“Probably not as much as you,” you booped his nose, “God I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Bop my nose like I’m some sort of puppy,” you gagged. “Makes me feel like your younger sister and I hate that.”

“I’ll stop doing it then.”

“No, please don’t,” you shook your head, “I say I hate it, and I’ll pretend to be annoyed by a lot of things you do, but in reality it’s because I just sometimes in my head get like, these thoughts about you, ya know? Like, I’m like ‘oh if this was a romcom then I’d totally be like the it-girl right now and you’d totally be into me.’ But this isn’t a romcom and the fact that I seem to be one of the only people who you touch my nose then that means there’s hope for us to be friends.”

Harry was a bit touched at this, and he realized you were far more observant than he took you for. You noticed the little things, and to him, those were sometimes the most important things in life.

“I think it would be funny if we wrote a scene into the movie of the flower girl getting drunk in your bar and you taking care of her,” you nodded, “I’ve always wanted to be drunk with someone taking care of me.”

“You can totally write that in if you’d like,” Harry nodded.

“Millie wants the role,” you admitted, “But I really don’t want her to because you two like, hooked up and stuff and now we’re working together and hopefully friends so it would be weird.”

“We’re friends, Y/N,” Harry nodded, “You can call me your friend.”

“But we’re so not similar,” you shook your head viciously and almost fell out of your stool. “You’re so much better than me Harry Styles. You’re so attractive and people flock to you and people like you. I could stand front and center of this bar in nothing but my underwear and a bra and guys still wouldn’t notice me.”

Your comment from earlier about the two of you never working out once again stuck in Harry’s mind. “Do you think so little of yourself that someone ‘like me’ would never go for you?”

You were quiet as you stirred the straw in your drink and shrugged, “Well, it’s been many years and I’ve been around many guys and the only guys who have ever expressed interest are the ones who write creepy poems for me or don’t shower regularly and I remind them of their mums.”

Harry chuckled at his as you asked for another drink but he shook his head. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight, love.”

“I think I like drinking now,” you nodded, “I’ll have to come back to this bar sometime.”

“You have to come back considering you work here,” Harry reminded you. “Now, you can’t go back to your flat, right?”

“My roommates are fucking,” you nodded, “I mean, wait.” You furrowed your eyebrows and tapped your lip thoughtfully as Harry grabbed his coat and then yours. “They’re not fucking each other. But like –”

“Yeah Y/N I get it,” Harry mumbled as he helped you put on your coat. “Come on then; you can crash at mine.”

“You have a place you live!” you gasped, “I figured you just slept here!”

Harry chuckled as he helped you off the stool and pulled you in close to help you walk towards the door without stumbling too much. So close to Harry and tucked right under his arm, you turned and pressed your nose against his side. He smelled like old bourbon and a refreshing mint and wood combination that instantly had you dizzy.

“You smell so good,” you mumbled, your face smushed up against his body as he chuckled and hailed a cab. He helped you into the vehicle and you sighed, looking out the window. You were far more confident when under the influence, and so Harry was quite surprised when you nestled your head in his lap and let out a long sigh.

“This is a very romcom situation we’re in,” you said softly with a yawn, “Usually this is the beginning of a ‘he said-she said’ situation. But we’re not in a romcom and you’re really pretty and I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

Harry let his fingers softly run through your hair as you fell asleep in the back of the cab. He carried you up to his flat once you arrived, and as you blinked back awake, you were lying in an unfamiliar bed as Harry walked towards you with water.

“Drink up,” he said, “You’ll thank me in the morning when you have your first hangover.”

“I have class at nine,” you grumbled, a bit more sober than previously as Harry tossed you some boxers and a shirt. “Oh no,” you shook your head, “I can’t wear your clothes.”

“Why not? You’re wearing jeans. That won’t be comfortable,” Harry furrowed his eyebrows and filled your water glass again to get you to drink more.

“If I wear your clothes then I’ll be surrounded by you all night and that’s basically you asking me to fall in love with you,” you said honestly, “I’ve never worn a man’s clothes and I really don’t think I’ll be able to separate these feelings.”

Harry sat down next to you and sighed, feeling a bit sadder than he originally had. He wanted to care for you, and his mum had always raised him to care the right way, but he also didn’t want to put you in a self-torturous situation that you knew you would be in.

So instead, Harry nodded and took his clothes back. “Well, if you get uncomfortable, please feel free to change. And I promise I’ll set you straight in the morning if you come onto me.”

You blushed at this, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it to the side. “I’m guessing you’re going to give me your bed and then you take the couch like a gentleman?”

“That is how my mum told me to go through life,” Harry nodded, “Do you have a problem with that?”

You groaned and pulled yourself off the bed, grabbing at the pillows and smelling each one. “What are you doing?” Harry laughed, standing there with the water pitcher and just letting this all happen.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” you nodded, “You have to be an asshole, okay? Or else I will start concocting scenarios in my mind of the two of us together because you’re being chivalrous.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to blush as he thought of the thought of you thinking about the two of them. It warmed his heart a bit to think that you had at least at one point thought about this, but were now actively trying to push it out of your head.

“Still haven’t explained why you’re smelling the pillows,” he mentioned.

“Trying to find one that doesn’t smell like you,” you said honestly, finally finding one that was farther in the back. “This one smells more like IKEA for sure.” Harry followed you as you marched down the stairs and fluffed the pillow, plopping down on the couch and curling up. He placed a blanket over you and you caught his wrist as he left the glass of water on the table in front of him.

“You have to wake me at 8am,” you said, “I have class at nine and I can’t miss it.”

“I’ll make sure you’re reading for school,” Harry nodded, “Now go to sleep. And don’t vomit on my couch.”

You were asleep before Harry even left you, and he smirked at the thought of how easily you’d actually held your liquor until you’re gone for the rum. He was kind of proud of you, in a way, because you could have continued to sulk over the whole Ryan thing, but instead you’d allowed yourself to let go.

He watched you snuggle in a bit farther under the blankets as he cleared some dishes from the kitchen in search of some Tylenol for you to take in the morning. Setting the pills next to the glass of water, Harry hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips to your forehead. Even though you’d told him how easily it was for you to fall for someone and you wanted to separate any potential means of you falling for him, Harry still hoped this forehead kiss gave you some good dreams.

Because you deserved them, he thought, as he made his way up to bed and felt his body dragging from a long day. He set his alarm to get you up in the morning, and smiled at the thought of you having a good night’s sleep with whatever Prince Charming you were hoping for one day taking care of you in your dreams.

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Sorry for the delay but I hope this makes up for it! Let me know if you’re interested in this story going further because I have some of the next parts written a bit! Thanks for all the love and support! Happy holidays !!!!!!

Part 3 HERE // MASTERLIST