#him being shooed away with a broom is also the best

[avaelangel]

I'm sorry, but this shot? Even outside the journey to Mexico, them running away, seeing Rodrigo's grandma. THIS SHOT. I legit thought they are already together here, when I first saw it.

Why couldn't writers let them be happy1!!!!

[theealbatross]

isn't it delicate? (s.s.)

Plot: Sebastian is your best friend ... right?

or, Sebastian is being bullied (false), you can't possibly be falling in love with him (false), and he might have already, possibly, maybe, fallen in love with you too (true).

Tags: fluff on crack, jealousy, seb is a shit senior/lowkey bully (not rlly), imelda and ominis deserves reparations for their service to wizardkind, yandere!seb if u squint, kinda ooc but who cares, mentions of death and murder (rip anne, rot in hell solomon)

[A/N: This is me trying to beat writer's block if you even care. The scene in his dorm was so fucking difficult to write it was beating my ass. Anyways stream Delicate by T.Swizzle. Also, none of the photos are mine don;t sue me im poor]

Autumn was your favorite season – especially since it makes your short walks to Hogsmeade especially scenic.

After accepting defeat and admitting that you were hopeless at Herbology, you have made it a point to visit the Magic Neep every weekend to buy whatever you haven’t gathered yourself. The walk was a good excuse to get out from the walls of Hogwarts every now and then.

It’s surprising how loose the villagers are with their gossip when they’re just talking to a teenager. Plus, you do enjoy spending the afternoon with Mr. Timothy as he helps you improve your rubbish-handling skills with plants.

A noise from above alerts you that Imelda had the rookies on her team running drills just outside the quidditch field. The new players fight through the wind resistance as they make sharp turns and loops while they scream at each other in encouragement.

However, you can’t help but notice when one of them pointed at you while the other flew towards the stadium in a haste as if his broom had been on fire.  

Shrugging it off, you continued your pace, waving at familiar faces as you passed. You were just about to approach a couple of 2nd years you had been tutoring in Charms when there was a sharp breeze from above followed by a familiar silhouette dropping in front of you.

“Fun walk, pet?” he smirked when you jumped in surprise, roping you into a hug. From behind you, he casually shoo-ed off the 2nd years with a subtle flick of his head.

“Ew, Sebastian, no! You’re sweaty!”

Rather than acting like a gentleman, he drew you in close, leaning down to rub his cheeks against your neck despite your shrieks of protest as he lifted your feet off the ground.

Finally, you managed to push his stubborn form away, wiping away the skin that was now smeared in his sweat but he still managed to get ahold of your hand, pulling you close so you had to look up at him. Bastard.

Suddenly, it clicks, “Did you seriously have your rookies keep an eye on me?”

“It’s good practice,” He shrugged shamelessly, looking up at them in scrutiny, “Trains them to have sharp eyes, remain vigilant of their surroundings, and watch out for pretty witches on the ground that might be distracting while they’re in the skies.”

You slapped his chest, trying to ignore the burn on your face from his casually tossed compliments—and how solid he felt beneath his gear. “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”

With the backbreaking, secret work (“You’ll see it soon enough, pet”) he does in Feldcroft to pass time along with the training he receives from Imelda along with a sprinkle of his glorious genetics, it was no wonder his social standing recovered as quickly as it did even when whispers of forbidden magic still followed him wherever he goes.

Not that he cared, you noticed. As he was clearly more than satisfied in spending his time with the same circle of friends despite the many girls that were bidding their time to steal him.

“Soooo, is there a real reason you had them monitoring me or is it just your unique form of torture?”

“Oh right,” you didn’t notice before but he had been carrying one of his satchels, digging into it to pull a grey knitted scarf that had an owl at the end of it. Before you could say anything, he was already wrapping it around your neck, even pulling up your hair for a second and tutting under his breath how ‘you never dress warm enough’. “It’s your scarf for autumn.”

It was tradition – something that started the first time you visited Feldcroft and he had let you borrow a spare scarf from his closet because you had lost yours in your haste to get to him. It was silly but that was the first time (aside from the troll) the two of you got into a real battle with only each other to watch the other’s back.

The scarf had become a source of comfort, especially on the nights that you had to do it on your own.

However, to Sebastian’s horror, you had worn the piece of cloth ragged. Refusing to let go of it because it was the first gift he had given to you. From then on, a compromise was established, he would be in charge of buying (and confiscating) your scarfs and you would pay him for it.

Only one of you held your end of the deal.

“And wear this,” he pushed your head on the hole of a sweater, helping you find the arms despite your grumblings about his fussing. “It’s getting colder now and you never wear your coat. And since we're always together, If you get sick that means I get sick. So please,” he glares at your petulant pout.  “Spare us both.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” you rolled your eyes. He pinched your cheeks painfully. “Hey!”

“No smart talk,” he chastises, chuckling. “And you better be back in the Great Hall once I’m finished here.”

You wave him off as you walk away. “Why? I like having you chase me around.”

“Don’t even think about it!” He screams, hands on his hips.

You laugh, poking your tongue out at him.

“Thanks for the scarf!”

“Do you have drills this weekend, ‘melda?”

Imelda stopped chewing her food to look at you with a raised, suspicious, brow. “No, why?”

You clapped your hands cheerfully, “I wanted to take Sebastian out on a day trip to Pitt-Upon-Ford before you guys start training for the upcoming game. One of the villagers told me a wild Dugbog was getting too aggressive and started killing their chickens.”

She nodded understandingly.

“Not the most romantic date but sure, just bring him back to the Quidditch Pitch in one piece by Monday.”

The nonchalant accusation plucked just the right string as your face morphed into a mixture of surprise, discomfort, and a hint of embarrassment. “It’s not a date! And how would you know what’s romantic?”

Imelda chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Melda!” you shrieked, face heating up even more when you realized you had caught the attention of other students at the nearby tables. “I’m just worried about him.”

That made the Quidditch Captain frown, what is there to worry about? Is Sebastian having a tough time again? Imelda may be a bit dense regarding other people’s emotions but even she could tell losing his uncle and his twin sister in such quick succession had quite a toll on her friend.

It would take quite a toll on anyone.

But Imelda was sure he had been managing well, especially with his dearest witch by his side who, if the rumor mills were to be believed, basically spent all summer nursing him back to health. Not that she could blame her, from what Ominis told Imelda, Sebastian had damn near been catatonic and wouldn’t give anyone the time of the day unless it was you.

“Is he alright?”

You were quick to wave off her worries with a hand and a nervous smile, “No, he’s fine! Doing better than fine. It’s just … I’m worried he might be getting … bullied.”

In the confusion between laughing or swallowing or insisting that even a full-grown troll wouldn’t be able to bully Sebastian Sallow, Imelda instead choked on the pumpkin juice she was nursing.

“Imelda!”

She stops your fussing with a raised hand before speaking through the pain. “What *cough* What ever gave you such a ludicrous idea?”

You fiddle with your hands, clearly having kept this ceaseless worry for quite a bit of time. “Because Sebastian – ever since – he’s not particularly … very nice. Plus, there are all these ridiculous rumors of him being a dark wizard,” you roll your eyes but Imelda can still see the poorly concealed anxiety in them. “I’m scared he’s being ostracized. And I can’t be with him forever, you know.”

“Did you tell him that? Because I have a baaaad feeling the two of you aren’t on the same page.” Imelda is fairly certain Sebastian has already named their future children and dogs if you asked her. And if there was anyone that could have some sort of sway on that stubborn mule it would probably be you.

You shook your head, “He’s a man. He’ll just tell me not to worry about it.”

“Not worry about what?”

“Godric’s bloody heart! Sebastian, you scared me!”

“She thinks you’re being bullied.”

Without missing a beat Sebastian just bashfully smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before straddling the bench to sit facing you amidst Imelda’s gagging. “Aw, you’re sweet, pet.”

Imelda watched in horror and disbelief as Sebastian just ignored her and cooed at you, teasingly trying to press kisses at your cheeks while you pushed away his face.

“Are you not even gonna deny that?”

“Should I?” Sebastian continued to stare as you stood up quickly, a flimsy excuse of getting some pastries on the other side of the table while huffing at Sebastian about misbehaving in public and creating misunderstandings. “I quite like it when I’m the only thing in her mind.”

“You’re seriously sick in the head, you know that?” she crosses her arms, studying him as his eyes stayed stuck while you got roped into a conversation with other students you were too polite to end quickly.

Sebastian just grinned, popping a grape into his mouth. “Of course, I know that.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the side, spotting a sixth-year slyly stealing glances and eavesdropping on their conversation. He slammed his hands on the table, startling them. “Can I help you?”

“N-No – I’m sorry, Sebastian!”

Imelda shook her head, as the nosy students dispersed, prematurely ending their dinners. “Bullied, my arse.”

“Oh, if we have drills this weekend I won’t go, we’re going on a date.”

“I know that, Sallow.”

“Cheers, Reyes,” Sebastian tapped his fingers on the table twice and winked at his captain goodbye. Imelda watched as her prized beater decided he was done sharing you for the night. In a speed befitting a Seeker, he walked in your direction to grab you and your plate full of sweets towards the exit as you haphazardly screamed a goodbye to the witch.

Imelda stares at her cup before sighing, “Merlin, help her.”

Last night was the first time you had a dream about him.

Not a nightmare of losing him or a terrible recollection of the crimes you have buried together in the past – but a dream. A sweet, fuzzy dream that had you staring at your ceiling in a confusing blend of horror and butterflies as fuzzy memories of the touch of his lips on yours burned your cheeks.

You slap a pillow over your face.

“No, no, no.”

It would have been easier if it had been a nightmare. With one letter you and Sebastian would already be cocooned up the Room of Requirement and you would find sleep again under his careful watch.

But who do you call for this? When the one person you tell everything to is the one who can’t know.

This can’t be happening. You can’t do this to him.

You’ve been faintly aware of an attraction budding inside of you for your dear friend but you thought it was normal. Who wouldn’t be attracted to Sebastian?

He was tall, tanned, broad, and had that irresistible, mischievous grin that spells trouble—but somehow, it works. Because handsome features aside, he was protective, thoughtful, and was someone you could talk to for the rest of your days and never get bored with.

He’s your best friend.

And …

And you dreamt of kissing him.

You scream into your pillow.

Along with the life-shattering realization in the dark of the night is another horrible one in the morning: you’re probably not the only one who dreamt of kissing him.

You stare in horror at the small crowd of giggling girls that trailed after him, roping him into a conversation even when he politely excused himself once he saw you.

When has this happened?

The year you met, the two of you had been bombarded with problems bigger than each other that silly things like romance and crushes and jealousy were shoved and locked to the back of your minds. The year after that was spent recovering -- you had basically spent all of your days huddled together in whatever corner you both could find, too on guard to even think of socializing properly with other students.

Now, as you stand next to him, on the way to your next class, you finally see what you had been so obtusely blind to.

In a moment of grim clarity, you twigged that your good friend, one you had barely accepted as the boy that holds your adoration, was a handsome, talented gentleman in the race to become the most successful wizard to graduate in your year.

Of course, he would be bloody popular.

“Hey.”

You were so used to being at the center of all his attention (as depressing the context was) that you didn’t even comprehend otherwise – missed the flutter of their lashes, their shy giggles as he passed, or the coquettish whispers that followed him wherever he goes despite his aloof demeanor.

A couple of 5th-year Ravenclaws greet Sebastian sweetly as you pass by. You flinch at the tilt in their voice.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian notices the grimace in your face as you turn a corner, hands quickly soothing the back of your spine.

Well, you definitely see it now.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Avoiding him was definitely the wrong move – heedless, moronic, selfish –

But in your panic, it was the only move you had.

So, yes, it is horrendously short-term and stupid and back floating in the middle of the Black Lake in the morning of your weekend even more so.

Still, you and Sebastian had agreed months before the start of the term to pick mostly the same subjects as your last year, an idea that is now gloriously clashing with your ‘avoiding-him’ plans. Hence, you had no choice but to find solace in the big lake, submerging your ears under the water to tune out the noise of the rest of the world as you tried to think out of this predicament you have checkmated yourself in.

You are a brilliant student, a great strategist, and a powerful witch; you should be able to fix this.

He is suspicious, you know him well enough to know he’s slowly catching on to the fact that you would rather fight a graphorn wandless than be anywhere near him. He won’t be able to let it go. He’ll dig his claws in your brain and rip the reasons out of your mouth himself – which is something he definitely can’t find out.

You … like Sebastian – might even love him.

It’s the first time you admitted it to yourself, dunking yourself in the frigid waters to scream underwater (scaring the poor squid) before floating on your back again when you’ve sufficiently calmed down. You must positively look like an idiot but you have bigger fishes to fry than looking sane.

“I love Sebastian,” you whispered, trying and failing to get used to the idea, even if it was just on your tongue.

Should you tell him? That would be … difficult.

Everything is too delicate.

Your friendship was barely dangling on a thread a few months ago. If it wasn’t for your insistence to spend your summer together mending whatever was left of him and your bond outside the horrors in Feldcroft and in the small estate Professor Fig had left for you, you might’ve lost him altogether.

He tries hard to move on from it, to atone quietly, become a better man but you know he’s still struggling. On the worst nights you’ll find him staring at the empty walls of the Undercroft curled in on himself until you unwrap him out of his worst nightmares and into your arms.

Your feelings seemed infinitesimal compared to the demons he is fighting inside his head.

Does he even feel the same? Would he?

If you tell him, would you just become another one of his problems?

You slapped a hand on the water, trying to find the best outlet to let out your frustrations so you could piece together some form of answer or plan, cursing when a drop of water conveniently landed on your eye.

Realistically, he has his pick of the litter right now. Pretty girls tripping over themselves to be noticed by him. Beautiful, untraumatized, clean slates who would definitely be a sweeter companion than you.

The thought of seeing him with another makes your hands tremble – a strange combination of unjust anger, boiling jealousy, and a hint of heavy sadness flowing in your veins.

It feels strange to have your roles flipped. When you had arrived you were the new kid, a limelight at your every move and it was Sebastian who was always chasing after you, beating anyone else to hog your attention. As sick as it is to admit, you preferred it that way.

Being the jealous one wasn’t the kind of tune you were used to dancing in.

If you weren’t so caught up with saving the world maybe you would’ve been able to chain him to you.

Maybe it is too late now.

It feels unfair to add your confusion and emotions as yet another burden for Sebastian, who already carries so much. He’s happy now, finally finding some peace and stability. You refuse to be the one to break it all down.

You won't be another sin he'll have to take responsibility for, another person he stands to lose.

It's fine. This is fine.

“Accio.”

Your view went from the blue sky to a haze as you got rudely plucked out of the water and back into shore, face-to-face with the boy who had haunted your every waking (and sleeping) moment.

If you hadn’t been so dizzied you would’ve been offended.

“S-Sebastian?”

He does not look pleased. Fuck, fuck, fu –

“How many times must I tell you I don’t like chasing you around.” He quips but quickly removes his robes to wrap them around you. It was only when your feet were back on the ground did you realize all the eyes on you and the scene he had created.

Sebastian glared at the group of boys gawking and they scattered like ants. What a tyrannical senior he had turned out to be. You can’t believe you were worried about him getting harassed a few weeks ago. “We’re going back to the dorm to get you changed.”

Wait – what – “’s going on?”

One second you were having a heartbreaking crisis in the lake and in a blink, you were in his arms getting dragged barefooted back up the stairs.

He suddenly stopped waking, your face smashing into his back. You took quick steps backward when he gave you the most offended look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Oh no, you’ve messed up somehow. “Did you have somewhere more important to be than on one of my games?”

Ohhhh shit.

“N-No! I – I didn’t forget I swear it just … slipped my mind for a moment –”

And you didn’t! You even prepared your ensemble for today last night; it was hanging on your closet before you left your room. However, as you focused on not being seen by Sebastian the day had escaped you.

Your excuses seemed to just infuriate him even further because he just firmly grabbed your hand again and tugged you into the nearest floo. When you have teleported to the familiar walls of your Common Room you stopped on your tracks at the risk of lighting his fuse.

“I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t forget. I have my outfit ready in my –”

He stared, looking over your (no doubt) pitiful dripping form before sighing, pulling you so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go to my room. We need to talk.”

It shouldn’t make you feel like a sulking child, but the way you are trailing from beside him with your head down had you fitting just the part. However, two firm squeezes on your shoulders were Sebastian’s silent way of telling you he wasn’t bringing you to his abode for a fight.

With his door closed and a quick silencing charm (when has he gotten so good at Charms) he was quick to pull out a spare skirt from the bottom of his bunk, unhooking one of his jerseys before handing it to you.

“Is this my skirt?”

A less secure boy would’ve been flustered but he just shrugged, you hate how his confidence just made him more attractive. “You left it when we were studying late here and you borrowed one of my sleeping shorts. Figured I’d just keep it here in case of emergencies.”

Even his reasoning was perfectly endearing and thoughtful. Clearing your throat, you gave him a grateful smile before going behind the dressing screen.

It was a few minutes of reprieve before he started his interrogation.

“Care to explain why I’ve barely seen you today?”

“Oh, I was just bu –”

“Or this entire week at all?”

You silently winced, seriously considering just apparating from behind the flimsy wood separating you. Though you had a feeling he'd just hunt you down again and that would just be awkward.

Because as much as he claims to hate chasing you, he does a perfectly good job at it.

Peeking from behind the wooden cover you flinched when he was already staring.

With a quiet sigh, he unwrapped his scarf from his own neck and threw it on his bed, his hands enclosed around each other as he leaned on his legs.

“I’m all ears, darling.” His frustration was evident, yet he was clearly extending his patience for you—a surprise, given his reputation for having a short fuse.

You finish zipping up your clothes, steeling yourself from behind the wooden screen before finally gathering all the courage you could muster and finally going out of your hiding spot and meeting his eye.

It was silent for a couple of long seconds before he decides to cut the tension by reaching out a reassuring hand which you quickly and gratefully accepted, letting yourself be dragged in between his legs as he stares up at you.

“Did I do something?”

“No!” You quickly reach a hand to his messy, brown, locks to placate him. A small smile gracing your face when he nodded quietly, earnest eyes hanging on to your every word. “It’s just …”

You squeaked when the door suddenly opened.

“Sebastian, Imelda said to get on the fie –”

“Out!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know your girlfriend – the captain said – I’ll let her know! I’m sorry!”

The door slammed with an echo, and Sebastian slumped into your stomach, hands loosely on the back of your knees. Despite the relief at being cut off, you can’t help but share his frustration. However, it didn't escape your notice his failure to correct what you believe is a common assumption among his teammates.

“We should go before it’s Imelda who bursts in next time. I think she won’t be as kind to your door.”

He sighs, nods, and stands up. However, instead of guiding you back to the floo he pulled you closer into him until you had to stand on the tip of your toes. His hooded eyes run through every inch of your face as he cradles it firmly, his work-worn thumb caressing your cheek gently while his other hand pulls you until you have to rely on his solid body for balance.

“Don’t think we’re finished talking about this,” he warns, his grip on your cheeks going tighter for a split second as the intensity of his gaze sharpens and he returns to the sweet, charming boy that stole your heart.

This is exactly what you had feared. Secrets weren’t a concept familiar to the two of you. Now that he had sniffed it out, it is only a matter of time before he gets to the bottom of it.

He gives you a mischievous smile at the unmistakable horror and guilt on your face, then leans in to press a kiss to your hairline. "Stop trying to run away from me while I'm still being nice."

"This is you being nice?" you tease but he only chuckles. "Maybe I should be running faster."

"You can play chase all you want, pet. But your chances of getting away from me are --" He mouths 'zero'.

"Oh? Zero?"

"To none."

The two of you laugh, and all at once, the small argument, the days spent avoiding him, and the guilt you feel about your emotions are lifted from your chest as you reach a bittersweet conclusion.

This was for the best.

This is how it's supposed to be. You shouldn't ask for more, not right now.

As long as he can keep laughing like a boy his age should after being forced to grow up so fast, and you remain each other's safe haven you can always retreat to, and he continues to look at you just ... like ... that ...

And you see it. Clear as day, you almost want to laugh at how silly and blind you had been.

In fast progression, you run through your memories, and it feels like falling through the ice-cold waters of the lake surrounding Hogwarts, like the path to Hogsmeade after an autumn rain -- clear and refreshing.

He hooks a strand of hair behind your ear and you realize that he knows you've finally figured it out.

"Is that a promise?" you ask.

It should be terrifying, it should terrify you – what you realize is his need for control of everything regarding you, his barely hidden obsession you had missed all this time, his unwavering dedication that only now did you see the depth of.

Instead, you beam, heart fluttering and meeting his commitment with a kiss pressed on his thumb.

You’re in love with Sebastian Sallow.

And for the first time since the two of you met, you finally see it – Sebastian Sallow might also be a bit in love with you.

"I promise."

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been here but has the house gotten bigger?”

Sebastian stops his search on one of the chests in the storage to look back on his friend by the door. He looks up at the ceiling as if just noticing himself. “Oh, yeah, I did work on it over the past summers.”

Ominis frowned, raising his wand in different directions to get a clearer visualization of the new space, “I thought you spent the summer at her place?”

“I spent the first month finishing everything then flew back to hers for the rest. I’ve been working on it since the end of 5th year so there wasn’t much left to be done. It's honestly a good way to practice Charms.”

The Gaunt scion could barely believe the nonchalance in his statement, “And you added a second floor to your house because …?”

“Aha!”

In Sebastian’s hand was a fancy, brown velvet box, the emblem of the nearly fallen Sallow line embossed on the lid. With a quick peek, he confirmed that his mother’s ring was still safely tucked inside.

“Merlin, Sebastian.”

Ominis could almost hear his grin as he patted the dust off his pants before walking back to his frozen friend. “Are you planning to wed her by the time we graduate? Have you even courted her yet?!”

Sebastian just shrugged, looking around the house, a sense of pride filling his chest when he saw how perfect everything had been. Every nook and cranny made with only the thought of you in mind. Even the reading room you had mentioned in passing was thoughtfully plopped close to the backyard where he had hoped to improve your Herbology skills in the future when he manages to drag you into it.

“We don’t have to be married if she doesn’t want to be but we’re definitely getting engaged, I’m not risking it.”

“And you’re sure she’ll say yes?”

Sebastian scoffs and Ominis unfortunately quietly agrees at the stupidity of his question.

Ominis should be scandalized. The quiet, conservative part of him wants to scream about the impropriety of it all. However, with how headstrong you are and how stubborn Sebastian is he knew it would be a waste of his breath to scream about decorum and the formality of proper courting.

“Does she know about your grand plans yet?”

Sebastian slipped the box into the pocket on the inside of his coat. “My darling’s a skittish one but she’s getting there,” he smirks, the memory of the look of dawning on your face in his dorm room making his chest flutter in excitement. “If I make any moves now, I fear she’ll fly away.”

“Well, if a man told me he’s been obsessed with me from the moment we met to the point of building an entire house for a hypothetical future he has built for us without any of my say I’d be bolting for the hills too.”

Sebastian pushed the other boy enough to make him stumble.

“You wouldn’t understand, Omi,” he grins, smug. “We’re kindred spirits,” he releases the word like it had always been written – a fate he, for the first time in his stubborn life, was willingly letting himself get swayed into. “It was always going to end this way.”

Ominis couldn’t help but agree, both because of his confidence for his dear friend and a healthy part of it is of the potential horror he fears Sebastian would unleash on any other man that might risk taking you away from him.

He'd fancy not hiding another murder from the Ministry.

“For all our sake, I hope so too.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, pet?”

Sebastian casually flicks into the next page of the book carefully placed on your lap as you sit comfortably astride him. The wrinkle in between his brows a manifestation of his frustration with the Advanced Potions he was studying.

You could feel the stares and hear the whispers. Two of the younger Headboys tried to pretend not to see you improperly sitting in his lap while a group of girls gave you sharp glares as they passed by. You burrow yourself deeper into his lap, not forgetting to stare back with a sweet smile.

“Do you think we should start dating?”

Sebastian freezes, the speed at which his iris moved from the ink on the pages to your eyes was almost too comical but you held back your laugh, not giving him any space to misunderstand your words.

He does nothing but stare for the next 5 seconds before nodding, pushing a hand to rummage in his pocket before placing and opening a pretty brown box with a simple but beautifully carved ring inside it.

“Since we're already graduating, girlfriend seems a bit juvenile,” he clears his throat casually but a shake in his voice betrays his nerves. “Isn't it?”

You forced yourself to close your mouth as you stared at what undoubtedly is the Sallow’s family ring. It was only when he had plucked out the precious jewelry and gently slipped it into your finger that you finally managed to break yourself out of your stupor.

You sniff, now finally looking back at him, “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”

[aheckinmess]

A Girl Worth Fighting For [Enji] (Fluff)

(One-Shot 5/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Enji x OC, Endeavor x OC, Enji Todoroki, Endeavor, Enji Being a Good Papa, Expecting OC, Expectant Parents, OC Cleans the House and Rocks Out, Also There's Cat in This Story

Word Count: 1,142 words

Summary: After a long day of cleaning and taking care of the Todoroki estate, Ichijiku falls asleep. When Enji returns home, she finds that he’s brought her inside so she doesn’t get sunburnt.

Author's Note: From what I've seen, Enji isn't exactly a favorite among the fandom, but I'm a sucker for a redemption/atonement arc so he's one of my favorites. Of course I had to write some cute fanfiction for him! I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write it!

Ichijiku (Tigress)

Imagine Dragons blasts through the speakers as I dance through the kitchen with my broom. With the house to myself, I don't have the fear of being judged for the way I twirl around and wiggle my hips to the rhythm.

"You are my Monday, you're the best day of the week..." I belt the lyrics, not even caring that I mess up half of them as I grab a few snack wrappers from the counter to toss.

The soft sound of my cat's indignant chirp interrupts my singing session as Fauna hops on the dining mat. Her orange eyes blink up at me expectantly.

"Beaaan! You know the rules. Come on, off the mat." I set my broom aside and shoo her away. "Are you hungry? Huh? Is that it?" I could have sworn I just filled her food bowl.

Sure enough, when I reach her food bowl, it's nearly full. I crinkle my nose at her and pick her up, giggling at her unimpressed expression as I pet her back.

"You silly baby, you still have food and water!" I smother her in kisses, inciting her to flick her tail around. "You brought this on yourself, you know. I don't know what you want! Would you like a treat? Do you want to play?"

She just mewls and wriggles, trying to escape. Thus sure she doesn't want cuddles, I offer her a treat before setting her down and then pulling out her favorite string toy.

After a few rounds of unleashing my inner creature of prey for my cat's entertainment and we're both pooped. I giggle and scratch her ears before leaving her to sleep in favor of brainstorming a plan for what needs cleaning next. In the meantime, I send Enji a text.

I miss youuuu! It reads.

I pocket my phone, looking impatiently at the front door. He's never early on Thursdays, but a wife can dream. I wait a moment or two before sighing and turning my attention to the window looking into our massive backyard. Everything seems clean at least. I don't know that there's anything else to do for today except to start dinner whenever Enji replies.

Outside, sunlight paints our Pagoda tree in heavenly light. Our two Sakura trees arch up in a protective shroud around the water fountain and bird bath. Flower blossoms, vibrant and lively, reach up to the sky for their energy and nourishment. With my ice quirk, feeling the warmth of the sun in the garden is the closest I get to Enji when I miss him.

I smile, padding into the bedroom to grab my most recent book. After stopping by the closet to get my eno, I head outside and string it up. As expected, the sun shrouds me in the warmth I miss from my husband as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I'll be home soon. Is Enji's response, making me grin and tuck further into my hammock, now able to more fully focus on the story in my hands.

I make it through two chapters before I yawn in the summer heat. Slipping a bookmark between the pages, I turn on my side and close my eyes. Just a little relaxation and hopefully it'll be time for Enji to head home.

. . . . .

Warmth still blankets me when I open my eyes again, but instead of laying in my hammock, Enji cradles me in his arms. I blink and yawn up at him, noticing his damp hair and blue eyes first and foremost while my dreams skirt the edge of my mind and flutter away.

"I'm sorry you found out this way." I whimper involuntarily, before realizing I've said it and rubbing my eyes to hide my blush.

"I've returned home, Ichan. Did you rest well?" He leans over and kisses my forehead, thankfully dismissing my sleepy outburst.

I relax my arms and shut my eyes again, sighing as peace lightens the sleepiness in my chest.

"It was so nice." I purr, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull my ear closer to his beating heart. "I'm sorry I didn't get dinner ready. I meant to start preparing it before you headed home so it would be ready when you got here."

"No need to apologize, Ichan." He chuckles. "You've got reason to sleep. You've got our child growing in your womb. That takes energy." His hand rubs up and down over my belly.

Awe and happiness flood me again, even though we've been expecting the new addition for a couple months now. I place my hand over his and move in tandem, soaking up the intimate moment. Probably won't get times like this as often when the baby comes.

"I know." I hum. "But I still feel bad."

"Don't. In fact, I'd have let you stay asleep out there longer, but with your sensitivity to heat I was worried you'd get sunburnt."

"Well aren't you a softie?" I giggle.

"Only for you." He smirks, before sitting up a little more against the couch arm. He's quiet for a bit before he speaks up again. "Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"Mm, I don't know. According to my college bio professor, there's a 51% chance it'll be a boy. So the odds are slightly more in his favor." I smile. "Do you have a preference, Enchan?"

"I don't mind so long as they have both of our quirks." He comments.

"Aw, come on. That can't be all you have a preference for. I know your ambitions, but I know you'll love him or her regardless of their quirk."

"Of course I will." He agrees.

"Then, if you could choose, would you rather it be a boy or a girl?"

He's quiet for a while, hand still steadily caressing my belly.

"I'd prefer both for different reasons." He says. "I'd enjoy having a boy that I can relate to and teach things that my dad never got to teach me. And honestly, I hope they have your feisty attitude for a challenge."

"My feisty attitude?" I laugh. "Just mine?"

"Our feisty attitude then." He rolls his eyes, but grins. "And honestly, I would love having a little girl just like you to dote on...remind me what I'm fighting for. What about you?"

"I hope whatever they are, they have your eyes." I state simply. "You might think it's silly or simple, but it's one of my favorite features about you. It captures most of your personality and reminds me of everything I love about you. I want to look at my kids and be reminded that you're mine, and they're the physical evidence of that."

He doesn't say anything, but instead shifts around a bit. When he's finally settled, it's with his head on my belly and his arms wrapped around my waist.

Want More Enji? Try: Cuddling 101

[fuj0wuj0]

HIHIIHIHI!! First off, omg your blog theme or whatever it's called looks amazing! Obi looking cute af 😌😌 Second of all, how are you? I saw you were in art block- I hope you're able to incinerate it to ashes soon :0 Also saw your post about writing 👀 Working on anything you'd be willing to share about? If not that's totally okay! I hope your day/night goes wonderfully! <3

OMG HI GALE!!! AND THANK YOU!!!! He's literally just a little guy <33

I'm also very glad you noticed, I was supposed to make a post about it but forgot lmao -w-" I'm good!! Decided to just take a creativity break and play some games while I recharge, I'm in no rush x) He he <3 Well...To be honest, after looking through my old writing I feel like half of what I got right now will have to be heavily reworked "X) But I'm finally back to the basics! Like writing the whole plot outline! So the book actually has.......well, sense!! But here's a short snippet of Gem and Astoria's first meeting! I really love that scene, their dynamic is everything to me~

(Warning: Pretty long!)

As he crawled along the tile on all fours trying to get the smallest of dust spots off the floor he heard the heavy door shrieking from behind. The passage opened only slightly, as if trying not to raise suspicion. Unfortunately the walls, empty and vast, carried the sound with an impact right into the cleaning demon’s long ear. Without a thought, he panicked and grabbed the broom. 

He held it as if the cleaning utensil in his hands suddenly transformed into a dual-wielding sword. With a slight tremble in his voice, he let out a small shout.

“Who’s there!”

Silence was his only response, and yet he persisted, getting some confidence from the rational thoughts that rushed back into his head.

This unexpected visitor was bound to be a small fry! Afterall, no experienced tough guy would dare to attack the Ostraz Guild so frivolously!

It’d be a death wish, guaranteed!

Gem has once again felt the confidence of being the sole dictator of the rules in his world as he threatened the invisible in the local dialect.

“Ai, you know you’re not gonna get very far, right? Do you know where you are? They’ll tear you to shreds if they find ya! Shoo, shoo! And close the door behind ya. I don’t want any leaves on my freshly swept floor!”

No response yet again. Gem could only sigh and lazily turn away to alert someone more capable of handling the unexpected visitor. 

But just as he was about to put the broom down, dust seeped into his eyes and lungs, temporarily blinding him!

Unable to open his eyes, he fell into a coughing fit. In an involuntary gesture the broom in his hand performed a broad swoop before landing near his leg. 

The motion turned out to be quite the combat technique, as Gem heard a loud thump on the floor right beside him. A pained “oww” could be heard amidst the fit. 

Without a second to spare Gem blindly grabbed the young delinquent who fell under his attack.

This current body of his seemed more capable than he thought, as he found himself keeping the figure in place without much effort.

He looked at the delinquent in his arms, blinking the dust out of his eyes.

The hall has already darkened significantly, but Gem could roughly see the intruder in the night.

A young girl of a light-blue complexion tossed fiercely in his grip, doing her best to get away. 

Gem could see a dark bruise on her face, covered by the pitch-black strands sticking to her forehead. The low buns of her hair were messed up from running and the golden paint on her face smudged significantly. Despite that, her dark eyes flashed a familiar streak of the pure white iris.

“Let..me…go!” The fierce youngling wagged around, shouting childish obscenities at him.

“I’m gonna tell uncle you hit me! I’ll tell him and he’ll kill you for it!!”

“I hit you!?” Gem argued back to the roughed up child. “You’re the one who blinded me and then walked straight into a broom! Not only did you assault me, you also seem stupid!!” 

“I’m not the stupid one!” She pouted. “Who cleans floors so late in the night?! Stupid, blind pirate, can’t see the sun is down already!?” 

Knowing he doesn’t really have a way to counter, the “blind pirate” decided to cut their polite exchange short. 

As he dragged the disobedient child towards the stairs her tone suddenly shifted from aggressive to pleading.

“Waah, pirate brother, let’s talk, let’s talk! Don’t tell uncle I snuck out, let’s compromise!”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” Gem snorted, already tired of the brat in his hands. “And what incredible deal could you strike for me to NOT deliver you to… who’s your uncle?”

She obediently lowered her head, knowing her only way of winning was through pleading. 

“Uncle Azaroth….You know him….”

…Oh. 

Oh, yeah, they really did look similar, now that she mentioned it.

[mochi-myles]

Tangerine/Citrus

Bio/Lore

Original Name: Nicolaus

Pronouns: He/Him

Species: Central American Ornate Wood Turtle

Age: 14 years old

Birthday: October 31st

Height: 5’5”

Citrus is a stubborn but also determined dork who feels like he’s doing the right thing. When not on a mission, he’s rather sociable and energetic. He likes to go around cracking jokes

He tries to inspire others to put their best foot forward. He can often look like an optimistic daydreamer. Although he can also be a bit of a wildcard. Anger at that time comes in quick, sudden bursts

It doesn’t take him long to get back to his light-hearted self. During missions, he lets his negative emotions run wild. He has a reckless and spite-driven need to burn anything and everything around him to the ground. He becomes more silent, not making any wise cracks. He becomes very quick to anger and lets anger loose freely. If caught in this state, will attack anyone and everyone, usually without any hesitation, lost in a haze of something

Something, specifically, that he otherwise refuses to let surface

He likes acting, baking, and painting

He also likes Halloween, baked goods, dancing, and theater

He dislikes spicy food, law enforcement, fireworks, and cars

Eats oranges with the peel on, doesn’t care to take it off.

Mrs. Winters taught him the basics of baking before her cafe got broken into.

Fireworks remind him of gunfire

He doesn’t usually team up with others for missions because of his habit of going feral.

One time, Citrus broke into the middle of a play. He improvised the role, and the audience actually loved it. This made him want to get into the acting scene

Backstory/Description:

When Citrus was 7, he popped up in the Hidden City, seemingly out of nowhere. He was trying to steal some food from the cafe counter. He was caught shoving an orange into his mouth when a worker almost shooed him out with a broom. Before they could, though, the owner, a dog yokai, stopped them. He told Citrus that he had to peel the orange. Otherwise, it wouldn’t taste as good.

Citrus didn’t return the fruit, though, instead biting deeper into the fruit. He then felt disgust though and spit it out. The dog yokai snickered with a ‘I told ya so’ tone. She grabbed a napkin and used it to toss the fruit away. She turned back to him. “Now look at you. You’re a mess. A messy thief. It's a messy citrus thief, to be exact.” She grabbed a wipe and cleaned Citrus’ face, ignoring his protests.

She backed off, rolling her eyes, when he bit her. She mocked him with a cheeky grin, and she clearly wasn’t afraid of him. She looked him up and down as if trying to determine if he was up for the task. She told him that if he helped clean up this mess and help her watch over the cafe for the rest of the day, she’d give him an orange, and even show him how to properly eat it.

She tempted him with the tangerine. He quickly snatched it and shoved it into his mouth. She let out a sigh, but at least he agreed to the deal. Or, well, the first parts. Citrus took that as a promise and showed up the next day. He showed up every day. He did disappear every so often, to a place that this dog yokai (Margot Winters) had no clue of. 

One day, she confronted him about it, asking him to stay for the entire time. Citrus spent the next 3 years working at that cafe with Mrs. Winters. She even gave him the nicknames, Tangerine and Citrus. Citrus hadn’t learned Mrs. Winters’ lesson about staying the full time though, as there was a break in at the cafe. Most of the profits had been stolen, the place was a mess, and it was an all around disaster.

Citrus had a new determination to take his job to the next level. Citrus decided he’d plan a heist with a rival cafe. Citrus managed to get a few pals to help out, and they pulled the heist. They were just gonna steal some stuff back. That was all. That being said, Citrus was the only one to not get caught, and it didn’t take long for him to join his friends.

When he was in the waiting room, he was giving his defense, fuelled by anger. He claimed that they did the same thing to their cafe and that he was only getting payback. What was wrong with that? He didn’t stop arguing until Mrs. Winters walked in with a very stern look. Later, after taking him home, she said she thought she knew him better. She had readied an hour-long lecture for him about this.

She said that even if that cafe did steal from them, Citrus would only be sinking down to their level. She grounded him, refused to let him come to work, and the cafe was now under investigation. It took less than a month for the cafe to get shut down, both from the investigation and because of the still present lack of funds.

Mrs. Winters had to go job hunting, and Citrus was left to stew in his failure, along with the guilt of his and Mrs. Winters’ worlds crumbling. Citrus then decided to run away, and he didn’t want to face Mrs. Winters until he felt he could make things right again. 

At the age of 14, Citrus found himself falling into and getting out of trouble. He felt so good burning down the rival cafe. He was just giving them what was coming to them, anyway. Citrus knew that he drew the line, and wouldn’t be able to face Mrs. Winters anymore, but he still sent some of his earnings to her anyway.

He was a full-fledged criminal, and he was aware of that. Though he considered himself more of a criminal that dealt with criminals. Somebody to bring justice to those who would never get caught otherwise. Maybe someday he’d be more than that.

[gaymershigh]

I'm so excited to find a blog who actually does Male/Gender Neutral pronouns! My request headcanons where GN!MC badly hurts their ankle during PE so individually Malleus, Vil, Leona, Jade, and Jack carrying them to the infimary. Probably mostly platonic but kinda leaning towards wanting to be more than friends?

I'm a sucker for 'platonic with some romantic elements' type of tropes so this is a big yes for me!

Triggers: none

Malleus, Vil, Leona, Jade, and Jack carrying g/n reader to the infirmary after they severely injured their ankle in PE

He knew that you're reckless and bound to injure yourself in any type of way just from how brave you are from talking to him. You called him "Tsunotarou" and you've now been chatting with him as much as you get the chance to or when he appears outside the Ramshackle dorm. Though he doesn't mind it, he knows that you should be more careful.

So when you injured your ankle, he was only shocked for a mere second. Again, it's supposed to be expected when it comes to people like you but that doesn't make him any less concerned. He ran his way towards you and that enough makes other students feel uneasy. Even if you two are closest of friends, you usually spend time without anyone there to see so you two are a very bizarre combo to the others.

He had asked you if you were ok and if you could walk again. Your ankle was sprained and your denial of being in pain almost fooled him if you didn't wince as soon as you tried to stand up. He was a fae, his ability to handle pain has far surpassed any ordinary human so he wouldn't fully understand but can still recognize that you're in a rather agonizing situation.

Malleus had no choice but to pick you up from the ground, not as he minds it but what he does mind is people not minding their own business and just stared at you two, God bless Mr.Vargas for telling them to resume the activities. There was no use if you're trying to make him put you down or get yourself down by yourself as he was way too strong, even if his grip wasn't tight at the moment.

He actually has no idea what's wrong with you, he doesn't know why you can't stand up on your own so you have to do the talking. The nurse persisted Malleus to go back to his lessons and it irritated him but you also shooed him out and told him to visit later when he's free. Very questionable as to why he's free as PE ended but you couldn't care less. He always visits you every day because of how you always manage to make him happy and his heart flutter and he is not sure as to why.

Vil always has loathed your carelessness. He has pointed it out several times and telling you to be careful but you just couldn't help but get into countless troubles and it's not helping that your best friends are intentionally and unintentionally troublemakers. He never gave up on scolding you for your careless actions as he wants his..friend to improve but it does get tiring getting angry over the same thing over and over again.

So you falling and harming your ankle until you can't even stand up without the feeling to cry was not surprising in the slightest, just like what Malleus felt. He facepalms to your recklessness before walking up to you to ask if you're ok but NOT before scolding you, telling you that your actions have consequences and other junk but you never cared enough to listen.

Once you said that you might have sprained your ankle, he dramatically sighed and called you a fool for that. Since even walking you to the infirmary was already hard for your side, he had no choice but to pick you up and asks you to stop struggling or freaking out so much like you weren't gaining enough attention from injuring yourself.

While he's used to getting attention, he doesn't like the one he's getting right now as this could end up with multiple scandals of you and him maybe dating. While he's not opposed to dating you- wait, what is he saying!? He doesn't like you that way, right? It doesn't matter is what he thought to himself at the moment as the main priority is to get your butt into the infirmary and do a three-hour lecture on why you should be careful as the scolding wasn't enough. He called out the people staring as rude and should mind their own business and to continue their PE lessons.

He got really upset when it was confirmed that your ankle injury was rather severe and not just mild as it would take about four weeks or even more to fully recover. He understood fully and left the premises as he does have a class to attend but worry not, he will visit you any free time he has. If he couldn't visit you, maybe a video call would suffice. While he wouldn't treat you like royalty, he would be softer with you as he slightly pities your condition. As you were discharged and needed to walk with a cast, meaning you will be slower than before, meaning Vil would also slow down his pacing as you are his friend! Yeah, friend..

Your recklessness was annoying but also what makes you interesting in the lion's eye. It was so entertaining to see a creature with sentience to have very little to no sense of danger. While he doesn't like the part where he gets involved but when he isn't and you're just figuring stuff by yourself is such an amazing show he could watch forever. Well, as long as you don't get seriously injured or something because truth to be told, he doesn't want you in any type of physical pain because surprise surprise, you're his pal.

So when something Leona doesn't want to happen to you happened, he mentally groaned in annoyance because he needs to get up from this comfy spot under the tree but he's still worried of course, it's just not obvious at all. People would've thought that he hated you or something when he saw him walking to where you are with a dead cold stare. When he found out that you were your cause of agony, he gave you an "Are you serious" look. He's very disappointed facial expression makes you embarrassed even more now.

He spat out a monotone "you ok" line, you thought that he was a robot for a second. You said yes and he told you to get your ass up from the grass and you obliged but failed to do so. When he saw you winced as you were trying to get your left foot standing, he knew damn well you aren't ok and gets more worried. However, his expression never changed. He sighed one more time before picking and throwing you on his shoulder in one swift. Your struggles are no use as he was stronger than you.

He glared at the people that dared to stare, especially to the ones that were whispering to one another about utter nonsense, aka stupid "are they together?" Rumors. He decided to tell the nurse what's wrong with you but it was worded so bad that you had to do it in the end anyway, making him scoffed like he just didn't say "their ankle broke or something". He refused to return to his class because it's boring but deep inside, it was because he wants to stay by your side for the entire time of your recovery.

Even if you're discharged and able to walk with a walking boot, he still stuck at your side even from afar as he doesn't want to see you do anything stupid and maybe twist your spine as he does not doubt that you're capable of doing so because of how unpredictable you are. And maybe it's also because, from all the time he has spent with you during his visiting times, something about you shined more inside him. Inside where exactly? Inside his heart.

Jade loves this recklessness you hold. It's the reason why you're so unpredictable and he loves that about you. One second you will be the smartest person in the room, the next second you almost fall off from the second floor of the school building because some of your papers were accidentally been blown by the wind. While sometimes it can be quite troubling, most of the time it's enjoyable.

But now is the times where it's not as entertaining. He did the wrong decision of not keeping his eyes off you for more than 20 minutes to focus and trying to hone his flying skills as he heard you wailed in pain somewhere not too far away. He walked his way calmly to the source of your sounds of misery and see you lying on the grass with the broom beside you, absolutely helpless. He chuckled at your deadpanned face before asking if you're ok. Whatever your answer is, he knows damn well you aren't as you were wincing a lot as you were trying your best to get up.

He offers to walk you to the infirmary and you happily oblige. Only like two or three people would stare for a few minutes as walking you there isn't an abnormal situation as they did it before as well for other injured students. Just as soon as you two reached the hallways, where nobody is around to glimpse, he picked your figure up and continue your journey to the infirmary. If you asked him why he's doing this, is because it's faster and convenient to do it this way. Also, your face got so red when he picks you up and he thinks it's adorable, making you even redder.

For real though, seeing you all blushed up is quite endearing, he might tease you even more just to see that red face again. Anyways, he perfectly explained the situation of your ankle with some condescending remarks in it. He's a very busy man so he doesn't have that much time to visit you so he wishes you to discharge as fast as soon as possible so he can see your lovely face as much as usual.

So when you do discharge, he would always accompany you to wherever you're going if he's not doing that already. No matter if you need a cast or not, he would always treat you like a patient or even more, like royalty. He believes that he should make it up for not being able to visit, especially since you're always complaining to him how boring it was staying in the infirmary bed for four weeks. He can even get you red with this little special treatment, so why not go for it? It even secretly makes his heartbeat fast as well.

Jack hates people who do not think before doing their actions and you are no exception. Nobody knows how you guys got to be friends to begin because it feels so impossible. Maybe because you two were paired up for an alchemy class project? But he still sticks with you for more than eight months already. Maybe he likes you? Or he's like your low-key guardian? Yes, the latter is the second but the first one could be a possibility, who knows.

That's why he gets more irritated when your recklessness is the cause of your distress. He could take it as your punishment for being so careless and take this as a lesson but knowing you, that will never happen so that gets him even more irritated. He runs up to you and scolds you for a few minutes about why you should be careful and such, it's surprising how he's so calm despite how many times he has scolded you about the same thing. After that useless scolding, he finally asked if you were alright or not. He scoffed when you lied about your ankle injury and have no choice but to pick you up from the grass.

Why would you even try to make him drop you off? It doesn't matter how much you annoy him on the way to the infirmary. If someone's injured he takes thing seriously, especially if it's his totally platonic mate that was in pain no matter how severe it is. He would get rather defensive and would throw hands with people who are saying things that maybe your relationship is more than friends so, please remind him that you're injured and your health is something he shouldn't be easily distracted and fight people who don't know how to mind their business, even though you might not care for your ankle yourself.

You kinda did not tell him what's wrong with you nor did he even asked in the first place so you'll do the talking. He got pretty surprised when you told the nurse you have an ankle injury, even more, astonished when that it's in a severe category now. He didn't like that you were taking your conditions lightly and joking about it too. He's a good boy, so he would follow the nurse's orders to leave to resume his lessons. Just like Vil and Jade, he wouldn't visit you every day as he still needs to prioritize his school life and such. Though, he might cut a tiny bit of his workout schedule to visit you until you discharge.

So when you do discharge no matter if you need a walking boot or a cast or just nothing, he will keep his eyes on you more frequently as he doesn't want to see you do some dumb stunt and hurt yourself again. He would make your stay in the Savanaclaw areas close to him and let you do whatever you want while he works out. As long as you stay nearby and don't wander off. I repeat, he doesn't want his probably future lifelong mate to have a single scratch on their face.

OMG!!!!! I FINALLY FINISHED A FIC DESPITE GETTING ALWAYS DISTRACTED!!! I'M SOOOOO HAPPY!!!!! 😭💜✨✨

~𝕸𝖎𝖗𝖎

[plant-flwrs]

I love your writing! Can you do a reader x fred where the reader’s whole family (like siblings) is slytherin except her and she’s in gryffindor and you can do whatever with it thank you!

rivalries as old as time // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: omg i’ve never written mean!george this was kind of scary hehe. n e way, hope u like it! thanks for ur request!

summary: Fred and George are usually united on everything, but Fred’s crush on Draco Malfoy’s sister is definitely something they disagree on.

(5k)

---------

You had never liked red, and as you fidgeted with your red tie for the fifth time, you felt an elbow to your side.

“Stop,” Fred Weasley whispered from beside you, sending a scowl your way, “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting from what? You have no intention of taking notes,” you said, looking at both his and your blank parchments in front of you.

“Distracting from my daydreams,” he said easily, leaning forward on his desk to rest his forearms against the wood, “I need to focus on them, they’re just getting good.”

“What’re they about?” you asked, hoping to sound rude. Fred looked at you in the corner of his eye, and he was regrettably forced to admit that your signature Malfoy smirk was insanely attractive.

“Oh you know,” Fred said, copying your actions to lean back in his chair, “ the usual. Trolls and Gremlins.”

The both of you slouched in your chairs, arms crossed, ignoring the awfully boring lecture Professor Binns was giving.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by Fred. Your gaze drifted across the room, trying to find something entertaining for your crystal gray eyes to focus on.

Fred, meanwhile, was internally slapping himself. Trolls and Gremlins? That was so stupid!

He watched your blonde hair fall from where it was loosely tucked into a headband, and you brought a mindless finger to put the hair back. He watched your simple movements, entranced by you.

You and Fred didn’t get along. You are a Malfoy, and he’s a Weasley. But still, somehow, you both always found yourselves thinking of the other.

History of Magic was his favorite class, because of you.

You and Draco had crossed paths on the way to lunch, and he walked briskly over to you, dismissing some of his Slytherin friends. You paid no mind to their scowls and figured they felt so angry because Gryffindor was playing Slytherin next week on the pitch.

“Has mum sent an owl to you this week?” Draco asked, craning his neck a little to look at you. His growth spurt hadn’t struck him yet.

“Oh!” you said, beginning to dig through your bag, “Sorry, forgot about it.”

You pulled a small parcel from your bag, handing it to your brother. The two of you were nearing the Great Hall, where you would have to split and go your separate ways.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling an obligation to be nosy in your little brother’s business.

“Some ink,” Draco said lazily, tucking the package into his own bag, “it’s my lucky ink.”

“Why? Is it enchanted?” you asked, and then lowered your voice, “Is that how you get such high marks?”

Draco smiled at your compliment and shook his head no.

“No, I get those because I study,” he said flatly, a dig at the fact that you excelled more on the Quidditch pitch than the academics.

You jokingly narrowed your eyes at him, and just before he walked to the Slytherin table, you reached out and ruffled his gelled hair. His joking stature quickly turned serious, and you broke into a jog to get to the Gryffindor table and away from Draco. You watched him attempt to smooth back his hair, chuckling as you slid down on the bench, a few seats away from Fred and George.

Fred was hunched over a poorly drawn drawing that George pointed to continuously while he talked.

“If we took that one corridor, there's that curtain that leads here,” George said, moving his finger to the right, “and then we can easily get back in time!”

You didn’t bother to ask, knowing George wouldn’t tell you. As much as you and Fred would get into little arguments, George had it out for you. Despite being his housemate, it was a known fact that you were the target of his pranks. Last year, he had snuck into the girl's Quidditch changing rooms and stole your clothes. You had to beg Fred from where he stood on the outside of the tent to make his brother give his clothes back, and when that didn’t work, you waved your wand and said “Accio clothes”. George had never run so fast up a hill, and he still couldn’t escape your wrath.

You pulled a sandwich from the tray in front of you.

“Malfoy,” Oliver Wood said, catching your attention.

“Yeah?” you said, taking a large bite of your sandwich.

“Did you look over that play I sent you?” Oliver asked, referring to the crumpled note he had tossed at the back of your head during Charms.

“Yeah,” you said, chewing and fishing in your bag for the note.

You pulled it out and saw Fred looking towards you. You looked at him before returning to Oliver. You unfolded the paper and Oliver hunched over it as George had done down the table.

Oliver’s hands were all over the simple drawing, his words getting lost in your boredom. You loved Quidditch, but god, could Oliver be boring.

“What are you two talking about?” both of your heads snapped up to see Fred forcing himself between the two first years that sat across you.

Oliver handed him the paper, pointing at all the meanings of the symbols.

“This,” he finally said, catching his breath, “is how we’re gonna beat Slytherin next week.”

Your weeknights were spent with Oliver, both of you ranting on about strategies while also trying to get done some homework. You occupied a wooden table that was usually used for chess, but the board was moved over to the coffee table where Ron and Harry played.

Fred watched, nearly pouting, from his spot on the couch. He watched the way your light eyes would brighten at the words Oliver said to you, and how you would blush every time he offered you a compliment on your playing.

“Ready for practice tonight?” Fred said, sliding up next to you as you waited outside of Binns’ classroom.

“Yeah,” you said absentmindedly, picking at your nails.

“George and I won’t take it easy on you,” Fred said, his veiled attempt at sounding threatening failing.

“Oh, Fred,” you said, faking a shake in your voice, “you don’t mean that.”

Fred rolled his eyes at your teasing, following after you as you walked to your shared desk.

Both of you came down the Gryffindor stairs at the same time, dressed in your practice jerseys and equipment in hand.

You glanced at him and caught his eyes looking you up and down. You chuckled to yourself, and his face flushed red.

You walked through the portrait hole with Oliver, and Fred watched you as he waited for George.

The two of them twisted and tossed their beater bats from hand to hand as they were perched on their brooms. You and Alicia faced off near the ground, hovering stoically. It was no competition, you were a better flyer than Alicia. She nearly had you matched in the power of her arm, but you still had the upper hand.

Fred bit his lip as you extended yourself to reach for the Quaffle. Your legs were the only thing keeping you on the broom, but you didn’t pay any mind to the unsteadiness. The only thing you thought of was the play Oliver had ingrained in your mind the past week. You repeated his critiques in your head and made sure to fix your grip on the Quaffle.

Alicia trailed after you, and you dove under Angelina to avoid her grasp. They were both trailing after you now. Alicia was nearly taken off her broom by a Bludger, and risking a glance upwards, you saw Fred’s triumphant smile. It was lucky that Fred was on your team for this practice because George had a nasty habit of failing to block Bludgers from hitting you.

Nearing near the goal post, you easily wound your arm back and sent the Quaffle right past Oliver. He slapped his gloved hands on his broom and sent you a proud smile.

The practice continued, and you weren’t hit with a Bludger the whole time, no matter how many George sent at you. Fred was always there to send them off, and send you a wink after he did it. You won the practice scrimmage, but Alicia put up a good fight.

“We have this,” Alicia said, beaming at you as she shed her heavy robes in the changing room.

“If we don’t I think Oliver’ll have an aneurism,” you joked, pulling on a loose t-shirt.

Angelina chuckled, and Alicia continued to beam.

“Really lucky Fred saved you from all those Bludgers,” Katie Bell teased from behind you.

“George has got it out for me,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Yeah, but, Fred sure kept you safe,” she continued to hint, but it went over your head.

“Well yeah, we can’t have an injury two days before the match,” you said, closing your locker and shuffling the combination.

Alicia rolled her eyes, and Angelina laughed.

“Yeah, that’s why,” Katie said, giving up.

You walked up the path to the castle and saw a clan of black robes walking down the path. You saw blond hair that matched yours peaking from one of them.

“Draco!” you called to your brother, breaking into a jog to reach him.

“Hey,” he said, breaking off from his Slytherin teammates.

“Are you guys ready for the match?” you asked excitedly.

Draco huffed out a defeated sigh, crossing his arms.

“No,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his housemates couldn’t hear him, “we bloody suck.”

You fought the cheeky smile that crept onto your face.

“Oh, that’s rotten, Draco,” you said, beginning to walk back down the hill with him, “I’m sure you’ll play your best.”

“I’ll try,” he said, beginning to shoo you off, “go do your homework.”

You rolled your eyes at your brother and waved him off, setting back up the castle.

The day of matches was always nerving, but it was even worse when it was against Slytherin. It felt like everyone in the school wanted you, needed you, to beat them.

You and Oliver sat shoulder to shoulder, both trying to get the other to eat something for breakfast. You both claimed to be too nervous, and then the other would say “that’s ridiculous, you have to eat!”.

Walking to the pitch, Harry Potter trailed behind all of you. You watched the twins stop to reach him, each wrapping a comforting and brotherly arm around his shoulders. You smiled to yourself, slipping into the changing room with the rest of the girls.

The crowd was roaring. It had never been this loud. Various chants sounded off, and you soon realized that someone in the Slytherin crowd learned a charm to louden their voice. Hateful words about Harry spouted from the green stands, and boos countered the Slytherin statements from the blue, yellow, and red bannered stands.

Taking the field, you hovered in front of Adrian Pucey as you had hovered in front of Alicia. Alicia was much nicer to look at, you thought, and she was a better player.

Pucey was barely moving before you soared off with the Quaffle tucked under your arm. You avoided the Slytherin chasers easily, twisting and ducking on your broom with the Quaffle on you like it was a third arm attached to your body. Cheers sounded off as you faked out Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey, making them dive into each other and nearly sending them off their brooms.

You looked back, seeing Alicia wide open behind you. You glanced forward, the Slytherin keeper braced for your shot. You slowed, allowing Alicia to come to your side. You made a seamless pass to her that the keeper hadn’t noticed, and while he looked at you, Alicia came from the left and scored. You met her to high five, your arms outstretched.

Fred dove to you, following a very determined Bludger. His bat was nearly touching it, nearly about to send it off its path towards you. He was just about to reach it when you dove. Fred and the Bludger soared past you, and the Bludger redirected itself. Doing a loop, and seeing that you were no longer there, it went for the next best thing. Alicia barely had time to brace herself before the Bludger knocked her shoulder out of its socket. The painful injury only caused a short interruption, but she had some choice words for Fred and George for failing to hit the Bludger sooner.

After that one incident, the game continued in the same fashion. You and Alicia flew circles around the lacking Slytherin Chasers, and Oliver blocked nearly everything they sent at him.

The cheers from the crowd stayed consistent for the entire match. There was never a silent moment from any house. A renowned gasp fell across the crowd, though, as Draco changed direction quickly. He turned the end of his broom straight up, and with an outstretched hand, Harry was breathing down Draco’s neck. You watched your brother, his blond hair flying off his face, his long arms reaching out into the sky. You didn’t feel bad for rooting for Draco, because even if he caught it, you were so ahead it wouldn’t have mattered.

Draco’s pale fingers eventually did wrap around the snitch, and without thinking, he let go of his broom in the haste of catching the little thing. He began to fall from the sky, and you watched as his legs and arms flailed around him. His broom fell faster than he did, and you flew to him. You were pulling your wand from your boot when someone had beat you to it. Draco hung suspended in mid-air, his body limp. He raised his head, and you saw his ghostly cheeks flushed pink. He looked around, patting his body to check if he was still alive. When he realized he was, he raised his hand into the sky, showing the golden snitch. The green section roared with laughter, but Lee Jordan’s voice halted them.

“Just a reminder! The Gryffindor team still wins!”

Cheers from every other section sounded off, and you felt a pang of guilt in your heart. You could be a Slytherin, you should be a Slytherin, and here you were apart of one of the houses that cheered for your brother's losses.

You flew to Draco, watching as he tucked the snitch into his robe pocket. You hovered, and he climbed onto the back of your broom. You looked around to see who had saved him, only to see Fred’s smug smile above you. George hovered next to his brother, scowling at Fred. You watched Fred tuck his wand back into his robes, giving you a shy wave. You smiled back at him, a silent thanks for the help.

You flew Draco to the ground, where he collected his broom.

“You were great, Dray,” you said, clapping him on the back, “really.”

“We lost,” he spat at you, cringing from your touch.

“Yeah but that’s not your fault.” you consoled him, watching his face soften, “You did your job, you caught the snitch.”

Draco nodded at you, offering you an appreciative smile. You wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed briefly, then sending him off to his sulking Slytherin team captain.

Oliver was already running towards you, arms outstretched.

“Y/n!” he called, and you smiled widely at him.

“You were amazing, Wood,” you called to him, letting him envelop you in a hug.

He pulled you over to the huddle of your teammates, and they were all beaming.

“Wasn’t Potter this time, was it?” Lee Jordan called from his place in the spectator box, “Y/n Malfoy, the best Chaser Gryffindor’s got!”

You blushed wildly at Lee’s exaggerated praise, ducking your head as your teammates all cheered for you.

Fred and George came tumbling from the sky, landing ungracefully on the ground.

“Think this calls for a party?” Fred asked, and everyone’s cheers increased.

The common room was transformed into an even more red and gold haven. Maybe red was growing on you.

You were standing at the center of a huddle, everyone’s glasses raised. Oliver had just made a quite longwinded speech, to which you cut off with:

“Let’s drink to that!”

Cheers came from everyone around you, and you brought your firewhisky to your lips.

“I still don’t get why you did that,” George shouted at his brother, his words slightly slurred. George never could handle his liquor.

“It was her brother, mate!” Fred shouted back.

“He’s a Malfoy! And so is she! Freaks, the lot of them!” George yelled, and the statement trailed over the crowd and to your ears.

You turned to look at the twins, meeting George’s disgusted face.

You pushed through the crowd and put yourself between the brothers, bringing your face to George’s.

“What’s your problem?” you shouted, and he cringed away from the loud noise.

“You!” he shouted back, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You’re a prick,” you said to him, sounding poisonous, “a drunk prick.”

George scoffed and brought a hand to your shoulder. He shoved you away, and you tumbled into Fred. Fred’s arms were around you before you could lunge at George as if he read your mind.

“Let me go!” you shouted to Fred, thrashing against him. George stood in front of you, taunting you. He waved his drink around, his drunken expression full of arrogance.

“I can’t!” Fred called out to you, then to George, “George, stop!”

George rolled his eyes and tossed back the rest of his drink. He stumbled off to somewhere else, leaving you in Fred’s grasp.

He felt your heavy breathing against his chest, your warm arms in his hands.

“You alright?” Fred spoke into your ear, his mouth moving against your hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine, you can let me go,” you said, wiggling from his grasp.

Fred hadn’t wanted to let you go, but he figured it would be odd if he kept you pulled against him.

“He didn’t mean that,” Fred started, but you waved him off.

“Yes he did,” you said. starting to walk away.

Fred reached out for you, pulling you back.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said, his eyes searching yours.

“Stop, Fred,” you said, pulling your arm from his hand again, “None of you Weasley’s have liked me since the day I was sorted into Gryffindor. It didn’t even matter who I was.”

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed at your statement, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but sympathy as he looked at your hurt expression.

“That’s not true, Y/n,” he started, but you turned again. He didn’t stop you that time.

Your mood was ruined. You filled your cup with more firewhisky, but at the bottom of each glass, all you could see was George’s disgusted face.

You had never done anything to the Weasleys, but that never stopped the redheads, or their friends, from sending you glares any time they saw you. You felt torn, torn by the unnaturalness of you being in Gryffindor, being away from your brother. You were torn by the fact that you felt weren’t even wanted by Gryffindor. No matter what you did, it was never right.

You remembered watching Draco get sorted, his baby-faced wonder as he sat on the stool with his legs crossed at the ankles. You had hoped, you had even prayed, that Draco would be sorted into Gryffindor. When that house was called out, though, the table of green erupted, and you watched your brother be swept off by your rivaling house.

George would never understand this, he would never see you as anything but a Malfoy, a pure-blood supremacist. You weren’t what your family was, you didn’t care about blood status, but no one cared.

Your anger seethed, watching George having fun, dancing with Angelina. Your grip on your cup tightened, and you wanted more than anything to go up to him and throw what was left of your drink into his face. You started over to him.

Fred intercepted you, having been watching you intently the whole night.

“You don’t want to do this,” Fred said, trying to calm you down as he blocked your path to his brother, “wait ‘till morning, then you can scream at him all you want.”

You could only shake your head, trying to move pasted Fred. You didn’t want to do this in the morning, you wanted to do this now, while the warm anger moved through your blood as fast as the whiskey did.

Fred’s hands gripped your upper arms, holding you in place.

“Let me go, Fred,” you mumbled, teeth gritted.

“I can’t, Y/n,” he said, searching for your eyes like he was begging you to look at him.

“He can’t always get away with it,” you whispered, feeling your anger turn into sadness. You had refused to cry about George or anything he said in your first year, but it seemed that now was your breaking point.

“He won’t, I promise,” Fred whispered back, trying to sound reassuring. He found it hard, his heart hurting at the sight of you so upset.

“He always does!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking. Your eyes were still dry, but the pounding in your chest felt like a heart attack.

“Well, he won’t this time,” Fred replied, bringing his face to yours so you had no choice but to look at him, “I’ll make sure of it.”

You met his eyes, and he saw the hopeful glint in them. He offered you a kind smile, his lips stretched across his face. You nodded at him, relaxing in his grasp. You didn’t try to move from it, and you didn’t want to. You felt safe in Fred’s arms.

“Oi!” George called from behind Fred.

Fred turned, putting you behind his back and himself between you and George. You pushed and pulled, trying to get in front of him and to George, but he was too strong.

“Fred, when are you going to get over this?” George asked his brother, downing the last of his dark drink.

“Shut up, George,” Fred warned, trying to push you and him away from George.

“I’ve told you a million times, mate,” George started, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together.”

Fred was on top of George in seconds. He was wrestling him to the ground and putting him in a headlock.

You put a hand over your mouth, watching as they fought. You replayed George’s words, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together”. Was this simple brotherly teasing, or did Fred have feelings for you?

Katie and Alicia found you in the crowd, and you hadn’t even realized what you were doing as they pulled you off of Fred and George. You had grabbed Fred’s shoulders, trying to pull him off his brother, but they thrashed against your grip.

Alicia and Katie were guiding you up the girl's dormitory stairs, pushing you towards the bathroom as your face became green with nausea. Katie held your hair, rubbing your back as you emptied your breakfast and what looked to be an entire bottle of firewhisky.

You groaned, moving to rest your back on the wall in front of the toilet. Katie flushed the vomit, closed the lid, and sat in front of you.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her kind voice inviting you to tell her all about your insecurities and worries.

Alicia came in right at the part of you feeling guilty for not being Slytherin, and Angelina stumbled into the dorms at your conclusion of what George said about Weasleys and Malfoys.

The girls consoled you, assuring you that you had every right to be in Gryffindor and that George was just a prick.

“What’d you think he meant by that?” Katie said, testing your reaction, in reference to what George said.

“I dunno,” you grumbled, moving yourself to lay down on the ground. Alicia moved, grabbing your shoulder and making you stay upright.

“Could it mean Fred,” Alicia spoke like a kindergarten teacher, and your drunken self giggled as she spoke, “likes you?”

You gasped, your head falling back to hit the wall.

“No way,” you mumbled, and when Katie started giggling next to you, you did too.

When Fred finally made his way up the girl's stairs, bypassing the detouring charms, he heard loud and manic giggles coming from your dorm. He opened the door but found the beds empty. The door to the bathroom was open, and the sound came from there.

“Hello?” he said, rasping his knuckles on the door frame.

The four girls on the ground, all looked up at him with bright smiles, all saying at the same time: “Fred!”

Fred’s eyes went to yours immediately. He smiled as his name fell from your drunken lips, admiring the twinkle in your silver eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, moving to crouch in front of you.

The other girls got the hint, and filed out of the bathroom, all mumbling something of good luck to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, still smiling.

Your eyes focused on his face, and you saw a nasty cut on his lip. It bled a little to the corner of his mouth and down his jaw, stopping just above his shirt collar.

Your smile dropped, and you brought a hand to his jaw, “Are you alright? You’re bleeding, Fred.”

He brought a hand to his lip, and when he pulled it away he saw blood. You pushed yourself to your feet, wobbling a little as you stood. You got a wad of toilet paper and wet it a little in the sink. You put your hands on Fred’s shoulders, telling him to be still.

He closed his eyes as you dragged the paper over his jaw and dabbed at his lip. Once you got the blood off, you got a dry piece of toilet paper and ran it back over his jaw again. He suppressed the groans he wanted to release, forcing his hands not to reach out and grab your waist. Once the trail of blood was gone, you used a finger to tilt his face up. You ran your fingers over where the blood had been, making sure you got it all. Fred’s mouth opened a little at the touch, and he sighed heavily. You let his face drop back to yours, and looked at him. His mouth still had some blood in the corner. You wet the pad of your thumb with your tongue and cupped Fred’s face. You brought your thumb to the corner of his mouth and swiped your finger across his lip. This time Fred wasn’t able to suppress the moan that came from his chest. Your hand still rested on his shoulder, and your hand still held his jaw.

“Did George do this?” you asked, fearful of his response.

“Must have,” Fred whispered back to you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, dropping your hands from Fred and turning your back to him, “I shouldn’t have gone over to him.”

“Hey,” Fred said, wrapping a hand on your waist and pulling you into him, “George deserved that. You should see the shiner I gave him.”

“I can’t let you fight your brother like that,” you whispered, putting a hand on his chest and feeling his beating heart, “you two don’t fight like that.”

“I don’t care. I’ll fight him every day until he gives you a chance,” Fred replied, bringing a hand from your waist to the back of your neck.

When he began to pull your face closer to his, you pulled back a little, still in his embrace.

“I can’t kiss you,” you said, a teasing smile on your face.

“Why not?” he pouted.

“I just threw up, it’s gross.”

Fred dug in his pocket for a second and pulled out a tin. It was one in the packaging of one of his products, but he assured you they had yet to be charmed to make people’s tongues swell.

“I don’t know,” you dragged, twisting the small mint in your fingers.

“Why would I prank you right now? You have no idea how much I want to kiss you,” he took the mint form your hand and put it in your mouth for you.

He was right, it was just a regular mint. The taste of vomit was gone, and after you chewed it, Fred barely wasted a second before he pulled you into him.

He kissed you hard, despite having a busted lip. When you ran your tongue over it, he winced, and you pulled back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, bringing your hand up to it and touching his lip. His hand grabbed yours, and he placed gentle kisses to each of your fingertips. His hand moved to your palm, to your wrist, and up your arm. His mouth ran over your shoulder, which he pulled your shirt back from, and up your neck. His lips finally connected with yours again, and you let out a pleased moan.

Fred pushed you against the counter of the sink, and you wrapped your hands in his hair. The feeling of nausea hit you very quickly, and you pulled away from Fred. You doubled over, trying to will yourself from throwing up.

“Oh god,” you started, and Fred rushed to your side, “I’m gonna throw up again.”

“What? Was it the mint? Are you alright?” Fred protested as you pushed him on his back out of the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You threw open the toilet seat and emptied what was left in your stomach. Flushing, you closed the lid and sat on it. You pulled your wand from your waistband and unlocked the door. Fred came in hesitantly, and when he saw you were fine, he lifted you off the toilet by the hand.

“Come on,” he said, guiding you out of the dorm.

“I don’t wanna go back to the party,” you mumbled, pulling his arm closer to you as you held onto it.

“You’ve been up there for ages, the party’s long over,” Fred assured, pulling you down the stairs.

Cups littered the ground, and abandoned streamers hung from the ceiling. A banner Dean Thomas had made hung lopsided on one side of the room.

Fred pulled you to the couch, bringing a blanket over you.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, and you laughed at his nurturing actions.

You were about to say no, but the rumbling of your stomach convinced you otherwise. You had emptied everything you had eaten, and you were hungry.

Fred snuck to the kitchens easily, making the same trek he made nearly every other night. He brought you back some sandwiches, but when he slipped through the portrait hole, he found you asleep on the couch.

Your breathing was even, and your mouth hung open a little. You curled into the couch, tucking your legs up to your chest.

He put the sandwiches on the table next to you and moved your body to the left. He curled up next to you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. He spooned you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and your hand found his under the blanket.

For the first time, you felt at home in the Gryffindor common room.

[maladaptive---daydreamer]

Black ribbon and silver bows

The fifth of may meant that there were exactly 2 months until Draco turned 17. Draco had gone above and beyond for your birthday, spoiling you with 17 individually wrapped gifts that he sent you on a wild goose chase around the school to find. You wanted to make him equally as special as he made you feel, but what did you get the boy who could get anything he wanted?

You thought about getting him a pet, but you didn’t think his mother would appreciate a cat roaming around the halls of the Malfoy Manor. Then you thought about getting him a broom, but as usual, Draco already had the best of the best. Your mind turned to clothes, but the man only wore black shirts with tailor-made trousers. 

“Still thinking about what to get Draco?” Blaise’s voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ugh yes, anything I think of, he already has”

“You’re fault for choosing rich, should have dated a Weasley, they’d be over the moon with an unworn robe” 

You smacked Blaise’s arm “Don’t be so rude, Blaise. Just because you don’t like them doesn't mean you can be a prick”

“Why don’t you make him something? I’m sure the elves would let you sneak into the kitchen to cook, you could draw something, write him a poem”

If you were a cat, your ears would have pricked at hearing the word ‘draw’, Draco was never a fan of the decorations in his room, maybe you could paint him a painting that he could hang up on his wall.

“You might have just saved Draco’s birthday”

The increase of chatter across the library hinted that your free period was over and it was now time for lunch. You and Blaise collected your things and returned the books to the returns trolley before making your way to the great hall. You bumped into Draco, Pansy and Daphne on your way there. The five of you made your way to the Slytherin table to see Crabbe and Goyle already tucking in. 

“Why am I not surprised that you two gluttons are the first on the table?” Blaise asked, throwing his school bag down and taking a seat. 

The rest of your group sat down as well, the elves had made different variations of chicken wraps for lunch today. You picked up a grilled chicken wrap and began eating it, famished after your hour of revision during your free period. You had just finished the first one when Draco said your name.

“You’ve got sauce on your mouth, darling”

You stuck your tongue out trying to lick it off but you kept missing. 

“Hold still a sec” Draco instructed. He used his thumb to wipe the spot of sauce from your mouth, licking it off his thumb once he was done. 

“Ah my saviour!” you fake swooned. 

He laughed and continued to eat his lunch. You wolfed another half of a wrap before feeling full. 

“Are we still revising for charms after dinner?” Daphne asked, looking up from her homework. 

“I’m on it, but the boys have quidditch practise until 7, so they’ll have to join in later” You replied, snapping the lid of your lip balm back on

“Actually, practice is cancelled, so Blaise and I’ll be there” Draco added, downing the rest of his pumpkin juice.

“Y/N, you alright?” 

Your head whipped around to see Neville Longbottom standing behind you.

“Are you lo-” Draco began to sneer

You pinched the outside of his thigh making him grit his teeth instead of finishing his sentence. “Neville, hi”

“I just wanted to return your charms notes, they were dead useful, thanks,” He said with a light blush, holding your pile of notes out.

“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad you found them helpful” You took the notes from him with a smile. 

“Have a nice rest of the afternoon,”

“You too Neville,”

He returned to his friends and your friends turned onto you.

“Why are you so nice to him?” Blaise demanded.

“Oh merlin, when are you guys going to get over this rivalry, he needed help, so I helped him.”

“He’s also Longbottom”

You rolled your eyes. “Anyways, does anyone want to let me copy the last two questions for the dada homework?”

Daphne slid her roll of parchment over to you and you quickly scribbled the answers. Just as you had screwed on the cap for your ink lid, the bell for your next lesson rang. Nowadays your lessons were less structured, it was two months before exam season which meant the teachers pushed to revise topics rather than introducing new ones. Some teachers preferred to let you get on in groups doing your own thing, others had a strict revision lesson planned. But one thing was for certain exams had definitely taken over your life.

After your charms revision session with your friends, you and Draco found yourselves walking up to the astronomy tower. The sun was beginning to set as you nestled yourself into his lap.

“Don’t you think it’s mad that in a couple of years we won’t be able to do this anymore?” You asked, tightening his arms around you.

“We can watch the sunset from anywhere love”

“Ha ha you know what I mean idiot”

“I’m ready to leave this place”

“Sorry Mr ‘I should have been in Durmstrang’”

“I should have, my father agreed more with their curriculum”

“Maybe cause his old death eater buddy was running it”

“He’s your father's old death eater buddy too”

“My father never thought about sending me to Durmstrang”

“That’s because it’s a boys-only school, love”

“I don’t like you”

“That’s because you love me,”

“Speaking of love, do you remember the first moment you realised you loved me?”

He paused “As a matter of fact I do”

“Do tell, Mr Malfoy”

“We were at that party at the Parkinson’s in our 3rd year. You had a silver dress on. Your mum forced you into these heels and you hated them. You wobbled over to me and clung to my arm the whole night. But as soon as we were shooed away from the adults, you took them off and practically shoved them into my hands and started walking around barefoot. Pansy’s grandmother came out of the parlour and saw you without your shoes on and went berserk, she called you a disgrace, all our mothers came out to see what was going on and I’m pretty sure your mum looked like she was going to kill you”

“I remember that! Then I transfigured her ostrich feather boa into a snake around her neck!”

“She nearly pissed her pants” He laughed, causing you to smile.

“So is that your favourite memory of us?”

“No, my favourite memory takes place in our 4th year at the Yule ball. I didn’t want to dance in front of all those idiots but you pulled me up there anyway. But as soon as you held my hand it was like they all disappeared and it was just me and you. I spun you out and when you spun back into my arms, I dipped you and you looked so beautiful. But that is fighting for the top spot from the time you sucked me off in the restricted section, and the time you floo’ed into my room last summer at 2 am and I absolutely ruined you”

“Okay okay I get the picture your favourite memories are when we have sex”

“Not all of them, just some, what’s yours?”

“5th year, Christmas break, your parents’ Christmas party, you hid my promise ring inside my dessert” you held your hand up letting your ring sparkle in the candlelight, it was simple, a small princess cut emerald on a gold band, but it was oh so precious “You kept staring at me and I was so confused, I wasn’t even looking at what I was eating until you jerked my hand back and told me to look in the spoon and there it was. You cleaned it off and slid it on my finger right in front of everyone. Or maybe it was the time you made me sit on your face when we snuck into a room at the leaky cauldron”

Draco laughed and lifted your hand up and played with the ring. “After we finish Hogwarts, I’m gonna replace this ring with a diamond one”

“You are?” 

“Why do you sound so surprised, I told you already I was going to change your last name to mine, even your parents know”

“I know but I didn’t know you wanted to do this so early"

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

“You are so whipped”

Draco shoved you off him playfully.

“But it’s okay because I’m equally as whipped” you replied sitting back in his lap.

“You’d better be, otherwise I’d-”

“You’d what? Tell your father?”

“Right, that’s it” His fingers found your sides as he began tickling you. By the time he felt as though he tortured you enough, you were both breathless. 

“I love you," He said, smoothing your shirt down.

“I love you more”

“Who’s up here?” Filch’s voice grumbled. 

You and Draco grinned at each other as you quickly threw your robes on and lifted the hoods, running straight past Filch and into the Slytherin common room. 

You had now learnt what Draco’s favourite memory of you was. All that was left was actually getting around to paint it. If you weren’t in a lesson, you were revising, usually most of the time with Draco. Even on weekends, you found yourself in in the library completing practise exam papers and testing yourself on flashcards. And any time you weren’t working, you and Draco used as an opportunity to spend time with one another without being bogged down with work. You’d already decided that the room of requirement would be the perfect place to start painting, but the issue was figuring out how you’d be able to sneak there and back without arousing suspicion. 

After much deliberation, you decided that your best option for sneaking out was on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Every Tuesday after dinner, Draco and Blaise would go out to the quidditch pitch to blow off some steam, by the time he had finished and showered, you were almost always already in bed. On Wednesday, you decided you’d tell Draco a little white lie and say that Flitwick had asked you to tutor a struggling 5th year in Charms, it would give you a few hours to yourself to get ahead with painting. 

The upcoming Tuesday your plan was in action, you made Daphne swear she wouldn’t tell Draco where you were and you made your way to the room of requirement. It was honestly a Godsend. You stepped into a room full of different sized canvasses, there were tubes of oil paint and palettes of watercolours and squeezy bottles of acrylic. A table was full of paintbrushes of different sizes and shapes and there were an easel and chair right in the middle of the room. 

You picked out a large rectangular canvas and placed it landscape on the easel and got to sketching the outline of your painting. If all went to plan, it would be a loop of Draco’s favourite memory of the two of you at the ball, if it didn’t well, then it would be a still image and if everything went south, you’d have to somehow find a way to get some lingerie to distract him from your lack of presents. 

Painting the canvas was going to be the hard part, sketching the outline, however, was proving to be a huge nightmare already, you had drawn and redrawn Draco’s face about a hundred times, not being able to get it exactly right. You were about to kick a hole in your canvas when a small a5 picture caught your eye, stuck under the foot of the easel. You picked it up to see a photograph of the exact moment you were trying to recreate. This was why you loved this room, taking a deep breath, you redrew Draco’s face finally getting it as you liked it. By the time you had finished the full outline, it was almost two am, you knew you were going to struggle to wake up in the morning, but that was something for future you to deal with, present you had to find a way to sneak out of the room and back to your dormitory without detection. 

In order to make as little noise as possible, you took your shoes off and ran across the castle in just your socks, you were only a few steps away from the entrance to the common room before Mrs Norris came around the corner. She meowed loudly as you whisper-shouted the password, the corridor revealing itself. You ran down it and straight up the stairs into your dormitory. You tried to get into bed as quietly as possible before falling asleep. 

In hindsight, staying up sketching until 2 am was a horrible idea. It was only 1 in the afternoon and you were struggling to stay awake. 

“I don’t get why you don’t just pay someone to paint it for you,” Daphne asked, scrunching a piece of paper into a ball and throwing it in the bin beside you.

“Because then there's no sentimental value behind it” You replied, massaging your temples.

“What time did you fall asleep anyway?”

“By the time I drowned out Pansy’s snoring it was 3, I was just lucky I had a free period first so I ended up getting an hours extra sleep”

“Merlin, remind me to never fall in love”

You laughed before rubbing your eyes and returning to your work. 

It took you four weeks of staying up till 2 am to finish Draco’s painting. You had spent hours mixing the right shades of paint, at one point you ended up getting rid of the paint on the whole canvas and starting again but exactly three weeks before Draco’s birthday, you had mastered the spell to make your painted figures move and your masterpiece was complete. Your only worry was that Narcissa Malfoy would hate it and would stop her son from hanging it in his bedroom. 

In order to get the huge canvas from the room of requirement back to your dormitory, you had to ask Neville to ask Harry if you could borrow his invisibility cloak. If Draco had found out that you got Harry’s help you were 90% sure he’d be the one kicking a hole in your canvas. For now, the canvas was safely tucked under your bed. 

The next morning, you stuffed Harry’s cloak in your bag and made your way down to meet him. You had agreed the previous evening that you’d meet outside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom before breakfast to make the exchange. As planned, he was stood with Neville right outside the entrance to the toilet. You pulled the cloak out and handed it back to Harry. 

“Thank you, I know you and Draco don’t like each other, but it means a lot that you'd go out on a limb to help me.”

“While I question your choice in men, Y/L/N, you’ve helped Neville out on more than one occasion and any friend of Neville’s is a friend of mine.”

You smiled at Harry, “I’m gonna head to breakfast before Draco gets suspicious, see you boys, later”

They waved goodbye as you made your way back to breakfast, stopping in the normal girl's toilet to sort your shirt out which you found you were wearing inside out. Your group of friends were already sat down eating, all but Draco.

“Where is he?” You asked.

“Couple third years said they had to tell him something in private, oh wait, speak of the devil” 

You turned and he did not look happy. His jaw was clenched and he was walking oddly fast, he came to you and gripped you firmly by the arm. “Can I speak to you, outside, Y/N”

You looked at him confused but followed him out. As soon as you were out of earshot from the hall he turned around to face you, he looked pissed, he kept walking forward until you were pinned between him and the wall. 

“You want to tell me why some friends in 3rd year saw you giving Potter his invisibility cloak back?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, darling, we both know you’re not. ‘it looked like she was holding something but there wasn't anything in her hand’. Why did you have his cloak”

“I was planning on recreating that memory of yours in the restricted section for your birthday, I asked Neville if I could borrow Harry’s cloak to get us there and back but then I remembered you wouldn’t have come if we were using his cloak so I gave it back” You lied smoothly 

He swallowed and nodded, not moving back. You pushed him off and scoffed. 

“Is this what you’re doing now? Sending third years to follow me?”

“You of all people should know I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Those eyes and ears shouldn't be snooping on your girlfriend”

“They wouldn’t have to if you weren’t lying to me about where you were for the past month.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Helping a 5th year with Charms as per the request of Flitwick? Well not according to the professor himself”

“Dra-”

He laughed, “Can’t even cover up your lies properly. Why don't I give you a few hours to come up with a cover story, I can’t bear the sight of you right now” Draco turned and walked away, ignoring you as you called out for him. 

He acted as though you didn’t exist for all of your lessons, he didn't sit next to you, he didn't speak to you, he barely looked at you. You chose to have dinner alone in your room that night. It had occurred to you during your second period that Draco thought you were cheating on him with Harry. It made sense, you were sneaking around and you were seen giving Harry’s cloak back as if to say that you two had been meeting up in secret under it. But it also made absolutely no sense either, you and Draco had been together since the beginning of your 3rd year. Your father was a death eater for Pete’s sake, it didn’t take a genius to realise you’d be disowned if you brought home Harry fucking Potter. 

You were partway through your transfiguration homework when Daphne came bounding up into the dormitory.

“Right, what is going on with you and Draco?” She asked, throwing her bag on the floor and collapsing on her bed.

“Nothing,” You lied.

“See that is absolute bullshit because he has been a moody prick all day and you skipped dinner, so come out with it, spill”

You sighed and explained everything. 

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth then?”

“Because if I do, it’ll ruin the surprise”

“And if you don’t it’ll end your relationship, my mother is over the moon at the fact that I’ll be a bridesmaid at a Malfoy wedding, you don’t want to crush her dreams do you?”

“You’re right, do you know where he is?”

“He went straight into his dormitory”

You nodded and made your way there. He was joined by his friends.

“Rest of you out, thanks,” You said, walking in and standing in the middle of the room. 

Blaise looked at Draco and he nodded, prompting him, Theodore and Goyle to leave. He refused to look at you. You took a seat at the end of his bed and began to explain.

“I’m well aware you think I’m cheating on you with Potter, but that’s really the complete opposite of what’s happening. The truth is, for the past few weeks, I’ve been arranging your birthday present. I finished it last night and I asked for Harry’s cloak so I could bring it back to my dormitory without revealing the surprise. That’s where I’ve been sneaking off to. Not to go snog Potter under his invisibility cloak”

“Oh”

“Bet you feel really fucking stupid now don’t you,” You scoffed

“I’m sorry, darling,”

“Do you not think? Could you imagine my parents’ reaction if I brought home Potter? They’d disown me faster than you came the first time we-”

He grabbed you into a hug before you could finish your sentence.

“I am truly sorry, princess, for jumping to conclusions and for ruining my surprise.”

“Well, you haven’t totally ruined it, you don’t know what it is yet.”

“Can we come back in yet, I need to get out of this fucking uniform” Theodore shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Draco shouted back a yeah and his friends returned. 

“See you two’ve kissed and made up, about time too, Draco’s a right git when he's moody”

Draco threw a pair of balled-up socks at Blaise’s head before you got up off the bed.

“I’ll meet you in the common room once I’ve finished my homework,” You told him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He mumbled an okay before kissing you once more and you were on your way. 

The next morning, at breakfast, you noticed your father’s owl descend onto the table in front of you. You took the letter expecting him to fly off and return home but he waited expectantly, clearly, he was told to wait until you replied. He hopped up onto your arms as you took him to the owlery to recuperate while you read your letter and replied. 

Y/N, 

You’re hopefully aware that it is Draco’s birthday in a few weeks, I hope that you have got him an adequate gift. You know how important your 17th birthday is and as I remember, Draco spoilt you with 17 gifts. Since you are a young lady, you're not expected to gift him anything as lavish as some of the presents he gave you, but tradition dictates that you should get him something worthy of a pureblood wizard, in particular jewels. Please reply as soon as possible, only so I know that you won’t embarrass your father and I (and in the case you do, I can send you an alternative). Your brothers and your father send their regards. We miss you. 

Mother

You rolled your eyes at her need for keeping up appearances and quickly scribbled her back a reply. You wished you were at home to see her reaction to you gifting him a painting you painted yourself. Once your father’s owl had filled himself up with water and owl feed, you attached the letter to him and sent him on his way. 

Later in the evening, your mother’s owl pecked at you through the library window. You went out into the corridor and took a letter and a box off of her. Once you had freed her of her cargo, she hooted and flew off. You opened the second letter and read.

Sweetheart, I know that you are an accomplished young artist, but a painting will simply not do, especially for his 17th birthday. However, since I am your mother and I know you best, I had a feeling I would need to help you in this department. I took the liberty of going into Bourgin and Burke’s on the weekend and purchased a rare black diamond ring for Draco on your behalf. I think he will like it and I think you will too. I hope you are studying well for your exams, 

Mother

You tried to rip open the wrapping on the box but it wouldn't move. The fold at the bottom lifted itself up a bit and ran across your finger, giving you a papercut. A thin line of blood collected on its edge and the wrapping dissolved leaving you with a red ring box, she was always partial to a bit of blood magic. You lifted the lid to see a thick silver band, it looked like it was either white gold or platinum, your mother thought sterling silver was too cheap, the oval cut diamond set atop a larger oval of platinum. It wasn't too plain but it also wasn’t overly gaudy, just as Draco liked it. You returned to the library with your second gift, making a note to hide it under your bed with your painting.

The next few weeks went past in a blur of mock exams and constant revision. Your first exam wasn’t until the 10th of June, giving you plenty of time to celebrate Draco’s birthday properly. The night before his birthday, half of Slytherin house was gathered in the common room waiting for it to hit midnight. You asked the elves to bake a cake for him and smuggled it with some snacks to have a small party with your friends. 

At 11.59 you pulled a tie out from behind you and held it up.

“Gonna let me tie you up huh?” Draco asked with a smirk. 

“Nice try, Malfoy, but this is for you” You replied getting up and tying it around his eyes. 

“What are you doing, Y/L/N?” 

You pointed your wand at the wall causing birthday banners and streamers to hang. Blaise brought the cake in from the 1st year dormitory. The large grandfather clock donged deeply as it hit midnight, you pulled his blindfold down as the whole common room burst into a rendition of happy birthday. He laughed and put his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. Nott finished the song on a horrible high note as Draco blew his candles out. 

“Make a wish, Draco” Pansy shouted. 

“I don’t need to, I've got everything I could wish for right next to me.”

You smiled up at him and gave him a kiss before addressing the crowd. “Eat my friends,” You felt like Dumbledore as plates of food dotted themselves around the common room. The attention moved from Draco to the food as everyone got up and attacked. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” You said wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you, princess, I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Only the best for my boyfriend”

You spent the next few hours playing truth or dare with your housemates, it was cut short when Snape barged into the common room, the decorations were ripped off the wall and the music from the radio stopped. 

“I am going to give you until the count of 10 to return to your dormitory, anyone I still see standing here will be spending every weekend for the rest of the year cleaning with filch”

He began to count down from 10 as everyone scrambled to run into their dorms and get into bed. 

You were so excited to surprise Draco with his presents that you skipped breakfast, instructing Daphne to tell him to meet you in the astronomy tower. You decided you were going to decorate your spot a little bit, you set up a soft blanket and some cupcakes and hung up the leftover banners and streamers from your midnight party in the common room. You had his gifts wrapped up with ribbon and some bows just to be extra, they sat in the centre of your blanket, the canvas taking up a large chunk of it. You had realised Draco would probably struggle to take the canvas back home, but that would be a problem he would have to deal with later.

 “Y/N?” His voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Up here, love” You replied, your head popping up over the bannister. 

He broke into a smile when he saw you and rushed up the stairs taking them two at a time. You sat on the edge of the blanket and waited for him.

“Happy 17th birthday, Draco” You exclaimed as he reached the top. 

His smile got even wider as he pulled you up and into a tight hug. 

“I am so in love with you, do you know that?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I hope you feel the same after you see your presents,”

“Darling, you know you didn’t have to get me anything, you’re the best gift I could have ever received”

“I didn’t have to but I wanted to, here look” 

His eyes fell onto the two wrapped gifts, he sat himself down and opened the top present. 

“How did you get your hands on this?” he pulled the ring out and examined it closely.

“RIght so backstory to this, my mum didn’t believe that my original present was traditional enough to be a ‘wizard’s 17th birthday present’ so she went out to Bourgin and Burke and got this, but I wouldn’t have given it to you had I thought you wouldn't like it, so think of this as a gift from your in-laws.”

“My father’ll be jealous, he's been wanting a black diamond in his collection for ages now” He put the ring back in the box and was about to shut it.

“Wait, let me put it on. you put my ring on, so I’ll put yours on, practise for the big day”

He smiled at you as you sat down next to him and pulled the ring back out of the box. He held his left hand out for you and you slid the ring onto his ring finger.  

“You know after this, they tend to kiss” He grinned. 

“Oh yes, of course, if we’re going to practise we should be thorough” You pulled his head down and his lips met yours for a passionate kiss. 

He pulled back after a few moments with a grin. 

“We should keep practising, just to be on the safe side”

“Enough flirting, Malfoy you have another gift to open”

He turned and picked up the canvas in his hands.

“Is this the one you were sneaking away for?”

You nodded and he began to tear off the wrapping. He got up and placed it against the wall and stood there looking at it, silently. He was silent for a while as he watched the loop of Draco spinning you out and then dipping you on your return with a kiss. Although he hadn't said anything, you got the feeling that he didn't particularly like this gift. He was probably thinking of a way to let you down easily.

“Do you not like it?” You asked quietly.

“What? No!” he turned around with a genuine smile. “I love it, darling, it's perfect. Honestly, it's beautiful.”

You physically relaxed and went to stand next to him. “You said you didn’t like the painting in your room above the fire so I thought I’d give you something to change it with, I’m just not sure if your mother would like it, since its not one of those classical masterpieces.”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks, as soon as I get home, I’m hanging this right up on my wall. I just never knew you could paint like this”

“My mum made me start painting when I was three, I stopped lessons as soon as I started Hogwarts but I kept it up on the side as a hobby and, well, I thought I’d immortalise your favourite memory of us.”

“You never cease to amaze me” He turned and pulled you into him “Thank you,”

“Don’t be silly it’s your birthday, stupid”

“Not just for this, for everything. For putting up with everything, the jealousy, the anger, the-”

“Hey, I’m not putting up with anything, I love you, Draco, all of you”

“Merlin, I can’t wait to marry you” His lips crashed into yours for a frenzied kiss, overwhelmed with emotion. “This is by far the best birthday I’ve ever had, nothing will be able to top this”

And he wasn’t lying. Whenever he was asked, by his kids, his grandkids even his great-grandkids, what his favourite birthday celebration was, his response was always the same, his 17th birthday.

[givemeweasley]

Back To You pt. 2

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: tears and fears and Fred is sad, also more mentions of death

A/N: I honestly wasn’t planning on doing a part two but a few of you asked for it and everyone seemed to like BTY so I figured why not. Also unedited so lemme know if anythings amiss, but enjoy!

Back To You pt. 1

-----

“Told you I’d always come back to you, Freddie.”

Fred couldn’t move. Surely he was hallucinating. Surely you couldn’t be alive after days of being dead.

Surely Fred would blink, and you would be gone.

But your fist curled around his pant leg as tears slipped down your bloodied face and he knew it couldn’t be a lie.

Fred fell to the ground pulling you in his arms. As weak as you were, your arms curled around him too. You smelled like dirt and blood, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. You were alive. And that was all that mattered.

Fred sobbed into your shoulder as he felt your tears soak his shirt. He would never let you go again for as long as he lived. He swore it.

It felt like hours the two of you were intertwined and crying on the floor. Neither of you wanting to let the other go.

But Fred knew you were injured, he could feel it every time he shifted and you flinched. So he pulled back to look into your eyes. He pushed some of your hair away from your face that was matted in blood.

“Let’s get you fixed up, yeah?”

You nodded, the tears still shining in your eyes.

Fred curled his arms underneath your body as he lifted you from the floor. He made his way downstairs where his mother was pacing, wand and first aid kit in hand.

As soon as she saw the both of you, she looked relieved and waved for Fred to put you down on the couch.

“Be gentle! Be gentle! She could be gravely injured!” Mrs. Weasley fretted about nervously. Fred, for once, listened to his mother and placed you down on the couch as gently as could be.

He stood back refusing to leave even after Mrs. Weasley shooed everyone out of the living room. She lifted your shirt and did her best to heal the many wounds that littered your body. She then helped you out of what was left of your pants, for they had been torn in some places.

Looking at you made Fred feel a rage he had never known. Your body was littered in injuries, he was surprised you were alive at all. He wanted nothing more than to hurt the Death Eaters that did this to you.

“What happened, dear?” Mrs. Weasley whispered just loud enough for Fred to hear. You glanced at him, and at once he came to sit next to you. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders so you could be warm as Mrs. Weasley continued to work.

Fred wrapped an arm around you and you leaned into his embrace. Freds anger melted away as gratitude and love filled it instead.

“We were getting chased by the Death Eaters…” You choked out.

“Accio Cup!” Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at the door. A glass came flying in and landed in her hand. “Aguamenti!” And the glass filled. She handed it to you, who readily drank it.

“He said the killing curse, but someone hit me with the Cruciatus curse I think. It knocked me off the broom and-” Tears began to pour more readily. “Mad-Eye…”

“It’s okay, dear.” Mrs. Weasley grabbed your hand.

Fred hated to see you so upset, so hurt, so...broken.

“It hit him instead and he fell off too.” You got quiet, but you continued. “I remember falling. Thinking of you-” Your strong gaze met Freds and he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “I- I was desperate so I tried to Shield Charm Harry taught us in the DA. Somehow I survived when I hit the ground. But I knew- I knew they would come to find our bodies. I did a Concealment Charm in hopes that they wouldn’t find me. I blacked out.” You took another sip of the water before continuing. “I woke up a day later and could barely move. Mad-Eye was gone. I had my wand and did every spell I could think of to help me to stand. But it was hard. Luckily, I remembered enough from Astronomy to figure out which direction the burrow lay, and I started to walk. I was too injured to Apparate or do anything else really.”

When you finished your story, Fred found himself even more in love with you than he had been minutes before. Your eyes were sparkling with tears and despite the pain he saw in them, he saw relief. He was sure the same was reflected in his own.

He didn’t see his mother leave, but he wouldn’t have cared if she was still there as he pulled you into his arms. Your lips met feverishly, the pain and stress of the last few days was released in that kiss. His hands clawed at whatever inch of your body he could reach, while your own tangled in his hair.

Fred stood, you cradled against him and took you upstairs to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and locked it as he softly set you on his bed with the blanket still tightly wrapped around your shoulders. His arms fell on either side of your head as you looked up from beneath him. His large frame shielded you from everything else.

Your hand reached up to cradle his face. Your hands were calloused from days of fighting to survive, but Fred didn’t care. He thought he would never see you, much less feel your touch ever again.

He tilted his head to kiss your palm before he stripped down to his boxers and curled into bed behind you. Fred pulled the covers over both of your bodies and wrapped his arm around your waist, your back to his chest. He only spoke when your breathing leveled.

“I don’t think I can live without you.” His words were muffled in your hair but he knew you heard from the way you flipped to face him.

“You won’t have to.” You whispered, pushing his hair from his wearied face.

“How can you be sure?” His voice cracked, only revealing a fraction of the pain he had suffered when he believed you dead.

“Well, that’s just the thing isn’t it? I can never be sure but you’ll just have to trust that I know.”

Fred stared at you in awe. But he didn’t respond before tucking you close to him. He wanted to feel the drum of both your heart beats sync. He needed to know- to feel- you safe in his arms.

He listened to the sound of your breathing slow, telling him you were asleep. It was only then that Fred buried his head in your hair and breathed you in, falling asleep himself to the complete encompassing of you.

-----

It was pure chaos. You had been separated from Fred awhile ago. But you were frantically scouring the halls for any sign of him as you dodged curses and sent out a few of your own.

You were utterly exhausted, your arm was practically sliced open from one particularly nasty curse. But still you pushed on, determined to find Fred.

“FRED!” You shouted, getting more desperate as time wore on. But there was still no sign of his tall frame and bright red hair.

So you pushed on.

Until you saw him.

Fighting next to Percy as the Death Eaters spat curses at them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione not far off, but you ignored them. Your sole focus was the man you loved.

Your legs pushed harder than they ever had before but you were still so far away. And your gut was screaming at you. Screaming to run faster.

Heart pounding.

Lungs heaving.

You saw the word leave the Death Eaters lips.

I’m too far away.

But once more, like it had before, the world seemed to slow. Time faltered in its speedy step and gifted you the moment you needed.

All at once, you lifted your wand, flung yourself onto Fred and screamed.

The world exploded.

From all sides, rubble came raining down. It broke through your shield and collapsed on top of you. But still you clung to Fred. Nothing, not even Voldemort himself, would be enough to keep you from protecting the one you loved. And so the castle fell around you and on top of you.

But you would not be moved.

When the dust settled, you heard screaming. Cries. Shouts. The rubble shifted around you until you felt like you could breathe again.

You lifted your face, tears filling your eyes. Fear filling every orifice of your body.

And you looked down at Fred, hoping you had been enough. Praying you had been enough.

And his smiling face looked back at you.

Light in his eyes, breath in his lungs, life in his body. You cried out as you wrapped yourself even tighter around him, and felt his arms come around you.

“They’re alive!” You heard Percy shout. Fred sat up grunting, but you were still tightly clinging to him.

Suddenly, you felt more arms wrap around you. You heard Percy, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all whispering words of relief before they stood.

“We need to get moving.” Harry spoke up. You allowed yourself to look at him, still tucked in Freds embrace before nodding.

The three of them ran off, Percy lagging behind still glancing back to check that Fred was still alive.

The both of you stood, hand in hand. You looked at Fred as he began to pull you down the same corridor. Memorizing the way his hair hung, the way his shoulders twisted, how long his eyelashes were. You weren’t going to lose him tonight, you were damn sure of that. But that fear was still dancing inside of you, making you study every aspect of him.

Fred tugged you into the Great Hall, pulling you into a corner. Before you could ask what he was doing, his arms flung around you and pulled you into his chest. Your arms responded by wrapping tightly around his waist.

“Marry me.” Fred mumbled into your hair. He pulled back slightly to look in your eyes. “If we make it through this, marry me.”

Your hands slid between the two of you, brushing your way up his chest until they cupped his cheeks. “When we get through this, nothing would make me happier than to be your wife.”

And despite the battle still raging on beyond that dark corner of the Great Hall, as Fred pulled you in for a kiss, you swore nothing else mattered except for the feel of his bruised lips against your own.

Taglist: @huffledor-able541​ @hvstias​ @accioholland​

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[writesowhatnext]

your mission, should you choose to accept // blaise zabini

Summary: Gryffindor!reader wants to break Blaise Zabini. Good luck with that.

Request: nope

A/N: I think blaise zabini is an untapped resource that needs to be tapped ok also sorry I did the broom cupboard trope again but like I love it the close proximity sells - i really liked the start of this but then idk 

Reader: female, Gryffindor

Warnings: bad relationship with parents?

Everyone knew who Blaise Zabini was. He was notorious among your year at Hogwarts; you couldn’t say for what, exactly, but you had to admit he was very good-looking. He was smart, too, by the looks of it. He was also undeniably a massive arsehole. Blaise Zabini chose every word he said with a certain amount of care. Each sentence was deliberate. Each sigh, each eye-roll, each expression was picked specifically from his extensive repertoire. He was calculated and unbreakable and never reacted to anything particularly. The Gryffindor in you hated his lack of impulsiveness and so, you’d made it your mission to get him flustered. You wanted to break his perfect façade and you’d die trying. Well, maybe not.

With this new-found goal, you bounded into the Great Hall, quickly finding Harry, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. You sat down, fully aware of their eyes on you. Somehow, they knew that you were planning something – Ron recognised a similar look in Fred and George. You didn’t wait for them to ask.

“I’m going to break Blaise Zabini.”

They stared at you for a beat in complete silence before all three of them erupted in protest. You laughed, expecting this, as you waved your hands about to calm them down.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. He’s practically a death-eater!” Ron yelled, earning a glare from McGonagall across the hall.

“He’s not a death-eater, you git.” You rolled your eyes.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, hands clutching a knife and fork.

“Because Slughorn doesn’t invite death-eaters to his little Christmas parties.”

“She has a point.” Hermione added, still unsure but less concerned for your overall wellbeing. All three of them knew they could never talk you out of anything, let alone something you had your mind so set on.

“Just because he’s not a death-eater doesn’t mean he’s not a prat.” Ron muttered. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“A prat that Y/N likes, apparently.” Harry frowned but finally began to carry on with his breakfast.

“No, no, no. I don’t like him.” you leant back, smirking. “I just want to break him.”

Ron scoffed, crumbs falling from his lips.

“Sounds healthy.”

“Shove off, Ron.” You flicked some bread crust from the table at him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Y/N?” Hermione asked. Her worried glance was almost enough for you to drop the whole thing. Almost.

“I’ll be fine, ‘Mione.” Your serious expression morphed into a grin. “It’s just a bit of fun, anyways.”

You looked across the hall to the Slytherin table. Zabini was sitting near Draco Malfoy. He was clearly unimpressed with the loud chatter coming from Crabbe and Goyle; the bored distaste on his face was delightful. You kissed your teeth.

“I’ll be back.” You said to your friends, ignoring their protests as your stalked towards the Slytherin table. You didn’t have a plan, really, but that was half of the fun. When Malfoy noticed your approach, a decidedly irritated look passed over his features.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as you got closer, Malfoy the only obstacle between you and Zabini. “Did Potter send you-“

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

Your raised voices attracted some attention with most of the Slytherin and now Ravenclaw table watching you. You couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Zabini was facing you, two random girls opposite him. Stopping behind them, aware that they had turned to face you, you locked eyes with Zabini. A smirk lifted your cheek. A bit of fun indeed.

“Alright, piss off.” You said to the girls, looking down at them.

“Excuse me?” One said, frowning. You blew a raspberry, raising your hands to illustrate your point.

“Move.”

When they just stared at you blankly, you rolled your eyes and pushed between them. They moved out of the way fast enough then and there you were, sat directly in front of Blaise Zabini. You leant forward, resting your elbows on the table with your hands sitting on top of each other between them. He just stared at you, bored.

“Zabini.” You said, smiling. He only blinked before looking down at his newspaper.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to be my partner in potions today.”

You could feel hundreds of eyes on you, people whispering to each other about why you were at the Slytherin table.

“Why would I want to do that?”

You tongued your cheek, happy he was actually looking at you now, even if his gaze was still devoid of emotion.

“Why not?”

Part of you desperately wanted him to decline dramatically, to get a rise out of him. The other part of you knew you’d have a lot more fun if he accepted your offer.

“Okay.” He said, completely indifferent. You didn’t try to hide the wide smile stretching across your face.

“Cool,” you nodded. “See you there.”

As you left the table, you walked past the girls you had ousted, ignoring their muttering. You could feel the majority of the Slytherin table watching you, now giggling and whispering between them, but you didn’t care. You were slightly disappointed you couldn’t get any reaction from him, but you liked a challenge. Walking back to the Gryffindor table, you looked back at him, unsurprised to see him reading his newspaper, unbothered.

“Y/N, are you feeling okay?” Fred asked you as you passed the twins on the way to the others. George didn’t let you answer.

“Because it seems like you’ve gone completely barmy.”

As you began to talk to them, teasing and laughing, you didn’t notice Zabini’s eyes on the back of your head.

“I never thought I’d see you so excited to get to Potions.” Ron said as you practically skipped beside him.

“You hate it more than any of us.” Harry added, confused. Your face dropped for a moment at the thought of your least favourite subject before an excited smile lifted your cheeks.

“Don’t you remember?” Hermione rolled her eyes as you meandered through older Slytherins leaving the dungeon. “Y/N is going to be partners with Blaise Zabini.”

The two boys groaned, earning a bout of laughter from your lips.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this.” Ron’s face was a picture of disgust.

“Little Ronniekins, this will be the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

As you raced off to get a seat by Zabini, not letting him get out of your arrangement that easily, Ron groaned again, something about spending too much time with Fred and George.

When you walked into Potions, you say the back of Zabini’s head in the second row from the front, on his own. With your smile stretching even wider, you strolled up to him, dropping your books unceremoniously onto the bench. You didn’t realise, actually, how tall he was. You shook the thought away. He didn’t even look at you when you smiled up at him; he just sat down and pulled out his quill and some parchment. You pursed your lips, slightly put out, before following suit.

“Hello,” you said, tapping your dry quill onto the desk, hoping it would annoy him. “How’re you today?”

“Fine.”

His voice lacked any warmth possible but it wasn’t annoyed either. Complete indifference. You cursed him mentally, throwing the quill down and drumming your fingers in unplanned frustration.

“For the next four lessons,” Slughorn said, strangely cheery as ever. “You will work with your partners to produce the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. You will produce the potion as well as… three metres-“ Ron groaned from the back of the class. “-Of parchment on its production, uses and disposal. You may start immediately.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about how the stupid assignment was. You felt eyes on you but when you looked over at Zabini, he was writing.

“So, how do you wanna do this, partner?” you asked, turning towards him with your elbow on the desk. He didn’t look up until he had finished writing.

“I can write the instructions.”

You frowned.

“Surely the uses are the easiest part?”

Before he could reply, Slughorn appeared next to your bench with his hands clapped together and a smile on his face.

“I’m surprised you two are working together, I must say. I couldn’t have picked it better myself, actually, though. Two of my best students. I can’t wait to see your combined efforts on this assignment.”

When he left, you shot Zabini a deadpan look. When he didn’t reply, you raised your eyebrow. He just stared at you then, his face completely unreadable.

“Fine. We can do it together.”

“Wonderful.” You rested your chin on your hand. “Where should we start?”

The first lesson of being partners with Blaise Zabini tested your ability to be annoying, an ability that had never before been tested. At first, you spoke to him as much as possible, asked him dozens of questions about the stupidest things and to your disappointment, he was patient. Reluctant, albeit, but patient nonetheless. And so, the second half of the lesson required a different tactic. It appeared all of a sudden, you developed a clumsy streak. You dropped everything you came into contact with, without fail. The highlight for you personally was when he stood up to get a textbook. Helpful as ever, you shooed him away and told him you would get it for him. On the way back, you proceeded to drop it three times. It was obvious it was on purpose; not even Neville was that accident-prone and everyone looked at you each time it slammed to the floor. In the silence following each loud echo through the dungeon, sniggers could be heard from Ron and Harry’s table at the back of the class.

By the time you reached your bench again, Zabini held out an expectant hand, still writing notes.

“I got your textbook.” You said, smiling toothily as you handed it over. You relished the way he snatched it from you without a word, taking it as your first sign that Blaise Zabini was, in fact, breakable. Unfortunately, the lesson ended far too quickly; when you realised how little you’d done in that time, you found yourself grateful that you weren’t completely tragic at potions and resolved to finish your section in your own time. As Slughorn dismissed you, you looked up at Blaise, mouth twitching to fight a smile.

“Excellent working with you, partner. Until next time.”

And with that, you saluted him, bowed and left to catch up with Hermione, who was complaining about Neville’s scruffy penmanship.

The night before your next lesson, you’d not quite thought of what you would do to test Zabini this time; there were just too many options, you’d have to think more on it. Despite Harry and Ron’s pleas for you to do something fun, and probably against multiple Hogwarts rules, with them, you instead planned to spend your evening in the library. Whilst you had no moral qualm with messing with Zabini as a person, you drew the line at jeopardising his impeccable academic record. And so, you disappeared into the library, slightly distraught to see every table full. The worst part was that you didn’t recognise a single face to share a table with; that was until you saw a boy behind one of the shelves at the back at a desk made for two. You couldn’t help but smile as you approached, thankful for your luck.

“Can I sit here, please?” you asked, books and parchment clutched to your chest. He didn’t look up. He only pushed the chair out with his foot as an answer. Shocking the both of you, you didn’t try to annoy him when you sat down. As much as you enjoyed causing havoc and having fun, your grades were important to you and so, without intention, you absorbed yourself in your research. So much so, you barely heard him when he spoke.

“Is that the Potions assignment?” he asked, looking at you. You were surprised (pleasantly) that he had decided to initiate a conversation.

“Yes.” You noted that he still hadn’t looked away; progress. “Couldn’t get a lot done before: butterfingers, and all.”

He held your stare for a moment before turning back to his work, effectively ending the conversation but only spurring on your little mission. You had to give it to him, Blaise Zabini was smart, handsome and poised but you would never have had him pegged as interesting.

It must’ve only been an hour later when the twins appeared behind you, leaning over the shelves you were sat against. You didn’t see them to start with, but Blaise did. It was his quick glance upwards that caused you to turn around.

“Alright, Y/N?” they asked, strange grins on their faces.

“What have you done?”

“Us?”

“Nothing!”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell, young one.”

“Is there anything you want to tell us?”

Fred’s eyes flicked to Zabini; you rolled your eyes.

“You have three seconds before I tell Madam Pince that it was you that set the dung-bombs off in here last year.”

“How do you know that?”

“We did no such thing!”

They huffed at each other.

“3…”

“We haven’t done anything!”

“2…”

“Fine. Fine.” Fred sighed, making placating motions with his hands. “We put exploding inkpots in the Slytherin common room.”

You barked a laugh before rubbing your eye with your finger.

“You two are the worst.”

“We know.”

“Okay, okay. Piss off; I won’t tell.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” They said in unison, identical smiles disappearing behind the bookshelf. With that, you turned back to Blaise who was, to your surprise, watching you.

“Are you gonna tell on them?” you asked, enjoying the eye contact.

“Tell on who?”

You couldn’t suppress your smile at his reply. He didn’t see it though; he was already looking at his parchment again.

You hadn’t forgotten your mission, so to speak, but the next time you had Potions was straight after breakfast the next day and your breakfast had not gone too well. Having your mum shout at you in the Great Hall about how stupid you were to be friends with Harry Potter, had not set you up well during the most important meal of the day. That’s why you ended up walking into Potions late with tears in your eyes and a complete lack of preparation on the Blaise Zabini front. Slughorn ignored your tardiness, thankfully, and just let you sit there, writing your notes for the essay. Blaise, however, didn’t seem so content to do so.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, giving you his full attention.

“I’m not crying.” You said, wiping your eye with the back of your hand. He shot you a dry look then, filled with more emotion than you’d ever seen him display – so much that you had to laugh at the sheer cynicism of it.

“My mum sent me a howler.”

He nodded at your words once before looking down and starting his work again.

“Families can be like that.”

Whilst not the most encouraging, comforting or sympathetic of responses, something about his words, maybe that it was him saying them, made you smile. You barely noticed it at the time but suddenly your reason for annoying Blaise became less for your own amusement and more for something else entirely.

Lesson three of Potions was one you had come fully prepared for: you had a well-stocked back pocket full of witty one liners, dreadful impressions and carefully timed jokes. Your aim was to annoy him and if you were lucky, perhaps crack a smile. With sixteen minutes left, you had failed on both counts. As unphased as ever, even your joke about Snape’s patronus being Margaret Thatcher didn’t get to him. Out of ideas and disappointed with his reaction to your performance, you decided to take your textbook back to the cupboard with a grumble. You hadn’t expected Malfoy to be behind you with armfuls of parchment, quills and inkpots because really, who just carries around the school’s stationery cupboard? Before you knew it, you had tripped over his feet, flying to the ground. Malfoy’s parchment floated in the air, quills spinning in circles as they hit the ground. He’d managed to keep hold of most of the inkpots but one fell on your head, exploding as it made contact. You closed your eyes and cursed Fred and George.

The silence that followed was deafening; even Slughorn had nothing to contribute. What you did hear, though, was a loud snort from your bench. Was Blaise Zabini laughing at you? Was making a twat of yourself the only thing you had to do?

“What did you do that for?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy!”

“You walked into me, you filthy-!”

“Why are you walking around with that stuff?”

“Not that it’s your business, but Professor Snape asked me-“

“Alright, alright,” Slughorn interrupted your squabbling, uttering a spell to clean up the damage. “I think we better dismiss class early after this little incident.”

You muttered under your breath, going to stand up when you noticed a dark hand offered towards you. Looking up at Blaise, you took it rather warily. He pulled you up, eyes moving from your face to your hair as you were righted. Your hands followed his eyes and you grimaced as you pulled back your hand to see your palm coated in blue ink. Fred and George were so dead. You looked at Blaise to see him smirking, a feat that made your heart leap slightly in your chest; you cursed yourself for getting so involved in this stupid mission. He packed up his things and moved to walk past you, stopped when he was right beside you. He leant closer, only slightly, and whispered in your ear.

“That would be karma, I suppose.”

Shaken by his words, you turned to face him, only able to watch him disappear out the door. Blaise Zabini was sure a hard nut to crack and you decided, biting your lip to contain your grin, that this game had gotten a lot more fun. Speaking of fun, though, you first had to get your own back on Fred and George.

A perfect plan, you’d thought, as you ran away from the Gryffindor Quidditch changing rooms with two towels in hand: wait until Fred and George went to shower, shrink their clothes and steal their towels. Perfect. Or at least it would’ve been, had they not caught you shrinking their clothes. Before you could finish, they had made after you and so there you were, running down the corridor with a wet Fred and George behind you in varying degrees of undress. When you ran into Blaise, you weren’t sure whether your heart was beating too fast because of him or the adrenaline from your prank. Either way, you needed his help.

“Blaise, help me. I played a prank on Fred and George after the ink incident – you know the one- and now they’re chasing me and...” You were breathing fairly heavily.

He looked over your shoulder at the twins running towards you, clearly unsure of which direction you had run off in and- were they not wearing shoes? He frowned, looking down at you with your pleading eyes and pretty face. He wasn’t sure why he said yes. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your lips. With a small smirk, he grabbed your arm and tapped his wand to the wall. Before your eyes, a small door appeared and he pushed you inside, following behind you and locking the door. You frowned at him, still not completely aware of how close you two were.

“If you lock the door, the cupboard disappears.”

You nodded

“How did you find out about this? Quite suspicious if you ask me...”

You trailed off when you noticed him staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Why did you want to be my partner?”

You felt your face heat up as you clambered to find an explanation. You already regretted the jumble of words you had yet to say.

“Well,” you said lamely, gulping. “You’re good at Potions.”

He shot you the same dry look.

“Uhh... well, I wanted to break you, actually. You’re sort of indifferent to, well, everybody, and, well, I suppose I just, well, I wanted to see if-“

“If I was indifferent to you?” he asked, a perfect eyebrow raised; a well-practised expression, no doubt. You opened your mouth before looking down and frowning.

“Well, I suppose so. It was more so I wanted to see you react to something, anything actually, because you’re very impassive all the time and, well, for somebody like me who’s quite impulsive (Gryffindor, right) it’s very strange, really-“

You cut yourself off as he opened his mouth, tongue pressing against the back of his pearly white teeth. The corners of his mouth rode up and for a moment, you saw an expression you’d never seen before on his face.

“Do you ever shut up?”

You paused, finding humour in his eyes for the first time and enjoying it, despite yourself.

“Well, in my defence, I have been purposefully trying to annoy you for the past week and also, well, I’m not usually this nervous - I don’t know why I’m so nervous, actually; I’m just in a broom cupboard... very close to uh, to you and I think Fred and George must be gone by now and what are you-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. It only lasted for a moment but it definitely served its purpose. You completely stopped talking, and thinking, and breathing. When he pulled away you blinked for a moment before nodding. Then you cleared your throat. And then you looked up at him. The slight nervousness you saw dancing in his eyes gave you a measure of comfort and confidence; you allowed it to form a smile. Your mouth twitched a little bit in amusement.

“So, did I break you then?”

He rolled his eyes; an expression you had not before seen but definitely wanted to see again.

[darker-soft-starker]

la dolce vita

6.4k

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, mob boss Tony, blink-and-you’ll-miss mentions of blood and violence, 100% self indulgence

----

It was the protest of his bladder that woke Peter up.

His toes curl and flex under the sheets as consciousness returns to him, a slow drip at first, unaware if the heaviness of his eyelids or the light on the other side of them are just part of his dreams. His body is warm.

It’s almost easy to succumb to the call of sleep, to slip back where left off in his dreams, however an insistent pressure against his lower abdomen tugs him back to the surface in harsh increments.

The markers of the waking world come to his awareness, slowly as the night yawns into dawn. He tries to ignore the titter of small birds on a nearby windowsill, pecking the glass, the gentle tones of the wind chime on their porch, all of which would otherwise lull hum into sleep. The killer is the unconscious jiggling of his leg, god he had to pee, an earnest request for Peter to attend to the needs of his body.

Groaning, Peter turns over in the sheets, shifting closer, burying his nose into the warm junction between his husband's neck and shoulder, hoping the sandman will come back and welcome him. He thinks he gets close, because after a few moments, despite the insistence of his stomach, his limbs feel heavier, like his body were dripped in molasses, slivered and delivered into a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids.

It’s not to be, however, when Tony snores loudly in his ear.

“No,” Peter whispers sadly to himself, clamping his hands over his ears.

It’s no use. He surrenders to the inevitable; wriggling out from under the sheets he tip-toes along the carpet on his to the adjoining ensuite.

Squinting into the darkness of the room, Peter relieves himself quickly, tipping his head back, sighing softly as his body relaxes. After a moment he flushes and washes his hands, and if he’s already here he might as well brush his teeth too, right?

Free of morning breath he makes quick work of crawling back into bed. It’s still warm from where he left it. Perfect. He resumes the same position as before, pressing against Tony’s broad and delightfully sleep-warm body. Even in slumber, the older man guides his arm to cup the low of Peter's waist like before.

But no matter how comfortably he settles, sleep doesn’t come back. The mistake is checking the time on his smart watch.

Six-forty-four in the morning. Too early to be awake on a day off. Not early enough to justify going back to sleep on any other day.

Goddammit.

Gingerly, Peter turns over to his other side to face Tony, helplessly smiling when he emits another loud snore.

Gently as he can muster, he raises trails his finger down the narrow slope of his husband's nose, tracing down the curve of his nostril, following down the path on his worn smile lines. Unable to stop his own smile he leans in, pressing the print of his lips to the corner of Tony’s mouth before retreating back, hoping he has sweet dreams. The unconscious grab at his hip as he slips out of the bed is almost enough to lure him back in.

Almost.

Shivering at the loss of heat, Peter heads to the drawer, near naked, the satin of his boxers the only warmth he is afforded from the cool room as he pads along the soft carpet. He slips on a pair of running shorts, socks and finally fishes the sneakers from under their bed, lacing them up quietly as the snores continue.

“You’re a fucking chainsaw,” he whispers to Tony, embarrassed by his own fondness.

He leans over to kiss his husband lightly on the forehead before he slips out of the house.

Early sunrise paints the sky a mild grey. This far out, there’s still a couple of stars out and the slim curve of the moon beginning to fade as the morning light emerges. He stretches quickly on the porch to warm up a little, the air still cool despite it being a mid-July morning.

Setting off in a light jog as he exits their property, Peter waves to their neighbours as he passes. Music pumping, he picks up a moderate pace, yelling an enthusiastic hello to Mr Moore as he retrieves his newspaper from the lawn, offering the same Mrs Bowen shoo’s her the neighborhood cats away from her flower beds with a broom.

It’s not a particularly busy suburban street. It consists of mostly retirees and their visiting kin, childless couples who drive Toyota four-doors and suburbia-stricken Jeeps and empty nesters.

The rest are Tony’s employees. One of whom shadows Peter as he sprints down the footpath, about as subtle as bull in a china-shop.

Trying his luck, as he does everyday, Peter raises his hand in a friendly welcome to the person  running behind him. He isn’t sure who it is today, doesn’t look back for appearance sake, but the steps are heavy and uniform enough to know it’s no coincidence.

When Peter first started dating Tony, they argued night and day over the detail. From bickering over babying escalating into arguments over agency, slammed doors and ignored texts, ‘breaks’ that weren’t as much breaks as they were breathers. A leash, Peter called it in those early days, of the non-consensual, not-sexy variety.  Not to mention the furious, heated make-up sex that would always come after.

Those were the days.

After six years together they’d come to a happy medium. They had settled on a mutually beneficial compromise. Peter got the house in the suburbs that he’d always envisioned and Tony got his best men armed to the teeth just a yard-sale away.

Perfect.

Nonetheless as Peter finishes his circuit and returns home, he’s glad he put his foot down on not having guards stationed at the entry and exits of their suburban property. They adjusted to one another's needs, that’s what relationships are all about, right? Tony’s men owned four houses in the busy street and their home was jerry-rigged to decimate all unauthorised intruders upon visual confirmation from JARVIS.

But at least Peter got the house in the suburbs. He’s going to convince Tony to get a pet, next.

Back inside, Peter kicks off his sneakers and locks the door behind him. All four of them. The emptiness of the house, evident in the absence of the music that ordinarily fills their home must mean that Tony is still in bed.

“Lazy ass,” Peter mutters, trying to pull back on the reigns of overwhelming fondness so as to not smile at nothing in his own living room. He does it anyway.

It isn’t until minutes later that he’s staring forlornly at their barren pantry and fridge that Tony wanders into the kitchen, snaking his strong arms around Peter's waist from behind, pressing a sleepy, prickly kiss to his jaw.

“Morning, baby,” he croaks, still sleep-warm against Peter’s rapidly cooling body.

“Morning, mister,” Peter tilts his head back, placing a kiss on Tony’s lips, shifting back slightly until their bodies are flushed together, snorting lightly when he feels something hard in Tony’s sweats.

“Oh my,” he gasps, falsely aghast. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a gun,” Tony confirms, the stretch of his smirk palpable on Peter’s skin. “Colt Python, you know the one. But I’m also very happy to see you, don’t fret.”

Tony’s hips hunch forward. True to his word, there are twin sensations against his backside, rutting against his lower body without shame. “See? All for you. You making breakfast?”

“You tell me,” Peter squeezes Tony’s forearms and settles into his hold. He nods towards the lone, sagging tomato in their fridge and the stale, single line of crackers resting in the cupboard. “Got any ideas?”

“I can think of something I’d like to eat.”

Peter squirms, rocking back on his heels as Tony kisses a line up his neck, facial hair prickling his skin. Heat coils pleasantly in his stomach and his toes curl in his sneakers.

“Stop. I’m -- Tony, stop -- I’m sweaty and gross. I stink.”

“Nope, not true,” he noses along the sensitive upside of Peter’s jaw. “You smell great. But if you’re bothered we can shower together. Great idea.”

His stomach growls again, swooping low. “I’m hungry,” Peter rebuts, turning around in Tony’s embrace to pout directly in his face, hoping he looks sad and forlorn. “I’m feeling faint.”

Tony looks unperturbed. “Well, alternatively, there is something I could feed you, if that’s your preference. Straight from the source.”

Peter groans and swats Tony’s chest, frankly unsure of what he expected

“You’re such a lech. Get help.”

“I’ve tried, darling, but it’s no use,” Tony sighs sadly, squeezing his hips. “You’re just too sexy.”

Peter disagrees, walking Tony backwards until his body makes contact with the kitchen bench, trailing a finger up his chest and poking him lightly in the sternum.

“Yeah? That’s not what you said when I made you take out the trash last night.”

“Well, that’s because trash isn’t sexy.”

Peter pokes him again. “And yet I stay married to you.”

“Ouch,” Tony blinks, slapping a hand to his chest. “Wow. That is uncalled for. You’re calling me trash. I’m reduced to garbage now?”

“Yes,” he pecks Tony’s lips, snickering at his offended face. “I guess I’m just not me when I’m hungry. Can we go out for something to eat, please? I’ll be nice.”

“You gonna shower first? You do actually stink, I mean. Like, really bad.”

Prying himself out of the hold, Peter tries to the best of his ability a sense of mock outrage as Tony reels him back in with an apologetic hug, even as a smile tugs at his own lips.

“You gonna brush your teeth?” Peter dips his chin, deepening his voice to mimic his husbands. “Because wow , your morning breath is bad. Rank.”

The older man looks amused, biting his lips and blinking coquettishly like he always does when he’s up to something.

“What.”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugs, still smiling. “Just wondering if you wanted to keep talking - or if you wanted to shut up and let me go down on you in the shower.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it for a moment.

“Do I have to shut up while you go down on me in the shower?”

Tony’s hand is back on his heart again.

“Absolutely not. I encourage you to be as vocal as possible. Wake the neighbours.”

“Deal.”

---

After thoroughly working up an appetite whilst showering, the call for groceries couldn’t wait any longer.

It’s hardly their favourite domestic activity, but delivery just is not an option. Not only for the obvious security concerns, given Tony’s occupation, but also simply because Peter hates someone else picking out his vegetables. They always give you the bad ones, he thinks, he’s had enough sad zucchinis to know.

Still, the way Tony had sighed and rolled his eyes as Peter packed their canvas bags into the car was rather uncalled for.

Tony did agree to accompany him on one solid condition, however. Breakfast first.

“Okay,” Peter agreed. “Something healthy though.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony had nodded. “Definitely.”

---

Should have known better than to trust a dirty crook.

---

Their breakfast pit-stop, much to Peters dismay, was more grease laden than he’d hoped for. He grumbles as Tony pulls into the nearest car-park, understanding now why Tony insisted on driving.

Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys gooey melted American cheese on a beef patty as much as the next guy, but the taste isn't enough to diminish his mounting disapproval as Tony downs one cheeseburger after another, washing them down with soda and fries.  

“You have a heart condition,” Peter frowns, slapping the bag of fries from his husband's hands as he brings them to his lap. “What are you doing?”

Potato goes flying over the dashboard, smearing oil over the detail in its wake.

Tony blinks.

“Wow. Now that’s just a waste,” he fishes a napkin from the bag and wipes the dashboard with it. “You know this interior is original, right? Vintage, 1973. You do? Just making sure.”

Peter knows. Tony won the car in a poker game against Hammer two years ago. Then he leaked his money laundering to the press. He hasn’t shut up about it since.

Peter fishes out the chicken salad he knows he ordered from the paper bag, flinging it at Tony who catches it easily.

“You promised something healthy. Eat the salad, Tony.”

“Eat the salad, Tony,” his husband mimics, even as he pries open the plastic lid of the leafy meal. “God, look at this thing. It’s miserable,” he spears into it with his plastic fork, shovelling it into his mouth and not looking happy about it. “It looks like clinical depression if it were a meal. Like a metaphor for erectile dysfunction. Pathetic.”

“Are you done bitching?”

Tony feeds himself another mouthful of the limp greens before leaning closer to chew grotesquely in Peter’s ear. “There. Happy, darling?”

Peter winds down the window so the cabin doesn’t reek of red onion.

“Ecstatic.”

—-

Peter is often asked where he and Tony met.

He tells his colleagues and close friends that they met in through their jobs. Look, it’s not a total lie. Except, he says that Tony worked as a consultant to the State-Board for Education and Peter was luckily enough to be invited to some event, somewhere, at some time and at some place where they happened to cross paths and meet. After hitting it off, the rest was history.

Few question it, envious and charmed by their story. A young man meets the man of his dreams, they fall in love, and spend their days happily married, leaving a dreamy white picket fence life.

The fairy-tale ending is real. The reality of how they got it is another story.

Six years ago, rushing to his shift at the grocery store, Peter had accidentally rammed his bicycle into some guys who ran into his path on one cold Sunday, morning in the heart of Flushing, Queens.

At first, Peter hadn’t noticed the gun flying into the mouth of the alley, too busy apologising to hear the clang of metal on concrete. It wasn’t until one of the men, now disarmed, fled the scene that he realised that he’d interrupted Tony’s would-be execution.

A thank-you-coffee was followed by a thank-you-date. Then, Peter got asked on real dates. Real dates led to real kisses that weren’t just a thank you but I like you and then, eventually, I love you.

But it was the I trust you that cemented Peter in Tony’s world.

So maybe Tony wasn’t really a consultant. Maybe Peter fell for Tony, the man, the provider, the person who seemed to have an interest in politics and community as much as he did about the perfect placement of his hair, or ensuring Peter’s comfort and willing consent at any given time.

And he never asked Peter to be a part of the business. Tony’s job was just as important as his own and he always reiterated that.

Which was good, because Peter loves his job. At twenty-six feels, Peter feels like his life is where it’s supposed to be. And maybe he was a local, humble high-school teacher, sure, but he still grew up on the internet. He’d looked into Tony before their first date. You know. Basic database searches like missing persons, most wanted and sex-offender registers. Luckily, Google actually said Tony was a consultant.

He even had his own LinkedIn.

Although further and not-so-legal inspections of encrypted government databases - thanks, Ned - told a different tale.

It was sort of true? Nothing happened in New York without Tony being consulted. Even working remotely he had NYC eating from the palm of his hand.

And Peter?

“I want spaghetti,” Peter decides, reaching for a packet of dried pasta, the plastic wrapping crinkling under his hand as he places it in the shopping cart.

“Spaghetti,” Tony repeats, eyeing Peter dubiously.

“Uh-huh,” Peter nods, eyeing the aisle for an accompanying sauce. “With meatballs. Oh, oh - and parmesan.”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Peter blinks. “Yes. And parmesan. I literally just said that. Oh ohhh, and garlic bread, good thinking,” he says, adding it to his list for when they hit the freezer aisle.

Tony snatches the packet of pasta from the cart and inspects it with evident distaste. “You want spaghetti and meatballs with dry pasta.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groans, snatching the packet back. He throws it back into the cart, swerving it around an older lady eyeing the macaroni. “Stop. I am not having this discussion again. You know how I feel about fresh, c’mon. It tastes weird.”

“Yeah, weirdo,” Tony nods as they round into the next aisle. He takes a couple of diced tomato cans, perusing their label as they talk. “It tastes like how pasta is supposed to taste.”

The man carrying a concealed weapon shadowing their steps some twelve feet away snorts in amusement. He has the good sense to look properly chastened when Peter looks back, unimpressed.

“Are you suggesting my tastes are unrefined?”

“Yes. Profoundly.”

“Yeah, well, your face is unrefined,” Peter deliberately throws a jar of not-fresh parmesan into the cart as he spots it, ignoring Tony’s grimace. “And also, considering you can’t actually cook, and I’m the dumbass that'll be sweating over a stove to cook it for you, maybe shut up?”

“My face is perfect,” Tony sniffs. “You’re rude. You know what? I’m taking my vows back.”

Peter snorts.

“Okay, cool. I hate being tied down anyway.”

“Same,” Tony shakes his head at the man shadowing them. “Can’t wait to be rid of this old ball and chain.

“I know, right? Well, goodbye, I guess.”

“Great. See ya.”

“Hey, you wanna help me clean the fridge when we get back?”

“Okay.”

Maybe their lives don’t mesh well on a surface level - king of the underbelly and a high school teacher - but they each make concessions in their daily lives to make each other happy.

Tony, bless his soul, acknowledges that Peter will never give up his job or make fettuccine from scratch, and Peter realises that there will always be corrupt politicians and black markets that need the guiding hand of a good man. Even if he doesn’t like bloodshed.

Tony never hurt anybody that didn’t deserve it. And no matter how much Peter cares, the underworld is always going to be there. Blackmarkets were always going to run regardless of how much he gave a shit. It was all about management, he'd learned.

Tony was that guy. In fact, if you ask him, couldn’t be a better guy overseeing it. And Peter was there, right behind him. It’s all about balance, you know?

Yeah.

It was never about turning a blind eye. But it kept everyone happy to make small adjustments.

Like when they’re waiting for the number to be called at a deli counter. A short, thin woman cuts in front of the pair just at the moment their number is called, immediately talks over them to get her order in.

Having stood waiting for the better part of ten minutes, his husband audibly had audibly tutted in vexation.

“Anthony,” Peter chides when he hears the sound of the hammer being pulled back in whatever firearm is in Tony’s pocket. “Stop it.”

Tony retrieves his hand from his jacket, raising it in a gesture of innocence. “What?”

“This isn’t the Wild West. You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“It’s called being courteous. She was rude. Don’t you think she was rude?” he asks one of the men waiting beside them, who only offers a bewildered look in return. Tony huffs, turning his attention back to Peter. “Ridiculous. I’ve flayed for that kind of disrespect.”

Heads whip in their direction, including the woman who had cut in front of them, accompanied by a chorus of scandalised gasps.

“Figuratively, of course,” Tony refers to the crowd, offering a charming grin.

Several shift away from the couple and no one argues when they place their order next.

Peter sighs.

---

Lunch was a truly enormous serving of tomato soup and a veritable tower of stacked grilled cheese, courtesy of Peter’s growling stomach.

After arriving home with the groceries, having foregone breakfast, he was truly beyond hangry by the time everything was unpacked. Canned soup. Single-pack cheese, good god that was the kind of haute cuisine he was hankering for after his morning. Even Tony wolfed it down. However petulant he looked whilst doing so.

“Was lunch okay?” he asked, reaching over and wiping the crumbs from Tony’s beard with his thumb. “Up to your highness' standard?”

“Impeccable, sweetpea,” Tony smiled, setting his spoon into the near empty bowl. “Five stars.”

“Good.”

You’re so unrefined, Peter mimics petulantly in his head, feeling vindicated as Tony scoops up the, quote, ‘sodium cocktail’ with his bread crusts. Although the glare that Tony fixed him as they watched Gordon Ramsay swearing a storm on the TV gave him the impression that Tony knew exactly what he was thinking.

Whatever.

It didn’t stop Peter from sprawling across the length of the sofa to rest his head in Tony’s lap once he’d set his bowl aside, shifting, making himself comfortable. Nor did it stop Tony from unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping his fly, casually, as if to make room for the meal he’d consumed.

Inhaled, more like it, Peter thinks victoriously.

“We should get a cat,” he mumbles, comfortably full. He edges closer to his husband's body, smiling when fingers begin to card through his hair.

“No.”

“Yes. You like cats.”

“We're not getting a cat.”

“Why not,” Peter nuzzles closer to Tony’s crotch, the scent and the heat inexplicably comforting, pressing a kiss just above his groin. A low heat rises in his gut, comfortable and unhurried.

“We are not trading sexual favours for a discussion on pet ownership,” Tony warns, although his voice is soft and the fingers in his hair continue his gentle ministrations. “A discussion you will be losing, by the way.”

No he won’t. He’s going to blow Tony’s mind through his dick.

Or he will in a moment. His body feels heavy, lethargic with satiety, like he’s encased in concrete, sinking, sinking… sinking...

Yeah. He just… needs to rest his eyes first.

“You wanna suck me?” Tony asks softly, brushing his knuckles against Peter’s cheek, his voice low.

“Yeah,” Peter affirms, blinking, eyelids heavy with the impending food coma. But he can do it. “I can,” he mumbles, tongue thick in his mouth, lethargy impeding the eagerness of his hands.

He yawns, snuffling closer to Tony's groin. “I can... do it.”

Tony snorts down at him, thumb gently stroking over his eyebrow. He says something to Peter, like don’t strain yourself , but maybe it was a dream.

So is the case when he falls asleep to the furious swearing of the Scottish chef, fingers raking through his hair, his body conforming to the indents of their old sofa cushions. Sleep comes to him with his legs curled against the backrest, his own breath hot against his face, Mr Marley mowing his lawn a couple of yards over. Tony’s fingers in his hair.

When he wakes an indeterminate length of time later it’s to knuckles stroking his cheek softly and the declining afternoon sun streaming unfiltered through the west-facing windows.

Peter blinks, assessing the man sitting beside him.

“You’re wearing a suit,” he says dumbly, brain still foggy. “Are we role playing?”

Tony smiles. “No, baby. Don’t I wish. I gotta go to work.”

Still sleepy, he doesn’t immediately register what Tony has said until a couple of moments pass, and his heart drops to the floor at the announcement. As he does, he tries to resist the involuntary pout at the news, but the effort fails if Tony’s sad smile is anything to go by.

“No,” he says, voice small. “Tony. It’s our weekend off together. You promised.”

“I know, bug, I’m sorry,” the older man leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead before standing up. “It’s not fair. I’m just as mad as you are.”

“Why?”

“Happy called. One of Mayor Ross’s aides is threatening us with the feds. Gotta step in this time and pretend to be the boss. You know, show of authority. Make someone piss their pants.”

“You are the boss,” he yawns, smacking his lips, watching as his husband adjusts his tie above him. “But you owe me.”

“That because you’re the boss of me?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony nods. “Alright. Name your price.”

Peter smirks, melting back against the cushions and kicking his feet up on the far armrest.

“School fundraiser, June thirtieth. You and me at a table. You’re gonna use that pretty face and charm of yours to help me sell cookies.”

Tony groans, leaning his forearms over the armrest above Peter’s head.

“You do know that you are the devil, right? You’re in the dictionary next to the definition of ‘heinous’.”

Peter grins.

“Clearly you don’t love me,” Tony tries. “I hate school fundraisers. You know this.”

“I do know this,” he says smugly, stretching his arms upwards on a yawn, fingers gripping his husband's tie on the descent. He uses the hold to tug him closer. “Do you know how many papers I set aside for tomorrow to have this day off together? Do you have any idea what I had planned? I’m mad at you. Livid, even.”

“Can I at least buy out the cookies and cake?”

“And get away with abandoning me? Uhh, let me think -- no.”

Tony sighs, shifting above him. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I know. It’s why you married me.”

“One of the reasons why I married you.”

“Uh-huh. Go away. Be home for dinner.”

“Will do,” Tony affirms, allowing himself to be tugged by his tie until he’s dragged into an upside-down kiss. “Wait, one more for luck,” he says after a moment, leaning in and kissing Peter again.

“I hate you,” Peter mumbles against his lips. “I’m making that spaghetti and you’re gonna pretend to like it.”

“Love you too,” Tony whispers, fond, closing his eyes and planting a final wet peck on Peter’s cheek. He whispers, as Peter yawns again. “I’ll see you soon, speed racer. Don’t burn the house down.”

With that Tony leaves, the sound of door closing signalling Peter’s solitude.

If Tony’s previous ‘quick stops’ are of any worthy precedent, Peter’s in for a couple of hours of boredom.

They should really get a pet, Peter thinks, falling back into twitchy micro-sleeps once he’s alone.

With the low-slinging sun still in his eyes, sleep again eludes him for the second time that day and he can no longer drown out the cheer of children next door and the barking dog on the street over, the summer-time squeak of ill-oiled bicycles and the approaching twilight chorus of cicadas.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Peter goes down the YouTube rabbit-hole.

---

By the time he drags himself off the couch at least an hour later, Peter’s watched more episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives than he’d like to admit, hypnotised by the food stuck in Guy Fieri’s incredible goatee.

God. Now he wants nacho chicken wings.

Stretching as he stands, Peter makes work of shutting all of the open curtains in the house, switching on the lamps in the living room and hallway lights as he goes. He keeps the kitchen window open and leaves the screen-door as it is to allow the cool evening air to drift through the house.

He does ensure he locks it, however, mindful of how much Tony hates it when the reinforced door behind it isn’t closed as well. Which is stupid. They have a reinforced door. It has six locks on it. Six.

Explaining that at their housewarming was a real trip.

Smiling at the memory, Peter heads to the kitchen. The house is definitely too quiet, he reckons, and switches on the old radio May gave him when he moved out. He turns it up as loud as it can go, tuning it to whatever station doesn’t come out distorted from the dated speakers.

Tonight, that station was the oldies. To Petunia Clark he peruses through the now more abundant trove of food they had to retrieve the necessary ingredients for dinner. Tomatoes, onion, garlic. Fresh basil picked from the pot on the window sill.

Sometimes he can’t believe how his life turned out. When he thinks back to the young kid from Queens who only had his aunt to impress with his cooking, his skills acquired from his time at Neds, Delmars and online tutorials, from that college kid who lived on packet ramen and energy drinks.

Still does, sometimes, when he thinks he can get away with stashing the packets of Mi Goreng where his husband can’t see them.

Tony keeps threatening to refine his palette. He hasn’t succeeded yet, but Peter suspects it's due to lack of trying.

Or hope.

The song changes again, and to the highs and lows of Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline Peter gets the sauce simmering in a pan, dah-dah-dah-ing under his breath, shimmying his hips and using the wooden spoon as a microphone as the music sweeps inside him. By the time the song ends, the stove backsplash is rendered in streaks of burst tomato but it’s fine, he’ll clean it up later.

It’s not until the pasta is near ready that the front-yard sensor light blinks on and the front door creaks open.

It’s a testimony to Tony’s light footwork that Peter doesn’t notice he’s been crept up on until arms wrap around his waist from behind, startling him as he’s draining the pasta.

“Honey, I’m home,” Tony whispers, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

Peter smiles, setting the pasta aside on the bench to grip Tony’s forearms as the older man guides their hips to sway to the music.

“How was work?”

“Absolute murder,” he presses a line of kisses across Peter’s jaw, goatee tickling his skin. “And before you ask, yes that is a gun in my pocket.”

“Does that man you’re not happy to see me?” Peter queries, setting the strainer aside and turning in his husband's arms. Settling his hands on Tony’s hips, his dumb mouth can’t help but echo the other man's fond smile when their eyes meat.

“I’m very happy to see you, always,” Tony pecks his lips, pausing. “I bought apology wine. Château Lafite 1787, you’ll like it. Come, let me get you a glass.”

Before Tony gets too far, Peter tugs him back by the wrist to face him.

“Wait, hang on,” he mumbles. Without looking away he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it. “You’ve got a… thing...”

Bringing his spit-slicked thumb to Tony’s cheek, Peter rubs away at the long smear of blood that he’d spotted moments earlier, deep red and markedly drying in the bristles of Tony’s beard.

“How did that not get on your shirt,” Peter muses, digging the digit in to remove the remaining dried flakes until it’s clear. Satisfied with his work, he steps back and nods. “Okay, Mister-Man, you’re free to go and wash up.”

“Thank you, dear,” Tony says dryly. “You know how messy Barnes gets.”

“I recall. Does Barnes know that it’s a bitch to get arterial spray out of whites?”

“Why do you think he only wears black?”

“The aesthetic.”

Tony snorts, uncorking the wine, leaving Peter to finish plating up their meal.

They take their bowls and drinks over to the sofa, settling close together amongst the cushions. Tony shifts, knocking their elbows together to unmute the nightly news on the TV, leaving the remote lying in the groove between their thighs.

The first few mouthfuls are initially silent, both too ravenous to do more than groan with every slippery slide of noodles into their mouth.

“Mmm,” Tony drops his fork to the bowl with a clang, wiping the stray sauce from his mouth with a tissue from his pocket, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Baby, this is divine. Did you make this sauce from scratch?”

Peter nods, still chewing a bite of meatball. He swallows, twirling his fork into the pasta. “S’it okay? Thought it might offset the pasta taste. I used the basil from the windowsill.”

Tony leans over to press a kiss to Peters lips, his breath against his mouth all rich red-wine and tomato tartness, like all of their good nights before. He chases it with a peck of his own before resuming his attention to his meal.

“It’s amazing. Five stars and I’m not even being facetious. Thanks for cooking, chef.”

“S’ok,” Peter shrugs, a little bashful. With his free hand he picks up the remote and turns up the volume as the news program returns back from the ad break.

“And in breaking news,” the news anchor reads, stony faced and staring directly into the camera, “Paul Morello, aid and confidant to Mayor Ross, has been reported missing since last Wednesday. Close sources to Morello say he was last seen outside of his office getting into his vehicle three days ago. His girlfriend of four weeks says he hasn’t been home since he left that same morning.”

Peter snorts, shovelling another helping of spaghetti into his mouth. God, this would have gone so good with garlic bread, he thinks mournfully, wishing they’d bought a frozen loaf from the store and mentally adding it to his next shopping list.

“Please,” Tony huffs. “We only had Morello since this morning. Two of my girls had him before that. Which was an actual coincidence, believe it or not. Got mouthy when they demanded a condom.”

“Scumbag,” Peter concurs, sipping the wine. It’s pleasantly tart. “Did you give the girls a tip?”

“Sure did,” Tony knocks their glasses together. “Was just gonna cut off a finger at first, but turns out he has a list of buried charges that makes Brock Turner look like a choir boy -- or, well, had a list. Past tense."

“Good riddance,” Peter tilts his head back and downs the rest of his wine.

---

Long after the food is demolished and the food-coma state has passed in a daze, Peter remembers his promise from earlier.

While Tony’s attention is on his phone, scrolling through a Reuters article about himself, Peter takes the opportunity to slink down off the sofa onto his knees and position himself between the older man's  legs. Curling his hands under Tony’s thighs, he kisses his way up from bend at his knee to the junction of his groin where he noses interestedly at the soft mound at the centre.

He mouths at it, peering up through his eyelashes, silently requesting attention at the same time Tony looks down. The man wastes little time in setting his phone aside and cupping Peter’s face with his hands.

“First a world class meal and now this?” Tony sighs, running his fingers through Peter’s hair as his zip is lowered. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Hey, I decide that,,” Peter gently reprimands, tugging down Tony’s slacks, watching reverently as his half-hard length springs from the fabric to rest lazily against Tony’s hip. “And I’m feeling kinda generous, so. Take it or leave it.”

Tony reaches a hand down to caress the lobe of Peter's ear, the corner of his lips quirking sideways. His legs spread further to accommodate the width of Peter’s shoulders.

“Well, if you say so. Guess I better take it.”

Peter licks the tip of his cock, grimacing when his cheek comes into contact with something harder than Tony’s cock.

“Actually, can you just remove the loaded firearm from your pocket, just -- I don’t want it going off in my face? I -- yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”

Tony sighs, fishing out and dropping the weapon on the coffee table.

“Perfect,” Peter nods. “Glock 33. Nice. On second thought, wanna pop that in the safe and I’ll meet you back here pants-down? Cool?”

Tony shakes his head, his cock bobbing as he stands.

“So cool.”

---

Peter sighs softly against the back of Tony’s neck when the sliver of sunlight hits his eyes.

As usual, sleep doesn’t return to him easily once it’s lost, and unlike the previous morning, he doesn’t attempt to fall back under. The humidity of his own breath is uncomfortably warm against his chin. His bladder, full again, presses against his husband's warm body, soft cock against his lower back.

Tony, predictably, continues to snore.

Peter leaves the bed and tiptoes to the adjacent bathroom to pee. When he returns, he closes the curtain, mindful of his nakedness, then returns to the bed.

Deciding to make best use of his time awake, Peter spends the early hours of the morning under the sheets. Shifting down the mattress, he spreads Tony’s cheeks and buries his face between them.

The snores quickly turn into groans.

This is the life. Having his sleeping dragon of a husband kicking out his feet in his sleep, moaning wetly into his pillow as Peter eats him out. He always takes Peter so well, even in sleep. With his face flushed, breathless, it’s no hardship for Peter to tenderly attend to the musky furl of skin, tight again despite their recent loving.

It was magnificent. Even half-asleep, Peter couldn't allow it to go without worship on a Sunday morning.

His jaw is sore by the time Tony comes, his hips driving his release into the sheets. After taking a moment to catch his breath, chest heaving with the aftershock of his orgasm, Tony flips over onto his back, squinting up to the ceiling.

Peter crawls back up, pressing a line of kisses up Tony’s sternum to the hollow of his collarbone. Arms wrap around him tightly until they’re chest-to-chest, sticky with sweat. This close, Peter can feel the rhythmic beating of Tony’s racing heart.

“D’you wan’ me to…?” Tony mumbles, mouth going slack.

“I’m good, go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay. Love you.”

“Love you more,” he whispers.

Later, Peter is going to bring up the idea of adopting a cat again. He’s going to wear Tony down, he knows it.

But that can wait, for now.

Smiling, Peter hooks his leg over Tony's hip, kisses the back of his neck as tenderly as he can muster, and lets the darkness pull him back under. 

[zootopiathingz]

Thanksgiving in Quarantine

(A/N: more Pixar AU!! no there's not really a plot I just wanted to write something for thanksgiving. Also friendly reminder I've never cooked a day in my life so Imma just be vague on those details)

"Alright Pixars, listen up!" Mike called to get everyone's attention. After their conversations died down, he stepped forward towards the front of the room so all eyes would be on him. As the group leader, it was his job to host the monthly meetings and inform them of recent events or decisions made by him or their creator, Luxo Sr.

Once he was sure they were listening, he proceeded to explain, "So as you all know, even though we aren't affected by Covid, we still have to stay in quarantine for the sake of others. So that means that this year, we won't be spending Thanksgiving with the Disneys—"

"YES!!" Everyone cheered ecstatically, some standing up to pump their fists or high-five each other.

Mike was taken aback by their joyous reaction. Not just because it was a response to what he said, but he couldn't remember the last time all of them were that excited about anything. "—like we usually do.." He finished.

"Oh don't act like you're not relieved about it, Mike." McQueen said, "You hate the Disneys just as much as we do."

"Excuse me, but we do not 'hate' here." He said, "We just strongly dislike. Anyway, I'm not that relieved like you guys are. I was actually looking forward to our tradition."

"Well, I'm just glad we won't have to be greeted by them singing 'Be Our Guest' for the millionth fucking time." Woody scoffed, earning some murmurs of agreement from the rest.

Their relationship with the Disneys was complicated, to say the least. Luxo Sr. started the alliance with Mickey Mouse himself several years ago, and thus they joined the Disney family. But the Pixars were never given a say in the deal, and while they did admire the Disneys and were grateful for the success they brought them, that didn't mean they were tolerable to be around. The Pixars didn't hate them (despite constantly joking that they did), they just despised their arrogance and their random outbursts of songs every ten minutes.

"Wait so if we're not going to the Disneys, we're gonna have Thanksgiving at our house?" Marlin asked, "You do realize we haven't done that in like, 14 years? And obviously the family's grown since then."

Mike nodded, "I understand that, but if we're able to somehow survive Halloween, Easter, Christmas, and New Years on our own, then how hard can Thanksgiving be?"

"Your optimism is appreciated." EVE said, "But from past experience, this feels like yet another disaster waiting to happen."

"Yeah, I mean, who's even gonna cook dinner?" Remy asked.

"You are." Mike shrugged.

The rat man widened his eyes, "Say what now?"

Remy was a great cook, and honestly he was the only one who actually knew how to use an oven. But cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal for the whole group was asking a bit much.

"I can't cook that much in one day by myself!"

"You won't, some of us will help you. Right, guys?" Mike asked. But he got no responses, instead everyone just awkwardly looked away.

Remy sighed, "Come on, guys. Do you really want to eat burnt turkey for Thanksgiving? Imelda?"

She put her hands up in defense, "Don't look at me. I don't know how to make white people food."

"Okay, relax. We'll have WALL-E help you." Mike said, gesturing to the robot man—who gave an enthusiastic wave.

But this offer didn't make Remy feel any better. Out of all the Pixars Mike could've suggested, it just had to be WALL-E. "Seriously?" He asked, "You know he burns toast, right?"

"He'll be fine." Mike waved a dismissive hand. "..probably. Okay, does anyone else want to help with Thanksgiving dinner?"

Once again there was nothing but silence and awkward glances. Remy looked around with a pleading face, trying to get anyone to agree, but no such luck. Well, until Atta got tired of the lack of responses and and decided it was best to take one for the team. "Alright fine. I'll help you." She said to Remy.

"Thank Luxo." He sighed with relief, "You are a saint, Atta."

She shrugged, "I try."

"Then it's settled." Mike said, "Thanksgiving will be hosted by Remy, Atta, and WALL-E. Let's pray they don't screw it up."

The three gave him a cold look, while the others nodded in agreement.

—

Thursday came sooner than they realized, and unfortunately due to the pandemic, buying groceries was a pain in the ass and getting what they needed for dinner took longer than they would've hoped. Luckily they were able to have it all in their kitchen and (hopefully) would have enough time to make it. And even though they were spending the holiday by themselves, the Pixars still got dressed up and decorated for the occasion.

Since the kids would be joining them at the table as well, that meant having to cook for even more people. Remy, WALL-E, and Atta were hard at work in the kitchen making gravy, deviled eggs, sweet potato casserole, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, etc. And of course, turkey. At first it didn't seem like cooking was going to be so bad. They got an early start before most of the Pixars even woke up. If all went well, they would have dinner done by the afternoon.

"Okay guys, we've got a full house of hungry Pixars so we gotta get this done quick." Remy reminded them, "Atta, you're on pie detail, and you're gonna help me with the turkey. WALL-E, you focus on the casserole, eggs, and making sure Atta stays away from the marshmallows."

Atta slowly looked over at him while he pointed at her, "Yeah, I see you."

She narrowed her eyes at him before slowly reaching her hand toward the bag of marshmallows. He scolded her as she popped another one into her mouth, smirking at him and holding back a laugh. But then the two quickly moved on, since they couldn't waste much time on banter and jokes.

"I don't see how the Disneys do this every year." WALL-E commented, taking a bite of bread.

"Well, they don't actually make it. They have a whole cooking staff that serves them every meal. Which is kinda why they invite us in the first place." Atta explained to him, helping Remy baste the turkey.

Remy scoffed, "And yet there's only one chef in this house. Man, I'd love it if I could get more help around here. Hopefully the new Pixars will know how to cook."

"That's what you say every time." Atta chuckled.

"Maybe if I keep saying it, it'll happen." He shrugged.

After a few minutes, the turkey was ready to cook. They placed it in the oven and set the correct amount of degrees and time. Now all they had to do was wait and finish the rest of the meal.

Violet walked into the kitchen, inhaling the strong scent of half-cooked food. "Mmm, smells great in here." She commented, opening the fridge to grab a water bottle. "So how's slaving away for the others going?"

"We're not 'slaving away', Violet." Remy rolled his eyes. Although now that he said it out loud, it kinda seemed like they were, considering not a single other Pixar was offering to help. Instead they were all hanging out around the house doing who knows what. "Regardless, we're doing just fine."

"You wanna help us?" Atta asked with a mouthful of marshmallows—which earned a scowl from Remy.

Violet sighed, shutting the fridge. "I'd love to, but Joy's taking me out shopping for Christmas presents.

"But stores aren't even open today." WALL-E said.

"That's what I told her." The teen shrugged her shoulders, "But she insisted on taking me and a couple others. I honestly think they're just trying to get out of the house so they have an excuse not to help out."

The three exchanged an annoyed glance. While they expected that sort of behavior from their friends, it was still irritating to know they didn't care enough to even stay home for Thanksgiving. But then again, ditching her friends when they need her didn't sound like something Joy would do.

Before they could question it, they heard Violet's name being called from the other room, signaling her to walk away. "Well, good luck with dinner, guys." She said.

"Okay, have fun today." Atta said to her right before she left. The three then gave each other the same confused expression, all thinking the same thing. But it was a short-lived moment, as they quickly got back to work.

"Alright, making conversation is nice and all, but we can't spend much time having social interactions." Remy reminded them, "From now on, no more distractions, okay? Focus is key."

He turned around, seeing a certain someone once again stuffing three marshmallows in her mouth. "Atta!"

"Leave me alone!" She retorted.

—

Several hours passed since the three started cooking, and they were getting close to being finished. It was hard keeping the kids out of the kitchen to stop them from sneaking bites of the food, since they always did that even when eating at the Disneys' place. But in a display of irony, Remy always shooed them away or chased them out with a broom.

A little after noon the meal was finally ready to be gorged. Everyone had a little bit of everything on their plate and had to pull up a few chairs and small tables so they could all sit together in one spot (one of the tables was actually just an old nightstand). Usually when eating meals, the Pixars would just sit in different areas around the house since the table wasn't big enough for all of them to sit at. But since this was Thanksgiving, they wanted to be together.

"Alright everyone, before we eat, we should go around and say what we're thankful for." Woody said, "And I'll start if that makes it easier."

"It would." They all agreed.

They all joined hands as Woody began, "Well, I'm thankful for all of you. You're not just my friends or people I'm forced to live with, you're my family. Which is kinda the same thing but has better meaning. I'm also thankful for our success, and I'm thankful we're doing this here and not at Disney hell."

A few of them laughed and nodded, although they never thought they'd hear the words "Disney" and "hell" in the same sentence.

"I'll go next." Sulley said, "Let's see, I'm thankful for the food on my plate, and the hard-working people who made it for me."

Remy, Atta, and WALL-E smiled at him.

"And I'm thankful to have the privilege to celebrate this holiday with the people I love."

"Awww!!" They cooed.

Barley leaned towards Sadness to whisper, "Wait, are we supposed to say meaningful shit like that every time?" The girl merely shrugged in response.

Once everyone had a turn saying what they were thankful for, they were finally able to dig in. The turkey was even better than they were used to. The whole meal tasted far better than what they would've received at the Disneys' Thanksgiving. Except the sweet potato casserole appeared to be missing quite a few marshmallows.

"I'm so glad it's Thanksgiving." Joy said, a little out-of-the blue.

"Why's that, Joy?" Bob asked her curiously.

"So I can finally get in the Christmas spirit without people telling me to 'wait until Thanksgiving'." She rolled her eyes.

Out of all of them, Joy was definitely the Christmas fanatic, so much that all other holidays around the end of the year were irrelevant to her. The Pixars didn't mind it, though. They loved Christmas, and they were glad she was always the one to go all out on decorations so they didn't have to.

"Can't argue with that." Jessie said, stuffing a piece of pie in her mouth. "But sadly it's not gonna be the same this year."

"No kidding." Merida scoffed. "If people had just done what they were told back in March, this wouldn't have happened."

McQueen raised a brow, "Dude, we had a whole ass celebration for the Swearing-In in March—"

"That was before quarantine, shut up." She was quick to defend.

"When's quarantine gonna be over?" Dash asked, "I'm tired of staying inside all day."

Mike sighed, as he dreaded this topic every time it came up in conversation. But as the leader, he had to be the voice of reason. "Look guys, I know it's tough, okay? We can't even die from Covid but we're being forced to stay at home, and I know it's frustrating. Heck, there's probably not even gonna be a Swearing-In ceremony for 'Soul'."

"There's not??" Dory asked with a frown.

"If things stay this way, then no." He said, even though it hurt to admit. Swearing-Ins were a big deal for the Pixars. It was what made them apart of the family. "But there's nothing we've been through that we've faced alone, right? We've always had each other, and we always will."

Even though they were still sad about the situation, and even if what he said was a little cheesy, they knew he was right. They were the Pixars for crying out loud, they could handle any challenge as long as they stuck together.

Mike raised his glass, signaling everyone else to do the same. "I propose a toast. To our Pixar family."

"To our family!" They cheered, sipping their drinks afterward.

[philliamwrites]

i could make it holy, make it fine (pt.1)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #domestic fluff, #kissing, #wedding, #persona 5 royal spoilers

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Goro can't believe his first marrital dispute will be about the plastic cat dolls in front of their café whereas Akira is a simple man with simple needs like laying out black napkins and wearing a dress. 

Note: Part 2 (work in progress) | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.

i could make it holy, make it fine

    “Quick, don’t think. Black or red?”

    “The napkins stay blue. Now shut up and don’t move.”

    Black curls fall to the ground with each snip snip of Goro’s scissors. He tips Akira’s head back with a knuckle to check that his hair is the same length. Not that anyone could tell if it wasn’t once his hair dries into its usual curly mess. Goro assumes Akira gave him this task just to have an excuse to stare at his face from close-up—as if he doesn’t do it at any given chance anyway regardless of day or time.

    That is the luxury of living in a place they feel comfortable enough to lower their defences. Goro is still trying to learn calling such a place home.

    Warm hands roam over his legs, demanding his attention. “What are you thinking about?” Akira asks and presses his chin into his belly, looking up. After seven years, his features have grown sharper and more elegant like the dagger he used to wield. Sometimes Goro looks at him and the sight of beautiful, beautiful Akira Kurusu steals his breath.

    “That you look like a twelve-year-old after shaving.” He pushes Akira’s wet hair out of his face and flicks his forehead, then steps out of his grasp. He crosses their bathroom to take the broom leaning against the wall in the corner, only to unceremoniously drop it in Akira’s lap. “Now clean your mess. I’m done.”

    He leaves the room before hearing a response, brushing off stray black hair from his shirt and pants. Now he has to vacuum again. Why Akira asked him to cut his hair instead of booking an appointment with a professional is beyond him, but it does remind Goro, as he tugs at the end of his ponytail tickling the nape of his neck, that he might need a cut as well. The shop stays closed anyway during their preparations, so now seems the best time to get things done they usually can’t while tending to the café. Repairing the creaking floorboard behind the counter, washing the dark, vintage curtains hanging in their back office. Even though Akira is against it, they need to sort out which maneki-neko lining the front of their entrance they want to keep and which to throw away. He can’t believe his first marital dispute will be about dusty plastic cats.

    The blow drier starts in the bathroom. Akira’s head peeks around the corner, the hot air whipping his hair left and right. “Goro, can you check the mail? Ann’s postcard might have arrived.”

    Goro shoos him away like a fly. On his way to the stairs leading down to the café—a feature Akira insisted on during their apartment hunting to pay homage to his old home—he passes their kitchen where he puts a kettle on the stove for another round of coffee. So far, he’s only had benefits to be engaged to one of Tokyo’s most popular barista.

    Leblanc is abandoned and quiet. He won’t ever admit it oud loud, but he’s glad Akira didn’t change the name after inheriting the business from Sojiro. Anything different would have been blasphemous. But while it is the same name, Leblanc’s replica lives with touches that scream Akira’s name. Bookshelves line one wall opposite the entrance, filled with every book he’s read during Highschool. Customers come and pick one and in return leave a book they have at hand, constantly switching up the collection. Then there’s people complimenting the amazing replicas of famous contemporary artist Yusuke Kitagawa on the walls, asking Akira where he bought them. But if Akira is known for his delicious coffee, he’s famous for his secrets.

    Opening their post box, bills and two cards fall out. The first shows The Louvre lit at night. Ann’s curly handwriting is unmistakable, leaving a short message that she’ll arrive a day before the ceremony. The other card has a simple flower design and one word on its back.

    Congratulations. — M.

    Goro stares at it for a solid minute. It’s been long since he’s seen this handwriting, but he does remember it from torn-out diary pages inside a place that had blindingly white walls and tasted of despair and bitter endings. He takes everything upstairs where he finds Akira with dried, adorably messy hair.

    “I didn’t know you still hang out with Dr. Maruki,” he says, voice neutral as he drops the cards and bills on the table where Akira has already spread out coffee and biscuits from Haru’s shop. He considers the card, absentmindedly stirring his cup. “I don’t. Sumire might have told him.”

    “Not that I really care.” Goro drinks from his cup, eyeing Akira from the side. He’s draped over his chair like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. “He’s not invited.”

    “I doubt he’ll come. Wouldn’t be too much fun if you stabbed him with the cake knife.”

    Goro snorts, but the image does bring a faint grin out of him. It is a time though he doesn’t think too fondly of; a time when he’d felt too much at once and too little words managed to express that. He remembers when Loki and Robin merged into Hereward and the surprise that Robin never really left his side, always with him; the light, the good, the innocent and childlike fantasy to become a hero one day. The night he spent under Akira’s covers; limbs entangled, secrets and fears shared in quiet whispers, thumbs wet from drying tears both pretended were never shed.

    After they defeated Maruki and destroyed the Happy World, Goro woke up in his bed, dizzy and disoriented, still sore from the fight. While staring at his white ceiling, he counted his heartbeat. Every thud in his chest was like a bird trying to take flight out of an ebony cage no one built a door into. He’d only have to tear his chest open and it would be free. It would return to where it longed to be, a little café tucked away in Yongen-Jaya.

    Instead, Goro got out of bed, donned his winter uniform and went to meet Sae Nijima to discuss the terms of proving Shido’s guilt and his arrest. Again. He spent half a year in juvenile hall until Akira paid his bail with the remaining savings from their Mementos ventures.

    “You’re crazy,” Goro had said when he met Akira outside, everything he used and owned during those six months shoved into a single plastic back.

    “I missed you,” Akira had replied and now, seven years later, they’re doing what Goro never allowed himself to dream of; never showed interest in until meeting Akira Kurusu.

    “Will our suits be ready?” he asks now, downing the rest of this coffee. He usually hates when it gets cold, but Akira’s blend is still enjoyable.

    “I’ll check my e-mails later. They should have replied by now.” Akira watches him, tapping a slender finger against the kitchen desk. “I still think one of us should wear a dress.”

    “You also think we need a champagne pyramid which we can’t afford.”

    “Okay, perhaps not that,” says Akira. “But I would make a radiant bride.”

    Goro doesn’t doubt that. If he takes an afternoon off and searches long enough, he’ll surely find the drag cop outfit somewhere in the attic—a real attic, this one—from all those years back. Maybe he can ask Akira to wear lipstick again when it’s time to seal the deal during the ceremony. He can’t think of anyone who would object to that.

    “That’s your cue to say ‘Truly’.” Akira carries both empty mugs to the sink, a slight pout adorning his face. Goro rolls his eyes. He waits until he passes him on his way out to hook a finger through a belt buckle and pulls Akira with a sharp tug on his lap. He blinks in fake innocence. “Oh?”

    “I prefer you looking good in a dress stays between us,” Goro says, shimmying his hands under Akira’s shirt—wrong, Goro’s shirt—where they rest on warm, soft skin.

    Akira thinks about it. “What do I get in return?”

    “No divorce papers.”

    Generous as always.”

    “It’s a deal then.”

    On cue, Akira’s head bends and finds Goro’s mouth. Kissing Akira is still the same as seven years ago: hot, addicting. Like breathing air for the first time after staying underwater for hours. His hands roam over spots he knows where bruised long, long ago and Akira reacts like they never disappeared. Like they never left the Metaverse. Still sixteen and eighteen and too busy bruising their knuckles and knees fighting for their own justice instead of settling down and taking their time unravelling each other. It still manages to untie a tight knot within his chest. He could spend all day kissing Akira. He should spend all day kissing Akira.

    One, two, three tugs on his ponytail and Goro reluctantly relents to free Akira’s bottom lip from between his teeth.

    “We should give you a cut as well,” Akira says, curling the end around a finger. Goro shows his surprise by raising one eyebrow.

    “You’d be okay with that?” he asks. He’s started to believe Akira’s fixation on his hair—drying it after a shower, braiding it when he’s bored, burrowing his hands in them when he cums—is a religious thing, though the prospect of it being short, feeling the cool breeze on the back of his neck during summer and not bothering to brush it every hour to untangle any knots, is appealing.

    Akira wears a dreamy sort of look—though, no. That’s just him being horny, probably imagining Goro with shorter hair and all new discoveries it might bring as he gently scrapes his scalp. It’s as good as any answer. He pushes Akira off his lap and rises as well, turning left and right to stretch and make his joints pop.

    “Fine, but if you mess it up, I’m going to shave you bald.”

    They share a single look, thinking of the only person they know with a bald head and Goro regrets his words already, hates the face of the man he never wants to remember flashing before his eyes.

    Akira takes his hand and squeezes. “I’m going to make you the most handsome man alive, promise.”

    He allows Akira to lead him to the bathroom, the objection that his task will be hard so long as he breathes on his lips.

    Five more days. Five more days and the most handsome man alive will be his.

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 3, Ch. 3

PART 3: THE YEAR OF QUIDDITCH & MAGICAL CREATURES Chapter 3 - The Quidditch Rivalry

Nova

I woke up suddenly the next morning and with a headache. I felt as if I didn't sleep at all. How will I show my best Quidditch moves being so tired?

I tiptoed out of our dormitory, careful not to wake Tulip, and went down for breakfast. I didn't even know what to get as I didn't want an upset stomach on the pitch and I was so nervous that I didn't feel like eating anyway.

In the end, I took a piece of toast and decided to visit Pip in the Owlery, as I didn't see him all week and I hoped that my nerves would calm down a bit if he nibbled on my ear.

Like whenever I came to see him this early, he wasn't really excited to be awake. I didn't give him much of a choice as I started telling him all about my tryouts and how I hope I do good but at the same time, I was afraid that I would have even less time for my studies and my friends.

Apparently, I talked too much as he started to snuggle into my chin, making my mouth shut. I giggled and patted his head. Just when he was waking up, I had to go to the pitch. Pip wanted to tag along but after about five minutes of convincing him to go back to sleep, he finally listened to me.

I took a deep breath and went down to the tents.

Two of the Ravenclaw Team were there already, along with 7 other students and the blond boy in the wheelchair who, if I remember correctly, became the Quidditch commentator last year.

“Nova, nice of you to join us. This is Skye Parker, who joined last year and hopefully, you already know my name, Orion Amari.” He said in his calm voice. “You can see that this is all there is from our team as we were so bad last year that all except us two quit.” These really weren't the words of encouragement but it did make me feel better that I can't be worse than the Team last year if I was standing here waiting for my tryout.

“For those of you who don't know the Quidditch commentator,” he turned to the boy in the wheelchair, “this is Murphy McNully.”

“Nice to meet all of you. You can call me McNully. I am 98,4% sure that you will all do great and I will be shouting your name at our next game. I am also 63,7% sure that...”

“That's quite alright.” Skye stopped McNully and I couldn't help but giggle when I saw he was still as enthusiastic about Quidditch as the first day I heard him speak about it on the Hogwarts Express back in our First Year.

“It is a bit unusual, but I was therefore appointed Captain, even though some of you,” he looked at some of the students, “are older than me and the Captain is usually the best player and in Sixth or Seventh Year.” He continued.

“Nonetheless, we will try and make our Team better and if it's written in the stars, we will do great this year.” He showed us all to move to the pitch. I grabbed one of the school brooms and hurried behind everyone else.

I've made a decision not to look at how other students perform. I knew that if I saw someone be better than me I would become even more nervous.

I was the last one to try out. I took a deep breath and flew closer to the team. The first thing I had to do was fly a few fast laps around the pitch. Then I had to do a double loop. Skye and Orion then threw as many balls at me to see how would I react and how many I could avoid. To my surprise and both of theirs, I dodged all of them.

Then Orion tested my catching skills where I had to catch and fly away with as many Quaffles as possible. I wasn't looking when a boy before me was doing it but I think he caught 6 out of 7 and I caught it every single time.

The last part of the tryout was goal scoring. One of the students who tried out for the Keeper position flew up to the hoops and Orion passed the Quaffle to me. He then told me to fly around the pitch and try to score. I did as he said and scored without a problem. Then I had to catch the Quaffle that almost hit the floor and score again and I missed that one. Then I had to fly all the way to the other side of the pitch, catch the Quaffle and get through Orion and Skye and dodge the Bludger to score. It was close to passing the hoop but I scored anyway.

Orion thought I did pretty good, however, I had to agree with Skye who thought that I could do better.

He then decided that it would be best if we played a friendly game to see how we function as a team. I tried to focus as much as possible but every time I passed Andre who was also trying out for the Team, for the Seeker position, I got distracted as he was murmuring something about how the Keeper is not guarding the hoops enough.

Something that I've noticed and it was more Andre's job than mine was the Snitch. It seemed that every time I caught the Quaffle I got distracted by seeing its golden hue in the corner of my eye.

If I was disappointed with how bad I did during the tryouts, it was even worse now when we were playing. I don't remember being so bad or maybe I thought I was good when I was playing with the Weasleys.

Our commentator, McNully, definitely didn't help the cause as he shouted quite a lot of numbers through the magical microphone, every time I missed a hoop.

“C'mon, Andre are you even trying to catch the Snitch?!” Yelled Skye at him.

I understood that her father was a famous Quidditch player, but I thought she was kind of harsh.

The events that happened next, unfolded so quickly that until the end, I didn't know what exactly happened.

Andre started shouting at one of the new Keepers how he can't defend the hoop, as Orion scored what seemed for the 10th time in a row. He then frowned and flew up to the goals, shooed the Keeper away, and positioned himself in front of them.

He kept the Quaffle from going through every single time after that and I was beginning to think that Andre tried out for the wrong position. I wasn't alone when it came to that idea as after the 5th defended hoop, Orion started clapping at Andre.

I was so bothered by the fact that the Snitch hasn't been caught yet as I was seeing it everywhere that I dived down towards the ground where the ball currently was, flew after it, and when I thought that I've made a mistake and almost hit the ground I grabbed my broom and pulled up right before crashing, a Snitch in my hand.

“And the Snitch has been caught! What a turn of events this Friendly is! I would say there was a 24.8% chance that we would see two new players switching to completely different positions!” I heard McNully say through the microphone.

And just as I thought it was all over, the kid Andre pushed from the hoops, grabbed the Quaffle from Skye's hand, who sat in total shock on her broom, and scored.

“What is happening?!” Half-questioned half-shouted Skye. “This is not how you play Quidditch! The Snitch has been caught, people!”

“Indeed it has, but this is quite what I was talking about.” I heard Orion say, as I flew closer with the Snitch in my hand.

I still don't know what exactly came over me to go after the little golden ball. I didn't expect to catch it, I was mostly intending to get rid of it so that I could focus on scoring with the Quaffle.

“What are you talking about Orion? This lot is even worst than the last year's Team!” Skye frowned at him as we all flew to the ground and entered the Ravenclaw Quidditch tent.

“Oh, here is where I have to disagree with you, Skye. Do you remember what I said before we began the tryouts?” Skye said nothing, she just stared at him, bewildered.

“I said that if it's written in the stars, we will do better this year.” He smiled softly. “It is you and I that made a mistake, Skye.” He continued. At this point, I didn't know what to make of Skye's face.

“You see, we were the ones who invited most of these students for tryouts and they all came knowing exactly for which position they would try out for.” He began to explain. “What we should've done is try everyone out for every position and see who is the best at what.” Skye was still confused. I, however, began to understand what he was saying.

“Sometimes, what we think we are good at, is not something that we are BEST at.” Skye opened her mouth at the last sentence but decided to close it and let Orion finish his speech.

“Andre here,” he stepped to Andre and put his arm around his shoulder, “was confident that he would make a good Seeker, but he couldn't see the Snitch even when it was right in front of him. When he saw that he probably won't make the Team he took his chance and unconsciously tried for the position he is indeed very good at.”

“Him,” Orion now stepped to the kid who scored a goal after I already caught the Snitch, “Skye, for him you thought that he doesn't know the rules but he was inspired by Andre and Nova who both changed from their assigned position and he also scored the only goal Andre couldn't defend and even you have to admit that counts for something.” He smiled at her.

“And you,” he now stepped to me, “I don't think I have ever seen anyone so distracted by that Snitch as you were. The second we let it out of the chest, you had one eye on it and if you didn't go after it and caught it when you did, I would have offered you a tryout for the position after the Friendly.” I was looking at him with my mouth open.

I didn't notice that that was what I was doing. I never paid that much attention to the Snitch as I always played Chaser when I played Quidditch with Charlie and his brothers and Charlie always did such a good job at catching the Snitch that I didn't have time to be bothered by it.

“So, you see Skye, instead of having Andre as our Seeker and Nova as our Chaser and this wonderful goal scorer as our Keeper,” he tapped the kid on his shoulder. At this point I wasn't sure if he knew his name, “we got Andre as our Keeper, a companion Chaser for you and me,” he pointed his finger at Skye and then at himself, “and a Seeker, for who I think will bring us closer to the Quidditch House Cup with every game.” He finally stopped next to me and smiled.

“Oh, and I am sorry, I forgot, what is your name?” He casually turned to the kid who became our new Chaser.

“My name is Kit.” He replied with a weak smile. Orion nodded.

“That settles then. Bernie, Tommy, you are our new Beaters. Kit is our new Chaser. Andre will defend our hoops as the Keeper and our diving Seeker, Nova.” I had to think for a second why he used the word diving and then I remembered how I caught the Snitch.

“Congratulations to all who made the Team and perhaps next year, it will be written in the stars for you to try out again.” He said to the rest of the students who didn't make it.

“Woohoo! There was only an 8,7% chance for the turnout we just had as a team. I haven't seen such a messy game since the Quidditch World Cup last year! Keeper being pushed from his position. Chaser diving for the Snitch. Beater shouting at the Keeper. It was brilliant and I would say it's a 99.8% chance that this was the best tryout any Quidditch House had in years!” McNully came inside the tent out of nowhere. I couldn't help but chuckle as I found his insane statistics rather amusing.

After a few more words from Orion, we were finally allowed to leave.

“Nova, could I have a word?” Or so I thought.

I turned around. He nodded at Skye to leave. When she passed me she gave me a very suspicious look and walked out of the tent.

“Yes?” I couldn't help but be confused as I couldn't imagine what this could be about.

“I know you are friends with Charlie Weasley.” I nodded.

“And as you know, he was made Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team last Summer.” I nodded again. I really didn't know where he was going with this.

“How close are you?” I blinked at Orion's question. What did he mean how close are we? I felt my cheeks turn pink.

“I am not sure I'm following you, Orion.” I had to have a puzzled look on my face as he chuckled a little bit.

“I am asking if it's going to be a problem when we play against Gryffindor, you both being Seekers?” He finally explained.

He had a good point. We talked about how we would feel playing against each other if he was a Seeker and I was a Chaser but I didn't think how it would be battling him for the Snitch.

“We discussed it.” I lied. “We will put our friendship aside when it comes to Quidditch.” Orion nodded and smiled.

I can't believe he bought what I just said, I know I didn't.

“Very well, then. I will send you an owl when I figure out when our first practice will be.” He walked out of the tent.

I decided my legs were too weak to walk and go back tothe Castle. I sat on one of the benches and stared at absolutely nothing.

I was never planning to become a Seeker and now I was one, by accident. What will Charlie think? Will he be okay with this? Will he be able to play against me and fight for the Snitch? Will I?

I didn't know how to feel about the whole situation. I blinked a couple of times, got up, and decided to speak to the only person I knew might have an answer to this dilemma.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 8 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Behave, that was all Edge asked of Rus. Behave while he's gone. Rus can do that, no problem at all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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If there was one teeny, tiny minuscule benefit to being at breakfast with Red and Blue, it was that no matter how much they both looked like they wanted to ask questions, they obviously didn’t want to do it in front of each other.

The looks they were sending each other were loaded with things unspoken and Rus only pretended to be oblivious, focused on cleaning his plate. It tasted better now without guilt flavoring it, he supposed anxiety over an upcoming brotherly chat wasn’t as much of a downer on his appetite. It took a little longer for Blue to go back to his own breakfast and he chewed with determined focus, his fork scraping loudly on his plate.

Red gave up on food entirely, choosing instead to have a cigar for breakfast. The tip smoldered almost the same crimson heat as his glaring eye lights.

As slow as Rus ate, in mincing little bites, and as many times as he refilled his plate, twice, until his magic felt bloated, eventually he had to admit defeat. He couldn’t avoid the questions forever. Honestly, he wasn’t sure who he’d prefer to be cornered by first, Red or Blue. At least with Red there was a chance of putting him out of his misery.

Finally, he pushed away his plate with a sigh, wiping at his mouth with his napkin. By now, Blue was practically vibrating with impatience and the smell of Red’s cigar wafting down the table was killing the taste, anyway.

“finished?” Red said, dryly. He jerked a thumb at the door, the heavy rings on his fingers glinting, “good, now head outta here.”

Rus only blinked at him dumbly, “what?”

That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting, his own version of the inquisition was what was supposed to be coming. Instead, Red sighed, deep and exaggerated. “go on, kid, me and your bro got some business to attend to.”

“Yes, business,” Blue said and there was something in his voice, brittle in a way that Rus didn’t think he’d ever heard before. But the smile he turned Rus’s way was bright and he made a little shooing gesture, “Go on, brother, I’ll come to you when we’re finished.

“have a look around,” Red said, easily, “dogs will keep you outta trouble, so do whatever ya want.” His grin went wide, tight and sharky, “within reason, flower shop.”

Hearing that little nickname said so sardonically made him stiffen and Rus fumbled to his feet, tossing his napkin on the table and heading for the door. At least he’d managed not to spill anything on himself.

At the door, he hesitated, looking back at Blue. It felt like abandoning him and they’d always had each other’s back, stayed together underground and above, gotten through everything together. Blue only waved him impatiently on and it stung, a little, like his days back in stripes being told to stay put when the adults needed to talk. A miserable flush heated his cheek bones and Rus turned back, walked out the door.

The same Dog who’d led them here this morning was waiting, probably ready to take him back to their room, but Rus hung back. He didn’t want to watch TV, knew he wouldn’t be able to take a nap, so instead he asked, tentatively. “can you take me to that room with the books?”

To his relief the Dog nodded, and this time Rus paid closer attention which way they went. He didn’t really need a map, anyway, if he had a general idea where they were, he could take a shortcut instead of relying on Red’s endless Dog pack to lead him around on an invisible leash.

That office was only two left turns away and the Dog held the door open for him, letting Rus in, then closing it behind him. Probably planning to stand out in the hall waiting and it was whatever, at least he was in a room with books.

There were so many, most of them luxuriously leather-bound and looking as if they’d never even been opened. Shakespeare and Chaucer, Austin and Dickens; the kinds of books someone would show off if they were trying to impress. But buried into one corner were some popular novels, dogeared and comfortably worn.

Rus hesitated over choosing one, glancing over at the massive desk on the other side of the room. His curiosity was itching, it was, oh, so tempting to see what kinds of things were hidden in its depths…which would probably fall under that whole misbehaving thing Edge warned him about. He’d already decided to leave it alone when a glance into one corner froze him, making him very glad he hadn’t made the attempt. The rounded lens of a camera was pointing right at him, a little red light blinking.

Books. Right.

Rus picked one of the worn novels, an old favorite of his, and settled into one of the oversized chairs to read.

‘The Turn of the Screw’ seemed an apt choice, all things considered.

Rus was barely through the first chapter when he heard something of a commotion out in the hallway. There wasn’t any screaming or gunfire, so hey, probably safe enough to peek out the door and he did, catching sight of several broad backs and shaggy tails making their way down the hallway with a rattle of metal and ceramic.

The Dogs were carrying the trays from breakfast, Rus realized, at the same moment that he saw that his ‘guard’ wasn’t at his post. He was helping carry them, probably back to the kitchen and that stirred his curiosity again.

What kind of kitchen must this place have, it had to be something wild, right? Something right out of ‘Top Chef’ with all the absolute best tools and gadgets. If Rus got a good look at it, he’d have some gossip to distract Blue from the questions he was pretty sure his big bro had. It never hurt to have a little something something as a backup plan.

Of course, he could ask to tag along to see it, Red obviously told the Dogs to let him explore a little, but, eh, where was the fun in that? Sneaking into the kitchen wasn’t getting into trouble and even if it was, the cameras were out here, too. Someone would probably show up to foil his sketchy plans if there was a problem with it.

Sounded good, right? Right.

Rus trailed along behind them as quietly as he could. This place really was bigger than it seemed, weird twists and turns, and for the first time it occurred to Rus that it was probably a real security feature. Hard for anyone to attack or kidnap in here if they couldn’t find you. A couple of the doors they went through needed a swipe card and Rus managed to catch them with a touch of blue magic before they closed, gleeful that the dogs didn’t notice; probably they’d pay more attention going in, it wasn’t like they expected anyone to be sneaking out. They were chatting together, too far away for Rus to hear, and the dishes were rattling. A perfect storm to keep them from noticing their skeletal shadow.

They went down some stairs, ugh, rude not to have an elevator for them, did Red really have his guys hauling three meals a day up the stairs.

Rus crouched on the landing where they couldn’t glance up and see him, waiting until they went around the corner before creeping down. From there they went through another door and that left him scrambling. He couldn’t exactly follow them right into the kitchen and once they dropped off the trays, the Dogs would probably head right back upstairs and right into him, catching him before he had a chance to get any intel.

The door was already opening again when Rus darted through another door with a placard that read ‘janitorial’ and hey, what do you know, it was filled with brooms and shelves of cleaning supplies.

There was no window. All he could do was wait, counting impatiently, trying to decide exactly how long it would take a couple of guard Dogs to go down the hall and around the corner. They might not be mad about him following them down, but if they caught him out now, there would be questions he didn’t really want to explain why he was hiding with the Clorox and Pine-sol.

Cautiously, Rus crept out into the very empty hallway then down to the door, slipping inside and—

Oh. This was very much not the kitchen, not the kitchen at all. Even if the lack of appliances and counterspace didn’t clue him in, Rus was pretty sure that cooks usually wore more clothing. Like, a lot more.

The people sitting around the room were mostly wearing robes that were hanging open over scanty underthing; very pretty people, Monsters in every shape and shade whose attractiveness wasn’t at all diminished by the way they were eagerly digging into the leftover food. All the trays from that morning were crowded on a long folding table, the kind they used sometimes in banquet halls.

There was a microwave on one end of the table, but no one was using it, no one seemed to mind if their eggs were lukewarm. There was also an open package of store-bought tortillas and several of them were layering sausage with hash browns, topping them with tomatoes for an impromptu breakfast burrito as they chatted, the room filled with laughter and the sounds of eating.

Rus stood there for far too long, gaping rudely, when one of them looked up and let out a small cry. A sudden hush fell over the room, a dozen or so eyes staring at Rus while he stared back.

A Bun was the first to speak up, maybe the same one he’d seen dancing yesterday, it was hard to tell with her bra on. Her mink-brown fur was clean and fluffed, with a spray of spots across her muzzle that passed for freckles. Her ears were pulled up in a loose sort of ponytail, and her robe was a nearly transparent shade of cream with lace dripping from the cuffs.

She pasted on a smile, said with sweet firmness, “Sugar, back here is off-limits to guests, you’re gonna have to head back out—" she trailed off, setting her half-filled plate aside as she rose gracefully to her feet and came over to study him closer. Rus tried not to flinch as she lightly touched his collar, her eyes traced over the rest of him. “You don’t look like a paying customer, honey, you lost?”

“i’m a friend of edge’s,” Rus said, warily. “i came from upstairs.” It felt a little too much like namedropping and he wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, maybe shrieks of terror or someone swooning at the mere mention of his name.

Instead, the pall that had settled over the room when they noticed him faded as quickly as it’d come, the tense tide in the fluttering sea of silk and lace rolling back out as the others went back to filling their plates.

“Oh, a friend of the Boss! That’s different,” the Bun laughed and slid a surprisingly strong arm around him, guiding him further inside despite the reluctant drag of Rus’s shoes. “Then you go on and pull up a chair, hon, and help yourself! We don’t mind, do we, girls?”

A chorus of denials came from the others, a few of them muffled around chewing.

“thanks, but i already had a crack at it earlier,” Rus tried. He couldn’t help giving the door a longing glance, this place wasn’t exactly the kind of gossip that Blue would be interested in, though Rus was very sure he’d have a lot to say about it. But the Bun didn’t relent and Rus resigned himself staying for a few minutes. Two days ago, he’d hardly a single secret to keep from his brother and now it looked like he was getting a collection.

“Then sit anyway and chat,” the bun said. Her smile was sly, red-tinted lips curving. “You came all the way down here, may as well. My name is Mona, what do you go by around these parts?”

“Rus, ma’am.” He almost fell silly being so mannerly, but the lessons of childhood stuck, even when a person found themselves it what he figured was the stripper’s breakroom. Blue always told him manners weren’t only for special days and he didn’t miss the fleeting surprise and pleasure that crossed Mona’s face. It made him wonder when the last time someone called her anything like ma’am or miss, or if she was more accustomed to something worse.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Mona giggled. She retrieved her plate and heaped a pile of fruit on it, confessing, “I’d take the whole thing if I could, never can resist fresh mango. The boss always makes sure we get the leftovers after they do their fancy meetings. Makes for a nice treat. I can hardly pour a bowl of cereal, myself, kinda a literal version of can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

“Better to save your heat for the stage, Mona!” One of the others called and a titter of laughter rose up around the room while Rus tried not to think about seeing that very stage act last night through the ceiling glass.

“Hush, you, and eat!” Mona scolded, even as she laughed herself.

“that’s really nice of him to bring you food like that,” Rus said slowly. It was and it made Rus feel a little guilty about his assumptions earlier about all of it getting scraped into the trash. A kindness he didn’t assume of Edge, and Rus thought unhappily that it said something about him more than Edge, something unkind. A reminder that he barely knew Edge and it seemed like his perceptions were getting challenged at every step, reality slowly getting shaken out of all of his daydreams.

“He’s a good fella,” Mona agreed, popping a grape into her mouth. “Boss takes good care of us.” Very softly, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “Not sure why he’s got you holed up here, but he’ll take good care of you, too, honey. And you call me Mona, all right now?”

That kind reassurance made Rus swallow hard. He snagged one of the muffins, simply to have something to do with his hands, nodding a little as he murmured, “okay, miss mona.”

That earned him another pleased chuckle. Thinking of the names a stripper might be used to only made him more determined to hold to politeness. A person wasn’t only their job, not Edge and not these ladies, and Mona seemed so kind. She deserved his manners.

Filled plate in hand, Mona guided Rus over to one of the sofas that was pushed up against the wall, plopping down on the sagging cushions. Around them, conversation started up again, and Rus had to admit, it was sort of fascinating to listen to someone else’s gossip for a change. As it turned out, it wasn’t so different than the chitchat he made back at the shop with the regular customers There was idle speculation on the weather, if the humidity was finally gonna break into rain and give them some of the sunshine they all craved. About the set list for that night, songs that Rus didn’t know and a few he made a mental note to give a listen. A few of them asked him his favorite songs and Rus offered a couple tentatively to nods and delight, and made a mental promise to never let Blue know that at any given moment there might be a monster downstairs taking off her clothes to the same song he tended to sing when he weeded.

One gal complained about her current boyfriend and the consensus was that she needed to dump his ass. Rus agreed, saying stoutly, “if he’s a cheater, you deserve better. let your neighbor have him if she wants him so bad, she can pay his rent for a change!”

A chorus of agreement circled the sofas and Rus tore off a piece of his muffin to munch on, hiding his pleased grin. Not much was worse than a cheater, in his opinion, promising love and then breaking their word along with someone’s heart.

“You said it, honey. Aren’t you an angel?” the Cat Monster purred. To his dismay, she slunk to her feet, all sleek grace in totteringly high heels. She was wearing a dress that was little more than a tube of material hugging her curves, bubblegum pink a sharp contrast to her short white fur. Her tail lazily coiled around her ankles as she leaned down and said teasingly, “You offering to take his spot, sugar skull?”

Um. Rus struggled to swallow down his mouthful of muffin, managed to croak out around it, “sorry, i don’t like girls. no, wait, i mean! i like girls, not, like like, it’s…that’s not what i mean!”

Soft laughter from the Cat Monster drowned him out, bright and unoffended, “Aww, guess I’m out of the running, he doesn’t like pussy.”

“Don’t tease him, Lilith!” Mona scolded, patting Rus’s arm even as heat flooded his cheekbones. “Remember, he’s a guest of the Boss.”

“Uh huh,” the Cat, Lilith, turned away, tail swishing, “Figures. Sure can’t fault his taste.”

Another murmur of agreement went around the room and Rus buried his face into his hands, cringing. Wanting to deny it and at the same time, he didn’t, really, how could he? Edge was handsome by most standards, even Human ones, especially the kind who were probably out in the main room right now, waiting for his new friends to finish their breakfast and get back to dancing.

Mona wasn’t one of them. She yawned, showing her large, blunt front teeth, and stood. “I’m about to head home, my shift is over for the night. How long are you staying upstairs, honey?”

“only a few days, i think.” He hoped.

“Well, you come on back and say hello again, you hear?” She held out a hand and when Rus shook it, and her grip was light, gentle. “It was nice to meet you, Rus.”

“it was nice to meet you, too, miss mona,” Rus said, honestly. He might come back and visit again even when he wasn’t stuck staying upstairs and it wasn’t a secret if he simply didn’t bring it up to his brother. Right?

Mona gave him a last smile and slipped out of the room.

The other ladies were wandering out, too, some still carrying coffee cups, others straightening their clothes and hair, breaks over and ready to head back to work. Rus left them behind and found his way back to the stairs. The door at the top was locked and Rus didn’t have a keycard, but that was fine. He didn’t really want to try to retrace his steps all the way back anyway and after a glance to make sure no one was watching, he took a sideways step into a shortcut, stepping out into the book-filled office.

There was no one in the room, it was exactly as he’d left it, his book still sitting on the side table. No alarms sounded or sirens blared. If anyone was watching those cameras, they didn’t seem too concerned about him blinking in and out, and that seemed…odd. All this security and no one minded if he shortcutted around? He’d have to ask Edge about it, maybe, next time he saw him.

Well. If he saw him. It wasn’t like there was any reason for Edge to come looking for him, not really, unless it was to let Rus know they could head home.

Actually, there was really no reason at all for him to see Edge again, not privately anyway, and that realization shouldn’t have made his soul sink so unpleasantly. That was actually the point of them being here, wasn’t it, hiding out for a bit while Blue settled their business arrangements, a percent of money for ongoing protection, that was all, and maybe Rus didn’t trust Red entirely, but he believed Edge when he said his brother kept his promises.

Edge wasn’t asking anything else of Rus. He didn’t want any bargain of his own, honestly seemed pretty damned against it, and it was probably better if Rus didn’t see much of him, easier to get back to his own simple floral life.

Simple. Right.

It’d been a couple of hours since his own breakfast but suddenly, Rus was tired in a way he hadn’t been before. He’d head back to their room and if Blue was there, maybe he could beg for a chance at a nap before they had the chat he knew was coming.

The chances of him finding his way back to their room on his own was slim to none but Rus was reluctant to shortcut again and instead headed out the door. He was bound to bump into someone who could lead the way.

He didn’t expect it to be literal. The moment he opened the door and stepped out Rus plowed into what felt like a wall. A very nicely clothed one, his flailing hands sliding over cashmere and linen as he scrabbled for a hold to keep him upright. His luck wasn’t with him lately and he probably would have fallen, except two large hands settled on his shoulders, holding on, and okay, what did it mean that he already knew that touch, the gentle grip of increasingly familiar gloved hands.

“Careful,” Edge said. The deep, rolling resonance of his voice never failed to make Rus shiver, like an invisible touch climbing up his spine. The sneaking, sly thought came that he’d nearly learned how a real touch would feel in the same place, would have if he hadn’t panicked last night. Rus shoved it forcefully away. So much for not seeing Edge again while he was here, and his relief was embarrassingly strong.

“whoops, sorry!” Rus managed to laugh, ignoring the nervous butterfly flutter of his soul, “all these hallways and i still managed to…run…into…”

The words whickered right out of his head as Rus finally looked up, leaving blank shock behind as he stared, and it was only then that he noticed, distantly, that the normal rich tang of Edge’s cologne was tainted with char.

What. The. Fuck.

“what the fuck, what happened?!” Rus blurted aloud, all his humor, his cheer at meeting the ladies downstairs and his sneaky-sly thoughts about Edge touching him vanishing as he lunged to catch Edge when he rocked unsteadily on his feet in a way that had nothing to do with Rus bumping into him, all his heavy weight caught briefly in Rus’s desperate embrace.

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tbc

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[scarlettroubles]

AHH YES. I was hoping you'd do this. Gives me an opportunity to get more intel on Finn c: 20 & 4 for Finn, 2 and 15 for Eileen :o

@taurrigan  Flattered to know you wanted to know more about my freckled boi  :D If you have any questions about my MC’s feel free to send me an ask I don’t mind XD

20. What is MC’s favorite activity to do on the Hogwarts Express to pass the time?

Finn will often recount all the interesting things he did in the summer while braiding Eileen’s, Rowan’s and sometimes even Ben’s hair. He quizzes all three of them in herbology while he’s doing it and will occasionally loudly exclaim the beautiful sights that pass by their window. He’ll pester Eileen to sing along with him if he’s in the mood for a good sing-along too.

4. What non-canon/game-offered pets would your MC like to have, magical or non-magical? (insects, rodents, puffskein variations, etc)

Finn owns a shit ton of animals because he loves them so much haha. He has a puffskein he’s named snickerdoodle. A ragdoll and balinese cat named Dutchess and Admiral respectively. A golden retriever named Bruno and a pomeranian named Fritz.

2. Does MC’s parents know Jacob is back?

As of now no, they don’t but they WILL eventually and it’s probably not gonna be in the best circumstances unfortunately (what can you expect, the Ryder family isn’t exactly a stable family much less a happy one).

15. If your MC/Jacob had to work a shop or intern/ apprentice in Diagon Alley/Hogsmeade, where would they want to work? How does it tie into their interests and potential future careers?

Eileen helped out Aberforth at the Hog’s Head Inn much to the latter’s dismay. Eileen just one day plopped in the inn, grabbed a rag and started cleaning mugs and seats. Aberforth has been trying to get rid of the brat for months now but nothing has deterred Eileen from leaving. And if she picks up a few bits of information regarding Rakepick or other R members, the more reason she has to stay for awhile even if Aberforth even tried to shoo her away with a fucking broom, that was fun. Funnily enough these two ended up bonding over having idiots for older siblings haha. Eileen also works at a Magical Creature Sanctuary and is Oscar Scamander’s assistant/apprentice and has been working there since she was 13 since she plans on becoming a magizoologist after Hogwarts much to the shock of her professors and friends since they thought she wanted to be a curse breaker.

Jacob worked at Flourish and Blotts for a time being and became quite close to the shop’s owner, Madam Villanelle. Because Jacob didn’t finish his education, he ends up as a bounty hunter for The Hunters of Artemis and stays there even when his sentence of 10 years is up. He ends up quite liking the job.