#he always looks like he’s been standing in torrential downpour

[casser-starkling]

obsessed with how wet robb stark always is

[ellecdc]

Come Back, Be Here

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 8k words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, healing/blood and injury (no one is injured during this story), mention of Bellatrix's cursed knife (same injury Hermione received, sorry), angst, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. How will Sirius react when he finally gets his love back, but you don't seem to recognize any of them? (concept inspired by Recognition by aeaean__bliss on ao3)

James hated this – he hated the paranoia, he hated worrying, he hated the idea that taking one step outside of the threshold may be the last time he ever sees his wife and son. He had taken ‘one last look’ at too many people in his life, and he was exhausted.

         But he was also trained for this.

Pads had been growing more and more paranoid as the war waged on – with all the loss, the targeted attacks of Order members and the growing speculation of a spy amongst them; he begged Lily and James to change Peter to the secret keeper. “I’ll be the Death Eaters first thought, Prongs - he’s the less obvious choice.” It had been months since James had seen Sirius so desperate and passionate, so he agreed. Peter’s schedule with the Ministry had been taking up a lot of his time, but he said that the next Order meeting they would do the trade.

Until then, Sirius made sure Lily and James had a contingency plan.

“If anything fuckey happens, you have to promise me you’ll leave, no questions asked. Okay?” Sirius begged. “Have a go-bag packed for you both and Harry at the ready. If you feel any weakening of the wards – you leave.”

So, something fuckey happened. Lily got herself and Harry dressed for the rain, their bags by the back door ready to make a run for it, and James stood at the front door with his invisibility cloak pulled over him and wand at the ready.

The wards had chimed – signifying someone was here – but they were still standing; this meant Sirius was fine. Wards wobbled all the time – sometimes muggles wandered too closely to them without realizing – but the concerning part was the snap of apparition they heard before the wards had alerted them.

“It could be Moony, or Wormtail.” Lily said, mostly trying to convince herself that everything was fine.

James smiled at his wife like this might be the last time he ever did so. “Very true. I’ll be back in a mo’, okay? If anything happens, you guys go. I’ll find you.” He said.

Lily gave him a watery smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

James stepped out into the torrential downpour. Britain wasn’t always known for its reliable weather, but even James was baffled by the sudden late-October thunderstorm. As tempted as he was to cast a weather repelling charm around him, he didn’t want to give away his location by having water bouncing away from his invisible figure, so he allowed himself to get increasingly soaked as he squinted into the night, looking for any signs of who alerted their wards.

He made it to the front gate – where he could see the end of the wards and cast a quick revelio.

Nothing.

“Moony?” He whispered, knowing the lycanthrope would hear him over the heavy rain.

“Pete?” He asked a little louder after receiving no answer.

He waited for a few more moments, cast one more revelio, and moved to the back of the house when he picked up nothing.

Godric’s Hollow is a wizarding community as well, he reminded himself, maybe someone just unknowingly apparated too close to the property.

He cast another revelio in the backyard and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw movement in the woods. “Buggering fuck!” He whisper-shouted, but embarrassingly realized he was watching the figure of a cat running away into the forest.

“Well, that’s not what I heard apparating here, now is it?” He muttered under his breath. He was beginning to suspect they heard some ignorant witch or wizard who miscalculated their apparation as he finished surveying the backyard.

Suddenly, he spotted a figure; it appeared unmoving, and was in a heap on the ground directly outside the ward line. James looked around, casting another revelio – nothing. The only thing he’s found is the slumped figure at the ward line.

James was torn – does he check what it is? What if it’s a person? Should he see if they are okay? Should he go inside and tell Lily that it’s fine before he checks on the figure? Would they still be waiting outside when he came back out? Is this a trap?

His musings were interrupted as the figure started choking.

“Merlin, I’m going to die of a bleeding heart.” James muttered as he made his way to the figure. He cast one more revelio on his way to confirm no one else was around waiting to ambush him.

Against his better judgment - knowing Sirius would have him by the bollocks for this later - he stepped outside of the wards, grabbed the figure and hauled the body back over the ward line. At least now I only have to be worried about dying at the hands of this individual half dead wix.

The body was small – James would assume it was a student from Hogwarts if it weren’t for the fact that they clearly apparated here and all students would be in school. Their cloak appeared far too large for their body and was completely soaked through due to the rain.

The figure began coughing again, and James heard gurgling sounds.

He ripped the hood off the figure and gasped.

Pale – so sickly pale – bruised black and blue and currently coughing up blood was you. Vixen! The witch, friend, fellow animagus and therefore honorary Marauder and his personal mission partner whom James last saw dying in the rubble of your last stake-out location.

“Oh Merlin, OH MERLIN.” James shouted as he whipped off the invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulder.

He turned his attention back to you as you continued to sputter. He carefully turned you onto your side so you could spit the blood out of your mouth, which caused you to throw up.

“Okay, alright, come on Vix. Let’s get you inside. You’re okay, come on.” James muttered, mostly as a mantra to himself. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his body and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.

He lifted you up into his arms; one arm supporting your knees whilst the other supported your shoulders. You hung from his grasp like a corpse.

“Stay with me, Vix. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.” He continued as he got to the door.

He kicked the back door with his foot before cursing and remembering their code. He paused; three quick kicks, one kick, two quick kicks. “Lily! It’s clear, open up!”

Lily set Harry in his playpen and was quick to unlock the door. “Thank Merlin, I - oh!” She quickly moved out of way to avoid being barreled over by her husband with a body in his arms. “What did you find?”

“Not what, Lil’s. Who.”

He ran to the guest bedroom on the first floor, gently laying you onto the bed.

“No...” Lily whispered from the door, her face falling so pale that her freckles stood out in stark contrast.

“Help me. Help her. She’s hurt, she’s-” he started, but he could hardly breathe.

James’ stuttering seemed to snap Lily out of it, and she began barking orders.

“Go get towels, as many as we can. Put a few throw blankets into the dryer for about twenty minutes to warm them up.” She said as she moved to the bed. James didn’t need to be told twice.

Lily set the soaking cloak that James had unceremoniously plopped onto the bed onto the chesterfield. She vanished the black turtleneck and black trousers from your body hoping you wouldn’t miss them terribly. Her breath was taken away, but she couldn’t stare in horror for long as you began coughing up more blood.

She noticed bleeding from your left side – you had what looked like a stab wound in your ribs, which had punctured your lung. Okay Lily, you know this.

Lily sometimes hated magic - it had caused so much pain in her life. She had been called slurs and faced prejudice, she was left without a relationship with her sister, she lost friends and many she considered family to this magical war, and her husband and family were currently facing death by the hands of an evil wizard. Right at this very moment, however, Lily thanked all the deities possible for her use of magic.

She quickly syphoned the fluids and blood flooding your lung before casting a quick sawdering charm to it. Lily heard the telltale snap of your ribs back into place before she closed the wound. It wasn’t as pretty as what could have been done by a real Healer or even Madam Pomfrey, but it would do.

Lily cleared your mouth and throat of blood and conjured a glass of water, forcing some into your mouth before encouraging you to spit it back out.

Once you were no longer at risk of immediately dying, Lily took in the rest of your body.

Your collarbone appeared to protrude from its rightful place, and you had severe bruising around your neck. Lily corrected your collar bone with a flick of her wand which elicited a painful grunt from your lips. You seemed quite a bit thinner than the last time she had seen you, and wondered when your last good meal was. She levitated you gently off the bed and noted that the majority of the bruising appeared around your torso and back. You had a large, healed scar on your right thigh and a small puncture shaped scar on your lower left abdomen. But none of this made Lily feel nearly as sick as when she noticed the word mudblood carved into the skin of your left arm; the wound appeared brand new, as if it had just happened, but it was dry and not bleeding.

The bedroom door slammed open as James threw a pile of at least twenty towels onto the other side of the bed as your form. “I’ve got blankets in the drying machine thingy.” He muttered out of breath as he straightened his glasses.

“Merlin’s tits. What-” he started before Lily cut him off.

“Out, out. Give us some privacy, I’m going to run her a warm bath. Can you bring me some clothes for her?”

James jumped and took off out of the room again.

You had been coming in and out of consciousness as Lily gently washed your body. Every time your eyes met Lily’s green ones, Lily felt her breath leave her body. It’s like looking at a ghost. She wanted to throw up, she wanted to cry, she wanted to sing and dance, my friend, who we had a funeral for, was back from the dead. But she had a job to do, dammit she had a job to do. She’s not your friend right now Lily, she’s your patient. Help her. She needs a healer. You’re as good as one. Help your patient.

Neither of you spoke – Lily didn’t want to overwhelm you, and she also had no idea what to say. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you since you’ve been gone; now I have no words.

Lily helped you dry off and supported your weight as she walked you back into the bedroom. James had brought down a tracksuit of Lily’s, which was too big for you, but it was dry and warm, and it would have to do.

After you were dressed, Lily had you sit on the edge of the bed as she brushed and braided your hair.

“There you go, Y/N.” Lily said as she gently tapped your shoulder, cautious of any pain you may be feeling from your collarbone injury.

“You know my name.” you asked quietly, but it wasn’t a question.

Lily paled. Know your name? Try: know your entire life story up until about a year ago.

“I do.” Lily answered cautiously, moving to stand in front of her friend. “Do you know mine?”

Lily watched as your eyes scanned her face. “No,” you admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Lily said dumbly. “Well, that’s okay. Nothing to be sorry for. I’m Lily. We were friends, before.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Lily instantly regretted saying anything. “Here, why don’t we get you into bed, hm?” She offered as a distraction to the both of you.

You grimaced as you shuffled to the head of the bed where Lily pulled the warm blankets James had left for you to climb under.

“I’ll go make a pot of tea and get you some pain potion, okay?”

You seemed to consider Lily for some time before finally nodding your head at her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Lily closed the door behind her and rushed to the kitchen. “James” She sobbed.

Her husband immediately stood from the kitchen table and enveloped her in his arms.

“What happened? Is she okay?” He asked into her hair.

“She doesn’t know who I am.” She muttered miserably.

James froze and pulled his wife away from him to look into her eyes. “She what?”

“She doesn’t recognize me, James. She asked how I knew her name.”

“Oh, Godric.” James muttered, falling back into the chair. “Do you think she’ll recognize me? Or anyone else?”

Lily sighed as she made her way into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s shock, or amnesia, or a brain injury, or if it’s just me. There are too many variables. I think we should probably wait before we tell the other’s she’s here – I don’t know how they’ll handle not being recognized.”

“Fuck” James whispered.

“Potter.” Lily deadpanned. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

The only response she got was a guilty look from James before the front door flew open.

“Where is she?” Sirius demanded, staring at his friends as if they had personally victimized him, Remus following closely behind, face white as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Would you quiet down.” Lily seethed as she threw up a hasty mufliato.

“I am not fucking around, Red. Where. Is. She.” He repeated angrily, shaking off James’ hand that had been placed on his shoulder.

“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her when you’re like this, you are out of your sodding mind.” Lily seethed, walking over, and shoving her face into Sirius’. 

“Mate, please. Sit down, let us fill you in. The second we do; you can go see her.” James said, trying to appease his friend. Sirius’ chest heaved as his burning eyes met Remus’ glassy ones which were already on him; a silent question of “Are we going to comply or are we going to cause a scene?” passed between them. Sirius moved his eyes back to Lily; he knew Lily wasn’t messing around - she was the mother of the group; she always had been. And she had always been the absolute best of friends with you and Remus, which made her all the more protective over you two in particular. He knew he should trust her when it came to you, but after the last mission - the mission you never fucking returned from - he doubted he would ever trust anyone with you ever again.

Lily watched his face as he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

“You have exactly five minutes starting the second my arse hits that seat, and then I will see her. Got it?” He stated bluntly, before shoving past her and James and sitting at the kitchen table.

Lily and James shared a look before they joined him at the table, Remus sitting down last.

James and Lily just stared at each other; each silently begging the other to start. Sirius grew more and more agitated the longer no one said anything, his knee bouncing under the table. 4 minutes and 17 seconds before I break every door down in this fucking house to find her.

“So,” James started, “She’s here.”

Lily grimaced. “We heard the snap of apparition and then there was a wobble in the wards.” Sirius’ eyes widened.

“We were ready to run,” Lily input at Sirius’ face, “but since the wards were still up and unaffected, James went to investigate.”

“She was soaked to the bone and just lying there. Honestly, I...I thought there was just a dead body until she started to choke.” James admitted. “I got her inside and brought her to the room where Lily healed her.”

“And?” Remus asked quietly.

“And it’s not good.” Lily admitted.

“She’s alive.” James amended, giving Lily a pointed look as if saying do you know who you’re talking to right now?

“Right, erm,” Lily started, “She had a stab wound in her ribs which had punctured her lung – that’s what was causing her to choke. I emptied the lung of blood and fluids and closed it up, re-set the broken ribs and closed the wound – her collar bone was also dislocated. She’s badly bruised and beaten. She has a few healed scars...” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Merlin’s tits.” Sirius muttered into his hands which were covering his face. “Is that all?” He asked sarcastically.

“No, there are two more things, but I need you to stay quiet and calm and listen to me. Do not speak until I say so, okay?”

She gave Sirius a pointed look and the man begrudgingly nodded.

“It appears that someone carved the word mudblood into her left arm – the wound looked brand new, but it wasn’t bleeding or red, so I’m not sure why it looks the way it does. I’ll need an actual healer to look it over.” She sighed greatly before continuing. “And she doesn’t know who I am.”

The room fell painfully silent, all eyes on her.

“Someone carved...?” Remus finally began whispering before he was cut off by Sirius.

“What do you mean she doesn’t know who you are?” Sirius asked.

“I mean I’m a stranger to her Sirius.” She muttered miserably. “She asked me how I knew her name, and when I told her we were friends, she looked like she was going to cry.”

Sirius’ already alabaster skin appeared to grow a sickly paler shade as he looked incredulously at Lily.

He watched as James rubbed Lily’s shoulder. Beaten. Stabbed. Bruised. Tortured. Someone hurt her. Someone touched her – violated her. My girl.

But she’s here. He reminded himself.

“Okay.” He whispered.

The table grew quiet again, everyone turning their attention to the dark-haired man.

“Okay?” Lily asked between sniffles.

“Okay.” He repeated before making eye contact with her again. “She’s likely been through hell, I hardly expect much of her right now. Fuck, I hardly ever expected to get her back at all so, let’s just...” He stopped, looking down at the woodgrain on the table. “We’ll make sure she’s okay to start and then, maybe eventually, we can help her get her memories back or something.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Lily gave him a sad smile as more tears fell.

“Okay Pads.” She said, reaching to take his hand. “Let’s go see our girl.”

“Y/N? It’s me,” Lily started as she leaned into the bedroom door. “Erm, Lily.” She clarified awkwardly. “I’ve got your tea and something to eat, may I come in?”

She waited for a few beats before she poked her head in. “You okay?” She asked gently. She spotted her friend sitting exactly where she had left you; propped up in the bed on a tower of pillows and wrapped in the numerous blankets that James had warmed up for you. Lily plastered on what she hoped was her most calming smile.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” She asked gently, moving into the room.

 “I’m not sure.” You admitted in a whisper, warily eying the grapes, cheese, and crackers Lily had prepared that sat beside the tea and vial of pain potion which Lily placed on the bed before you.

“I can get you something else if you’d like, but I figured it might be good to have a little something in your stomach on account of the pain potion.” She grimaced as she motioned toward the offending vial.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted the women and brought your attention to the door where James and Sirius both stood, waiting for... well, Lily wasn’t sure.

You just stared blankly at the men. Your eyes seemed to dart between James and Sirius, questions flying behind your eyes.

“Mind if we join you?” James asked quietly, holding his hands open as if a universal way to say, see? Friendly. We mean you no harm.

You turned your gaze back to Lily who was silently encouraging you. Lily wore a soft smile, and her eyes were full of compassion and understanding.

“Sure.” You finally said, your voice thick. The boys let out a breath and moved into the room slowly. Lily stared at them both, hoping they got her silent plea: you are great big giant oafs; please be as un-intimidating as possible.

It wasn’t easy; Sirius with his thick, rock-star style black hair and covered in various tattoos which stood out in stark contrast against his alabaster skin. His combat boots which were never tied properly were not the stealthiest footwear, and his various pieces of silver jewelry littering his body added to the intimidating aura that was Sirius Black.

And big, bumbling James; built like the Quidditch chaser he is. He stood slightly taller than Sirius, and between his ADHD and constant need for movement, he was in perfect shape for a soldier. He could appear intimidating when he needed to be, and when he was actually angry: watch out. But those who knew him would laugh and laugh to know you ever feared him if you hadn’t a reason. He smiled warmly at you and sat on the floor near the fireplace.

Sirius sat behind Lily in a wingback chair that he turned to face the bed you were sat on. He monitored your face looking for any signs of recognition as you surveyed the newcomers. He tried not to feel disappointed when he didn’t see any. He failed anyways.

“Our friend’s showed up while the tea was on, we never could keep them away for long.” Lily offered when you still hadn’t said anything.

“Rem will be back later; he ran out to grab some things.” Sirius explained.

James, never being one for sublties asked “do you recognize either of us?” as if the question had been lodged behind his teeth since he first found you.

Lily and Sirius sucked in a breath as they turned to analyze you. Your gaze moved over the two men before looking down at your hands in your lap and shook your head.

“Well, that’s alright; we always liked making new friends.” James offered. “I’m James – I found you outside. And this here is Sirius.” He said, motioning to his friend.

Sirius heard you let out a shakey breath at the end of James' sentence, and Lily noticed tears springing into her friend’s eyes.

“What’s the matter, love?” Sirius asked her gently.

You shook your head miserably and looked between the two men again. Sirius thought he would throw up while Lily’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, no. Y/N, it’s alright, you’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.” she clarified.

“We’re your friends,” James offered quietly, “we only wanted to know you were okay.”

You didn’t seem able to make eye contact with any of them anymore and stared at the tea tray set out in front of you.

“It’s chamomile,” Lily offered, “it was one of your favourites.”

Sirius and James exchanged a glance before the former slowly stood and made his way over to you; you didn’t look up at Sirius, but he noticed your body tense. Keeping his distance, he picked up the cup of tea and gave it a sniff before taking a sip, making a show of swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. 

“Hm, yep. Chamomile, two sugars and a splash of milk.” He said before he cast a quick revelio over the cup and pot. “And nothing else added.”

He placed the cup back onto the tray. “You can never be too careful these days, hm?” He offered you with a smile before returning to his seat.

You looked at Lily before you carefully picked up the tea with shaking hands. The warmth of the cup brought tears to your eyes as you held it tightly in your hands, enjoying the aroma before taking your own cautious sip.

Seemingly satisfied you weren’t being poisoned, you grimaced at the smell of the pain poition before downing it with nothing more than a cough. Sirius thought you were a much better sport about it than he was.

“Why don’t we light the fire, hm?” Lily asked, beginning to stand.

“I’ve got it.” Sirius mumbled, standing, and placing a few logs into the hearth before casting an incendio.

Sirius could feel your eyes following him; he knew because they burned into his skin like they always had before. He always had a sixth sense when it came to you. He missed this familiar feeling, even though it was currently painful; he never thought he’d feel the burn of your stare again.

“Thank you.” He heard whispered, and looked to see you looking at him from under your lashes as you brought the tea to your lips again.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiled at you.

“Do you know me?” You suddenly whispered. If it wasn’t for the fact that the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, the rest of the room’s occupants would have missed it completely.

“Yes.” James said with a soft smile.

“Were we...” you started, before clearing your throat and returning your gaze to your hands. “Were we friends? Before?” You finished, not returning your gaze.

“The best of.” James replied.

You seemed to think on this for a while before you looked up and met Sirius’ eyes.

“And you?” You queried.

Sirius was sure he just heard his heart break. He wondered how much he should tell you. She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember the nights shared, or the fights had, or the days spent. How much does he tell you?

He recognized that everyone is looking at him now; you inquisitively, James appeared distraught, and Lily was looking at him with the saddest smile he’d ever seen. He had very little time to answer this question.

“You couldn’t shake me off, love. I followed you around everywhere.” He settled for, trying to smile at you but it felt more like a grimace.

You sighed and returned to fiddling with your teacup.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. The two present marauders and Lily exchanged glances before turning back towards their friend.

“What for?” Lily asked gently, moving to place a hand on your shoulder. Nobody in the room missed the full body flinch that took place when you spotted a hand coming towards you, which caused Lily’s hand to retreat to her lap.

You sighed heavily again before continuing. “For not recognizing you all.”

“None of that now, gorgeous.” Sirius stated. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ll be just fine.”

“Where have you been all this time?” James asked, which was met with a low rumble from Sirius’ throat; a warning that no one in the room missed.

“Prongs, she’s been through hell. Leave her be for now.”

Your eyes flicked between the two men who seemed to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked back to Lily who gave you a crooked smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Was your hair shorter when I knew you?” You asked. Sirius tore his eyes away from his best mate and looked into your warm gaze. You looked so inquisitive, and he instantly thought back to the nights that the two of you spent on the astronomy tower where he would point out every constellation and star you could see with your naked eye and tell you their stories; you’d always ask follow-up questions, which he loved because none of your other friends found astronomy to be at all interesting, and he could show off his wealth of knowledge on the topic.

Sirius subconsciously brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair. No, he thought, in fact, I’ve cut it quite a bit shorter since the last time I saw you. His hair had always been quite long, especially since he and you became friends back in 4th year. After you passed away - or, disappeared, Sirius supposed – he found it harder and harder to deal with especially when in battle, between needing it to be up elsewise it was in his face, or being easy to grab by enemies. He kept some length, but now the longest pieces came just below his chin.

“I don’t think so, darlin’. Must be thinking of someone else.” He tried to tease, but it came out pained.

Your eyes stayed on Sirius as you analysed him. “My mistake.” You whispered.

It grew incredibly awkward from there. No one knew what to say; you wouldn’t eat or make eye contact with anyone anymore and continued fiddling with your teacup.

“Well, why don’t we leave you to eat up, and you can rest some, hm?” Lily offered, looking around the room at the others. James immediately nodded his head in agreement, whilst you looked indifferent, and Sirius looked anything but pleased at the prospect of leaving the room you were currently situated in.

“Pads, why don’t you help me make something to eat for the rest of us, and we can come check back on Y/N a little later.” She offered.

Sirius kept his gaze on you; you seemed concerned, though he didn’t know what about – were you worried they’d stay? That they’d leave? Were you worried that they wouldn’t come back?

“Alright,” He offered Lily, “I’ll be back shortly, okay?” He added for your benefit. You looked up at that, appearing to analyze him as he moved to the door whilst keeping eye contact.

“Okay.” You whispered, and everyone shuffled out of the room.

“Fuck.” He breathed as the door clicked shut behind him.

The three friends moved back to the kitchen where Sirius did indeed help Lily make more sandwiches while James began to pace the kitchen behind them.

“Spit it out Prongs, we’ve not got all day.” He muttered, tired of his friend’s nervous ticks.

“Listen, mate,” James started awkwardly, “I just want you to be careful.”

Sirius looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, with Y/N.” He clarified, which for Sirius clarified absolutely nothing.

“What are you on about?”

“Okay.” James breathed. “Listen, I’m just worried - about all of us, okay? Vix included. I mean, she was as on deaths door the last I saw her and-”

“Yeah, and you fucking left her there.” Sirius spat quietly. James’s face pained considerably, the guilt and memories clear on his face. It wasn’t fair of Sirius, he knew that. You made that choice for the both of them; he saw James’ memory of that moment with his own eyes - hell, he was there when a distraught James dropped into the safe house via portkey without you.

“I know, I...” James started but was interrupted this time by Lily.

“Sirius, we both know how stubborn our girl is. Nothing would have changed that outcome.” She offered him quietly.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted James.” Sirius bit out, knowing he was out of line but not willing to apologize for his words.

“We believed her to be dead for months, and then all of a sudden, she quite literally drops out of the fucking sky and remembers nothing. I’m not saying she’s chosen a side or anything, but I cannot help but be worried. This feels like a trap.”

James’ words hung in the air, Sirius never breaking eye contact with him. Sirius’ stares could be intense which was extremely intimidating. While James was undoubtedly uncomfortable, he needed Sirius to understand his concerns. You were a potential threat whether you were aware of it or not, and you were currently living in his house alongside his family.

“So, what? You think she’s been turned a spy? That she’s been sent to destroy us from the inside out? After all this time?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“I don’t know what to think, Pads. All I’m saying is that I’m scared and for all our sakes, I need you to be careful.”

“You want her out.” Sirius spat.

“No.” Lily and James chorused.

“Sirius no, I want my best friend here, with me where I can help her.." Lily started. "That’s not what this is about. Maybe I’m being naïve, but I don’t think she’s a danger to us. I want her here, Sirius. I need her here.”

James looked at his wife, disagreement written all over his face, but it was joined with acceptance and understanding. You were his friend too; he spent summers and full moons and missions with you, and he wouldn’t trade any of it. Well, he’d leave the missions happily behind but hoped one day that you could spend the first two together again. But he had a war to win and a family to protect, and right now, that had to come first.

The three friends were interrupted by a silvery whisp of a phoenix travelling into the room. The Phoenix whistled three times, waited four seconds and let out one long whistle before adding five short whistles and then disappeared.

“Dumbledore wants a meeting.” James translated.

“I bet it’s all about how your ex-partner is a big fat spy, Prongs.” Sirius muttered.

“Enough.” Lily remarked. “None of this right now, let’s just get her through tonight.”

Lily sat a few sandwiches onto the table.

“I just wish we could get her to a healer; see what could be causing the amnesia.” She murmured miserably.

“What do you think it could be?” James prodded.

 “I’m not sure. Many things can cause amnesia - malevolence or injury, perhaps. If it’s due to a malevolent curse or she’s been obliviated or imperio’d or something, maybe we can reverse it. If it’s an injury... well I’m not sure. Brains are tricky but maybe it can be healed, or I don’t know...” She trailed off frustrated. In her mind, it was either that her friend had been being cursed, or she sustained a brain injury that may not be able to be fixed.

“Maybe it’s something else, Red. We’ll find a way to fix this.” Sirius offered quietly, reaching for her hand across the table which she met. She smiled at him for a few moments.

“She really is the better part of you, isn’t she?” James interrupted.

“How do you mean?” He asked, moving his eyes and soft smile to James who he regarded a little cooler.

“Being all reasonable and optimistic. You’re giving Haz a run for his money being the most optimistic in the family, and he’s ignorant to anything that doesn’t fit in his mouth.” James clarified.

“Classy Prongs,” Sirius muttered. “Jokes at the expense of your own sprog when he’s not even awake to defend himself.”

The three friends chuckled, allowing some of the tension to dissipate from the room. Sirius would let it go for now, but he was less than pleased with his friend’s accusation. But James just wanted to protect his family, and that included Sirius and you, whether Sirius understood that or not.

Sirius rapped at the door gently. “It’s just me, erm, Sirius.” The door opened a crack, and he poked his head in. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head which he took as an invitation. He closed the door gently behind himself before he returned to the wingback chair he had settled in earlier. He had his own cup of tea and half a sandwich on a plate.

“Lily’s going to bring us some more tea later, maybe with some sleeping draught. Do you think you’ll need help sleeping tonight?” He said.

“You’re asking my permission?” You asked, which caused Sirius to nearly choke on his tea.

He looked at you incredulously for a moment. “Of course, I am. It’s your choice”

You seemed to think about that for a moment.  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea, to have an aid.” You admitted finally.

He considered this. “Very well, we’ll get that brewed for you.”

Sirius continued to watch you. You fiddled with the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing, which he recognized to be one of Lily’s. Lily, the beautiful Amazonian woman she was, meant the outfit was far too big for your smaller frame, especially with how much you had seemed to hollow out since Sirius last saw you. That’s okay, he reminded himself, we’ll get her all fixed up. He made a mental note to try to find what clothes of yours he still had at his and Moony’s flat. He suddenly felt simultaneously embarrassed and grateful he kept most of your old things, only donating what you hadn’t used in the past year and a half before you went missing. Remus had suggested placing some of his and Sirus’ favourites of yours in what muggles called Ziploc baggies which basically cast a stasis charm on it to keep it fresh. It may sound weird, but for Padfoot and Moony, both of them understood how comforting someone’s scent could be, and he was willing to look ‘weird’ for the sake of keeping what little of you that he could. He’d go shopping as well, to replace what he had given away. Maybe even get you a whole new wardrobe - when you were feeling better, you could come with him, pick out your own things.

Thinking about you feeling better, he looked up at you and noticed how not better you were. Your eyebrows were furrowed as if you were in pain, your knee was bouncing underneath you, and you kept looking at the doors.

“What is it, love? What’s wrong?” He asked, pushing his plate and cup aside and rising to kneel in front of you.

You looked at him, startled at first, before tears welled up in your eyes.

He remembered your flinch at Lily’s hand, so once he was on his knees, he slowly raised his hands and motioned for yours all while maintaining eye contact. You looked between his hands and his eyes for a moment before you lifted your hands into his. He wondered if you could hear his heartbeat as it bounced around in his chest. Your skin still felt cold – though he remembered that you always seemed to run colder than he did.

“What’s wrong love?” He asked again.

You began to cry in earnest. “I...” you choked out.

“You can tell me, it’s alright.” He offered.

“I have to pee!” You whispered through a sob. “I’m sorry.” You added. Sirius scrunched his eyebrows at you. Had this been anyone else, he would have started to laugh. But you seemed thoroughly distraught right now; your knee was still bouncing, and you looked so pained.

“Okay, that’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He offered. You made a disgruntled sound.

“Have you been waiting this whole time?” He asked. You cried some more and nodded.

“Oh love, okay. Come on.” He began to stand and used your hands that were still in his to pull you up. You stumbled a bit, but he steadied you.

You made your way to the bathroom, and he sat you on the toilet. “Do you, erm, are you okay to do...what you need to do, by yourself?” He asked awkwardly. You nodded quickly.

“Okay.” He smiled at you. “I’ll be just outside this door, okay?” He said as he backed out of the washroom. He closed the door, and he could hear you shuffling as you pulled down your trousers.

Merlin. She was nearly in a fit over asking to use the loo. Why would she wait to ask to go?

Sirius aggressively wiped his face, feeling tears burn his eyes. He heard the click of a door and moved his hands, expecting to see you but was surprised as Lily entered the bedroom.

“Hey. How’s she doing?” She asks as she peered around the room trying to spot her friend.

Sirius sighed. “She almost let her bladder burst waiting to be told she could use the loo.” He stated plainly.

“Oh Vix...” Lily tutted as she leaned against the back of the couch which faced the bathroom door. Sirius moved to join her.

“She’s open to a sleeping draught for tonight.” He offered. Lily just hummed.

“What are we doing to do, Pads?” She asked after some time.

“Be patient as hell, I guess.” He answered.

Lily chuckled and nudged Sirius with her shoulder. “Patience. A Sirius Black special.”

Lily watched as Sirius smirked and looked back at the bathroom door. Lily was right, of course; he was never very patient. He wasn’t the kind one of the group, he wasn’t always very understanding, and he surely wasn’t the patient one. He was loud, he was angry, he was crass, and he never slowed down, not for anyone. Except for her she remembered.

(Five summers ago)

The group of them had been getting ready to head to the Potter’s for a few weeks in the summer between 6th and 7th year; you had asked to be picked up last so that you didn’t hold everyone up. Sirius and James picked Lily up first, ever the timely one. They stopped at Remus’ next, who was mostly ready, but ran back inside four times as the others listed off things he may have forgotten. “Toothbrush?” Lily asked. “Fuck.” Remus muttered as he ran back inside the Lupin cottage. He emerged victorious with his toothbrush in hand.

“First thing we’re doing when we get to the manor is jumping in the lake. It’s too bloody hot today.” James muttered, which caused Remus to groan as he went back inside.

“Moooooonnyyyyyyy.” Sirius whined as his friend disappeared.

This happened two more times for his sandals a a pair of sunglasses which was met with a lot of whining from Sirius before they were ready to go.

Next stop was Peter’s house; they were met by Peter’s mother who showed them to his room which was nothing short of a disaster.

“Peter Pettigrew!” She shrilled at him from the door. “You are not to leave this room like this, do you hear me young man?!” She demanded as she started down the hallway.

“Great, now we have to wait for him to finish packing and clean his bloody room.” Sirius muttered as he kicked Peter’s school bag aside to sit on his desk chair.

“Wormy, you knew we were coming and what time. In fact, we’re late. How are you not ready?” Remus asked incredulously, trying to help Peter fold his clothes and put it in his bag as the kid continued running around his room throwing things on his bed which was deemed to be the ‘pack’ pile.

“’Cause he’s a wanker, that’s why.” Sirius muttered none-too-quietly from his moping spot in the desk chair which earned him a flick in the head from James.

“Now, now, Pads. We’ll make it home eventually.” He chuckled.

“Listen, I’m sweaty, I’ve been travelling around all of the UK picking up you knob heads and we still have one stop. I wanna gooooooooo.” He whined petulantly.

“Okay well you can whine all you want to Vixen since she’s our last stop then. Maybe she’ll feel bad for you.” Lily offered, zipping up Peter’s first of three bags he ended up leaving with.

Entirely too long later, they travelled to a spot close to your house and began the trek, the sun still high in the sky and accosting Sirius.

“Too bloody hot for this.” He muttered to himself as he knocked a little impolitely on your door. A few moments later, a frazzled looking you swung the door open and looked at your five friends.

“Oh God, here we go.” Lily muttered as she was sure Sirius’ whining was going to continue at the lack of a packed bag in your hand. She was completely astounded however when he rushed inside and shut the door behind him, leaving his four other friends outside. The said friends shared a bemused look before leaning their ears against the door.

“What’s the matter?” Sirius asked you gently. They heard a small sniffle.

“I’m sorry Siri. I’m not ready. I slept through my alarms and then I had to do laundry and the washing machine is giving me problems and my dad is away for work so I had to make sure everything was set up because the cats will be alone for the rest of the week and I’m not ready and I’m sorry.” You finished taking a long breath which sounded like it was close to becoming a sob.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Not a problem at all love, come on. Let’s get you packed up. We’ve got time.” Sirius could be heard saying before your sets of footsteps moved further into the house.

“‘We’ve got time’ he says.” Peter muttered, mimicking his friend as he kicked a pebble.

“There’s always time for Vix, Wormy. You know this.” James said as he winked at Peter and slung his arm over Lily.

(Present)

Lily and Sirius heard water running and knew you were finished. They waited for a few moments but when you never exited the bathroom, they shared a quick glance.

Sirius moved up to the door and gently knocked. “You okay?” As he waited for a response, he made eye contact with Lily.

“Yeah.” You answered through the door.

“Are you done?”

You were silent for a moment before you answered, “yes.”

Lily and Sirius looked at each other again for a moment. “I’m gonna open the door then, alright?” He didn’t receive an answer, so opened the door slowly.

You were leaning your weight against the bathroom sink and had your arms wrapped around yourself protectively.

“Feel better?” Sirius asked gently, offering you his hand.

You looked from his hand to his eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” You said as gently took his hand. He placed your arm in his and helped you towards the bed on the other side of the room.

“No need to thank me, love.” He offered as he helped you up onto the bed. It seemed to be a little too high for you, and Sirius made a note to put a step stool here for you tomorrow.

“Y/N, the bathroom is there for you whenever. No one else will use it. If you ever need help, you can let me know, okay?” Lily offered.

“Anything,” Sirius added solemnly, lifting the duvet for you to climb in under. “You can ask for anything, okay?”

You fiddled with the duvet and quilt after it was set on top of your lap.

“Is there anything you can think of now that you want or need?” He asked, ducking his head to try to look into your eyes.

You searched his eyes, the silver gaze so familiar against his black hair.

Sirius was about to give up and look to Lily when you finally answered. “I don’t think so.”

He smiled gently at you. “That’s alright. I’ll think of lots of things for you.”

“I’m sure Pads already has a list compiled.” Lily snorted from the end of the bed.

“As a matter of fact, my dear Red, I do.” He smirked at her as he began tidying up the room.

“She’ll need some clothes...” Lily started.

“Already on it. And we’re gonna get a stool so she doesn’t have to haul herself up into that tall ass bed. We’ll get her the shampoo she likes; we can’t let those locks suffer.” He added with a wink in your direction.

Lily took the dishes Sirius had collected and brought them to the kitchen where she began the tea just as Remus came back in through the front door with a box in his hands.

“This is about two weeks of dreamless sleep if she needs one every night. I can get more if she needs it.” He said as he placed the box on the kitchen table.

“Thank you, Rem, I’m sure this will be a great help.” She smiled at her friend before kissing his cheek.

“How’s he holding up?” He asked. She knew he was worried about his roommate.

Sirius’ feelings for you have never been quiet nor simple. In fairness to her friend, he had always lived with his heart on his sleeve; his feelings written all over his face. His love for you had always been palpable. They thought they were going to lose him when they lost you, and in some ways, they did. They lost the slightly gentler side of Sirius, the side that would give pause when his friends needed it, who tried to see the good in everybody first. 

His better half was back, but not really. Sirius wasn’t usually able to live by halves and they wondered how this would play out while they waited for you to remember something, anything.

“He’s hanging in there. He’s been really strong for her.” She answered gently as the tea pot started to whistle. Remus hummed in acknowledgment.

“She always was the strong one for us, when it mattered most. Seems fitting he returns the favour.” He admitted.

The sleeping draught tea made, Lily re-entered the bedroom with Remus where they found Sirius setting up the couch with a pillow and some blankets.

“Having yourself a slumber party here, Pads?” Remus asked lightly.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay here for tonight, keep our guest company. Try not to miss me too much, alright Moony?” He offered cajolingly, but Remus and Lily knew; he wouldn’t be leaving your side any time soon, not unless you asked him to.

Continue to part 2 here.

[kingkatsuki]

— when it’s raining outside

Masterlist.

I know it’s been a while, but I’m falling back in love with this Bakugou specifically.

Warnings: none.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Regardless of Pro-Hero Dynamight being one of the most successful fire quirk users in Japan, his agency isn’t exempt from Health and Safety. Some may argue that his team are far more strict compared to the likes of Shouto’s building which is only a few blocks away, and it’s definitely not because the Number Two Hero almost set fire to an entire floor when testing out new grenade designs.

But since that incident, there have been consistent fire drills weekly to ensure that the building and its staff are protected. Along with new fire safety robots that have been deployed to ensure that each individual makes it out safely.

“Another dumb fuckin’ tick box exercise.” Bakugou would always say, and he was probably right. The Pro-Hero alone could probably rescue each person trapped inside the building if something did happen, but it’s always good to be precautious right?

Or so you would say, until the fire alarms were blaring on a particularly bleary Monday while you were trying to unjam the photocopier. Groaning at the abrasive noise as you debated running back to your desk for your coat (and coffee) before being forced out of the warmth of the agency into the torrential downpour outside.

“Do not panic! We are here for your safety.” You scrunched your nose at the voice that was arguably worse than the alarm as you turned to face the fire Marshall robots which were now skimming the floor. The red flashing lights swirling angrily as the computerised smile on the machine that was surely there to calm you did the exact opposite.

“Stop. In case of emergency do not take the elevator.” The robot continued to blare. The designated fire drills always happened on a Friday afternoon (conveniently when Dynamight left for his evening patrol), so you wondered whether this may be a real incident as you made your way towards the stairs.

You had further to go compared to anyone else, working on the top floor alone with Dynamight so the lower you descended you began to see other employees— some lucky enough to be carrying coats and umbrellas as you followed them further. The noise from the alarm echoed in the hall as it mixed with the chatter, wondering what had happened and if they were safe. But at that moment you were more irritated that you’d be going outside in nothing but a thin cotton shirt and trousers.

The cold was bitter as you finally made it to the bottom floor of the sky scraper, thankful you wouldn’t have to ascend them after as you stepped into the heavy rain. Wrapping your arms around yourself to try and provide some comfort as you tried to look for any space under the shelter surrounding the building. The majority which was already taken by the employees that worked on the lower floors, huddled together and squeezed under umbrellas to shield themselves from the wet. Although, there were plenty like you who had not been fortunate enough to grab something on their way down and were just as exposed to the elements.

Resigning to defeat you huddled as close to a neighbouring building as you could, thankful it at least shielded you enough from the wild tunnel Dynamight’s Agency created to prevent being pelted with rain.

But it was still freezing.

Shimmying from toe to toe as you tried to keep yourself warm, watching as Backdraft turned up with the local fire service to scout the building.

“What’s goin’ on?” You heard a voice behind you as you turned to face your boss standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a black hoodie pulled over his messy blond spikes.

“Shouldn’t you be saving us from the fire?” You laughed.

“Shut up, dumbass.” He scoffed, before his voice softened, “Where’s your coat?”

“In there.” You nodded towards his agency as he shook his head.

“Why didn’t you grab it?”

“Those stupid robots wouldn’t let me,” You pouted, now so wet you could no longer feel the rain dampening your skin.

Bakugou’s lip curled into the faintest hint of a smile at this, unbothered about the rain as he dumped his gym bag to the ground in favour of reaching back to tug his hoodie up and over his head. The movement pulled his black shirt up along with it, and you shamelessly ogled the exposed skin as you followed the wispy hairs of his happy trail disappear beneath black sweatpants. The hem of his boxers peeking out from under them as you felt a heat rise to your cheeks and flurry through you all the way down between your thighs.

Turning your head just in time as he pulled his shirt back down over his stomach before holding the hoodie out to you, pushing it into your side.

“What are you doing?” You looked down at the hoodie before glancing up at him.

“Put it on.” He replied bluntly.

“But you’ll get wet—”

“Put it on.” He ignored your objection, reaching up to ruffle his messy hair as the rain now began to dampen it.

“Thank you.” You murmured, instantly feeling the relief as you tugged it over your head.

The heat that radiated from Bakugou’s body now encapsulating you as you pulled your arms through the sleeves, burying your nose in the fabric as you inhaled the scent of him. A mixture of sweat and cologne as you almost forgot that you were standing outside in the pouring rain. No longer in a rush to get back inside the warm building as you let yourself be surrounded by him.

“Is it a drill?” You asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to begin calling a number.

“No idea.” He rasped while holding it up to his ear.

You tried to listen in on the conversation but the mixture of wind, chatter and the alarms in the distance made it difficult to decipher what was being said on the other line.

“It’s a false alarm.” Bakugou scoffed as he hung up, “Someone triggered the alarm in the canteen.”

“See what happens when you’re not around,” You smiled to yourself as Bakugou pushed his wet spikes back, exposing his forehead as he smirked back, “All hell breaks loose.”

“Yeah, can’t leave you alone for five fuckin’ minutes, can I?” He scoffed.

When you were finally let back inside the building, you offered to take Bakugou’s hoodie home to wash it before giving it back to him but he wouldn’t allow it. Telling you it was just an old hoodie and it didn’t matter— but the real reason he wanted to take it back like it was because after wearing it outside the scent of your perfume still lingered on the fabric.

[wordsbyrian]

Divine - Kelley O'Hara x Reader

Summary: Request was along the lines of Kelley x Reader where R is like divinely attractive. like the sun always hits her perfectly and everybody is in love with her. maybe she catches her teammates watching edits of her?

A/N: it was a request and then it was on the poll from ages ago and then i told @wosobullshit that i would write it so yeah. ta-da!

No one on the team is really sure how you do it.

It seemed like no matter what was going on around you, you managed to look perfect at all times, at least in your girlfriend’s opinion.

Doesn’t matter if you just finished running the beep test, or played a full 90 in a torrential downpour, or had just rolled out of bed for one reason or another. You always looked like you just stepped out of the pages of a sports magazine, even when you were forced to wear the hideous Portland jerseys.

The thing is, your girlfriend, Kelley, can’t even explain it but she’s more than willing to stand and stare and enjoy the view.

Currently, she and the rest of the team are watching as you help some of the trainers set up the cones for a drill and for some reason it seems as though no matter how you turned, you seemed to catch the light perfectly.

“Christ,” Sonny says, whistling lowly, “the fans might be right about Y/N.”

Kelley’s quick to reach out and swat at her young friend, “Hands off Sonnett.”

“I’m just looking.”

“No looking either!”

Unfortunately for Kelley (and the rest of the team) her voice travels just enough to be heard by the coaching staff, who are quick to rush them onto the field to get practice started.

Throughout practice, you do feel more eyes on you then normal but you brush it off as the training staff wanting to keep an extra close eye on you since you were still bouncing back from an injury. Of course, you noticed Kelley staring but that isn’t really anything new as you catch her staring at all hours of the day.

There’s also the cameras that feel like they're constantly on you. Which is weird to you but you push through and get on with the drills.

That afternoon when everyone has been loaded back onto the bus and you’re on your way back to the hotel, you notice the eyes on you again and you’re also pretty sure you hear someone whispering about the vein popping out on your forehead but you’re too busy arguing with Crystal to care.

“No, Y/N/N, there’s no way that you’re trying to tell me that ‘Hit Em Up’ is a better diss track than ‘No Vaseline,’” Crystal says, “‘No Vaseline’ is the diss track.”

A very important topic of conversation.

You shake your head fiercely before speaking, “Pac started the song by saying and I quote ‘that’s why i fucked your bitch you fat motherfucker’ then ended it by making fun of Prodigy for having Sickle Cell. Cube didn’t say anything that brutal.”

“Cube also didn’t need 3 of his friends to back him up in his beef,” Crys shoots back.

“He was beefing with the dudes that helped make him famous! HE DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS LEFT TO BACK HIM UP!”

The two of you have been having this argument on and off for weeks. Always over the same two songs and there is no doubt in your mind that your teammates are sick of hearing it. Especially the ones that have to put with you in POrtland and with the national team.

“Helped make him famous?!”

“Yes!”

“Seriously?!”

“Yes!”

The two of you are both leaning across the aisle, glaring at each other at this point, faces so close together that anyone else would’ve found it uncomfortable but the two of you had grown up together and as such were unfazed by it.

Out of the corner of your eye, before you or Crystal could continue, you noticed Kelley and Sonnett sitting in the back row glancing at a phone, then back at you, then back to the phone before giggling.

“I’ll get back to you in a second, Dunny, this isn’t over,” you say before getting up and heading towards your girlfriend.

It's not that hard for her to spot you coming, being in a confined space and all. The whole tall and tattooed thing you have going isn’t really beneficial to sneaking up on people either. BUt your height is currently working in your favor because it means you can easily see the way both Kelley and Emily scramble to hide the phone (and its screen) from your view.

“Hi, baby,” Kelley says when you reach them and drop into the seat across from them.

“Yeah, ‘hi baby’” Sonny mimics, earning an elbow to the gut from her fellow Georgian.

“That’s not suspicious at all,” you mumble under your breath. “Anyway, I was wondering if the two of you troublemakers made any plans for tomorrow or if I’ll actually be able to hang out with my girlfriend at some point this camp.”

“You can have her, Y/N/N, I’ve been trying to get rid of her days,” Emily jokes.

Laughing at the offended look on Kelley’s face, you press a kiss to the side of her head before heading back to argue with Crystal.

The next day, you and Kelley are basically attached at the hip, or more accurately, the hand with the way she’s been dragging you from place to place the entire time.

And now after much convincing (read: whining) from you, you’ve finally got her to agree that a nap is a good use of your afternoon.

There’s only one issue…

“Babe, the key to a successful nap is having your eyes closed.”

“My eyes are closed.”

“They aren’t,” you say.

“How do you know my eyes aren’t closed? You’d have to have your eyes open to tell.”

“I can tell,” you say, still not opening your eyes, “because I can always tell when you’re looking at me. Even in the world’s most crowded room, the feeling of your eyes on me is unlike any other. So close them so I can sleep.”

A soft kiss is placed on the underside of your chin and there’s a bit of shuffling as Kelley tries to get comfortable. You let her squirm for about 30 seconds before you tug her firmly against you.

“Yea that’s enough of that,” you say. “And for love of God, stop staring at me.”

“You say the sweetest things to me when you’re tired.”

“Mhmm, love you too. It’s time to go night-night now.”

“That’s the tone you use with Charlie,” Kelley’s voice is indignant.

“Shhh, it’s time to go night-night.”

There’s some grumbling from the older woman but you ignore her in favor of going to sleep.

When you wake up from your nap, Kelley is nowhere to be found which isn’t very surprising. Luckily you know exactly where to find her or so you thought.

The walk to Sonny and lIndsey’s room is a quick one but you get turned away at the door by LIndsey who tells you that neither Frat Daddy is inside. She tells you that they said something about the social media team but you instantly decide you want nothing to do with that.

So instead you head off to find your best friend.

Marcel.

But to find him you need to find his mother, an easy task especially when all you have to do is follow the music. Which leads you down the hallway to the room where the PTs are set up.

Walking in, you’re not surprised to see Crystal on one of the tables getting a massage, while Lynn plays with Marcel on the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Uncle sitting on the other table getting her hands looked at, but you don’t pay any attention to that. Instead you walk in and pick your little homie up.

“Hey,” Lynn calls out.

“Sorry Lynnie,” you say, “Marcel and I have some very important business to discuss.”

“He’s one!”

“Gracie’s corner is incredibly serious stuff, Williams. Crys, I’ll come find you when he needs a diaper change.”

You hear small chuckles from Lyss and the trainers but you’re mostly focused on the way Crystal grumbles her breath while shoo-ing you out of the room.

As you leave you can just mak e out the voice of one of the trainers saying, "It's like she doesn't even know she's doing it."

Whatever that means.

You spend the next 30 or so minutes wandering around the hotel, alternating between letting the toddler run ahead of you and carrying him while he mushes his fingers against your face, babbling on about whatever 1 year olds like. You make sure to respond when he pauses, wow-ing or asking him simple questions to encourage him to continue.

Eventually, the two of you make your way down to the conference room that’s been converted to a common area for the team.

The amount of heads that immediately turn to face you makes you slightly nervous and the nerves only worsen when you see Kelley and Sonnett once again shoving their phones behind their backs.

Rolling your eyes, you go and ploop yourself and Marcel down next to Charlie, finding the company of the two toddlers more entertaining than that of your teammates. 

Unnoticed by you though, both of the kids' mothers as well as a member of the social media team taking photos of the three of you. There’s also a few unheard comments directed at Kelley that may or may not have something to do with baby fever.

Life at camp continues in the same manner for the next few days with you going about your business while your girlfriend, her goofball friend, and the social media team continue to act strangely.

It all comes to a head one day after training.

The media manages to corner you before you get on the bus and they ask you to react to a few tiktoks that fans have made about you.

It takes you all of 3 seconds before you realize what you’re watching.

“Are all of these thirst edits of me,” you gasp, not removing your gaze from the screen. “This one is captioned: I’d let Y/N Y/L/N tie me. NEVERMIND!”

You manage to get through the next 5 minutes.

You stutter and blush and sweat your way through all 5 but you manage to make it through.

Not all the videos are as sexual as the first one, some feature clips of you with Marcel and Charlie but it still makes you very very uncomfy.

When you get on the bus, you’re greeted by the sight of most of the team grinning at you like maniacs, clearly already knowing what just happened.

“Who’s idea was that,” you ask, still standing up front.

No one speaks, so you groan before beginning to trudge your way to your normal seat across from Crystal.

On your way you notice the way both Kelley and Sonny can’t seem to hold back their giggles, so you pass your normal seat and go and sit with them instead.

“The two of you aren’t nearly as funny as you seem to think you are,” you say, dropping into Kelley’s lap.

“But we really are,” Sonnet laughs while poking you in the back.

“Yea it’s not our fault that the entire internet thinks you’re divine. I’m not going to be the one who argues with them.” Kelley leans up to press a kiss to your cheek but pouts when you lean away then stand up. “I love you,” she tries.

“Love you too.”

[starlightsuffered]

NEW SMUT FIC WHEN???

A/N - alright calm down love 😅

Blow Job in the Shower

Info - praise kink, friends with benefits, small injury, oral (male receiving), masturbating, leg humping, fluff, mention of ass eating

Timothée and I fell into my apartment, shaking water like wet dogs. His curls were completely flat. The rain had been torrential.

“You might as well stay the night,” I panted. “You can’t go out in that again.”

“Yeah, I think I will thanks,” Timothée nodded.

“I’m freezing,” I shivered.

“Me too, fuck,” I moaned.

We both looked at one another for a second, and then we were racing. We were diving towards the single shower in the place. We craved the hot water.

“I’m the one who pays the rent,” I squealed.

“Yeah, but you’re also the one who suggested a picnic in the park when there was a thunderstorm forecast,” he rebutted.

“Look,” I said, holding him at arms length. I looked him up and down. I didn’t know how he could be this attractive when he looked like a drowned kitten.

“We’ve both seen each other… you know….”

“Naked?” Timothée asked with a cocked eyebrow. I felt a blush heat my cheeks. We’d been doing this friends with benefits thing for over a year but he still managed to fluster me with it. I wondered if it meant that deeper feelings were at play. It had started because we were both lonely and going through a major dry spell. It had gotten a lot more intimate as of late though, and I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Yes,” I said, turning from his piercing gaze.

“So what’s your point, because I’m about to turn into a Chalametcicle,” he said through chattering teeth.

“We shower together, so we can-“

“Absolutely,” Timothée agreed before I could speak further. I was surprised he didn’t even stop to consider it.

By the time I calmed my nerves he already had the shower running and was undressed. He disappeared behind the curtain.

I stripped off my sodden clothing. I got in the shower and saw Timmy with his eyes closed, a blissed out expression on his face. I was still cold from the lack of water touching me.

“I d-don’t know if it’s big enough for the two of us,” I shivered.

“It is if we stand closer, c’mere,” he opened his arms. I moved slowly, unsure if he meant what I thought he did. He pulled me the rest of the way into a hug. I was against his soft skin.

We stood in the downpour of steaming water. My skin tingled as we heated up. I had goosebumps for other reasons though. I could hear his heartbeat. I snuggled closer to him, taking what I could while I could.

He let me go once we were both newly wet with warm water. He turned to grab the soap.

“You just helped me knock something off my bucket list,” I admitted, my skin hot with embarrassment.

“Yeah?” He asked. He slathered shampoo onto his hair. I wished so badly I could rub it in for him and wash it out. His hair was curlier than mine and I didn’t know if it needed special care. He didn’t seem to mind my products though.

“Uh huh, always wanted to hug someone in a shower,” I admitted. I turned away so I wouldn’t see the face he made. I was too scared with how vulnerable I was being.

I began to wash my hair as well. We were silent for a while, taking turns in the steam.

“Y/n, was there anything else you’ve always wanted to do?” He asked cheekily. I wondered if he was thinking the same naughty things I was. I’d seen his body plenty of times but for some reason, this whole shower, I’d avoided looking down.

“Like on your bucket list?” He continued when I was quiet.

“Yes,” I murmured.

“Well, what is it?” He asked. “Come on speak up, don’t just-“

I grabbed his face and kissed him. We were gasping into one another’s mouthes under the sprinkle. I could taste his tongue and I moved my arms so they were around his neck. His hands were on my waist.

“This okay?” I asked as I kissed down his jaw and neck.

“Uh huh,” he nodded, nearly breathless. I pressed my lips to his shoulders and then his pecs. I moved down and down. His nipples were adored, his torso, his hip bones and finally I was mouthing over his happy trail.

“Ahhh fuck me,” he gasped.

“I’ve always wanted to suck someone off in the shower,” I said, looking up at Timothée with gleaming eyes.

“Fucking hell, y/n,” he exclaimed. I grinned at him as I began to stroke him. He was immediately hardening. I loved how easily he would stiffen for me. He always told me it was so intense with me.

“I fucking love your cock,” I moaned. “I love your body.”

I slurped his dick into my mouth. I bobbed down until my nose nuzzled his bush. I began to move and gag on his cock.

“Oh f-fuck, oh fucking fuck,” he babbled. He shakily lifted a hand to steady himself on the wall. I looked up at him, and watched the water sluice down his perfect body.

“You’re so pretty when you’re like this,” he cried out. “You do so good for me. You suck cock like a fucking machine. Holy shit, oh my FUCK!”

I reached down and began to fondle my clit. Timothée’s eyes went as wide as saucers. He was panting. I watched his stomach clench and unclench. He always went wild for head. He was a mess.

“That’s it, yes, make yourself feel good. Oh fuck you are the hottest thing ever. How are you like this!” He was moaning and his knees were buckling.

The water was washing the drooling from my chin. He was big and I was trying my best to worship him. I let my other hand slip around to his lovely ass and push him further down my throat.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he agreed. He looked almost apologetic with how he was snapping his hips forward. His hand went to the back of my head. He was quivering, his large eyes worshiping my form.

“S-sorry,” he croaked as he pushed my head so I sucked him deeper. “C-can’t help it. It feels so GOOD! Your wet, warm, snug mouth. Oh fuck, oh fuuuuuck.”

His other hand clumsily grabbed the shower curtain. I was now humping his leg, pressing my sensitive parts against it, and he was thrusting his dick as far down my willing throat as possible.

“Fuck, thank you, thank you, fuck you’re a miracle. You’re a fucking perfect, fucking, cock sucker! Oh shit, I don’t even deserve you.”

The praise was getting me even more needy. My clit was swollen and throbbing. He was totally lost to the feeling of the blow job, his head thrown back in bliss.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close. You gonna swallow? You know I love when you swallow and you always do. Fuck, I know you will, you’re so good to me.”

“Mmhmmm,” I let him know I was more than willing to gulp down all he had.

“I’m gonna, ohh, stunning girl, I’m gonna fucking bust,” he whimpered.

It all happened so fast. His first spurt had shot into my mouth, and he’d made an intense grunt of pleasure, when the shower curtain rod came crashing down. He been pulling too hard in his bliss. He slipped forward. I was knocked on my ass and he fell ontop of me. He was still cumming, unable to stop the emissions now. The rod clattered onto the floor. The warm spray still splattered onto our backs. He was over top of me groaning. His cock was trapped between us and I felt one final splurt of cum.

“Oh shit, shit fuck, are you okay?” He asked me.

“I’m fine, yeah, a bit taken off guard,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry,” he said and pushed wet tendrils out of my face. He was staring into my eyes in a way he never had before.

“I could have really hurt you y/n, and you were just trying to give me pleasure,” he said in a soft voice.

“I-I well yeah, but it’s not a big deal,” I chuckled awkwardly.

“I think it is,” Timothée said, and cupped my face.

“Oh, well….” I trailed off. I didn’t know why he didn’t get up. There was likely water on the floor and he was taller than me and couldn’t be comfortable in this position.

“I don’t think I want to be friends with benefits anymore,” he whispered.

“What? What why? Is it because I didn’t swallow? I promise next time I will-“

“No,” Timmy said solemnly. “Because I want to be more than that.”

“L-like something Romantic?” I hedged.

“Yeah,” he smiled sweetly. “Something like that. Would you like that?”

“Are you fucking me with me?” I beamed. “I thought you’d never ask. I have wanted that for so long.”

I realised I had barely even admitted that to myself. I’d been so scared of being the first one to speak up. It was true though.

“You promise I didn’t hurt you?” He asked as he got up. I turned the water off and carefully stepped out of the shower.

“My ass might be a little bruised,” I shrugged. The pain in my bum was nothing compared to the joy I had at finally being something serious with Timothée.

“Hmmm,” he purred and pulled me to him, gently holding an ass cheek. “Nothing a little ass eating can’t fix I’m sure.”

“I’m sure too,” I giggled.

“Then let’s get ourselves to that bedroom and fuck as a couple yeah?” He asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” I grinned.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[macfrog]

greetings from austin, tx cowboy like me chapter one

alright hwfg. first part of a dbf!joel series i'm gonna be working on. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍 please feel free to send in any requests or ideas, i'm constantly writing this so would love to know your thoughts!!!! love u all thank u sm for being the best

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you return to austin after graduating to find everything as it always was. well, most things...

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), little bit of alcohol consumption, and lotsa flirtin and allusions to...something more

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.” He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think. “Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips. “Wasn’t starin’.” “No?”

Summer. Texan summer. One of the few things drawing you back halfway across the country to your hometown: bright, sunny, so hot the car bonnets burn your fingertips. It had become a running joke between you and your dad: he’d send a picture of Austin’s scorching sunshine, and you’d reply a picture of New York’s grey skies.

You were ready to come back home.

That is, until your flight landed onto saturated wet tarmac, during the rainiest month of the year. It hasn’t let up in the five days since.

You stumble off the bus into a torrential downpour and throw your hood back up, but it’s no use. By the time you arrive at work, your clothes are soaked through, your hair is plastered to your shoulders, and your mood is worse than ever.

Sal hands you a towel from the back when you walk into the office, but not before giving a hearty laugh from his desk.

“You oughta be gettin’ yourself a car, anyway, lady. Now that you’re back home.”

You give him as sincere a smile as your cheeks will allow. He’s your boss, sure, but he’s also a buddy of your dad’s. Gave you a part-time job for some extra cash when you were still at school, and has taken you back on now you’ve graduated. It’s in your best interests to keep him sweet.

The hardware store is the same as it always was. A little dim, a little dusty; same old tools and same old customers, but homely. You get to work unpacking this morning’s delivery, hauling boxes off of the trolley and filling the shelves. The day passes quickly enough, and you’re folding up empty cardboard boxes to waste the last half hour of your shift when a voice hums from behind you.

“Well, hello, darlin’.”

You stand up straight and spin around to find Joel Miller before you, trademark flannel and subtle-but-still-there smile on.

“Hey, stranger,” you reply, smiling back, before he opens his arms and pulls you in for a bear hug.

Joel Miller. Same as always: tall, rugged, handsome, dark hair and beard singed with grey, warm and sweet-smelling, grumbling, mumbling Joel. His chin rests on top of your head for a second before you pull away, and he looks you up and down.

“Been meaning to come over to see you since you got back, your dad said you were pretty busy unpackin’. Thought I’d give you a few days. Everything alright?”

“All good,” you reply with a nod. “I accumulated a lot of crap in New York.”

He smirks, shoulders jerking a little with a laugh. “Didn’t realise you’d gotten your job back in here,” he looks around, “you likin’ it?”

You shrug. “It’s money. And I know how things are run. Sal’s a good guy.”

Joel nods. “When do you get off?”

You glance down at your watch. “Five minutes.”

“You want a ride home?”

You take a deep breath and breathe out a, “Yes, please,” with a sigh. It’s been a long, damp day.

“I’ll just go grab these,” he holds up two boxes of nails, “meet you outside when you’re done, kid.”

He brushes past your shoulder heavily as he passes, something he always used to do when you were younger. You snort when he mutters, “My bad.”

Joel Miller and your dad have been best buds since, like, the eighties. Your dad has a few years on Joel, but they’re as close as can be. Grew up on the same street, saw each other through girlfriends, marriage, children, divorce. Never one without the other, all that.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah – four years your junior – is a freshman out west, somewhere in California. Another of the reasons you thought it was time to come home: your dad and Joel must feel pretty lonely having both of you gone.

When you’ve grabbed your hoodie and bag and made your way back out front, Joel’s being served by Anna, a girl you went to school with. She stayed here in Austin, has some side hustle selling makeup and perfume. She flutters her eyelashes at Joel as she rings him up. You cringe as you find place at his side.

“Ready?” he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod.

“How’s things, anyways, Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, even as he’s turning to leave.

“Uh, good, thanks. Good luck with the…makeup.” Then he gives a low grunt and makes for the door.

“Not much of a talker,” you mutter to Anna, and flatten your lips against one another in the form of a goodbye.

Joel’s sat out front in his truck, looking down the receipt.

“Girl charged me for three boxes. If she wasn’t talkin’ so damn much about her perfumes…”

You pull your seatbelt over your shoulder. “Why don’t you go back in there and get your money back?”

“What, and subject myself to her battin’ eyelashes again? Almost blew me off my feet.”

Your head falls back against the headrest with laughter. “You know, you were the first thing she asked me about on my first shift back.”

“I bet I was, baby,” he replies, switching the ignition on and reaching an arm behind your seat as he reverses back.

You spend most of the drive home catching up, telling him about New York and listening to what antics he and your dad have gotten up to since your last visit home. It’s easy talking to Joel, easier than with your dad. He hums and grunts, lets you ramble, tells you what he thinks, then the pair of you fall back into comfortable silence until the next conversation sparks. No judgement, no lectures. Just Joel.

When you pull up in your drive, Joel casts you a meaningful look and says, “He’s really missed you, y’know. We both have.”

“You both have?”

“Sure. Gets quiet ‘round here at times. And with Sarah gone…It’ll be real nice to have you back again.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes, Miller.”

“Holdin’ you to it.”

“Joel? Hey, buddy.” Your dad’s voice breaks apart your conversation and you both turn to see him approaching from the garage. “Hi, kiddo.”

“Hey. Joel came in to get some stuff, gave me a ride home.” You hop out of the truck, and Joel wanders round to meet you.

“Well, thanks, man. You say thank you?” he asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joel, muttering a thank you like some little kid. He shakes his head softly in return, giving you a look that your dad misses, but you understand.

“C’mon inside, I was just tidying up. Stayin’ for dinner, Joel? I bet this girl’s been chewing your ear off about NYC…” Your dad’s voice fades away as he wanders back into the garage, and you and Joel begin to follow.

“Ain’t no need to thank me,” he whispers, leaning into your space.

You nod appreciatively. “My presence is thanks enough, I know.”

He nudges you toward the house.

Your dad orders in pizza and you set the table while he and Joel sit to discuss a potential new client. Joel sits at the edge of the table, turned outward to face the sliding doors, elbow hooked over the back of his chair. As you maneuver around them, placing mats down, you can’t help but note how fucking good he looks.

Tousled hair, unshaven beard. A broadness that even his own shirt can barely hold in; from where you’re standing, you can see where his neck meets his toned shoulders, skin tanned from the sun and the tiniest burst of chest hair over his collar…

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.”

He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think.

“Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Wasn’t starin’.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh. You got a stain on your shirt.”

His brows furrow and his head instantly snaps down to his chest. “Where?”

You snort, wandering over to put his plate on the mat. “My bad,” you whisper, leaning over, “must’ve been the light.”

Joel’s breath wavers only for a second, before your dad re-enters the room and he’s forced to compose himself.

“Alright, let’s see…Pepperoni, bleh, keep that one on that side of the table, please, and plain cheese over here.”

“See you haven’t improved Dad’s taste in pizza,” you say to Joel as you pull your chair out beside his and sit down, cross-legged.

“He – he’s immune to change,” he replies, then, only once he’s regained composure, adds, “or improvement of any kind.”

“Hey,” your dad protests, lifting a slice. “Cool it on the insults, here. You’ve been back six days,” he points a greasy finger at you, then steers it in Joel’s direction, “and you’re the one who turned down Lois last month. Talk about improvement, she could turn your life around, son.”

“Who the hell is Lois?” you ask, mouthful of pizza, aiming for chill, but coming across overly interested.

Joel shakes his head, only looking at you briefly from the corners of his eyes. “Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire. And I didn’t turn her down.”

“She asked you out?” Your knee brushes against his waist. He feels it; you know from the way his body tenses.

“She…said she’d like to go for a drink, sometime. I said yeah, maybe…some time.”

“Ouch. Poor Lois.”

He turns to face you now. “Don’t give me the same spiel your dad did, alright? I can decide for myself when I’m ready to be…datin’.”

“Wouldn’t he be nice with a receptionist from a plant hire on his arm?” Your dad fades into the background as you and Joel back-and-forth.

“If you don’t think you turned her down, why say you’re not ready to be dating?”

“Ha! See, my little girl,” Dad waves his slice of pizza around, “she got a degree, Joel. She’s smarter ‘n us. She’s got you on that one.”

“What is your degree in, again? Law?” Joel speaks through his teeth.

You beam back, happy to have riled him. “Film.”

“Film. My mistake. Must’ve felt like I was bein’ interrogated or som’.”

You decide to pull it back then. Enough discussing Joel’s love life – it doesn’t interest you much, not for the right reasons, anyway. The conversation shifts naturally to your degree, your graduation, and the year you spent living in the city afterward.

When most of the pizza is gone, the three of you sit idly chatting; the last Rangers game, the neighborhood barbecue coming up, the weather. Right as your dad voices concern about a job he has next week, his cell starts to ring in the living room.

As hasty and tactless as ever, he jumps up and almost knocks his chair flying. You and Joel laugh quietly as he bounds off in search for his phone.

You turn back to Joel, who’s playing with the label of his beer bottle.

“Hey.” You nudge him with your knee. He grunts in response. “Hey,” you say, clearer, this time pulling your legs up and over onto his lap. “Didn’t mean what I said about that Lois lady. I’m sure you had your reasons, and it’s none of my business. Or my dad’s.”

He stifles a laugh, sucking a breath in until his chest meets his chin. Then he lifts his head to look over to you. “Sorry I snapped. Wasn’t all serious, but I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m mad with you.”

“You can be, if you want.” You lean forward. “Just not for long, okay? It’d be a long summer with just my dad to hang with if Sarah’s gone and you ain’t talking to me.”

This time he laughs. For real. You mirror his swollen cheeks, glad to see you’ve amused him. He puts the bottle on the table and his hands fall to your ankles, where he gently rubs with his thumbs.

“When does she get home?” you ask him.

“Couple weeks. Still got finals and all that to worry about.”

You nod knowingly, muttering, “Rough.”

He gently lifts your legs from his lap and stands, towering over you, your chin inches away from his belt buckle as you look up at him. He doesn’t move, just brings a hand down to cup your jaw and tilt your head back ever so slightly with his thumb under your chin.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. You know Joel can, too. You clench between your legs, an ache forming there, and the only thought behind your eyes is him remedying it.

You bring your hands up to settle behind his thighs, trying desperately to send him a message through your doe eyes. Something in the way the corners of his mouth rise almost imperceptibly tells you he hears you loud and clear.

Your dad bursts back into the room like a bat out of hell, and the two of you spring apart.

“Supplier had some trouble with directions,” he mutters, tossing his cell onto the counter.

Joel grumbles in response, then, like nothing at all out of the ordinary just happened, begins gathering the bottles and gestures to you to grab the pizza boxes. You follow him over to the sink where you set the boxes down and he runs the bottles under the faucet, filling them up and pouring the dregs of beer down the drain.

Your dad’s busy clearing the placemats from the table, babbling to himself about work, when you feel Joel’s shoulder lean into yours.

“Trouble,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows in response.

“You,” he breathes, “are nothin’ but trouble.”

You smile back at him gleefully.

Trouble, indeed.

[dsudis]

Dreamling Bingo Fill: What Remains

Square/Prompt: D2, "Scars"

Title: What Remains

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dreamling

Additional Tags: Scars, Hand Injuries, Graphic Description of Wounds, Retired Dream, The Kindly Ones

Summary: Dream is content with his scars.

Dream woke to a springtime smell, bright and sharp in his nose, and opened his eyes to see that the marigolds in their windowsill pots had bloomed, orange and yellow and cheerful. The morning sun was shining on them, and Hob was already out of bed; the sounds of him puttering around the flat were faintly audible over the music that was always playing if Hob had no one to talk to.

He didn't recognize the music, though he knew that if he listened long enough, the name would come to him. It was something up-tempo and cheerful; Hob knew, too, that spring was here. Spring, and Sunday, which meant a changing of bandages.

Dream lay on his back and raised his right hand into the light, studying it in the glow of the sun. The scars that made up nearly the whole inner surface of his index finger and thumb had faded from red to a vibrant pink which he found he rather liked. Yesterday he and Hob had wandered about some botanical garden or other, looking for a flower to match the color, debating happily over fuchsias versus azaleas until they found that stand of calla lilies that were absolutely inarguably perfect.

The scar also trailed downward from his hand nearly to his elbow, with a few jagged branches curling around his forearm. These, too, had healed to sturdy scars; it was only the palm of his hand where a waterproof tan bandage still obscured the wound.

It might not be a wound any longer. Today was Sunday; today he would find out.

He lowered his right hand a bit, and raised his left to meet it, trying, as he often did, to recreate what he remembered of his last moments as—whatever he had been, before he became a human being whose identification bore the name Morris LeReve, which Hob found delightful and Dream found as good as any other name. He had no right to the one he could no longer even speak—not Dream, though Dream was the nearest approximation in English, the one Hob had latched onto after hearing his sister say it.

His sister had been beside him, before it happened. They had sat side by side in some desolate place, and she had been sad, and angry, and resigned.

He had only been tired, so tired that he could feel nothing else through it, smothering under the weight of what he had been, back then. He had not been able to feel sadness, or fear, or anything, but he had known that he was about to die. He had known how it would happen: he would take his sister's hand.

He had not known that when he took her hand, there would be a great flash of light, like lightning striking from the tip of her finger to his palm. He had not known that dying would make a hole in him, letting loose all of him that was too much, too heavy to bear, too vast to be held in a form that looked like his.

It had torn free of him in that instant, in that great flash of light, and gone away to someone else who could, thus far, bear it better. And he had been left with this form, and this ragged hole in himself, and—

He smiled, dropping his two hands to rest on his chest, and remembered how it had been, the beginning of his life as he knew it.

There was the flash of light, and the impossibly vast something rushing away from him, or he from it—for he was no longer in that desolate place when he could see again. He had blinked the afterimages from his eyes, had still heard the echoes of the explosion in his ears. He had been leaning against something, just barely sheltered from the torrential downpour that had arrived along with him.

He had looked down and seen his hand, his arm—raw from fingertip to elbow, torn open to reveal wet red insides. He had seen the blood vessels of his wrist pulsing nakedly among the shreds of muscle, miraculously unbroken but horrifically vulnerable. He had not known where or what he was, but he had known that he was hurt, even if he could not exactly feel any pain; he had begun to keen, a high helpless wordless sound, for he had not known what words he could possibly use in that moment.

Then the door had opened, and he had barely begun to fall through it before someone was kneeling beside him. All at once strong arms were cradling him, and he had looked up into a face he knew just as Hob said, "My friend, my friend, what has become of you?"

"My friend," he echoed back, his head lolling against Hob's shoulder as he realized he knew what these words meant, and how they applied to this man. Hob had been worried for him, the last time they met. "My friend, my friend—" and then the words came to him and he answered Hob's question. "Death became of me. I became this. Here."

"Not a bit dead," Hob had said. "Too warm and chatty to be dead," and then he hoisted Dream up and carried him inside.

He had bandaged Dream's arm, asking again and again if it hurt, but it didn't; eventually he had conceded that there didn't seem to be enough left of the ruined places to have nerves to hurt with, and he attended to other concerns instead.

It was only days later that Hob had suggested seeing a doctor about it, but Dream had refused. That had been after Dream had remembered where the townhouse was, and realized that the key in the pocket of his jeans opened its door, and discovered the cards and papers neatly arranged on the table which made him not only the discarded shell of an unfathomable being, but also a human being and citizen of the United Kingdom named Morris LeReve.

Hob called him Morrie sometimes; Dream faithfully pretended to be mildly annoyed by it, so that Hob would continue to find it funny and thus continue to call him by it, just now and again. Hob would stop, if he were actually upset by it, and if he knew that Dream actually liked it, he would scrupulously call Dream by that name and no other, but Dream liked the ordinary name his sister and Hob called him by well enough. He liked Morrie being a thing Hob said just sometimes, half jokingly.

Hob always listened when Dream was definite about something, as he had been about the fact that his hand and arm would heal in their own time. Hob had done all he could to help without forcing Dream to change his mind: he had bought a variety of salves for the wounds, and yards of gauze and tape to shroud them in, and he carefully examined and cleaned and re-anointed the whole length of the broken places. First each day, then every other day, and then every three, every five, as the bandages grew smaller and more and more scar tissue could be exposed to air and light. Every day, whether bandages were to be changed or not, Hob rubbed in a cream to soften the scars, and helped him to flex his fingers and hand and wrist, to keep them mobile.

Now the marigolds Hob had planted to make his own salve from were blooming, and they might never be needed for anything other than their bright lovely colors.

There was only one way to find out. Dream got out of bed and then spent a few moments carefully tidying the coverlet and putting the pillows neatly in place.

It was one of the things he had never needed to do in his old life, one of the thousand things Hob had taught him to do with his own hands now that he was human. He could use his right hand nearly as well as the left now, even if his index finger and thumb could not bend on their own or grip; it was mainly a matter of smoothing things into place, and that his right hand could do well enough.

When he was finished he stood for a moment, admiring his work, and then he pulled on a t-shirt and went looking for Hob.

Dream found him promptly; Hob was in the kitchen, studying something on his phone. All the things for bandage changing were set out on the table, along with a steaming mug of tea and a jar of honey.

Hob looked up with a smile as soon as Dream walked in. "What would you like to do for breakfast today? Full—" Dream kissed him before he could offer a Full English, something Dream had declined every morning of his existence thus far. Hob thought he was wearing Dream down; Dream was sure he could train Hob out of it sooner or later.

"Poached eggs," Dream announced, sitting down beside his mug of tea and opening the jar of honey, noticing as he did that it was easy now, just like making up the bed. He spooned the honey out left-handed, until the rich sweet scent of it drowned out the tannic smell of the tea, and added, "I'm going to get them right this time. I watched more videos."

"Ought to move somewhere with beehives," Hob murmured. "Or stop bothering with the tea bags."

"Every man has a right to make his tea the way he likes," Dream informed him primly; it had been Hob himself who told him so.

He smiled when Dream defended himself, and didn't make any more objections, nor offer to put the lid back on the jar for him. Dream could do it just fine, and did, once he had had a sip of his wonderfully sweet tea.

Then he offered his scarred hand to Hob, his palm turned up to display the bandage.

"Right, let's do this," Hob said, and ceremoniously applied sanitizer to his hands while Dream peeled the bandage back.

It didn't hurt to pull it off; it didn't feel like anything, except maybe a faint tugging sensation. Everything the bandage stuck to was scarred.

He gasped a little at the sight of what the bandage had covered, but Hob made a calmly approving noise. "We did think it might be this week," he said, and ran gentle fingers down along the angry red spots that had been the last raw places when he put the bandage on—and now were scars, closed up and shiny-smooth. "Look at you go, you living creature. Look at you heal."

Dream smiled, feeling oddly shy at the warm, proud look in Hob's eyes. He hadn't really done anything, except to go on living all these weeks, and eating and sleeping and letting Hob look after his injuries—and learning things, and dancing, and laughing, and discovering all the ways his human body liked to be kissed and touched, and comparing them with all the ways Hob's body liked to be kissed and touched...

He had done a lot of things, actually. He had lived; he had healed. And now the last of the wound left behind by what he had been before was closed, and all that was left was one great scar.

And him, a person who liked his tea very sweet and was going to successfully poach some eggs today while Hob made toast. Here he was: living on, scars and all.

----

[This fic is also on AO3!]

[bullet-prooflove]

7. When it rains, I wanna share your umbrella

For Dean Archer and Isobel 🫶

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @mysticcandymiracle @sweetdaytimedreams @Cosmic-psychickitty

Companion piece to:

The Wrong One - A disagreement leads Dean to reconsider his choices.

The Deepest Cut - Dean realises the effect his condition is having on you.

One Rule - You and Dean try to forget about his illness for a night.

Live - Dean makes the right choice.

Leanne - Dean's ex wife causes issues with his surgery.

It’s raining when you step outside of the lecture theatre, big, heavy droplets that cause ripples in the puddles that seem to go on forever. When you left the house this morning there hadn’t been any reason for a coat, now you’re standing here in a white blouse that’s going to go see-through on the trip back to your car.

You take a deep breath, about to plunge into the midst of the torrential downpour when a familiar hand cups your elbow.

“Good thing I brought an umbrella today.” Dean says, his palm shifting to your lower back as he leans in close, his lips brushing over your cheek.

The scent of cedar floods your senses, warm and woody with an undertone of citrus. It always makes you think of home, of nights tangled up in Dean as he kisses you into oblivion. His arm loops around your waist, tucking you against his body as the two of you step out into the rain underneath the protection of his umbrella.

“I was on one of my walks.” He tells you as you meander together through the grounds of the university. “And I just happened to see the most beautiful woman standing in the atrium.”

“Did you get her number?” You tease, tilting your head up to look at your husband and his eyes crinkle with mirth. “Maybe she could join us sometime.”

He laughs then and it’s a rich sound that vibrates through his entire body as he gives you an disarming grin.

“This old man can barely handle you right now.” He reminds you. “I wouldn’t know what to do with two.”

He’s talking about the fact he wants to fuck you.

Ever since the transplant, he’s had this new lease of life. More energy, more vigour, more pep in his step. The old Dean Archer is back and so is that relentless libido of his. The problem is he’s still healing. It takes a long time to heal from a surgery like the one he had and if he overexerts himself in anyway, he’s at risk of facing a major setback. You’ve managed to get by with filthy make out sessions and some assistance from your hand but it’s nothing compared to the intimacy of making love.

It’s that that Dean craves, the connectivity of the act, showing your partner how much you love them with every single part of you.

“Maybe…” You say, your palm slipping into the back pocket of his jeans so you can give his ass a discreet squeeze. “If you’re a good boy we can partake in some gentle, light ‘exercise’ when we get home.”

“You’re making me blush.” He murmurs against your temple as he buries his face into your hair.

“Oh Dean.” You utter, squeezing his ass again. “You’re going to be doing a lot more than that once I get my mouth on you.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fluentmoviequoter]

I Didn't Know Where Else to Go

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You lose your keys during a rainstorm and can only think of one place to go.

Warnings: pure fluff | Word Count: 1.2k+ words

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing Street, so he is probably OOC. I actually really enjoyed it, so I'm absolutely open to keep writing for him if anyone has more requests. I'd also love to hear any feedback you have!!🤍

As you park your car, the rainstorm stalled over Los Angeles goes from bad to worse. What started as a steady sprinkle is now a torrential downpour, and you have to run from your car to the front door. Sighing, you watch the water coat your windshield.

“Sunny Los Angeles, huh?” you mutter, reaching for your bag.

Sliding your hand into the pocket where you keep your house key, you only feel the fabric of the pocket. Frowning, you pull your bag open further, tipping your head forward to look inside. Your key has vanished, it seems, and you have no idea where it could be.

“Great.”

Sitting back in your seat, you try to think of a place where you can go. The roads had begun to flood as you drove home, a downfall of living in a city not used to continuous rain. Unwilling to travel more than a few miles, you check the time before backing out of your driveway.

There is only one place you can think to go.

✯✯✯✯✯

Sliding your bag onto your arm, you take a deep breath and open the car door, rushing up the driveway and onto the porch. When you’re under a covering again, your hair and clothes are soaked and dripping onto the concrete below you. Shivering slightly, you tighten your grip on your bag and raise your hand to knock, whispering a request for someone to answer the door.

After a moment, there's no answer, and you take a step back. Turning around, you look out into the rain as you pull your phone from your bag, scrolling through your contacts and failing to find anyone you can call.

You hear your name and turn around quickly, sighing when you see Jim standing in his open doorway.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit quietly, glancing down at your sopping wet shoes. “But-“

“Come in. I’ll grab you some dry clothes,” Jim says, cutting you off before you can apologize or offer to leave.

“Thank you.”

Stopping just inside his door, you stand by the wall and wait.

“You good?”

Raising your head, you see Street looking at you intently. Jim has never been easy to lie to, and he cares about you. He’s your best friend, that’s why you came here.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I lost my house key and didn’t realize until I got there. Didn’t know where else to go,” you repeat.

Jim nods before disappearing around a corner. He returns a moment later with dry clothes and a towel in his arms. Extending them to you, he fails to hide his smile as he asks, “You want to use the bathroom or change right here? I don’t mind either way.”

You roll your eyes, setting your bag on the floor while you point out, “I’m going to get water everywhere on the way.”

Jim lays a hand on your shoulder, pushing you forward a few steps before saying, “Too late. If you want to shower or anything, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” you say over your shoulder.

After you close the bathroom door, you peel your wet clothes and shoes off, dropping them in the bathtub before drying off. After dressing in Street’s clothes, you take a minute to enjoy the feeling. Being close to Jim has always been comfortable, but this is different, and if you’re honest with yourself, you like it. A lot.

Jim knocks on the door, drawing your attention away from his clothes.

“You can put your clothes in the dryer when you’re ready. Need anything else?”

Opening the door, you smile as his eyes move down your body and back up to your face.

“I’m good, Jim. Thank you, you’ve already done more than enough.”

“I’m making coffee,” Jim says, looking away from you quickly. “Want anything?” You don’t have a chance to answer before he adds, “I thought so. I’ll make your favorite.”

Watching him walk away, you furrow your eyebrows. Jim Street can be act strange at times, you know that, but this is unusual even for him.

After putting your clothes in the dryer, you walk to the kitchen and stop in the doorway.

“Do you- should I leave? I can find somewhere else to go,” you say quietly.

“Of course not,” Jim replies, turning to set a steaming mug before you. “Sorry.”

Shrugging, you run your finger over the rim of the mug. “For what? You’re helping me, Jim.”

“Yeah, I mean, I know that, and I’ll always be here to help you. But- I’m just sorry if I’m making this weird.”

Jim’s eyes drop, his gaze catching on your neck, where his shirt rests against your skin. Thinking – hoping – that he’s thinking the same thing you are, you take a step closer to him. Taking his hand, you raise it between you before looking up at him.

“Maybe you should make it weird,” you tease.

“I’m glad you didn’t know where else to go.” You narrow your eyes, and Jim chuckles, adding, “You know what I mean.”

Smiling, you drop your joined hands and take one more step, tilting your chin up and leaning in.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

Jim nods quickly, and you move your free hand to his jaw, gently pulling him to you. Just before your lips meet, the power flickers before shutting off. You don’t stop, though, too invested in Jim and this moment.

Jim grabs your waist, tugging you against him as he kisses you. He pulls back suddenly, and you lean against him before opening your eyes.

“Do you…” you begin, trailing off.

“Sit down. Please.”

He steps away from you, turning back into the kitchen while you walk to his couch, taking your drink with you. Sitting alone, you take a few sips before Jim joins you. He hands you a blanket before setting a tray of snacks and candles on the table before you.

“Romantic,” you hum.

“Careful,” Jim warns. “You don’t even have clothes right now.”

You laugh, quieting as he sits beside you. Unfolding the blanket, you spread it over both of your laps.

“Thank you, Jim,” you say again, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You know, when Luca told me I was in love with you I almost didn’t believe him.”

“Your friends had to tell you that? I’ve known for months.”

Street pulls the blanket off of you to set it to the side, and as you begin to ask what he’s doing, he grabs your hips and tugs you toward him, flipping you so you’re facing him. Catching yourself on his shoulders, you rise to your knees on either side of his legs.

“I know it’s your job, but I wasn’t resisting,” you mumble.

“You certainly weren’t,” Jim replies, smiling as he sets his hands on your hips.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you think you could stay here forever. You look over his head to the rain-streaked window.

“Hey,” Jim calls, waiting until you look back down at him to kiss you again.

He pulls the blanket over you, covering both of your heads. You break the kiss in surprise at his actions, and he tugs you to lay against him as his chuckles mix with your pleased laugh.

“I’m glad I didn’t know where else to go, too,” you say.

“And now you’ll have to stay here until you can replace your key. A pity.”

“Trust me, I know. It will be hard to cope,” you reply, playing along. “There’s only one thing that will make it manageable.”

“Me?” Jim asks happily. “Because I’ll always be here.”

[p0ckykiss]

kissing in the rain - yang jungwon

summary -> on your way to the date with jungwon, who had been a stranger just months earlier, you hadn't noticed the sky graying until rain was already spilling down. fortunately, jungwon didn't mind; instead, he decided they should make the most of it.

-> fluff, kissing

you had always loved the rain. the scent of wet earth, the rhythmic patter against your window, the way the world seemed to hush and listen.

as you walked down the cobbled streets of the small town, your black boots splashing in puddles, your thoughts wandered to jungwon.

jungwon, with his fiery spirit and infectious laughter, was the sun to your calm, rainy day. you had met a few months ago at a local bookshop. you had been engrossed in a poetry book when jungwon approached, commenting on the author's knack for capturing the essence of a moment. your conversation flowed effortlessly, and by the end of the day, you had exchanged numbers and promises of a coffee date.

today, you had planned to meet at a cosy café, but you were running late. the sudden rainstorm hadn't been in the forecast, and your umbrella was nowhere to be found. as you neared the café, you spotted jungwon, his brown hair contrasting the white backdrop, standing outside looking up at the sky with arms outstretched.

jungwon spotted you and grinned, beckoning you over. “isn't this just perfect?” he exclaimed.

you laughed. you loved the rain but had never considered stepping out into it like this. “perfect for getting drenched?”

“why not?” jungwon countered, his chocolate eyes twinkling with mischief. “sometimes, you have to embrace the unexpected.”

and with that, jungwon grabbed your hand and led you into the middle of the street. you twirled and laughed, oblivious to the world around you. the rain soaked through both of your clothes, making you both shiver, but neither of you cared. 

pausing to catch your breath, you looked up to see jungwon's face inches from your own, eyes searching yours. time seemed to stand still. the world faded, leaving just the two of you, the rain, and the unspoken tension between you.

as the raindrops traced paths down jungwon's face, you leaned in, closing the distance between you. your lips met, soft and cold from the rain, but growing warmer with each passing second. it was a kiss full of promise, new beginnings, and a shared understanding of the beauty in what you could have due to a single unexpected moment in a bookshop. 

when you finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning, you whispered, “okay, maybe this isn't so bad.”

jungwon laughed, squeezing your hand, “told you so”

you felt strange for falling so swiftly. this stranger, someone so opposite of you, the stark contrast only led you to consider jungwon a new light to your darkness.

"you think I’m a good kisser? i was testing you," jungwon said as you walked languidly, as if water wasn’t soaking your sweater, turning white into grey with each droplet. if he was trying to break the tension, it worked. 

"you’re alright."

"alright?"

"not as good as me."

"is that a high bar?"

"very."

jungwon laughed, the sound like silver bells warning you that your heart was under siege. "i’m not too sure about that, maybe I’ll decide later."

"there’s nothing to decide. I’ve already decided."

every time jungwon spoke you could hear how he smiled slightly, even if it was harder to see from the side and through the increasingly torrential downpour. "that you’re a good kisser or a better one than me?" 

"both." there was no urgency to your steps.

"i’ll disagree now, just because you sound so sure."

on the empty sidewalk, fingers intertwined with jungwon's, you halted your steps. jungwon stopped too and turned with knowing eyes, head tilting to the side, lips curling further upward. before jungwon could ask any questions or make any more smart remarks, you closed the fractional distance between you and sealed your lips once more, craving the warmth you felt was far too momentary the first time. 

jungwon seemed a little flustered at first, perhaps expecting you to speak before doing it again, but you felt there had been enough words. you both smiled into it, and you made sure to make it last longer, snaking a hand behind jungwon's neck, catching the water sliding in small streams. 

the rain was something to forget about–something that only made both of your warmth burn hotter–so you decided to commit the feeling to memory. feelings matter more than where you were, on some random street, during some random hour, on the way to some random cafe.

what mattered and what he wanted to matter long into the future was this bookish and bubbly girl whose attention he somehow captured one day.

"ok." jungwon was pink up to his ears and down his neck. "maybe you’re not so bad at kissing."

you huffed a laugh out of your nose, squeezing jungwon's hand. “told you so.”

[television-overload]

rain

an x-files fic for scully's birthday ♡

Summary: Two agents, caught in the rain again. Mulder does what he's always wanted to do.

Word Count: 727

Tag List (let me know if you want added or removed!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosas @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

(fic below the cut if you prefer reading on Tumblr)

-.-.-

It's raining.

They're standing in a forest clearing somewhere in Arkansas, where Mulder swears he just saw some massive creature vanish into thin air, but as usual, Scully saw no such thing. The sky had opened up into a torrential downpour about 30 minutes ago, and that was when she'd officially checked out. It was his fault for telling her she wouldn't need an umbrella, she said. Her boots are covered in mud, and she's standing there looking so indignant that it's adorable. She's gesturing wildly with her hands, her mouth moving a mile a minute, and he's transfixed.

He can't hear a word she's saying, because it's raining and the time feels right.

They've been here before. In Bellefleur, Oregon. In Kroner, Kansas. Something about the rain just strips back that Scully-seriousness he knows and loves, and his mind wanders. Makeup washes away, and he sneaks a peek at the woman beneath the Agent Scully mask: Dana, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and hair that curls at the ends if she doesn't straighten it.

It's raining, the time feels right, and so he kisses her.

She's in the middle of yelling at him for bringing her out here in the middle of February, never mind that he at least took her to a warmer southern state where spring had come early. But she's yelling at him, and he just thinks she's so beautiful when she's yelling at me and he kisses her, springing toward her suddenly and catching her completely off guard.

As soon as she's within arms reach, he's pulling her to him, hands slipping over her drenched raincoat and encircling her back. He dips his head without warning and crashes his lips to hers, and it's a miracle he remains standing. The ground below him may as well be shifting in a landslide brought on by all this rain, for all he's able to steady himself.

Her lips are cold and wet from the downpour, but at the same time they're soft and warm, and he's wanted to do this for so long.

He hopes he hasn't overstepped. They've been dancing closer and closer to this point for years, and he thinks she feels the same. But he doesn't know until he feels her hand travel up his arm and find purchase on his jacket sleeve, gripping the soaked fabric tightly and not letting go.

She makes a noise, adjusting the angle slightly and then she's kissing him back, and the corners of his mouth stretch upward in an irrepressible smile. She feels it, finally pulling back with a matching expression on her lips, and he can't help it—he brings his hands up to her cheeks, brushing away rivulets of water from her skin with the pads of his thumbs. Stringy strands of hair are plastered to her face by the rain, and he brushes each one back with the utmost care and attention, until he can finally see her properly.

In the rain, she looks just as she did seven years ago in a darkened graveyard in Oregon, and it's like no time has passed at all. The thought had crossed his mind, back then. Wild and uninhibited, sprung from his own subconscious regardless of social taboos and other things that made her off-limits. She had laughed at him, and he had thought kiss her, catching even himself off guard with the sentiment.

He didn't kiss her then—he had more self control than that—but he did join in her laughter, the sound bubbling up inside him in a way he hadn't felt in so long. Like a long-dried out spring being brought back to life by the rain, she revived him, gave him new life, and he'd never felt as alive as he did with her. As he did in this moment.

He hears her laugh now, a goofy little giggle he adores so much, and he finds himself grinning, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head and pulling her to his shoulder.

His cheek rests against her damp hair, breathing in the scent of rain and lingering notes of her shampoo, and he closes his eyes, feeling his heart leap in his chest.

"Happy birthday, Scully," he says, and he thinks maybe next time, she won't mind the rain so much.

[dreamsinarcadia]

Mistletoe

In which Heungmin and his best friend find themselves under the mistletoe over the years (and he’s pretty much to blame for it)

pairing: sonny x bestfriend!reader

warning: fluff fluff fluff

Part 2 ➡️

8 years old

“Heungmin,” she ground out with barely concealed annoyance. “Give it back.”

The wishlist that had been oh so carefully curated was currently in the grubby hands of the bane of her existence - the neighborhood’s spawn of satan himself, Son Heungmin.

Okay, maybe that was a little unfair. But she was certain that the boy had made it his life’s purpose to grate her nerves from the moment they had met.

“I think the address is wrong,” he muttered, scanning the paper with narrowed eyes. “Doesn’t Santa live in the South Pole?���

“It’s the North Pole!” she snapped, reaching forward to try and snatch it from his grasp. The entirety of her morning had been spent scribbling furiously in the garden, ignoring her father’s witty comment about smoke practically pouring from her ears. There was no room for error - she would be competing with countless other children for a place in Santa’s list! This had to be perfect.

Of course, perfection was hard to achieve with Heungmin looming over like a storm cloud waiting to unleash a torrential downpour on her. Not to mention his cheeky smile almost sent her over the edge. Clearly he’d accomplished his task of annoying her for the day.

Ambling forward as smoothly as he could (a difficult task when wrapped in dozens of layers upon the insistence of his mother), he plopped down beside her and peered down at the list again.

“A book?” he balked. “Of all the things you could ask for, a book?” He’d grown to hate her newfound hobby of reading books. Ever since the new library had opened in their town, she’d been holed up between shelves of pristine books for hours on end. Heungmin wasn’t exactly fond of the new-found silence he'd become accustomed to; he always looked forward to her sarcastic commentary that always accompanied weekend night football. He missed having someone to stand in the unforgiving winter cold, clad in goalkeeper gloves (her mother’s oven mitts), and endure goal after goal as he practiced his penalty kicks and headers.

“Give it back!”

"No, I don’t think I will," he sang merrily, legs carrying him out of the porch and into the warmth of her home, dashing down the hallway up the staircase, narrowly missing a near collision with the family cat sprawled on one of the steps. He was much faster than she was and he knew it. He was faster than everyone in their grade, his height granting him an entirely unfair advantage over their peers.

"Heungmin, I’m telling your mother!" She warned as he skidded to a halt on the landing, arm practically stretched up to the heavens with her letter to Santa firmly grasped in his hand. With his other hand, he begun to rummage around in his pocket for something.

“Just give it back,” she whined pitifully, realising that her previous threats just fell on deaf ears. From beside him, she tried in vain to jump up and grab the letter from between his stupid fingers.

Grinning widely, Heungmin quickly pulled the letter away from her to hide it behind his back and replaced it with whatever he had managed to finally find in his pocket. “For the price of one kiss, you can have it back,” he offered with a cheeky smile, bringing a basil sprig between their heads.

She looked up at it, physically unable to hold back the eye roll. She’d seen plenty of adults on television sharing an intimate moment below a certain type of greenery during the holiday season. While it was a lovely tradition, it required a specific kind of a leathery-leaved plant. “That’s not even mistletoe.”

“You try finding mistletoe in Chuncheon,” he said with a shrug. “I had to make do with the next best thing.”

“Oh great, so you attacked my mother’s pot of basil leaves?”

“… please don’t tell her.”

Her brows arched in a look of defiance. “Try me.”

He wiggled the basil leaves. “Then say goodbye to your precious letter to Santa.”

Taking a step back, she cocked her head and peered up at the makeshift mistletoe in a moment of contemplation. Her options were limited, true, but it was hardly the end of the world. Just the thought of redoing the list brought her a bigger headache than Heungmin could ever induce.

And so, with tiny hands balled into fists, she took a decisive step forward and stood on her tiptoes to level their gaze.

Heungmin tried his best to mask his excitement, he really did, but nothing could have stopped the immediate bolt of lightning that struck his very being and coloured his cheeks and ears an adorable shade of pink when she yanked him forward to place a kiss on his cheek.

Taking advantage of his moment of disbelief, she reached behind him to snatch the letter from his grasp, call him an idiot and dash down the stairs with a speed that rivalled his own.

Heungmin, watching her disappear around the corner with a dopey little smile on his face, pressed the basil sprig close to his chest.

Christmas was fun.

•

Christmas fics in January? Why not? Truly a product of my own laziness. Part 2 awaits you 🥹

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVIII.

GIF by joelsteinfeld

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Things come to a head during the full moon.

WORD COUNT: ~14.2k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst, very brief slut shaming, not one but two confrontations, fist fiiight, gun violence, light descriptions of gore, religious imagery, character death (not main so y'all can breathe), more of that crime stuff, smut, p in v sex, fluff i think, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: strap in you guys, this emotional rollercoaster is... something! i'm in the process of moving so updates will be slowwww <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Leaving her proves to be difficult the following morning. The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, a drizzle now compared to the torrential downpour of the previous night. Javier hadn’t expected to fall asleep, especially not through the entirety of the night. It’s been so long since he’s slept without being plagued by nightmares or restlessness.

Something about her presence softens the sharp edges of his anxieties. With her in his arms, he finds a peace he hasn’t known in years, and now he doesn’t want to go another night without her by his side.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing softly against her bare shoulder, savoring the warmth of her skin one last time before he carefully begins to slide out of bed. He’s done this before— quiet exits in the early hours of the morning— but this time feels different, like he’s leaving behind a piece of himself.

As he moves, Paloma stirs slightly, and he freezes, unwilling to disturb her slumber. His eyes drift to the plush snake he had won for her at the fair, now lying forgotten on the floor. The sight of it tugs at something deep inside him, a small smile playing on his lips.

So, he grabs it from where it fell off her bed and lets it replace his spot next to her, hoping that it’s enough to make up for his absence. 

After redressing, he makes his way to the bedroom door. He pauses just before leaving, casting one last lingering look over his shoulder. His eyes trace the outline of her form beneath the sheets, admiring, before seeing his way out. 

The house is still, save for the gentle patter of rain against the windows. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks softly, its hands edging closer to six in the morning. He lets out a slow breath, his steps careful and quiet as he enters the room he was originally supposed to stay in to grab his duffel so he can get ready for the day.

Throughout his morning routine, Javier’s thoughts are consumed by Paloma. He stands under the warm stream of the shower, amazed at how she can take the discomfort of being exposed and vulnerable and transform it into something he’s no longer hesitating to embrace.

The barriers that once fortified around his heart seem pointless now, as all he wants is to let her in— to let her glimpse into his tumultuous mind with the hopes that she’s able to quiet it down. 

As he shaves and brushes his teeth, his mind drifts to the possibility of bringing her home to Laredo. He can already picture her there, fitting in as if she’s always belonged. Her southern twang and radiant smile charming everyone instantly. He imagines the way her golden heart would win over his gossipy aunts, and he can almost hear his cousins’ teasing jabs about Javi bringing home someone way too pretty to be with him.

And Chucho— he’d probably insist that his son make an honest woman of her before someone else tries to sweep her off her feet.

He realizes then, with startling clarity, that he has no intention of letting her go. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, love blooming in his chest with an intensity that does scare him just a little.

He finishes buttoning up his uniform shirt and catches his reflection in the mirror. A scoff escapes him, “How about you date her first before jumping the gun,” he mutters under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he clasps his silver watch around his wrist. It’s both a chastisement and a reminder to pace himself, even though his heart is already racing far ahead.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls him toward the kitchen, where he finds Romeo leaning casually against the island, still in his sleepwear, a steaming mug in hand. The sight of him in such a relaxed state shouldn’t make Javi nervous but it does.

That’s just what happens when you harbor secrets.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’. You get some rest?” Romeo replies, his tone easy and conversational.

Some of the best goddamn sleep I’ve gotten in years he thinks but Javier just nods, “I did. Thanks for letting me stay the night. It got pretty rough.” A double entendre that threatens to pull him into inappropriate memories— the way Paloma’s mouth had felt on his cock, the sound of her soft gags, the perfect arch of her back as he fucked her. The images flash vividly in his mind, tempting him to lose focus.

This is not the time, not with her dad standing just a few feet away, unaware of the perverse thoughts swirling inside Javier’s head.

He sets his bag down by the entryway, trying to push the tantalizing recollections aside as he engages with the sheriff, hoping his face doesn’t betray what’s really on his mind.

“No problem. Didn’t bother me none, I was out like a fuckin’ light the second my head hit the pillow.” he rasps, sliding a mug over to Javier.

They chat about their plans for the day, the conversation flowing easily until Romeo excuses himself to get ready. With his drink in hand, Javier steps out onto the front porch, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. He gazes into the distance, where the rain has settled into a gentle mist and the morning sun remains hidden behind a shroud of gray clouds.

Upstairs, Paloma stirs awake, the familiar plush clutched to her chest.

But no Javier.

His absence, while expected, still hits a sore spot in her heart. Yet, as the memories of their passionate night together flood her mind, they balm that ache, warming her from the inside.

A soft smile curves her lips as she recalls the way his hands had felt on her body, the stretch of him inside of her, and the other phantom sensations of their lovemaking that still linger.

She shifts slightly, rubbing her thighs together in a futile attempt to quell the lingering stirrings of desire he manages to elicit. It’s annoying how effortlessly he can provoke her without being anywhere near.

Then she feels the soreness between her legs and at her shoulders from him pinning her hands behind her back while he ruthlessly took her.

She rolls over, pressing her nose into the pillow he slept on, and inhales deeply. The faint scent of his cologne lingers there, and she hums softly in contentment. 

Wanting to catch him before he leaves, Paloma tosses off the blanket, her naked form exposed to the cool morning air. She stretches luxuriously, a small grunt escaping her lips as she feels the delightful tension in her muscles. Her first impulse is to throw on his flannel, but with her dad still around, she decides against it. 

Instead, she makes her way to the dresser, choosing a more appropriate outfit. After freshening up in the bathroom, she takes the stairs two at a time, her heart racing with anticipation.

She hears the sound of the shower running, but it fades into the background as she spots his silhouette through the screen door. The sight sends a thrill through her, and she bites her lip, struggling to contain the broad smile that threatens to spread across her face.

The door creaks softly as she pushes it open. Javier, expecting to see Romeo, turns his head. The moment his eyes land on her, an electric jolt has him straightening up. His entire body responds to her presence.

“Good morning, officer,” she purrs, closing the door behind her. Leaning against the pillar opposite him, she lets her gaze shamelessly trace over his uniform-clad figure.

Her eyes linger on the authoritative stance that makes him look so irresistibly manly and commanding. Now that she’s had a taste of him, all Paloma can think about is how she’d love to drop to her knees and indulge him whenever he’s around.

“Miss Leighton,” Javier acknowledges with a slight jut of his chin, lifting his steaming mug to his lips. The move hides the small, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Maintaining a façade of casual indifference, she asks, “Did you have a good night?”

Javier’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as he glances toward the house, checking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Decent,” he replies, keeping up the pretense, the tension between them already winding tighter.

Paloma’s tongue flicks across her teeth, her eyebrow arching. “Yeah, that bed in there ain’t exactly the most comfortable.”

A few seconds of charged silence stretch between them before she pushes off the pillar, closing the distance. “What time did you end up leaving?” she asks, tone soft, trailing her finger slowly down the center of his chest. She gazes up at him through thick, fluttering lashes, her touch light but electrifying.

“Six.”

Her heart stutters as she processes his words, realizing he spent the entire night with his arms wrapped around her. “Really?”

Javier nods, captivated by the way her eyes seems to hold him in a spell. She licks her lips as she leans up to place a quick, teasing peck on his. The fleeting contact serves as a clever distraction as she deftly snatches the drink from his hand and steps back, taking a sip, her face scrunching up in disgust as the bitter taste hits her tongue.

She quickly hands it back to him. “Ew, of course you drink yours black. You could try not being such a cliché,” she teases with a playful grimace. Javier exhales a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

He uses the exchange to pull her back into his embrace, setting the mug on the thick wooden railing of the porch. “Don’t be mean, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing her properly, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her waist.

She sighs against his lips, butterflies in her gut fluttering and she might lift her leg like in the movies. His kisses are so thrilling, so perfect, that she reluctantly pulls away before things get heated and she has him reenacting the first wet dream she ever had about him— the one where he fucked her right here on this porch.

“Am I going to see you today?” Her mouth is already forming a disappointed pout, as if she knows the answer before he even replies.

“Unfortunately no,” his thumb gently brushes over her full bottom lip, “Trust me, I don’t like it either but we’re busy as hell.”

She kisses his thumb, “What y’all got goin’ on?”

“Helping clear roads all morning. There are still people in town without power, and they don’t expect to fix it for a few more days, so we’re checking in to make sure everyone’s okay.” He explains, squeezing her hip in a reassuring gesture.

“And tonight?”

Javier’s face reflects the weight of the responsibility he carries. “It’s a full moon tonight. After we wrap up in town, I’m hauling all the case files from my place to the station. I need to prep for a big debrief with all the officers in the county. We’ll be patrolling as soon as curfew starts. If I’m right— he’ll be out tonight.” He pauses, letting out a long, steady breath, his resolve palpable. “I want to catch this motherfucker so bad.”

Paloma hears the steely determination in his voice and nods in understanding. “Y’all will. Been workin’ so hard on this, honey. Even if it’s not tonight or tomorrow or whenever; you’re doin’ the best you can.”

He offers her a small smile, one that she mirrors with a tenderness of her own. They lean in at the same time, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, nena,” he mutters. “You gonna be at home all day?”

“Yeah, with the weather and curfew tonight, I’d rather just stay in,” she answers, “I’ve got some stuff to work on, too.” She’s been writing about him. Inspiration struck her unexpectedly, as it often does, and she’s been refining his song ever since. She wonders if he’ll like it, and if his reaction to her playing the piano was any indication, she feels optimistic.

Javier is relieved to hear that she’ll be safe and at home. “Good. I’ll call you when I can to check in.”

“And I’ll be waiting by the phone, very eager to answer on the first ring.”

She giggles, scrunching her nose habitually and he swears he can feel his heart swell so big that it almost erupts out of his chest. “If I don’t end up getting home too late,” his voice drops to a lower, more seductive timbre, “maybe we can revisit one of those sexy little phone calls again?”

Her breath catches at the sultry tone, a faint throbbing sensation stirring between her legs, despite the soreness, and she squeezes her thighs together. “Absolutely,” she breathes out, hell— she’ll stay up just to have his voice in her ear, directing her to touch herself.

As if drawn by the magnetic pull of their shared desire, his hand slips boldly from her waist, descending to cup her ass before giving it a light, playful spank. The gesture makes her flush with excitement.

“Great, now let me grab my stuff before your dad comes out here and sees me all over you like this,” Javier says, his voice teasing but edged with urgency.

She gives him one last kiss, pulling away, her eyes following him as he retrieves the mug, finishing off the last sip of coffee then head inside.

As anticipated, Romeo appears not a second later, dressed and ready to tackle the long ass day they have ahead.

“Hey sweetheart,” her dad places a kiss to the top of her head, descending the porch steps, “Dunno when I’ll be home. Got a lot goin’ on today. I’ll have the phone on me at all times if you need anythin’, ‘kay?”

She nods, smiling at him, “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Javier comes out shortly after, his hand discreetly brushing against hers as he passes, a final, sweet touch until he’s able to make time for her again. The sound of their footsteps fades as they move down the driveway, leaving Paloma standing alone on the porch.

Determined to keep herself occupied, she turns and heads back inside once they’re gone, feeling his absence keenly. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his kiss, and the promise of their next encounter weave through her thoughts, making it a challenge to concentrate.

Yet, she remains resolute, channeling her energy into her work, each note of the song a testament to the feelings she has for him.

All eyes are on Javier as he stands before the gathered crowd. The small sheriff’s department is packed, not just with his own officers but with personnel from surrounding towns, each of them united by a single, pressing goal. Whether they’ll achieve this goal tonight is uncertain, but it’s better to act decisively than to remain idle, waiting for something to happen.

He wraps up his briefing, his voice steady as he delivers the final instructions. The room buzzes with a tense energy as the officers disperse, each heading off to prepare for the night ahead. The rain outside continues, a literal reminder of the metaphorical storm that they’re up against. He hopes the weather won’t deter their assailant; but criminals with such precise, obsessive patterns rarely stray from their habits, rain or shine.

Thanks to the extra helping hands, the files from Rome have been organized and filed away, leaving Javier with a rare sense of order. He walks over to his desk, where a lone manila folder sits. It contains the remnants of his surveillance on August and his group, back when they were his prime suspects in the investigation.

They’re an odd bunch, and the deeper he dug into their past, the more their story seemed to make sense. Misfits who grew up in the worst parts of their hometown, subjected to abusive or neglectful parents. Their rebellion was almost predictable— an inevitable backlash against the suffocating piety they were born into.

There is something off about them, something that sets off alarm bells in Javier’s mind. But despite his instincts, he could never find anything that linked them to the crimes that have haunted this corner of Texas.

For a long time, Javier wrestled with the idea of coincidences, aware of his tendency to chase them down just to fit his narrative. He knew that this bad habit often undermined his hard work, leading him down paths that wasted precious time and energy. This folder, filled with days wasted and dead ends, is a tangible reminder of that flaw.

But he likes to think he’s gotten better about that. Better at not being so reactive right off the bat.

Amidst the photos of the three young adults, there are a few that stand out and make his stomach twist. Paloma, caught in the frame, August’s hands all over her, sitting on his motorcycle, a joint between her fingers. He had considered bringing them in for the drug use alone, but he knew that making a move, especially during that rough patch with her, would have done more harm than good.

There’s no reason for him to hold onto this anymore; the folder likely got lost in the shuffle, buried beneath a mountain of others that he hadn’t had the time or energy to sort through until today. He’s set on shredding its contents when his phone rings.

Reaching to unclip it from his utility belt, he brings it up to his ear.

“Peña.”

“I didn’t call at a bad time, did I?” Her voice is like honey and he loses composure for a second.

“Hold on, baby.”

Setting the folder aside, Javier glances around the busy workspace before slipping away. He walks down the hallway, making a quick left into the interrogation room.

“Palomita, you okay?” Javier asks, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. He’s a little confused as to why she’s calling. Not that he minds— he never does— but his first instinct is to worry that something might be wrong.

“Just fine, cowboy. I’m bored… ‘n missin’ you, s’all.” Her soft drawl seeps through the line, melting him entirely.

He scratches at his brow with his thumb, trying to play it cool. “Missin’ me already? I just saw you this morning,” he teases, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips as her airy laugh dances through the phone.

“Pathetic, I know.”

He hums thoughtfully. “If you think that’s pathetic, then I’d hate to hear how you feel about me missin’ you all the time.”

“Oh, that’s just pitiful ‘n wretched. I’m disgusted, really.” He hears her shuffling and wonders what she’s doing. If she’s laying in her bed, twirling the phone cord around her pretty little finger or if she’s leaning against the wall with her lip between her teeth.

“So, you just called to tell me you miss me and then to chastise me. Got it,” he quips, though her laugh— bright and genuine— makes his chest ache in the best way.

“As flattering as this all is, sweetheart, I hate to leave you but we’re getting ready to head out. Your dad is waiting for me.”

He can almost see the downturn of her lips when she responds, “Okay. Just wanted to call before I didn’t hear from you for ‘nother three to five business days.”

“I promise to take you out again soon. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to fuck you in the bed of my truck.”

“Oh, please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll follow through, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, alright?”

A few more teasing exchanges pass between them, her giggle ringing in his ears like a melody he never wants to end. When she finally lets him go, there’s a noticeable lift in his mood.

She just has that way about her— making him feel like he’s carrying a piece of her warmth with him wherever he goes.

Javier heads back to the others, his mind still lingering on the sound of her voice. He’s ready to dive into the action, to focus on the task ahead—but then, without warning, a powerful force slams him into the wall.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, his shoulder searing with pain as he struggled to regain his footing. It’s Romeo, his face twisted in rage, and before Javier can react, his fist connects with his jaw, sending a sharp pain radiating through his skull. The taste of blood floods his mouth as his lip splits open, and the world seems to tilt for a moment, the sounds around him dulling to a low roar.

“You think you can fool around with my daughter after I’ve been nothin’ but fuckin’ nice to you? Let you into my town after all your shit in Colombia?” His voice is a guttural snarl, laced with betrayal and fury. He doesn’t wait for an answer, his hand gripping Javier’s collar and shoving him harder against the wall. “I welcomed you into my home, and this is how you repay me?”

The room falls into a stunned silence, the officers who had been preparing for the patrol now frozen, their eyes wide as they watch the two men— men who have been working tirelessly side by side for months— erupt into violence. Some of them move forward, trying to pull the sheriff off Javier, but he’s like a man possessed, shaking off their attempts to restrain him.

“I knew somethin’ was goin’ on but I refused to believe it could be this. Never thought you’d screw around with her. Not after I entrusted you to look after her! I practically handed her to you on a silver fuckin’ platter!”

Javier’s own anger flares in response, his hands coming up to shove Romeo away, but not with the same force. He knows he should keep his mouth shut and take it. He shares some blame in this mess, but the words spill out before he can stop them. “I’ll admit I fucked up, but I’m not going to stop seeing her.” This sends the other man lunging forward but he manages to swiftly dodge him. “She’s a grown-ass woman that can make her own decisions— be with whoever she wants. Do whatever she wants.”

Romeo’s eyes blaze with an almost feral intensity at the back talk, and he lunges again, fists flying, and this time, they collide with Javier’s ribs, causing him to grunt in pain. The scuffle is a mess of limbs and rocketing emotion, the room filled with the sound of grunts, curses, and frantic shouts of the officers trying to pull them apart.

It isn’t until the sheriff shoves Javier hard against his desk that the chaos comes to a sudden halt. The force of the push sends the lone folder on the desk flying, its contents spilling out in a haphazard mess onto the floor.

For a split second, everything seems to freeze as the photos flutter down like damning evidence, landing face up for everyone to see.

Hs daughter, in those compromising, intimate poses with August. The silence is deafening as Romeo’s gaze zeroes in on the pictures, his expression shifting from rage to something far darker and unreadable.

His face twists in disgust, leaning down to collect it all before turning on his heel and storming out of the building, shoving past anyone in his way. The door slams behind him with a thunderous crash that echoes in the shocked silence.

Javier stands there, chest heaving, blood leaking from his lip. The officers around him are still, their eyes shifting between him and the door the sheriff had just disappeared through. 

“We leave in ten minutes.” Javier announces roughly. They listen to him instantly, snapping back into what they were doing before the scuffle broke out.

He reaches for the phone, dialing the Leighton home number, his heart pounding in his chest.

Ring.

“Come on, come on…”

Ring.

“Pick up, fuck. Please…”

But there’s nothing. Just the monotonous drone of an unanswered call. His grip tightens around the plastic, dread curling in his chest. At least their relationship is out in the open now; if there’s a silver fucking lining to this mess, he supposes that’s it. 

He calls her a few more times with no luck.

She’s lost in her own world, pacing the porch with her headphones snug over her ears, her eyes closed as she lets the music wash over her. The rhythm guides her steps, mind drifting far away from herself.

The sheriff’s truck skids to a halt in front of the house, wet gravel crunching under the tires. He doesn’t even bother shutting the door as he storms up the porch steps, the folder clenched tightly in his fist.

She doesn’t hear him approach, not until his rough hand grips her shoulder and spins her around.

The shock of seeing her father’s face, twisted in anger, has her yelping out. She quickly pulls off her headphones, the music falling away as she takes in the sight of him. “What’re you doin’ here?” Her voice is laced with confusion, brows furrowing. He wasn’t supposed to be home until much later— what the hell had happened?

Romeo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he thrusts the folder at her, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles in his neck bulge. “What the fuck is this, Paloma?”

She blinks rapidly, her confusion deepening as she rids herself of her portable CD player, opening the folder. Her breath catches in her throat as she sifts through the photos.

Her stomach drops when she meets his burning gaze. “Where did you get these?” she whispers, barely audible.

Romeo lets out a dark, humorless chuckle that has a chill running down her spine. “Don’t matter where I got ‘em. What matters is what the hell you were thinkin’ gettin’ involved with trash like him! And doin’ drugs?!” He’s seething.

The venom in his voice stings. “Daddy, it’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” he interrupts, voice rising. “You think I’m blind? Stupid? I know about you and Javier too.” The name comes out as a snarl, his eyes flashing with betrayal.

Her face blanches. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“He’s the one who had these!” he roars, temper boiling over. “Javier was keepin’ tabs— hid them in his damn desk while he was screwin’ around with you behind my back. I can see it comin’ from him, but from you?”

The weight of his words slam into her like a freight train. She knew that he would blow up and act rash, but this is nothing like what she anticipated. “Daddy, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me!” he shouts, stepping closer, face inches from hers and she stumbles back slightly. “This is why I don’t trust you to be out on your own. Why I have to keep an eye on you— because you can’t make sound decisions. You’re reckless, you’re—” He cuts himself off, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he tries to rein in his anger.

Paloma’s emotions erupt in retaliation. “Reckless?” she shoots back, shaking with anger and hurt. “I’m suffocatin’ in this damn house. Puttin’ my life on the back burner so I can keep you content instead of doin’ what makes me happy. You treat me like a child, like I can’t think for myself!”

Romeo’s face twists with contempt, the harsh words tumbling out before he can stop them. “Because you’re actin’ like a damn whore!”

The insult hangs in the air, a bomb that has just gone off between them. She feels as if the ground has been ripped out from under her, his words echoing in her ears like a cruel taunt. 

It shouldn’t surprise her, it really shouldn’t. He has a history of making sly comments such as these, especially when it came to what she wore.

But to hear him say the actual insult? Spitting it in her face in such a disgusted tone?

Her vision blurs with tears, but she refuses to let them fall. Without another word, she shoves past him, her heart pounding in her ears as she flees into the house. His furious shouts follow her, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back.

Her room feels like a cage, the walls closing in on her as she yanks open her closet and grabs a suitcase. She can’t stay here— not after this. The tears finally spill over as she starts packing.

Romeo’s heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, each one like a hammer driving nails into her chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he demands, banging on her bedroom door. “Paloma, open this door right now!”

She ignores him, her heart aching with every item she throws in. She doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know where she’s going to go, but she knows she has to leave.

When she finally has everything she can carry, she steels herself, taking a deep breath, and yanking the door open. Her dad stands there, his face red, but she doesn’t give a fuck. She moves past him without a word.

“Paloma, stop!” he pleads, following her down the stairs and into the hallway that leads into the foyer, “What would your mother think of you acting like this? This is not the daughter she would be proud of!”

The mention of her mother brings her to a screeching halt, and she whips around, her eyes shimmering with a fiery spark. “You don’t know shit about her!” she spits, venom dripping from every word. “Who she was, what she felt— the things she went through.”

“And you do?!” 

Oh, how she’s tempted to unleash everything on him right here, to reveal the divine blood that courses through her veins— the same sacred lineage that had flowed through her mother’s. But he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t grasp the significance. It’s crystal clear to her that this has always been about control. She could tell him a thousand truths, and he would still remain unchanged.

Determined, she ignores him entirely and turns to push open the screen door. The keys to her car are tucked away in the visor, waiting for her.

“Come back here!” exasperation peaks as he rushes to catch up with his daughter. His hand latches onto the handle of her suitcase, pulling it— and her— back toward him. She cries out in frustration, fiercely trying to reclaim it, but he overpowers her with his strength.

Their struggle becomes a frantic dance, the suitcase flailing uncontrollably. In their chaotic clash, it catches on the iridescent wind chime that has hung on the porch for years. The chime crashes to the ground, splintering into a million glinting fragments.

The soft tinkling of broken glass and metal join the sound of her choked sob, and she fights the urge to fall to her knees.

She and her mother used to spend Sunday afternoons crafting wind chimes together.

They would hand them out at church or when they visited town. Paloma cherished the joy of giving, the way people’s faces would light up at receiving something she had poured her effort into, guided by the one person who loved and believed in her unconditionally.

Her skills and creativity come from her mother, who never allowed her daughter to be idle. She was always engaged in some project or another, her hands and mind constantly at work.

This particular chime was the only one she had left to remember Abeline— Calmana— whoever she was, by, having gifted away the others. Paloma stopped making them after she passed away.

Romeo stares down at the broken, sentimental item, his face a mask of shock and grief. 

She shoots him a glare full of disdain, her voice quivering. “No wonder she killed herself.”

The words hit like a physical blow, a gaping wound in both of them, the kind that can’t be mended. Romeo opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, frozen in place, as his only daughter turns her back on him and walks away, victorious in claiming her bag.

At what cost?

Her footsteps are urgent and unyielding as she hurries down the driveway, her suitcase bumping against her leg with every stride. The darkness of the night surrounds her like a shroud, but she doesn’t look back, the pain too raw, the burden of what just transpired is almost unbearable.

She flings her belongings into the back of her car and slides into the driver’s seat, her hands shaking as she starts the engine. She drives off, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

She drives aimlessly at first, but the familiar streets soon lead her to Tammy’s house. Her heart feels like it’s been ripped apart, each beat laden with pain. The sobs she’s been holding back break free, and she cries, gut-wrenching cries that echo in the car as the miles between her and the house grow.

By the time she pulls up to Tammy’s, she is drained, her body exhausted with the aftermath of her tears. She barely has the strength to step out of the car, but she does, walking up to the familiar door. The weight in her chest is so intense, it feels like it might drag her down.

Tammy opens the door, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in Paloma’s tear-streaked face. Without a word, she pulls her inside, enveloping her in a warm, comforting embrace. She guides her to the couch and sits beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, not caring that she’s wet from the weather.

She explains what happened, her voice cracking with every word. The fight, how it escalated, how her father had berated her and, worst of all, how her mother had been dragged into it, something that made her feel small and worthless.

Tammy’s anger rises, “I oughta go over there myself and put his ass in place. The hell was he thinkin’?” her voice is fierce, but it’s tempered with genuine concern. Her eyes flash with indignation, reflecting her deep sense of protectiveness for Paloma. She and her sisters have always treated her like she was their own.

Paloma shakes her head, too exhausted and emotionally drained to engage in further conflict. “It’s okay. I just... I need to make a call.” She nods understandingly and directs her to the landline, giving her a moment of privacy.

Paloma picks up the receiver, her fingers trembling as she dials Javier’s number. When his voice finally comes through, it’s like a lifeline. She struggles to keep steady as she explains the situation again, but her emotions betray her, and she chokes up several times.

“Javi, I just... I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms right now.

He listens patiently, his concern evident in his tone as he reassures her and tries to provide comfort through the phone. He doesn’t tell her about his own confrontation, solely focused on making sure she’s alright.

“There’s a spare key to my place taped inside of the mailbox. Use it to let yourself in. I’ll be home as soon as I can, cariño.”

Paloma clings to his words, letting them anchor her as she fights to calm her racing thoughts. Just talking to him makes her feel a little less broken.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Javier knows it’d be unprofessional to ditch his patrolling assignment, especially with tensions running as high as they are tonight. But after everything that’s unfolded— he’d rather be with Paloma than driving around the deserted backroads of town.

His anger bubbles up, hot and unforgiving, at what Romeo had said to her; the same vile insult he had spat at her under the gazebo when he was trying to push her away. 

To hear it come from her own father? He can’t even imagine how she must feel.

His jaw aches, a dull thudding reminder of the blow that had landed earlier. It’ll definitely bruise. Javier works it gingerly, lip throbbing from being split open. 

It tears him apart inside. He would take a dozen more beatings, hell, a hundred, if it meant sparing her from any kind of hurt. He’d do anything— anything to take away her suffering, to replace it with the love and respect she deserves.

The radio in his cruiser crackles to life, pulling him back to the grim reality of his job. The voice of an officer comes through, tense and urgent. “Twenty-four-year-old Samantha Hardesty has just been reported missing by her parents. Window to her bedroom was left wide open. There are signs of a struggle.”

There it is. The threat that’s been looming over their heads, now taking a tangible, terrifying shape.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as a surge of adrenaline sharpens his senses. He calls out instructions over the radio, directing officers to the Hardesty home, dispatching others to canvas the surrounding areas. His heart pounds in sync with the rain tapping against the windshield, the urgency of the situation momentarily overshadowing Paloma.

The cruiser’s tires hum over the slick asphalt, carrying him further into the darkened outskirts of town. He’s crossing the abandoned railroad tracks when something catches his eye— a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder.

His gut lurches, a cold dread seeping into his veins.

Slowing down, Javier flips on the blue and red lights, the beams carving through the murky darkness.

He parks, his every nerve tingling with tension. There’s no movement inside the vehicle, no sign of anyone nearby. But his instincts are screaming at him that this isn’t just a coincidence.

He grabs his tactical vest from the passenger seat, slipping it on with practiced efficiency, the familiar weight a small comfort. With the vest secured, he steps out of the car, the rain immediately soaking into his uniform as he cautiously approaches the idle vehicle, his boots crunching against the gravelly road.

His hand moves instinctively to his sidearm, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol as he draws it, keeping it at the ready.

Brown eyes scan the surroundings, every shadow a potential threat, every sound amplified by his heightened senses. The soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant hum of the running engine of his cruiser.

Approaching the car from the rear, he announces himself in an authoritative tone, only to be met with silence. The windows are fogged over, making it difficult to see inside. He circles around to the driver’s side, gun pointed, when he notices the door is slightly ajar.

With a deep breath, Javier reaches out, nudging it open with the tip of his boot. It swings slowly, the creak of the hinges tears the silence like a scream. Inside, the car is empty, but the front seat is stained with something dark— blood.

“Fuck!”

He inspects further, the inside of the car is empty, offering no clues about the owner or what might have transpired here. Frustration gnaws at him as he quickly jogs back to his vehicle, grabbing the radio to request backup.

The nearest unit shouldn’t be too far out, but every second feels like an eternity as he waits. He shrugs on his windbreaker to shield himself from the downpour, the cold clinging to his clothes, chilling him to the bone.

The wind howls through, bringing with it the distant echoes of thunder, adding to the ominous ambiance.

Javier’s eyes continue scan the surrounding area, every sense on high alert. The soaked ground is uneven beneath his boots, the mud sucking at his feet as he moves cautiously.

Then he hears it— rustling. It’s faint, but unmistakable, and not the kind caused by an animal scurrying by or the rain brushing against the leaves. This sound is different, deliberate. His pulse quickens, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He swings the flashlight towards the source of the noise, his other hand steadying the grip on his pistol. The beam of light cuts through the rain, illuminating the thick brush ahead. His breath catches in his throat as he comes face to face with a tall man, a few years younger than himself, emerging from the shadows.

The man’s eyes gleam with a sinister calm, but it’s what he’s holding that sends a pang of terror through Javier. The girl— Samantha Hardesty— is clutched tightly in his arms, her face pale and streaked with tears, a large gash running across her stomach.

She trembles, barely able to stand on her own, and Javier’s eyes widen once he sees the gun pressed against her temple, the metal gleaming wickedly.

He knows he has to be careful— one wrong move, and she’s dead. The man’s expression is cold, calculating, as he watches Javier. The tension is so tense, it feels like a physical barrier.

Standing before the person who’s terrorized the community for so long feels almost surreal.

“Put the gun down,” Javier orders, low and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. His eyes flick to Samantha, her terrified gaze locked onto him, pleading silently for help. He takes a step closer, his movements cautious.

The rain pounds against them, the droplets like bullets hitting the ground. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the sound of her sobs and the assailant’s labored breathing.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Javier warns, trying to keep the man’s focus on him, to buy time until backup arrives. But the man doesn’t flinch, his grip on the girl tightening as he shifts the gun ever so slightly, pressing it harder against her temple.

“Let her go,” he continues, his tone coaxing, though every muscle in his body is coiled, ready to spring into action. “We can figure this out, she doesn’t need to get hurt.”

The man’s lips curl into an unsettling smile, and Javier’s stomach pinches. He’s seen that look before—the look of someone who’s already made up their mind, someone with nothing left to lose.

“Get back,” the man hisses, taking a step back. Javier can see the madness in his eyes, the wild, desperate edge that makes him dangerous, unpredictable.

Javier doesn’t move, doesn’t dare take his eyes off him. Every second that ticks by feels wasted. He can hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance, but he knows they’re still too far away to help. It’s up to him, right here, right now, to keep this situation from spiraling into tragedy.

The grip on the gun is unsteady and for a moment, it seems like he might surrender. But then, in a flash, the man makes his move.

The night explodes into chaos as the shot rings out like a cannon blast in the storm. The force of the bullet slams into Javier’s chest, knocking the wind out of him as he’s sent staggering backward. Pain radiates through his body, but it’s dulled by the protective padding of his tactical vest, which absorbs most of the impact.

He hits the ground hard, rain soaking into his clothes and mud splashing up around him. His vision blurs, and he presses a hand to his sternum.

Then, through the fog of shock, the adrenaline kicks in. His heart pounds in his ears, louder even than the rain or echoing gunshot. He gasps, drawing in a ragged breath, and forces himself to move. The man is running, dragging a terrified Samantha with him, and Javier knows he can’t let him get away. 

He grits his teeth, pain shooting through his chest, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. There’s no time to dwell on it. He has to plow on, has to stop the man before it’s too late. 

The beam of his flashlight flickers wildly as he races through the rain-soaked woods. Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the twisting branches overhead, casting jagged shadows on the path ahead.

Gunshots ring out through the trees, the man firing blindly behind him. The bullets whiz past Javier, too close for comfort, but he doesn’t falter. He fires back, his shots precise, but the man dodges them with maddening ease. The trees blur by, branches clawing at his face as he barrels through the undergrowth, the ground uneven and treacherous beneath his feet.

He can feel his frustration mounting with every step. Despite being so close, he can’t seem to close the gap between them. The man is quick, too quick, and the darkness only adds to the challenge.

His lungs burn with the effort. He thinks of all the cigarettes he’s ever smoked and curses himself for each and every single one of them, for every breath that now feels harder to catch.

Just as he’s starting to think the chase will never end, the man veers off the path, disappearing into a thicket of trees. Javier skids to a halt, eyes narrowing as he spots a faint light ahead. He follows, heart thudding, and emerges into a small clearing where an old, decrepit shed looms out of the darkness. The door hangs ajar, swaying slightly in the wind.

He’s methodical as he presses himself against the side of the structure, peering inside. 

Nothing.

He doesn’t hesitate and kicks the door open. It’s empty, save for a few rusted tools and decaying wooden beams. But then his flashlight picks out a hatch in the floor, half-concealed by dirt and debris.

He hesitates, the radio on his belt crackling to life with the voices of his fellow officers. They will be here soon, but he doesn’t have the luxury of waiting. Every second counts. If the man gets away, or worse, if he decides to end the girl’s life down in that tunnel... Javier can’t live with that. 

Bracing himself, he grips the hatch and heaves it open, descending into the darkness. The air is damp, the scent of earth and decay prominent. His light reveals narrow, dirt walls as he makes his way down the tunnel, every step echoing eerily in the confined space.

It’s quiet— too quiet— and that only makes his pulse race faster. The oppressive silence only broken by the sound of his own breathing.

Then he notices the glow of candles lighting the way ahead. The tunnel opens up into a larger chamber, and what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. The room is filled with religious iconography—crosses, statues, relics—but all twisted, defiled.

Candles flicker on every surface, casting long shadows across the walls, which are plastered in what looks like pages of the bible, the symbol he’s seen in the Rome files and on the scrap of flesh in the vomit of their earlier victim scribbled over them.

The air is thick with the stench of rot, and in the far corner, a large, stained cooler hooked up to a generator hums ominously. 

Javier’s flashlight passes over a series of weapons laid out on a crude altar. The whole scene feels like something out of a horror movie, but this is no set. This is real.

And then he sees him. The man who led him here, standing on the other side, holding Samantha in front of him like a shield, the gun still pressed firmly to her head. Her eyes are wide with terror, her body trembling uncontrollably, blood seeping out of the wound on her torso.

Javier stops in his tracks, his gun trained on his target. They’re both panting, chests heaving as they stare each other down, drenched in rain and mud. The man’s eyes are feral, but there’s something else there too— something dark and fanatical, a madness that Javier knows he can’t reason with.

“Let her go,” Javier commands like he had in the woods, “I’m not going to tell you again.” The man doesn’t respond, a twisted smile playing on his chapped lips.

“One small move,” he grumbles, his voice low and menacing, “and her pretty little brains are goin’ to paint the fuckin’ walls.”

Javier’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t doubt him for a second, He knows what this fucker is capable of.

He can’t risk a shot— not with Samantha so close, not with the man ready to pull the trigger at the slightest provocation.

Then, in a move that catches Javier completely off guard, the man pulls the gun away from Samantha’s head and tosses her aside like a ragdoll.

Instead of dropping the weapon, he brings it up to his own temple, his sinister grin never faltering.

“Don’t!”

“It’s all for her,” the man mutters, almost to himself, as if Javier isn’t even there. Those three words confuse him, but then it all happens so fast— too fast for him to intervene, to stop it.

The man pulls the trigger.

The gunshot reverberates through the enclosed space. His lifeless body hitting the cold, damp floor. Blood pools around his head, mixing with the mud and grime.

Samantha lets out a broken sob, and Javier rushes forward, holstering his weapon as he drops to his knees beside her and shields her from the scene.

She’s shaking uncontrollably against him, her eyes wide and unseeing, her face as pale as death itself. Javier wraps his arms around her, pulling her close despite the ache from the bullet he took.

“It’s okay,”  he whispers, though the words feel shallow in the face of what’s just happened. “You’re safe now.” 

The heavy weight of the case can finally be shed— no more victims, no more suffering. But something about how it unfolded tonight doesn’t sit right with Javier. The way it all fell into place— it was too perfect, almost as if it was orchestrated just for him.

Officers swarm the area, flashlights illuminating the darkness as they descend into the tunnel. He directs them with sharp, clipped orders, ensuring the chamber is thoroughly searched and every piece of evidence is documented. The place is a nightmare— literally, and the cooler... God, the cooler.

Its contents are going to be a nightmare for the forensic team to identify— human remains, some fresh, others in varying states of decomposition. 

Javier is all too familiar with the grotesque depths of human depravity. The narcos had brutally educated him on it, but still, it doesn’t make witnessing it any easier.

It will undoubtedly tie the now-deceased man to their and potentially other unsolved cases. And yet, there’s no satisfaction in the discovery, only a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of Javier’s stomach.

When he emerges from the tunnel, the scene outside has only grown more chaotic. Police, ambulances, and news reporters all converge by the abandoned tracks where everything set off. The press, hungry for details, hound the officers, their questions blending into a cacophony of noise that Javier tries to block out.

He stands off to the side in an attempt to finally catch his breath; chest heaving with the remnants of adrenaline. The rain has stopped, but the ground is a mess of mud and puddles, the dampness clinging to everything.

He watches as Samantha is loaded into the ambulance, her small frame dwarfed by the large stretcher. Her expression solemn, still reeling from what she’s faced. The paramedics speak in hushed tones, their movements quick and efficient, wrapping her in a thermal blanket before shutting the doors.

Javier winces slightly as he removes his vest, and a paramedic walking by stops, concern etched on her face. “You should get checked out too,” she says, gently guiding him to the back of another ambulance. He waves off her concern but doesn’t resist as she sits him down, shining a light into his eyes, checking his pulse.

“Everything looks fine,” she says after a moment, her tone professional but kind. “You’re going to have some serious bruising where that bullet hit— your vest took the brunt of it, so you’ll be sore for a while.”

He nods, hardly listening. His mind is somewhere else, his thoughts tangled. The weariness settles into his bones as the paramedic presses an ice pack into his hands, guiding them up to the spot he was hit at.

“You’re lucky,” she adds. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Javier grunts in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting when a cluster of reporters move from the officers and over to the sheriff when he makes his appearance, their cameras flashing, microphones extended towards him. He’s trying to answer their questions, his expression tight, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining composure.

Their exchanges over the radio have been minimal, strictly professional, with an edge of bitterness.

The tension between them is prominent, an unspoken rift that neither man seems willing to bridge. Javier catches a glance from Romeo, but it’s fleeting, their eyes barely meeting before the sheriff turns back to the reporters.

Exhaustion begins to nestle within his body. He’s done enough tonight— enough to get by, enough to wrap up the loose ends so that he can leave this hellish scene behind. 

He stands up, handing the ice pack back to the paramedic with a nod of thanks. His eyes scan the scene once more— officers hauling the perpetrator’s dead body into the back of a coroner’s van, forensic teams combing through the area, the reporters still badgering Romeo for answers— but none of it holds his attention. His mind is already elsewhere, already focused on where he needs to be.

Only one thought remains clear. Paloma. He needs to be with her, hold her, to reassure that they’re okay, that she’s okay. The thought of her is the only thing that makes sense right now, the only thing that matters.

Without another word, he turns and starts walking, ignoring the looks from his colleagues, the murmured questions. He heads for his cruiser, slipping into the driver’s seat with a wince as his chest protests the movement. The rain has left the interior damp and cold, but he doesn’t care. He starts the engine and pulls away from the chaos.

Thoughts swirl in a disjointed mess that he cannot qualm, and it isn’t until he’s pulling into his driveway that he remembers— he didn’t call her. He should’ve checked in, caught her up on everything.

But the sight of her car parked in his driveway, the soft glow of light from his bedroom window, fills him with a wave of relief. She’s here. She’s safe.

He exhales a long breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension as he steps out of the car. His body aches with every move, but he preserves. He just needs to see her.

Javier is careful as he enters, muddy and wet, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He kicks off his boots by the door.

Calling out her name, his voice is rough from the night’s exertions.

“In here,” her voice beckons from the hallway, a honeyed reply that tugs at his heart. He follows, brows furrowing as he nears the bathroom. When he steps inside, he’s greeted by a sight that almost undoes him.

She is in the bathtub, bubbles covering her body, her hair piled into a messy bun with loose strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. The bathroom is warm and filled with the scent of lavender, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world he’s just come from.

She turns to look at him, her eyes widening as she takes in his disheveled appearance— his busted lip, the small cuts from twigs lashing at him during the chase, mud and rain still clinging to him.

“Javi, what happened?” she asks, concern lacing her words.

He steps closer, crouching, eyes tracing the lines of her face, taking in all her natural beauty. His gaze shifts to the mug on the edge of the tub, the scent of whiskey faint but unmistakable. He notices the glassy look in her eyes, the way she blinks slowly.

She’s drunk.

“Querida,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How much have you had to drink?”

Paloma narrows her eyes at him, her tone edged with defiance even in her inebriated state. “I asked you a question first.”

There’s a beat of silence, his throat bobbing. Finally, Javier lets out a sigh, slumping his shoulders as he answers. “It’s over. We got him.”

He explains what transpired and Paloma listens. Her eyes widen, her breath catches, disbelief and concern paint her expressions when he tells her about the tunnel, the chase, the way it all ended so abruptly.

She brings one hand from under the water to take hold of his, the warmth of her touch enough to settle his frayed nerves.

“It’s over,” he repeats, more for himself than for her. “No one else is going to get hurt.”

She nods softly, her fingers tightening around his before she slowly pulls away. “Join me,” she murmurs in a gentle invitation.

Javier chuckles, glancing skeptically at the small tub. “Baby, I don’t think I’d fit in there even if I tried.” His words are light, but the way her gaze holds his makes the excuse falter on his lips, the sentiment dying as quickly as it was born.

With a resigned sigh, he stands, the soft pop of his joints barely audible over the quiet splash of water. His hands move to undress, and when he gets to his shirt, the fabric falls away to reveal the dark, angry bruise on his chest. The instant Paloma’s eyes land on the mark, she gasps, her concern evident.

“Javi—”

“The bullet I took,” he brushes off her worry with a soft grunt. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

But the look etched across her face pulls him closer, and he bends down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, the contact lingering longer than intended. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She shifts to give him space when he steps into the tub, the water sloshing gently around his bigger frame. Despite the tight fit, they settle opposite each other, their legs brushing beneath the surface.

Once he’s seated, Javier reaches out, gently pulling her leg towards him. He presses a soft kiss to her ankle, his lips warm against her skin, before he begins to knead the tension from her calf with strong, skilled hands.

“Where the fuck did you get lavender-scented bubbles?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, aquiline nose grazing her wet skin as he trails soft kisses up to her knee.

Paloma lets out a light, drunken laugh, her head tipping back as she revels in his touch. “Tammy gave ‘em to me when I left her place. Told me to take a bath and that it’d make me feel better.”

“And?” he asks, his deep brown eyes flitting up to meet hers.

“Feelin’ better now,” she breathes, the contentment in her voice mirrored in her relaxed posture, reaching over for the cup.

Javier’s hands still momentarily as he repeats his earlier question, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dunno. Maybe like two mugs’ worth.” She hiccups, a small, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

His gaze moves to the mug she clutches like a treasure. “You know I have glasses specifically for that, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought this mug was quirky,” she says, holding it up for him to see, as if it wasn’t already familiar to him. It’s the one Steve had given him— a tacky gift after he had accidentally broken the one that usually sat on Javi’s desk back at the embassy.

He remembers his partner saying something about how Javier survived on coffee, cigarettes, and cunt— the Holy Trinity. Steve would always accompany this jab of his with a wink and a teasing grin.

He can’t help but laugh at the memory, shaking his head slightly, “Of course you did, hermosa.” His tone thickens with affection as he resumes his gentle massage, the tension in his own body beginning to ebb away as he focuses on her. Funny how that works.

A gentle silence envelops them, the kind that speaks of comfort. Paloma breaks it with a soft, but probing question, “Now that the case is closed… does that mean you’re leaving?”

The question manifests like a heavy mist, and Javier’s hands still on her leg, his fingers lingering before he slowly lowers it beneath the water.

He hadn’t wanted to face this moment, had told himself he wouldn’t think about his departure until it was staring him in the face. But now that it is, now that it’s here, he finds himself utterly uncertain.

Of course he wants to stay with her, to pursue this relationship that feels like it could be everything he’s ever wanted. But with the tangled mess of issues between them and Romeo, the barely restrained animosity that is bound to fester— it’s hard to see a clear path forward.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as his head tips back to rest against the cool tile of the wall.

Paloma shifts from her relaxed position, sitting up then setting the mug aside, and his heart skips a beat, worried he might have upset her.

“You don’t know…” Her brows knit together, confusion and a touch of hurt evident in her eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Javier takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You’re the only thing that’s keeping me here, palomita. I’d only stay for you. Fuck everything else.” His voice is tender, full of the raw truth of his feelings. Reaching out, he strokes her cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fluffy bubbles in their wake.

“You want the God honest truth?” She nods eagerly and he continues, “I go where you go. If you want to stay here, then I’ll stay here. If you want to leave, then I’ll leave.”

Warmth spreads through her chest, filling the space where doubt had started to creep in. She nuzzles into his hand, her eyes searching his, “You mean that?”

Javier’s gaze holds hers, steady and unwavering. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His sincerity makes her feel both cherished and understood. “So you would go anywhere? Just for me?”

He hums softly, nodding his head. There’s no hesitation, no hint of doubt in his eyes— just that familiar, endearing glint that always melts her heart, the one that tells her how much he loves her, how much he’s willing to do for her; even when his words can’t.

“I wanna leave Seminary,” she admits, statement spilling out with a quiet determination. It’s something she’s been feeling for a long, long time— more now after everything that’s happened with her father.

Javier isn’t surprised. “Yeah? And go where?”

She averts her gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips as a blush creeps up her cheeks. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Now why the hell would I do that?”

Paloma bites her lip, her fingers twiddling nervously beneath the water. “‘Cause it’s a little silly. Somethin’ I’ve been dreamin’ of since I was a teenager…”

He gives her a look that says keep going, I’m listening.

“Wanna head west, towards California,” she finally breathes out with a wistful longing. “Stop along the way. See the deserts and mountains. Have a house on the beach so every mornin’ I can walk outside and put my toes in the sand and work on my music. That’s my dream.”

He can see it so vividly— the two of them driving through vast and differing landscapes, the wind in her hair, her laughter filling the car, and the sun setting over the ocean as she strums her guitar on the beach. It’s a beautiful dream, one that tugs at his own restless spirit, one that makes him want to chase it right alongside her.

He leans in, brushing his lips softly against hers, tasting the promise of their future on her mouth. “Then let’s go.” he whispers in a tender vow. “I’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.”

She needs it as much as she needs him. Paloma’s eyes shine, a mix of joy and disbelief that he’s so willing, so ready to follow her wherever she wants to go. She kisses him, her heart soaring with the knowledge that she’s not alone in this, that wherever her aspirations take her, he’ll be right there by her side, loving her, supporting her, and making her dreams his own.

Javier feels a tide of emotions crashing over him as he sits there in the warm bath, her presence filling every corner of his being. The night has been brutal—his body aches with the bruises of the chase, his chest still sore from the angry bullet, but it’s the weight of everything that they’ve been through together that overwhelms him the most.

He looks at her now, tipsy and beautiful, bubbles clinging to her soft skin, her eyes half-lidded with affection, and it hits him just how much he loves her, how much he’s loved her since that moment on the ferris wheel.

They’ve overcome so much, so many hurdles he put in place that could’ve easily torn them apart, and yet here they are, in each other’s arms, in this intimate moment that feels like the culmination of… well, everything.

His nose grazes hers, his breath fanning over her face as he tries to find the words that suddenly feel so urgent to say. “Palomita…” he murmurs, tightening his hold on her, as if she might slip away if he doesn’t. “I was going to wait until after I talked to your dad and make it a whole big thing but…”

She stares at him expectantly, unsure of what he could possibly say.

“I want you to be my girl,” the statement is laden with weight of his feelings. “No more wondering, no more holding back. Just you and me, together.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, he fears he’s said too much, that he’s somehow scared her off. 

But then her lips shift into a soft smile. “Your girl…” she likes the way that sounds. “There are worst things to be.” She jokes but her answer is clear as day. Of course she wants to be his.

The relief that floods through him is almost dizzying, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s slow and tender, a kiss that’s filled with the promise of everything they’re committing to.

As their lips meld together, the tenderness quickly ignites into something far more passionate. She tries to be mindful of the cut on his lip but he doesn’t seem to mind, the faint pulse all drowned out by the sweetness of her mouth.

He shifts his weight, adjusting their position as best as he can, sliding himself between her legs, the warm water swaying around them as he pushes her up a little further in the tub.

Javier’s hands slide down her body, fingers tracing the curves of her waist before finding her full breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples that peak under his touch. The feel of her soft, soapy skin beneath his calloused hands sends a shiver of need wracking right through him, and he feels his length stirring, poking against her thigh.

Paloma’s breath hitches, her lips parting with a soft moan as she presses herself closer to him, her own hands moving to cradle his jaw. Her kiss turns desperate, tongue sliding against his with a fervor that matches the growing heat between them. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, body instinctively seeking his in a way that leaves no doubt about what she wants.

His cock glides between her folds, hips twitching instinctively from the friction and her thighs clamp around his hips at the feeling.

“Javi,” she whimpers against his lips, “Need you to take me right here.”

His hands roam everywhere they can reach, squeezing and groping as he holds her steady. He doesn’t respond with words, just a deep grunt when she rocks her hips against him purposefully. 

“We’re gonna make a mess,” he nips at her chin, moving his heated kisses down to her neck.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, as if to anchor herself to him. “Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

The bathwater spills out of the tub, as if proving his point, but neither of them get hung up on it, completely swept away by the lust that overcomes them.

Strong hands grip her hips as he lines himself against her entrance, the anticipation of sinking inside her making his dick twitch. He pauses for a moment, brown eyes locking with hers, wordlessly seeking her affirmation. And when she nods, her eyes dark with desire, he pushes into her, a low groan escaping his lips at the way her pussy clenches around his cock like she was made just for him.

Paloma’s mouth parts in a breathless gasp, eyes fluttering shut as her head tilts back, arching into him. The blissful sensation of him filling her leaving her utterly overwhelmed in the best way possible. Javier leans in, kissing along the column of her throat, his lips pressing against the pulse point that races beneath her skin before biting down, groaning at how sweet she tastes.

His movements are slow, savoring every second, every flutter of her sweet cunt and being so connected to the woman he loves.

Their rhythm builds, his pace increasing as their bodies move together in perfect harmony, soapy water splashing everywhere as they lose themselves in each other.

“You feel like fuckin’ heaven, my sweet girl.” He grunts against her, the praise having her walls viscerally clench around his girth, a whiney moan of his name getting stuck in her throat and he coaxes it out by snaking his fingers down between them to rub at her clit.

The atmosphere hums with the sound of their heated panting and moans, unbridled desire pours forth with every touch, every kiss, every stroke.

Javier’s hands are restless— caressing her breasts, gripping her hips, cradling her face as he kisses her deeply, passionately, desperately, like she’s the very air he needs to breathe. The sharp pang in his chest draws a wince, her eyes widening with concern, but he quickly dispels her worry by hiking her legs higher on his waist and driving into her deeper.

“Oh my god,” Paloma clings to him, her fingers threading through his hair, her nails raking down his back, pulling him even closer and deeper, until they’re both on the edge, teetering on the brink of an earth-shattering orgasm.

“So good, Javi, I’m about to come.” 

He growls, her words fueling him to increase the intensity of his thrusts and bringing forth his own orgasm. His thick fingers to return to her swollen clit, trying to get her there so they can come together. “Good girl, give it to me. I’ve got you.”

And when they finally reach that peak, when the pleasure explodes at their cores like fireworks, it’s not just a release, it’s a culmination of everything they’ve become together.

He doesn’t pull out, burying himself to the hilt as her pussy milks every ribbon of cum from his throbbing cock.

It’s love in its purest form, raw and intense and beautiful, and as they come down from that high and hold each other in the aftermath, their hearts still pounding, their breaths still mingling— he knows it’s the only place he’d ever want to be.

“Really testing that birth control,” Javi murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his tongue glides across her jaw. He lingers there for a moment before his lips find the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sucking a possessive mark into the softness.

“You sure are,” she breathes out, feeling more intoxicated by him than by the whiskey she had earlier. “Told ya I was on it once ‘n you haven’t looked back since.”

He bites down gently on her collarbone, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. “Want me to stop?”

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, a mischievous expression on her face as she shifts beneath him, her body pliant and eager. “Love bein’ full of you.”

A satisfied smirk finds its way onto his mouth and he moves to kiss her. The cramped space of the bathtub and awkward angle finally begin to take their toll on him. His lower back spasms, but even that doesn’t get him to pull out of her. He loves the feeling of her warmth wrapped around him, it outweighs any of the discomfort.

“We made a big ‘ol mess,” she giggles, peering over the edge of the tub to see the water that’s splashed out, soaking the floor. The small disaster only adds to her delight, her laughter filling the small bathroom.

Javier chuckles, his breath warm against her neck as he shifts slightly, trying to ease the strain on his back. “Worth it,” his lips brush against her ear, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples.

Her laughter fades into a soft moan as she arches into his touch. Leave it to him to flip the mood from playful to horny.

He leans back just enough to catch her gaze, “Can’t get enough of you,” he admits, voice low and husky.

“Then don’t,” she retorts, her fingers trailing down his back, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shudder.

“Don’t think my back can handle another round in here.”

She opens her mouth, ready to make a teasing remark about his age, but he sees it coming, quickly bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. “Don’t,” he warns, a smile playing on his lips.

Her eyes narrow playfully, and she licks his palm, making him tut at her. His hand slips away, replacing it with his lips in a quick kiss as he eases his soft cock out of her which has them both letting out a breath.

They let the remaining bathwater swirl down the drain before starting the shower, the warm spray washing over them, actually bathing this time. Paloma’s fingers trail gently over Javier’s chest, lingering on the large bruise that has already begun to darken beneath his tanned skin.

Her eyes then travel up to the bruise on his jaw and the gash on his lip that she’d momentarily forgotten about in the heat of their fucking. A frown tugs at her lips as she reaches up to trace the wound with a feather-light touch. “I take it Daddy didn’t take the news of us very well,” she murmurs with resignation as she tries to picture the scene he must have caused at the station. She wonders how the hell he even found out.

Javier shrugs, his expression unreadable as his hands follow the curves of her body, moving with a tender reverence as he lathers the soap across her skin. “The ass beating was partially deserved,” he admits. “Would have been worse, but he stopped once he saw the pictures…” He pauses, studying her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t give him one. Her eyes flutter closed as he continues to wash her, the gentle motions of his hands soothing away the lingering tension.

“I shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. They weren’t necessary,” he continues, even though his mind tells him to shut the fuck up. “I was just pissed because of how things were between us at the time. I was chasing after August,” his voice hardens as he says the name, “trying to find something, anything, to tie him to what was going on. But that proved to be pointless real quick.”

Paloma hums softly, her expression indifferent as she lets the water cascade over her. “It’s okay, honey. Bygones are bygones. I wasn’t really myself while I was with him, anyway.”

Javier’s curiosity stirs, tempted to ask more, to dig deeper into the mystery of what exactly went on between her and August. He knows so little about the inner workings of his collective, only that it’s a group of troubled minds that reject traditional religion and never stay in one place for long. It explains their absence from town, how they disappeared without a trace after the Fourth of July celebration.

But he doesn’t press, not now at least. All he wants is to forget as much of today’s bullshit as he can and just enjoy her.

They work in quiet harmony, the sound of the soft patter of water against tile soothing. Once they’ve rinsed away the last of the suds, they reluctantly step out of the shower.

Paloma’s eyes trail over him, his toned back and firm ass catching her attention as he grabs towels for them. The sight of him is a welcome distraction, and she bites her lip, appreciating every inch of him as he moves.

They sidestep the water, making their way to his bedroom to find something to wear. She snatches one of his shirts from the closet, slipping it over her head. The fabric hangs loosely on her frame, but the way it falls just right on her curves makes Javier pause, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of affection and desire.

“C’mon,” she teases, breaking the spell once she slips her panties on, “we gotta clean up before we go to bed.”

With a playful groan, Javier nods, and they head back to the bathroom. They move around each other easily, laughing and joking as they clean up the floor, using his shitty mop and some of his other towels to get it done. 

“You know,” he says with a grin, wringing out the mop, “if this law enforcement thing doesn’t work out, I could see us starting a cleaning business.”

Paloma smirks, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief. “Oh yeah? Javier Peña, professional crime fighter by day, janitor by night? Astronomer on the side?”

He chuckles, giving her a playful nudge with his hip. “Something like that.”

She shakes her head, her smile widening as she tosses another towel into the pile. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re pretty damn good with that mop.”

They continue their lighthearted banter, the task of cleaning becoming less of a chore. When they finally finish, the bathroom is restored to order, the floor dry and the towels piled up in the hamper. Javier leans against the doorframe, watching Paloma as she wipes her brow, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the shower and the exertion of their playful cleaning.

Without a word, he reaches out, tugging her gently towards his bedroom. 

She follows willingly, her fingers entwined with his as they cross the threshold and slip into his bed. She lets her eyes scan over his handsome face and all the small wounds. Her smile falters slightly, eyes softening.

“I don’t wanna go back home. Not yet,” she confesses, voice small.

Javier pulls her into his lap and she straddles his hips. “You can stay here as long as you want. Take it one day at a time. If you need to go back for anything, I’ll go with you.”

“Playin’ house with you, huh? Sounds like fun.”

He chuckles softly, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how you feel after a few days of my cooking. Or my obnoxious snoring at night.”

The lightness of their conversation is a balm to her nerves, and she leans into him, pressing a kiss to his nose. “M’sure I’ll survive.”

Javier’s expression turns thoughtful, his mind not fully able to move on from today’s happenings. “I’ve got this weird feeling about tonight,” he admits, brows furrowing slightly. “The guy down there in that chamber… he said something. ‘It’s all for her.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

She tilts her head slightly, looping her arms around his neck loosely. “He was twisted, Javi. Don’t let him mess with your head. Whatever that meant— it’s irrelevant now. He’s dead. It’s over.”

He nods slowly, but the unease lingers in his eyes. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s just… something feels off.”

“Sleep on it,” Paloma offers, her fingers weaving through the curls at the nape of his neck as she tugs gently, her body not-so-subtly grinding down on his lap. The warmth between them begins to intensify. A slow, simmering desire. “Maybe you won’t feel this way tomorrow.”

Her words seem to pull him back from the edge of uncertainty, grounding him. The doubt that lingered in his mind begins to fade as his cock twitches against her, feeling the soft pressure of her body moving against him. “You’re just trying to shut me up so you can get some,” he teases, his lips brushing against her jaw, the scent of his body wash clinging to her skin and making his head spin.

She tilts her head back, offering more of her neck, her breath hitching as she keens beneath his touch. “Maybe… Is it a crime to want to fuck my boyfriend?” she replies in an airy breath. The title of boyfriend makes his heart jump and he’s all but ready to take here right here and now.

Their lips meet, the kiss deep and consuming as her tongue slips into his mouth, taking control in a way that makes him follow her lead. His hands find their way under the shirt she’s wearing, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her hips, pulling her closer.

When they break apart for air, Javier keeps her close, foreheads resting together. “I meant what I said about California, Paloma. I’ll go anywhere with you.” His voice is soft, but the conviction in it is unmistakable.

She smiles, heart swelling with so much affection she feels like it might burst. She knows there’s still so much shit that needs to be sorted out, especially with her father. The path ahead isn’t without its challenges. 

But for the first time, the oppressive burden that’s weighed on her shoulders seems lighter. She feels the freedom to chase the aspirations she’s held onto for so long, the dreams that have lived quietly in the back of her mind.

Mother’s history be damned. Father’s control be damned.

She’s ready to step into her own future, to grow and blossom into the woman she’s always known she could be, with a man by her side who’s willing to go to the ends of the earth to make her happy. His own happiness is intertwined with hers, his satisfaction stemming from seeing her thrive.

“Okay,” she finally whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her words a soft echo of his own. “Then let’s go.”

[ctrnewrites]

little moments (steve harrington)

hiii :3, im getting back into the passion of writing. and honestly posting to a little moth in the corner of the internet is worth it if i can reignite a passion. here is a little piece i cooked up

summary: a collection of moments throughout the day that make steve appreciate the little moments, (doesn't really follow any form of timeline, it's just assumed that the upside down probably happened, s2-s3 era steve) (fem reader)

wc: 1,150

The sheer curtain couldn’t completely hide the light from the sun shining into the room. Two bodies stir under the soft duvet of a queen-sized bed. Steve is the one to wake first, staring down at the head of his girlfriend. A head that’s tucked into his chest, nuzzled against his warmth. His gaze was full of nothing but love and admiration. Steve placed a soft kiss on her head, his hand playing with hers that was left resting on his chest. Steve admired times like these. Soft, quiet moments that seem small in meaning but are incredibly valued. Within a short span of a few minutes, his lover awoke. Looking up at the brown-haired boy and chuckling softly. Whispering a soft “good morning lovely”.

“Mornin’ sweetness.” He whispered in return. “Sleep well?” Steve asked her, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

“Always the best with you,” (Y/n) smiled, sitting up to give a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Lazy day today?”

“What day is it?” He countered, just to make sure.

“Uhm, Saturday.” She squinted at the small calendar across his room. “No work, unknown status on the goobers though.” She joked.

“Indeed. Well let’s just enjoy at least our morning together.” He smiled at her, returning the previous peck to her nose.

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

The couple were still in their pajamas as they traversed the kitchen. Picking up leftovers from breakfast and placing dishes in the sink to be washed. As Steve placed the leftovers in the fridge, (y/n) started the task of wiping down the countertops and the table where they ate. “You always make the best pancakes ever baby.” Steve called out to her.

“It’s just a little extra cinnamon and vanilla extract. I keep telling you, yet you insist on me making them.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen sink to ring out the old rag she used. Then starting the chore of washing the dishes.

“But they aren’t the same.” He sighed, going up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. “Yours are always special when you make them.” Steve placed a kiss on her cheek, staying in his position of being wrapped around his girlfriend.

“If you say so Stevie.” She giggled, finishing up the last dish of the minor mess they made. The other cleaned dishes on a drying rack next to the sink.

There usually weren’t many dishes to be done throughout the day. Considering Steve’s parents were typically away on some business venture, Steve has been the only one around. Keeping (Y/n) and the kids around for company. But with them, it usually wasn’t so bad.

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

“Boo, it’s raining.” (Y/n)’s voice reverberated throughout the living room. Her eyes were glued to the window that faced the street; curtains drawn to bring in whatever natural light it could. “I wanted to have a picnic.”

“We could still have a picnic, just indoors.” Steve suggested, standing next to her, looking at the downpour.

“It’s more fun when it’s outside.” She raised her brows towards her lover.

“Baby we can’t go outside, you’ll get sick.” He gave her a stern ‘are you serious?’ look.

“That’s such a myth. I go outside in the rain all the time and I’ve ended up perfectly fine.” She turned to face him. “Especially after I take a nice warm bath, it basically reverses the cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” He rolled his eyes. Glancing between the girl and the torrential downpour outside.

“That is so how it works.” (Y/n) giggled at him as she toyed with the sleeves of the sweater she was wearing. It was his very own bright yellow sweater. Steve always thought the sweater looked better on her. But every time he voiced his opinion, (Y/n) fired back that yellow was definitely not her color. Regardless of how often she stole the sweater to sleep or just hang out in.

Steve knew she would get her way. They would end up going outside without the appropriate clothes for the September rain. The yellow sweater was discarded on a recliner in the living room as (Y/n) ran to the French doors leading out to the backyard in her tank and jeans. She looked Steve dead in the eye as she took a step out of the doors and onto the patio. Immediately getting drenched with the rain. Steve saw her bright smile as she spun underneath the dark sky. He decided he had no choice but to join her, stepping outside with his blue T-shirt and denim.

“You know I love you right?” He says to her over the sound of rain echoing around them.

“I am forever grateful that you do. And I love you too.” (Y/n) pulled him close, standing on her tip toes and giving him a kiss on the nose.

Steve started to sway to an imaginary song, bringing (Y/n) in to dance with him. Enjoying the feel of the rain as they danced. A sway, a spin, a lean, and finally he pulled her in closer, finally landing a normal kiss on her lips. His hands moved to her cheeks as her arms went around his neck. The rain continued around them, but it felt as if they froze in time. Out of breath, foreheads touching as they took in the moment. It was peaceful, serene, but also cold and wet.

“We should probably go inside.” She suggested, feeling a chill go down her spine.

“I told you so.” He captured her lips in a quick kiss once more. “I’ll go run us a bath. Bubbles included.”

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

After the bath and a new set of clean clothes, the two returned to the living room once again. The rain continued outside while they just laid on the couch, enjoying each other’s company and touch. It was moments like this that were truly cherished. No need for elaborate dates or crazy activities when all they needed was each other.

“I think I could stay like this forever Stevie.” (Y/n) sighed happily, nuzzling into his chest.

“Me too, sweetness.” Steve returned the sentiment. Playing with her hair as she laid her head on him. “I love you. So much more than you can imagine.” He said softly.

“I love you even more.” She smiled, gently closing her eyes to let sleep take over her for an afternoon nap.

He watched her lull to sleep, still holding onto her. Steve never felt stability like he did before (Y/n). It was a welcome feeling. One he would hold onto forever. It truly was moments like these where he was able to sit back and appreciate the cards that life dealt him. His thoughts slowly calmed down, finally succumbing to the same fate and falling asleep on the couch in the living room. Nothing to disturb the peace of the couple.

[bri-cheeses]

“How do you stay so innocent? After all we’ve been through, how are you still so… pure and sweet and happy?” It’s a question Evan’s been wanting to ask for a while, but he hasn’t been entirely sure how to ask without being offensive. But eventually, his desire to understand this one part of his twin that he hasn’t yet figured out overpowered his hesitance to ask. So here he is, waiting for Pandora’s answer.

Pandora contemplates the question for a while. Evan can tell she’s struggling with actual meaning behind her words—no, she’s thought about the “why” plenty—but rather, she figuring out how to word it.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m pure, or that I’m truly innocent. I know that bad things happen, and I’ve been through bad things myself. And it’s true that a lot of people are confused by how I’ve responded to those bad things.

“But it’s like this: there’s a girl who hates rainy days. And for a long while, she would spend rainy days alone in her room, shutters drawn so she could ignore all the rain. But it didn’t work, because she could still hear it, and the sound reminded her how much she hated rain, and how sad it made her.

“And one day there was a torrential downpour, the likes she had never seems before. And that was the lowest she’s ever been. But the day after, she went outside and saw the sun, and the green grass, and the flowers blowing in the wind. And she had a new appreciation for all the good things she had in her life, now matter how small.

“Over time, she came to realize that the rain was always going to come, and that she could never completely stop it. So she changed her reaction and way of thinking instead.

“Now when the rain comes, she doesn’t close the shutters. She stands and watches it come down around her, but isn’t sad or sorry that it’s happening. Because without it, she could never fully appreciate the flowers and sun and green grass she had all around her. And she knows that no matter how bad the rain might seem, it will always come to an end, and she’ll be able to see all the things that make her happy again. So she has hope when the rain comes, and she’s even thankful for it.

“People call her innocent, sometimes even crazy, for it, for being happy even when it’s raining, but the truth is that she just doesn’t see the point in feeling such encompassing sadness just because it happens to be raining. Her flowers are still there with her, the sun is simply hiding for a while, and the grass will look greener than ever before once the rain has gone.

“So that’s why I’m so “innocent.” Because I choose to be. And is it so wrong that I choose to retain childlike wonder and happiness, even in times of rain, simply because I want to? I don’t think so. And I think that it’s sad if someone else sees it that way. Because it’s not wrong, choosing joy for myself. Does that make sense?”

And it does, somewhat. It really does. And Evan can’t help but be impressed by the way his sister sees the world—he used to think she just wore blackout glasses all the time, blind to the hardship around her, but the truth is more complex than that. It’s more like she wears rose-tinted glasses, purposely choosing them each and every morning over the blue ones the rest of the world so often wears.

And as he smiles, and nods, and gives a little “thank you,” he feels as though he understands his twin better than ever before.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

One of the Boys [Part One]

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Marauders & OFC friendship

Characters: James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Original Female Character

Word Count: 4820

Rating: Teen

Summary: From the moment she met them Elle has always been one of the boys, but what happens when she doesnt want that anymore?

Tags/ Warnings: Friendship, Fluff, Angst, Male/Female Friendships, Marauders Era, High school drama, arguing, dating, the boys are stupid and sweet

Notes: Oh to be friends with dumb boys

PART ONE // PART TWO

‘So how was your first game?’ James said as he trudged into boys changing rooms clunking the door shut behind him as he trailed in after his friends.

‘Wet,’ Jace chuckled as he rested his broom against one of the changing benches, tiny droplets of water falling from one wooden surface to another before they became one with the bench. He was sodden, the layers of his quidditch uniform sticking to him as it did the others, their faces ruddy and cold from playing in a torrential downpour.

‘You’re not kidding,’ James chuckled as he came to stand next to him, ‘you did good though.’

‘Thanks,’ Jace said, as he unlaced his boots. James started to do the same, wincing as the winter’s air made contact with his dampened skin. He couldn’t wait to get in the shower, to feel the scalding hot water run across his aching muscles, but thanks to the cramped nature of the changing rooms they only had two cubicles and they’d been commandeered by the two other boys on the team before they could get a look in.

James wasn’t surprised, he was normally the first one in after a match, ready to get back out so he could catch everyone and congratulate or commiserate with them personally. But today was Jace’s first game on the team and as Gryffindor quidditch captain he’d felt obligated to make sure he had a good game. It was why he’d opted to take a seat on this bench instead of his normal one across the way with Sirius, who’d stripped out of his own soaked gear and was standing behind them, wrapped in the dressing gown he’d had the forethought to bring with him.

‘James is right you were great,’ Sirius said, ‘though I thought for sure Johnson had gotten that snitch within the first ten minutes.’

‘He nearly did,’ Jace said as he threw on a dry shirt quickly hoping the cold wouldn’t touch him.

‘Thank god the visibility was low,’ James added. He was out of his gear now, two towels wrapped around his body though it wasn’t enough to fend off the cold. In fact he was half contemplating doing the same as Jace who was dressing to head back to the tower, no doubt happy to shower and get changed properly once in somewhere with a heating system.

‘Thank Merlin Elle hit that bloody bludger away,’ Jace said with a smile, ‘I was nearly dead meat.’

‘She’s like lightning that one,’ Sirius mused.

‘Quicker than a snitch,’ James grinned.

‘And fierce too,’ Jace said as he pulled a pair of jeans on, ‘did you see the way she ripped into that Hufflepuff beater when she got too close to Johnson.’

‘That’s our Elle,’ Sirius smiled.

‘Oh yeah, you’re friends right?’ Jace replied, turning his attention to throwing his damp clothes into his quidditch bag.

‘Since first year,’ James said proudly as he did the same, pulling his dry clothes out onto the bench for when he came out of the shower.

‘So you know her pretty well then?’ Jace asked casually.

‘Better than anyone,’ Sirius said, taking a seat back on his own bench, his own sodden clothes in a pile on the floor.

‘So what’s she like?’ he asked, ‘off the pitch I mean.’

‘Well she’s Elle,’ James said, looking up from where he’d been sorting his clothes, intrigued by the boys line of questioning.

Because it wasn’t as if Jace didn’t know her. He was the year above them and though they didn’t really run in the same circles since he’d tried out for the team this year they’d been training together for a good few weeks. And Elle was Elle no matter if she was on or off the pitch. James’ scrutiny made him falter, the boy clearing his throat as he said, ‘yeah I know but…I dunno I guess I always see her hanging about with you lot but I don’t really know her. She seems…quiet.’

‘Elle?’ Sirius laughed, making James chuckle, ‘pull the other one.’

‘So what is she like then?’ Jace pressed. The boys looked at each other, unsure of how to answer. Because Elle was Elle. A marauder. Part of them as the others were. She was fierce and loyal. She was funny and charismatic but James supposed he was right, compared to him and Sirius she was on the quieter end of the spectrum even if that didn’t mean quiet in the normal sense.

‘I don’t know,’ James said, ‘funny?’

‘Loud?’ Sirius added.

‘Funny and loud?’ Jace said, a frown dancing across his face.

‘She’s like us,’ James rebutted.

‘She’s one of the boys,’ Sirius added.

‘Oh,’ Jace frowned, ‘so she doesn’t mind when you like talk about girls and stuff?’

‘James never stops,’ Sirius ribbed earning a shove from James. Sirius shoved him back, but Jace pressed on, unbothered by their wrestling, his face curious as he said, ‘no but like most girls wouldn’t like it guess. I mean they like talking about makeup and boys and stuff right?’

‘Not our Elle,’ Sirius said. James nodded.

‘So what do you talk about?’ Jace asked.

‘I don’t know,’ James shrugged, trying to pin down the last conversation they’d had but his mind was flooded by memories of today when every conversation had been about strategy or celebration, ‘quidditch?’

‘She doesn’t talk about boys and that?’ Jace asked.

‘Elle?’ Sirius asked, trying to think back about whether they’d ever talked about a boy and coming up empty. He’d mentioned girls around her and James never stopped prattling on about Lily and she was always happy to help when it came to that but the more he thought of it the more he realised they never really spoke about her love life, if he was being honest he didn’t really know if she had one and he found the words coming out before he planned them, ‘no I guess she doesn’t.’

‘Is she not interested in them or something?’ Jace chuckled softly.

‘I don’t know,’ James shrugged, ‘I think being friends with us lot has probably been enough to put her off for life don’t you think?’

‘Probably,’ Sirius joked though his smiled dimmed as he saw Jace frown, grabbing his bag from the bench and swinging it over his shoulder.

‘Yeah I bet you’re right,’ he said smiled weakly, ‘see you at the party yeah?’

‘Yeah, see you,’ James said, allowing him to pass between them and head to the door so he could leave. The pair waited until the door clicked closed before they spoke, curiosity flaming between them both.

‘That was weird right?’ Sirius said.

‘Yeah,’ James agreed, ‘what do you think? Tell Elle or not?’

‘I’m gonna go with not,’ Sirius said.

‘Agreed,’ James nodded.

‘C’mon,’ Sirius said as Gideon Johnson and Felix Fischer appeared from the showers, ‘let’s get up to the party.’

✵✵✵

Though the wind and the rain that continued to pour outside was dower and depressing it didn’t dampen the spirits of Gryffindor house who remained on a jubilant high following their win well into the evening. And though the boys had enjoyed themselves, as they did following every win, they’d grown tired of the common room festivities and so had headed to an alcove just down the corridor, mostly so Sirius could smoke. It was where Elle had found them.

She slipped in quickly behind the ornate tapestry that hid the tiny turret from view, immediately wedging herself on the small stone bench between Sirius and Remus. This wasn’t unusual and she often slotted into the group without issue so much so James didn’t even break from his conversation about a trip to Zonkos next Saturday, but noting her subdued nature Sirius took a glimpse at her. She looked sullen, her arms folded across herself and her eyes glossed over as if she was thinking about something. It was only when he nudged her thigh with his, offering her a drag of the cigarette he’d been about to hand to Remus did she look up, giving him a weak smile before she took a drag.

Curious and bored by James’ story he didn’t even let the boy finish and when she finally came up for air he smirked and said, ‘what’s up with you face ache?’

‘Nothing,’ she grumbled, leaning back against the stone seating and wincing as the coolness of it touched her back through her thin t-shirt. The change in conversation diverted all eyes on the girl which made her squirm, their worry at her absent exuberant nature a tad embarrassing.

‘C’mon it must be something,’ James said, unbothered by the conversation being steered away from his chosen topic when he saw how put out she looked.

‘Yeah since when are you this quiet?’ Peter added.

‘Can’t I be quiet if I want to be?’ Elle grumbled.

‘No,’ Sirius said, taking the cigarette back as he added, ‘spill.’

Elle shrugged and then folded her arms across her chest as if gesturing for them to move on with the conversation. When all she got in return was four expectant faces looking back at her she sighed and shuffled up in her seat, picking at her finger nails as she said, ‘it’s nothing.’

‘But?’ Sirius pressed.

‘But,’ she said, chewing on the inside of her cheek before she asked, ‘is Jace annoyed at me or something?’

‘Jace? Don’t think so,’ James said, his brow furrowing in a way that made his glasses slide down his nose, ‘why?’

‘I don’t know he seemed fine before the match but I’ve just been speaking to him and he’s acting all weird,’ she sighed, taking the cigarette back and taking a quick drag before offering it to Remus as they pondered her words, ‘…do you think it was the bludger thing?’

‘What that you saved his head from getting smashed in?’ Peter asked. James and Sirius nodded in agreement but their support only made Elle sit upright, more confused than she had been as she said, ‘I know! But…what if he, I don’t know, felt I was showing him up or something?’

‘Nah he was alright with it,’ Sirius reasoned, immediately diverting her attention, her brow furrowed as she recalled the painful ten minutes she’d spent with the boy trying to make awkward conversation before he’d pretended to see a friend across the room and made an excuse to get out of her way, prompting her to come and find the boys.

‘Wait you talked to him about it?’ she asked.

‘Yeah in the changing rooms,’ James said casually, worrying her further as she shuffled in her seat leaning forward as she pressed, ‘so what did he say?’

‘I don’t know,’ James shrugged, looking to Sirius for help. Since they’d gotten back to the party he’d put their conversation with Jace out of his mind. And considering they’d opted not to tell Elle about it in the first place he felt on the spot.

‘He was just asking about you,’ Sirius added.

‘About me?’ she asked, her mind spinning about what could have garnered such a change in temperament.

‘Yeah,’ James said.

‘What for?’ she asked quickly, worry spreading through her stomach. She loved the boys but they could be oblivious to some things, like whatever might make a boy go from talking you to awkwardly trying to get away from her.

‘Just wanted to know what you were like,’ James said.

‘Right,’ she said, her nerves mounting further, ‘but like what did he want to know?’

��Well just what you’re like I guess,’ Sirius said, smirking as he added, ‘he said you seemed quiet.’

‘Elle?’ Remus chuckled.

‘That’s what we said,’ James grinned, but Elle didn’t laugh, she didn’t even smile as her brow was furrowed as if she was working out a particularly difficult arithmancy equation. As if she was using their words to predict the future and not liking what she was met with. When she didn’t smile Sirius shifted, glancing at James who faltered too, hastening to add, ‘we just said you were a laugh.’

‘Yeah and smart,’ Sirius added, ‘like us.’

‘Like you?’ she frowned.

‘Well yeah,’ James said, unsure why the comparison seemed to weigh heavily on her. After all they were always lumped together. She was as much a part of the marauders as they were so for her to seem offended by that hurt him more than he’d expected. But Elle paid no notice to his upset, still thinking as she said, ‘and when you said that what did he say?’

‘Nothing really,’ Sirius said, but James sat up, sharing a look with his friend before he said, ‘well…he asked about what we talked about.’

‘And you said?’ Elle pressed.

‘Does it matter?’ James snipped.

‘Yes!’ Elle sighed, standing up and running her hand through her long golden locks as she thought about Jace. How unimpressed he’d looked. How it was no surprise. They’d been getting on well, a bit of flirty banter tossed here and there since he’d joined the team and she’d been waiting on a win to celebrate with him and talk properly. No wonder he didn’t want to speak to her, not when he thought she was a loud and boisterous. Just like them. Like a boy. Worse still they didn’t seem to get it, shrugging as if it was of insignificance as James replied, ‘we just said like quidditch and stuff!’

‘The canons,’ Sirius offered.

‘Pranks!’ Peter asked, though he shrunk back against his seat when Elle glared at him for daring to add fuel to this mounting fire but her attention was redirected as James spoke, his words encouraging as he said, ‘we just told him you were one of the boys.’

At that her gaze snapped towards him, her bright blue eyes flaming as her mouth drew to a tight pout that rivalled that of McGonagall’s when she was trying to temper her anger. The boys shared a hesitant look as she rubbed her brow and grit out, ‘what?’

‘We just-’ Sirius started.

‘You told him I was one of the boys!’ she snapped.

‘Well yeah!’ James replied.

‘You are,’ Sirius added irate at the way she was snapping at them considering he didn’t see what was wrong with the comparison. She’d never minded being part of their gang before, what was different today?

‘And what else?’ she asked, folding her arms across her chest angrily.

‘Elle,’ Remus tried but she cut him off.

‘What else!’ she demanded.

‘Well I can’t really remember,’ James lied, ‘it was just a casual conversation.’

‘Yeah, I mean I guess he asked about…’ Sirius started, falling quiet as James widened his eyes at him. They hadn’t even been able to ascertain what was weird about Jace’s questioning let alone what would trigger more anger if translated haphazardly to Elle who was growing more irate by the second.

‘Asked about what?’ Elle said, her voice deathly low. Remus and Peter sank back, thankful their lack of athleticism had ruled them out of being subjected to the storm that was brewing. James looked to Sirius for help, the two of them having a silent conversation that only seemed to enrage Elle further and she leant forward and took the cigarette that Sirius had managed to pilfer back at some point out of his fingers holding it out of his reach as he lurched to snatch it back. That made James shuffle awkwardly in his seat as though he was prey trying to display just how non-threatening he was though it was nothing compared to Peter who seemed frozen still just in case movement caused her to divert her attention onto him. However it had the desired effect on Sirius though who finally snapped, ‘oi don’t get your knickers in a twist!’

‘Then tell me what he said!’ Elle demand, moving back as he rose from his seat to get it. Sirius scowled and glanced at James who shrugged as if signalling he might as well divulge whatever they were keeping back. It wasn’t as though she could get any angrier after all.

‘Fine,’ Sirius sighed, stepping so that they were face to face and looking down on her as she baited him, ‘he asked if you minded us talking about girls around you.’

‘And you said?’ Elle asked, that nervous feeling returning.

‘Well you don’t,’ James said from behind him, unable to see how she hadn’t worked that out for herself.

‘Did he ask anything else?’ she pressed, ignoring him.

‘If you talked about boys which as Prongs said-’

‘Oh my god!’ Elle shrieked, dropping the cigarette to the floor as her hands flew to her face, brushing her hair out of it. Sirius spied his opportunity and grabbed the fag from the floor before sitting back down but uncertain of what exactly had tipped her over the edge James just asked, ‘what?!’

‘You told him I was one of the boys!’ she shrieked.

‘You are!’ James shouted.

‘That I don’t like boys!’ she snapped, shaking her head as if she could get the words out of them, ‘oh my god.’

‘Elle please calm down,’ Remus said.

‘I can’t believe them!’ she rambled.

‘It’s not that bad-’

‘Stop defending them!’ Elle snapped.

‘What have they actually done though?’ Peter asked, lost at how the conversation had spiralled so out of control.

‘Are you thick?!’ she snapped, her anger hitting everyone regardless of fault.

‘Oi it’s not my fault,’ Peter retorted, feeling foolish for sticking his head above the parapet.

‘Pete’s right it’s us you’re upset at,’ James said, feeling guilty as Peter shrunk back in his seat, nursing his bruised ego.

‘Not that I can see why,’ Sirius grumbled, causing her gaze to fall on him as though she were a bull noticing a red flag for the first time. Remus immediately jumped up to separate them, holding his hands up in surrender as he said, ‘look lets calm down. Don’t get upset.’

‘Oh and what kind of person would get upset eh?’ she challenged, ‘oh I bet I should just be like you when they do stupid shit. Water off a ducks back eh?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Remus grunted, irritated by her refusal to even conceded to trying to smooth this out. He didn’t doubt the boys had done wrong but shouting was getting them nowhere.

‘You didn’t have to!’ she scoffed, ‘ugh, you know you lot are so stupid sometimes-’

‘And how are we supposed to apologise for being stupid when we don’t even know what we’ve done!?’ Sirius challenged, getting to his feet so that they could see one another around their werewolf buffer. 

‘Don’t know how you couldn’t figure it out! I mean I’m just one of the boys right, one of the lads surely you’ll just know what could be wrong,’ she shouted, her voice echoing off the small chamber and out into the drizzly night air. And before they could retort she stormed out, pushing the tapestry roughly out of her way so much that it swayed vigorously on its hanging. Remus stuck his head out and shouted for her but she was disappearing down the end of the corridor within seconds of leaving and the way she ignored him didn’t lend itself to the idea she’d slow down if he tried to chase after her.

So deeming it fruitless he stepped back inside and dropped back into his seat. Sirius had already lit another cigarette and offered it to him immediately after the first drag. Everyone looked just as confused as each other.

‘Any idea what that was about?’ James asked after a minute of pondering.

‘No idea,’ Sirius said with a roll of his eyes.

‘Well until we do,’ Remus said, taking a quick drag, relief flooding through his bones as the nicotine hit and removed his edginess, ‘maybe don’t speak to anyone else about her yeah?’

✵✵✵

What had started to be a dreadfully wet weekend soon turned into an ice age as the boys awoke on Sunday morning to find Elle’s mood had not lifted. Evidenced that by the fact she took one step into the great hall at breakfast, saw them and then promptly stormed out without having a bite to eat. They didn’t see her at all after that, not even at the mini practice James arranged the evening after every game, win or lose, to go over what they’d done well or needed to work on for the next one. And given that she was the only one of the team that attended come rain or shine reality started to set in that their little disagreement may have been more than just some tiff that would blow over.

The only issue was they didn’t really understand what they’d done wrong. After a night of dissecting they’d established likening her to a boy was not something she took lightly but they didn’t know why. Because Elle was one of them. A marauder. Fearless, bright and funny. She fit right in so her utter abhorrence at being known as such had stung. So much so that by the time they walked into the great hall on Monday morning they were just as hurt as she was.

‘She won’t even look this way,’ James said glumly, watching up the table as Elle chatted jovially with Lily and Marlene.

‘Well let her,’ Sirius said though his eyes had been darting up her end of the table every couple of minutes despite himself.

‘You don’t mean that,’ Remus countered as he took a sip of tea.

‘Don’t I?’ Sirius said with a scowl.

‘No otherwise you wouldn’t have had a face like a wet weekend all last night when she didn’t show up would you,’ Remus countered, deepening his scowl further because he knew he was right.

‘Okay so what do you suppose we do then?’ Peter asked.

‘Try and speak to her?’ James suggested though as he spoke he realised she was rising from her seat, waiting for the girls to gather their belongings so they could head to class, ‘c’mon she’s leaving.’

The boys quickly grabbed their things, albeit with a bit of grumbling from Peter about missing the end of breakfast, and by the time she’d gotten to the door they were in the doorway, blocking her, Lily and Marlene from getting past. The moment she realised what the bottleneck was her face became as thunderous as the landscape outside but she didn’t shout like she had before, instead she held her head high and offered a tight, ‘excuse me.’

‘Elle can we have a word,’ James said.

‘Let me past,’ she replied coolly.

‘Elle please,’ Peter said.

‘She doesn’t want to speak to you,’ Marlene snapped, locking arms with Elle as they both scowled at the pair.

‘Oh come on!’ Sirius huffed.

‘Come on what!’ Elle snapped, her blue eyes landing on him.

‘This is childish!’ Sirius retorted, glaring at Lily who snorted before adding, ‘well it is! It’s...’

‘What Sirius?’ Elle challenged, the boys were looking at him now and all of them could see he was on the verge of saying something stupid and yet none of them could stop him because before they could diffuse any tension he said, ‘it’s girl stuff!’

And if Elle’s face hadn’t been like thunder before the looks on Lily and Marlene’s faces was enough to let them know they’d pushed it too far. But their squawking protests were only met by Sirius doubling down, especially now people were looking at him as he said, ‘well it is! Ignoring us, not telling us what we did wrong-’

‘Yeah?’ Elle challenged, ‘and boy stuff is not having enough emotional intelligence to work out what you bloody did wrong in the first place!’

And before any of them could offer anymore protests she barged through the group and fled up the stairs towards her lesson Marlene in tow and Lily trudging behind. Though as the two blondes disappeared up the stone steps Lily hung back, looking disapprovingly at the four of them. It was a feat that seemed to wound James, which was probably why he said, ‘spare me the lecture Evans I’m not in the mood.’

‘You don’t get it do you?’ she asked.

‘Get what?’ Sirius grunted.

‘This argument isn’t some big mystery you know,’ she said.

‘Yeah because she’ll have told you lot all about it,’ Peter challenged.

‘Yeah and even from the outside I could see what the real issue was,’ Lily said.

‘Because you’re so emotionally intelligent,’ Sirius said sarcastically.

‘Because I’m not so dense that I don’t realise why she might not like being called a boy when she’s not one,’ Lily said.

‘But we didn’t mean it like that,’ James protested.

‘Yeah more like she’s part of us,’ Peter said.

‘And what did Jace say when you mentioned that?’ Lily challenged. James and Sirius shared a look, as if they’d forgotten that Jace had been the catalyst for this whole issue starting. As realisation started creeping in Lily doubled down, ‘funnily enough boys don’t seem very interested in girls who are loud like James or arrogant like Sirius.’

‘So Elle’s pissed off we didn’t brag about her to Jace?!’ Sirius baulked. But Lily only rolled her eyes and scoffed, whatever wisdom she was trying to impart missing the mark.

‘You know what forget I said anything,’ Lily grumbled, ‘I’m sure you boys are clever enough to work it out on your own.’

And then she turned on her heel and flitted up the stairs where the girls had disappeared. The boys watched her go before they realised they were creating a jam at the door way as curious students had feigned heading to class in order to eavesdrop. They shuffled out of the way, convening in a corner of the entrance hall as the need for a debrief was felt by all of them before they attempted to head to class.

‘So it is to do with Jace?’ Peter asked with a confused frown.

‘It’s about comparing her to a boy I think,’ Remus said.

‘But she knows we know she’s girl!’ James said exasperatedly.

‘Whatever it is she’s acting like child,’ Sirius grumbled.

‘Yeah I don’t think bringing that up helped Pads,’ Remus said earning himself a scowl. He sighed and readjusted his bag strap so it stopped slipping down his shoulder, ‘oh I don’t know let’s just get to class.’

‘Yeah come on,’ Peter said, checking his watch before the pair of them started heading towards the stairs to their first lesson of the day. Sirius looked as though he was angling for more of an argument, whatever frustrations he’d not managed to get out with the girls festering beneath his handsome scowl. James offered him a smile of encouragement and gestured for them to follow on.

As they started to climb the steps he thought of their first lesson of the day. Transfiguration. It was them and the Slytherins and in true McGonagall fashion the class was segregated in alphabetical order which meant they’d probably spend the lesson being scowled at by whichever girls had taken her side and the back of Elle’s head as she steadfastly ignored them.

He wished he’d not bothered suggesting they try and talk to her. He’d underestimated this being a little disagreement, something that would blow over after a day or two. Now it looked as though they’d only made things worse though he didn’t know why. What had Lily meant by they’d figure it out? She was upset they’d compared her to a boy? Because they hadn’t meant it in a mean way, in fact it was one of the things they loved about her. She was one of them part of the team. So then it had to be about Jace right?  

As if he could hear the thoughts slotting into place Sirius looked to him, an expectant expression on his face as he waited for him to explain. Fearing Remus would chastise them for bringing it up again when they were almost near their classroom he hung back just a touch so that it wasn’t evident they were out of ear shot from their friends.

‘You might be right you know,’ James said.

‘That she’s over reacting?’ Sirius asked.

‘That it was about Jace,’ James said.

‘You think he likes her?’ Sirius asked, his brows knitting together as if he was trying to remember the conversation they’d had with the boy, analysing his body language and questions in retrospect.

‘I think he did and well us telling him she was one of the boys put him off,’ James said.

‘Well we didn’t lie about anything,’ Sirius said indignantly, ‘and if he doesn’t like Elle for Elle then she’s better off without him.’

‘True but maybe that’s up to her,’ James said, ‘besides she has a point.’

‘How?’ Sirius asked.

‘Because I wouldn’t have missed it if it was a girl fancying you. For Elle I didn’t even think about it,’ James said. And as they joined the back of the queue waiting to enter their classroom Sirius was finally rendered silent because James was absolutely right.

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