#he’d have his poster stuck to every bedroom he ever lived in

[agentidiot]

rip alfie solomons you’d have loved elton john

[harryslittlefreakk]

the pact

summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)

wordcount: 6k

a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!

my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼

From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.

But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.

Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.

Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.

Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”

“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,

‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’

“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You’d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.

“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.

She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.

Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.

You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.

—

With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.

“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.

“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.

“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”

You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”

“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”

“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”

Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.

It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.

Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.

“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.

The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.

“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.

The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.

You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.

For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.

“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.

“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.

Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.

He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.

His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.

He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.

Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.

He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.

Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.

Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”

“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”

He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.

—

“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”

“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”

You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.

You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.

—

You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”

You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.

“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”

part two

taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part four. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you begin to get a better idea of just how deeply damaged john truly is & he stakes a claim to you. · tags: lactation kink · tw: possessiveness · word count: 2,618

You sip on your iced coffee, typing away on your laptop, near to completing your essay for one of your classes, which is due in two days.

“God, he’s so hot. I don’t get why you don’t think so,” Emma says.

You glance up to her from over your laptop screen with a raised brow, watching as she stares down at her cellphone with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Huh?”

She looks at you, then raises her phone, showing you a recent livestream of John. No, Homelander.

No, John. You hate his moniker.

He smiles charmingly at a reporter, who speaks into her microphone with an excited look on her face. “I’m here speaking to the one and only Homelander, who just—with the aid of his fellow supe, A-Train—saved a family of three from a near-fatal car accident.”

She holds the microphone toward him. “Can you tell us what happened here, Homelander?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at the obnoxious name.

“Yeah, me and my buddy and fellow supe, A-Train,” he nods to the smiling man at his side who waves to the camera. “Were just doing some patrols of the area—just something we try to do every now and again across the state to keep our people safe,” he says with a shrug.

“When we saw the driver over there,” he continues, pointing to a man standing near a blue sedan. “Run a red light here at the intersection. Just—” He purses his lips, shaking his head. “Carelessness.”

He sighs, continuing on. “But, thankfully, A-Train and I were able to step in and rush the injured parties: a mom, dad, and their sweet little girl, to the nearest hospital. I mean, to wait for an ambulance…there’s no telling what might’ve happened. What precious lives might’ve been lost.”

The camera pans back to the reporter. “What would we ever do without you—either of you? We are all so lucky to have heros like the two of you—like the Seven—saving and protecting America every day.”

The camera returns to John who shakes his head, waving his hand. “No, it’s the people of this great nation who are the real heros. We’re just here to do our jobs and use the gifts God gave us to protect and save our fellow man.”

“And save them you did,” the reporter replies, continuing on before Emma locks her phone, looking at you, resting her chin atop both her fists.

“I want him so bad,” she mumbles with a smile.

You grin, shaking your head—sweating nervously.

She’s loved the man for as long as you can remember. Used to have a poster of him—ok, multiple posters—stuck to her bedrooms walls growing up. And she’s seen all of his movies probably an unhealthy amount of times.

If she had any idea that he’d had his head shoved between your thighs just a few nights ago—that you know his real name, his childhood story—the real one—that you’ve had him in your bed, crying in your arms, sitting at your dining table as the two of you eat together…that he’s called himself ‘your man’ more than once now… You’re pretty sure she’d pop a blood vessel, grill you relentlessly on everything, and then never forgive you.

You tell her everything, but this…you can’t.

Honestly, you wonder if she’d even believe you if you tried, anyway.

“What do you think he’s like in bed?”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

She grins. “Not like you want to know how many times I’ve thought about it, but…he’s like the American Dream, right? I mean, he’s definitely my American wet dream.”

You snort.

She continues. “So do you think he’s vanilla, then? Only missionary? Or…oh, I bet he loves creampies. He seems like he could be the type to have a breeding kink. Nuclear family and all.”

You lay your head down. “I don’t want to know.”

You know he’s incredibly good at oral, if nothing else. And he’s a boob man. He’d spent the entire night with his face resting between both of yours.

And he really loves to cuddle. He’d held you like a human-sized teddy bear all night. But, you suppose it makes sense: being desperate for affection. Every time you’d thought today about what he’d told you last night, your heart had broken all over again. You’d actually had to hide yourself away in a restroom today between classes just to cry.

Maybe your period is going to start soon…

God, who would’ve thought in a million years that you would feel sorry for Homelander? But you don’t see him as that now. Not when you’re alone together. Now he’s just…John.

Honestly, in a million years you would’ve never imagined letting him into your bed. Holding him. Calling him baby. Or sweetheart…

“Just guess,” she insists.

You groan in irritation, raising your head. “Maybe he’s a boob man.”

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, thinking for a moment before looking back to you while nodding. “Yeah, I can see that.”

You shake your head while smiling. “I have to get this paper done.”

You don’t bother keeping your balcony doors closed this evening. Not while you’re up and idly watching TV, at least.

Watch, you think, the one night you leave them open—as a reluctant invitation—will be the night he finally decides he’s grown bored of coming here and he never returns.

You’re entirely okay with that possibility.

You’d do anything to pass him off onto Emma. Then again…no, you wouldn’t. You most certainly don’t like the idea of him doing to her what he did just a couple nights ago to you on your kitchen counter.

But, she also wouldn’t have even thought about fighting back like you had. She would’ve been completely willing.

You wonder if that would’ve made him all the more angry. Maybe that’s the part that turns him on the most—resistance; a fight.

You jolt when you hear a soft thump to your left. You, begrudgingly, turn your head in that direction, met with the sight of the one and only Captain Asshole.

You feel guilty after thinking that, though. Especially after last night.

He’s just…emotionally stunted. And you’re not even sure at what specific age. Maybe there isn’t a particular one, because for his entire adolescent life…he’d been locked in that room with no one and nothing to interact with.

Tears sting your eyes.

He steps over the threshold, and you merely gaze up at him.

You’re not offering to willingly make him dinner like some trained pet. Not that you feel like it to begin with. You’ve already eaten. He can fly down to the local McDonald’s and pick up a Big Mac if he’s hungry.

Fly down.

He can fly.

What an insane thing to be able to do.

But also fantastical and amazing.

You wish you could do that.

He slips off his boots, setting them beside the door, before padding over, seating himself heavily beside you.

You flip the channel to some trivia game-show then.

“You ever seen any of my movies?” He asks.

You roll your head to the side, staring at him. “What do you think?”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, looking at the TV. “So, you’ve never had a favorite supe?”

You face forward again as well. “Not really, no.”

“Never had so much as a poster of me?”

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Maybe I should gift you a Homelander pack of panties.”

You look at him with a raised brow.

“Of course they sell those,” you say with a shake of your head.

He leans over you, sliding a hand up your thigh. “I could be with you all day long that way. Right between your legs.”

You shake your head yet again, but in disapproval. Even if your lip twitches in mild amusement.

He leans back again. “I’d like a glass of milk.”

You huff quietly—the playful moment clearly over—and stand.

Once you’ve given him his requested drink, he takes a brief sip, then speaks before you seat yourself once again.

“Well, you’ve gotten to see me undressed. I think we should make things even.”

You still—the hairs raising on the back of your neck—while you simply stand and stare at him.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning with his hand, taking another drink. “Strip.”

“You’ve already seen me without…bottoms—”

“So now I get to see the other half.”

The part of you he’s most interested in, he thinks.

You cross your arms, frowning, heartrate slowly beginning to climb.

His eyes go red and you jump slightly, arms falling to your sides in surprise.

Shades of blue return to you then, and he smiles sweetly, which serves only to make your stomach turn.

“I’m waiting.”

With trembling hands and stinging eyes, you grip the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it up and over your head. You bunch it up, then hold it shyly against your middle.

“All of it,” he states, taking a long drink, licking his lips as he looks you over.

Your chin wobbles. “I don’t want—”

He sighs, leaning forward. “It’s just us. So slip it off, then climb into my lap.”

You waver.

“I’m not going to rape you. If I wanted you on your back with your legs spread, you would be.”

Not that it’s an unappealing idea to him.

You reach behind you, undoing your bra one clasp at a time. You slip it from your shoulders, tossing it onto the coffee table, then clasp your hands over your naked breasts.

He makes a beckoning motion with his index finger, so you step forward. Hesitantly.

“Straddle my lap.”

You swallow thickly, then do so, settling bent legs on either side of him, resting back on your calves.

He glances to your hands, then into your eyes with a raised brow.

You’d been right in what you’d told Emma that morning—your assumption about him having an appreciation for breasts—apparently.

You lower your arms, resting your hands in your lap, and he abruptly wraps his own around you, leaning forward, taking a nipple into his mouth.

Your eyes widen in shock, your body growing warm all over as he begins to gently suck, his eyes fluttering closed while he moans quietly in the back of his throat.

You, meanwhile, remain still and silent, unsure what the hell to do with yourself.

He releases your breast for a moment, taking a drink of milk, then immediately dives back in.

The TV plays softly in the background, so you choose to instead focus on mentally participating in answering trivial questions instead of…this.

Until he leans back, sliding a hand up your back, gripping your neck.

Your eyes meet his.

“Touch my head.”

You slide trembling hands atop his shoulders, lacing your fingers into his blond strands, and he returns his attentions to your chest.

You gently rub your fingertips against his scalp and he hums in contentment, taking another sip of milk, then sucking on your other breast.

It’s then that the metaphorical wheels begin to turn.

Constantly switching between taking drinks of milk and sucking on your breasts… Oh good lord, he has a breast-feeding kink, doesn’t he?

He just grows more and more interesting the more time you spend with him.

And then your heart breaks all over again.

What if it’s not, entirely, a kink? You know it’s at least half one with the feeling of his erection pressing against your shorts.

He never had a mother. Never had any form of maternal comfort growing up.

Showing up and asking—rather, demanding—dinner, your attention and approval, nearly threatening you last night after a moment of extreme vulnerability… He’d held you to his chest the entire night. Like a child does with a toy for comfort when attempting to sleep.

And now…he’s pretending to breast-feed.

You decide on another small experiment—he liked it the other night when you gave him affectionate touches—and begin to quietly hum a nursery rhyme.

This feels like some fucked-up psychological experiment: you trying to read him and gauge his reactions to this and that to get an exaction on his true nature. But, in reality, he doesn’t seem terribly hard to get at.

He goes to switch breasts again and you grow silent. Until he looks up at you, and tells you, “Keep singing.”

The two of you are lying in bed again with John’s head resting between your breasts as he takes even, steady breaths.

You run your fingers slowly through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

You’re nearly on the edge of it yourself when he stirs before leaning over you, slowly sliding his hand up your chest, then along your neck until his large, heavy palm comes to rest atop the soft, delicate skin.

He stares down at you, and you cup his cheek, brushing your thumb along it.

He smiles gently, tightening his hold, and you swallow nervously, your brows furrowing.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

Your eyes flit between his and your heart begins to hammer in fear.

“You understand me,” he continues. “Like no one else has ever bothered to. We’re together now. Got it?”

He can’t really mean it. Someone like him…he must be expected to carry on with who Vought and the press choose for him.

“We…we’ve known each other for four days, John. That’s not enough time to—to know how you feel—”

“It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking. You’re mine.”

He presses his lips to yours and a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

He lies back down then, snuggling close to you for comfort. “If I find out you’re seeing anyone else, you won’t like what happens to him. So, I suggest staying loyal. Not that anyone else could ever compare to me, anyway. I mean, you should be happy about this—that you’re the young woman I’ve chosen for myself. It makes you special. Being mine, that is. A rich superhero. The supe.”

He closes his eyes, softly smiling. “The greatest man in all of America—the world—and I’m all yours.”

He tightens his hold around you.

“Doesn’t that make you happy?” He asks with a flat, slightly-threatening tone.

Your fingers tremble against his scalp. “What about Maeve?”

He snorts. “She might be my equal—for the most part—but you have your own appeal. There’s nothing I can give her that she can’t already get on her own. Whereas you should be grateful I’ve spared you a second glance or thought. That I’ve let you get this close to me. I’m a gift, really. Come to add interest to your ordinary life.”

A narcissist is what you are, you think.

Does he think, by stressing how special and one-of-a-kind he is, that you’ll…what? Agree? See how blind you’ve been all these years to have shirked the prospect of idolizing him, and finally fall on your knees, beginning for his attention?

You already have it.

The roles are reversed here, in truth. He’s the one desperate to have yours.

You know you shouldn’t speak further, but you want to hear his response to you laying the truth plainly before him. “If I’m so ordinary and you’re so…extraordinary, why bother with me? What is my ‘appeal’, as you put it?”

He grows quiet, listening to your heart pounding in your chest.

Finally, he curls his fingertips inward against your back. “Go to sleep.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, terrified of him. Of what’s happening to you.

Dear God, why couldn’t you have skipped just one day of class? Or come halfway through the day instead?

Now… Now you would be paying for it until he chooses to call this sick game quits.

[montrealmadison]

I'd love to read a happy snuggly fic about Bitty & Jack.

Number #15 (for Bitty 😉)

thank you for this delightful prompt! whenever i get stuck on where to start with jack and bitty, i always revert to them snuggling. this was a really nice excuse to polish a scene that i've had kicking around my WIP folder forever. hope it's okay that the boys took it in a, shall we say, steamy direction. ❤️

15. zimbits + happy snuggly vibes + I Love You Always Forever by Betty Who for @jadedmandarin81

You’ve got the most unbelievable blue eyes I’ve ever seen You’ve got me almost melting away

Hot morning sun on his shoulders, a big, hot hand on the small of his back, and Bitty has no clue where he is.

He blinks, and—right. His childhood bedroom, sometime after sunrise: lemon-yellow walls, a mess of posters, crisp white curtains hanging limp from the humidity. It can’t be very late, because Coach’s morning shower isn’t whining through the walls yet. July fifth dawns the same every blessed year: Mama having a lie-in, Coach firing up the truck, long lazy days of few words and a blue sky and a beer that Bitty's too young to be drinking. Lord, what he wouldn’t give to be fifteen and at the lake right now, cold water closing over his head. 

He brings himself slowly back to earth by wishing really hard that the Olympic-sized rink behind Michelle Kwan’s paper smile would just sort of… replace the air conditioner they haven’t been able to afford to fix for years. As it stands, he’s fucking hot.

Jack, for all that he’s peaceful in sleep, is not helping. Bitty’s cheek is stuck to his bare chest, his massive thighs are trapping Bitty’s calves, and every inch of bare skin in between is tacky and gross. The Jack of his dreams is so tangled up with the call of the ice that he feels like he should be cold by default. Jack should be white and gray and blue; frosted winter mornings, distant sun, minty breath. The Jack of reality is—well, he’s beautiful, dark sweeping lashes and all that, but he’s just as sweaty as Bitty is and his breath definitely does not smell like mint.

Bitty doesn’t mind.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. From the moment they’d locked eyes at baggage claim, this weekend has been the weirdest song and dance: Bitty letting Jack into his life inch by inch, arranging the pieces of his soul for approval. Here’s where I went to high school. Here’s our family dinner table. Here’s my truck bed. Let’s make out. In return, apparently, he gets to have this now: his college hockey captain, on his back in Bitty’s bed, breathing slow and deep and measured with his hand skimming Bitty’s ass. 

That’s my best friend. The thought makes Bitty feel floaty and weird. He knows Jack’s gym schedule and the slant of his real smile and what he eats for breakfast, but he’s only seen him sleep once: the morning of graduation, when they’d climbed up to the roof of Faber and Bitty had woken up on Jack’s shoulder, in the folds of a jacket that smelled like him.

He hadn’t let himself believe, even then, that they might be more. After all, the thing about Jack is that sooner or later he’s always stopped being Jack and turned back into Jack Zimmermann, a living legend in the shape of a teammate. Bitty had pretended it was easy, once, not to lean into the intimacy of knowing just a little more than everyone else. It feels new and exhilarating and dangerous for him to get to see Jack like this now, all pretenses abandoned, one of his wildest fantasies come to life.

Jack chooses that moment to stir, like he can hear Bitty’s thoughts shouting his name. Bitty feels the flush rising in his cheeks, embarrassed that Jack’s caught him staring—but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, just lets out a long satisfied breath through his nose and murmurs, morning-low, “Bittle.”

Lord, but that makes something pop in Bitty’s gut and then fizzle into butterflies. Before last night he’d never even really been kissed before, and now—and now. His senses are overloaded, filled with the flash-fire knowledge that at long last someone else wants this as badly as he does. 

“Jack,” he says, sure that his morning voice must sound squeaky and childish in comparison.

But Jack’s eyes on his face are sleepy dark blue, weighty with something that looks a hell of a lot like approval. Bitty follows the slow roll of Jack’s Adam’s apple so he won’t do something really embarrassing, like explode and die. 

“Bitty,” Jack sighs again. Jesus Christ. There go Bitty’s chances of getting out of this bed alive. “‘S’hot.”

“Yes,” Bitty grumps, but neither of them make a move to separate. That self-satisfied thing flashes through him again. Jack is, apparently, so into this, into him; the bruises to prove it are probably already darkening low on his belly and hips. Being watched this way makes Bitty feel slightly insane, drunk with power.

“I like this,” Jack says. His voice rumbles, far-off thunder. Bitty thinks about flash floods, dams breaking, the crackshot sound of shattering ice. 

“What?”

“Waking up with you.”

There’s the sincerity that’s been driving Bitty wild all weekend. He’s long since mastered the art of lying smoothly through his teeth, but Jack’s graceless honesty punches holes through every pretense he can muster. It’s how Jack got him on his back in the truck bed last night, why they apparently can’t stop talking unless they find other ways to occupy their mouths. Just like that, Bitty's cheeks are in full flame.

“Me too,” he says, too quickly. Jack doesn’t seem to notice. His arms are huge, and Bitty is welcome in them. He feels positively unhinged. He has zero desire to move.

“Do we have to get up?”

“Probably,” Bitty groans, seizing the change of topic with both hands. He thunks his forehead into Jack’s shoulder for emphasis. “Coach’ll be up soon.”

“‘Kay,” says Jack, not moving one blessed inch.

Bitty squirms a little, thrilled. They keep ending up on the same page, wanting the same things. Feeling bold, Bitty mouths over the hot expanse of skin between Jack's shoulder and his neck, loving the way Jack immediately makes that pleased sound deep in his throat. 

"Sorry."

“For—ah." 

Jack honest-to-god moans when Bitty reaches the spot beneath his ear, and that's it: Bitty's deceased. He's gone. He's gonna die right here in his childhood bedroom, and he'll be damn well pleased about it. "Don't be—sorry for what?”

“That it’s not private,” Bitty murmurs. He waves his free hand toward the door, beyond which his parents hopefully believe that Bitty and his good friend Jack are passed out in separate rooms after the (completely tame, very platonic) excitement of last night's festivities. It seems like a tall order even in his head. He's gonna have to spend the next month before he goes back to school being very careful about the thoughts he lets show on his face.

When Bitty flexes his toes against Jack's bare leg under the sheets to prompt an answer, Jack hums a little, turns and drags his nose lightly across Bitty's forehead. "Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Actually, I was thinking about that last night."

"You were? Huh," Bitty says. "Sounds like I didn't do a very good job, then."

Jack gives him a gentle, one-handed shove. "After... uh, well. After that." He blushes so pretty, right over his nose and hot up his cheeks. Bitty kind of wants to eat him whole. "What would you say about coming to visit me?"

Forget what he’d say; Bitty can barely even think about it without going insane. Just the two of them, alone, four soundproof walls and a chance to figure this out for real. "In Providence?"

"Yes,” Jack says. “And we can do, um. More. Of what we did last night.”

Bitty is acutely aware of Jack’s hand, which is now rubbing little circles into his back, and all the other places it was last night, and how much he’d like for it to be in those places again.

“Yes, okay,” he says, too quickly to be polite; Jack is grinning, though, so. Right answer.

"Deal."

Bitty smiles back, megawatt. "Deal."

"First I have to make it home, though," Jack says. "Got a whole kitchen to get ready for you, eh?"

He says get ready like it has multiple meanings, and Bitty gets to pick the one he wants. Despite the heat, he finds himself shivering in anticipation.

"Sounds amazing," Bitty says, definitely not just talking about the kitchen. He shoves Jack back, teasing. This is his best friend and so much more. "Then you better get packin', mister, you got a flight to catch."

When the alarm clock goes off down the hall, Jack rolls out of bed and goes for his bag, sleepy chirps in full effect. Bitty stays put, though, watching. The sun catches just right on the hard planes of Jack’s shoulders, melting winter into spring, and Bitty is okay with losing control.

[luke-shywalker]

home again.

“Rey! Come down! You’re going to be late for school!”

“I’m coming, Mum! Geez!”

“Han, would you wash out the caf pot—no, wait, you broke it last time. Just leave it alone.”

“You could have a little faith in me, Your Highness.”

“Don’t ‘Your Highness’ me. Get that scrappy kid to school. And tell her not to beat up any more boys.”

“Rey, don’t beat up any more boys. Just tell ‘em who your dad is.”

“Right, Dad—and they’ll be all like, ‘Han Solo’ who?”

“For kriff’s sake, why am I getting the rough end from both my ladies today?”

“Han, language. But—sorry. Kiss! Mwah. Go upstairs and check on Ben when you come back, all right? Have a good day at school, Rey! Bye, flyboy.”

“Bye Mum!”

“See ya, sweetheart.”

The sound of the door closing.

“Oi. Mum’s always so stressed.”

“Rey. I know your mother doesn’t want you picking fights. But, as your father, I just wanna tell ya I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself, and I want you to know that if you ever feel like you gotta—”

The door closed again, leaving the rest of the conversation a mystery.

Ben sighed and rolled over in bed. The house he’d grown up in had always been like that—you could hear everything that went on from any room.

He hadn’t lived here for a long time—seven years, about? And yet, it felt like he’d never left. Or, like he’d gone back in time.

There was evidence that Rey had started using his bedroom as kind of a garage—not that she didn’t have enough space in her own room (which required one to wade through knee-high levels of…just…stuff, and rather resembled the wasteland she had been rescued from). His desk, where he used to draw pictures of his own made-up ships and write himself into fictional stories about the Rebellion, was covered in mechanical pieces and bits of wiring from Rey’s projects. But other than that, his room was largely unchanged. The X-wing posters were still there. And so was the Sy Snootles pinup that Poe had given him as a joke. He was both surprised and amused that his mother had never taken it down.

But, then, it also felt like time had moved on without him. He’d been here for a few days now—consigned here by a freak medical crisis—and watching his mom and dad and sister play out the daily orchestration of their lives kind of made him feel like he had died after high school and his family had just kept on doing their thing.

Being around Rey was the weirdest part. The last time he had lived in the same house as his sister, she’d been seven, eight years old. Obviously, he’d seen her since then, every Life Day, and a few other times each year—but whenever Rey showed up in his dreams or in his mind, she was still seven.

But now she was fifteen, and she was…him. All those memories Ben had of being a teenager, of doing homework at the dinner table, fighting with his parents over nothing, using words that meant things to his peers but that his family didn’t understand, laughing on late night holocalls with friends and getting yelled at to go to bed—that was her, now. And now here he was, twenty-five and boring.

His boringness was evidenced by the fact that he missed buying groceries and making his own food. His parents couldn’t cook. They never could. Rey could eat literally anything, so that didn’t bother her. But Ben missed making his own dinner—maybe it was about the food, but maybe it was also just about the sense of control.

He couldn’t pilot a speeder in his current condition, so he was stuck here. He could go on walks, but he didn’t want to most of the time, because it made him dizzy.

He found himself alternating mostly between sleeping, and wandering the empty house during the day. Trying to spot things that had changed. Looking at the holopicture frames. There were still holos of him, but there were more and more holos of Rey. It was like getting caught up on her life since he’d left home.

Being off work felt like summer vacation. Only…bad. Because doing nothing all day was fun for a kid—but for a grownup, it was kind of like hell. The hours blurred together into sluggish, amorphous days, and he just kind of found himself places, doing things—oh, hey, I’m here now. Now he found himself downstairs in the kitchen, washing out the caf pot that his mom hadn’t trusted his dad not to break.

That was another thing—he didn’t like the caf his mom made. She used really cheap caf grounds that she bought in bulk, which was exactly what she would do, being practical—but ever since leaving home, Ben had discovered good caf, and it was hard to go back.

It was hard to go back to a lot of things.

He set the caf pot on the rack to dry, and for a second he just stood there, looking out the kitchen window. Is this who I thought I’d be as an adult…?

Am I an adult?

And then he noticed that Rey had left the blue milk uncapped and on the counter, and the carton was sweating and becoming lukewarm, and that really pissed him off, so he capped it and put it in the fridge like it was supposed to be—and that told him, yes, he was now just a boring adult.

…Well. Maybe being a boring adult was better than being a teenage psychological mess, which was what he had been before.

He filled a glass of tap water and drank cheers to that.

Ben heard the door open, and turned to see his father coming back in.

He gave a nod. “Hey, Dad.”

“Oh, you’re up,” Han said. “How ya feelin’, kid?”

Ben imagined his dad would probably still be calling him “kid” when he was forty-five.

“I’ve been better,” Ben said, then changed the subject, because he was kind of sick of talking about his health. “So. How’s being house husband?”

“Hey.” Han pointed a defensive finger. “I am not a house husband.”

“Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with it,” Ben chuckled into his glass of water. “You’re doin’ great, Dad. Maybe she’ll even let you wash the caf pot someday.”

“Listen, kid, that was one time.”

“Oh, I’m just givin’ ya a hard time, old man.”

“Uh-huh. And when are you getting married?”

“Never. Women find me intolerable.”

“Funny. I said the exact same thing, at your age.”

“You know, I can’t believe Mom settled for you,” Ben joked, curious to see how the jab would land.

But Han just grinned and inclined his head and spread his arms in humility. “That’s what I’m sayin’, kid. If there’s hope for me, there’s hope for anybody.” He paused mischievously, and then took a shot back. “Even if you never inherited my dashingly good looks.”

“Ha! You mean I was spared from them,” Ben snorted. “Well, thanks, Dad; I’ll keep it in mind.”

Han laughed too. Insults were kind of a love language in their family, as weird as that sounded. He came over to lean against the counter next to Ben, then clapped him on the back and looked him in the eyes, like he was studying the man Ben had grown up into.

“Hey. I know the circumstances aren’t great, but…it’s kinda nice, having you home, Ben. I miss ya.”

“You do?” Ben asked with a self-conscious laugh, feeling more sentimental about his father’s words than he was comfortable admitting. “Kind of seems like your lives all went on without me.”

“Well…yours went on without us, too,” Han said, then shook him by the shoulders a little. “You need to call home more often, little buddy.”

Little buddy—Ben was a couple inches taller.

“I know,” Ben said, patting the top of his father’s graying head. “I’m just bad at it.”

“That’s no excuse.” Han tilted his head conspiratorially. “A house husband gets lonely, ya know.”

“Heh. Well. Can’t have that, I guess.”

They stood there, together. Father and son. The Solo men, Leia called them, when she was feeling playful.

“…Wanna take the Falcon out for a spin?” Han asked suddenly.

Ben turned to look at him, so abruptly it made his head hurt. “What—like, right now? I can’t pilot, Dad. The medcenter told me—”

“You can co-pilot.”

“No, Dad, I so can’t.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, I get us both killed? No, wait—what’s worse is if Mom finds out.”

“C’mon.”

“Dad.”

“C’mon!”

“No!”

“Come on—”

“Okay!”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Geez.”

“All right!” Han tousled his son’s hair as if he was twenty years younger and tossed him his boots, which Ben started putting on amidst a sea of complaints—

“For kriff’s sake, Dad, fine, but I’m tellin’ ya, I can’t see that good right now, and I haven’t even piloted the Falcon in ages even if I was healthy, and this was all your stupid idea in the first place, so don’t you go giving me hell if I happen to put a scratch on your beloved—”

Han only laughed, while Ben was still talking, and the door closed, leaving the Organa-Solo house quiet again.

[wearywinchester]

Subtle

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a bout of nightmares leaves you shaken, your stubbornness on admitting it is no match for a green eyed hunter.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: angst, nightmares, swearing, fluff, kissing

You sat up, face warm as your breath hitches in your throat in a startled gasp. It felt like the millionth time you’ve done that, the very same thing all in the course of a couple of hours. It was a cycle, the same nightmare from the same hunt plaguing your sleep schedule. Over and over again every time you let yourself close your eyes.

It’d been like this for the past week, over a hunt that happened a week and a half ago. It taunted you, seeped into your subconscious and tormented you as if that hunt never really ended, as if you were still there.

That habit you seemed to fall into that week, the habit of waking up a little too abruptly for your own good to sit up in bed, startled more than anything. Of sitting up with a gasp, heart pounding and cheeks hot. Of glancing around the room with widened eyes in search of a nonexistent threat that didn’t feel so nonexistent, sweat beading on your skin. That habit had its hold on you all because of that hunt.

The hunt that landed you all by your lonesome with a monster that was looking to do nothing other than hurt you, than to have you meet your fate. The hunt that left you shaken more than you let on, more than you’ve been in a long while. The supernatural douchebags you hunt had a way of making things a little bit harder on the ones that seek them out for a living, and that one was no exception.

You made it out alive, but damn you were having a difficult time putting it behind you when you knew it wasn’t the worst hunt you’ve been on.

You puffed out a deep breath, drawing in another as you let your eyes fall closed for a brief moment. The spot next to you in the bed was still empty, still untouched save for the ruffled and tugged at blankets from your weary tossing and turning.

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers blurred from glossed over eyes. 11:43.

Dean was still doing research you assumed, something you expected given that it’s still reasonably early. In fact, he’d stay up for hours if you let him so long as he’s got a cup of coffee and some whiskey within arm’s reach. He inevitably falls asleep on a tabletop full of newspaper clippings and old lore books, that’s just how he is.

It was just you and your own company in that spare bedroom Bobby’s got, the one that still has Dean’s old baseball cards and that tattered old mitt. That Zeppelin poster was still hanging on the wall where it’s always been, still just as crinkled, that tear still on the bottom corner. As a matter of fact, that magazine is probably still under the bed, tucked right where he left it so Sammy wouldn’t get his hands on it and tell Bobby. The one you whacked him on the back of the head with lightheartedly with that smile, the one that grabbed his attention more than anything in this world ever could.

You sigh as you run your hand down the side of your face, your cheek warm against your palm and you try and ignore the way your hand trembles, the way your legs follow suit when you swing them over the edge of the bed and stand to your feet. You shrug Dean’s flannel off your shoulders, decidedly much too hot and worked up to keep it on no matter how much you wanted to wear it, it’d only bring you more discomfort. That tattered old t-shirt of his still hung from your shoulders anyway, the one that stuck to you from the sheen of sweat that made your skin clammy.

You slung it over the back of the small desk chair, walking to the door with bare feet. The hardwood creaked under your footfalls, no matter how light and timid they were, the age in Bobby’s house showing.

When you made it to the landing by the stairs, you saw the warm glow of that lamp streaming through the downstairs, a gentle reminder of Dean’s presence and just where you’d find him. It took all of two seconds for you to put one foot in front of the other and make your way down, still feeling unstable in your footing, hand grasping the wooden railing.

It’s when you round the corner after having reached the bottom that you see him, that green eyed hunter that makes everything better even if he doesn’t know it. Makes everything a little brighter even when he thinks he brings the opposite. That’s something that’ll never change, he’ll never think that highly of himself.

He sat at the coffee table, heaps of newspaper and a few more books on the table. More than a few pieces of crumpled paper were scattered there too, littering the floor in what was left of Dean’s thoughts put on paper. His hair was ruffled, sticking every which way from having run his hands through it surely a million and one times, a frustrated habit you don’t think he’d ever break.

You knocked on the door frame lightly, his head popping up as a tired green gaze shifts to you. He knew you were there without you having to make your presence known, could tell it was you.

You’re timid as you stand there and he sees that, something that doesn’t change when you walk over to where he sits on the couch with a half drank glass of whiskey in his hand. He sees through that sweeter than sweet smile you’re giving him.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says when you take a seat next to him, the warmth that radiates from is him far more comfortable than the heat in your cheeks. “You okay?”

His voice is quieter than you expected, sleep woven around his words, his very tone deepening the way it does when he’s oh so tired. Didn’t stop him from kissing your temple, sweet and as soft as it can be when his stubble brushes against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hum, head resting on his shoulder and he doesn’t believe you for a second.

Not with the way you’ve got that look on your face that screams otherwise, the one you’ve had all week and he’s fairly certain you don’t even know it. Either that or you’re just not that good at hiding. But he knows there’s nothing you can get past him, he knows you like the back of his hand.

In a moment or two you’re lifting your head once more to look at him, having blinked away those tears long before Dean set his gaze on you.

“How’s the research?”

“Well,” he says, downing the rest of his drink in one go before he sets the empty glass on the table. “This thing is pretty damn hard to track down. It’s like it knows it’s got a freakin’ monster APB put out on it.”

You’re quiet as you nod, the softest of laughs falling past your lips a moment later. You can hear the subtlety of the frustration in his tone though, but it seems to soften up when he looks at you like you’re the entire universe and more. But he sees how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, he can see that look you’ve got is from more than just being disheveled and groggy. He knows something’s bothering you and he knows you’re too stubborn to admit it otherwise you would have said it by now.

You wait a moment or two before you speak up, the feel of his gaze on you having had the heat pooling in your cheeks intensifying all the more.

“I’ll let you get back to it, De,” you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t stay up too late.”

His eyes linger on you when you get up from the couch, at the way you wrap your arms around yourself. They linger on you as you walk away and disappear around the corner to head upstairs, that crease between his brows deepening with those dimples by the corners of his mouth.

He knows you a little better than you think.

Another sigh leaves your lips when you reach the top step and make your way down the hall, that heat that had you feeling uncomfortable having dissipated in favor of the shiver that ran through you. It had you reaching for that flannel of Dean’s again, snagging it off the back of the chair you left it on a few minutes before.

The cold from the hardwood floor was more apparent than before, darting up through your bare feet and spreading through the rest of your body. It’s got you tightening that flannel around yourself some more, has you hopping into the otherwise empty bed once again, in an otherwise empty room. But you didn’t want to steal Dean’s concentration more than you already had.

You didn’t want to bother him.

It was a nightmare after all, you should be able to handle these things yourself. Having nightmares wasn’t out of the ordinary for a hunter, you kill monsters for a living. It wasn’t something any other person in the life didn’t deal with. You could handle it on your own, thought you were supposed to handle it on your own.

Dean would beg to differ when it came to you.

He was stubborn as ever, didn’t want to burden anyone with the baggage he insists is too heavy for anyone to bear to hear about. He brushed everything off for the sake of looking strong because he felt that’s what he was supposed to do. But you—to him you’re different.

To him, you’ve got no reason to be embarrassed, he hated when you stuffed things down. He knew he was being hypocritical by thinking that way, by feeling that way, but it’s true.

You sunk down on the mattress, tugged the blankets up over your shoulder as you laid on your side. That feeling in your chest was heavy, dropping down to your stomach the more your mind worried over the subject that was even heavier on your mind. You didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to be tormented with the same looping event playing through your head like it just happened.

It didn’t.

It was over a week ago and you should’ve gotten over it by this point. You should have been able to move on. You got out of there alive, Dean was okay, Sam was okay—you were okay. But you couldn’t break out of that horrible cycle of nightmare after next, robbing you of any sleep you could have gotten.

You were half tempted to turn on the lamp for a little while, at least until Dean makes his way up here. If he does. There’s a very good possibility he’d fall asleep down there on that couch. There’s a good chance he’d be too tired to wander his way up there and you were too stubborn, too self conscious to go back down and nudge him to come to bed.

Dean couldn’t leave you up there alone. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Any shred of attention he had left to give that almost dead end research had since disappeared the moment he saw you. He was already walking a fine line before you even made your appearance but the mere sight of you had him coming to a definite conclusion.

He saw how tired you looked no matter how much you’d like to have him fooled. You looked two seconds from bursting into tears, he knows that because he knows that look anywhere. You weren’t as good at hiding the quiver in your lip as you might think you are.

He packed it up for the night, rearranging the mess he made to make it a more manageable mess in the morning. Made sure the door was locked, turned the lamp off before heading up the stairs to the one thing that’s been on his mind the majority of the night. The one person.

You heard the door creak open after a little while, back to it as fatigue wrapped too tightly around you to have you checking to see who it was. But you could tell. Could pick out those footfalls and those boots anywhere.

You couldn’t help but feel the relief trickle it’s way through you at the sound, at the feel of his presence because being alone sounded miserable in that moment. The simple thought of it made that feeling grow heavier, made your stomach churn even after a brief second of it.

You heard some shuffling around, the clink of his belt before the buckle hit the ground. Even heard the thud of him accidentally kicking the nightstand and the soft string of curses that came after it, something the pulled the softest of smiles out of you. The bed dipped behind you a second or two later, blankets tugged around softly and it wasn’t too long before his body heat behind you was more noticeable than that comforter.

It was quiet, save for the gentle clear of his throat and something unmistakably sounding of a Dean Winchester yawn. He was close, as close as that bed made things be because it wasn’t really big enough for two but you made it work.

You swallowed thickly as you laid there, feeling the weight of his arm settle around your waist and tug you closer. Your mind was a mess of everything, thoughts swirling around enough to make your head spin. The words sat on the tip of your tongue, the urge to spill and let the glossiness in your eyes build and stream down your cheeks proving to be hard to stifle.

Your heart still raced, still pounded heavy within your chest and you swore Dean must have been able to hear it with the way it sounded in your ears. That trembling hadn’t gone away quite yet either, and that was something Dean didn’t fail to miss. The tension keeping you rigid and guarded was more than obvious under his arm, and normally you would have tucked yourself right up against him. Normally you would have rolled over to face him, snuggled in as close as you could.

Something was bothering you and he knew it from a mile away. He knew exactly what it was.

“Sweetheart?” He asks after a little while longer.

He knows you won’t spit it out on your own.

“Yeah?” You whisper softly.

You blink as you look at the window along the wall, lethargic as your brows furrow a little deeper. His voice was gentle, on the brink of being cautious as he spoke the single word, the nickname that held all the fondness in the world for you. You knew what was coming.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

The question was soft and all knowing, there was no lying your way out of it. It was impossible at that point, he caught in and there’s no fooling Dean Winchester, not even for a second.

You breathed in deeply, lips pursing as your brows furrow all the more. That question was inevitable, you weren’t as discreet as you’d like to be. But it didn’t make you all that much less stubborn, though it was enough to have your eyes blurring and glossing over once more.

You don’t say anything, not right away. Instead you roll over, you roll over and tuck yourself against him the way you always do. Your arm slings around his waist under the blanket, cheek pressing to his shoulder as that frown of yours remains.

You didn’t need to say anything at all, your actions spoke louder than words and that much was certain. He’s gotten pretty good at reading you, you’re his sweetheart after all.

You felt his kiss press to your forehead, felt the way it lingered before another one was left in its place. His grip was all the more tighter on you as he exhaled a sigh, one of sheer frustration at the fact that he couldn’t take that fear away from you, couldn’t take the bad away. He hated how defenseless he felt. He strived to be strong, to be stronger and more threatening than any damn monster out there but this is one that’s got him at a standstill. This invisible enemy is his worst one.

It wasn’t long before you felt his chuckle, heard it.

“Remember that stash I kept?”

You smile, one of the first genuine ones that whole day. “You’ve gotta be more specific than that, De.”

He laughs some more at that, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“That damn box of magazines. That stash,” he says, “and I didn’t have that many.”

“Oh yes you did, Winchester. Still do,” you say, feeling his light squeeze of retaliation. “Left one behind, you know?”

There’s that laugh again, the one that he can’t stifle when he’s around you.

“You mean the one you used to whack me on the back of the head when you first found it?”

“Yeah, that one,” you say, your smile soft but still lingering. “Worth it.”

His hum was quiet against your forehead, your eyes falling closed for a brief moment. He was trying his hardest to distract you, to bring out that smile that made him weak in the knees. He tried to make things better and it was working.

You cracked open an eye to peek up at the older Winchester, his gaze already on you and you bit the inside of your cheek to try and stifle your smile but it didn’t help your cause very much. So you thought quickly and leaned up, pressing your lips on his. You felt that grin he’s got press into your kiss, melding with your own and his attempts at hiding it are futile, pitifully so because if there’s anyone that can cut through the green eyed hunter’s tough as nails exterior, it’s you. It’ll always be you.

“I take it you found that today, didn’t you?” He murmurs, brushing his lips over yours.

“‘Course I did.”

He kisses you once, twice, three times more as that smile of his widened a fraction. That smile you loved the most out of any you’ve ever seen.

“I like this outcome better,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

You let your head drop down to rest on his shoulder again, feeling a little lighter, maybe a lot more than before as you tucked yourself under his chin.

He tried his best, he always does and it never fails to make all the difference in the world. The anguish of that nightmare still lingered in your mind, still taunted you and you weren’t too thrilled about the idea of falling asleep but the heaviness in your eyelids didn’t give you much of a choice. But everything was better, was much less difficult to take on when you’ve got green eyes and freckles making things feel okay.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @happyt0exist @malindacath @awkward-and-indecisive @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @drownthewitch

[nerdypanda3126]

Hot and Cold – Chapter 4

Marinette plucks up the courage to tell Luka her real name and Luka tries not to die of cuteness. 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Read on Ao3

Marinette wrung her hands as she paced back and forth along the Seine, taking a few steps towards the Liberty, then chickening out and doubling back before forcing herself to turn back around. 

She’d been doing this since she left the bakery. The whole time she was trying to talk herself into and then back out of what she was doing. Plagg had already resigned himself to sleeping in her pocket, but every once in a while she heard a very obvious, very annoyed snore emanate from where he was stashed.

But this was crazy. It wasn’t like Viperion liked Marinette, he liked Lady Noire. And she just happened to be behind the mask and she wasn’t nearly as brave as her hero alter ego and what if she got there and he wrinkled his nose and turned her away? 

She stopped and spun back for the bakery, dejected, before his words from last night rang in her head. He said she was welcome any time. And he said that after he knew—or at least saw—who she was. So that meant he wanted her there, right? 

Her feet spun her back around and she set her jaw against that awful voice in the back of her mind. He said she was welcome. He wanted to see her. At the very least, she could tell him her name and then that could be it. If he didn’t want to take her out after all, if he decided he didn’t like her after all— 

She froze in her tracks and her eyes widened in horror as she turned back around hurriedly. 

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered to herself. 

Plagg yawned loudly and came out of her pocket to nestle into her hair. She would’ve admonished him for being out so obviously if she wasn’t preoccupied being… a total chicken. 

She stopped again. What if he did want to see her? What if he did still want to take her on that date and what if he did still like her? Wasn’t that a possibility too? She bit her lip and changed direction again. 

“You know, I’m not really an expert or anything,” Plagg drawled lazily, “but you seem to be struggling with something.” 

“He’s Luka Couffaine, Plagg,” she said, like that explained everything.

“And?" 

"And…" She twisted her fingers together harder. "And I'm maybe a little afraid of him?" Plagg snorted at her and she couldn’t help but pout up at him. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly, and she stopped in her tracks to wait for the inevitable ‘but’ she knew was coming. “But you didn’t seem all that afraid of him when you were mooning over his poster,” Plagg muttered into her hair. 

She had to hide her burning face in her hands. Of course he would bring that up right now. The mortified groan she let out was muffled by her fingers and Plagg cackled. 

“I have a poster of him in my bedroom!” She whisper-shouted back at him, exasperated. She started pacing back and forth instead and waving her arms around to emphasize her points.  “What if he thinks I’m some crazy stalker? Then he’ll never want to speak to me again and then I’ll have to give up my Miraculous out of shame and then I’ll never see you or him ever again and I’ll have to move to a deserted island and live out the rest of my days alone!” 

She threw herself down on a nearby bench, pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, and forced herself to take a few calming breaths like Vi taught her to. Catastrophizing, he’d called it. Always thinking the worst would happen. She could almost hear his chuckle when he caught her doing it and feel his hand on her elbow to keep her grounded there with him. She didn’t know if that made it better or worse, because now her heart was pounding, too. 

“Hey, kid,” Plagg said then, which made her peek out to look at him. “He might be some cool rockstar wannabe—” he rolled his eyes at that and waited until she stuck her tongue out at him and he’d stuck his back out at her to continue seriously. “...But he’s also your partner.” 

For the first time since she’d left the bakery, her shoulders relaxed. 

Plagg was… right, wasn’t he? Luka Couffaine was Viperion, and Viperion was Luka Couffaine. So every moment she’d spent with him was just that. Time spent with him. Every time they’d fought together. Every time they’d helped each other. Every late night conversation and every pastry she’d brought him and every time he’d hummed a bit of a song he was working on and every time his smile lit up all of Paris for her.

She knew him. 

And he knew her.

She took one more deep breath and smiled at Plagg, thanking him, before she started walking purposefully toward the Liberty.

---

Luka was humming tunelessly to himself as he fought with the hopelessly tangled rigging. It wasn’t really that it needed doing, but it gave his mind and his fingers something to do other than worrying. It wasn’t helping though, because it was only making him frustrated on top of worried. 

Juleka sighed in his general direction for what felt like the thousandth time that day and he tossed her a glare. 

“Stop,” he said, a bit harshly, admittedly, but she’d been sighing at him ever since he told her what happened. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Yeah, you’re fine,” she snarked back, setting aside the magazine she’d been pretending to read. “You just had a sudden craving for rope splinters.” She walked over and tugged the rope out of his hands and put it aside pointedly. When he started picking at his chipped nail polish instead, she smirked. 

“Okay, you got me,” he said irritably, forcing his hands to still before he sighed deeply. “I think I screwed everything up.” 

“Probably.” 

He glared at her again, but she met his gaze evenly and he relented. 

“You should’ve seen the way she looked at me.” His eyes fell back to his hands. He had torn them up pretty good with the ropes, but it was nothing a bit of rubbing alcohol and time wouldn’t fix. 

Time. He scoffed at himself as his eye caught on the silver bangle that had a permanent spot on his left wrist. Ironic that he wished he could redo something. But if nothing else, the reveal was still a good thing. They’d never had a way to contact each other outside of the masks and now… 

Now she probably wouldn’t ever talk to him again, anyways. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Juleka said, and when he looked up she was smirking again, but not at him, and there was a devilish gleam in her eyes that he didn’t like. “Kind of a cross between star-struck and about to throw up.” 

He squinted at her suspiciously. “...Yeah, actually. How did you know?” 

Her impish grin widened and she gestured with her head to something behind him. “I think that’s for you.” 

“What’s…?” He turned to look and—

Holy shit it was her. Lady Noire. Or, well, civilian Lady Noire since he hadn’t gotten her name. She was standing at the edge of the gangplank and twisting her fingers behind her back as she tipped up on her toes and settled back on her heels, making her skirt swish around her knees with the movement. He’d recognize that adorable nervous energy anywhere, but to top it off he just barely caught a black flash as Plagg phased into her purse.

He was standing—when did he stand?—and he waved woodenly. Juleka smacked the back of his head fondly before she disappeared into the interior of the boat. He let the momentum carry him forward until he was at the other end of the gangplank and helping her across it. 

Her hand was so small in his. How had he never noticed? And when she started to totter, he wrapped a steadying arm around her waist and his heart nearly choked him. He’d steadied her so many other times, and in a skintight catsuit, no less, but this… this was something else entirely. 

When they were safely on deck, he let her go and took a good step back to try to make her more comfortable. But the way he was staring definitely wasn’t helping. She was so incredibly cute and soft in her fluffy coat and pink skirt, but there was also a nod to her alter ego with the black tights and knee high boots. She was so inherently Lady Noire and so inherently… herself. 

She was biting her lips and twisting her hands together still and waiting for him to say something, but he was too caught in her eyes—her real eyes, blue, not green, and so clear and beautiful—to even form a word.  

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” she asked nervously, then her eyes widened in horror. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry, that was so awful.” Her face disappeared behind her hands, but the glimpse he got of it was bright red. It broke him out of his stupor and he chuckled as he rested his hands on her elbows, holding her lightly to ground her. Like he always did when Lady Noire got flustered.

“Actually it was kinda cute,” he admitted. She peeked out at him and he smiled back. “Hi.” 

Little by little, her shoulders came down and finally she sighed. “How do you do that?” 

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d unintentionally pulled her closer while he was trying to calm her down and now she was close enough that she had to look up at him. He squeezed her arm gently before he forced himself to pull away. 

“Practice,” he said, and flashed a teasing grin at her. 

She rolled her eyes back at him and crossed her arms haughtily, turning away from him. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t suited up. That was classic Lady Noire and if he’d doubted at all that she was his partner, that would’ve confirmed it. It was a relief she was treating him like they were just on patrol, like it was just another night. Even if it meant she was putting the mask back on mentally. 

He tugged on one of her pigtails playfully and it startled her into turning back to him. He was grinning now, but he couldn’t seem to help it. She clamped her hands down over her hair, protecting it, pouting, and he laughed. 

“Lukaaa,” she whined. 

It was his turn to blush. She’d taken that tone before when he was Viperion, but it was so much different hearing her say his actual name like that—like they were friends in real life as well as hero life. Maybe she’d gotten over being star-struck? Maybe this could actually work. They could work. 

She must’ve caught on that something had affected him, because she was blushing again, too, and her eyes darted away as she started biting her lip again. 

“Is it… okay?” she asked quietly. “That I call you that, I mean.” 

“It’s my name,” he said, a bit stupidly, he had to admit. “Of course it’s okay. I just wish I knew yours, too.” 

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath before she met his eyes again and held his gaze. For all of two seconds, at least. Then they were back on the toes of her boots and Plagg muttered something from her bag—or at least he assumed the kwami said something because Lady Noire huffed out another breath and grouched, “I am not stalling.” 

“You are,” Luka agreed, teasing, and she flashed a glare at him. He grinned innocently back. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” he continued after a moment. “I can call you something else if you want.” 

“Like what?” 

“... Kitty?” he suggested. “That’s like a girl’s nickname, right?” 

The way her face flushed was either a resounding ‘no’ or it meant that she liked it more than she’d like to admit. 

“Okay, no,” he said, chuckling despite himself. "Maybe I can guess?" 

She shook her head hard enough that her pigtails smacked her cheeks. "Plagg's right," she sighed, "I mean, he usually is, but this time he's really right." She took a deep breath—one he recognized because he'd taught her how to do them—and squeezed her eyes shut, hard, like if she looked at him she'd lose her nerve.

“Ma-Ma-Marinette,” she finally stuttered out. “I’m Marinette.”

Thankfully there was a crate behind him to fall on because for some reason hearing her real name knocked his knees out from under him. 

“Marinette,” he repeated breathlessly. 

“Yeah, uh, Dupain-Cheng. My parents own the bakery across from the Place des Vosges, you know, the one with the fountains? I think we’ve been there before together, probably one time I brought you pastries, there’s always extras at the bakery and it’s a shame for them to go to waste, especially when we have a late patrol and you said you liked the macarons so much and…” 

She was rambling, apparently oblivious to his internal meltdown. He heard most of it, but it was washing over him without absorbing. 

“...Are you okay?” 

While he hadn’t been able to function, she’d knelt beside him and laid a hand on his knee, trying to catch his eyes. He laid his hand over hers absent-mindedly and nodded. 

“Better than. I just…” He met those gorgeous blue eyes and lost his train of thought. He must’ve been making some stupid face because she hid a giggle behind her hand. 

“Guess it’s not just the cold that makes you freeze.” 

“No,” he choked out, “apparently not.” 

Her head tilted at his tone, exactly like it would’ve if she was in the mask, and it helped things click together for him. It wasn't like she was different this way, she was still the same Lady Noire, and still his partner. It was just that knowing her name, and seeing her in person, and hearing that she had parents that he could meet—should meet, he reminded himself—it made it all so real. She wasn’t some unreachable, unknowable ideal. She was here. 

He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand and she blushed, but she didn’t pull away from him. 

“Marinette,” he repeated again, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone, much like he had the other night before they’d had their reveal. Her cheek was just as soft now as it always was. 

She giggled nervously, but held his gaze. “Yes, Luka?”

His mouth had gone dry and he swallowed, hoping his words came out in the right order. “Can I kiss you?” 

She let out a small “eep” as her face turned crimson again. 

“...Or take you to the movies, or walk you home, or just… sit here and stare at you?” He gave her what he hoped was a roguish grin but was probably another lovesick smile. “Whatever you want to do, I just want to spend time with you.”

She was twisting her fingers together again and he took one of her hands in his to help. She stared at their joined hands before she took another deep breath. 

“I kinda… did tell my mom…” Her eyes flicked nervously up to his. “I was going on a date?” 

His hand tightened around hers reflexively. Date. A date. With Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He was nodding before he even realized it. 

“Yes,” he managed to croak out. “Absolutely.” 

He stood and helped her up with him, although that was more to keep himself from falling down again than anything else. She seemed to sense how unsteady he was because she looped her arm through his and stayed close. 

“So… Movie?” she asked, but he heard her nerves come back in full force. When she looked up at him, he got lost in those eyes again and could only smile back at her. Her cheeks pinked as she ducked to hide her face in his shoulder. “You have to talk, Vi, or I’m just going to like self-combust over here.” 

“Sorry,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead. “I was wishing the cat had my tongue.” He laughed and rubbed her shoulder as she squeaked again. 

She nuzzled further into him and a rush of warmth and excitement hit him like a wave when he barely heard her reply, “Later.”

[frostedfaves]

Haunt (1)

Masterlist

Pairing: civilian!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Impeccable timing brings you and Wanda together.

Warnings: ghosts/demons, haunting, Ultron who?

A/N: as we get later into the series, the level of exposed I feel is only going to increase. I may or may not have put some of my own feelings into this one, which I usually do anyway, but this is a super personal thing that it took me a while to even tell my closest friend so...be gentle with me. and leave feedback!

**click here to be added to the taglist!!**

-

The rhythmic chopping of the knife through vegetables on the cutting board echoed through the sunlit kitchen, which was silent aside from the soft music playing through the bluetooth speaker. A grin appeared on Wanda’s lips as she realized she’d begun to mimic the beat of the current song, and if Pietro was here, he’d make his usual joke about her bringing work home. Luckily he wouldn’t be arriving for dinner for another two hours.

“Alexei, hi!” she greeted the tan corgi cheerfully as he padded into the room. “I’m sorry, but I can’t share any of this with you. The vet said you’re allergic to paprika, remember?”

An adoring smile was thrown Alexei’s way as he settled into one of his many beds to watch her cook. The vegetables were placed in a container near the stovetop as she headed to grab the aforementioned spice, sighing when she opened the cabinet and spotted the nearly empty jar.

“Can I trust you not to make a mess while I’m gone?” she asked Alexei as she faced him, chuckling when he raised his head from his paws with a curious tilt. “That’s what I thought.”

She quickly covered the food that was already prepped for the nonstick skillet resting on the stovetop and blew a kiss to her pup on the way out of the kitchen. Her phone and wallet were placed in the pockets of her jeans before she slipped on a hoodie, zipping it with one hand as she grabbed her keys with the other.

Traffic seemed lighter than usual as she made her way toward the main street, and she couldn’t fight the smile that appeared as she passed the many yards of children playing in front lawns. It was the last Saturday before the school year started, and they were determined to get as much time in the sun as they could before being stuck inside for five days a week. Wanda turned left at the end of the block and was just about to pass an alley when someone bumped into her.

-

Stuck. Dead. High. Speak.

The whispered words seem to echo through the silent apartment at a deafening volume, each one timed perfectly along with every tap of your foot on the floor beside your bed. It was a taunting way of indirectly forcing you to count out the phrase that seemed to inevitably break you.

Stuck. Dead. High. Speak.

“Please, can I just have one fucking day?” you pleaded as you lifted your head, keeping your gaze away from the corner of the room where the voice was coming from.

Stuck. Dead. High. Speak.

A few more minutes passed before you grew tired of feeling suffocated, and you jumped off the bed to grab your phone and wallet, sliding them into your pockets before putting on a light hoodie that you zipped up as you walked. You snatched your keys from the hook beside the door before hurrying out of the apartment, locking the door and rushing down the hall and out to the street. Feeling the warm breeze and the sun on your cheeks was a welcoming contrast to the chill of your dark bedroom.

Stuck. Dead. High. Speak.

You jumped in response to the rushed whisper in your ear, letting out a groan as the words continued to repeat while you took a shortcut through the alleys. Flashes of arms circling your waist and lips melting against yours poured into your mind and you stopped in the middle of the next alley to close your eyes and focus on breathing. The whispers quieted, and you were almost certain you were going to catch a break for once when a car horn went off. Your loud scream was masked by those of the children on the other side of the block as your eyes flew open and you started running, your journey to the sidewalk being cut short by another woman.

“Sorry!” you called out breathlessly as she stumbled back while trying to catch you, and you carefully pulled away with a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No no, I’m fine,” she laughed nervously as she fixed her jacket sleeves, her bright smile falling a bit as she met your eyes again. “Are you okay?”

“Also fine.” You averted your gaze with a harsh swallow, suddenly aware of how tired you must look. “Hey, I was headed to the grocery store...Am I going the right way?”

“Yeah!” Her eyes widened and her welcoming grin was restored. “I was actually going there myself if you’d like to walk with me.”

“Sure.”

The two of you turned and began walking side by side toward the busy intersection in silence, your steps seeming to line up perfectly, and you shook your head to clear the memory of those cursed words lining up with the tapping of your foot.

“So I’m not sure if this is too invasive of a stranger to ask but…” You faced the dark-haired woman and she did the same as you began crossing the parking lot. “I noticed you have a bit of an accent. Does that come from somewhere else?”

“Yes,” she answered with a bit of a chuckle. “My parents brought my twin brother and I here from Sokovia when we were 10, just before a bombing destroyed the building we used to live in.”

“Wow, your parents have impeccable timing. But that’s so cool that you have a twin. What’s his name? Well, I’d like to know your name first.”

“I’m Wanda,” she introduced herself with a smile that widened even more when you told her your name while shaking her hand. “And my brother’s name is Pietro.”

“Wait, is your brother Pietro Maximoff, the soccer player?” Your eyebrows raised instantly as she nodded. “My roommate loves soccer and she is obsessed with him. She has a huge Quicksilver poster on the wall above her bed.”

“They call him that because he runs so fast that the players from the opposing team always struggle to keep up.” Her laugh is muffled by the air conditioning as you walk through the automatic doors. “Do you need a cart? I really just came for one thing and maybe a bakery item or something.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just grabbing a few snacks.” 

You take longer than necessary to make your way to the spices, snack aisles and bakery, which gives you a chance to learn about this bright-eyed, kindhearted woman with an accent that made your mind go a bit fuzzy. You found out that she was a music teacher at an elementary school, which sounded a lot more interesting than the job you’d chosen to stick with simply because you needed to pay bills. She was determined to convince you otherwise.

“Wanda, it’s fine!” you insisted as the two of you left the check out line and made your way toward the exit. “I actually prefer boring and normal right now anyway. I haven’t really ever been able to use those words when describing my life before, so this is great.”

You could feel her eyes locked on you as she followed you to the main street, and you waited for her at the corner to cross together, offering her a reassuring smile as the light changed. The two of you were standing in front of her one-story home within a few blocks, and as you took a look at the potted plants on either side of the welcome mat and lantern hung by the door, you couldn’t help but think that you’d be able to figure out this place was hers even if she hadn’t pointed it out.

“Pietro’s coming for dinner tonight if you and your roommate would like to join us,” she told you in a seemingly hopeful tone as she faced you from the steps leading to the porch. “I always make way too much food anyway.”

Stuck. Dead. High. Speak.

“Um...” You paused to clear your throat. “I actually have plans tonight but maybe I can come back tomorrow afternoon for a movie or something, if you’re not busy. I had fun with you.”

“Yeah, that’ll be great! I wake up pretty early so you can come over whenever.” 

“Okay, cool. Cute dog, by the way.”

You nodded over at the corgi watching you from the window, grinning when Wanda followed your gaze and laughed, and you bid farewell with a simple wave before walking away to finish the trip back to your building. Your smile fell as the whispers began filling your ears again before you even reached the corner of the block, and you wondered how long this situation with Wanda would last before you scared her away.

-

Tags: @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @slut-for-nat @honeyvenable @creepingwolfberry @stickystudentlightmug @choni-trimberly

[wantaichi]

EPILOGUE | KOZUME K.

word count: 1k+ author’s note: warning for nsfw towards the end. fwb with implications of smth more. s’been a while since i’ve written a non-drabble whew ~ [reuploading because first one had tagging problems huhu]

You could hear the muffled thump of footsteps coming from outside, creaking, light tremors coursing through the wooden floorboard beneath the futon.

“—could I ever repay you for this, Kenma,” someone says, voice bearing a familiarity you couldn’t quite put a face on, not while half-asleep.

“Like I said, just don’t get boring,” comes a deeper one. “Have fun and.. give me something to look forward to.“

This one you recognize all too well, all embedded into memory from hearing every night.

“A-haha.. O-of course!” the former stammers, “Don’t make it sound so easy though.. It’s cool you think I deserve this sponsorship, plus the fact that I finally have something to rub in that king’s face, heh! But…”

You shift on the futon and curl to your side, eyes crinkling fondly in recognition of the voice - the perkier half of Karasuno’s duo. He’ll be going overseas soon, last you’d heard, and briefly, you consider pulling on some clothes and coming out to greet him.

But they seem barely within earshot now, voices shrunken further away (somewhere near the foyer, you gauge). You hear the front door creak open - distant laughs and murmurs of farewell being exchanged - before finally closing with a thud.

Resigned and half-dazed, you scramble to your feet, clad in only an underwear while clutching on to a blanket that didn’t do much to cover your front - as if it mattered. There wasn’t much left to cover when these walls have seen every nook and cranny of you.

Footsteps echo from down the hallway. You peek out the bedroom door and wait for him to appear at the end of the corridor, within the narrow view of his living room - tatami mats and kotetsu and all.

Against the backdrop of wood and bamboo, the only modern touch was the large globe pendant hanging from the ceiling as lighting. And adding to that, him, in his too-large hoodie and baggy cargo pants rustling with every drag of his bare feet, looking like the poster boy for domesticity and weekends at home.

Clumps of black and bleached tips slipped from his bun and framed his face with languid grace, and your fingers twitch in memory of running through them.

“So.. Shouyo was here,” you pipe, watching him stifle a yawn into his palm.

“Yeah.. Just left actually.”

“And you couldn’t bother waking me up?” you pout, “I could’ve said hi..”

He gives you a once-over, smiling. “In that?”

“Ha-ha, funny. I would’ve put something on if you’d called me.”

He hums in humor, coming to a stop in front of you. Kozume Kenma has grown a few inches taller since high school, a few degrees warmer towards everyone else. With both hands pocketed, he smiles, a few stretches too wry. “And which of us would have explained to him what you’re doing here this early?”

The question - reminder - comes out like a flick on the forehead, a soundless oh escaping your lips before closing to a thin line.

No one knew about this - whatever the kids called it these days - not Kuroo, not anyone from the team.

You wouldn’t call it hiding, not on purpose at least. The opportunity to bring it up just never came around. Funny enough, neither did the will to keep it a one-time thing.

Some nights, when you’re both too spent for another round, when he sits on the floor cross-legged with his hands on the controller, occasionally combing through your hair as you lay on his lap - you think you both know why, yet prefer to prolong the vagueness of it all.

When you don’t answer, Kenma mindlessly takes a stray tuft of hair from your temple and tucks it behind your ear, fingers lingering idly. “Your clothes are still in the laundry. Were you gonna wear mine?”

You open your mouth to say something but find the words stuck in your throat. You gag them out. “Maybe. Would that be a problem?”

“Hmm, not really, no.” Then tilting his head slightly, lowering his hand to the patch of skin below your jaw, “Makes me wonder though.. how he’d react if he saw these.”

You draw your brows together in question before flinching, shuddering at his touch. Feeling a sore sensation on your neck, on the crevice of your shoulder. The stinging, almost tangible memory of lips and teeth digging into your flesh. Your face feels warm all of a sudden.

“You’re always leaving them where it’s seen,” you manage weakly.

“Do I..?” he leans forward, just enough to press a kiss to your skin opposite where his fingers flirted. An unbidden shiver swims its way down your spine. “You never try to stop me.”

I couldn’t even if I tried.

At the feel of his lips trailing along the soft edges of your face, of the tips of his hair tickling your skin, a crawling ache settles below your waist, between your thighs. Clenching and unclenching. Your knees accidentally bump into his and you’re sure he’s caught on. He always does.

Always had been sharp at reading body language and yours was something he read fluently. Every movement and response, every lack thereof, every blush and avoidance of eye contact. Every morning when you’ve woken up in the mood and press your face onto his back and he’d know just what you wanted from him. But then—

“You weren’t there this morning..” You kiss the words solemnly onto his cheek, fingers going loose around the blanket, letting it splash soundlessly onto your ankles as if a barrier had melted.

“Sorry.” His only response before taking your bottom lip between his, appending a knee between your legs. He presses a thigh against you - right where you needed him - and listens to the broken tune of sharp inhales. A silent plea for more.

You rub yourself hard against him, hot, wet - enough to feel the dampness seep through the layers and onto his skin. His fingers gravitate towards the junction and, unthinkingly, slip inside the thin fabric. At the contact, you tear your lips from his and nestle your head into the crook of his neck where his scent from last night clung. You think it might be your scent but you aren’t so sure.

“What time’s your first steam..”

“I could spare a couple more minutes.” He laughs, beckoning you into the room. “C’mon.”

The door slides shut behind him.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

other works.

[forthehpfanboys]

Quidditch and T

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him; transmasculine reader.

Summary: Harry surprises Ron with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup after the war, after Hermione and after finding out Ron has a crush on the first professional trans masculine the Chudley Canons or the World Cup has ever seen. 

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, tiny amount of transphobia?? super long, focuses on Ron more than it should, super long and probably really bad.

Notes: Trans masculine reader again! We love to see it- No one asked for this but I liked the idea. Also, Ron has long hair because I love him and Harry is a good friend. The bestest of friends.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Even with the second wizarding war years behind them, everyone struggled to regain control over themselves. Loved ones were lost far too soon, strained relationships came crashing down and businesses all but shattered like glass, but that was a year or two after. Families were beginning to recover and move forward, but some struggled. It was only natural, that was why the Ministry decided to bring at least a tiny bit of normality back to everyone's life with the Quidditch World Cup. They thought it would bring some light in the barely lit times everyone lived in.

While life for some was morphing back to a semi stable state, times were transitioning to a new era. Of course, no one batted an eye or fought against her when the Hermione Jean Granger demanded rights for wizards, witches and sorcerers who were, for lack of a better word, different. Not after everything she’d done for the world with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and especially not after S.P.E.W.  The world really was shifting for the better.

She created two acts for equality. If house elves can have it, why can’t magical humans who just- feel different. Hermione called it S.P.L.A.T.E.R, also known as Sorcerers Lover Protection Against The Everyday Routine, and it was meant to protect wizards and witches who desire relationships with the same sex against discrimination. The talented witch went on to create a similar movement against portraying gender and identity; The Sorcerer’s Typical Identity or Gender May Alter Shield, better known as S.T.I.G.M.A.S. Both were very welcomed by the public, which happened a good year before the game would be returning, and that led to you gaining your dream job.

You were able to join the Chudley Cannons, your dream team despite their reputation. You were naturally talented on a broom and weren’t afraid to pull some risky stunts to get the golden snitch, plus it fueled your ego to hear the crowd gasp, go silent then cheer loud enough to be heard from Mars. The team and their fans didn’t care that you were the only trans masculine player, in fact, they loved you! The team was very proud to have you be their seeker and it was even better when the Cannons got into the World Cup. You basically carried the team, and they fucking knew it.

Your face made the front page almost weekly, quoting comments from your games and showing off your merchandise like it was no big deal. While you caught the attention of many wizards, witches and magical humans in between, there was one who was absolutely fascinated, maybe borderline obsessed, with you. You somehow stuck in his head, causing him to repaint his room in his shared flat bright orange just like his childhood bedroom. The ex-auror even went as far as getting your newly printed poster. He would glance at it when he was writing letters to his mother, but then would spend a good few solid minutes staring at it, daydreaming about meeting  you and lose track of time. Life got a little harder with the moving poster in his room. Of course you had no idea the famous Ron Weasley was a die-hard fan of yours.

The youngest Weasley son ended up being the first out of three up everyday just to read the newest info about (Y/n) ‘Point Breaker’ (L/n) and the rest of the team. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew enough about you to be considered a borderline stalker and couldn’t help but spew facts about you to his twin brothers. Those very twins would tease him about his newly found crush but were secrealty very happy that he was getting over his heart break.

Ron and Hermione, more Hermione, had decided splitting and remaining friends was better for them, leading to the poor bloke locked in the spare room of his older brother's flat for a solid week. They told everyone it was mutual, but it was clear to Fred, George and Harry that it was most definitely not a decision that they were both fond of. Harry could still remember the frantic howler he got from Fred and George saying their little brother all but stopped functioning as a human.

He only started eating and showering once he heard the team was up and running again. He figured that was why Harry showed up to the flat one afternoon with tickets to the sold out game. When Ron asked his best mate how he got them, he just smiled and said something about knowing people and favors being exchanged. The ticket was more like a bandage encased in clear plastic and stuck to a lanyard, which is what Ron was fiddling with the day of the game when his best friend suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron screeched out as he steadied himself in his chair. His hand gripped at the shirt on his chest and chose to ignore the head rushing to his cheeks. “Could’ve sent me a warning!” He let out a slow sigh, trying to steady his rapid heart beat. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry laughed out. The professor had his hands in his jacket pocket, a sly grin across his face. “Come on then! Game’s gonna be starting soon!” The raven haired male all but yaned his freckle covered friend out of the chair.

“Ok! Ok, sheesh. Let me grab a jacket.” The red-head knew this was going to be a game that leaked late into the night. Both teams were itching to get the trophy and forget about their troubles- It was gonna be absolutely beautiful. 

Grabbing his coat and reaching into the pocket, Ron pulled out an elastic band and put his hair up into a messy bun quickly before tucking the jacket into his arm. He walked over to Harry, who was gazing at the photo-covered walls of the flat.

“If you want, I can take ca-” Harry was cut off by Ron grabbed his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I like it like this.” Ron shook his head back and forth causing the messy ball to swap back and forth. “Come on. You were the one rushing us.” Harry let out a simple chuckle before apperating them to the field. 

“Tadah!” Harry did a fancy little wave, gesturing to the crowded field and began to make his way down the hell, passing by the old boot. Ron looked down at it as they passed before looking back at his best friend.

“Damn, it has been far too long.” Ron sighed out. A smile broke out across his face when he saw little kids running around with paint covered faces and happy couples sharing tea outside of their tents. “Do we have a tent?” 

“Nope, won’t be needing one this time around.” Harry shoved his hands in his pants pocket.

“No ten- Blimey, Harry, this is a game! This is going to go on for hours-”

“Ron-” 

“Won’t need it my arse. Hours, Harry. Where are we going to sit? The damp ground?” Ron was flaring his hands about.

“We get to spend our time in the Minister’s Box, Ron, relax.” Harry shook his head in mock disapproval before adjusting his glasses and moving forward. 

“Minister’s Box-” Ron’s voice stuttered out.

“Yeah! Isn’t that cool? We’re gonna be in the middle of the action!” Harry waved to a child who had recognized him with a smile.

“Ministry box-” Ron was’t used to such luguries, even after working with his brothers at their shop. Harry figured he’d never get used to being spoiled like this. It made him choke back a soft snicker.

“Yes, Ronald, the Minister’s Box, now hurry up! I told them we’d get there before the game started so we can chat.” Harry grabbed the lagging boy’s wrist and proceeded to maneuver through the crowd with him. 

“How did ya score this, Harry?” Ron all but yelled over the crowd. Once Harry dragged them through the crowd and to the front doors of the stadium, he spoke up.

“Remember when we went on that assignment to stop LeStrange again? Just before her Dementors Kiss about a month before we quit?” He handed the ticketier his lanyard to check over. Ron did the same before they both entered.

“Yeah? What about it?” Ron’s blue eyes glanced across the crowded inside. Gods, it really had been a while since he’d been here. It felt normal, like he almost hadn’t lost Fred to an explosion, like Harry’s life wasn’t on the line everyday, like every day wasn’t terrifying. Ron turned his attention back to his friend when he spoke up again.

“Well just before that, I went on a loner mission. This one involved taking care of some dark witch who was claiming she could bring back the dead and threatened to bring back Voldemort and the Death Eaters, so they sent me down to check it out.” Harry led him to an elevator, where the gate opened allowing the pair to step in. There was an exhausted looking male standing in uniform, most likely a worker from the Ministry himself. “Ministers Box, kind sir. Thank you.” The gate closed with a shuttering rattle and soon they were moving upward. Green eyes turned back to blue to finish the story. “Anyway, turns out she was actually trying to resurrect the noseless twat, but instead of over time or promotion, I asked for this and the best seats in the house. Figured this would be a good gift for you.”

“Gift? Harry, bud, mate, my fuckin best friend.” Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You’ve already done your fair share of helping me. Blimey, I’m not worth this.”

The gate opened again, allowing the two ex-aurors to step out but not before tossing a few sickles to the poor man who looked bored out of his mind. Ron casted him a short wave before he was sent back down.

“You deserve more than a crummy game and a nice seat, Ronnie. You literally helped me destroy Voldemort.”

“I didn’t do that much and besides it’s not a crummy game!” Ron took his hand away from Harry's shoulder. They walked down the short hallway to the door leading to their seats, but paused just before opening it. “That’s fuckin wild, isn’t it?” Ron grumbled out. “Was she smooched by a Dementor in the end?” 

“Yup. All her research was swiped and burned. Anyone and everyone she knew was obliviated. Now enough talk about old work, let’s relax.” Harry spoke before opening the door and allowed Ron to walk in first. 

The room was bigger than Gred and Forge’s flat, Ron was sure of it. It had silvery blue walls and a huge open window in the front, showing off the screaming fans and showed the entire field which held the perfect view. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting across the fancy black leather seats and the buckets of ice holding expensive bottles of wine, flasks of firewhiskey and glass pitchers giggle water and suddenly Ron wanted to cry and simultaneously brag to Malfoy. Sure, he hadn’t seen the blonde in a year or so but it’d be nice. The red-head didn’t realise he was drifting toward the giant window until someone spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weadley, I’m so glad you could make it!” A wizard dressed in a suit came scurrying over, his chapeign glass almost overflowing with foam.

“It’s Weasley, actually.” Harry didn't hesitate to speak up. “But of course! I was thrilled when Ron decided to come with me! I couldn’t have caught that witch without him. Anyway, where will we be seated?” Harry was using his Auror Voice™ while Ron stood there, trying to recall how on earth he helped his best friend with a case he wasn’t even on.

“I did wh-?” Ron was interrupted.

“Ah. My apologies. Of course, of course.” The man in the suit adjusted his tie before gesturing to the window in the front with his glass.. “Front row, just as you requested.” He took a sip from his glass before walking off to the seat he came from, talking to the witch next to him. 

Harry thanked the man before grabbing Ron’s wrist and bringing him over to their seats. He sat Ron at the seat right in the middle of the big opening. Harry could actually see his friends blue eyes gloss over with tears, causing Harry to chuckle into his hand.  It was so worth fighting that witch and staying in St. Mungos for a week with a concussion, broken hand and a stupid spell that nearly killed him.

“Bloody fucking hell, Harry. What did you do to get these seats?” Ron’s voice did little to hide his excitement. Harry released a chuckle over his friend's excitement, but the sound got louder when Ron literally threw his jacket haphazardly onto the seat only for it to fall to the tiled floor.

“I already told you. Don’t worry about it.” Harry took his seat as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the coffee table at their feet. He examined the label before nodding his head and popping open the cork.

“Wish I had a camera. Ginny would’ve loved this.” Ron walked past the table to the window, resting his hands on the railing and leaning over, looking across the field.

“Ron, she’s a professional coach-” Harry rolled his eyes, testing the wine with a small sip. He set the dark, tall bottle down on the table with a clank.

“Fred and George then.” Ron turned back to his friend and walked over, plopping himself down in his seat with confidence. Harry snorted, almost dropped his drink all over himself. This was therapeutic; he got to spend time with his best friend without the ever looming death threat of Nose-less Snakey Man breathing down his neck. 

“Yes, I’m sure their jealous tears could flood the shop.” Harry’s voice was filled with sarcasm and it had Ron laughing too. Harry checked his watch while the giggling red-head grabbed an empty glass at the table in front of them and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. “It’s about 5:53. Game should be starting at 6 something.” He turned to Ron, casting him a smile while he brought his glass to his lips. “Wanna talk about your newest boyfriend or should I ask him for the details myself?”

Ron almost spat out his drink, his hand coming up quickly to catch the dribbles falling off his lips. Blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and before he knew it, he was bright red. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“I’m sorry, my what? Harry, I’d be lucky if he gave me the time of day let alone be my boyfriend!” Ron ran his hands through his hair, his eyes cast downward into his drink. “I mean, have you seen me lately?” He gestured to himself. “I’m a bloody mess. He could do better anyway.”

“You’re not a mess, Ron, anything but. In fact, you’re probably more put together than I am. Ginny would beg to differ, but I’m sure it’s true.” Harry shook his head in disapproval before taking another sip from his glass. “Besides, you’re a good guy. You did get Mione to fall for you and you are kinda well known, aren't you? I say you got a better chance than most.” Once the niorette male finished, he turned to look at his friend who nodded his head in silent agreement before deciding to change the topic.

“How is Gin, by the way?” 

Harry answered with a long explanation that she was good, but one of her chaser’s kept giving her trouble and didn’t believe Ginny was good for the team. The Harpies would be starting their first game soon and Ron made a note to buy a ticket. The questions came around to his brothers, of course, so Ron 

“Hey! Good for them!” Harry refilled his drink once it was finished and put the glass back in the ice bucket. “And good for you.” Harry checked his watch again when it beeped out, indicating the change in hour. “Game time!” 

The room went silent as the minister walked over to the window, doing his usual speech, but no one was really listening. Ron's legs were bouncing with excitement while his eyes looked across the white, green and orange fans waving flags. Ron should’ve known it would've been the Kenmare Kestrels duking it out against the Chudleys Cannons.

The crowds were going absolutely ballistic over the Kestrels and the screaming only seemed to get louder once the Cannon’s made their appearance. He watched the players zoom past the window, felt the air rush past him and before he could control himself, Ron was back at the railing, practically leaning over. His eyes bounced around the orange and black colored players for the new seeker.

“Harry!” Ron gestured pathetically behind him. “Harry! Come here! Look-” Ron pointed across the field to the seeker who was taking circles in the middle, taking in the crowd. He couldn’t help but stare at your confident smirk as you pulled the goggles over your eyes, casting the crowd a wink. The red-head basically melted.

“Godric, your smitten, aren’t you?” Harry was leaning against the railing next to his friend, his glass still in hand. A smirk came across his lips when his friend turned red again.

“Shut it.”

“You a Cannon fan, Mr.Wealsey?” 

The two ex-aurors turned to see the man who approached them earlier coming to Ron’s free side. The man held a cocky grin and a new drink in his hand, most likely giggle water. The red-head turned back to the game once the whistle sounded.

“Yeah. Have been for years.” Ron didn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Huh, even with their sour reputation? I’m more of a Bats fan, myself. Wouldn’t count this game in favor of the Chudley’s though, new seeker and all.” The man scoffed before sipping his drink. “Good seekers are hard to find. Hogwarts was lucky to have you though, Mr. Potter. Should’ve played Quidditch professionally, if you ask me.”

The two males shared a look with each other and came to the conclusion it’d be better to not fight the man on his clearly biased opinion and clear ass kissing. The pair gazed on, ignoring the crowd forming behind them the longer the game went on. Ron almost shoved his friend over when the announcer yelled you spotted the snitch. Ron blinked and you were standing on your broom, balancing perfectly, leaned over, golden snitch just a few inches from your fingertips.

“He’s a risky bloke, isn’t he?” Harry spoke up, hands going to his chaotic locks. “Gdoric, he’s gonna fall!” He squealed out when your foot shifted just a little too far on the broom.

“He’s bonkers.” Sir Pompous sneered out over his fancy drink, causing Ron to audible groan. 

“Sod off, will you?” Ron was so fucking sick of this man. “Stop bein’ pissy he has more balls than you and he was born without them.” He shot the suited wizard a glare before turning back to the game.  He let out a cheer when you finally grasped the snitch, plopping yourself down on the broom. The freckled male turned to Sir Pompous and smirked. “So.. Wouldn’t put this game in their favor, huh?”

The wizard turned on his heel, grumbling what the two friends assumed to be insults as he walked shamefully to his seat. Harry and Ron clinked glasses, giggling like school girls as they took a victory shot. They sat back in their seats, discussing games and just over all basking in the win. 

“Godric, I could get used to living like this.” Ron sat back, spreading his legs and just feeling confident. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t afford to do this all the time, Ron.”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Ron didn’t blink twice when the door to the ministers box opened or when two voices spoke up. He was busy relaxing.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Coach Dorkins! The Chudley’s have always been my favorite-” The same kiss ass from earlier, spewing the same pompous bullshit as earlier. Ron was gonna fake a gag, but he hesitated. Coach Dorkins? Coach of the- of his favorite team? 

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m just here to drop off Point Breaker.” As your coach went on with his arm now wrapped around you. Ron whipped around, his jaw was dropping to the floor. “Got a favor to fill in for an old friend. Ah, there he is! Potter!”

“Nice to see you again.” Harry stood up and shook hands with the coach. Ron’s blue eyes bounced between his old friend, his favorite coach and his favorite player. What the fuck was going on? Ron shrunk into his seat when you glanced over. He was acutely aware of his messy outfit and hair and- did he brush his teeth? “Ah! I should introduce you to my good friend, Ronald Weasley-” Harry waved over to his friend, a smile on his face. Ron stood up as well, but almost fell into his chair when he saw you shaking hands with his old friend and suddenly everyone was turning to him.

“Uh-hi-” When did his voice get all high pitched and creaky again. He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans before shaking hands with the coach. “Sorry, big fan.” 

Dorkins shook his head, saying how he understood between deep chuckles. The male then turned to you, who was standing by his side. He introduced you to the red-head while you held a similar, nervous smile on your face. You held your hand out as you spoke up finally. 

“I know all about you, Mr. Weasley. Well, no not- Wait, not everything like.. Like everything everything, like um- I.. well- Ok, let me start again.” You cleared your throat, shaking the ex-aurors hand. “Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m a fan, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron was just kinda shaking your hand, confusion filled in his brain. He was just running over your rambling and was so confused. 

“You’re a fan of me?”

“The famous auror? Of course!” You were grinning now and he found himself just staring at you. The two of you missed how Potter and Dorkins were chuckling about star struck fans and wondered somewhere else in the room.

“You played great today-” Ron almost blurted out, his voice turning prepubescent again.

“Thank you! You don’t think it was too much? Too flashy?” 

“No, no, I’d say it has the perfect amount of flash.” Ron shot you a lopsided smile. The smile allowed you to relax some, the star struck tension between the two of you almost dispersing completely as you joked back and forth. You soon found yourself sitting in Harry's abandoned seat, chatting away like you had been friends since your school years. 

“So then- then- hold on, stop laughing-Haha! No, shh! We stole my dad's car just to save him! My brothers didn’t even try to talk me out of it! The only thing my older brother said was “yeah, get the car. We’re gonna find out if it’s considered kidnapping if we’re children"! Mum really chewed us out when we got back that mornin’!” Ron finished his 7th story that night while you were enjoying a nice glass of cold water. You couldn’t get over his terrible impressions of his brothers. More than a few times his stories led to you almost choking on your drink or just letting out a loud laugh.

You told him some stories about your life at home too and only got encouraged by his snickering behind his own drink. You were so open with him, telling him stories of quidditch practice and the strange gifts you got from fans, his favorite being a bra with your face hand painted on it. 

More time passed by as you chatted, finally coming around to just playing 20 questions just day to day stuff. Now, it was your turn to ask a question and honestly, the game shouldn’t even be called 20 questions, it was more like 500 questions.

“Ok. Ok. Is it true that you had a thing for Krum?” You grinned when his cheeks turned red. “I heard from a chaser that you were here when we got on the field and our  keeper was willing to bet his life on this rumor that you had a fling with Krum.” 

“N-no, no fling! Just uh- more of a sexual awakening, if you will.” Ron snorted out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes turned away from yours for the first time that night, casting his gaze out across the empty field.

“Ooh! What is the great Ron Weasley’s sexual preference?” You leaned forward, your grin turning to a teasing smirk. You put a hand on his shoulder when he started stuttering over his words. “Come on! You can tell me! I don’t spill secrets.”

“Would hot quidditch players be an acceptable answer?” Ron was playing with a spare ponytail holder on his wrist now, his face turning redder.

“I’d say so.” You smiled, setting down your water glass. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair, Point Breaker. Spill it.” It was Ron’s turn to get cocky as you blushed. 

“May or may not be hot ex-aruros, but who’s keeping track.” You were not going to admit you’d been fanboying over the red-head since his face came across the Daily Profit. While he knew a lot about your game stats and quotes, you knew about the dark wizards he fought against, how he helped Granger and Potter and decided fighting was too much.

“Oh really?”

“I said maybe. Don’t get cocky. Besides, I could mean Harry-”

“I have a feeling you don’t mean him.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“How about a date?” Ron leaned back in his chair, gauging your reaction. He mentally sighed when you didn’t appear grossed out or scared.

“Hmm, let me think. “ You pretended to count stuff on your fingers before smiling at the red-head. “Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure! Tuesday?”

“I’m free after 6.”

“Done.”

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

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

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

[thiswasinevitableid]

#27 for the winter prompts strikes me as distinctly Sternclay NSFW

Here you go!

27 i run a hot chocolate/cider booth at the local ice rink and you always flirt with me but i didn’t think it meant anything because you seem to flirt with everyone

Barclay’s family has lots of traditions come winter, the same as most people he knows. But his personal one is manning the “Sip n Slip” at the Kepler skating rink. He started volunteering there when he was 16 and stuck driving Jake to and from hockey practice. It was something to do, and he liked cooking and making drinks, even if it was just powdered cocoa and simple cookies. 

Then he was coming back every winter when the stand opened to help out, and when he opted to stay in Kepler to work as a chef, he still made time to volunteer. He’s thirty now, the stand a little cramped for both him and the other volunteers, but the smell of warm sugar cookies and too-sweet cider takes him right back to his teens. 

The same can be said of the man currently at the front of the line; he looks like a rom-com hero, with his black hair slicked back and his stylish coat and scarf, and Barclay has not been this close to popping a no-reason boner in months.

“How can help you?” he leans on the counter, smiling. 

The man gives him a stealthy once-over before replying, “I’ll have a coffee, please. And a kid’s hot cocoa” he smiles at the young girl holding his hand, “anything else, Ellie?”

“No.” 

“I guess that’s all.”

“That’ll be two bucks.”

The man hands him a five, letting their fingers touch. He does the same thing when Barclay gives him his change. When Barclay sets the to paper cups in front of him he adds, “cream and sugar is over at that little table.”

“I’d say there’s plenty of sugar here.” It’s so smooth that Barclay is still blushing as the man and the little girl disappear into the rink. 

Maybe he should start making people give him their names with their orders. 

And their phone numbers. 

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

“Hello again” 

Barclay bounds to the counter (as much as six foot three man can bound anywhere), “Hey! Coffee and cocoa again?”

“Just coffee, my niece isn’t with me.”

He does a mental fist pump; the kid isn’t his, so maybe that’s a sign he’s single. As he’s trying to work out a non-creepy way to get his name, someone calls from across the room.

“Joseph! There you are man” a stockier guy in a ranger jacket waves.

“First day of rec hockey” Joseph smiles, “wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

Joe winks, and then he’s gone. Barclay starts a new batch of cookies, looks at the door to the rink every two minutes for the next hour and a half until the other man emerges, sweaty and laughing. He’s twice as handsome as before. When he spots Barclay staring at him, he waves. 

The cocoa packet in his hands turns two separate pieces, spilling powdered milk and sugar on the floor. 

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

“Back again?” He forces himself not to sound too excited at the fact Joseph is once again ordering coffee from him. 

Blue eyes take on a glint, “With you here, how could I stay away?”

He’s this close to asking Joseph if he wants to get coffee somewhere nicer when the man waves another friend over, bumping shoulders and hands with him as they talk. 

Okay. Maybe he’s just demonstrative with everyone. That’s cool. 

Totally cool. 

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

He officially cannot tell if Joseph is flirting. Yes, he stops by the stand every time he’s at the rink (usually twice, once when he gets there and once before he leaves), and when it’s slow he sits in a plastic white chair and chats with him, tossing in winks and smiles whenever he says something complimentary. He’s animated, charming, and Barclay is now the living, breathing definition of “hopelessly crushing” on him.  

But Barclay’s seen him talk the same way with his friends and teammates, and even with the other adults waiting to pick their kids up from the same class his niece attends. Barclay’s caught no fewer than four hockey moms and two hockey dads giving Joseph the eye. 

He doesn’t blame them; he spends the slow part of his shifts imagining what Joseph looks like under his nice coat. Or his work out clothes. Or the Bigfoot-themed holiday sweater he started wearing in mid-December. 

However, for the sake of his own sanity and not making a burgeoning friendship weird, he decides to treat all of their interactions as platonic unless Joseph explicitly says otherwise. So when Joseph asks if he’d like to go skating on Saturday, Barclay agrees immediately and then focuses on not getting his hopes up. 

Confusingly, Joseph tells him to be at Tenney Park at three in the afternoon, rather than at the rink. He arrives at five til one and discovers that the fully frozen pond is now a skating hot spot, complete with skate rentals. Barclay brought his own skates; his feet are large enough that getting a rental pair that fit is a crap-shoot.

Joseph is waiting for him on a bench, reading on his phone. He’s in his black coat, the one that makes him look like a secret agent on a ski vacation. The late December sun peeks through the clouds, and Barclay’s pretty sure a beam illuminates Joseph perfectly while a heavenly choir sings. 

No, wait, there are some carolers down the street. 

“I’m so glad you made it.” Joseph moves the pair of skates from the spot beside him and pats the cold stone. Barclay sits down, and they chat about the mystery series that Joseph got him hooked on. It takes twice as long as normal for him to lace up his skates, because whenever he glances to his right, Joseph is watching him with a smile and his fingers forget how to work. 

They wobble over to the ice and step on. The first few strides are fine, but then he hits a groove followed by a small dip and almost falls on his ass. On a normal rink, it’d be a fluke. But there are no Zambonies in the wild.

“This is, whoahfuck, harder on lake ice.” He flails a second time, sticks a hand out for balance only for it to be caught by Joseph’s own. 

“I like the challenge. But don’t worry big guy, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.” 

The nickname is a complete accident, brought on by the fact that Barclay is staring into his eyes to avoid reading too much into the held hand. The hand that Joseph doesn’t let go off, even as they move onto a smoother patch of ice. 

All that rec hockey is paying off, because Joseph practically waltzes them around in circles, never bumping into anyone or losing his footing as they talk. They compare notes on holiday gifts and new years plans, and Joseph laughs when Barclay regales him with the story of the great babka debacle of 2014.

Barclay’s so caught up in their conversation that he misses an odd bump in the ice and goes sideways into the snow-covered grass to his left, taking Joseph with him accidentally. Joseph ends up on top of him, both cackling like kids at the chaos of the moment. Barclay shivers, snow sneaking under his coat. 

“Wanna, uh, get some coffee to warm up?”

“Sure” Joseph smiles. 

“Bet that stand uses the same mix mine does.”

“Oh, um, I was thinking we could go back to my place for it. I’m only a few blocks that way.”

 There’s no way he’s missing a chance to see Joseph’s house (he has a bet going with Dani that  it’s immaculate, while Dani insists Joseph could be a stealth slob), and so ten minutes later he’s pulling off his boots in the entryway of a one bedroom, first floor apartment. The walls sport several elegantly done cryptozoology posters, he spies a pile of cookbooks he recommended on the kitchen counter, and the whole place looks like it’s been tidied within the last day. He texts Dani a stealthy photo, then settles on the couch while Joseph moves about the kitchen. 

God, he wants to go in there and wrap his arms around him, kiss him against the counter until they both see stars.

Easy, Barclay, easy. He cannot ruin a good day with a friend. 

“I also have some wine, if you’d like that instead of, or with, coffee.”

He glances at the Kraken clock on the wall, “Sure, it’s late enough.”

Joseph walks in, now in just his sweater and pants, stopping to a light a candle before setting two wine glasses on the coffee table. He’s pouring as the sun sets, the change in light helping the room feeling warm and cozy.

“Careful, you keep up those romantic touches and I might think this is a date.” He teases. 

Joseph looks up, wine perilously close to the edge of the glass, “wait, this isn’t a date?”

“Uh, I, uh, I, I didn’t want to assume, I mean, do you want it to be a date?”

“Barclay” Joseph sets the bottle down, “I asked you out to something outside of the normal way of spending time together, without anyone else present, and kept holding your hand. And I kept flirting with you.”

“I know, but you kinda flirt with everyone.”

A self-deprecating laugh as Joseph joins him on the couch “Some work habits are hard to turn off; I have to be good at getting people at ease with me, to like me, because then they share information more readily. I guess that could make it hard for someone else to tell the difference.”

“So, uh” Barclay’s fingers cling to the knees of his jeans, “does that mean I could maybe, uh, kiss you?”

Joseph cups his cheek, guiding him in for a gentle kiss on his still chilly lips. Barclay whimpers, spends a moment embarrassed by the noise before Joseph lets out a little growl and shoves him backwards, climbing on top of him and kissing him demandingly. 

“‘Grrr’ to you too, babeAHhhhfuck” He rolls his hips as Joseph grinds down and sucks teasingly on his lower lip.

“Is, is that okay?” His black hair is coming loose from it’s gelled swoop, he’s blushing, and his eyes are wider than Barclay’s ever seen.

“Oh my god it’s so much more than okay.” Barclay groans, bringing his hands up to squeeze his ass and press them closer, “fuck, babe, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to drag you into the stand and, fuck, and cover your mouth so no one would know how hard I was making you cum.”

“Lordalmighty” Joseph jerks his hips, “why didn’t you?’

“Because I OH, oh yeah, bite there again, I wasn’t sure you liked me that way, and I really like you, and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph kisses his cheek, murmurs in his ear “Well, now that you know the truth, I want you to fuck me up, big guy. Think you can do that?”

Barclay growls for real this time, flipping them so they’re on their sides and Joseph’s back is pressed to the cushions of the couch. He grabs the dark haired man’s leg, hooking it over his own. 

“Yeah, blue eyes, I think I can.”

With that he slams their lips together, grinding his hips hard as the couch springs wobble under them and Joseph tangles his hands into his hair. His hands make up for lost time, slipping under Josephs shirt, dipping below his pants, mapping as much as him as they can find. 

“Barclay I AHlord, I have a bed you know?” 

“We can use that next time, burned through all my patience not jumping you at the rink.”

He feels Joseph smile, “Fine by me.”

“Fuck” he drags his mouth down, Joseph laughing when his beard scratches his neck, “fuck there’s so much I wanna do to you. Bet it’s so fucking fun to fuck you after practice, bet you’re all worn out and wanna be taken care of.”

“Holy shit.” Joseph matches his pace, working his hips as best he can in time with Barclay’s increasingly erratic thrusts. 

“Gonna keep you in bed all day, babe, suck you off so good you’ll beg me to come back tomorrow, gonna show you just how good I can treat you with this” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis, “gonna, fuck, ohfuck, Joseph, fuckfuck” he cums hard, lifts his hand up to hold onto the top of the couch as the rides it out, Joseph moaning into his mouth and functionally pinned  between him and the cushions. 

“Fuck I, I didn’t mean to cum in my pants like it’s my first fucking time.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s the best thing anyone’s done with me in months. Now” he nips Barclay’s ear,  “show me how creative you are, big guy, and get me off.”

“Hell fucking yeah.” Between the two of them they contort enough to get Joseph's pants open and down, Barclay shifting back slightly to slide his hands into his boxer briefs, the front of which is completely soaked. 

“That’s so fucking hot, can’t believe you want me that bad”

“Nnnnnhuh” Is what Joseph manages in reply, his face pressed into the crook of Barclay’s neck, breath coming in short, warm bursts as he jacks him off. Barclay pays attention to which motions make him louder, which make him wiggle his hips with more force, and peppers the side of his face with kisses, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky. 

Joseph gets less eloquent the longer Barclay works him over, sinks his teeth into the neck of his shirt as he cums, whole body taut and picture perfect as he does. Barclay pulls his hand away, flopping it over Joseph's hip as they lay panting, the dark haired man nudging them so he can rest against Barclay’s chest while the larger man thanks the lucky stars floating somewhere just above the ceiling for all this. 

“Do you, um, want to stay for dinner? I have to do laundry anyway, so I can toss your clothes in so you don’t have to drive home like that” He ghosts a hand over the damp spot by Barclay’s fly. 

“That an excuse to have me wandering around your place naked?”

“Not entirely. Your shirt is fine, and I think I have some underwear that will fit you.”

“Fine, half-naked.” He kisses the top of his head. 

“When you put it like that, yes. This is both an excuse to have you half-naked in my house and to spend more time with you. Which might be my favorite thing in the world; seeing you at the rink was always the best part of my day.” 

Barclay cuddles him closer, wrapping him in his arms to keep away any lingering ice in the air. “Mine too.”

[sirrriusblack]

My Secret Agenda

This fic is solely for the purpose of making @e-of-west-glendia smile but uh yes. I provide wolfstar fluff :)

* * *

Sirius thought it a crime that he’d never stepped foot into Remus’ bedroom before.

When Remus had mentioned Sirius staying in one of their letters at the start of the winter break, they’d asked their parents immediately. Hope and Lyall—both of whom had insisted Sirius call them by their first names—had been more than happy to have Sirius stay for the last few days of the winter holidays, after Christmas. Sirius’ mum—Euphemia, not Walburga—had agreed on the conditions that he took with him a box of chocolates for Remus’ parents, along with the promise to keep his hands off Remus unless necessary. Sirius had agreed, but decided to leave the concept of ‘necessary’ up to interpretation. He’d had the full house tour—excluding the basement that Remus transformed in whenever he was home during the full moon, but Sirius definitely didn’t deem that as necessary—guided along by the whole family. Until they’d reached Remus’ room. Then, Hope and Lyall had left the boys to it, Hope murmuring softly that they had to keep the door open. Remus had gone bright red. 

Now, Sirius stood at the entryway to Remus’ bedroom. It was… everything he’d ever wanted as a kid. Well, maybe not his style, but, it was free and cluttered. Sirius’ childhood room consisted of dark floorboards, white walls, grey bedsheets and curtains and a rather unnerving portrait of a great uncle Sirius had never met. Well it had, until Sirius decided to litter it with muggle posters, pictures of his friends and every record he could get his hands on. His room at the Potter’s was great, too. He now had the freedom to have the biggest David Bowie poster he’d ever seen hanging right above his bed. He now had the freedom to do anything he wanted, within reason. But still, Remus’ bedroom was… something else. It felt lived in. Loved. Like Remus had spent his life here and there were traces of it everywhere. Remus was everywhere. He sat on the bed—which would be a tight fit for both of them, but Sirius wasn’t complaining—and gestured for Sirius to follow suit. He did, looking around the room and smiling at certain items and photos that caught his attention along the way. Sirius fell onto the bed, worn in and surprisingly comfortable, especially when Remus curled into him like that.

“Do you like it?” Remus asked, running his hands along Sirius’ back and shoulders.

“The room?” he asked. Remus nodded. “Mmhm, yeah, I love it,” he said, cuddling closer to Remus. Sirius shot up quickly, realising something.

“Oh, um, Sirius?” Remus moved forward, unsure of what Sirius was doing, until he turned around and kissed him. They hadn’t seen each other for three weeks and that meant they hadn’t kissed for three weeks. Sirius said as much to Remus, who laughed against Sirius’ mouth, the sound only making Sirius deepen the kiss. Yes, this was very, very necessary. Nothing had ever been more necessary than when Remus pulled away for a moment, only to sit back against his headboard and tug Sirius toward him, up and onto his lap. So, very necessary. Sirius was content to stay like that forever, wrapped in Remus’ arms and their shared breaths. But those were footsteps out in the hall. In a matter of moments, Remus and Sirius were on opposite ends of the bed, looking all but casual. Hope knocked lightly on the slightly open door and poked her head in. She took in the scene—both boys flushed pink and too far apart to be anything but suspicious—and smirked a little.

“Hey, mam, need something?” Remus asked, running a hand through his tangled curls. Sirius felt his heart glow at the sight. Hope’s smirk turned into a kind smile, one that Sirius still wasn’t entirely used to seeing on many adults. 

“Lyall and I are going to the market for groceries, is there anything you two would like?” the Welsh lilt in Hope’s voice was just as pleasant as the first time Sirius had heard it. For a moment, Sirius let himself imagine a forever like this. Days spent walking through the fields of grass and flowers that surrounded the house, lying in Remus’ bed learning all about each relic of his childhood, chatting over the dinner table to Hope and Lyall with their kind smiles and wonderful accents. A forever with Remus. Sirius almost sighed at the image, but kept it in for fear of embarrassment. Remus was looking at him. He realised Remus was waiting for an answer and shook his head.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he said, smiling back at Hope. Her eyes glinted as she looked back to Remus. 

“There’s not much point in telling you to keep the door open while we’re not home, is there?” she asked, her smile growing wider. Remus’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Mam!” he shouted, throwing a pillow at the door. Hope had already rushed off though, her laugh floating in the air. Remus’ accent had worn off over time, so that it was mostly gone now; a result of spending most of the year at Hogwarts and around the other Marauders. Some things he said, however, had a hint of the same Welsh accent his mother and father had. Other times, he’d say entire words in Welsh—like how he called his parents mam and tad when he was talking to them—and, at least in Sirius’ opinion, it was the fucking cutest shit ever.

“We’ll be back soon!” Lyall called from the front door before it clicked shut and the two boys were left alone. 

Sirius fell against Remus so he was lying between his legs and Remus started running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. Something on the wall caught Sirius’ eye. It was a photograph of a young Remus standing somewhere with his dad and holding a huge stick of cotton candy in his small hand. A muggle photo; neither of them were moving. Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth.

“You okay?” Remus asked, trying to see what Sirius was looking at. Sirius turned to face Remus and stuck his bottom lip out. 

“How old are you in that photo?” he asked. Remus looked adorable. His hair was just as curly as it was now, but it was longer in that photo. Down-to-his-chin-long. Sirius was going to die, he was sure of it. Remus laughed and stood up, carefully pushing Sirius off his lap. He walked over to the wall—a wall filled from ceiling to floor with photos, paper, drawings, writing, everything—and pulled the photo down, before walking back over to his bed. Sirius sat up, cross-legged. Remus laid back down, though, and pulled Sirius down next to him until every part of them was tangled.

“I was five. For the first year or so, once I was feeling better, after every full moon dad took me somewhere fun. I think he felt guilty about…” he trailed off, his eyes focused wholly on the photo. Sirius looked too. Remus did look a bit rough around the edges in the photo, but he was smiling. He was happy despite it all. “Uh, but yeah. We went to a carnival near our old house and that was the first time I tried cotton candy,” he finished with a small smile on his face. Sirius turned and kissed him slowly, knowing it wouldn’t erase the past but hoping it might help Remus. It seemed to, because he stood up and walked back over to the wall and grabbed a different photo this time. Before he could start talking about it, though, Sirius stood up and walked over to his bag. Remus raised his eyebrows, confused, before Sirius pulled out the record player he’d gotten from the Potters for Christmas last year. Remus shook his head, grinning, as Sirius placed it on the large wooden desk in the corner of Remus’ room. 

“What’s it going to be this time? Bowie?” Remus guessed, leaning back against the wall and smiling. Sirius lifted a record out of his bag, trying to hide it behind his back. 

“Surprise,” he explained, turning back to the record player. Remus only nodded and waited for Sirius to set the music up, dropping the arm down and letting it start. Once he was sure it was working, Sirius moved back toward the bed, this time sitting on the floor and leaning back against the frame. Remus flicked some hair from his face and smiled down at Sirius. He walked over and they resumed their position, but this time Remus was in front and they were on the floor, facing the wall.

The music started playing, the lilting sound of Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond. Remus turned to Sirius, eyes wide.

“The Potter’s got you Pink Floyd’s new album?” he asked, running over to the record player. Sirius laughed and nodded. He’d never been as into Pink Floyd as Remus was, so when he’d opened the record on Christmas morning, all he could think about was how excited Remus was going to be. And he was right. Remus was reading through the album cover, like he was trying to memorise each song. Sirius wished he could have gotten it for Remus for Christmas, but he felt terrible asking the Potter’s for money. And Sirius’ own fortune...well that was long gone now. Probably in Bella’s bank if anything. Mr Potter insisted on giving Sirius an allowance for the chores he did around the house during the holidays, but Sirius had never touched any of that money. He was going to give it all back to them when he moved out instead. It was the least he could do. And sharing his gifts with Remus was the most he could do for his boyfriend at the moment. 

“I’m bringing it to school, so as your Christmas gift, you can access it any time of any day,” Sirius offered, smiling. Remus placed the record back on his desk and looked down at his shoes. “Remus? Are you alright?” He shuffled over, sitting back between Sirius’ legs.

“I didn’t—I mean, I don’t have anything for you,” Remus said, pointedly avoiding his eyes. Sirius lifted his hand to Remus’ face and gently tilted his head up to face him.

“Remus… I’m kidding, I was just…” he didn’t finish the sentence, knowing that whatever he was going to say next wouldn’t improve Remus’ mood. He remembered something quickly and once again walked over to his bag. Remus raised an eyebrow. “Okay so technically I have got something for you but it’s cheesy,” Sirius started. Remus looked nervous, like he still felt bad for not getting Sirius a gift. “If it makes you feel better, I already had this and I just thought you might like it.” Remus looked up, the photo he’d taken down from the wall earlier still in his hands. Sirius walked over to him and handed Remus a small envelope.

“What is… Sirius, if this is money—”

“No, no, just open it,” Sirius cut in, waving toward the envelope. Remus placed the photo down by his side and tore open the envelope, careful not to damage the contents. It was a photo. Sirius and Remus were in third year, laughing over a game of exploding snap. Sirius couldn’t even remember the day it was taken, couldn’t remember who’d won the game, even. But it was his favourite photo of him and Remus. It was light, and pure and Sirius could watch how Remus’ eyes shifted from the game to Sirius and then how his face exploded into a grin that was just everything, all at once. Sirius had kept it on his bedside table at Grimmauld Place, one of the few actually non-muggle items he’d kept in his room. He’d fallen asleep to it, cried to it, smiled to it. And he thought Remus might like it.

Remus was staring at the photo like Sirius had just given him a bar of gold. Sirius’ 13-year-old face split into a grin in the photo and Remus’ eyes lit up. He looked up at Sirius, as if making sure he was still there, and grinned with just the same amusement and happiness as both the boys had that day. 

“Who took this?” Remus asked, already standing to place it on his wall. It was ironic, Sirius thought, that he’d brought a photo for Remus, who had an entire wall of them in his bedroom. Remus taped the polaroid to his wall in place of the one he’d taken down and sat back next to Sirius. 

“I think it was James,” Sirius said, wrapping his arm around Remus. 

“I love it,” Remus whispered. Sirius couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist from leaning forward and kissing Remus, long and slow. He reached down and picked up the photo, holding it up for Remus to see.

“What’s this?” Sirius asked, parting lips and looking down. Remus blushed, looking down before he mumbled something incomprehensible. “What was that?” Sirius pushed, amused. Remus’ cheeks turned redder and he finally looked a the photo. Sirius was sitting by one of the large arched windows in the Gryffindor Common room, the sunlight filtering in while he was practising charms. Sirius’ arm was moving in circles as he got more and more frustrated with the spell he was trying to cast. Remus laughed at the picture, at Sirius’ pout, and in turn earned a light shove from his boyfriend. 

“I took this early fifth year, y’know, when I was still hopelessly in love with you,” Remus explained. Sirius faced him, shocked. 

“And you’re not now?” he asked, feigning outrage. Remus laughed, the sound floating in the air. 

“Nope,” he said, and before Sirius could interject, he added, “I’m full of hope. Full to the brim. You give me hope, Sirius, I’m…..hopefully in love with you,” Remus finished, linking their hands together. Sirius chuckled, unsure of how he could possibly get so lucky.

“You’re a dork, Moony,” he said, leaning to kiss him again. Remus hummed against Sirius’ lips and Sirius couldn’t help but grin. Every single moment of these few days was absolutely, one hundred per cent, definitely necessary.

The song died down and Sirius shifted closer to Remus, settling his head into the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder. Wish You Were Here started playing and, much to Sirius’ delight, Remus started humming along, swaying ever so slightly. Sirius pointed up at the wall, at a muggle photo of Remus and his mother in rollerskates.

“Tell me about that photo,” Sirius requested, and Remus smiled. 

“That was the day I broke my arm for the first time,” he started, thinking back to try and remember all the details of the day. Sirius turned to him, jaw wide open.

“The first time?!” he asked, grabbing Remus’ arm like it might break suddenly right there. Remus laughed, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah, first of a few too many,” Remus said, grinning. Sirius decided he could live off of that grin and that grin only. He was content, here in Remus’ room, on the floor, listening to their favourite music and Remus’ childhood stories.

[orangepeelers]

stay professional

college au where remus is a photographer and sirius is a very flirty model inspired by this art!!

read part 2 here!

***

Remus glanced down at his watch. Shit. He was going to be late. He looked back at the long line behind him. He was next up, and plus, coffee. I mean, if I get some for the model, I’ll probably be fine, he reasoned. Which reminded him, he had no idea what this guy looked like. Lily had just grinned at him when she suggested James’ friend. He was probably one of those greasy guys who never emerged from their mothers’ basements. Or he looked like a frequent visitor of Epstein’s island. He shuddered.

When it was finally his turn, he ordered a hot coffee with cream and sugar, and iced tea for the model. He figured you could never go wrong with iced tea. The minutes stretched into an eternity as he checked his watch anxiously. The barista finally called his name and he rushed out of the coffee shop and down the street to his apartment. Outside, the most gorgeous human being he’d ever seen checked his cellphone. Arms covered in tattoos, his face full of piercings, his fingers full of rings. He was attractive in a how-the-fuck-is-this-possible way, with a sharp jawline and clear, gray eyes. Brushing his long, black hair out of his face, he looked up at Remus. This was James’ friend? Hell, Lily could’ve mentioned something so he’d have time to compose himself.

“Hey, are you James’ friend?”

He gave a low laugh. “’James’ friend’. Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Sorry I’m late. I, uh, brought you an iced tea from down the street.” 

The model took the tea and nodded thanks. “Thanks.”

They stood there a moment, while Remus admired the way the light refracted in his eyes. He shook himself. “Christ. I’m supposed to open the door, aren’t I?” He laughed awkwardly, hoping the model hadn’t noticed him staring. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he let him in.

“Sorry, it’s a bit disastrous.”

The model looked around his apartment. “Homey. I like it.” Remus blushed in spite of himself. “Okay, so the set is in my bedroom. Out of the way of my roommate.” He quickly explained himself, turning his face so the other boy couldn’t see his face turning deep crimson.

“You live with Lily, right?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned. “Bit of a parallel, isn’t it? I live with James, you live with his girlfriend...” He trailed off, but Remus understood the implication. His eyes had a twinkle of... flirtation? Mischief? Both? Remus reminded himself that he was supposed to be professional. This was no time to be flirting with James’ mysterious, albeit insanely attractive, friend.

The model followed him down the short hall to Remus’ bedroom. He’d attempted to straighten it out, but the books still overflowed from the shelves in the corner, where his bed had been unceremoniously shoved to make room for the set. Photographs and movie posters covered the walls, as well as Lily’s art, which he had refused to let her throw out. 

Remus pointed at his bed. “You can sit there while I sort myself out. Sorry it’s messy, I had to rearrange everything for that.” He gave a small chuckle.

The model waltzed over, admiring the things covering his walls. “So, Lily’s friend. Do you have a name?” Remus paused, setting the lens of his camera down. 

“She didn’t tell you my name either, huh? Strange how she and James are dating and I don’t even know his roommates’ name.”

The model laughed again. “I’m Sirius.”

Sirius. Remus tested it out in his mind. He liked it. Sort of whimsy, just like him. “Remus.”

“Pretty name for a pretty boy. Nice to meet you, Remus.” Sirius stuck his hand out, eyes full of daring.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be the drop-dead gorgeous model.” Remus shook it and pretended make a disapproving face. The truth was, his heart was racing at the ethereal human being calling him pretty. “Do you mind if I put makeup on you?”

“Not at all. I’m a man who appreciates good eyeliner any day of the week.”

“Good.” Remus dug through his drawers until he found the makeup bag he kept for shoots. He sat on the bed opposite Sirius, close enough to smell the mango iced tea he’d brought him earlier. Sirius closed his eyes, allowing the other boy to brush his eyelids with pink and line his eyes. Remus could feel his heart beating so loud that he hoped Sirius was hard of hearing. After a few minutes, he stepped back to examine his work. 

“All done.”

Sirius’ eyes fluttered open. “Thanks.”

Remus was about to say No, thank you for letting me do that, but he refrained. “Now, go stand over there.” He waved his hand at the wall set up with a red sheet and plants. Sirius complied and hopped off the bed. He dragged the lighting that he’d borrowed from his professor in front of him and studied the way it struck his face, tweaking the lights until he had the desired earthy look. Remus could not lie, he was absolutely breathtaking like that. 

“How should I pose?”

Remus thought a moment. “However you want. Do what feels natural.”

Sirius had that twinkle in his eyes again. “Alright.” He sat down and spread his legs, bending one so it looked like someone lounging against a couch. Remus quietly sucked his breath in as Sirius unbuttoned the top several buttons of his shirt, slinging the open top over his shoulder. Beneath, even more tattoos splayed across his chest. Remus couldn’t help but wonder how it felt to run his hands across them, studying the lines with his fingers. Snap out of it. He scolded himself.

“Is this good?”

“Perfect.” So perfect, jesus. “Now I’m going to go for some wider shots before I move in for closeups.”

He adjusted the light and crouched down, holding the lens up to his eye. Sirius gave the best sultry-model look he’d ever seen into the camera. Remus took a few photos, and he couldn’t help but feel like those somber eyes were for him. Nonsense, he’s just modeling. Remus moved a little closer and zoomed in to get his face. If he didn’t do well on this assignment, he was going to officially lose it. Sirius’ olive complexion and gray eyes under that lighting... anybody would want to see that on a magazine cover. 

After a few new poses and adjustments, Remus felt satisfied with the pictures he’d gotten. He stood up and set his camera down. “I think that does it.”

Sirius relaxed from where he had been standing, not bothering to re button his shirt. “Not very chatty, are you?”

Remus was taken aback. He’d been so caught up in trying not to say all of the stupid things that went through his mind at 100 miles an hour that he’d forgotten to say anything at all. Shit. Now he’d blown his chance with somebody he barely could have gotten in the first place. “I’m just... I just get nervous in front of people I find attractive.” 

Sirius grinned cockily before Remus had a chance to regret what he said. “You find me attractive?”

Remus nodded, too surprised to do anything. 

“Well, Mr. Photographer, the feeling is mutual.” He walked up to the other boy and put his hand on the side of his face, studying it. Remus could barely move, frozen in time by those gleaming gray eyes. He was very aware that Sirius’ chest was still exposed, and they were barely standing four inches apart. Sirius dropped his hand and took a slip of paper from his pocket before pressing it to Remus’ palm. 

“Lily told me you were cute, so I came prepared.” He winked before turning and leaving his room. Remus stood there, stunned. His mind attempted in vain to sort what had just happened out, before he realized he should probably go out and thank him for modeling. He rushed out of the room and down the hall.

“Wait!”

Sirius looked up from the door handle. “Yes?”

“Thanks for that. For- for being my model, I mean.”

He smiled. “No need. I’d enjoy modeling a lot more if every photographer was as cute as you. You can thank me over dinner.” And with that, he turned the handle and left the apartment. 

[atiny-orbit1219]

Internet Connection

*Pairing: Idol Johnny Suh

*Genre: Fluff (There isn’t enough Johnny fluff these days, y’all some horny bitches)

*Plot idea: Most idols do indeed have a private twitter account where they like to see what their fans are talking about and interact with them secretly. Johnny was one of those idols. He loved seeing what NCTzens were up to and found it flattering how many times they called him daddy and offered to let him choke them. One day as he was scrolling through his twitter feed he saw a tweet that caught his eye. “Who has the biggest dick?” in the poll list was his name, so he commented. “Johnny of course.”

*Word count: 3,600

*Warnings: Cussing, a lot of dick talk, so cliche like this could never happen

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Were you really going to post this? Is twitter fame really worth it? You were contemplating as you laid on the floor of your bedroom. Did you have a perfectly comfortable bed two inches away from you? Yes, yes you did, but you evoked your bed privileges as you typed up the tweet you knew would give you likes and comments but throw your morals out of the window. Your finger hovered over the large post button. You groaned, the hand clutching your phone falling to the ground. “I can’t.” you finally decided. It’s sexualizing men and as a feminist at heart, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What if some fanboy asked “Who has the biggest tits?” well the answer is Jihyo but ethically it isn’t right. He’d have his account suspended within hours. Even if your account is slowly dying you shouldn’t stoop so low. You looked up at the ceiling, your free hand resting on your stomach. You let out the long breath you didn’t know you were holding, since when did you become so desperate for the validation of people you’ve never even met in real life, so what if your follower numbers went down? So what if you’re only averaging fifteen likes per tweet? “That’s right? Why does it matter? It doesn’t… totally doesn’t.” You say to yourself, attempting to convince the voice in your head that is telling you to post the poll.

Maybe your finger slipped. Maybe you did it on purpose, you don’t really remember, the only thing you can see is your phone buzzing rapidly as the twitter notifications start coming. Within hours your “Who has the biggest dick?” Poll became your most viral tweet to date. With the options being Lucas, Johnny, Mingyu, and Mingi it was safe to say the comments were heated and the votes were split. You hated the fact that you liked seeing the likes and comments go up, were you a bad person for posting? Or are the people on twitter bad for engaging? You spent the rest of the night on your hardwood floor, bobby pins and wires digging into your back, but you deserved it. You even refused to look at your walls, too ashamed to face the NCT posters that were hung up neatly. Ever since you decided to join stan twitter you promised yourself you wouldn’t become one of those accounts who post just for attention, you just wanted to make friends who had the same interests as you. You got your first taste of twitter fame when you made a joke about idols having private twitters and seeing the horny tweets dedicated to them and it soon became addicting after that. Now that thought sent shivers down your spine and you prayed it wasn’t real as you have just become one of those thirsty tweets. Even as you close your eyes to sleep you can’t help but ignore the constant buzzing that came from your phone next to you. After a few moments of considering putting it on do not disturb you finally decided that is the best option. You lift your phone up, but before you can slide up to the options screen you see a comment that catches your eye. ‘Hands down Johnny of course’.

You tap on the account that posted the comment, the layout was borning and the username basic, but this person didn’t follow you and you didn’t follow them. You just shrug and go back to the comment, smiling softly despite yourself as you typed. ‘I don’t know… Have you seen Lucas’s hands?’ Lucas was currently winning with the votes and you couldn’t disagree, it makes sense. Not even five minutes after you replied you were sent a DM request from none other than the mysterious Johnny dick defender. ‘I think you’re mistaken, Johnny is definitely winning in that category ;)’ You couldn’t help but laugh, your thumbs gliding across the keyboard as you typed your response. ‘You’re very passionate about this, where’s your proof?’ You asked, waiting for his reply. ‘I think you just have to trust me on this one’ You scoffed and started to type, ‘My mom told me not to trust strangers on the internet’

‘Your mom is a smart woman. What’s your name?’

‘What makes you think I’ll tell you?’

‘Didn’t you join twitter to make friends? I can’t be your friend if I don’t know your name.’

‘I joined twitter to talk to more K-pop fans, I’m sorry but your coffee layout and username isn’t cutting it’

‘There what about now.’

You tilted your head slightly wondering what he changed his layout to and you had to stifle your laughter when you saw it. An entire layout of predebut Johnny and the username @John’sbigpenis. You covered your mouth, keeping your quiet giggles in as you went back to the chat, typing quickly with one hand.

‘Y/N’

‘It’s nice to meet you Y/N’

And just like that, you spent almost the entire night texting, you figured out his name is Jason and he just casually listened to K-pop but his friends were really into it and because he followed them your tweet landed on his feed. He was funny and had you smiling for so long your cheeks started to hurt, you haven’t had a conversation like this on twitter in awhile all of the group chats you joined slowly drying up, so this was a nice change. But eventually it became harder and harder for you to keep your eyes open, the light from the screen not helping. You finally had to say good night to Jason and within seconds of shutting your phone off you passed out, not even feeling the discomfort of the floor anymore.

The next morning the first thing you did was check your DM’s and couldn’t help but smile as you saw the unread message. ‘Not to be a creep or anything but I looked at your location on your profile and looked up your timezone. Good morning :)’ You sat up slowly, the blanket you were using falling down your body, so he was in a different timezone? ‘What time is it for you then? Also good morning ;)’ As you awaited his response you finally got up from your spot on the floor and threw the blanket you were using on your bed. You walked to your wall blindly as you wiped the sleep from your eyes and flipped the switch causing light to fill your room. You sighed as you looked at your bed, contemplating just going back to sleep but you could also smell the breakfast your mom was making down stairs so you decided to manage your priorities, eat breakfast then go back to bed. After that important decision was made you made your way down stairs and as predicted saw your mom in the kitchen cooking away. You said your good mornings and lifted yourself up so you were sitting on the counter of the island. Your mom used to complain about your ass being where the food goes but after she saw that you didn’t care she slowly stopped as well. As you were sitting and chatting you felt your phone go off from your pocket, you grabbed it and smiled as you saw his user pop up. “What are you smiling about?” your mom asked curiously her eyes glancing over at you for a moment before going back to mixing the pancake batter. “Oh,nothing, just a friend on twitter.” You say your attention is still stuck to your phone as you read the message ‘I am a few hours ahead of you , I live in Chicago! Born and raised.’ You almost didn’t hear your mom speak, “Y/N… you know I don’t like you talking to strangers on the internet. What if they’re some forty year old man who just wants your feet pics.” You just nod, having had this conversation more than once. “Mommm you know I’m smarter than that… I’d make him pay for my feet first. But for real, this is the only way I can talk to other people who like the same stuff I do, unless you want to listen to me talk about K-pop for hours on end I need to get it out somehow.” You said, raising your eyebrow as you gave your mom the ultimatum. “Make your money honey, it's your feet not mine.” and with that you grabbed your plate and started to eat.

‘Ahhh so is that why you’re so defensive over Johnny’s penis? Gotta save the reputation of Chicago boys?’

Just like that you ended up talking to Jason everyday for weeks. From morning to night you two never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Soon he knew more about you than your close friends did; it was so easy to talk to him and he said he felt the same with you. He was there for you when you were having a mental breakdown while trying to get NCT 127 concert tickets, he was there while you screamed about how hot every member looked in the new Kick It music video, especially the man that brought them together, A.K.A Johnny Suh, he was there for everything. After awhile it was safe to say you were falling for him.. Well at least his personality, you haven’t seen his face. He’s seen yours of course as he hyped up all of your selca days, you respected the fact he didn’t want to show you his face but as time went on you couldn’t help but get a bit nervous. What if he really is a forty year old man only after your feet? But all of that soon changed.

‘You got P1 tickets to the Chicago concert right?’ You read the text that was sent to you and tilted your head curiously. You were currently packing for the three day trip your mom and you were taking to Chicago. You unfortunately lived in a state that always had zero tour stops and the closest city was Chicago and this was the first time your mom agreed to letting you go since she knew how much you loved NCT. But you guys decided to make a trip out of it and would be staying for a couple days after the concert. You started to type with one hand, messily folding clothes with the other. ‘Yep! I’m packing right now! I’m so excited!!’ You said truthfully before going back to practically shoving your multiple outfits into the suitcase. After a few moments you felt a buzz, ‘I’m going too-’ You didn’t even finish reading the text before your eyes opened wide and your stomach did flips. Jason was going to be there!! As you slowly started rethinking your outfit choices you finished the text. ‘Do you wanna meet up? I know this 24/7 cafe close to the venue.. We can meet after the concert? If you want?’ You were confused at first, why meet up after the concert in a separate location, but just the idea of meeting him made you consider it. ‘Why not before the concert at the venue?’ You asked, wanting a valid reason to meet up late at night at a cafe. You now completely gave up on trying to pack as you impatiently waited for his response. ‘I can’t get there until right before the concert starts because of work and it's always too crazy in the venue after. I understand if you’re not comfortable with it.. I just… really want to meet you.’ Just that line right there made your heart skip a beat. ‘I’ll ask my mom.’

It took quite a lot of convincing, your mom not liking the idea of meeting a stranger you met online one bit. But she also knew you were a responsible Young adult and always had your phone on you, plus she would be right there in case anything did happen. So finally you got the greenlight to meet him. You could barely believe it, not only were you going to see NCT 127 and go through Hi touch, you were going to meet the internet friend that you have been talking to everyday for a couple of months now.

~

You always knew that there were buildings in Chicago, but you didn’t expect them to be THIS big. It was the day of the concert and your mom and you were only a few minutes away from your hotel and you couldn’t wait until later tonight. Only a few more hours. You spent the majority of that time getting ready, you wore your favorite outfit and spent an extra long time on your make-up, making sure you didn’t look like you just got done with a nine hour car ride. The time went by fast yet slow, the feeling was weird, you couldn’t believe this was all actually happening. Yet soon enough you were in line to have your tickets scanned to enter the concert venue. You achieved the wristband for P1 and attempted the merch line but ended up having to say screw it as the concert was starting in ten minutes. You made it to your seat right before the room went dark and then it started.

Throughout the concert you were singing and dancing and crying, you were feeling so many emotions at once and you never wanted it to stop. You were too caught in the moment to notice the eyes that were on you almost every chance they got, he also couldn’t believe this was happening. As the final song played and you found yourself tearing up once again you looked for the man who started it all between you and Jason. You found Johnny singing on stage, was he…. Was he looking at you? Nah he's probably just scanning the crowd like most artists did, but you still couldn’t ignore the feelings his glance gave you.

You were in the line for Hi-touch, your hair and makeup miraculously still decent looking as you started walking forwards, following the people in front of you. In just a few moments they were right there, the only thing separating you was the table they sat behind. They looked the same as they did on your screen but in a way ten times better, they were real and your hand was touching theirs. You didn’t really know what to say and you didn’t have the time to say much, so you stuck with a simple hello and a smile. You approached the last member, Johnny was watching you the entire time you walked down, he just held up his hand and muttered 'heyas’ as you got closer. This was the first time he'd seen you up close and he had the same feeling you Had. Your pictures are beautiful but something about seeing you in real life was so much better. Your eyes met his as you had to reach up a bit more to touch his hand, he smiled down at you, not able to say anything before you had to move on and walk out of the building.

After recollecting yourself and fixing up your runny mascara from crying too much you and your mom headed to the cafe to meet Jason. Many thoughts swam through your head most of them just not able to get over how amazing they all looked up close but the rest were nerves on meeting the man you’ve grown to have feelings for. You reached the cafe and got out of the car, letting out a nervous breath as you walked in, the shop was empty and the worker behind the counter was almost asleep and jolted awake as you stepped in. You ordered a green tea because you felt like you should order something and not just sit down like a total bitch. After a few minutes your phone buzzed. ‘I’m on my way,, sorry I’m late. got caught in traffic.’ The butterflies in your stomach only grew in numbers as you replied, ‘I’m here, sitting in the back’.

You were sipping on your tea as you heard the door behind you open. You were too scared to face the door so you sat with your back to it, but only when it opened did you realize that it was much more nerve wracking. You couldn’t even turn around your hands shaking as you took deep breaths, you could hear footsteps approaching, Jason was here… and right behind you. He walked around your seat and sat across from you, you were too scared to lift your head so instead you stared at his chest. “Y/N?” his voice was deep… and familiar? You looked up and out of shock from what you saw your hot tea slipped right out of your hands. You hissed softly and reached for napkins but the man in front of you was quicker, he ran to your side and knelt down, using his sleeve to wipe your lap. “Sorry.. Should’ve thought that through.” He said with a small laugh. “You’re… Jason?” you asked, unable to believe it even if you were looking right at him. “Actually… my name's Johnny and we just high-fived like half an hour ago and I can explain everything.”

~

“So.. You have a private twitter and you found my tweet and commented as a joke but decided to start a conversation with me?” You asked, looking at the idol in front of you. You’ve pinched yourself at least ten times now but everytime hurts more than the last so it can’t be a dream. “I start casual conversations here and there with fans just to see how they’re doing but you’re just… different.” He said. He had on a black baseball cap that was lowered over his face so no one walking past could recognize him. “As we started talking more.. I started looking forward to talking to you and you practically got me through this comeback season, when I was stressed and tired, just talking to you let me take my mind off things… I dunno.. I think I really like you.” You were at a loss of words as you listened to Johnny speak. Were you trapped in some tumblr fanfiction? This can’t really be happening. “I… I really liked talking to you too… you were the first person I opened up to. Whether it was Jason or Johnny I’m really thankful for having them to rant to and if the person I was talking to really you… then I think I like you too.” You said softly and even behind the hat you could see Johnny smile. He moved over to your side of the booth and you scooted to give him some room. “Since we both think we like each other… Why don’t we kiss and find out?” He asked cheesily before leaning in, naturally you closed your eyes and when you felt his lips press against yours it finally set in that this was all real. You were kissing Johnny Suh from NCT, Johnny Suh was kissing you. You moved closer, placing your hands on his sides as his moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently as he allowed the kiss to last for a few more seconds before pulling away. “So… Do you know for sure yet? Because we can do that again if we need to.” He said playfully and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Just to make sure,” You whispered before grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him into another sweet kiss. He smiled against your lips, chuckling softly as he fully wraps his long arms around you. “Yeah… I definitely like you.” You said breathlessly as you pulled away and he nodded quickly in agreement. “Me too.” he said with a large smile. “You said you're here for a couple more days? Do you maybe wanna go on a date tomorrow? We don’t leave for the next venue until tomorrow night so we have all day.” He offered. You nodded, not planning on turning down THE Johnny Suh. “It’s a date.” You said softly and he couldn’t help but smile and kiss your cheek, and your nose, and finally your lips, “We have two months to make up for in one day.. I’m gonna make it count.” He said, his large body clinging on to you even when you weren’t kissing, and you definitely weren't complaining. But as you two were sitting there, you in his arms and head on his chest you thought of something.

“Wait a minute… if you weren’t in Chicago but Korea when texting me… When did you sleep??” You asked, looking up at him with concerned eyes and Johnny just laughed and tightened his arms around you. “Shhh… It was worth it.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ahhhh! Sorry for the delay,, I started this one and I just wasn’t feeling it for the longest time, when I write dialogue I focus on body language so majority of this scenario being text was totally out of my comfort zone! But I hope you guys like this one! And thank you so much for the love on my first post it means a lot!

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets X

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing,

• • •

In the month following that night in November, things had gone back to what the new normal had turned into for you. Except now you were living in a small apartment, with more money than you were willing to use.

The apartment looked like houses in a post-apocalyptic game or show that had been looted. With only a few things, and a few blankets tossed around, because of course that’s what you spent your money on. Blankets and pillows.

You’d thought that maybe you’d feel safer with them, even if Doctor Owens kept saying that with all that’s happened, you may never fully feel safe, and that they were just comfort objects.

He was right of course, considering that he was the doctor and you were just the kid from the 2019 who had a problem with any authority that wasn’t your parents. The blankets and pillows helped to make the environment of your home feel softer and more welcoming, but it wasn’t like you wanted. You were still too afraid to sleep after what happened in late November.

Everything had been fine, you’d just bought the pull out couch you used as a bed and kept in the bedroom, and as usual, you locked the front door, both the door knob and the dead bolt, and the chain. You locked every window, and closed the blinds. Everything dark in the open floor plan. And then you locked your bedroom door, turned on the tv and fell asleep. That’s when things turned horrible.

Sleeping had been a get away from everything around you. And that night your mind turned against you, giving you an awful nightmare of seeing your Pa and Dad looking for you in the woods where you disappeared. With Daniel crying while calling out for you, scared and not knowing what else to do.

Then the question arose when you woke from the awful dream, was it just a bad dream, or was it real? If that boy from the station said he remembered you buying him water balloons when he came up short in August, before you were even in 83’, then what the hell did that mean for you?

Even though Hopper and Joyce encouraged you to tell Doctor Owens about what happened, you refused. Because you knew that if you tried to tell him anything about the things you saw, or the voices that plagued your thoughts, and that weren’t your own, you knew he’d think you were crazy.

They encouraged you to do plenty of things, like give your missing poster to Hopper or Jonathan who would keep it out of your sight, as if it would keep it out of your mind. It wouldn’t.

“You should get a table to put here, like a moveable kitchen island.” Joyce suggested while Jonathan leaned against the ugly yellow counter, and Will sat on the office chair, pushing it around the mostly empty living room.

“I’m good. I don’t want many things.” You said awkwardly, pulling out the two liter of mountain dew, pouring yourself a glass. You drank caffeine like a pious catholic woman prayed. Meaning a lot.

“You have a pull out couch and a tv, and that chair.” Jonathan gestured to the black chair as Will pushed himself into the kitchen.

You couldn’t really bring yourself to hold a conversation with the twelve year old, not knowing how to communicate with him. And he didn’t know how to talk to you. All he knew was that you had something to do with the upside down too since whenever he saw Doctor Owens, you did too. And Hopper usually drove you.

Shrugging you drank from the one of three glass cups you'd bought from the target the next county over. You didn’t see the point in buying sets. You were just one person.

Joyce shook her head a bit, grabbing the chair Will was sitting in, seeing that he was holding the small cardboard box that you put mail and your keys in. The small stuff you carried with you.

“We need to go, but seriously, Y/n, decorate. You’re gonna be here awhile.” Joyce told you while Jonathan walked over and pulled you in for a hug.

You’d grown close in the past month, you told him a lot about what life had been like for you, and helped you learn what life for an 80’s teenager was like. He was still like your uncle Jonathan, just younger.

Jonathan pulled away and gave you a smile, which you returned. Joyce gave you a hug as well, while Will got up, putting the small cardboard box on the yellow counter. He looked up at you awkwardly, holding up a hand.

You looked down at him not quite knowing what he wanted, but quickly realized it was him wanting to give you a high five.

Jesus, preteens were awkward.

You furrowed your brows, a confused smile on your face as you brought up your first up to his palm, tapping his hand, and watching his own face contort with confusion.

“What?” Will questioned under his breath, following after Joyce to the front door.

“Will wants to be your friend.” Jonathan said when the two left the apartment. “He thinks you’re ‘like totally cool’” Jonathan quoted his brother “He’s just. . .”

“He’s just awkward.” You finished for him sipping from the neon colored soda. “He’s a kid, it’s normal. I was awkward too.”

“Like father, like daughter.” He teased.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” You told him pointing to the door with a smile. Watching as he put his hands up in defense and moved to the door.

When the door was closed you sighed and put the glass on the ugly yellow counter, leaning

against it, everything was fine when you were around people, no voices, but the moment you were alone, they came back. Whoever’s voice was talking to you. It was directed at you, familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

What they said always related to something you were doing in that moment, like when you wanted to jump onto the work table in Joyce’s shed, and the voice said something like ‘You will break your face, don’t be stupid.’

Some of it was helpful, some of it was just weird. Like singing a song you’d never heard or teasing you for something you did that was stupid.

And then there was the other voice, that you knew was your brother. Daniel’s voice was that of a boy in his mid teens whose voice had dropped an octave.

When you tried to sleep you only had those nightmares. Or whatever else they could possibly be.

• • •

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You thought with the amount of caffeine you consumed, you’d be fine. That you’d end up finishing the movie playing on the television. But you fell asleep, and now you were walking through the streets of Hawkins in 2019, unable to wake up. You tried pinching yourself, it didn’t work. So you were sitting on the curb outside of a seven eleven, glaring at those who gave you weird looks for what you were wearing.

The mesh shorts and stained white tanktop were pajamas and you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You were just waiting for the dream to end, to stop torturing you with a place you couldn’t be for another 36 years. Or ever.

Huffing you picked up a small rock holding it in your hands and continuing to tap your foot against the pavement.

“Y/n!” Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you saw the familiar face you hadn’t seen for at least a year. Not since New Years when your Uncle Dustin dragged a few of his childhood friends to come visit your family.

“Uncle Lucas!” You shouted back to him from across the street, standing up from the curb. You said a few others round the corner of a building from behind Lucas. The familiar faces of your Uncles Mike and Dustin, as well as your pa.

But it slipped away as a car passed between the group and you, and you shot up in your pull out, the tv still on, the characters on the show laughing while you burst into tears. This was why you avoided sleeping.

Pushing yourself up off of the bed you stumbled to the home phone that you’d bought. You didn’t know what you were doing, but in an instant you were dialing a mostly uncalled number on your part.

A few rings in and a groggy voice picked up the phone, being disturbed from sleep. “Hello?”

“Hey- Steve, I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Y/n, Woah, woah, what’s going on? Do you need help?”

“No- no- I’m fine.” You tried to hold back the sobs, but failing miserably.

“Hey, Y/n, it’s okay, I’ll be over in a few, where are you?”

• • •

You saw the headlights shine through from gaps in the blinds of your living room, where you were sitting by the door, tears dried up, and not knowing what to do while your mind replayed the events.

The knocking was persistent a second after you heard the car door slam, and feet against the concrete walkway outside the apartment door.

Pushing yourself up with much effort or urgency behind it, you unlocked the door knob, deadbolt and chain, opening the door to see Steve’s worried gaze as he stood over you, bags under his eyes as he pushed the door open and grabbed your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He questioned.

You nodded and looked down at the hardwood embarrassed. “I just had a really bad dream. I can’t remember what happened.” It was a lie. But you couldn’t tell him what actually happened.

“Must’ve been really bad if you called me.” He joked light heartedly, pulling you into a comforting hug.

You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his torso. Out of everyone who was in your life the past month, he was the only one who really made you feel normal. Everyone else but Will knew your big secret that you couldn’t tell anyone in fear of maybe being killed.

“Do you want to go on a drive?” He asked, pulling away and looking down at you. You didn’t even think twice, only nodding and following him out of the apartment. Of course locking and closing the door behind you.

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