#genuinely all me mum has told me about my extended family has been a) they will invade your personal space and b) they will shout at my mum

[bisexualbaldingbulgarian]

Going to my motherland in *checks notes* six days!!🥳🥳🥳

[qvietspvce]

"as your uncle i think i have a right to get a say in what happens to your body."

that's a direct quote from an email i received from my uncle a few days ago. tell me friends, did it make your skin crawl as much as it made mine? because i went "eurgh!" out loud.

context: he recently found out (through my twin sister outing me to my extended family) that i'm transitioning and that i was having top surgery.

my top surgery date was 27th march. his email was sent on 2nd april. it's giving "shutting the barn door after the (titless) horse has bolted".

other highlights from his email include:

mentions of an unnamed friend who allegedly transitioned from female to male, regretted it, detransitioned and now bemoans being "ugly" and "flat chested".

being told that i am a very pretty girl

being worried about what my potential partners in the future will think of my "lack of breasts" and "awful scarring".

telling me that it's very selfish to be having surgery when his ex-wife has been waiting years for a "life saving operation" (exact operation is unknown, when i asked mum for more context she said she doesn't have a clue what he's on about because his ex-wife is in perfect health) and i'm just "jumping the queue ahead of cancer patients that genuinely need treatment".

he closed his email with

"[deadname] i just want you to really consider the impact on everyone else in the family. you're a remarkably intelligent young woman and i just want the best for you.

all my love,

[uncle's name] xxxxx"

my extended family are fucking exhausting.

[fuckinorangecat]

I've never seen myself as important until today.

My life so far has always been indepedent, or at least that's how I've always seen it. I've never thought about being important to other people. It's difficult to explain but I truly felt like an absolute failure of a human being today. Every job I've done so far, I've been unimportant. Not in a depressing, pessimistic sort of way, but just replaceable. I worked at dominos for about three weeks when I was 16, after university I worked at a grocery store, then a library assistant. The common denominator being that they are all customer service jobs, hence "replaceable". This extends even outside the work place, with friends and family I've never seriously considered that I was ever important. My friends and family love me but I always think, as long as I'm alive it should be fine; I've never thought any further than that. I've the absolute bare minimum in all aspects of my existence which has, of course, finally bared its fangs towards me in the results of today.

For the past month I've been "tutoring" a student for an English speech contest. For context, I work as a ALT (Assistant Language Teacher) in Japan and one of my responsibilities in a senior highschool includes the coaching of students for their speeches. It was my first time coaching so it's entirely appropriate to say it's unfair to feel like a failure when I've never had any formal training, but that fuck all to shake the feeling I'm currently feeling. My student is the most hardworking individual I've ever seen. Teachers here say many students have the same routine as her which is fine and all, but that absolutely does not take away from her work-ethic. She has been practising earnestly everyday since her speech got accepted. It was slow in the beginning, mainly because I struggled to find my place as a speech coach but it eventually picked up. We would practise every day after school, repeating lines, practising each paragraph, working on the stress of words and intonation and it really did pay off in her performance today. Once time, my student was teary because of the progress she felt she made in one of our practice sessions. It was one of the most rewarding feelings of my life, I was genuinely so happy and proud of her. However, today she contest she did not win anything. Nor did 14 other students but I just don't care about that. She was on the brink of tears today because she was so disappointed, her mum was the same but she pulled through and said "Shall we go to starbucks then"?

I've never felt so powerless and failed in my life. I think part that hurt the most was that even though it was so clear that she wanted to cry, she still did her best to keep herself together. She was needlessly strong until the very end. My coworkers were completely supportive, agreeing with my opinion that she should've at least gotten at least fourth place, emphasising how much they appreciate me for all I've done. That today's result was just the "preference" of the judges. I work in a genuinely friendly environment and yet it still doesn't hurt any less. After today, I truly felt how important I am to these students, how my presence truly carries an impact. I feel even worse because trufully told, I do nothing important during my deskwarming hours whilst my student works on average 12 hours a day, doing their absolute best to make the most out of their time here.

I fucking hate myself.

[bisluthq]

I've been to Rio once and it's such a fun place filled with lovely people and lovely vibes! Brazilians in general are just the best, they're so funny and so nice and kind idk. And I agree with your mum that the food is great. I do know the city is reportedly unsafe and has a lot of crime and stuff but tbh I didn't feel any of that when I went. I was only there for a few days though.

Sorry for the incoming essay (long car ride again) but urgh I really really feel for Brazilian Swifties 💔 all of us in Latam had collectively been wanting her to come on tour for SO long and many of us had been waiting 15+ to get the chance to see her live. Brazilian swifties deserved to have a lovely experience just like we did in Mexico and Argentina. The heat wave prolonging was extremely unfortunate but genuinely fuck t4f for always being so shitty to their clients. A Brazilian moot told me that after the LoverFest fiasco where they didn't get a refund for their tickets, they were all pretty scared that she wouldn't include Brazil in the Latam leg bc she clearly doesn't like to work with shitty/unreliable companies since she's so organized, so they were all so happy that she decided to come. She also told me that all fans who had bought LoverFest tickets got early access and cheaper prices for eras, like they had priority in line over everyone else which is only fair tbh and they were grateful for that. She also told me that this isn't the first time someone has died in at an event held by t4f, the company has historically been very irresponsible and negligent. Apparently they have been sued in the past too but they always win their cases cos they have good lawyers and connections, which really really sucks for Ana's family bc lawyers and going to court in general is very fucking expensive and they genuinely have a right to sue the fuck out of t4f and the venue. Who knows if they have the financial means to do so but I really hope they do.

Taylor and her team imo are in no way responsible for Ana's death but the way they're handling the situation isn't right either. I do think it's true that her mentioning Ana directly and/or publicly giving money to the family could be used in court as evidence of her admitting to guilt or as an attempt to bribe the family to get them to speak in her favor in court. Or well, at least my auntie who is a family lawyer and has close friends who are criminal defense lawyers thinks so (I asked her yesterday lol). I really do hope she has reached out to them privately and contributed anonymously to the fundraiser to help the family get her body back home. We may never know what happened privately though. I also agree that it isn't a good idea for her to post on main about it (bc again could be taken as admission of guilt) but Tree should 10000% put out a presser saying something like "Taylor loves her Brazilian fans and cares very deeply for them. She extends her biggest condolences to Ana Clara Benevides Machado's family and friends, and strongly laments that something so unfortunate happened during a show that is about bringing joy and happiness to everyone. She cares very very much for her fans and her goal is always for everyone to have a wonderful time. It's extremely unfortunate that conditions that were completely out of her control led to such a tragedy happening." and then something like "Taylor did not know about the incident until after the show culminated. She was absolutely devastated and upset but knew she had to do her best to give the attendees of the remaining two concerts, who had been waiting for this for so long and spent a lot of money, the best show she could. She is still very anguished by Ana's death and asks that the media and fans be discreet about attention to her own personal life out of respect to Ana and her family, who deserve to mourn accordingly and receive all the support from this community during this difficult time."

Taylor will probs be sued too. Not by Ana's family but by n2 attendees who waiting in line for 5 plus hours in the heat only for the concert to be rescheduled.

N2 attendees are def gonna sue lol.

[weasleylangs]

secrets i have held in my heart - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Everyone in the twins’ lives mix them up once in a while, except for Y/N. Fred is dying to know how.  Warnings: Some angst with a happy ending, yes I wrote oblivious Fred again with miscommunication issues, what about it, some swearing, brief mention of the war but obviously this is a FredLives!AU :D, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive it’s like one line, - everyone is 18+ by the way!  Word Count: 4k

A/N: For the anon who requested super secret mutual pining with some angst where the reader is the only person who can tell the twins apart! Thank you so much for requesting. This has also been cross-posted on AO3 (frederickweasleys) as per the anon’s request! 

Also, I didn’t want to write about a 17 and 15 year old pining after each other, so I made everyone older and it’s postwar, however I was like 2000 words into the fic when I remembered George got his mf ear blasted off in DH so…. U do not see that it’s not canon in this fic thank you

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

The sun is blaring down on The Burrow and everyone is starting to wonder the likelihood of getting heatstroke. They’re in the south-west of England and the weather doesn’t usually get above the early 20s in the middle of August, however, mother nature has decided to wreak havoc and today is almost 30°. 

Y/N is looking at the pages in her book but she’s not processing anything on the pages. She’s so appreciative of the relaxing life she and all her loved ones finally have. The war ended last year, and while Y/N isn’t family, Molly and Arthur are always insistent she’s welcomed at The Burrow for their Sunday roast dinners. 

So she sits under a tree, the muggle fantasy novel in hand as Molly is busy prepping dinner and her friends all play quidditch. Hermione’s been refereeing them despite having no actual knowledge of the rules, and right now, she’s waving Harry’s copy of ‘Quidditch Through The Ages’ at one of the twins trying to prove a point, fully aware she’s going to get nowhere with him. He’s laughing at her and he raises the hand holding the beater’s bat as he threatens to (softly) hit her with it when he looks over her shoulder and spots his favourite girl perched under the tree with his mum’s homemade lemonade. 

Before Y/N knows it, the bat’s been thrown in her direction, barely missing her and hitting the tree behind her, and when she looks up, she immediately recognises the twin as Fred. Fred and Y/N are almost two sides of the same coin and their friendship has always been considered unlikely. Fred loves mischief and pranks and he’s extremely exuberant where Y/N is a ‘stickler for the rules’ (Fred’s words, not hers) and she’d much rather spend her day reading than playing quidditch. But their friendship blossomed and eventually for Y/N her feelings evolved into more. 

But Y/N is one of Ron’s best friends, and having a crush on her best friend’s older brother is weird, even if they are 19 and 21. 

“Hi Freddie,” she says, dog-earing the page and closing her novel, accepting now that Fred’s in her presence, the book isn't getting read again until tonight, “no more quidditch?” 

The ginger gives her a shit-eating grin and completely ignores her question, “Darling, I’m George.” 

Y/N squints at him for a brief moment, second-guessing herself but the longer she looks at him the more she’s sure it’s Fred, not George in front of her. “No, you’re Fred. I’ve known you for how long? Just accept I can tell you apart.” 

Fred mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath as he sits down. He’s always loved that Y/N is the only person who can tell them apart, his own family struggling sometimes and especially when they’re apart. But no matter what, she somehow gets it right every single time and he’s dying to know how.

“You’re never going to tell me how you do it, are you?” He questions and she replies how she always does when he asks, blaming it on intuition and that she doesn’t know how she does it. As always, he doesn’t believe her. Y/N secretly does have a way of easily telling the twins apart, not rooted in intuition in the slightest but she doesn’t want to tell him. 

The truth is, the way her heart races when Fred looks or speaks to her is her way of telling them apart. Fred always has a mischievous glint in his brown eyes and the way he looks at Y/N makes her feel like she’s the only girl in the world. George is sweet, loving and exceptionally kind- he was there as a source of comfort and calmness for Y/N when the trio disappeared during their 7th year to hunt Horcruxes, when she and her family went into hiding. She loves George like she would love a brother, like how she loves Ron and Harry, but the love Y/N has for Fred is different and the catalyst for her ability to tell them apart.

“I’m going to get you one day. One day George and I will swap and you’ll get it wrong and as a reward for finally tricking the oh so wonderful Miss Y/N Y/L/N, you’ll tell me how you tell us apart.” 

-

It’s not even an hour later when Fred and George come down wearing each other’s clothing. Y/N’s well aware Fred prefers to wear warm and bright colours while George likes to wear the dark colours in their coordinated clothing, so seeing Fred walk down the stairs in George’s purple shirt and vice versa is funny, despite the fact they’re identical twins, Y/N thinks they look ridiculous and unfamiliar.

“George put the purple back on. You look weird in orange,” she says, as she goes back to help Molly with the vegetables for dinner and soon after she speaks, she hears someone angrily kick the table. She looks up from her potatoes she’s been peeling to see an entertained George and Fred who looks like he’s going to throw a child-size tantrum. 

“How!” He exclaims again, pulling the shirt up over his head, shoving it in George’s hands and stomping back upstairs to change. Y/N is about to follow him, genuine concern for Fred in tow. She knows he’s most likely just being dramatic to cause a ruckus but there’s a small part of her that considers he might be serious. 

“He’s fine, Y/N,” George states, changing his shirts and throwing Fred’s orange one over the back of the chair as he sits down, “I think he’s trying to rile you up into telling him how you do it.” 

She laughs at this, knowing that while she might not have told him, the look in George’s eye hints that he’s picked up on her feelings for his twin brother. But before she can say anything, Ron comes bounding down the stairs and right into the kitchen, Harry in tow. They’re both looking for food and when Ron’s hand makes his way towards the ham, Y/N smacks him.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” she scolds which causes Harry to laugh. 

“But, mum,” Ron mockingly replies, “All the quidditch got me hungry!” He might be 19 but he’s sulking like a 10-year-old boy and Y/N thinks temper tantrums might run in the Weasley family. 

When Molly isn’t looking, however, Y/N sneaks him a piece of ham and Ron jumps up quickly, smacking a kiss to her cheek, “You’re the best!” he whispers as he quickly shoves the piece of ham in his mouth to not be caught by his mother. 

Soon enough, everyone’s crammed into the small kitchen and Molly waves them all out except Y/N, who she insists stays. She thinks it’s because she was already helping with the vegetables but when she’s about to ask for her next task, Molly has a rare mischievous glint in her eye.

“How do you tell my sons apart?” She enquires and Y/N groans. She hasn’t been asked how she tells the twins apart this often since she was at Hogwarts and before she can speak, Molly continues, “it’s just no one can besides us, and even then, sometimes I catch myself calling George, Fred sometimes.” 

Y/N sighs. She loves Molly like her own mother, but she loves to meddle like every mother. 

“I just know, I wish I had some excuse like a mother’s instinct, but I just know,” Y/N pauses and thinks how to word her next statement without spilling too much for potential eavesdroppers and Extendable Ears to hear, “They have different energies. I think I pick up on it easily.” 

Y/N hopes that’s enough for Molly to drop the conversation at hand and while Molly hums in agreement, she reads between the lines. She’s known for a while that Y/N carries a flame for the oldest twin, after all the way Y/N looks at Fred is the same way she looks at Arthur, so she’s hoping for the day they both stop dancing around their feelings. 

She already loves Y/N like a daughter, and she’d like it to be official one day. 

-

After dinner, the girls are all holed up in Ginny’s room. She loves staying at The Burrow. Y/N never grew up with sisters and her friendship with Hermione and Ginny are the closest she gets to them. They usually gossip, who’s dating who, who’s already getting married, sometimes it gets juicy and someone’s pregnant. 

When Ginny and Harry, and Hermione and Ron finally got together, they gushed for hours about how it finally happened and how excited they all were.

Tonight, unfortunately, the topic at hand is Y/N and Fred.

“When are you going to tell him?” Ginny enquires as she smooths out her face mask. Hermione’s braiding Y/N’s hair and when she doesn’t reply, Hermione grasps some hair and gives a hard tug. Y/N yelps and while Hermione mutters an apology, she doesn’t miss the wink she gives Ginny in the mirror.

“Tell Fred what exactly?” 

“About your feelings for him,” Ginny replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that everyone should have known. Y/N starts to stutter, trying to find words to deny her feelings but these are her two best girl friends, her sisters and she can’t lie to them no matter how much she wants to. 

“Okay fine, they exist but he’s never knowing,” she states, a matter of factly as if it’s something to be proud of, “and he’s never finding out. I’m looking at you, Ginevra.” Ginny inherited her love to meddle from her mother, and if Y/N is positive about anything it’s that Ginny is going to meddle to get her best friend and brother together. 

“I’m pretty sure he likes you back,” Hermione says. She prides herself on being observant but even she didn’t notice Ron’s feelings for her until he quite literally put his lips on hers. 

“I’m just his little siblings’ best friend, Hermione, I doubt it,” she says as she grabs the tiny elastics to secure her hair. “Besides, I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school.”

“You’re choosing now of all days to get the wrong twin? George is dating Angelina. Fred hasn’t even been seen with a girl since he slept with one of Fleur’s cousins at the wedding.” Ginny says and something about this makes Y/N blush, almost happy that Fred’s been single for as long as she has, but the jealousy is in the back of her mind.

“... Shut up,” Y/N laughs as she grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Ginny over the head with it. This causes chaos in Ginny’s tiny bedroom and soon enough all three girls are defending themselves with pillows and jumping around the bedroom.

What none of the girls knew, however, was Fred standing outside of the bedroom, eavesdropping. He’s always been curious about what the girls talk about when the boys aren’t around and Fred reckons if he doesn’t have to hear about his little siblings’ sex life, it doesn’t hurt anybody. 

Except it does, and he hurts himself. He arrived just in time for Ginny to question why Y/N doesn’t admit her feelings to someone. At first, Fred was hopeful, especially when the conversation steers in the direction of her liking one of the twins. After all, Bill’s married, Percy’s… Well, he’s Percy and Charlie isn’t in England enough for him to believe Y/N was able to develop feelings for him. 

So that leaves himself and George from context clues. He’s always had a crush on her ever since they were in school, but he was always worried about coming off as creepy, pining after someone two years below him. 

But then Y/N says ‘I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school’ and he walks off before he even hears the rest of the conversation, hearing the apparent confirmation of Y/N’s feelings for George. 

-

The summer is still sweltering hot when she decides to visit Diagon Alley three days later. She’s shopping for her nephew when she ends up in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred was unusually quiet when she said goodbye to him on Monday morning before she floo’d away to her job at the Ministry and she’s hoping to catch him at the shop during quiet hour. 

When she walks in, she’s met with a bell ringing and the voice that calls out ‘Hi, how are you today!’ doesn’t make her heart race so she immediately knows she’s caught the wrong twin at the counter.

“Hey, Georgie!” She makes her way over to the counter. It’s a Wednesday morning, so the shop has a lull in customers and he’s doing what Y/N assumes is a stock take of whizbangs. He gives her a nice smile as she potters her way over to him. She stops in front of the love potions, smelling the familiar scent of cinnamon, fireworks and something that can only be described as happiness in the small bottles. She’s so entranced for a moment that she doesn’t even notice George make his way up next to her.

“You don’t need one of these, by the way,” He whispers as he winks, looking behind him and seeing Fred standing on top of the spiral staircase not looking the happiest. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that this week,” she mutters, quickly putting the love potion vial down, “I don’t know what any of you mean.”

George chuckles at her obliviousness. It’s been obvious since they were teenagers about the feelings both Fred and Y/N harbour for each other but he can’t help but admit it’s just the tiniest bit funny. Like it’s a joke they’re all in on except the oblivious couple themselves.

“It’s because we’re more observant than you, darling,” George says, absent-mindedly fixing the display so it looks presentable. Y/N’s about to question him when someone clears their throat behind them- an elderly gentleman shopping for some grandkids when George excuses himself with the promise ‘this isn’t over’. 

Fred watched the interaction from the staircase and while he didn’t hear anything, he feels like he’s gotten punched in the stomach. He knows he’s never directly told George about his feelings for Y/N, and George is dating Angelina anyway and he’d never betray her, but he can’t ignore the slight feeling of upset he feels when he sees them interact.

-

“I think Y/N likes you,” Fred says nonchalantly and George almost chokes on his tea. It takes him a moment to fix his breathing before he looks at Fred like he’s got three heads.

“No, she doesn’t?” George questions, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world and that upsets Fred slightly. He’s not upset at George, he never has and he never will be upset with George, but it seems like his comment was brushed off without any deeper consideration.

“No, I think she does,” Fred says, twiddling his quill between his fingers as he stares at the tax invoice in front of him. Wednesday night is budget night and Fred knows he’s not going to get any work done if his mind is stuck on Y/N and her feelings for George.

“No, mate, she doesn’t,” George huffs and Fred notices the eye roll George gives him. George only ever gives him eye rolls when he’s being oblivious. Like when Fred spent 20 minutes looking for his wand last week only to find it in his pocket.

Fred’s convinced George is just being oblivious, blinded by his new relationship with Angelina that he hasn’t noticed Y/N’s feelings for him. “Do you wonder how she can tell us apart?” 

George huffs in annoyance as a reply and Fred pouts as he attempts to go back to his taxes. He’s reread the same line three times when George finally speaks.

“I think it’s got something to do with her feelings for us. She feels differently about one twin.” George is intentionally being coy, hoping to Godric that Fred caught the pointed stare and the emphasis but Fred wasn’t looking and the longer he dwells on what George has said the more he’s convinced he doesn’t have a chance with Y/N at all.

- 

It’s the weekly Sunday roast again and Fred isn’t expecting to floo into The Burrow and be met almost face to face with Y/N. He’s planned on ignoring her today, purposely volunteering to do any work needed at the shop while George floo’s to The Burrow early in the afternoon. 

It teeters on 5 pm when Fred finally arrives and he’s quickly engulfed in a hug by his mother with his father behind him telling him to stop working on Sundays as ‘Sundays are for family’. With a kiss to his mum’s forehead and a promise to his dad that he’ll force George into doing the Sunday work next week, who throws a piece of stale bread at Fred’s head while exclaiming ‘you offered!’ he quickly makes his way away from Y/N.

Molly’s quick to serve up dinner now Fred’s here, complaining he’s starving already. He quickly steals the seat next to Ron and pulls George down next to him- not wanting to allow Y/N to sit either side of him. Usually, she sits between Ron and Fred and when she turns the corner and the only available seat is the furthest from Fred, her heat sinks a little.

Dinner is pleasant, it always is at The Burrow. Hermione and Y/N talk about the ministry while Ginny tells stories of her Holyhead Harpies tryouts she had during the week. Y/N might let slip she works with the coach’s sister-in-law and overheard some high praise for a certain Miss. Weasley and Ginny’s eyes fill with tears when she hears this. 

There’s a quick lull in conversation as Molly waves her wand and the now empty plates make their way into the kitchen, children following behind them ready to help wash up but Fred makes his way outside. He likes to watch the sunset, the sun slowly dipping behind the hills where he learnt how to play quidditch as a kid as the sun becomes shades of orange. 

He’s sitting under the tree when Y/N follows him out. She’s shouting his name trying to find him. He slipped out without anyone noticing and that’s unusual for Fred so something is wrong. When she spots him, she starts jogging over and she can’t tell if he’s ignoring her or can’t hear her calling his name, so she tries something.

“George?” 

Fred turns, a smirk subconsciously forming on his lips and Y/N finally feels seen by him in a week. “It took me calling you your brother’s name to get your attention?” She asks, kicking sticks out of the way before she takes a seat next to him. 

“No, love. Just shocked you finally got us mixed up,” he replies, shoving her a little with his elbow. He knows she only did it to get his attention, but he’s Fred Weasley and he’s going to use this to his advantage. “I believe I told you when you get us mixed up, you’re legally required to tell me how you do it. I’m all ears.” He wiggles his eyebrows but deep down, he’s scared George’s assumption is right.

She rolls her eyes, but the love she has for this boy in her heart can’t be kept a secret anymore. This week she’s felt like he’s been ignoring her and while she and Fred are no means ‘best friends’, not like she is with the others, she’s felt a little piece of her universe missing knowing he’s been upset.

“You and George, I… I feel different about you to how I feel about George,” she starts and Fred’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know if he’s going to storm off or throw up so he just sits and stares at a rock. “George makes me feel comfortable. He’s always willing to talk to me about anything, feeds into the fact I can speak for hours on end about any topic if you let me,” she laughs and her nervousness is in her throat. She notices Fred isn’t looking at her and it’s making her want to run away.

“But you, you feel like home, Freddie. The way my heart races when I hear you speak or when you look at me. It’s the biggest indicator of how I tell you guys apart. George and you may be identical but the way you both make me feel is so different.” She’s whispering now and she’s realised Fred is looking at her so intently that the Earth might open up and swallow her whole. 

“Like, home?” 

She smiles softly and takes his big hand that’s been messing with rocks into her small ones. “Like I can tell you anything and you’ll never judge me. I could be having the worst day of my life and one joke from you can make me smile even if I’ve been crying for hours.” Her thumb starts to rub along the top of his hand and the way he shivers doesn’t miss her. 

“I’m trying to say, in a round-about kind of way, that I’m in love with you, Freddie,” her voice is shaky but there’s no backing out now. “I’m in love with you and this past week where it’s felt like you’re mad at me has me so confused because I don’t know what I did.” 

Fred feels incredibly guilty now, he was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn’t stop to think how his actions would affect Y/N. “I thought you liked George,” he whispers, and he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I thought you liked George and not me and I didn’t want to be near you knowing that.” 

She giggles and drops his hands to run her fingers through his hair. It’s still short but she thinks she can convince him to grow it out again. “Me? George? Not even for a second.” 

“Why not?” The joking in Fred’s voice is there but so is the genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t know. It’s just always been you, ever since I was 11 and you were bullying Ron into performing a spell to turn Scabbers yellow.” She laughs at the memory, watching scrawny Fred bully his small brother on the train platform. 

Fred looks down at her, her hands now playing at the hair at the back of his neck and he feels goosebumps rise across his skin. He wants nothing more to lean down and press a kiss to her lips and when he realises he never actually admitted his feelings to Y/N back, he starts to lean down, hoping to convey everything he feels for her through a kiss.

She’s quick to catch on and she leans up so quickly they almost bump noses. It’s messy, like most first kisses are, especially in an awkward sitting down position but the love they have for each other is there and obvious. They pull away when they’re barely kissing anymore, just smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” Fred asks. It’s a dumb question, they both know it but when Y/N pretends to think he stands up and hauls her over his shoulders and starts swinging her around. The giggles that erupt from her make Fred’s heart swell and he’s about to put her down just to get down on one knee himself and propose right then and there.

“Yes, Freddie, if you want me to be your girlfriend then I’m yours.” Y/N replies and Fred smiles, he loves that. Not Y/N being his, he could never believe she’s an object, but she loves him and he loves her and now he understands why George was rolling his eyes at him.

“As long as you don’t get George and I mixed up in bed, I’m all yours.” He says it jokingly, but the smack he receives from Y/N is no joke and when he starts swinging her around again, he’ll forever make dumb jokes like this if he gets to hear her laugh like that for the rest of his days.

[blu-joons]

Aussie Dates ~ Bang Chan

A hand gripped onto your own tightly as you walked towards the entrance of the zoo, dragging you along the path and towards the ticket barriers. Your head could only shake at the excitement in Chan’s eyes as he brought you along to revisit one of his favourite places in the world.

His eyes darted around at the sights and the bright colours, “it’s not changed at all,” he mumbled under his breath, “you’re going to love this place, just like how I have for all of these years Y/N.”

“I’ve got high expectations,” you smiled from behind him, reaching into the pocket of your trousers to pull out the two tickets you’d kept a hold of for Chan to pass over to the staff member.

“I used to come here all the time, my parents would end up having to pick me up to take me away from some of the enclosures and move me onto the next one,” he continued to tell you, happy to reminisce about all the happy memories he had made, and all the ones he hoped to make with you today too.

Once you’d gotten through the main entrance, you barely had a moment to compose yourself before Chan pulled you down one of the roads and towards the meerkat enclosure, the first on a long trail you knew you’d be exploring. Chan positioned you in front of him as you approached the fence, making sure that you could see just as well as he could.

As you leaned against the fence, Chan’s arms wrapped around you, resting his chin against your shoulder so that he had the perfect view of both the animals you were watching, and the wide smile on your face as you did so. “I’ve got our route planned out for today, I want to make sure that we don’t miss a single attraction.”

“Is that what you were doing last night when you refused to come and watch the movie with me?” You questioned, gently hitting his bicep as his head nodded back at you. “It was so awkward just sat with your mum and dad, I thought you were genuinely busy, not writing down a route that we could have come up with now.”

“I told you, I wanted today to be perfect,” he teased, “a lot of planning has gone into this.”

After a few minutes you decided to move onto the next enclosure, following behind Chan’s lead to where you’d find the giraffes. There was a growing distance between you both as he did so, with Chan holding tightly onto the map, following the red marker pen that he’d drawn around it.

“Once we’ve seen this, there’s a bird enclosure just down the path that you can walk through,” Chan informed you as he led you up a small slope to the viewing point to look out across the field at the many giraffes that the zoo was home too.

Your eyes flickered around to him as soon as you processed the information, shaking your head at the thought. There was no way you were going to walk through an open enclosure, you’d watched far too many videos of those types of things to even risk going in there and having something happen to you. Chan chuckled as he watched your expression drop, nudging gently against your side.

“Nothing bad will happen,” he tried to assure you, but your head continued to shake. “I’ve never had anything happen to me when I’ve walked through it, although I did see an old lady have her phone taken from one of the bigger birds before.”

“That’s not making me feel better about going in there,” you chuckled, brushing a hand over the top of your head, “maybe I’ll just sit that one out and laugh at you as you try to go through it,” you mused, relieved when Chan’s head nodded, and his arm moved to wrap around your waist.

He leaned across and pressed a kiss against the side of your head, “if you don’t want to go in, I won’t force you. Just stand outside and wait for me, how does that sound?”

And stand outside you did. Moving on from the giraffes after ten minutes, you separated from his side, allowing him to walk through the open bird enclosure all alone. You could see the fear in his eyes despite the smile on his face, glancing across at you every few moments to offer an assuring smile, all the way to the end of the trail.

“You’re so brave,” you teased as he stepped out, joining back up to your side.

The two of you continued to make your way around the zoo, diligently following Chan’s path as he recalled several occasions that he’d experienced over the years during times when he used to visit with his family, making new memories of his own too.

“When we were here once, my dad lifted up my legs by the monkeys that I thought I was going in,” he chuckled, barely able to finish his story before light giggles came from him, “he lost the grip on my ankles, but luckily my mum was able to pull me back down instead.

Your head shook at his story, but your attention was soon caught by the enclosure you’d most been looking forward to seeing all afternoon. You tugged at Chan’s shirt, pointing across to it to try and get him to go.

“It’s you,” you joked, pointing across to the three wolves that were prowling around a large open enclosure, desperate to walk over and get a closer look.

“That’s not on the route yet,” Chan argued, trying to pull you in the opposite direction to where he wanted to go. “We’ll get there soon enough, but we have this bit to do first.”

“Are you seriously going to stick to that stupid route all day long?” You asked him, “I know you want today to be perfect, but I think it’ll only be perfect when you start relaxing and not being so focussed on trying to make today so magical.”

“I’m just excited,” he whispered softly, placing the map into his pocket, “I wanted to make sure that you experience that same magic that I have for so many years here.”

You extended your arm out for his hand to hold onto your own, pulling his reluctant frame across to look at the wolves, finally breaking his route planner and doing things at your own pace too.

“It is magical, seeing all the places that you’ve grown up whilst we’ve been here is all that I wanted to do,” you quickly reminded him, offering him a warm smile, “I thought you’d want to pay a visit to your ancestors anyway,” you continued to tease as finally the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile and his eyes quickly rolled.

“You’re not funny,” he sniggered, pulling you over to where you wanted to go, “I’m much better looking than any of what you’re going to see in this enclosure anyway, don’t you forget that.”

Your free hand pushed his shoulder softly, “I don’t know, the sloth that we saw not to long ago was quite a cutie.”

“No way, I’m not letting you compare me to a sloth.”

---

Masterlist

[fandomscombine]

The Boyfriend Introduction

George Weasley x Reader

This is an entry for @wonderful-writer​ ‘s Ficmas Writing Challenge 

Prompts: “Exactly how many people did you invite over for Christmas dinner?”

Tropes No.6. There’s only one bed

Trope No.8. Snowed in

BG: Will George make a good first impression on your strict parents over Christmas Dinner? What happens when prying muggle relatives are added to the mix? No magic is allowed, and a heavy snowstorm trapped everyone inside. What was supposed to last a couple of hours had stretched overnight. Will your family approve of George? Or will he be trapped with people who dislike him for the night?

A/N: This took almost a month to write. Started this with my writing motivation streak on high. Then the burnout came, I could write nor even read. Now I’m slowly trying to get back into the mood. Yea I realized that it’s not super Christmasy. But I hope that you enjoy it all the same.

WC:3352

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

‘Okay, you remember everything?’ You had just finish debriefing George on the what to expect when you arrive home later. What your parents likes and dislikes, what the home dynamic is, etcetera, brownie points to note to make sure he lands on your parent’s good side-you want your boyfriend’s first impression to be perfect!

‘Yes love, EVERYTHING. We’ve gone over this 3 times already, trust me it’s all up here’ George said, tapping a finger against his temple. ‘At this rate, I am more scared for them as it would be a total stranger knew everything about them!’ He pointed out.

‘Hey, you’re not a total stranger, they’ve met you before!’ You countered.

‘For only a couple of minutes, plus Fred was with us that time, I doubt they could have differentiated between us from that short time alone.’

Recalling back to the end of the summer holidays when your family had bumped into the Weasleys and Harry while school supplies shopping at Diagon Alley. You were just leaving of Flourish and Blotts while they were headed in. You had dropped your brand-new books and the twins had helped you pick them up. You had exchanged a quick thank you before hurried leaving to catch the bus back to muggle London.

Your parents had gratefully allowed you to spend the holidays at The Burrow, but only after they had met the boyfriend who you could never stop talking about. Majority of your letters back home consisted of gushing about how wonderful and sweet George is, so naturally your parents were curious and intrigued to finally meet this handsome fellow.

They had arranged for a Christmas Eve Dinner at home before you depart for The Burrow later in the evening.

‘You know, you still haven’t told me how you got your parents to let you spend the Christmas holiday with us.’ Quipped George. ‘I thought your dad was pretty strict.’ The Hogwarts Express had started slowing down, nearing its destination of Platform 9 ¾.

‘Yea but I guess it the real gamechanger was Mr.Weasley. The last I heard was that they started hanging out during breaks in the Ministry. It started out as a reconnaissance of some sort-the basic background check if the boy dating my daughter is good enough. Which then blossomed into friendship.’ You lean back against the train compartment window, giving him more space to reach up to the luggage rack overhead.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘George! Y/n! Over here!’ Ginny yelled. She was standing near the trolleys, surrounded with a group of redheads.

Once you reached her, she wrapped you in a tight embrace. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

You chuckled, patting the girl’s shoulder. ‘Gin, I’m only be gone for a couple hours, we’ll be back by midnight.’

‘Yea, but til then I’ll be stuck with these dofusses.’ She winced, nodding towards the direction of her brothers.

‘Hey!’ exclaimed Ron.

Ignoring him, Ginny continued. ‘You know how time drags with these idiots. Why couldn’t I just come with?’

‘No you aren’t young lady.’ Stated Mrs.Weasley, making her way pass her children. ‘This is a very important occasion, meeting the parents. George has to make a good impression to y/n parents.’  She turned to the younger twin, hands on her waist. ‘So. NO funny business okay? I expect you to be on your best behaviour.’ She warned.

George raised 3 fingers up. ‘Yes ma’am. I promise.’

Mrs Weasley knew that despite George’s playful response, would keep this promise. Afterall she knew her children at heart. Recognises George’s coping tactics for nerves is through humour.

‘Alright then. I’ll see you later.’ Hugging you then her son. ‘Oh before I forget, we’ll take your luggage back with us so that it’ll be easier for you to get home. Fred! Percy! Come help me with these!’

‘Thank you Mrs.Weasley for-‘

‘Molly dear, call me Molly. I’ve known you for years now, you’re basically part of the family.’

You can feel your face warm up. ‘Thanks…Mrs…. I mean Molly for everything.’

‘No worries dear. Just be careful, I heard that it’ll snow more later.’

‘We will Mum.’ Replied George, placing a kiss on her check. ‘Don’t worry.’

You held your hand out to George. ‘Ready for your first ever ride on a muggle double decker bus?’

‘Oh yes.’ He nodded, interlocking his hands with yours.

~

‘Mum! I’m home!’ You shake off the snow that had stuck onto your boots before entering.

‘In here Dumpling!’ said a distant voice.

‘Dumpling huh?’ George teased; a smirk plastered on his face.

You were glad to see him calm down. ‘yea yea.’

‘Care to tell me why?’

‘Nope. Now get your butt in here.’

The house though small is full of life. Walls are lined with picture frames of the family together and along the hallway are frames of each member throughout the years.

You follow the fragrant smell of citrus in the air coming from the kitchen.

You head towards the opened refrigerator. ‘Merry Christmas Eve Mum!’ You greeted but were surprised to see someone else. ‘Dad! What are you doing here?’

‘What do you mean? It’s MY house!’ He resorted, taken aback.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘They let us off early in the Ministry.’

‘He means he left early’ Chimed your mother.

‘Perks of being the head of the department.’ He says nonchalantly, releasing you from a airtight embrace.

Your eyes light up. ‘You got the promotion?’ You asked, your father standing proud with a dazzling smile. ‘Congratulations Dad!’

‘Now now, this evening is not about me.’ His eyes dart to the tall boy behind you. The boy whose face showed apparent awkwardness during the mini intimate family catch up. ‘I don’t believe we’ve formally met. y/f/n yf/l/n.’ Extending his hand.

‘george..’ George cleared his throat. ‘George Weasley ,Sir. Pleasure to meet you Sir.’  George wondered if his hand had sweat more, feeling that your father was gripping his tight. Before his mind were to go down that rabbithole, he turned to your mother. ‘M’am..’

‘No please, call me y/m/n.’ Your mother insisted. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you George, we’ve heard so much about you.’ She leaned in close, whispering. ‘Between you and me, most of our dumpling’s letters here are about you!’ She looks over her shoulder to make sure, they aren’t overheard. Thankful you are preoccupied with dad. ‘It’s great to finally have a face to the name!’ Taking a more solemn tone she continued. ‘Listen you take good care of her okay, she doesn’t let anyone in her emotions easily, so you must be special.’

Just as fast as it came, she was back to normal. George would have thought that he imagined that whole exchange if it weren’t from the gleam in your mother’s eyes.

‘Right then.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘y/f/n, my love. Why don’t you give George here a tour of the house. Then help y/n and I when you’re done.’

‘On it my love.’ Your father replied, pecking your mother’s cheek. ‘George! I’m told you love inventing, so why don’t we start on with my study, I bet there’s a lot of things you’d find interesting.’ Said your father, leading George up the kitchen and up the stairs.

Once they rounded out the corner, your mother was instantly at your side, bumping your hips. ‘He seems like a nice boy. Quieter than I expected.’

‘Yea, He’ll get into the zone later.’ You noted. ‘Give him time and when he’s comfortable, he’ll be more like himself. He’ll really nervous, that’s all.’

‘I know.’

That made curious. ‘You know?’

‘Oh yess.’ Your mother sighed. ‘Your father had that exact same face when he first went to meet Grannie and Grandpops.’

‘Really?’ How had she never shared this story before?

‘umm hmm’ She reminisced. ‘It’s good that his reaction is like that. It shows that one’s scared and anxious, wanting to impress and give a good first impression.’

When she saw how lost you look, she held your chin up, elaborating. ‘It means that he cares. That it’s a big important deal, meeting the parents.’

~

It’s been a hour already since your father had dragged George off, to what you believe as a house tour disguised as a boyfriend interrogation. Truth be told you were scared out of your mind, you never had brought home a boy before so you didn’t know what to expect, this is unknown territory.

The growing sounds of footsteps and…laughter? Surely that was a good sign.

‘Woah that is a lot of food. Exactly how many people did you invite over for Christmas dinner?’ George had come up behind you, with a hand on your lower back- touchy as if warming up and testing the waters on how much physical touch he could get away with, with your parents in the room.

‘A lot.’ You replied, angling up to poke his cheek. ‘You’re not the only one with a big family, Weasley’

‘I thought you were only 4 of you?’

‘well, my mom’s side of the family is coming.’ You explained, counting them on your fingers. ‘So that’s includes my grandparents, aunts and uncles and their family-my cousins.’

‘why only your mom’s side?’ George was genuinely confused, isn’t Christmas all about getting together with family?

You chuckled. ‘oh it’s a funny story actually…’

‘More like an almost disastrous story.’ Cut in your father. ‘See my brother is a lightweight but every Christmas he tries to outdrink himself. And one Christmas, things…..got out of hand.’

When your father didn’t explain more, your mother further clarified, taking pity on George’s ever more puzzled look. ‘Long story short, he end up doing magic infront of my family specifically changed into his Animagus form it would be easy to say he just disappeared behind the couch if his animal form was small but his was a tiger- so harder to cover up.’

‘Dad ultimately had to obliviate 7 people’s memories of the past hour. From then on, for long holidays we separate the family into magic vs muggles.’

‘SO remember NO magic!’ Announced your dad. ‘Tonight, we act as Muggles, no magic at all cost. We won’t wanna risk Ministry intervention.’

~

The early Christmas dinner had gone in a blur, the food was quickly devoured by the table of 15. Yes that’s right, 15. Normally the dinner table could expand to accommodate 6 people, but thanks to transfiguration, your father had lengthen it to fit the then arriving guest.

In addition to enjoying the food, your relatives had seized the time to pry into your love life in between bites. The previous years’ answer of “I don’t have a boyfriend” followed by their unwanted input about what you’re doing wrong, was obviously not applicable.

So you ended up being interrogated by your aunt on your right, while George, who was sitting on your left was being questioned by your grandfather.

‘Gee is that the time! We better get going, maw come on dear we don’t want to be caught out of the road by the snowstorm.’ Your grandfather said, helping your grandmother up from her seat. ‘Get the car ready, Finn.’

At that, everyone began to get pack up. Usually you would all stay up for more talks, but under the threat of a looming snowstorm, it was better to be safe than sorry.

~

‘Alright dumpling, got everything?’ Your mother wondered, straightening up your coat.

‘Yup’ You replied, all snuggled up. You didn’t bother telling her that the coat wasn’t necessary as you would be apparating back to the Burrow- you knew how much she hated the tension apparition causes to one’s temples.

‘George..’ She said, now moving towards the quiet young man who had once again caught himself a bit out of place in such an intimate family moment. ‘It was really nice to meet you; I do hope that we would get to see you most often now that y/n has formally introduce us.’ She pulled him into a motherly hug. ‘You take care of my dumpling, or else… you’d find out what muggle parents do to those who hurt their children, and I warn you, you magic folks don’t know what’s coming.’

The final warning came and went, and George managed to utter. ‘I promise.’ Before your father came into view, looking more unreadable and stricter than their introductions earlier in the day.

George was terrified, he had thought that things had gone well, surely they had bonded over the guide house tour. Might had he said something wrong during dinner, Grandpa y/l/n sure did ask a lot of questions. George mentally recalled the past couple of hours, where could this all gone sideways.

To his surprise he was greeted with an outstretched hand. ‘You’re a good lad, George.’ Remarked your father, ‘Oh and you can call me y/f/n.’

Both your and George’s eyes go wide.

‘Thank you, sir! I mean…’ George was still nervous, a part of him thinking that this was a secret test. ‘y/f/n, sir. Thank you’ Tried George, the tips of his ears red.

Your father chuckled at the hesitant boy, ‘In time you will get the hang of that’ He turned to you. ‘That is.. if y/n is willing to for us to join you two in the future. The dinner might have frightened you off, sorry for that.’ Your father wrapped an arm around your mother, ‘Perhaps the next time could be with MY side of the family…’

At that moment the doorbell rang.

‘Now who could that be?’ Voiced your mother. ‘Mum, Dad!’

‘Bad News dearie, Roads and Highways are closed for the night-Too much snow.’ Explained your grandfather, barging into the warm house. ‘We’ll have to stay the night.’

‘Uh! George my boy, you are still here! Great! Pa look who it is!’ Cheered your grandfather, pinching his arm (His cheeks were too high up to reach).  Leaving George’s right sleeve with specks of melting snow. ‘Though I am afraid we would get to chatting in the morning, sleep is calling me.’

But before George would reply that he wouldn’t be here in the morning, your father interjected. ‘Yes yes of course, the guestroom is ready as always. Have a good night’s rest nannie.’ Looking past her to the doorway he shouted. ‘Finn you can take the couch, we’ll give you some blankets in a sec.’

He gestured for you both to follow him into the dinning room. You quickly followed suit, panicking as to how in the world could you apparate to the burrow while presenting a valid reason to your grandparents in 2 young person’s disappearance overnight when the is a heavy snowstorm raging on.

‘I wouldn’t suggest apparating tonight’ He huffed. ‘Unless of course if you don’t mind popping back in again tomorrow morning.’

You shook your head. You were not an earlier riser, besides spending the night in the burrow when had to be back home first thing would be wise, you would be just exhausting yourself.

‘Good. I’ll notify Arthur of our situation. Now unto the other thing….’ He raised a brow at George. ‘Since that the spare room and the couch are taken, it would be rude to ask a guest to rest in a more comfortable place..’

You internally groaned, you kinda had an idea where this conversation was headed to but gosh was it in the parents handbook to deliver to so awkwardly?

‘…you are bot old enough and trust both of you. So, George if you don’t mind, you would be spending the night in y/n’s room.’

You dared risked a quick glance at your boyfriend and you could tell that he was trying not to smirk.

George in fact was trying his best not to smile, biting the insides of his cheek to stop himself.

‘So no funny business.’

‘Yes Sir.’ George didn’t dare call him, y/f/n. Not at this moment, even if he was granted the permission.

~

‘So….This is me.’ Presenting your room. ‘It’s not much, but-‘

‘It’s beautiful.’ George cut you off. There wasn’t much going on, seeing that you spend majority of the year in Hogwarts and only a month or two at home. A single bed next to the window overlooking the road, a small desk, a wardrobe with a mirrored door and 2 bookshelves. Plain white walls decorated with a small makeshift photo wall of your most cherished memories.

Spotting the photos next to your bookshelf, he chortled.  ‘It’s really sweet of you, I feel honoured.’ He turned to you. ‘But this one? Seriously??!!?’ Pointing at the photograph.

It was of the yule ball. The relationship wasn’t official yet, it was still teetering on the side of best friends but with something more or so Fred calls ‘Y/n and George’s Era of Mutual Pining’.

The shot was of you in your gown, not so elegantly piggybacking on George, who was mid fall. Despite it all, you were both laughing your heads off. Ginny had taken that picture with your muggle camera. Something about it being developed as a standstill compared to the moving wizard photos adds charm to it, further highlighting such a moment.

‘I for one love it.’ You declared, leaning your head on his shoulder.

‘We do look nice together.’ He teased. ‘But gosh that is a bit unflattering, don’t you think? It looks like we’re drunk!’

‘Drunk on love you mean.’ Nudging his side. ‘Though we haven’t admitted it then.’

George squinted closer, ‘Wait a minute! It’s not moving!’

‘Yup, don’t want any muggle walking in a moving photo. But more importantly, it’s forever captures the moment of ‘I am in love with my best friend, a person who would never let me fall.’

‘Expect to fall in love, with your truly.’

‘Exactly.’ In moments like these, where no one else in the room, does George lets his sappy cheesy side on full blast and you love it. It’s as if a top-secret surprise that is for your eyes only.

‘Now come to bed with me.’ You reach for his hand, dragging him to your tiny bed. ‘I’m tired’

‘Love as much as I want to, I don’t think we’d fit.’ Eyeing the bed. ‘One of us will fall off- most probably me.’

Taking one of you pillows he said ‘ I’ll just lay down here.’

‘Nuh uh, not in my house. You are my boyfriend and my guest! No way am I letting you sleep on the floor!’ You argued. ‘Come cuddle with me, pleaseeeeeeee’ Giving him your best pout. ‘We have had any alone time, the whole day! Pleaseeeee babe! ’

George shook his head, knowing that the was no way that he could ever say ‘NO’ to you. He did miss his girl and after an exhaustive day practically being interrogated by multiple family member, he was grateful to finally spend time with you. ‘Alright.’ Giving into your request. ‘Scoot over and let me engulf you into a world of softness.’

Your head was resting on George’s chest, bopping along with his each intake of breath. The snow outside is still pouring but the all the noise is silenced as you focus in his heartbeat.  Tilting up slightly you pipped. ‘You comfortable Georgie?’

George wrapped his arms around you tighter. ‘I’m good anywhere with you.’ He placed a final kiss on your forehead before exhaustion take you both away to dreamland.

~

Bonus:

The sun had come up, casting a warm glow onto the white blanked pavement.  

Still drained from the day before, neither of you had woken up to your bedroom door opening.

‘Merry Christmas Y/n dearie! Nannie has bought you your favourite hot choco—’  Your grandmother stopped in her tracks upon seeing 2 angels tangled together with smiles etched on their sleeping faces. Reminding her of own younger days.

She leaves the mug on your desk, quietly shut the door. Once out on the hallway, she quickly makes her way to her husband, eager to tell him what he just saw and excited to come up with more questions they could interrogate George with-only the best for their granddaughter!

--

 Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Summer Nights: Part 2

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc. + Chapter specific warnings: physical attraction, gawking, hot Charlie. 

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom)​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Prologue / Part 1

June was looking to be surprisingly warm in England and with that in mind you forwent the usual woollen jumpers of the Weasley clan and instead reached for your summer clothes that had been sat in the back of the wardrobe for many months. Pulling on a pair of denim shorts, the only pair that you’d managed to get to fit given your wide hips (unlike other denim shorts they didn’t gape at the waist much to your joy), and a vest top, before shoving your feet in your worn trainers. Running a brush through your hair you contemplated the changes you’d gone through since Hogwarts.

You were still a large woman, wide hips, soft stomach, big arms, fat rolls, a soft looking face, thick thighs. But, the self-consciousness you’d held during school was almost nonexistent. The energy you used to have was somewhat diminished, you usually had dark circles under your eyes, and a tired sort of look. Your hair was finally how you’d always wanted it, your parents no longer allowed to tell you off for cutting it this way or that or dying it this colour or the other. (Not that changing your hair was particularly hard when you had magic at your disposal). You looked older, that was certainly true, the youthful look had gone slightly and while you still looked young, you certainly looked like the adult that you were. You hadn’t grown any taller since school and for the most part you thought you looked rather the same, just with more confidence in yourself, a generous helping of trauma and heartache and a few years added on. 

Returning the brush to the dresser underneath your mirror, you decided it was probably time to make your way to the little patch of vegetables and fruits that you were charged with watering. 

There was something relaxing about gardening at the Burrow, it took your mind off the war that had been and instead allowed you to ground yourself. The sounds of the birds in the trees, the feel of the warm sun on your skin, the soil beneath your hands and knees. It involved a multitude of sensations which helped focus you, helped you smile, even briefly and reminded you that somethings don’t change. Despite everything the earth was still the same, the birds still sang their songs, the sun still decided to shine. While you had all changed and all been touched, some things were constant. 

You watched George swing a gnome wildly as you filled a watering can, Ron was nearby being bitten by a gnome. Aguamenti came in handy, quickly filling the can. The vegetables were doing well already, despite needing a little weeding and a little watering, the plants looked healthy. You were sure that Mrs Weasley had some sort of secret trick to making them grow so well and so effortlessly.

You started weeding first, despite the warm sun bearing down on you. You found yourself wiping your brow of sweat every few minutes and your skin felt like it was covered in a thin layer of moisture. But, still you persisted. Until you heard George swear loudly. This swearing prompted a series of events which completely distracted you from your gardening. This series of events went something like this; George swore (something about Merlin’s saggy balls), you promptly looked up to make sure he hadn’t been seriously hurt to find he had just been lightly kicked in the shin by a gnome, at the sound of laughter your eyes moved from George to Charlie...and there in laid your distraction.

As has previously been said Charlie Weasley was an incredibly attractive man, but more so when he was shirtless, standing in the sun, with a large smile on his face. It was a beautiful sight. Charlie’s smile was on its own something that made you feel warm inside, like things were okay because he was smiling. But, dear merlin, were you a woman with certain feelings. Charlie was broad shouldered and beautiful, genuinely beautiful.  The magical tattoos that moved across his skin of their own accord, the heavy layer of freckles. The scars that littered his body didn’t detract from the sheer beauty of Charlie, if anything it added to it.They made you more aware of just how resilient and strong Charlie was. You wondered if he could pick you up with those strong arms, what it would be like to be carried by Charlie or simply to be held by him. He looked warm and safe...and delicious. You sighed wistfully as you watched him degnome the garden, your weeding and watering long forgotten.

“You can’t be serious.” You jump with a little squeak (or rather a loud shout) as Ginny pops up right behind you and interrupts your day dreaming. George and Charlie look over at you, from your place in the dirt where you’d fallen in shock, but seemed to decide that you were okay. With a light laugh at your expense they returned to degnoming.

“Ginny!” You hiss at her, “Don’t scare me like that!” You loved the girl dearly, but she knew you were easily scared. Especially after the war. It had heightened your anxiety and hyper awareness.

“I wouldn’t have scared you if you hadn’t been drooling over my brother.” She teases, sitting down next to you in the dirt, “Besides, mum asked me to come help you...I think she noticed you were distracted.”

“Please tell me she didn’t...she’ll be insufferable.” You look towards the Burrow, worried you might see Mrs Weasley eagerly watching you. 

“So you don’t want to date my brother?”

“I...I find him pleasant to look at...is all.” That was a lie and the both of you knew it. You would happily date Charlie Weasley. Not only was he physically very attractive, but he was funny and seemed kind and invested in his career. You just had reservations...after all he worked and lived in Romania and if it all went terribly wrong what would happen with your extended family? Would you no longer be able to spend time with the Weasley’s? What if he wasn’t interested and you simply made everything terribly awkward?

“You know there’s no harm in liking someone, right? It’s not going to kill you to admit you’re attracted to him.”

“It’s more than that, Ginny. It’s more complicated. There’s a million other factors to take into account. We’re not kids in school, Gin...we’re adults and we have our own lives and that’s not even taking into account that just because I think Charlie is handsome doesn’t mean he’s interested in me in the slightest!” You pick at the stones in the vegetable patch, throwing them away, just to give your hands something to do. You can feel the embarrassment rising in you at talking about this with his own sister, your friend. 

“Piss off! As if he wouldn’t be!” 

“Gin, this is the brother that I have been told on numerous occasions will probably remain a bachelor forever. Why would he be interested? I’m a bit of a mess...” Charlie had always been portrayed as a lone wolf, the least likely Weasley to get married, and most likely to die a bachelor. It was hard to imagine he’d suddenly take an interest in a relationship just because you were there. 

“We all are. The war did a number on most of us...but you’re amazing and I know my brother. If he’s not already interested, he will be.” She bumps your shoulder with her own and for a moment she seems like the older one, the wise one...not you. 

The two of you work together on the vegetable patch, talking about other things such as Harry and whether he’ll propose before Ginny does and her contract with the Holly Head Harpies. It’s nice, you think, as you take in a deep breath of fresh air before a cold wet feeling falls over you and you gasp in shock. 

Your hair is dripping, you blink water away from your eyes, your clothing soaked as you look up to see a now empty bucket hovering above your head and a laughing George Weasley doubled over nearby. With a battle cry you run at your best friend and tackle him to the ground, grabbing your wand you cast aguamenti and a stream of water hits him straight in the face. It doesn’t take him long to throw you off and run away, but you watch as Ginny chases after him. Ron is watching with a gnome attached to his leg, his attempts to shake the little thing off don’t seem to be working. In all this excitement you forget that another Weasley was also present...that is until two arms wrap around your thick waist and pull you off the ground.

You barely have enough time to yell “Charlie!” Before a stream of water hits your face. You try not to laugh, lest you choke on the water, but it's hard to do so. Something about this whole situation just seems hilarious to you. Maybe it's your pitiful attempts to get free, not that you were trying especially hard, or maybe it's that it feels like it used to. Like things weren’t different. Like you were all still kids not war weary adults. 

“Charlie!” You push away from him, managing to break free and immediately turn on him wand raised. 

This water fight between you, Charlie, George, and Ginny, with the occasional complaint from Ron as he gets sprayed by water, continued until Mrs Weasley came out of the Burrow.

“Look at the lot of you! Inside, you best get dry and changed before you catch your death!” 

You laugh lightly at the concern on Molly’s face as she ushers you all in with a tea towel in hand, most likely having been making lunch when she saw the lot of you soaked to the bone. 

You look up at Charlie as he bumps your shoulder lightly and smiles down at you as he passes. You sigh lightly as he walks in front of you. It would be rather nice you think...to be Charlie’s girlfriend. Rather nice indeed. 

Ginny giggles as she moves up to next to you, raising her eyebrows and smirking. You simply roll your eyes but can’t keep the smile off your face. Maybe she wasn’t wrong after all...

[smoochkooks]

—it’s december (and i still want you) | m.

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon/reader

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff (the holy trinity)

⇢ word count: 16.7k

⇢ warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe kids!), dirty talk, just good, ol’ emotional sex

⇢ summary: as the final farewell to your soon-to-be-ex husband namjoon, you spend with him one last christmas in your parents’ cottage far away from the city, reflecting on your life together before you will part your ways for good.

a/n: omg guys!! i’m so excited to post this, you have no idea:( i’ve been working on writing this for a whole month but i had this particular fic in mind since last year so i can’t believe i actually managed to finish this before christmas like i had planned. i hope you will like this. i’m sending you lots of love for the new year! xx, julia.

For how long you could remember, you’ve always adored Christmas.

There’s something discreetly magical in this time of the year, no matter if it’s an unique aura or the fact you’re the family type of person, Christmas used to hold a special place in your heart, spread a distinctive kind of warmth in your body that made you feel calm and loved. 

This year though, it's different. Not because the weather doesn’t suit the occasion and instead of snowing, the sky is cloudy. The very reason is on your kitchen table, next to the big cardboard box you’ve scribbled ‘xmas decorations' on in black ink. There lay neatly folded in manila folder documents, untouched for about a week since postman delivered them. Your future is inside, just above your signature. You know those papers are not going to be read through anytime soon, that the blank space next to your name will be crystal white until the very New Year.�� 

You know he won’t say a word about it unless it’s necessary. He won’t plead, beg, ask for delay. He’s accepted it. Deep down you wish he put up some fight, resisted, fell to his knees in front of you and counted all his mistakes promising it won’t happen again. But it’s your decision. And he has never denied your choice. 

You’ve always loved Christmas. Family gatherings by the table, the smell of cinnamon in your mum's famous rolls, the colourful lights on the Christmas tree your dad never stops complaining about when he’s assigned to put them on. 

This year however, Christmas is nothing but an unceremonious reminder that it’s going to be your last celebration spend with your soon-to-be-ex husband, Namjoon.

Statistically, the younger you get married, there’s a higher possibility of having a divorce with your significant other. The shorter the period between engagement and wedding is, you’re most likely going to survive approximately three years as a married person. You feel like you’ve never fitted into any statistics and algorithms better than now.

You were twenty one when you first met Kim Namjoon. The only thing you knew about him before seeing in person was the size of his family's wealth. Your mother told you he’s a good man, same age as you, majoring in business and economy tall, blonde fella. You, on the other hand, were just a girl in red pristine dress and uncomfortable high heels, with dreams to trivial for her parents liking.  

The place you first met him was beautiful. A big ballroom in downtown with gleaming chandeliers, filled to the brim with people you wholeheartedly despised sipping on their Dom Perignons, a clique whose money combined together could easily build a few hospitals in Africa. You remember your mum patting you on the back, hissing to your ear to straighten, but you knew it was more an encouraging act of hers than a real reprimand. You remember your dad, laughing at something with mister Kim and from the volume and tone of his voice you knew it wasn’t genuine.  

You also remember Namjoon, good-looking and smart and so sophisticated in his manners and words he could put into shame any college jocks or obnoxious fratboys you’d met so far during your studies. Namjoon with his exquisite demeanor and handsome face that drew attention from every young lady in the ballroom. You felt small standing next to him and it wasn’t just because he towered over you with his height. For the first time in your life you were in front of someone who was absolutely out of your league.

When your parents decided to leave you two alone for a while, Namjoon let out a long sigh, like some weight was lifted off his shoulders and he finally could breathe properly. He smiled at you, two cute dimples adoring his cheeks and said, ‘’Fuck, I thought they would never leave.” gulping the rest of his champagne smoothly.  

You remember how your eyes widened after hearing him speak informally like that, to the point it probably must have looked comical because he chuckled as soon as he saw your puzzled expression. 

“Want to get away from here for a while? I know some place upstairs where we can talk without being watched by all those tight wads.” Namjoon asked you then.

This time, no matter how shocked you were, you manage to keep your true emotions at bay. You smiled at him, nodding. “Lead the way.”  

Namjoon seemed to know this place by heart, easily navigating through long corridors until he found what he was looking for: a large balcony with a view to the whole city. He motioned for you to come closer where he stood, leaning to the rail and fishing out of his jacket's pocket a pack of cigarettes. With one between his plush lips, he extended the rest towards you. 

“I don’t smoke.” you said curtly, probably too abrupt but he didn’t notice, or simply didn’t care. 

“Well, I do,” he murmured, lighting up his cigarette and taking the first drag languidly. “Dad's a heavy smoker. He’s been telling me my whole teenage years not to be like him but here I am,” He smirked almost cynically, fuming the poison. “Like father, like son.”  

You didn’t exactly know how to react to that, choosing to stare at the city covered in darkness from a distance instead. The summer was in full bloom, night almost stuffy it made you feel hot. Your feet hurt from the uncomfortable shoes you wore and you wondered for a moment how would Namjoon react if you decided to take them off.

It was still annoyingly mute, you started thinking that maybe he was waiting for you to continue conversation somehow. Why did he even want to bother spending time with you here? Why did he want you to keep him company when you couldn’t hold a proper conversation? God, you were awful at smalltalks. 

Luckily for you, Namjoon always knew what to say. 

“So, Y/N,” he began, your head turning to the side to have a look at him. He was beautiful like this, you had to admit to yourself, dressed in black suit with a cigarette caught between his slender fingers and suddenly a vision of marrying him wasn’t that surreal anymore like you thought at the beginning. “I know what your family business is, I know you’re the same age as me and you don’t smoke,” he listed, gesturing with his occupied hand for emphasis, “but I still don’t know what you’re studying.”  

Apparently you weren’t only bad at communicating. You were also terrible at holding eye contact but Namjoon from the very start of your acquaintance didn’t want to let you go that easily, keeping his gaze fixated on you the whole time. It made your cheeks blush and you prayed he didn’t see that in dim lighting. 

“I am majoring in fashion design and marketing. I want to start my own brand in the future.” you replied. Namjoon hummed, flicking his cigarette with his thumb and ring finger. “My parents don’t really like this idea. They probably wish I worked as an accountant in their firm or something,” You laughed and to your surprise, there was a smile dancing on Namjoon's lips as well, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I am destined to work for my father from the moment my mother found out she was pregnant with a boy,” he said, voice laced with strange kind of melancholy you hadn’t heard from him since you two met. “I will take over his business after his death and work there until I die.”  

“What about your other siblings then?” you asked.”

“I’m the only child.”  

“Oh.” 

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah. ‘Oh' it’s a good word to describe it.” He took one last drag off his cigarette and discarded it carelessly somewhere on the floor. For a moment you thought he was reaching to his pocket for another one, but he faltered. 

It was quiet for a few long bits of time, until Namjoon broke the silence again.

“It looks like they want us to get married, Y/N,” he said suddenly and you nearly jumped in place hearing his deep ramble. “What do you think about that?” You turned to look at him, only to find his eyes already trained on you, expression smug. 

You shrugged. “I don’t have much say in this.” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed like he was genuinely surprised with your answer. “Why is that? Aren’t you the daughter who disobeys her parents by pursuing the career they don’t want for her?” he asked almost mockingly, taking a step towards you. “You can say no. You can dump me and find some guy who would be much better husband than me, or maybe you have someone like that already, don’t you?”  

“I don’t.” You didn’t even know why you needed to clarify this so fast, you could have played along and fool him, yet here you were. 

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” he concluded.  

You shook your head. “No.” 

“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend either.” 

You sighed. Was this out of relief or because he was now much closer than you considered appropriate for your personal space? Still staring at you with observant eyes, gaze vibrating, plush lips opening to say, “It’s kind of weird for me that you don’t date anyone.” 

You scoffed. “I could say the same about you.”  

“Not exactly, darling,” he disagreed, leaning his body to the railing so he's back was facing the city, head turned to the side to have a look at you. Your cheeks heated at the term of endearment he used, yet you rolled your eyes anyway. “I don’t do relationships. I was never in one, in fact. But you,” he trailed off, licking his lips, “you look like someone who has dozen of guys lined up to be your boyfriend.”  

You were laughing. An authentic, breathy laugh that made Namjoon smile like fool and he didn’t have anything in his diffence because you were just really pretty in your red dress, standing on the balcony and giggling. He wanted to tell you this the whole night, no matter how lame he probably sounded. 

“God, that was so cheesy,” you groaned. “Thank you for your subtle compliment. You aren’t so bad yourself.”  

Maybe Namjoon was actually content too in this moment, that you didn’t have anyone to come home to as well. Back then he thought it was good because it didn’t complicate things more than that already were. Truth to be told, it was just a disguised excuse. 

He didn’t expect you to ask next question, yet your lips somehow formed words on their own. “If you don’t do relationships, why are you okay with marrying me?” 

He was so close you could count his eyelashes, you could see that little mole on his chin. You could reach and touch the sharpness of his jaw, smooth the crease between his brows that had formed after hearing what you had said. 

“I just have a feeling it might work.” he answered simply. “Will you try making this work with me?”  

You smiled. The thought about being wedded to someone like him at the ripe age of twenty one wasn’t that scary anymore. There was a long way before you two but you were in for a ride. Because it could have been anyone, and it was just Namjoon. Just him and above all him. 

“Only if you promise me you will quit smoking.” you said.

Namjoon reached to his suit jacket's pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and dropped it to the floor. “Your wish is my command.”  

He didn’t laugh it out, didn’t make some snarky comment about you already wife-ing him up. 

Because Kim Namjoon has never disrespected your decision.

Few months later, you got engaged. Officially, on family gathering with your closest relatives, as a symbolic agreement made between two wealths. But in reality, you and Namjoon were never the so called ‘traditional’ type of couple. He proposed to you a week earlier, after taking you out on a bike ride by the river. There was no caviar, fine wine and crème brûlée when you both sat together on a bench, inhaling autumn air. There was no hushed whispers and clears of throats from the family, no glass clicking to get attention because he had something important to say. No practiced speech with Shakespeare’s quotes (love is a smoke made with a fume of sighs, actually a very accurate one).

It was you, no make up and grey sweatpants and him, favourite khaki jacket and stuttered words when he took out of his pocket a pink, plastic ring, like those ones they add to candies. Just you and Namjoon, the whole world, reasons, what ifs and doubts disappeared. 

He wanted to tell you how much he had fallen for you these past months. That he didn’t believe in love from the first sight and God, yet Lord only knows how he had been a goner from the moment he laid his eyes on you in that stupid ballroom full of materialists. He wished to say he would do anything in his power to make it right, to have you call him your husband proudly while standing hand in hand in front of his future business partners, friends and family. 

He did none of that. You didn’t let him to.  

Your lips were on his and the words will you marry– died on his tongue when yours touched his bottom lip. You were kissing him, deep and intoxicating and he wanted this brief moment of sweet halcyon to never end. Because he was young, foolish and so in love that he could for once be egoistic enough to say the world was at his feet while you were in his arms smiling into the kiss and mumbling those stupid three-letters-long word. 

And you said it again and again. Repeated it when you were home, pinned by his body to the wall of his old apartment while his cold fingers danced on your sides underneath a sweater. You chanted it when he stripped you bare and fuck you silly, no making it even to the bedroom because you were young, impatient and in love. 

The wedding was in Spring. You got married when cherries started to blossom in whites and pinks. On the wall in front of you there’s still hanging your favourite photo from that day. Your sister took it with her phone, not some photographer Namjoon's mum had hired to photoshop your faces afterwards. It’s black and white, a little blurry and you’re laughing at something Namjoon had told you seconds before Soojin tapped the button on her phone.  

You wonder what will happen with this picture and many others after everything will be done. 

Sighing, you open the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You still have a tree to carry upstairs from your basement but you don’t think about it now. Normally, Namjoon would do it. But you know he will be back by the time you will be already at your sister’s home, eating dinner. 

You hear door lock rattling and instantly annoyance flashes through your whole body. If that’s your mother, asking you to come home today and nag you to change your mind again, you swear you’re going to snap real hard this time.  

But it’s not your mother. She doesn’t have keys to your apartment. She doesn’t own a briefcase and that’s certainly a noise of it being thrown on the floor next to the shoe case. And she for sure doesn’t sound like your own husband, greeting you during lunch hours on Christmas Day. 

‘’God, I was held up in a traffic for an hour. If that’s how’s it going to be for the next days, then I’m not leaving the house,” Namjoon says, walking past you. He pours warm coffee you had made earlier into his favourite Captain America cup right away, and sighs deeply. 

You haven’t seen him in the morning. He had already left to work when you opened your eyes, which is not anything new recently. It feels like he’s avoiding you purposely after receiving divorce papers. Almost as if he’s been growing distant to give you even more reasons to end things with him for good.  

His eyes trail from the kitchen counter to you, still holding a golden Christmas tree chain in your hands. He hums, gulping another sip of his coffee. ‘’Oh, you brought decorations. Remind me to go for the tree to the basement later.”  

You’re irritated. You don’t even know why. Probably because he’s so normal and casual about this. He’s still doing all this domestic shit, keeps up appearances and acts like everything’s totally fine. Except one thing: the lack of intimacy. He stopped calling you baby, giving you good morning kisses and goodbye hugs. He doesn’t touch you anymore, barely talks about anything that isn’t some topic he’d heard in news. He’s become now the stereotypical version of husband every woman wouldn’t want to have. It’s frustrating. 

“Why are you home so soon?” you blurt out before you could stop yourself. 

Namjoon places his cup in the dishwasher (he never does that and you have to remind him to do it every time) and crosses his arms over chest. “It’s Christmas and I’m the boss. I wanted to leave early, so I did.” 

You hate how cynical he sounds. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s not been coming home like that every day just because he can, because he’s entitled to work young economist and businessman who gives himself days off to please his wife.

“I’m not staying here for dinner.” You don’t like how formal your voice sounds. It’s the voice you use while talking with clients on the phone. Two can play this game. 

Something shifts in Namjoon's expression. He clears his throat awkwardly and still, the first words come out hoarsely. “You’re not staying home for Christmas?” 

Home. This shared apartment bought with Namjoon's money is still yours too. Until it won’t be anymore. 

“No. I’m going to Soojin's. She’s making a dinner for her boyfriend and his parents and she invited me as well.” 

You don’t know why you feel like you need to explain yourself in front of him. Namjoon nods his head sheepishly. You haven’t seen him look like that for a while. If anything, he looks disappointed. Something aches in your heart at the sight.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, irritation long gone and replaced with something you could mistake only with genuine concern. 

Namjoon cracks a smile. “No, it’s just… I thought we could eat here, alone. You know, since it’s our last Christmas together,” He's speaking more quietly now. Almost like he’s afraid of even approaching this topic aloud, choosing the words carefully yet they sound uncertain anyway. “Mom is on Maldives right now with her new guy.” he adds after a while.

“Oh.” 

Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “I guess I will spend some time alone, then.” He chuckles but you know it’s not an honest laugh. Namjoon loves Christmas just the way you do, though he will never admit it to anyone and the thought about him being in your own apartment probably even without Christmas tree because he’s too clumsy to decorate it himself, makes your insides clench uncomfortably.

You look at him now carefully for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t look like the confident, snarky businessman he aspires to be sometimes. His hair has grown longer, his skin looks paler, there are bangs underneath his eyes and you wonder if he gets any sleep. He used to cuddle you up during night hours when insomnia kicks in, because he says your body's warmth helps him relax. He doesn’t do it anymore from the day he had read the papers. He lays next you peacefully every night and even if he itches to touch you, hold you, caress you, he won’t.

Namjoon looks lost and perhaps he is, he’s been like that since his father died for lungs cancer over one year ago, leaving his business in Namjoon's hands hence he's the only heir to the empire. It was all too sudden and before you could do anything in your power to help mister Kim recover, the disease had progressed to the point of no return, taking his life away few months after he came to the hospital. 

Namjoon hadn’t smoked a cigarette since the day you asked him to quit. He broke that rule once, on his father's funeral day. You found him on the porch in front of his family’s estate, so sad and broken and with a grey smoke swirling around his features. He was crying. You had never seen him like this before. He used to say tears were the luxury he couldn’t afford.

“I’m sorry.” he said to you, voice rough and strangled because there was another wave of sobs forming in his throat. 

“It’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured, coming up to him. He gave you the half-burnt cigarette without a word and you throw it away. “It’s going to be okay, Joon.” He crashed his body into yours, straining your black dress with sadness and grief he was always so afraid to show while you were around. You held him like that, rocked him like a baby until eventually his breathing slowed down to normal.

He put his chin on your shoulder, still hugging you tightly, like he was afraid you were going to evaporate and asked, “Do you think I will be able to do it?”

You knew he wasn’t ready for that. Every twenty-something guy wouldn’t be. But you believed in him like he never did in himself. You had all your hopes in him, signed your future with his name, the name of the boy who let go of his beloved addiction just because you said so. Namjoon might have been entitled to marry you but you weren’t obligated to fall for him, yet you did.

Namjoon has always been the strong, monumental fortification that kept you safe in. And together you’ve made home.

Placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him away slightly so you could look him in the eyes. “You won’t be alone,” you urged firmly. “I am here. You’ve got your father's coworkers who put their faith in you.”

“What if I fail them? What if they don’t see me as someone responsible enough to be in charge because I’m some young shithead who had inherited this business from his father?” 

“Then you have to prove them you’re worth it.” 

“Easier said than done.” 

You shook your head, your palms coming up to cup his cheeks. “Kim Namjoon,” you began, “I’ve never given a fuck about economy but when you rant about it over dinner I find it interesting, because you can make it seem like that,” He smiled lightly and your mirrored his gesture. “And I know your views about business. It’s not some liberal shit that’s actually well disguised capitalism. You are more than that, Joon. Don’t you dare ever put yourself down.” 

And then he was kissing you. It was more a simple smooch than anything else but it felt right to do so. To stand on your toes and capture his lips in yours. When he broke off after a moment, he placed a fleeting peck on your nose. It made you smile silly and he was smiling too, despise the situation. 

“I love you.” Namjoon breathed out, leaning his forehead into yours.

In that particular moment, on a porch of his family's old manor, you were certain you were going to survive every storm when he was by your side.

“I love you too.” 

It’s been two years since that day. A lot has changed, hell, both of you have changed. But looking at Namjoon right now you start questioning yourself again, whether this storm is worth letting the ship sink without trying to at least reach the land. 

One last Christmas together, he said. Nothing more and nothing less beside two married people biding farewells before they part their ways for good. You owe him that much.

“You don’t have to stay here alone. We can go to that cottage my parents have. You know, the one where we spend my dad's birthday in January.” 

If Namjoon is surprised with your sudden statement, he hides it pretty well. His eyebrows raise with interest. “Is that okay for you? I mean, you’re already invited to your sister's and she’s probably waiting for you, she made a whole dinner and–”

“Joon,” you cut his rambling off. Joon. You haven’t called him that in a while. He smiles bashfully and you can faintly see pink tingling the apples of his cheeks. “It’s fine, really. Soojin wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it. But, uhm–” You clear you throat awkwardly. “–we have to buy some groceries if we want to actually eat something for the dinner.” 

Namjoon's brows furrow. “Do we have time to cook something for ourselves?” he asks.

You open your mouth to object but all arguments die on your tongue. He’s right. You don’t have time to do it on your own. Well, fuck, you want to say but then, an idea pops in your head. 

“I’ll take care of this.” 

You’ve always loved Christmas. Never had you thought about spending them with your soon-to-be-ex husband, though.

Namjoon has always been a convincing person.

You think this side of him comes from the field he works in. When you’re standing in the middle of Christmas market down your street, he analyzes the problem of buying a real Christmas tree like it’s another deal he has to sell to his future business partners, listing you all the pros and cons and transforming them into an excel chart in his head. 

He doesn’t even know why you’re here. One minute you were driving to your sister's house after dropping by grocery store, and the second you told him to pull over and wander with you through the numerous stalls with Christmas decorations.

“Why are you so determined to buy a real Christmas tree?” Namjoon asks astonishingly.

You sigh, sending the seller in front of you an apologetic smile. You’ve been standing there with Namjoon for a few solid minutes now and you can sense the man's impatience. You shrug simply in reponse. “Because I’ve always wanted to have one.”

“Yeah, but,” Namjoon pauses when you click your tongue in irritation. Now it’s his turn to sigh. “We are going to be in that cottage just for one night. We can take our Christmas tree from home with us and decorate it there.” 

Upon hearing that, you take his wrist and walk a few steps from the seller. That’s it, Namjoon thinks, you’re going to pull another card now. You’ve always been persistent when things you want are in the game and Namjoon is terrible at saying no to you. The evidence stands in your living room, an old Chinese vase that doesn’t suit the design of the room at all but you insisted on buying it. No matter how much he tries, Namjoon can’t help but fall for your pleading eyes every single time, like he did when you pursued him to spontaneously purchase plane tickets for the romantic weekend in Paris across the globe, when you asked him to quit smoking. Or when you stabbed his heart with paper dagger filled with words he will eventually sign because that’s what you want from him.

So he won’t protest either when you’re about to buy a real Christmas tree although there’s absolutely no need to do so.

Namjoon knows he’s been gone since the moment you attempted to puppy-eye him. Nevertheless, for the sake of hearing you trying to convince him with sweet words and maybe some PG-13 arm brushing, he tongues his cheek in faux annoyance.

“Come on, Namjoon,” You elbow him playfully instead. “Don’t be like that. We’ve never had a real Christmas tree before.” 

And after that holidays, we will never have an occasion to buy another one together again, he wants to tell you. It’s ridiculous how both of you still sound so normal and domestic when your marriage is yet to be terminated few days after New Year. Maybe it’s just an act you put up for audience.

“Please?” you try once again and yes, there it is. Your hand brushes lightly his biceps.

Namjoon exhales loudly. Then, he points his index finger at the seller. “Give me the biggest one you have here.” 

And fifteen minutes later, you’re driving to Soojin's house with a 5’6 Christmas tree on the roof of Namjoon’s crystal black SUV. 

It’s awfully quiet between you two, mostly because you’ve been wondering for the past ten minutes how to break the awkward silence and ease the tension. Looking through the window, you try to locate any familiar spot on the streets that could tell you how far from your sister’s house you are. When you pass the Japanese restaurant with big koi fish in the logo, you estimate you’re up to five minutes from Soojin's. 

“Does she know you’re not coming for Christmas dinner?” 

You’re so deep in thought you almost don’t register Namjoon's talking to you. “Huh?” you mumble dumbly. 

“I asked if you already texted Soojin you won’t be on her Christmas dinner.” 

In the corner of your eye you see the sports equipment shop. Three minutes to go. “No, I didn’t. I will explain her everything in person.” 

Namjoon nods, stopping the car at the red light. You curse in your head. One more minute longer. “Do you think she really won’t mind? Knowing your sister she’s probably going to be pissed off you’re making a fuss in her well-planned schedule.” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe he’s impatient too.

Instantly, you chuckle at his words. Namjoon’s right. Your sister is a control freak. She doesn’t like last minute changes and sudden cancellations. You’re more than aware of that. But this time, you know she won’t have anything against your sudden outburst.

“Have a little faith in her, would you? It’s Christmas.” you reply teasingly.

The light changes to orange, then to green. 

“I really want to but I can’t help but think how she almost beat the shit out of me when we both overslept that one infamous morning and you were one hour late to your branch.”

“It was a day after we got from the honeymoon. She hadn’t seen me for almost a month back then.” you point out, although not to justify her. 

Namjoon snorts. “She came to our apartment that morning and gave me a lecture when you were showering,”

“Yeah but–”

“She told me, I’m quoting: ‘You had a whole month to yourselves and you decided the morning I was supposed to have a branch with my sister is the best time to bang’.” 

You’re fully laughing now, cheeks red from embarrassment because apparently, Soojin was partially true back then. You did wake up that morning around eight to get ready for the meeting, but you were too distracted by the feeling of Namjoon's morning wood poking you from behind. And when you unintentionally moved your body so your ass rubbed against his stiff shaft, the groan you heard in response and a muscular arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest prohibited you any kind of protest. 

Your face goes hot at the memory. And by the slight blush adoring Namjoon's cheeks, you know he’s thinking about the same thing as you. 

He clears his throat. “So yeah. Your little sister scares me.” 

The car pulls in the familiar neighborhood of akin terraced houses, the one in which Soojin lives with her boyfriend standing at the end of the street. 

“Even though she’s younger than me, she’s always had in herself to protect me at all costs. She really likes you though, Namjoon. She did from the very beginning. It was just her weird way of keeping things in control.” you say and that effectively puts and end to the conversation.

Namjoon's SUV stops in front of the gate and you see him smiling in the corner of your eye. “I know,” he breathes out. “Don’t be there for too long. We still have a Christmas tree to decorate later.”

You don’t know why you’re beaming like a teenage girl when you slam the door behind yourself and walk to your sister’s house.

Soojin, as Namjoon has predicted, is displeased. But apart from everything else, she’s mostly confused, standing in front of you in yellow apron with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.

“What the hell are you doing here already, Y/N?” 

You sigh loudly, taking off your coat and stepping off your boots. You feel your younger sister’s eyes piercing through your scull yet you don’t falter. Straightening your back, you greet her, “Hello to you too, Soojin-ah.” You hear her scoff in response. 

“Hi, Y/N! What’s up?” Taehyung, Soojin's dear boyfriend shouts from the living room. He’s sitting on their couch, fumbling with Christmas tree lights and probably trying to find the faulty one among ninety-nine others working.

“Hi, Tae. Everything’s peachy.” you answer him and the man sends you his signature boxy grin in response. 

Soojin crosses her arms over chest. “Peachy? Then why are you here so early? I told you we start at seven.” 

“Yeah, about the dinner. We need to talk.” 

She narrows her eyes but cocks her head at you to follow after her to the kitchen anyway. There’s quite a mess going on here and from the smell of the pastry lying on the counter you assume she’s making your mum's cinnamon rolls.

“So,” she begins, taking off her apron. “Talk.” 

“Are those cinnamon rolls from mum's recipe?” you quip, trying to avoid her persistent stare.

“Y/N, we are not here to talk about food,” Soojin warns but when she sees you extending your hand towards the plate where warm, already made ones lay, her gaze softens. “I changed the recipe a little bit to make it vegan. For Taehyung.” The corners of her mouth lift up slightly at the mention of her boyfriend.

Taking the first bite of the roll, you hum between chews, “Tastes good. Like the non-vegan ones.” 

“I guess I made a good job then,” Soojin laughs. “But seriously though, Y/N, don’t play coy right now. I saw Namjoon's car on the driveway. Has he signed the papers yet?” she asks.

“Nope.” you respond, emphasizing the ‘p'. 

“Is you being here has something to do with him?” 

“Kind of.” 

You look up to meet her eyes and that’s your first mistake because Soojin has something in them that makes you reveal every secret you hide right on the spot. It has always been like this between the two of you, you coming to your two years younger sister to talk instead the other way round.  You still admire it in her, the determination and persistence she has. You were the parent’s favourite child from the very beginning and Soojin knowing that, was determined to do everything they would have never wanted for her. She graduated college with degree in journalism and writes to the local newspaper, at the same time saving money to publish her own novel in the future. 

Your parents bitterly accepted it, just like your future career path, but they weren’t going to let her be that easily, arranging a meeting with possible husband-to-be a year after you got married to Namjoon. Little did they know she had been already madly in love with Kim Taehyung, the photographer who she met on an internship. And instead of going on a date with Park's youngest son, she proudly sent your parents a picture of her and Taehyung with a caption ‘sry im taken' like she was responding to some horny man on Instagram.

You never keep anything from her. She was the first person you told you were in love with Namjoon and she was the first one to know you want a divorce. 

“It is about the divorce papers, isn’t it? He doesn’t agree to split up? Is he making any difficulties?” Soojin asks question after question, and you shake your head. 

“It’s not that. He will sigh them eventually, I know this.” 

Your sister purses her lips. “Of course he will because he loves you,” she says matter-of-factly. You bite your lips so hard you might draw blood. “Do you want to know what I really think about this whole situation?” You nod hesitantly. “I think you’re making a big mistake here, sis, divorcing Namjoon. And have in mind that I am the one telling you this.” She points her index finger at herself for emphasis. “When you told me about that I was more confused than anything else because who the fuck would want to divorce someone like Namjoon. I wouldn’t.” 

“Me neither!” You hear Taehyung shouting from the living room.

“Shut up, Tae, it’s ladies talk! Don’t listen!” Soojin shouts back. Her boyfriend’s giggle echoes through the house. “Anyway, back to my point. I know it doesn’t always seem like that but I like Namjoon, despite all the banter between the two of us. He’s a good guy and I’m sure he would never hurt you. That’s why it came as a shock to me.” 

You don’t even know how to answer her. Because quite literally, you aren’t so determined about your decision anymore, as you had been just weeks ago. You feel like you’re doing the right thing yet at the same time you can’t help but question your motives. You came here for Christmas food, for fuck's sake, and now you’re having a free therapy session with your little sister.

Last months, of course, has been tough. Namjoon's firm had its first crisis since he’s become the CEO. He was spending most of his daytime at work, sometimes he was at the office even during the night hours, and at some point your shared life at home started lacking of intimacy and affection it'd had before. It felt cold to come back to an empty house and it didn’t use to be like that.

At the same time, your own business began blowing out. More and more people were buying clothes from your online shop and you started thinking for real about opening your own atelier in the city. And ironically, your biggest dream, the thing Namjoon had always supported you in, was the cause of your huge argument that lead to the situation you’re currently in.

It was two months ago. You remember your personal assistant Jisoo calling you and rambling incoherently through the phone. You were only able to make out ‘agreed to rent‘ but that was enough information for you. The developer let you make a studio in the place you had chosen, the place you knew was the best destination possible for not huge amount of money. In that moment, you were on cloud nine. 

You remember Namjoon coming home late as usual that evening. You had already prepared a celebratory dinner, bought your favourite wine, lighted up some candles to make it even more cheesy but it didn’t matter because you couldn’t even recall when was the last time you both spent your time like this. Alone, all to yourselves.

Hearing the jingle of the keys you rushed to the door, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as he closed them behind himself. He stiffened at your touch but you ignored it, hugging him tightly. Sensing his discomfort, you pulled off, looking at him with a grin plastered on your face. 

You were too lost in your own excitement to notice how sad Namjoon looked. “I did it!” you blurted out. “Namjoon, I did it! The developer said yes. I can start arranging my own atelier!”

You saw a faint smile on his lips, however it didn’t reach his eyes at all. He sighed and when he spoke after, his voice sounded weary. “Congratulations.” He wasn’t excited like you. There was no trace of a man in him who told you to go after your dreams no matter what. He’s eyes looked shallow.

Your brows furrowed. You instantly felt irritation bubbling in your throat. “That’s it? You don’t have anything more to say?” you snorted.

‘I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. You look so ecstatic,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

At that, Namjoon seemed to have lost his control as well. He bit the inside of his cheek before scoffing, “What do you want me to say, Y/N? Should I dance on the table? Open the door to balcony and shout out my immense happiness to the whole neighborhood?” 

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I just expected more support from my own, beloved husband. That’s it.”

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Listen, Y/N. I really don’t want to argue. I had a bad day at work, a whole week actually, and I just want to spend some time alone.” He stormed off the hallway, walking into your shared bedroom.

“Don’t turn your back on me right now, Kim Namjoon!” you shouted after him,  entering the room as well. “We aren’t done yet.” 

Namjoon practically threw his suitcase on the desk, turning to face you abruptly. “I am done.” 

“Everyone has bad days. Me too. You aren’t the only one struggling here, Namjoon. It doesn’t give you the right to act like that.” 

Upon hearing that, he chuckled darkly. You saw him gnawing his bottom lip, as if he was debating if he should say what he was going to. “You’re right. Everyone has shitty days. But for your information, mine was the worst since I’ve started running this fucking business. Do you know what happened?” he asked. “Our main investor retreated his shares from the project. Do you have an idea how much is that? 20 fucking percent. That’s a lot of money when there’s a crisis on the stock market and inside the firm as well. So excuse me, Y/N, but I have too much on my own mind to care about your stupid shop.” He slumped down on his chair and rubbed his temples.

You stared at him, trying to fight back the tears trying to spill from your eyes. You didn’t want to break down in front of him. This was your day. You were supposed to celebrate, not cry because your husband acted like an absolute asshole. Yet the tears started rolling down your cheeks involuntarily.

“I’m sorry.” you uttered, exiting the room.

Namjoon looked up, catching the glimpse of your expression and that was the moment he realised his mistake. He stood up and ran after you. “Y/N, wait! I didn’t mean it like that, shit!” 

You stopped in your tracks to face him. You were fully crying right now and something in Namjoon's chest tightened at the sight. “Don’t say anything, Namjoon. I get it. Your business is more important than my stupid shop. It’s fine, really.” You sniffed, wiping the smudges of mascara underneath your eyes.

Namjoon put his hand on your arm but when he saw you flinch, he withdrew. “Of course you are important, baby.” he said quietly and another fresh wave of tears streamed down your face when you heard him use his favorite term of endearment for you.

“But it doesn’t look like I am anymore, Namjoon. And that’s the problem.” you uttered brokenly. “I think we should take a break from each other. It’s not healthly for us being together now.” 

Namjoon looked anywhere but at you. “If that’s what you want.” 

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.” 

The break lasted two weeks. You spent some time at Soojin's, travelled to Japan. And when you came back you home you bitterly realised nothing really had changed. Namjoon picked you up at the airport, took you for dinner to your favourite restaurant and back home fucked you so hard and unforgiving you couldn’t remember your own name anymore. He said he missed you and counted days to your arrival. Missed your face, your voice, your pussy wrapped around his cock. You climaxed with his name on your lips and with a promise for a new tomorrow that eventually didn’t come because the reality kicked in sooner than you had expected.

“Don’t you think it was a little bit impulsive of you to file for divorce?” Soojin asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. And you hate your little sister so much because she might be right. You’re definitely far from being all-out and determined about everything. “You know I will be always by your side, Y/N. It’s only your decision to make.” she adds after a moment, reaching to squeeze your hand.

“I know,” you sigh, reciprocating the gesture. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

You take a deep breath before explaining your initial motives. “First of all, I won’t be at your Christmas dinner. Stop glaring at me like that!” you wail, seeing her expression. 

“Babe, do you know where–” Taehyung starts, entering the kitchen but he’s quickly cut off by his girlfriend.

“She won’t be at the dinner!” Soojin points her finger at you accusingly while Taehyung tries to hide his amused smile. He probably has overheard your hushed whispers even though Soojin had asked him not to.

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Because I don’t want Namjoon to spend Christmas alone since he’s mother is on Maldives.” you answer.

Taehyung hums. “Fancy.”

“So you’re spending Chrismtas with Namjoon, right?” Soojin quips, making you nod. 

“I am. And that’s why I want to ask if you might share some of your food with me?” you hesitantly wonder and Soojin raises her eyebrows. “We are going to our parents’ cottage and we don’t have time to cook for ourselves.” you explain. She eyes you carefully and you know it’s seconds till she softens. “Please?”

Taehyung nudges her side. “Come on, babe. Let them eat something delicious before they eventually fuck as a final goodbye.”

“Taehyung, that’s not funny!” Soojin protests but her boyfriend only giggles in response. There’s a small smile dancing on your lips and when she locks her eyes with you, she reciprocates it. “Okay, fine. What do you need?” 

“What do you have?” you ask.

Soojin gestures for you to come closer to the kitchen counter and opens the fridge. ‘”I've already made bulgogi for Taehyung’s parents so I can give some of it to you. I also cooked kimchi and sweet potatoes. Oh, and those vegan cinnamon rolls. I will pack you a few.” she lists, while taking out the clean food containers from the cupboard.

“Thank you so much.” you breathe out.

“No big deal,” Taehyung assures, sending you a wink. “Although I’m a little bit sad you won’t come for the dinner. Maybe you should just take Namjoon here.” he suggests.

You shake your head. “No, we should spend some time alone, talk through some things and… stuff.” you trail off.

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “And stuff,” 

“Jesus Christ,  Taehyung, let them be!” Soojin grumbles, packing the last container into a paper bag and handing it to you. “You owe me something huge for this.” she mumbles but you know she’s just bickering with you. Taehyung hugs her waist tightly from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder and you can help but coo at them.

“Once again, thank you for saving my ass. I gotta go now. Namjoon's waiting.” you say.

“I will walk you to the door,” Soojin proposes, unwrapping herself from Taehyung's arms.

“Bye, Taehyung. Merry Christmas!” You wave at him.

“Bye, Y/N, Merry Christmas! Say hi from me to Namjoon. Oh, and remember: use protect–ouch!” His words die on his tongue when he’s effectively nudged into his stomach with Soojin's elbow. 

Giggling under your breath, you shuffle into the hallway. You could sense your sister's eyes on your back while you’re putting on your coat and the moment you turn around, you find her staring at you with puzzled expression.

She sighs before saying, “Y/N, you’re my sister and you know I want the best for you and I will always support your decisions–don’t roll your eyes! I’m having an emotional speech right now,” she huffs, coming up to give you an affectionate hug. “Just please, promise me you won’t do anything reckless or stupid.” she mumbles into the material of your coat. 

You shut your eyes tightly. “I promise.” 

Soojin clears her throat and pulls away. She looks like she wants to say something more but chooses not to. You’re thankful for that. “Bye, big sis.” she says.

You smile. “Bye, kid.” 

You make your way to the car quickly, apologies already on your tongue when you shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long.” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he assures. “How did Soojin's interrogation go?” 

“Surprisingly smoothly,” you answer. Smooth is an exaggeration here. It was bumby, with a lot of twists and turns but you made it through with even more conflicted mind and a bag full of food. “She gave me bulgogi.” you add, knowing pretty well what kind of reaction would it elite in Namjoon.

“God, please don’t say things like that. We still have some time before the dinner and I’m already salivating.” 

“Let’s go then.”

It’s been quite some time since you’ve been in your parents' holiday cottage. 

You didn’t have time to visist it during summer since you were too busy with setting up your own showroom in Seoul and Namjoon… Namjoon was always too caught up in work to have a free weekend. So the last time you’ve had a chance to spend time in their cottage was almost one year ago, in January, on your dad's 52th birthday. 

The road to the cottage takes about thirty minutes from the city. It’s situated near the small lake, hidden in a valley surrounded by forests from every side. You’ve always found the place charming and beautiful, ever since you were little with Soojin, when your parents decided to buy land there and built a small house on it. 

Your parents visist the cottage regularly, checking out and looking after everything. You had your eighteenth birthday party there. And your bachelorette night was also held there. 

You’re halfway through the distance when Namjoon decides to play some music. 

He turns on the radio connected to his spotify account and puts it on shuffle. When the first tunes of the song start playing, your face instantly flushes in pink.

It’s one of the songs you both included in your ‘sexy times' playlist as you jockingly named it back then when you lived in Namjoon's old apartment with walls too thin to properly mute the sounds of your moans and whimpers of pleasure which were by any means subtle while Namjoon was having his way with you during late hours of the night.

In the corner of your eye you see that Namjoon is as flustered as you are, quickly reaching to change the song but you stop him. “Don't!” He falters. Fucking hell, why did you say it so abruptly? Your blush deepens. “Leave it, please.” So he does. 

It’s a sensual melody, one of your favorite songs in general but you’ve never actually played it for yourself since you moved out from that apartment. It brings too many memories because if anything, sex with Namjoon has never been unsatisfactory and plain vanilla. He’s never left you unsatiate and thinking about those lustful moments makes you squirm in your seat, familiar butterflies flattering in your lower stomach. 

And from the clench of Namjoon's jaw and his tight grip on a steering wheel, you know he thinks about the same things as you do.

You wonder what flashes behind his eyelids now, because for you, it’s always him hovering above you, chest sweaty and heaving with every ragged breath he takes as he fucks you deep and with purpose. He’s rough but you like him that way, when he loses himself in you. It’s his hand on your throat, on your hips, bruising as he takes you from behind; marred in red skin on your asscheeks when you haven’t been behaving good enough. 

It’s him between your thighs, lavishing your cunt with his tongue until you're writhing and begging him to stop but he never listens, bringing you to immense ecstasy until tears well in your eyes and your voice is hoarse from screaming. 

It’s his hushed whispers in your ears leaving you bothered and breathless when you’re on some public event together, flithly promises he’s going to fulfill once you're home because the waiter was too flirty and you smiled at him too courteously. 

It’s him standing above you, pulling the belt from the loops until it lands on the floor along with his pants and you on your knees, taking his cock in your mouth to please him the best you could. It’s his fingers tangled in your hair, praising words on his lips because you’re such a good girl, always so good for me.

It’s Namjoon and his hands placed securely on your waist, chest flushed to your back when he spoons your spent body after another round of love making. It’s his soothing and calming voice in your ears when you drift off to sleep with his love confessions and gentle touches on your bare skin.

It’s him and you’re scared it will always be only him. The song changes into another and you hope he doesn’t hear the shaky breath you let out. You don't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

“And here we are.”  

A thirty minutes long ride has never been more drawn-out than now. Exiting the car, you promise yourself you’re gonna do everything in your power to make this twenty-four hours bearable and not as awkward as your drive here was.  

Once the car is parked, Namjoon opens the trunk and takes out your bags from it along with the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You scurry to help him but he sends you back with a small smile. “It’s okay. Go and open the door, I’ll get this.”  

Inside the cottage you’re immediately met with chilly air so the first thing you do after putting Christmas food from Soojin on the kitchen counter is taking care of the fireplace. It’s a new addition to the living room's design, your parents new investment in biofuel energy, or something.  

Glancing through the window, you see Namjoon carrying the Christmas tree into the house and soon it’s standing right in the middle of the room in its full glory.  

Namjoon claps his hands. “Let’s do it, shall we?” he asks, reaching to the cardboard box and pulling out the first item that caught his attention: a golden, glass bauble. But before he could hang it on the tree, it slips from his hands and lands on the floor, shattered into pieces.  

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters, crunching down to pick up the mess he’s made.

“Don’t touch it, you’ll cut yourself!”  

He stops abruptly and you can clearly distinguish the redness on his cheeks. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” he says sheepishly.

“We should start with the lights,” You take them out from the box and start to untangle. “Okay?”

There’s a small smile on Namjoon lips when he nods his head and helps you put them on the tree. Half an hour later, your collaborative job on decorating the Christmas tree is almost done. The final touch is the golden star you’re trying to attach to the tip without success, until you feel a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and lifting you up.  

You let out a surprised squeak at that, putting the star quickly on it’s right place. Once your feet touch the floor, you turn around just to be met with Namjoon smiling down at you softly. “Good job,” he comments, pointing at the tree. If he sees your flustered state, he doesn’t let you feel it. “We should prepare for the dinner. It’s getting late.” he adds and before you could say anything else, he exits the room and disappears in the hallway.  

“Y/N?” Namjoon calls out, entering the kitchen. You whip your head to look at him and can’t help but stare. He’s wearing a plain, blue button-up shirt which sleeves are rolled up and revealing his forearms. He must have taken a shower because his honey blond hair still looks a little bit damp at the roots and when he comes closer to you, you feel the unmistakable musk of his cologne. It’s still the same one he uses after you bought him it some time ago.  

“Yes?”  

You’re dressed in red just like you were three years ago when you first met in that damned ballroom and it’s really ironic, he thinks. Your probably last civilised meeting being like this, a celebratory Christmas dinner made by your sister in a holiday cottage away from the town.  

Whatever he wanted to ask you dies on his tongue the moment he hears your phone buzzing on the counter, your mum's contact number popping up on the screen.  

You exhale loudly. “God have mercy,” you mutter, picking up the phone. “Yes, mom?” you say and instantly roll your eyes at the sound of your mother’s rambling from the othe side. We'll talk later, you mouth to him, leaving the kitchen.

Namjoon curses under his breath and against every fiber of his being, he takes a few step closer to where you stand in the hallway, staring out of the window, back facing him.  

“No, mom, I’m not at Soojin's,” you say to the phone. “I’m with Namjoon. We are having a Christmas dinner at your cottage.”  

You’re silent for a moment, listening to whatever your mum is telling you but Namjoon, even in the dim lighting illuminating from the living room could see you’re tense.

“On Maldives,” you answer. She has probably asked you about his mother, as he supposes. “Mom, I told you to stop asking me this. It’s not your decision to make.”  

You take a deep breath before adding, “It’s Christmas. I don’t want to talk about this right now, please.” He knows what you mean by ‘this’. He doesn’t want to think about what future is going to bring either.  

Your mother can be too much sometimes and he knows it. He’s stood up and defended you in front of her more than once. Responded cleverly and calmly to her every question about kids. And when she met him for a coffee to talk about the divorce, he simply said he didn’t plan to get you in the way, which probably wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to hear.

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Love you. Tell dad I love him too. Bye.”  

You hung up with a sigh.

Namjoon quickly shuffles to the living room, fishing out his phone and pretending he’s been scrolling through it the whole time. When you enter the room, he’s eyes look up at you.  

“How was it?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“You know how my mother is sometimes,” you trail off.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods. ‘’Too much.”  

You smile and Namjoon could actually seen in you right now the girl he’s fallen in love with three years ago. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall and say, “I think we can begin.”  

“Do the honors.” 

The dinner has gone by smoothly. You felt normal, like nothing ever happened and you start wondering if Namjoon isn’t doing all of this just for old times sake. He can’t be, another voice in your head is saying, he isn’t doing anything extraordinary for him: he’s just him, the same guy who proposed to you with plastic ring and quit his beloved addiction so you could agree to marrying him.

You’re sitting on a couch right now, your favourite Christmas movie (it’s Holiday; your love for Jude Law has never died down since you were a teenager) playing in the background. It was your silly tradition, to watch them every year like those basic couples do. You both know by heart the ‘to me you’re perfect' scene from Love Actually and it never fails to make you laugh when Namjoon recites the lines so dramatically.  

You’re sitting so close to him you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, your shoulders brushing with every breath or chuckle he lets out and you find yourself wanting to lean into him more. You wish he wrapped his arm around you, pulled you closer, kissed you on the temple and assured everything would be perfectly fine. But it isn’t.

Nicole Kidman has already landed in Los Angeles when you feel Namjoon shifting next you. He takes something out of his pants' pocket, nudging your side in process so you peek at him. You know he wants to say something but doesn’t have an idea how to start, you’ve been with him too long not to recognize the way he wets his lips and rubs his hands on his thighs as the sign of his nervousness. Which makes you jittery as well.

When he finally decides to shoot, Cameron Diaz meets drunk Jude Law for the first time.  

“Y/N?” he says to get your attention because he doesn’t know you’ve been more than aware this whole time.  

“Yes?”  

You’re breathless and you don’t even know why. It’s Namjoon, for God’s sake, your own husband, who won’t be one soon, the voice in your head adds.  

“I know we agreed on not giving gifts to each other for Christmas but this isn’t actually a gift. I mean… It was a gift once but now it kinda isn’t so technically I’m not breaking an agreement,” He's rumbling. A sight he’s definitely on edge.

Before you could stop yourself, you place your hand on his thigh. It’s a gentle manner, an affectionate touch meant to soothe his nerves. He raises his eyebrows at that, staring at your hand absentmindedly tracking patterns on his leg. You withdraw your hand awkwardly.

Your gaze lands on Namjoon's palm. He’s clutching something in his fist. With a deep exhale he opens it and then you see it: the charm you lost some time ago and haven’t found till now.  

It’s a simple, cheesy infinity sign, a gift from him to you. He decided to give it to you this when he saw the bracelet on your wrist and ask you what’s the story behind it, so you told him. Your parents gifted the piece of jewelry to you on your 18th birthday. Then they, including Soojin, bought you charms to complete it. A clover from your dad, a heart from your mum and a star from your sister. And a few days after you shared this with Namjoon, the infinity sign has found its place on the bracelet.

One day you realised the piece he gave you is missing. You searched through the whole house but you couldn’t find it. Ironically, everything seemed to crumble down from the moment you had lost it. And here it lies now, on Namjoon's open palm.

“Cleaning lady found it in my office. It was underneath my desk.”  

“I don’t know what to say,” you blurt out.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. You can wear it or not, I just wanted you to have it back.”  

He lays the charm on your palm and for a brief moment you hesitate before asking him, “Can you–?” gesturing to your wrist.  

“Sure.”  

He attaches the piece to your bracelet in it’s former, rightful place and there’s a soft smile dancing on his lips. It’s laced with melancholy, making your insides clench uncomfortably. On the screen Graham and Amanda make out and you know there’s something heavy in the air, unspoken words and conversation you should hold but don’t know how to start.

It’s Namjoon who takes the mattress into his own hands this time.

“Do you think we could be friends after all of this will be done?”  

The question surprises you. You don’t have a clever answer for that because the future is always uncertain. You don’t even know if you’re making a right decision. You just believe you do.

Maybe joking isn’t the best thing to do now but it’s your shitty defence mechanism against facing the true. You decide to play it cool. “I don’t know about us but I’m sure my dad won’t stop inviting you to play chess with him.” You chuckle.

It doesn’t seem to amuse Namjoon much, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. You clear your throat, avoiding his persistent gaze. That certainly hasn’t been a good thing to say to ease the tension.  

“Your mum insisted me for a coffee two weeks ago. To talk.” he says suddenly.

You purse your lips. “What did you talk about?”  

“About us. About the divorce,” The movie is playing in the background but you don’t pay attention to it anymore. What’s the most crucial is right here in front of you, in the person of your future ex husband. “She asked me to convince you not to do it. Said you’re irrational and mentioned something about you always making important decisions hastily.”  

You roll your eyes. This is so typical of your mother to say something like that. “And what did you say to her?” you ask, afraid of his answer.  

“That it’s only your choice to make and I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want.”  

Your breath hitches. Some part of you really wants him to put up a fight. You spent countless hours wondering why isn’t he doing that until it finally hits you like a whiplash: Namjoon has never, ever in his life disrespected your decision. He might not be on the same page as you but he will never beg you to change your mind. That’s his manifest of the love he has for you.

“Namjoon–” you begin but you don’t even know what you’re going to say to that. Fortunately, he cuts you off.

“Don’t pity me right now, Y/N. Let me talk, please.” He's never addressed the divorce directly and even if you’ve been dying these past weeks to find out what’s on his mind, right now, sitting in front of him when you’re both vulnerable, you aren’t sure of anything. “When I read that papers for the first time I thought it's some kind of a cruel joke, you know? But then the seriousness of this hit me and I was like: fuck, it’s really happening, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling bitterly to himself. “I knew it was bad but I hoped that we could figure it out together somehow and the sun will rise again as it always does after the storm. But I guess I was wrong.”  

He pauses and you looks down at his hands. They’re shaking and you fight an urge to take them into yours. “So at first, I was mad at you. I was so, so angry I couldn’t even think straight and I started blaming you for this. I bought a pack of cigarettes and lighted up one but I never finished it. I threw the whole pack into the trash can.” He lets out a long sigh. You’re feeling like the whole air has been sucked out of this room, your heart racing with anticipation of his next words.  

“A part of me wanted to pick the sword and fight. But then, one night a few days after I read the papers, I was in my office. I sat there staring at the wall and thinking through everything. And that was when I decided it’s all my fault we are in this kind of situation. You laid it all in front me and I still couldn’t fucking believe I am the problem.”  

You’re shaking your head because no, it’s not like this, it isn’t only his doing, but he doesn’t let you speak. “You’re so special, Y/N. You make the world revolve around you. I envy you,” Namjoon says, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “You’re pursuing your dreams and you managed to do all of this on your own. There was no family business you were destined to run like I am. All I do is sit in my father’s chair and try not to fuck up everything he’s built so far. And you, Y/N,” He faces you fully, staring at you with so much love and adoration you want to look away. But you can’t. “You’re so much more than this. And now I know I was just holding you back. But I love you enough to let you go.”  

You’re loss for words. Before Namjoon could register what is happening, your hands are on his cheeks and you’re kissing him.  

You’re kissing him until you lose you breath, until you both can’t think straight and you’re drinking from each other’s mouths like you’ve been thristing for it for years. Namjoon tastes like the red wine you drank earlier and something only akin to him.  

He’s surprised at first, not really comprehending it’s your mouth slotted over his, your breath mingling with his. It takes a sharp intake of air from you to him to sprang into action. He kisses you fiercely, like he’s been dying and your lips where the only cure which could heal him. He sighs into your mouth like he’s finally feeling relieved. Like you’re his savior.  

When his hands find purchase on your waist, you feel like you’re grounded after floating in the air for so long. Kissing Namjoon feels like home and you’re scared you will never going to experience this kind of halcyon ever again.  

It’s Namjoon who breaks off the kiss first. He’s breathless, panting against your swollen lips and his eyes are shimmering. “God, Y/N,” He sounds pained, like he’s holding onto the last straw of his sanity. ‘’Please, let me have you one last time. I need you so bad, baby.”  

He never begs but here he is, shaking and vulnerable, with his hands gripping you so tightly like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear the second he’ll let go. You’re nodding frantically at his words and he dives for your lips again. He doesn’t ask you to use your words like he usually does when you’re both in the mood to play. It’s raw and pure passion when he opens the seam of your mouth with his tongue, when he urges your body to lay back on the couch so he could hover over you.  

It’s been long, too long, since he’s seen you like this; keening when his teeth graze your throat and whimpering when he sucks the skin in between harshly and you know it’ll blossom rich red the next morning.  

Your hands move on their own accord, reaching to fumble with the buttons of his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin underneath your fingertips. When the garment pops open you can’t help but run your palms over smooth expanses of Namjoon's chest, digging into every ridge and deep of the flesh so you feel him tense under your touch.  

He detaches himself from your neck and takes off the shirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Sitting on his knees and straddling your waist, he looks down at you with hooded eyes. “Take of your dress,” he commands and you hurry to obey him. You missed this side of him, his deep voice that never fails to make you squirm in pleasure and anticipation of his next move.  

You get up from the couch, pulling the zipper of your dress down and letting the material fall to the floor with light thud. You don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, standing in front of Namjoon only in your linegerie. He’s seen you exposed like this many times before yet something about the way his eyes roam your body makes you bite your lip. It’s an expensive set and you’re suddenly aware he was the one who had bought you it. You wonder if he remembers that.  

He gestures for you to come closer and with an unexpected boost of confidence you step out of the dress pooled around your ankles and move to straddle his lap. His hands immadietly find purchase on your waist and you wrap yours around his neck, leaning to kiss him.

He groans when your teeth graze his bottom lip and you feel him squeezing your sides tightly. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your mouth, making the corners of your lips lift up in a smile. “Let me take care of you, baby.”  

Something swells in your lower regions at that. A sheer want and crimson desire for him to claim you as his for the one last time.

Namjoon reaches to unclasp your bra but he stops with his fingers brushing just underneath the material. “Can I?” he asks gently. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, how many times he's brought you to the brick of pleasure until you were screaming, he’s always waiting for you to grant him consent first.

“Yes.” It’s the confirmation he needs to unclasp it, letting the straps fall to your shoulders and free your breasts to his wandering hands.

One of the things you’ve learnt about Namjoon during years of sleeping with him is that he’s boobs man. So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when his palms engulf your mounds, squeezing them gently.  

Soon he’s leaning closer, taking one of your nipples into the hot crevice of his mouth and bitting down on it so you let out a small noise of content. The angle is awkward but he doesn’t seem to care, sucking the hardened bud until you’re writhing in his lap, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging slightly on the roots.  

“Namjoon, please,” you whimper, feeling his fingers brushing the waistband of your panties. You’re rubbing yourself against the bulge that has formed in his pants, needing more, always more of him because you know he’s up to please.

He pulls out from your nipple with light pop sound. “What do you want, baby?” he prompts; the chilly air in the room washes over your bare body and you shudder from the sensation, your core getting wetter with each passing second.

“Want you to touch me.”  

“Yeah? Want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”  

You nod, shutting your eyes tightly when his palms find the inside of your thighs where you need him the most, where you’re throbbing with the desire for him to touch you.  

He runs his index finger through the material of your underwear where you’re sure a wet spot has formed already. “Answer me,” Namjoon demands and his other hand squeezes your hip harder. There’s a part of you wanting to play with him a little, push his strings to the point he has no choice but put you in your place, bend carelessly over his lap and make you count till he forgives.  

But today, it’s not time for that.

You whimper. It’s actually funny how single touch of his combined with his autorative tone can make such a mess of you in span of minutes. “Joon, please,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. ‘’Touch me with your fingers.”  

Namjoon smirks in response. “Open your legs wider for me, baby.” You do as you’re told, exposing yourself to him. He hums, pulling the material of your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Is this all for me?” A part of him is disgusted for wanting you to know he’s the only one who can make you like this. It’s ugly possessiveness but he needs you to say it. Needs you to admit it.

“All for you. Always for you, Joon–please,” It’s a breathless plea on your lips that makes him dig his fingers into your wetness. He runs his long digits through your slick folds, thumb circling your clit and you mewl, biting your lip in favor to contain yourself from moaning shamelessly aloud so soon. Namjoon however doesn’t like that idea.  

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”  

His middle finger prods at your entrance and you gasp when he pushes it inside, immediately adding second to the mix and curling them up just right, making your walls clench around them. His thumb still abuses your sensitive nub and you’re whimpering incoherently as he toys with your pussy with practiced ease.  

You open your eyes to look at him but his sight is solemnly focused on the way his fingers are sinking into your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to edge until you are actually feeling the coil in your lower stomach tightening. But when you’re about to cry out in pleasure, it all stops abruptly.

Namjoon withdraws his hand from your pussy, placing a small kiss on your pouty mouth briefly, as if he’s apologizing for you denied release. You watch him bring his fingers to his pillowy lips, groaning as his tongue tastes your juices.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, baby. Wanna taste your pretty pussy.”  

Your face grows hot at his dirty words. Namjoon's filthy mouth is something that never has never failed to turn you on. He knows what to say to get you going, to make a shiver run down your spine and insides tighten.

He mannevrous your body so you’re laying back on the couch again with him hovering above you. He takes off your soiled panties and tosses it on the floor.

“Spread your legs.”  

You oblige, revealing your dripping center to his hungry eyes. You don’t even have time to shy away from his intense stare because he wastes no time and dives in, lowering himself to bury his head between your thighs. He licks the first strip up your folds and locks his clouded in lust eyes with you. You almost come right there on the spot just from the sight of his plush lips covered in your slick.

He eats you out like a man starved, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and sucking it into his mouth obscenely loud, making you moan out  in pleasure. You aren’t even holding back now, lifting your hips to chase your high but he effectively pins you down in place with his palms sprawled on your hips.  

He laps up your slit, tongue dipping briefly inside your hole and causing more of your wetness to gush out. “Fuck, I could eat you out all day. You taste so good, baby.” he groans, sinking two of his digits into you until he’s knuckle-deep, hitting your sweet spot with every scissoring movement of his fingers.  

You cry out, lacing your fingers through his locks and tugging harsher than you’ve anticipated when his tongue flicks your clit. “Joon, fuck–please, wanna cum.” He starts pounding his fingers lewdly into you faster at that, dragging it through your velvet folds until you're writhing. “Oh, God. P-please.”

“You’re so perfect, baby. Such a good girl. Let go for me.” he murmurs against your pussy, pushing you into your upcoming release.

Your vision blurr and you’re coming undone on his fingers and tongue, breathing heavily. Namjoon doesn’t stop though. He wraps his lips around your abused clit again, lapping your wetness greedily until you’re shaking from oversensitivity.

“N-namjoon–stop, I can’t,” you whine, shaking your head. Tears well in your eyes, hands fisting by your sides.

But Namjoon's doesn’t listen to your pleading cries. He’s ravenous and loves seeing you desperate like this more than anything. “Give me another one, baby. I know you can,” he breaths out. “Show me this pussy belongs to me.”

His onslaught on your cunt and crude words push you over the edge for the second time and you’re spilling all over his mouth again, screaming out his name.  

He waits for you to calm down from your high, rubbing soothing circles on your sides. When you finally open your eyes, you see him smiling down at you, lips and chin covered in your juices he messily wipes with the back of his hand. He leans to kiss you, tongue lacing with yours until you’re tasting yourself on it. He swallows your moans, reaching to fumble with his belt buckle.

Pulling back from the kiss, he stands up to discard the rest of his clothes on the floor. You can see him in his full glory now. You take him in, from his neck and collarbones, through the taunt muscles of his abdomen and prominent v line to the trimmed hairline where you see his cock, hard and leaking precum against his stomach. Your mouth salivates at the sight.

He crawls over you, pumping himself as his eyes roam your nude, pliable body. Your hand stretches to replace his with your own and he lets you do it.  Smearing his creamy release all over his length, you keep stroking him like this. Namjoon groans at that, throwing his head back.  

You sit up on your knees but before you could take him into your mouth, he stops you. “As much as I want to see you with my cock in your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you now.” Buds of sweat dribble down his forehead and you know he’s holding himself back from flipping you on your stomach and fucking you into next week.

You scoot back and lay yourself, watching as he runs the tip of his dick through your dripping slit. He hisses at the sensation, looking up at you, pupils blown out with lust. “Beg for it, Y/N,” he says, voice deepening. “I want to hear you begging for my cock.”

“Please, Joon,” you mewl, moaning when his tip taps your clit.

He doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer, biting the inside of his cheek. “Please, what?” He leans closer, until his forehead is touching yours. “Say it.” he demands.

“Please, fuck me,” Your palms cup his cheeks, breath fanning over his parted mouth. It’s pure desire mixed with desperation when you utter your next words. “Fuck me so hard I can’t think straight, make me forget all of this. Please, Namjoon.”  

He doesn’t need to hear anything more. He pushes himself inside you until he’s buried to the brim; your warm, wet walls letting him slide into you easily. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit,” Namjoon curses, closing his eyes as well. His face confronts in both pleasure in pain and you know he’s trying hard no to pound into you. He waits few bits of ragged breaths for you to adjust and starts moving. The first drag of his cock through your walls sends you into frenzy and you moan wantonly when he hits you right there when you want him the most. “You’re so tight, baby. So good, just for me, yeah?” he slurs, picking up his pace.  

You nod, lips choking out, “Just for you.” and eyes rolling back in pleasure.

He groans at your words, hands fighting purchase on either sides of your head. You feel so fucking full, his cock plunging into you faster and faster with each passing second. His eyes dip down where his body ends and yours begin, watching himself disappear into your cunt.  

“God, I’m gonna miss this so fucking much,” he blurts out before he could stop himself, in a moment of careless ecstasy he’s delivering to the both of you. It slips from his lips roughly and hits you right in the guts but you can’t let yourself dwell in this. Not now.  

Now it’s just you and him fucking you into oblivion you’re oh so much craving.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, kissing, biting and sucking every inch of skin he could find as if he’s trying to embed his mark on you forever. Like he foolishly thinks you’ll stay his and only his after all of this will be done.

Namjoon speeds up, thrusting his dick into you in what seems as an animalistic pace now, hammering into your sweet spot with every slam of his hips, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. He lift up his head to stare at your face.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, engulfing your cheek in his palm. His thumb traces your bottom lip, your eyes snapping open at his command. Your tongue laps at his finger until he pushes it inside your mouth, groaning when he feels you sucking on it. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, so hot–fuck. You take me so well.” he nothing but growls, sliding his hand from your face down your body, until it reaches the apex of your thighs.

Fingers finding your clit, he smirks when he hears you moan his name. “You like that?” he asks, voice sounding almost mocking but you’re keening, nodding frantically. “Want me to make you cum?”  

“Yes, yes! P-please, Joonie,”  

“I got you, baby. Come for me.”  

You’re orgasming the third time this night, even harder than before, clutching onto his arms like they’re your lifeline. He fucks you through this, pushing you past the uncomfortable oversensitivity. You feel his hips loosening their rhythm, thrusting into you sloppily and chasing his own high.

He drops his forehead onto yours, lips hovering inches from kissing yours. “I love you so fucking much,” he chockes out and you feel something wet staining your cheek. Looking up, you find him staring at you with the same kind of fondness he’s been giving you during these past years. It’s Namjoon, your Namjoon who’s never disrespected your choice, who always gives you the part of himself he’s afraid to show to the whole world.

Before you could register what’s happening, you’re sobbing into his mouth, “I love you too,” and kissing him to the point you’re both breathless. You feel his dick twitch and then he’s spilling inside you, coating your walls with his seed in white.

You stay like that for a while, basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You’re rubbing soothing touches on Namjoon's back till he eventually pulls out from you. His cum dribbles down your thighs and you wince when you feel him cleaning you up with your ruined panties. Then, Namjoon puts on his boxers and helps you wear his dress shirt and button it up.

He picks you up from the couch without a word and carries to the bedroom. He lays you down onto the mattress, taking his place behind you. He throws the comforter over your bare bodies, snuggling closer to your back. You feel his breath on your neck, warm and comforting.

He places a small kiss on your shoulder and exhales shakily. “You’re the best thing that have ever happened to me, Y/N,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”  

You don’t answer him because you’re afraid of what you might say. Your throat constricts and tears involuntarily spill from your eyes, coating your cheeks in wetness. Namjoon's arm tightens around you and for the first time since you’ve given him those damned papers, he’s laying next to you like this, chest pressed flush to your back.

When his breath slows down after a while, you let yourself cry to sleep. You dream about a boy smoking a cigarette on a bench in front of an old manor.

It’s the sunshine who wakes you up the next morning.

The first thing you think about his that someone has seemed to forget to shut the curtains out for the night. It’s definitely too bright for your liking so you narrow your eyes as soon as they're met with the light.  Blinking heavily, you realise where exactly are you. You don't remember you walls being wooden. It’s not your apartment. Which means you're in one of the many rooms in your parents' holiday cottage.  

Turning away from the window, you’re faced with Namjoon's bare back. He always sleeps without his shirt on, no matter how cold sometimes it can be. He’s like a human equivalent of a heater. You observe the steady rise and fall of his body and listen to his quiet snoring. It’s something comforting in this and you find yourself seeking his warmth. You shuffle closer to him but then you stop abruptly.

It all hits you like a tsunami.

The dinner, your talk about the divorce, heated confessions and whispered I love yous with tear strained cheeks. His body against yours as he fucked you hard and unforgiving. It was silly for you to let yourself indulge but you couldn’t help but grant his one last wish. His arms around you when you were drifting off to sleep, his pained voice when he was murming sweet nothings to your ears.

And now he’s right next to you, as he’s been there forever, deep in unaware slumber where the reality of your life is nonexistent. You’re wondering what he dreams about.

Suddenly you’re brought back in time to one morning three years ago when you were still newlyweds, still trying to get used to being tied together for life. It was one of your last mornings in Namjoon’s old apartment. After a round of passionate love making, both of you laid in each other's arms on the bed. Young, foolish and so in love you’ve never wanted to leave the embrace of his firm and protective hold on your body.  

“Can I ask you something?”  

Namjoon hummed hearing your voice, fingers brushing your shoulders with absentminded, affectionate manner and pressing into tight knots from time to time, easing the tension.  

You took a deep breath, your digits playing with your wedding ring underneath the sheets. “How do you think our first big argument will look like?” you asked.

You felt Namjoon's body shaking with laughter as he hide his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. “Why are you even asking me this? Do you want me to get mad at you? Do I have a reason?” There was a slight teasing lilt to his voice and you knew he was smirking.

“Namjoon,” you whined.  

“I know I have to put the dishes into the dishwasher after using them. And I swear I’m not going to use your hair conditioner ag–‘’

“Joon, I’m serious.” you huffed and he stopped because of the seriousness of your voice.

“Okay, okay. Go on, elaborate on that.”  

You sighed, scrunching your eyebrows. You didn’t even know how to vocalize your thoughts. A part of you was aware how irrational and probably ridiculous you sounded but it was Namjoon. He was the closest person to you. He would never judge you and always listen to what you wanted to say.

“You know, recently I read those statistics about people under twenty five getting married…”

“Oh, God, Y/N. I’m someone who deals with statistics on daily basis. How many times do I have to remind you they’re not always relevant?” Namjoon interrupted.  

You elbowed his side. “Let me finish!” you pouted, earning a kiss on your crown in response and muffled ‘sorry, babe’. “Basically they say the younger you get married, the possibility of having a divorce is higher.” you explained.  

“So you’re trying to say that we fit in those statistics?”  

“I didn’t mean that!” you protested. It wasn’t the case. This stupid article was just a something that made you start wondering.  “It’s just… I’m scared, Joon. Of our future, what it will bring to us. We got married so early and I know the first crisis will come to us eventually but what will we do then?” you asked, voice quivery.

Namjoon was silent for a moment, until he spoke again. “Are you asking me what would I do if we got into an argument?”  

You nodded shyly. 

Namjoon squeezed your hand as he was saying with it he was here to hold onto when you needed him. “It’s okay if you’re scared, baby. I am too. But I can assure you that no matter what happens between us, I will do everything in my power to fix that,” he said. “I love you, Y/N. Back then in that ballroom when we first met I knew you were going be my wife one day. And I promised myself that if I ever felt like I was hurting you, I would let you go and be free.”  

You pouted. “I don’t wanna lose you, dummy. Stop saying you will hurt me!”  

He chuckled. “There are always good and bad days when you’re in love with someone. But they say the sun will rise again even after the biggest storm, right? If you love someone enough, you will overcome all those crisis you were talking about. And change the statistics. ” he said, making you chuckle at his last remark. “I can’t ask you to never leave me but promise me you will always do whatever makes you happy. Okay?”

He lifted his pinky finger and you brought yours, linking them together in a cute, silly manner. “I promise.” you murmured.

Now, laying on your back and staring at the ceiling,  you realise how wrong you were this whole time.

It’s Namjoon who’s making you happy. You can’t let your first, big crisis take him away from you because he thinks you’ll be better without him. Fuck the statistics, fuck everything honestly. You’re having the world by your feet when he’s with you, and you’re not going to give up on that so easily.  

He is your first love and you’re not letting him leave you so easily.

Standing on wobbly legs from the bed, you make your way to the kitchen. You have a plan in your head and you hopefully will manage to succeed.

You stop in your tracks by the mirror hanging on the wall, staring at your reflection. You definitely like you’ve had a rough night. There are smudges of mascara underneath your eyes because you haven’t removed your makeup before going to sleep and your hair’s a mess. There are splotches of red and violet covering the skin of your neck and cleavage and you’re more than aware now that Namjoon's shirt you’re wearing isn’t buttoned properly.

After washing your face in the bathroom, you enter the kitchen. You pull out from the fridge all the groceries you bought yesterday with Namjoon with purpose to make a breakfast the next day after Chrimstas Eve and start cooking.  

You’re going to make your husband's favourite French toast.

Both of you have never been master chefs at cooking, in most cases choosing to eat out in the city or simply order something for dinner but breakfasts have always been something you are celebrating together in your house. And you can proudly admit you’re better than making them than your dear husband.

However, stress is a factor that makes you feel paralyzed in various kinds of situations so before you could blink an eye, you’re smelling something burning. You jump in horror, dropping the teaspoon on to the floor with loud clicking sound. There it is, Namjoon's French toast laying on your pan utterly inedible.

“Fuck!” you curse, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island and burying your face in hands.

Tears well in your eyes. For once you’ve wanted to do something right and here you are, crying over burnt toast because you have no time to make another one and Namjoon's probably already up–

“Good mornin–baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”  

Namjoon's soft, a little raspy voice startles you. Your heart swells hearing the petname he's addressed you. Lifting your face up, you’re met with his worried expression.  

He looks so normal. Like in every single morning you’ve spent together. He’s wearing his favourite, blue pajama pants and a plain, white tshirt. He hasn’t even put on eye contacts yet, choosing to wear his glasses instead that have successfully made you feel weak in the knees a few times before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks. You sniffle, gesturing with your hand to the kitchen counter where still lays the burnt toast. Namjoon follows your line of sight, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”  

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm down your breathing. “I wanted to make you a b-breakfast. And I fucked up as always because I burnt your favourite French toast.” you stammer out before another fresh wave of sobs racks through your body.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Namjoon crunches down in front of you, placing his hand on your bare knee and rubbing the skin in soothing manner meant to calm your nerves. Just like you did to him last night when he tried to confess his feelings about the divorce. “It’s okay. We can make another one together.”  

“But I wanted to do that just for you!” 

Namjoon shakes his head and you could see a small smile dancing on his lips. “Silly, why were you so determined to make me a breakfast?” 

“Because that’s what you deserve,” you say firmly.

“I deserve to have a good breakfast?” he teases. 

You angrily wipe the tears off your cheeks. “You deserve everything!” you exclaim, making Namjoon raise his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re always so good to me, Joonie. This Christmas made me realise just how much you care about me. I can’t let you agree to the divorce so easily,” 

“What do you mean?” 

You stand up from the stool and he follows you, towering over your form. You feel small but in a good way. You feel safe. “There will be no divorce. I’m not going to leave you.” 

Namjoon cups your cheeks and he’s grinning like a fool but he needs you to say it. So he begs. “Please, tell me why is that.” 

Your lips are already touching his when you whisper, “Because I love you. And I don’t think I will ever find someone quite like you, Joon.” 

And then he’s kissing you. Your teeth clash but you don’t care, standing on your toes to mould your mouths together in better angle. He lifts you up from the floor with ease, swirling your bodies around. You’re laughing together and he isn’t even ashamed there is a tear or two running down his cheeks.

When he places you on the ground again, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He’s just living his dream life, with you by his side. 

“I love you too.” 

And just like that, your history together starts again.

Bonus: 

“We made up with Namjoon.” 

You hear your sister shriek on the other side. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually banged. You’re nasty, Y/N.” 

“It wasn’t like that! I’m telling you we aren’t getting a divorce and the only thing you can think about is us having sex?” 

But Soojin isn’t listening to you anymore. You hear her shouting, “Taehyung, they fucked and now they aren’t getting a divorce!” 

“Soojin-ah!” you wail.

Taehyung's faint voice reaches your eyes. “I told you they would make up. You owe me fifty!” 

“You made a bet?!” you exclaim.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Ghhh-shh. The connection is-shh-bad! I don’t hear-shhh-you! Bye!” She hangs up before you could say anything else. 

Entering the kitchen, you’re met with your husband, casually sipping on his coffee. He lifts his eyebrows when he sees you and asks, “How's your little sister? Is she planning to rip off my balls?”  

“Nope. But I’m changing my statement about her. She’s evil.” you say, sitting on a stool next to him.  

“Glad we’re on the same page, baby.”

[smolfelton]

heyyyy for soulmate aus... 1. the every popular tattoo/soulmark au 2. the "feel each other's pain" au 3. the "write on my skin, shows up on my soulmate's" au 4. the "see in greyscale until i touch/kiss my soulmate" au 5. the "soulamtes can communicate telepathically" au 6. the "soulmates can see each others' auras" au hope u enjoy! thanks for asking! :)

Harry hadn’t seen colour for over twelve years now. And fuck, did he miss it. On the morning of his 18th birthday he opened his eyes to find everything around him in grey scale. He had panicked and floo’d Hermione and Ron over, only to learn that something like this was actually pretty normal.

“It happens to some wizards, mate,” Ron explained. “Not all, but some.”

“I didn’t learn about it until after Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “Apparently it’s such a common thing for magic folk, especially purebloods, that they don’t even bother to teach it in school. Stupid, if you ask me. How are muggleborns and half-bloods supposed to know if it should happen to them?”

“But what is it?” Harry asked, practically shaking in his seat.

“It means you have a definite soulmate, Harry,” Ron explained. “When someone has a soulmate, both parties stop seeing colour on their 18th birthdays. Neither will be able to see colour again until they touch each other. That’s how you know you’ve found your soulmate.”

“So... I just have to touch them?” Harry asked. “Like a handshake? And that’s it?”

Both Ron and Hermione nodded, and Harry suddenly felt excited. This was his chance to find what he’d been missing in life. To find someone who was truly meant for him and him alone. Someone who wouldn’t care that he was The Chosen One, just that he was their soulmate. He could be selfish for once, for the first time in a long while.

His excitement faded quickly.

He had spent the first few years shaking the hand of every person he came across. Every adoring fan, every politician, every old friend from Hogwarts, and more. Not a single person was left unnoticed by him, and in turn the wizarding world adored him for it. They all loved their doting Saviour. Harry, however, couldn’t have been more miserable.

“Just be patient, mate,” Ron had said, trying to comfort him. “Some people don’t meet their soulmate for years. My great-grandfather didn’t meet my great-grandmother until they were well into their forties, and they were happily married into their hundreds. Or at least that’s what my mum told us.”

So Harry carried on well into his late twenties, still shaking the hand of every person he met, trying to be as patient as he could possibly be. But the nagging at the back of his head soon began to feel as if someone was drilling a hole into his brain. What if he never found his soulmate? What if they were looking for him too? What if they both died alone, never even knowing each other?

“Oh Harry,” Hermione had sighed. “You don’t have to be with them to be happy. You could always just find someone else. I’m sure-”

“No,” Harry had simply said. He wouldn’t entertain that thought.

A few months before Harry’s 30th birthday, Headmistress McGonagall had sent him a letter inviting him to become the new professor of the previously cursed D.A.D.A. position. Harry immediately accepted, happy to finally leave his job as an auror. He loved saving lives, but he was tired of putting himself on the line every day of his life. He wanted to teach, and he remembered how good it felt when he helped other students learn to defend themselves during the war. He wanted to do that again.

Harry was thirty when he finally returned to Hogwarts, and it had been just as amazing as he remembered. If anything, he felt like he was eleven all over again, and it was like the castle was welcoming him home. The students and other professors seemed overly ecstatic as he joined them, receiving a warm and rather loud welcome from everyone in the great hall on the first day.

Well, almost everyone.

Harry had nearly toppled over when he saw Draco Malfoy sitting at the professors table, sipping on a goblet and not deigning to even notice Harry’s presence as he sat next to him. Harry fidgeted in his seat as he was introduced by McGonagall, most of his attention focused on the blond man beside him. Not because Malfoy made him uncomfortable, but because he looked so very... different.

Malfoy’s hair was long- so, so long- and it had been tied into a loose braid that fell over one shoulder and went down to his waist oh-so prettily. His skin was just as pale, but now it no longer looked as off-putting as before. Instead, it reminded Harry of freshly fallen snow, and he doubted that it would look much different in colour. His long fingers and nicely manicured nails gripped his cup steadily as he brought it to his lips. Harry wondered what Malfoy would look like in colour. He bet he’d look even more beautiful than he was in grey scale.

“Can I help you with something, Potter?” Malfoy finally asked after several long minutes. He finally turned to look at Harry, and suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick.

“I-I didn’t know you were a professor,” Harry replied.

“Well now you do.”

“What do you teach?”

“Potions.”

“For how long?”

“Six years now.”

“I bet Snape would be proud,” Harry said, instantly regretting it when Malfoy stiffened and turned away. “Sorry. I know he was your godfather.”

“It’s in the past, Potter,” Malfoy said and took another sip out of his cup.

“You know... You can call me Harry if you’d like.”

Malfoy snorted into his goblet, and Harry could see his thin lips turn upwards into a smile that made Harry’s heart leap in his chest. Malfoy looked at him with a sharp, raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“That definitely isn’t going to happen,” Malfoy said.

Months passed and both Malfoy and Harry got on quite well. Somewhere along the way over the past twelve years, Malfoy had become a genuinely good person. He was a strict professor, just like Snape had been, but he seemed to care about his students regardless of their house. Harry rarely ever heard the students say a bad thing about Professor Malfoy, and when he did it was usually because he’d assigned extra homework or had taken off a few house points.

Christmas holiday came around rather quickly, and most students had already gone home except for a handful. Even most of the professors had gone home to be with their families. Harry had spent a few days with the Weasleys, but had returned to Hogwarts to go ahead and prepare the work for his students when they returned. Usually he wasn’t one to plan ahead, especially when it came to schoolwork, but being a new professor made him rather eager.

Harry was surprised to find that Malfoy was doing the same. He walked into the professors lounge with a heavy pile of books and papers in his arms, only to find Malfoy already sitting at a table with his own pile. Harry watched dumbly for a second as Malfoy used his quill to scratch and tick marks onto papers, his long pale fingers moving with grace. Harry felt his breath hitch in his throat when he noticed Malfoy’s tongue was posing out from between his lips, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. Harry wished he could see how pink it probably was.

Malfoy finally looked up at Harry after a moment, and he quickly snapped out of his trance and moved to sit across from the blond. He set his work down and began doing the same as Malfoy, then huffed when he realised he’d forgotten his quill and ink. He made to get up until Malfoy cleared his throat.

“Here, Potter,” Malfoy said, extending his hand to offer Harry an extra quill. “Just make sure you remember who it belongs to.”

“Right. Thanks,” Harry nodded, taking the quill and watching as his fingers were so close to brushing Malfoy’s. 

Malfoy set his ink pot between them and both professors started back on their work. After nearly an hour of grading papers and beginning new work for the students, Harry had become terribly bored. He looked up and glanced at Malfoy, impressed with how quickly he was working. The potions professor’s hair was freely flowing over his shoulders and down his back, straight at the top but falling into waves at the bottom. Harry wished he could see what the blond hair looked like in colour. He could hardly even remember what it looked like anymore. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the exact shade of his own green eyes anymore.

For a split second, Harry thought Hermione could have been right. Maybe he didn’t need to be with his soulmate to be happy. He clearly liked Malfoy, as much as he wished he didn’t. He wanted to meet the person he was meant for, but there was no way he could deny his true feelings any longer. He wanted Malfoy. He wanted Draco. Why should he have to wait forever to find love? Why couldn’t he have it now, when it was right in front of him?

“Hey Malfoy,” Harry suddenly said, surprising himself.

“Yes?” Malfoy asked without even looking up.

“I was thinking abut going into Hogsmeade tomorrow,” Harry lied. “Would you maybe want to come with?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t,” Malfoy sighed, which seemed genuine. “I have far too many papers to grade. Plus I haven’t even begun to prepare for the students return.”

“Ah. That’s okay,” Harry said, hiding his disappointment. “Maybe next weekend, then.”

Malfoy looked up at him and Harry felt a lump form in his throat.

“Maybe,” Malfoy said, then went back to his work.

Harry wanted to bang his head against the table, but instead he went back to grading his own papers. He ticked and scratched and scribbled until his hand started to cramp, but no matter how tiresome it became he didn’t stop. Even when day turned into night, he continued. He told himself to do it for the students, but he knew that wasn’t why he was really doing it.

The truth was, he just wanted an excuse to be near Malfoy.

Harry sighed and moved his hand towards the ink pot without looking up from his papers, and he felt the tip of his finger brush something soft. He knew it was Malfoy’s hand reaching for ink as well, and didn’t bother to look up. When he brought the quill back to his paper, he froze, the blood in his veins turning into ice as he gulped, mouth suddenly dry and face heating up.

His hand was brown again. His quill was dark green. The textbooks beside him were red. The lounge’s fireplace washed the room in an orange glow.

Harry could see colour again.

He heard a soft gasp and looked up to see Malfoy staring at him, wide silver eyes beginning to fill with visible tears, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Harry stared at him, his heart practically leaping with joy now that he could see Malfoy- truly see him again.

Malfoy’s blond hair was nearly as white as his skin, contrasting against the dark green turtleneck he wore, but it looked golden in the fire’s light. His lips were a pretty pink colour, and his cheeks were equally as pink and rosy, becoming darker by the second. He let out a shaky breath and a single tear fell from one silver eye and down his pink cheek.

Harry had never seen anything so fucking beautiful.

“I...” Malfoy finally said, his voice shaky as his lips trembled. "I think I would like to go to Hogsmeade after all... Harry.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile, feeling tears begin to well up in his own eyes, his shoulders sagging in relief. Malfoy returned it, his pink lips turning upwards into a small, soft smile. Harry had never felt so happy.

“Thank you, Draco.”

-

-

-

my works | my ao3 | send me a prompt

[mzminola]

I have just bumped into your pool noodle for the first time and I am fascinated by it

It’s so!!! Like obviously as someone with so little canon factoids let alone characterization, Regulus/a has a lot of wiggle room to fit a story! But what little we do get leads to a lot fun contrast with this ship?

Because like...there’s some stuff where they look similar at first glance, but then the underneath is different. Both dedicated to their families, right? Trying to make their parents proud? But Regula, arguably, is that way out of fear (of being treated like her brother was (waves cheerfully at your Zuko icon)), while Percy’s coming from a healthier place...that still blew up spectacularly.

Then we get superficially different, potentially similar: canonically Reg joins Voldemort with parental approval, then turns on him. Percy joins the Ministry...and when his parents tell him to turn on the Ministry he tells them to piss off. But interestingly, Percy’s parents told him to reject the Ministry based solely on the word of...one single powerful old charismatic wizard who was raising a personal army. Hm, that sure would sound familiar to Reg, wouldn’t it?

SUPER not sure yet how that all changes with the timing on this (they go through Prisoner of Azkaban as fiancés, getting their NEWTs* before marriage) and the fact that Reg is 100% sure Sirius is innocent, so like...uh...how the fuck do things blow up if Percy still gets the job as Crouch’s assistant? The man who convicted Reg’s brother without a trial??? Reg only SEEMS like she has chill because she was raised to be a Polite Young Lady but this is still the person who left Voldemort a Fuck You note so I imagine Reg meeting Crouch is NOT PRETTY.

~

Meanwhile, Reg & Percy’s different upbringings and eras they came of age in exacerbate the Displaced In Time dynamic.

The wizarding world in generally is pretty old-timey compared to ours, and the Ancient & Most Noble House of Black sure was very old-timey. Whereas the Weasleys are very progressive! They’re also working class, which I get the impression helps with the progressiveness. Wealthy Purebloods can ignore the world changing if they want, the family of the man who heads the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department can’t.

Then there’s how the idea of arranged marriages would’ve been presented to them. Granny Relly is the one who came up with the idea, Arthur and Molly accepted it but are VERY CLEAR to all the kids that this is an OPTION, not an OBLIGATION. Percy even saw Bill & Charlie reject the idea, with zero consequences! He knows he can Nope out and have his family’s love and support still.

Regula has known she’d likely have to marry someone her parents picked her whole life. That Granny Relly up there? That’s Cedrella Black who was held up to Reg her whole childhood as Who Not To Be because she run off and married for love. Reg wakes up from her magical coma, gets told by Grandmama Mel that she’s got a fiancé now and just accepts it. Maybe if Percy was a Voldemort supporter, Reg would have objections! But he’s not.

(Arthur is genuinely horrified by how non-questioningly accepting Regula is of the engagement.)

And then less then two decades difference means they grew up in completely different eras:

Percy was five when the war ended. It affected him, I firmly think “sometimes Mum or Dad will tell you to do something Right Now that you don’t understand, and if you disobey you or your siblings could get hurt” is why he’s so attached to jumping when an authority says jump. But he grew up in peacetime. The war was over, the victors decided, problems lingered but no one’s being told to pick sides. His worries are normal peacetime worries.

Reg grew up in the war, and was recruited into it before graduation. All her classmates knew they’d have to pick sides, debated it with each other. Were hearing about disappearances, deaths, possibly from within their own families. I’m going with the idea that Reg set off to destroy the locket in October of her 7th year, after having joined the Death Eaters months or even years before that, dragged in by her cousins during school holidays. She’s been in skirmishes, not known who to trust, and came to the conviction that stopping Voldemort was worth dying for.

It honestly feels more like Reg is from a hundred years ago than just fourteen.

~

Percy: I need to support my fiancée as she adjusts to the changed world. I will tell her about Quidditch matches she missed and ask the professors about changes in the curriculum, we can study for NEWTs together :) :) :)

Reg: so while I was unconscious everyone found out that I was a Death Eater and that I betrayed Voldemort. I need to make allies ASAP to keep from being shanked by either side, including my own extended family. Yes, do tell me all about cauldron bottoms and Muggle factoids.

Also Reg: WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED GWENOG JONES PLAYING FOR WALES AGAINST NORWAY IN THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP.

Percy, sincerely: I know, this is the definitely most tragic thing about your coma, you have my sympathies and condolences.

~

*Sirius as Padfoot sneaking around campus, seeing a 7th year Slytherin that’s a dead ringer for his dead sister: THE FUCK. Sirius thinking about it: No probably just a...a weirdly similar cousin. Sirius hearing someone call her Regula: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

[weasleydream]

Family reunion - Part 2

The second part is here! Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Part 1 

“My periods George! I only throw pillows at Fred when he bothers me during my periods!”

It was even a sort of joke between us. When he would speak too loud in the morning and I would throw him the first pillow I could reach, George would laugh at the scene and say that it was that time of the month where I would become a real tigress. Anyway, the realization was clearly visible in my boyfriend’s eyes.

“Oh. Fuck.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Without waiting for them, I rushed into our room and quickly opened the wardrobe. In the middle of my panties, I had hidden two muggle pregnancy tests, just in case. I closed the wardrobe door quite violently and went back into the bathroom where Fred and George stood in the same position, trying to process what was happening. When my boyfriend saw the two boxes in my hand, his expression became confused.

“What’s this?”

“A muggle pregnancy test. It really works, don’t worry, but you don’t need to know how.” I added, anticipating his questions. “Now, get out of here!”

Once alone in the bathroom, I quickly used the two tests, just to be sure. I unlocked the door but didn’t open it, and sat on the chair. When the boys realized the door was open, they both joined me in, Fred leaning against the wall and George kneeling in front of me and holding my hands. 

“Are you… You know?”

He couldn’t even say the word. 

“We have to wait. If there are two bars then it means that I’m… It will be positive.”

These five minutes were a torture. An awful torture as tons of questions were filling my head, along with insecurities. If I was really pregnant, I would never give up on the baby, but what would George do? What would Mrs Weasley say? What kind of life could I offer to my child with the war ongoing? I became aware of the fact that I was crying when George’s thumbs wiped my tears.

“It’s okay, baby. Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

“We’re both with you, kiddo.” Added Fred with a gentle smile. 

The time seemed to extend endlessly. I didn’t have the strength to watch the tests, so instead, I buried my face into George’s chest. Then Fred, with an emotional voice, pronounced the sentence that would change our lives.

“Y/N, you’re pregnant.”

I grabbed the tests: two pink bars. On both. I looked up to George. His eyes were teary, and the most genuine smile I had never seen on his face was plastered on his lips. 

“We’re gonna be parents!”

He pulled me against him and kissed me sweetly. I could feel all his love for me and for the little baby growing in me, and I hoped he could feel my love for them. His arms were pressing me against him, and my hands were cupping his face. Our tears of joy gave a salty taste to our kiss, the taste of a genuine happiness, the taste of love. When we pulled back, Fred hugged me, tears of joy filling his eyes too. Then he took his brother into his embrace and patted his back, constantly muttering congratulations. This emotional moment between the twins was something I had never seen. It touched me and brought other tears into my eyes. George took my waist and pulled me between them. We stayed here a few minutes, enjoying this pure happiness. 

However, the bliss brought in our little flat vanished partially as our uncertainties arrived. We were afraid because of the war, obviously, even if George had reiterated me his promise - “Y/N, what I told you earlier is truer than ever. You and our baby, you are my absolute priorities, I’ll protect you at all costs.”. Fred had also told me he would be here, taking advantage of George’s brief absence (“Whatever my brother thinks about it, just know that I would give my life for your little family, kiddo.”). I felt so secured with them… But all my worries weren’t gone because we still had one thing to do, one very dangerous thing: telling Mrs Weasley. I felt like on this one, the one risking his life was George. And it seemed like he was feeling it too because the same day, when we were happily chatting about the big changes that were going to happen, and when I mentioned his mother, my boyfriend’s face lost all colour. 

“She’s gonna kill me…”

Obviously, Fred found the idea very funny and proposed to bet on which death their mother would choose. 

“I know! She’s gonna wait until the little one’s birth, then she’s gonna put your face in dirty diapers.”

My laughters erupted as George muttered a “Gross.”. I was looking for an original way to announce it to George’s family. Sadly, I had never really had one of my own. Both my parents along with all my immediate family except my grandmother had been killed during the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, when I was little. My grandma had been unable to accept her loss, and she left me in an orphanage until my first year at Hogwarts. From this point, I became close with the twins and, aware of my situation, they invited me for Christmas to the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had immediately acted like the mother I couldn’t remember. She knew I lived in an orphanage and she made a point of letting me stay at the Burrow as often as possible.

I felt like this baby would also be a gift for her, and I wanted its future arrival to be a light in her darkened daily life. That’s why I wanted a special way to tell her, and, by Merlin’s pants, I had the Weasley twins on my side! Yeah, I thought about asking them for fireworks. But, what was the point if we didn’t have a proper audience?

“Boys, do you think we can reunite your family at the Burrow without telling your mother? She would be so happy to see Bill and Charlie! We could do that for the Easter Day.” 

“Great idea, kiddo,” started Fred. “But Charlie is in Romania and Bill in France. Do you think we will have enough time to tell them?”

“Plus, we would have to inform Ron and Ginny that they have to come back. Where are they gonna stay?” Added George. 

“Yes, it’s gonna work. Everyone will stay here until Easter.”

The following day, while the boys were working on the shop -George had forbidden me to work at least until the baby’s birth- I wrote the letters. I didn’t tell anything about my pregnancy, just that we wanted to reunite everyone. In Ron and Ginny’s one, I added that they would have to take the Hogwarts Express and that they would stay in our flat, so Harry and Hermione couldn’t come. I sent the three letters, hoping all would go well, and started to prepare the lunch. 

The boys didn’t eat simultaneously so that the shop was never empty. This day, George was the first one to show up. He kissed me and slightly stroke my belly, but he quickly realized I had something to tell him.

“What’s bothering you babe?”

He started to eat, probably starving.

“I want to go to the Ministry of Magic today.”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“I want to see Percy.”

I knew he wouldn’t be fond of the idea, however I didn’t expect his face to drop like it did, nor did I expect the anger in his eyes. 

“No way. This git hasn’t spoken to us in months, he has sent back his Christmas sweater to mum! He didn’t care about dad when he was at St-Mungo’s and… Do you remember how he lied to mum at Christmas? No, I don’t want him to be here.”

“George, he’s your brother! This baby is gonna be his nephew or his niece, and Molly wants nothing more than to see him! Please, let me try. Just try. I go to the Ministry, I talk to him, and if he doesn’t want to come, then I give up.”

George seemed to think for a while, but didn’t change his mind. 

“No Y/N, sorry but I don’t want you to go there, especially alone.”

“Why?”

“Because of what happens outside!” He was now standing in front of me, a vein pulsating in his neck. “Fred and I have to make more Shield Hats and we can’t go with you, and I won’t let you alone. No way.”

I knew this overprotectiveness should have bothered me, but the genuine fear in his eyes as his hands were resting on my belly tenderized me. I slowly kissed him and whispered:

“I’m gonna be okay, Georgie. But you can’t keep me here like a bird in its cage. I will be very careful, I promise, and I won’t be long.”

With a sigh, he nodded.

I had never been to the Ministry’s headquarters. Before my departure, George had explained me what to do once in the telephone box. Following his instructions and the operator’s ones, I quickly found myself into the Atrium. It was huge, with in its center a big fountain. Getting closer, I saw its name - the Fountain of Magical Brethren. I asked for direction and went to find Percy’s office. I was wandering into a corridor, walking near the walls in order to prevent from disturbing the ones who were working, when I literally bumped into Percy. We were both frozen and watching the other in the eyes. 

“Well, hello, Y/N… What are you doing here?”

He had recovered from his surprise and was now displaying a superior air.

“Don’t do that with me Perce, please, don’t be so pompous.”

“Sorry.”

Percy and I had surprisingly gotten along pretty well when we were younger. Maybe it was because I understood his dreams of greatness, or because I knew why he felt so different from the rest of his family without him telling me. Anyway, he was a good friend of mine, until his fight with his father… Mrs Weasley had begged me to talk to him, she thought he would listen to me… And she was wrong. He had slammed the door in my face, in the same way as with his mother, and he had told me some really mean things. We hadn’t seen each other since. 

“Come in.”

I followed him into his little office. The desk was against the wall and cluttered with reports. A memory of him, slightly younger and babbling about some very important report made me smile.

“Is there one about cauldron bottoms?” 

He looked at me with some kind of smile on the lips. However, the constant moving of his hands showed his nervousness. He didn’t tell anything, clearly waiting for me to express why I was here. 

“Have you seen Fred and George’s shop?” It wasn’t at all what I wanted to say but I was as nervous as Percy. He frowned. “No, in fact, it doesn’t matter. Well… George and I have, hum, a kind of announcement and we… We wanted to, well, to announce it in front of all the family and I-we thought you would like to be here.”

Percy stayed silent for a while, looking everywhere except in my eyes. I was beginning to feel concerned about his hearing when he muttered something so low I almost didn’t catch it.

“I can’t, sorry.” Then his eyes fell on my hands. “You’re not gonna marry him, are you?”

“No, that’s not what it’s about.”

“Then… Are you pregnant?”

I stayed silent a few seconds, and nodded slowly. He cleared his throat, but a strange emotion remained in his voice.

“Congratulation, Y/N, I’m happy for the both of you.”

“Thanks, Perce.” I had to find something to convince him to come. “Percy, I really want you to come at the Burrow, please!”

“I can’t Y/N!” This time he spoke louder. “They don’t want to see me, and I’m too afraid to see them! I’ve been a git to them, yes, but they didn’t hold back the hurtful observations too. I won’t come, sorry Y/N.”

“But Percy, they miss you! Do you even have an idea of how much Molly had cried because she missed you? Your name has become a taboo because it’s too painful, and even if he doesn’t admit it, Arthur -”

“Stop!” He was now screaming. “Don’t tell me they miss me. If they don’t talk about me, it’s because they hate me. Don’t try to tell me my father miss me. Don’t try to tell me the twins miss me. It would be lies.”

“No Perce, they do!”

“They do? Then tell me, who wanted to see me at the Burrow, you or George?”

His face was red, and he was now looking straight into my eyes, daring me to lie. Of course he knew that I wanted to see him, not George, but if only everyone could explain themselves… No, it was useless. I saw it in his eyes, he was determined to ignore his family. I could cry in front of him, beg him, but he wouldn’t change his mind. I was about to leave his office, but I stopped in front of the door, my hand on the handle.

“If you change your mind, we’ll be at the Burrow at Easter. Bye, Percy. And… They don’t hate you, I know it.”

With that, I left and crossed the corridor as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to stay here, too saddened by my failure. I didn’t even realize that Mr Weasley was in the elevator.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

I smiled, not wanting him to know why I was here. 

“Yes, I’m fine and you?”

“A little tired, I’ve had a lot of work lately and -”

He stopped himself, glaring at a man who had just entered the elevator. Mr Weasley stayed silent until the cabin stopped at his level. He muttered me to follow him and soon we arrived in an office slightly larger than Percy’s one.

“You shouldn’t be here alone, Y/N.” Mr Weasley had an unusual look of disapproval in his eyes. Then he seemed worried. “Is there something wrong? With George? Did you fight or…”

“No, don’t worry Mr Weasley! Everything’s fine, really. I just…” I had to find something. “I wanted some fresh air and I thought I could come and see you.” 

What a stupid excuse. 

“Well, we can say fresh air isn’t missing lately.” Mr Weasley was watching through the window.

“Why is everything so cold and so dark?” I murmured.

“The Dementors, Y/N. They are everywhere and out of control. That’s why you being alone is a big mistake. If you want, you can wait for me and I’ll walk you home.”

“No, thanks Mr Weasley, but don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” I smiled.

After some banalities, I left him to his work and went back to the shop. George was worried sick and pacing in front of the shop. When he saw me, he ran towards me and pulled me into a strong embrace. Later that day, while Fred, George and I were eating dinner, I told them what happened at the Ministry. I told them everything, except the fact that Percy was afraid they would hate him forever. I felt like I didn’t have the right to do so, and I could just hope that one day, he would have the courage to face his beloved family. 

To be continued

[teamhook]

FFN

AO3

Hello all! This story was written for the lovely amazing @searchingwardrobes today is her birthday. Happy Birthday!! woohoo I had to do this because she has gifted a lot of us with an amazing birthday story. Love you sweetheart!!

Story beta-ed by @ultraluckycatnd

Killian walks inside Granny's and goes straight to the counter. He sits down and orders coffee, black no sugar, his attention turning to the door. He has no idea who he is looking for. The older woman hands the coffee cup to him. "Ma'am, I was wondering if you could be of assistance. I'm looking for Emma."

The older woman narrows her eyes. "Emma Nolan?"

Killian smiles. "Is that her surname?"

"What do you want with Emma?" Granny crosses her arms.

Killian scoffs defensively. "Nothing nefarious, I just want to clear up a misunderstanding."

The woman, Granny, nods and walks away to the back.

Killian purses his lips at the lack of answer and takes a drink of his coffee. He starts looking around the diner. He wonders if his mum sat on the same chair he is currently occupying. He chuckles to himself.

"What's so funny, man?" A voice to his right startles him.

Killian turns his attention to the voice and tilts his head. "Hello, mate. Killian Jones, at your service." He extends his hand.

The younger man extends his hand hesitantly. "Nice to meet you, man. Leo Nolan."

Killian smiles. "Leo Nolan, any relation to Emma Nolan?"

"What kind of trouble has my sister gotten into this time?" Leo asks and mutters under his breath, "Not that I'd mind after meeting you."

"No trouble, just a bit of misunderstanding. To be honest it's not a big deal. My brother has no sense of humor. That's the real problem," Killian insists.

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Alright, she sent a compromising letter. At least in my brother's opinion. A letter without an addressed name attached that my brother immediately assumed belonged to me. So here I am to put an "end" to it."

Leo looks down. "I'm sorry, I'm sure she didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Killian sighs. "In a way I'm thankful. See, my mother was from here but we never got to see her beginnings. It's a bit of a treat to know that my mother walked the same corridors at Our Lady of the Lake College."

Leo mutters something about a Legacy. "My mother went to the same place as does my troublemaker sister."

"To be honest, I'm here more out of curiosity. I was tempted to spend the week in New York and then fly back home and tell my brother the issue was resolved but I remembered Mum was from here so here I am. Trying to get to know my mother better and find your elusive sister. I was told she would be here."

"She was here; she left right before you got here," Leo says, shrugging.

"Ah, could you perhaps arrange a meeting? Inform her she's not in trouble?" Killian asks with a twinkle in his eye.

"I shall talk to her. Are you staying here?"

"Aye, I am."

"If my sister can get over her embarrassment when I tell her why you are here and wants to meet you, I'll leave a message for you with Granny."

"I accept, lad. It was nice meeting you. I'm still a little jet-lagged, so if you'll excuse me. Goodnight," Killian says as he turned to go inside the Inn.

A stern voice makes Leo jump. "What are you playing at Emma?"

Emma winced.

Killian walks inside his room and snorts a laugh. His instincts tell him that he needs to see this through. Whatever it was that brought him to town was important and he knows that it will change his life. He still didn't know if it was about his mother or something else. What he did know was that the lad was a part of it.

Granny had that look on her face. The one they all feared.

Emma sighs. "Granny, it's nothing bad. I was just trying to figure out if he was here to cause trouble or not."

"Emma, the only trouble maker I see is you. Do you mind enlightening me about why you told him you were Leo Nolan, your brother? If memory serves me, there are only three Nolan children: James, David, and you. There's no Leo. Think carefully about what you're about to say to me."

"Granny, okay." Emma taps the top of the counter. "Some days back, I might have sent a letter with my name and it seems his older brother has no sense of humor. And you know that because you heard it with your wolf-like hearing." She shrugs. "It was a mistake and well, he flew out here and Granny, he is kinda hot and I didn't think I just reacted. I mean, we wanted to make sure my dressing like a guy would work for the production at school. It just happened. The words didn't want to come out of me. Hey sorry about causing you so much trouble with that letter. I was daydreaming and by the way, you have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Granny smirks. "Isn't this interesting. Emma Nolan speechless around a handsome man."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I will come clean. Eventually."

"Well, you don't have that much time. He only booked the room for a week." Granny grabs some dirty dishes and walks into the kitchen.

Emma sighs. She should go upstairs and confess. It was a mistake and he was nice enough. Okay, she will apologize to him, but as herself, not as her brother.

Killian stands at his room's window looking out at the view. He likes the town. His phone rings until it goes to voicemail. He doesn't feel like reporting to Liam just yet. What was he going to say, sorry brother but the lovely Emma has eluded me so far? The phone begins to ring again. Killian rolls his eyes. It appears Liam will not be giving up until he talks to him. Killian looks at his phone's screen. Bloody hell. It was Milah. He winces and just answers. "Milah, love-" Before he could continue, he was interrupted.

"Killian, what the hell are you doing in Maine? You're supposed to be here helping me plan the wedding and you didn't even tell me you were leaving the country!" Milah complains.

"Love, it was a sudden trip." Killian tries to calm her.

Milah stays quiet. "Killian, you said that you would take me with you on your next trip."

"Milah, darling. This trip is partly business but it is also to the town my mother was from. I didn't think you would like to accompany me to a small town in America." Killian tries to appease her. She could be volatile if she didn't like the answer.

She sighs. "When are you coming back?"

He can hear the pout in her voice. "I shall return in a week or so."

They end their call with a half-hearted 'I love you'.

Emma goes home and changes from her Leo persona's clothes. She really tries not to think too much about the reason why she put on her favorite dark jeans, the ones that made her butt look great, a thin red sweater that made her feel sexy, and black knee-high boots.

Emma walks into the Inn and squares her shoulders. She walks to the check-in desk and walks around to get the guy's room number. She finds the ledger and looks for the name he gave Leo. Killian Jones. Room 204. She smiles; it's the one with a view. She looks at the reception phone and opts to just go upstairs to get it over with. She didn't feel like been scolded by Granny again.

She knocks on the door lightly and looks around the hall. A few minutes pass with no answer. He had said he would stick around for a few days. She looks at her watch for the time. It was still early.

Maybe this is a sign that she is crazy and she decides to leave. Emma sneaks out as easily as she snuck inside.

The disappointment she feels is a lot. She wants to meet him, be herself, and the thoughts that swirl in her mind are not her own. She has obviously been around MM too much for goodness sake. She used the name that MM had told her she would use for her first son with David.

Killian had left to go sightseeing for a while. The truth was he was feeling cooped up in the tiny room while waiting for Emma Nolan to make her appearance. He was making his way back to the Inn when a flash of golden hair caught his attention. He pauses for a second as he takes her in. Bloody hell, he really shouldn't be noticing other women, but he couldn't help fall victim to the enchantment the woman had clearly placed upon him. He followed her from a distance, and she was oblivious to his presence.

He grins as he notices how freely she gave genuine smiles to the town's people that happily greeted her. He was still too far away to listen to how they addressed her, but he was truly entranced by her.

His thoughts race to Milah; she was a beautiful woman for sure, but she was not exactly a people person. She could be cold and unwilling to grant a simple smile unless she was forced. His brother didn't understand the relationship, but had encouraged him to finally give up his bachelor ways. Killian had enjoyed his life as a single man thoroughly and would not miss out on anything except for one thing; true love. He was ready to accept that perhaps that wasn't in the cards for him. He could settle for the relationship he shared with Milah. She was a good match; she was from a good family, and a union between them could solidify the business. People married for less.

The next day, Emma goes to school and she is pulled aside by Silv.

"Emma, you had a visitor yesterday," Silv informs her.

"Uhm, I did? I don't remember seeing anyone." Emma quirks a brow.

"No, no there was a man looking for you, but you know Miss Blue and her rules. She sent him away and he was unhappy. He even mentioned stopping the donations in the name of his mother, Alice Rogers-Jones. That caused Miss Blue to be upset all day. I don't know if we can fix it, but the money we receive from her estate is the most generous one." Silv worries her bottom lip.

"Oh, so maybe I shouldn't go to class today. I know how Miss Blue gets. She is going to make my day miserable, isn't she?" Emma sighs.

"I don't know, but chances are high. Oh, and Emma, Alice Rogers was close friends with your mother. Maybe you can find a way to use that to get Mr. Jones to reconsider stopping donations. He seemed to be reconnecting with his dead mother since he's been in town," Silv suggests.

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. "Alright, I will see what I can do. I guess I better go." Emma smiles at Silv and leaves campus.

Emma enters Granny's as Ruby is about to leave. "Hey Ems, have you seen that hottie staying here?" Ruby winks.

Emma sighs. "Is Mr. Hottie here?"

Ruby thinks for a moment. "Nope, I saw him leaving to go for a run. At least that's what it looked like from what he was wearing. That's when I noticed him. I had heard the girls talking about him. Mr. dark-hair, sexy accent, and eyes to die for, but how do you know him?"

"I don't know him, Ruby."

"You just asked if he was here and you should be on campus already. Shit, I'm going to be late," Ruby whines.

"Damn it, I guess I can try later. I wanted to avoid Miss Blue. Come on, let's go." Emma puts her arm around Ruby.

On the drive, Emma explains what had happened. She leaves out some details because Ruby couldn't stop laughing at her.

Emma's day is filled with dread waiting for Miss Blue to call her to her office and lecture her, but it never happens. Astrid explains she was not feeling well. Small miracles.

Killian is about to cross the street to Granny's when he sees the blonde from the other day leaving the diner with Granny's granddaughter. He winces, he had heard the old lady yell at her a couple of times already. He tries to hurry to get a better look at the blonde, there is something familiar. Maybe it's the way she carries herself. He scratches behind his ear. The thought is preposterous; he has not even met her, but yet... Bloody hell, he feels like such a wanker. He's acting like a creep. His eyes linger on her without his permission.

He enters the Diner and sits down in a booth near the door. His eyes gaze out the window.

"Hello, I'm Ashley and I will be your waitress today," Ashley introduces herself.

Killian smiles. "Hello, I'll just have some scrambled eggs, toast, and a banana if you have it. Orange juice and a glass of water as well."

She smiles and walks away.

Killian finishes his breakfast and goes up the stairs to his room to shower. He's about to finish getting ready when his phone rings. Killian grimaces when he sees the caller ID with a photo of his brother pop up. "Hello brother. How may I help you today?"

"Killian, I need you to come back home, now! Your betrothed has been harassing me nonstop. Please brother for all that is holy, come home and make her stop. She calls me constantly to complain, and it's always the same question. 'Why did I send you away on business?'" Liam sighs. "Why did you tell her it was a business matter?"

Killian laughs. "I'm sorry Liam, was I supposed to tell her I left town because a letter that wasn't addressed to any one caused my older brother to have a hissy fit? That you sent me away to fix it? You're a big boy, deal with it."

"Kill-" That's all Liam manages to say.

Killian smiles big as he disconnected the call. He looks out the window. Should he go to the marina? He finishes getting dressed and grabs his wallet, opting to leave his phone in the room. He doesn't want to deal with Liam.

Emma is supposed to meet the girls to practice at MM's house, but she has been nervous all day so she figures she should apologize to Jones first. She's in front of room 204 once again, takes a deep breath, and knocks. She waits, no answer. She shakes her head. Maybe he went to eat or take a walk. What else can he be doing in town? She waits one second just to be safe but no answer.

Another lost opportunity and her time to come clean was coming to an end soon.

Emma rushes out to meet the girls for practice. They had decided to practice at Mary Margaret's house since they wanted to surprise Miss Blue. Emma arrives just in time to change to Leo and start.

Killian finds Blanchard Farmers Market not far from the fish market by the harbor. The smell of the sea had called him to the pier and he inevitably became hungry from walking all day. He was pleased they served fish and chips like back home. He enjoyed his meal and left, eventually finding the Blanchard Farmers Market. The fruit and vegetables look delicious. He opts for some crisp apples and sweet oranges to keep in his room at the Inn. He wonders if he will ever see his friend "Leo" again, or if said friend had passed on his message; he hadn't received any indication the elusive Emma had contacted him. With a shrug, he heads back to the Inn before he goes looking for his friend. He wonders if he can ask Granny for the address or the phone number of the Nolans, but decides to find someone else for the information and use her as a last resort.

He had tried using his cellphone internet, but the town is as if it is trapped in the nineteen eighties for the most part. Killian approaches a rotund man at Granny's. "Excuse me, Sir?" Killian asks with a smile.

The man looks back at Killian with a scowl. "What is it? Can't you see I'm enjoying my food?" the man all but growls.

Killian mutters under his breath, So much for small-town hospitality. "I'm sorry to bother you. Could you direct me to the Nolans' home?

The man laughs. "Did Emma get a hold of you?"

He sighs. "Look, we all love her, but she makes idiots of the men she gets involved with." He shakes his head.

Killian quirks a brow. "No, actually I made acquaintance with her brother. We didn't exchange information, unfortunately."

"Hmm, all right." The grumpy man knows how friendly one of the Nolan twins is, so he takes out a small notepad from his shirt's pocket and scribbles on it, handing the paper to him.

Killian takes the paper and smiles. "Thanks, mate."

"The name is Leroy," he grumbles.

"Ah, to show my appreciation for your kindness, how about I pay for your meal?" Killian asks.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Leroy says begrudgingly as he begins eating again.

Killian arrives at the address quickly. He notices a group of men arguing outside the house. He approaches slowly and tries to go unnoticed until he hears the subject of their conversation.

Jefferson says, "She's an artist, why would she want to be with anyone who would suffocate her creative side?"

August chimes in with, "I've known her the longest, what better partner than a friend?"

Graham scoffs. "Emma needs someone who will show her adventure and is experienced."

Killian can't help but scratch behind his ear as he makes his way to the front door to knock.

"Excuse me," one of the men says from behind him.

Killian clears his throat as he turned to face the group of admirers.

"Are you here to see Emma?" the man with a slight accent asks.

Killian shakes his head. "No, I'm looking for her brother."

The group nods and the relief on their faces is evident.

"He's not here," the man says. "I'm Sheriff Humbert. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Killian shakes his head in disappointment. "No, thank you."

"Wait!" one of the other men shouts. "Please, help us settle a disagreement. See, we all think Emma should choose us to be with. I was wondering if an unbiased opinion would help clear this up for us."

Killian looks at the Sheriff. He is about his age, with the other two men being younger. "I'm sorry, but shouldn't it be her decision? I don't know the lass in question personally, but it should be her choice. When you know, you know," he says as he walks away, not wanting anything further to do with their argument.

The three men, not satisfied with his answer, begin bickering again almost immediately.

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate  @kmomof4  @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff  @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera  @djlbg  @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers  @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426  @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713  @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree  @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay  @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81

[cloveroctobers]

GARY RENNELL —

IG info/bio | @/rennellnotreynolds | 300k followers | currently havin a midlife crisis at thee moment so cheers! 🍻🏋🏼‍♂️🤨

23 (24) years old

Born & raised in Chatham, England there’s no other place like it to him. Sure when he went on holiday to the villa, it was quite nice but nothing ever beats home. He genuinely believes that he’s meant to be in this place since it’s all he’s ever known & doesn’t think he’ll live anywhere else

Raised by his nan & is an only child. Was at risk of being placed in foster care until his paternal nan came forth to raise him

His father and nan did not have the best relationship due to the way he chose to live his life and Gary was kept away from his nan until he was about 10 years of age

Does not like to talk about his birth parents due to the trauma, which is why he feels like his nan is his everything. His savior and why she means so much to him

His nan once told him that he favors his mother, Gail. He never had the chance to really know her, but was aware that she was very unhappy with herself &, “chose to be with the stars” just before his 5th birthday

That’s one of the reasons why he finds himself always looking up at the stars, usually when he’s drunk out at the docks by himself, he’ll try to talk to his mom, to know her better

I feel like he’s either a cancer or a Libra?

Update: Cancer sun + libra moon + Taurus rising

Went to uni for a semester and thought about architecture as a profession but ultimately felt like uni was NOT for him and eventually juggled around with jobs until he landed into the crane operator field which he found himself to be great at

For as long as he and his nan can remember, he always loved playing with cars, ships, building Legos, (I’m American idk if this is a thing there too or it’s something different/similar so my apologies lol) and putting things together. He never cared for reading instructions, Gary’s a hands on type of guy/learner and it’s how he best communicates

He likes heights, so this job wasn’t an issue it was just getting through the program for 2-3 years that was a pain in his ass but he was determined + knew this was what he was good at and stuck with it.

It was tiring working 40 sometimes over 40 hrs a week but he’s passionate about his work so he’d never dare change it

Due to this job being a lot physically, he would use muscle cream to help his pain or pay to see a masseuse whenever he could or wasn’t being cheap about it + often buys epsom salt to bathe in 3 or so times a week 

Total penny pincher! I can see him being so, his dad told him all about how to hold onto what he’s got and always look for a bargain but with a gambler for a father, you can only imagine how that worked in his favor

Lives with his nan and doesn’t see an issue with it. His mates definitely tease him about it but know how much the woman means to him but still think it’s a major c*ck block for him but it’s a two for one package deal and anyone who doesn’t understand that doesn’t deserve him

Will probably still live in her house once IF she p*sses

Nan is a big fan of wallpaper and has one room in the flat that has squeaky plastic covering most of her furniture ( she loves furniture shopping) & only takes it off once her lady friends come over with consists of a huge cleaning routine which Gary secretly hates but pushes through it while she plays some old tunes on her jukebox

He finds himself singing those exact songs when he’s getting ready for work and actually enjoys them...but don’t ever tell his mates that!

His nan taught him basic household care & he finds himself scolding his mates for not knowing how to wash their underwear & always taking it to their mum’s or having their girlfriends do it for them

Loves washing clothes on a Sunday in the backyard + hanging them on the clothes line. His nan doesn’t believe in washer machines & makes her own detergent

He’s always down for a rooftop hangout, whether drunk or not. To be up almost as high as the stars is such a feeling or hang out with his mates laughing it up

Occasionally smokes cigarettes when he’s really stressed, he’s not proud of the nasty habit and tries his hardest to hide it from his nan & Lottie but they both know

Is in a on and off again relationship with Lottie. She’s met his nan, they both like each other. And that makes Gary extremely happy

Gary is the laid back one out of the two and Lottie is firey and needs constant reminding from Gary that he wants to be with her whereas Gary feels like that’s something she should already know and he’s told her a couple of times before, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t get why she doesn’t get that

Which results in arguments. Lottie chose to live in England for half of the year and goes back to Australia for the other half. Nan encouraged Lottie to live with the two of them until she decided to get her own place in England, or rather the two of them together. Nan doesn’t believe Gary will leave in fear of her being lonely, which she’s not! By all means, nan keeps busy! But Lottie desperately wants to have her own space with Gary away from nan, even tho she adores the spunky lady.

When they don’t see eye to eye she does what she does best and leaves, which is exhausting to Gary

They’ll go days without speaking until the other cracks. At first it would be Gary but since it’s been a year into their relationship, he’s gotten used to it and let’s her come back to him when she’s ready

He cares for Lottie, he really does. And wants this to work but he just wishes they could be more secure in their relationship.

Was a f*ckboy way back when from 18-20 and rarely there’s his old flings who show up just to cause drama knowing that Gary’s got a new girl in his life that LIVES with him, which Gary dreads that this small town knows his business. He hates confrontation but there’s one thing about Lottie, she’s never going to bite her tongue. So whenever those girls do try it with not only her but Gary she goes off.

Gary is protective too so when those messy girls start shit at the pub, he’s instantly trying to get Lottie away from the issue. Then there’s drinks flying and slap fights happening + hair pulling & they’re getting kicked out of the club/pub or even cops called on them.

“This blows. I thought you said you were trying to be better than this, Lottie.” “Me? What about those slags?! They attack not only me but your character too!” Which adds to a list of the reasons they fight.

Nonetheless they do have their fun moments together, getting drunk by the docks, getting random tattoos, hanging with his friends & their significant others, + going to the theatre

Lottie still thinks this town is very slow-pace, sleepy, cloudy and hardly has sun— which is okay to her some days but other day’s it can be dreadful and much different from her fast-pace life but she finds the little things like spending time with Gary to encourage her to stay

Gary likes playing games when he has his free time, like fortnite, red dead redemption, Final fantasy, & SUPER SMASH BROS & almost always plays with Ibrahim who informs him about new games which makes Lottie want to slam her head against the wall since that can take hours

Keeps in touch with all of the boys in villa and makes sure they have zoom meetings as much as they can because he cares about those boys. Noah tries to schedule them but usually it’s happens at random which annoys him but he gets over it. Gary spent month(s) with them. They’re basically his extended family & that’s saying a lot since he views his home to a high standard and has friends here but they’re nothing like his villa brother’s

Also into woodwork. He didn’t think he’d enjoy it but he likes to do it more when the weather gets crisp and he battles with that over cigarettes to ease his worries in life, then goes and have his daily dose of tea

Finally stopped dying his hair that awful yellow and stuck with it. Marisol was the first to see it, after an accidental FaceTime call which was supposed to be just a regular phone call but whatever? They’d all eventually see it if he EVER decided to post to his IG stories!

She compliments him in Spanish yanking her glasses off leaving him highly confused, “is that good?” “If Lottie doesn’t sit on your— which leaves Gary very wide eyed opposed to his raised brows but Marisol is cut off by Graham clearing his throat

Lottie does indeed like it & shows him how much and later asks his option on what color she should dye her hair next. 3 out of the 13 look the exact same to Gary. But he helps her dye her hair which comes out patchy but there’s no way in hell she’s letting anyone else touch her hair. She’s been doing this all on her own for some time now. Gary’s lucky she even allowed him to help her! So she dyes it back to blonde, all of it, and waits a few weeks to dye it all blue

Gary’s definitely into old boy bands especially LFO & serenades, “girl on tv” to Lottie all the time, likes 98 degrees, Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, Boys II men, & Dru Hill

As for modern day music, he LOVES to work out to tame impala which never makes sense to his mates but he usually works out the next day after getting shit-faced, he’s also in love with lizzo’s music, laundry day, brockhampton, & rina sawayama

Anthem = mac demarco, “Salad Days”

Celeb crush? Julia Roberts, Salma Hayek, Anne-Marie, Leona Lewis, & Noah Cyrus

[batterycityghoul]

Can you do a Lila x gender neutral reader who’s one of the 43 with the ability to manipulate electricity and works for the commission who worked with Lila during the standoff and gets injured by one of the sibling to which Lila drops everything and runs to you make sure you’re okay (props if the reader is on the brink of unconsciousness)

Title: In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company

Pairing: Lila x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: This might not be exactly what you wanted, but I hope you still like it! Thank you so much for your request. I think it helped me with my writer’s block. 

Masterlist / Read on AO3

For as long as you could remember, it was just the two of you against the world. Your world revolved around Lila and you took comfort in having her at your side. She was your partner. She was your friend. She understood you better than anyone because she was just like you.  

She was your everything.  

You were only ten years old when The Handler rescued you. Your parents were killed in a car accident, leaving you all alone. You remembered a woman coming to your house and telling you she was going to take you far away. She said she would give you anything you wanted. She said you would have a family again.  

The woman encouraged you to call her Mom, but only when you were alone. In a professional setting, she insisted that you call her The Handler. You only ever called her The Handler, though. You were loyal to her, since she took you in, but she wasn’t your mom.  

You were scared of her at first, until she introduced you to Lila.  

"This is my daughter, Lila," The Handler said as she beckoned over a girl who looked as if she was the same age as you. "Lila, this is Y/N."

"Nice to meet you," Lila said as she held out her hand for you to shake.  

You reached to take her hand, but jumped back at the spark of electricity that jumped from her hand towards yours. You gasped and stared down at her hand, watching the blue lightning shift from her fingers to the palm of her hand and then up her arm.  

"You're like me? You can do what I can do?" You asked with awe in your voice.  

"Lila is special just like you," The Handler confirmed. "But she's just a little bit more special."

"I can mimic powers," Lila explained, a small grin on her face as she shook out her arm, dispelling the lightning. "Mum saved me a few years ago like she saved you."

"Oh," you breathed, not quite sure what to make of Lila or anything else that was happening.  

"Well, I have to get to work," The Handler said. "I’ve got people to manage and a timeline to protect. Lila, I trust you'll make Y/N feel at home. Training resumes tomorrow. Make sure you’re both ready."

"Got it, Mum," Lila insisted.  

Lila did her best to explain what was happening that day, but it took you months to fully begin to adapt to The Handler's plan for your life.  

Over the years, you trained with Lila and learned to rely on her. She had your back and you had hers. The Handler assigned you to each other as partners, which only further strengthened your bond.  

You told Lila everything and she confided in you. Some nights, when you couldn't sleep because of the countless nightmares that plagued you, you would seek her out. She welcomed you into her room time and again, soothing you enough to lull you into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.  

She always made time for you and never made you feel bad for not throwing yourself headfirst into the life of a Temps Commission agent. She knew you had your reservations and she never betrayed your trust by telling The Handler.  

As you got older, you started to realize that you thought of her as more than just your partner. You didn't quite understand why you only wanted Lila's attention for yourself. You didn't like it when she admired the other Temps Commission agents. You wanted her to look at you like you were the best thing in her world, because that was how you felt about her.  

When The Handler got to be a bit too much for you, Lila was there to comfort you. She talked you into staying when you wanted to run and she helped you train your powers. Together, it felt like you were unstoppable.  

When The Handler was bested by Five and then Hazel, you thought for a moment that maybe you were finally free. You wanted to tell Lila that you didn't owe the Temps Commission anything. Both of you could just steal one of the remaining briefcases and make a run for it.  

But it turned out that you weren't so lucky. The Handler survived a bullet to the head and you were still stuck in her clutches.  

When The Handler fell from grace within the company, she devised a plan to take down Five while reclaiming her position and authority.  

She asked you to spy on the Hargreeves family throughout the 1960s and get a better idea of their powers, while she sent Lila to infiltrate them.  

You thought it would be like any other mission. It wasn't the first time The Handler had used you and Lila to do her dirty work. You just had to gather intel and pass it on so it would help further the mission. You expected to laugh about the ridiculous Hargreeves siblings with Lila and plot to take them down to avenge the woman who called herself your mother.  

You didn't except for Lila to catch feelings for one of the Hargreeves siblings. You didn't expect for it to feel like a punch to the gut every time she acted like she didn't have feelings for Diego Hargreeves when you knew that there was only one reason why she would hold onto to the bracelet he made while she was keeping tabs on him when they were both locked up. You knew there was only one reason why she would defy The Handler in order to bring him closer into her orbit.  

You knew about Lila’s feelings for Diego and you hated him all the more for catching her attention.  

You only got one opportunity to talk to her about her feelings for Diego. You waited for her to leave Diego for his orientation before you grabbed her arm, steering her towards an alcove where the two of you could have some privacy.  

"What the hell is he doing here?" You glanced around to make sure you were truly alone before focusing on her.  

"What? Mum gave me a team and said I could choose whoever I want. I want Diego." She studied you for a moment before she offered you a smile. "And you, of course. Unless Mum gives you your own team. But I doubt she'll split us up."

"He shouldn't be here," you hissed at her. "He doesn't belong here. Not with us. Not with you."

"I trust him," Lila insisted. "He's a bit like a puppy, yeah? I just have to train him."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You barely know him. He's never going to be loyal to you. Not like I am," you stressed, feeling like you were struggling for breath.  

Lila froze before she carefully considered you. It was then you realized that you had revealed way too much about your feelings for her. You were giving everything away, because if there was anyone who would be able to read you, it was Lila. She would know and that was unacceptable.  

"Whatever," you scoffed. "Do what you want. I just hope you're ready to kill him when it all goes sideways."

You turned and walked away, leaving her to call after you.  

And even though you would never hope for Lila to get her heart broken, everything did go sideways. She came to you, seething and in a rage, as she showed you a kill order numbered 743.  

"Oh, fuck," you breathed as you took in the contents of the file. "Are you sure?"

"What's there to question? AJ ordered the hit and Five carried it out. And Diego was covering for his brother this whole time."

You frowned down at the file. "I don't know," you mused. "Something doesn't feel right about this, Lila. Why you? If the company killed your parents, then does that mean they went after mine too?"

"Maybe," Lila conceded. "What do we really know about any of this? The only one who's been watching out for us this whole time has been Mum."

You grimaced at the pages before you.  

"Oh, come off it," Lila sighed. "She took us in when we could have been on the streets. She taught us to defend ourselves and always pushed us to be better."

"Yeah, but why?" You asked as you finally looked up at her. "What's in it for her?"

"The joy of being a parent?" Lila offered with a shrug of her shoulders. "She's been right about Five and the others this whole time. And it's almost showtime. I'm going to show them all exactly what I can do. I'll make them pay."

At your silence, Lila moved to put a hand on your shoulder.  

"Hey, we're in this together, right? It's not just me that's going to give them hell. You'll be there too. And I'll watch out for you if any of them try to get the drop on you."

You finally offered her a small, genuine smile. "Yeah, okay," you conceded. "Let's take them all down."

When it came time to finally confront the Hargreeves family, you were content to let Lila take center stage. It didn't matter what she had to say. You knew that this was well and truly Lila's show.  

After the others realized that Lila could mimic their powers, The Handler set the both of you on the Hargreeves siblings. Lila grabbed your hand and transported both of you from the center of the field where numerous Temps Commission agents had fallen at the hands of Vanya Hargreeves and brought you both closer to the farmhouse where the others were all still attempting to pull themselves together. Various Hargreeves family members were scattered about the property, but you knew Luther and Number Five were inside the house.  

Lila patted you on the shoulder and nodded at the house. "They're in there. Let's scare them out."

You nodded your head and focused on the house. You extended your arms, calling forth your power to strike the house with bolts of electricity. Sparks erupted from within the house as you knocked the power out and you heard someone shout something from within before Lila shot you a grin.  

"That's my cue," she said before she left you in a flash of blue light.  

"Hey!" You heard someone call from behind you.  

You turned to see Allison Hargreeves approaching. You didn't allow her the opportunity to get closer as you shot your arm out, aiming a blast of lightning in her direction.  

She dove for cover behind the corner of the house just as Luther Hargreeves came crashing through the wall and landed on the lawn in front of you.  

"Luther!" Allison shouted, rushing to his side, seemingly forgetting about the threat you posed.  

"That was easy," Lila crowed as she peeked through the hole in the wall. She jumped down to the ground before she moved to stand at your side. "Big lump was out with just one hit. Your boyfriend's not as strong as he thinks he is," Lila told Allison with a smirk on her face.  

"Oh, yeah? Well, you haven't fought me yet," Allison taunted as she got to her feet.  

You stepped forward to defend Lila, but she shook her head. "Five's in there," she told you as she nodded towards the house. "Go get him and I'll join you in a moment."

"Fine," you sighed, shooting her one last look before you climbed through the hole in the side of the house.  

You searched the living room and the kitchen for Five, but you didn't get a chance to so much as use your power on him before you felt a blow to the back of your head.  

"Fuck," you hissed as you fell to the floor. You were barely able to keep yourself from sprawling on the floor by propping yourself up on your hands and knees, but one more hit to the head had you collapsing. You felt like everything was spinning as you attempted to get yourself to focus.  

"You have this all wrong," Five insisted from behind you.  

You managed to roll over to see Five staring down at you. "How could we possibly be wrong?"

"It's not me you should be fighting," Five continued. "It's the woman who stole you from your parents."

"What did you do?" Lila growled from the doorway.  

"I was trying to talk some sense into Y/N," Five answered, turning to look at Lila.  

You could feel your grasp on consciousness beginning to slip. There were black spots in your vision and no matter how hard you tried to force yourself to get up off the floor, you couldn't seem to make yourself cooperate.  

You heard Lila shout in anger before she used your power to shoot a bolt of lightning at Five. You saw Five disappear from the room before the hit could connect.  

Lila rushed to your side, her hands cupping your face as she tried to get you to focus on her. "I'm going to kill that little asshole," she hissed.

You felt your eyes slip closed before you managed to get them open again. "Lila," you croaked before your eyes closed again.  

"Rest now," Lila whispered before she leaned forward to brush a kiss against your temple. "Let me take care of the rest."  

You wanted to protest and insist that it was supposed to be the both of you against the Hargreeves family. You wanted to tell her that you were supposed to have her back no matter what. You didn't want to be left behind.  

You felt everything go dark before you could even get a word out.  

When you woke, it was to the feeling of someone lightly trailing their fingers over your face.  

"Lila?" You groaned, forcing your eyes to open so you could see her leaning over you.  

She smiled down at you, something sad and somber about her expression.  

"What's going on?"

Lila sighed before she shook her head. "Five was right," she begrudgingly admitted. "Mum fucked us over. She killed my parents. She arranged for yours to have that accident. She stole us to be her weapons."

You frowned up at her, realizing then that your head was resting in her lap. "What happened?"

"A lot of shit," Lila got out on a helpless laugh. "Mum is dead and it turns out we have more in common with the Hargreeves family than we might have wanted. But none of that matters right now. We've got a while before anyone comes after us."

"What about the farm? Where are we?"

"I stole a briefcase and got us the hell out of there the first chance I got," Lila explained. "Brought us here to this safehouse and waited for you to wake up. Now, we can go anywhere and do whatever we want. We don't owe anyone anything."

"What about to each other? Without the company, are we still partners?" You didn't want to find out what it would be like to not have her in your life. You didn't want to go anywhere or do anything without Lila, but you weren't so sure she would feel like she owed you the same loyalty.

Lila quirked an eyebrow at you before gifting you a reassuring grin. "I'm not going anywhere and you're not going anywhere. It's just us now. Like it always should be."

"I can live with that," you told her as relief filled you at the idea that maybe things were looking up after all.

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

The First One - Bonus scenes in traditional written word

This is a smau and a zukoXreader, although i haven't decided how this ends yet.

Y/n has recently transferred to Ba Sing Se from Omashu university and meets the gaang through a schoolproject they do with sokka and suki.

Masterlist

Bonus 4: Good Morning

The sound of a machine of some sorts woke you up. A look out the window confirmed two things: It was still rather early and Haru’s parents’ neighbours had no idea what an appropriate time for high-pressure-cleaning patios was. Sighing you sat up and looked around. You found your shoes and thought you remembered where the bathroom was.

The short night definitely left its traces on you: Your clothes and hair looked deschevelled, you didn’t smell as fresh as you would like, you had dark circles under your eyes and your voice was rather hoarse. You did what you could without rummaging through the drawers of the bathroom, then you wandered through the house.

There were fotos everywhere. Most of them were of Haru, who you guessed didn’t have any siblings, but some had a very kind-looking couple on them. A wedding picture in which they both laughed at something happening out of frame. It seemed genuine, a true candid shot. He had his hand around her waist and her hand was in mid-air, presumably on its way to fix his tie for the actual wedding picture, but something must have had happened. They both were bending over laughing pointing out of frame looking at each other.

You studied the picture. I made you like the couple. It made you believe in their love and their relationship. It made you want to get to know them. Be a part of that happiness and trust and joy. There was no question why they chose to display this picture. It was amazing!

You watched the couple become parents, buy a house, get older and go through the decades that saw Haru grow from a baby into a smiley toddler, distracted child, unimpressed teenager and openhearted twenty-something. They seemed a happy family. Truly.

The journey through Haru’s life had left you at the front door and wanting some coffee. You found the kitchen empty but quickly discovered a coffee machine. While it was entirely too sophisticated for the broke student you were, you did manage to get it to spew out some dark and caffeinated goodness into a cup you found in the second cupboard you opened. With it you kept on strolling through the house until the living room introduced you to the French doors that lead into the garden. And boy, the garden!

You sat in that little paradise when your phone buzzed and Zuko begged you to talk to him. Apparently, he was at his uncle’s shop working the early shift and there was not a lot to do as it was Sunday. You texted back and forth for a good while.

Yesterday you hadn’t talked to him a lot, outside of him apologising for his uncle and the Sokka-rum-discussion. You know learned that he was a good nephew and studied International Business and International Relations. When you called him out as ambitious, though, he was quick to bring up the words pressure and expectations. You didn’t know him. And whatever those expectations and that pressure were about it seemed you weren’t competent to comment on it or them. Zuko struck you as a private person. You contemplated telling him exactly that. You didn’t. You conveyed the message, though. He seemed relieved. And he liked politics and diplomacy which told you a number of things: 

Be wary of any promises he makes. He might be doing that politician thing where he doesn’t keep them

If you ever want to ruin somebody’s life or career, ask him how to do it, he will have learned about it and remembered

If you ever don’t know how to handle a conflict ask him, he’s into figuring out compromises and status-quo-situation

He probably gives good advice. The kind that will be good for you and not too offensive to others

He is smart

He is into reading

He can find the good in the bad.

After all it sounded like his parents made him study those subjects and if he had had a true choice he would have gone for something else. Yet, he found aspects that he enjoyed, that he could use in his life and that he could be passionate about.

He liked travelling

All in all he was intriguing. A lot of layers to peel back. Whether it be the interest in politics – which were a lot of smoothtalking, manipulation, using popular opinions AND ideologies, the fate and future of countries and people and so many struggles or the family history. You could probably have real conversations with him. And you decided you would like to as well.

Another thing you learned about Zuko was that he was Sokka’s secret source for his part of the Worldhistory project. In the past couple weeks Sokka had gone on and on about how much information he had gotten form an anonymous sponsor.

“Sokka made it sound like you were the discovery of a century!”

“Am I not?” No, for all you knew he wasn’t.

Yes, he was intriguing and most likely multi-layered; yes he was tall and dark and handsome and that scar on his face added several facets to that handsomeness; yes, he had that tea-loving angel of an uncle, but he was no discovery of a century. He was some good-looking guy with an interesting background.

“To be determined” Better not alienate him by telling him he wasn’t all that special. You still wanted to be his friend.

Could you have gone on for two more hours talking to Zuko? Yes. Yes. You could have. But you didn’t because there were footsteps in the house. And it sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. You got up to investigate. Hoping you’d find Sokka, Suki, Toph, Aang or Katara in the kitchen, you would have been okay with Haru, but instead you found an agile white haired gentleman. From the fotos you recognised him as Haru’s father. He was doing something to the sophisticated coffeemachine and congratulated himself. Then he turned around, saw you, got scared and nearly let his cup fall and crash on the kitchen tiles. Instead he just made a weird move with his arm that resulted in a wave of hot liquid jumping into the air and splashing on the floor.

“Ouch!”, the man screamed. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry, Sir. Y/n. I’m friends with… I know your son. Haru. We helped him pack up the party yesterday and he told us we could stay here. I assumed you knew…Excuse the intrusion, please.”

“Tyro”, he extended his hand. You shook it.

“You’re not intruding. Haru told us that some of his friends might stay over. I just didn’t expect anybody to be awake yet. And we don’t know each other.”

“Again, sir, sorry.”

“That cup empty?” Tyro pointed at the mug you had brought with you.

“Nearly. I took the liberty of drinking your coffee.”

“Do you want more? I can offer you black coffee and black coffee with milk from the fridge. The thing is supposed to be able to come up with all kinds of fancy drinks, but that’s more my wife’s department. I didn’t bother learning about that.”

“Black coffee would make me really happy, Sir.”

Tyro filled your cup and gestured for you to follow him back into the garden. So, you did. He asked about who you were and how you knew his son.

“To be honest, Sir, there isn’t a lot to tell. I moved to the city for this semester. Transferred from Omashu University. I’m studying anthropology. One of the classes I take together with Sokka and Suki, who are friends with Zuko who used to be Haru’s roommate. Aaaaaaand they brought me to the party yesterday. There I met Haru. The end.”

“You helped him tidy up the speakers and all that jazz after having only met him that night?” You nodded your head yes.

“Commendable.”

You carried on talking to Haru’s dad, brushing on the subjects of family, education and music. The band Haru played in was called “Grounded”. According to Tyro they were “just having fun” but they also “sounded like actual musicians”. This band needed to be inspected.

You told him about Gray Sky and Tiff on the Rocks, the pub you used to play. It turned out that Haru inherited his passion for music from his father. Dad all but interrogated you on you average guitar playing and experience with piano lessons, when his wife walked through the French doors.

She introduced herself to you and asked if you wanted more coffee. As she was the coffee-maker-whisperer, you now were offered the entire range of coffee-drinks and gladly accepted a Cappuccino the size of your head. After she mad you happy with that, she sent you back out, with the intention of preparing breakfast. You offered to help but were quickly shut down.

The moment you sat down in the lounge chair by big tree, Haru entered the kitchen, got a cup of coffee from his mum and was surprised to find you in musical discussion with his father. Thankfully, he did remember you and was delighted to hear that you were a fellow guitarist, even though he was likely a lot more skilled than you were. In fact, you said this multiple times, resulting in Haru running inside and grabbing one of his dad’s guitars.

You  started by playing some of the 90's hits that Sokka had massacred the night before, proving that Haru was better than you. You handed the instrument back to him. 

"How about You Oughta Know?", he suggested. You looked at him, blinking. 

"You said you used to sing in Omashu. Let's hear it."

"Uhm…", you hesitated.

"I'm with stupid", Tyro chuckled. "I'm curious."

"Fine."  You let Haru play a few tacts before you started the verse. He harmonised with you in the chorus, during which Tyro got another guitar.

From Alanis you moved to the Verve; from "Nothing compares 2 u", to "Loser". Haru and his dad loved the 90's. Nirvana, Take That, TLC, Blur, Oasis, Britney, Beasty Boys, you named it they had it. Aang, Katara, Suki, Sokka and Toph joined you three out on the patio, all carrying cups of various coffees and plates full of food. While harmonising to Tyro's lead you remembered that his wife had talked about preparing breakfast. From what you saw on your friend's - yeah friends! - plates, she had not held back. There were eggs and bacon, pancakes, bread, cinnaminrolls and meats, cheeses, jams, butter and honey.

When she herself came out to join the table, she carried a  bowl of yoghurt and nuts, that she assured everyone was an option for everyone. Tyro got his own plate and dat down next to Sokka. He motioned for Haru and you to come eat but you two were determined to finish the decade. So, you did. And then you entered the 2000s. Every now and again you'd pick up the second guitar, while alternating with Haru singing lead and harmonising. You had the time of your life!

Haru's mum topped off your coffees and although your stomach was screaming at you to give it some of the wonderful smelling food, you played and sang for more than two hours. The others enjoyed your efforts and sang along when they were done eating. Tyro relieved his son of guitar duties and jammed with you while Haru diminished the pancakes. 

He then took your spot and you praised the eggs, bacon and cinnamonrolls.

"If you're ever desperate  for something to do, you're welcome to my appartment and put on breakfast!",  you said, all but crying, after noon when you had finished. Haru's mum blushed. But die didn't say no.

After you had finished your breakfast, everyone helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. Tyro insisted you all had another round of coffee, during which there was more music and Sokka got the recipe for the hangover cure smoothie that Mrs Haru  had made him as soon as he entered the kitchen.

You left around 2:30 with many "thank yous" and "you're the bests" and "we can help some mores". Although you hadn't slept much you decided to hit up the Jasmin Dragon to see if Zuko had  died from boredom already.