#i THINK hes supposed to be her godfather from what i remember

[svt-aurora]

Ohhh aurora and joshua⁉️⁉️ SO CUTE, I'm imagining the members reaction when they got together or when they announced they're having a child. Soooo please can I request that HAHAHAH THANK YOU!! 💖

“Surprise…?”

⊱ timeline: january 2022

⊱ synopsis: while having a group dinner with the members, aurora is fed up with having to keep her big news to herself. so aurora does what a normal human being would: she tells them duh.

⊱ a/n: OMG TY ANON FOR THIS REQUEST! i think this is actually so cute and i had so much fun writing this, so i hope u enjoy reading! also this is not really proofread, so ignore any mistakes you see!

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it had been a week since aurora found out she was pregnant. joshua was absolutely ecstatic and had been all over her all week. having kids was one of areum’s biggest dreams, so for it to become a reality was so surreal for her. telling josh was already chaotic, but telling the members? oh it would be something to remember. aurora hadn’t actually figured out a way to tell them, but her heart was telling her to just break it to the boys casually. soo… that’s exactly what she’s planning to do.

“HELLOOO!!” dk’s loud voice filled the hallway as he and the other 11 members made their way into the couple’s penthouse.

“guys. just because i gave you a key to my house, doesn’t mean you can break in unannounced.” aurora playfully rolled her eyes, still walking out to greet the boys.

“but didn’t you invite us over?” hoshi asked genuinely confused.

“she was implying that you were supposed to knock first, dipshit.” woozi reached up to slap the back of the boy’s head.

as the night went on with dinner going smoothly, they all decided to play drinking games. obviously beginning with their famous ninja star game. seungkwan started off the game by throwing the invisible (nonexistent) star at the maknae. each of them imagining the star being launched across the table stabbing dino in his neck. the boy’s face contorted in fake pain, grasping a hand over his neck where he was supposedly hit. this resulted in areum letting out a small giggle, which is quite out of the ordinary because she’s usually able to keep a straight face every time they play this game.

seungkwan let out a sound of disbelief. “oh, noona laughed,” he pointed a finger at her, clearly stating the obvious.

bacardi bacardi bacardi yah, the boys sang. wonwoo poured the girl a shot of alcohol and handed it to her saying, “drink bro.”

she held up a hand, rejecting the glass, “ahh i can’t drink today. can someone else drink for me?”

now this really left the members confused. first, aurora laughed during the star game which she’s normally really good at. and second, she rejected a shot of alcohol.

“yah, what the fuck is wrong with you? are you sick or something?” mingyu asked with a joking tone.

“no, i’m not sick. i’m just… pregnant,” aurora mumbled the last word.

“speak up arie, we can’t hear you,” jeonghan told her.

“i said, i’m not sick. just pregnant.” the girl said much louder this time.

jun’s mouth dropped open, vernon choked on his water, and minghao spat out the bits of ramen in his mouth. it was like the members froze for a second. the boys who are always so loud and rowdy, now silenced by aurora’s sudden confession.

dokyeom was the first to speak up, “are you being for real right now reumie?”

“surprise…?” she shrugged awkwardly as if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

she pulled out the pregnancy test nestled in her hoodie’s pocket to prove that she wasn’t joking. with areum’s confirmation, booseoksoon erupted in excited squeals, the rest running over to the girl to tackle her in a hug. the room filled with oh my god i’m gonna be an uncle, can i be the godfather, and shua hyung’s gonna be a dad? as they all ran around in excitement, seungcheol stood up from where he was at the table and walked over to sit down in the chair next to aurora’s.

the leader embraced her in a warm hug, “does the company know?”

“oh my god cheol. i seriously do not wanna think about the company’s reaction to my pregnancy right now,” she rolled her eyes, breaking away from s.coups’ arms.

he chuckled, “okay okay i’m sorry. i just- i’m just worried for what they’re gonna think about the news.”

“and so am i, but right now i just wanna focus on myself and the baby. i will make sure to tell you when i do tell them,” aurora reassured him.

“if you tell them that is,” seungcheol raised a brow, causing areum to giggle.

after the leader left to go talk to joshua instead, dino slid into his now vacant seat. “areumie noona, are you gonna replace me with your baby?” he questioned genuinely curious.

“no chan, i could never. you will always be my first baby,” after hearing her words, the boy relaxed in his seat.

“GUYS! you know what would be a really good name for the baby, and this goes both ways girl and boy by the way. you could name it hoshi junior. after me AND tigers!”

“hell no. there is no way i’m naming my kid after you,” joshua shook his head.

[petriwriting]

Memories - Sirius Black X Reader

Summary: Harry finds an old notebook that belonged to Sirius during his Hogwarts days. In his scruffy handwriting, in an old dusty journal found in Sirius's bedroom is the story of Sirius' first real love.

A/N: Fluff, nostalgia, a little bit of angst if you look too hard. The reader is feminine, using she/her pronouns. Oneshot - blurb is very short but very sweet.

I made a friend today on the train to Hogwarts. She is very sweet and seems very nice. She had a ribbon in her hair, I thought that she looked nice. we talked and she said that she liked my hair too. I also made some new friends. I got sorted into Gryffindor house, it's crazy since my family is all from Slytherin house. I'm sure Mother will be so upset. She is always upset about something.

Harry read aloud to his curious friends, Hermione leaned over his shoulder curiously to look at the small dark grey journal, it was tatted beaten-down bound with leather, covered in dust, but well used.

"Keep reading, Harry," Hermione said gently, knowing that he wasn't reading it with malicious intent, but instead in an attempt to feel closer to his godfather. he turned a few pages until a page caught his eye, and began reading once more.

Reg and I got into a quarrel over some things that didn't really matter. he says I should be more concerned with our family. Reg and I used to be close, but after my third year, he became cold. I love my brother, but I hate to see him hanging around those gits. Malfoy in particular, but I know he is happy now as he has joined the Slytherin team. he's their seeker, but he's no match for Gryffindor this year.

This entry made Harry smile slightly, and chuckle. he continued to flip pages, it was heartwarming. He turned the pages, looking through some messy potions class notes and annotations, and an entry about the marauders map, and how he saw Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail.) sneaking out every night to sneak food from the kitchens. One page, in particular, caught his eye.

I Love Her.

I have loved her every day I've known her. She is brilliant, her eyes sparkle when she speaks, her smile is so bright it lights up the room as if you'd cast Lumos. She's incredibly intelligent, but kind. She's always been gentle with me. I've never met another like her.

I wish that I could make this all go away. All the secrets, the war, the hatred. I wish we could start a family one day, live in a little cottage, and raise children far away from here. We'd visit James and Lily every Christmas, and Remus on halloween. I could give her my mother's ring. I doubt Regulus would mind. We could be so happy. I remember the first day we met. I think i knew then that she was special. She has been unconditionally devoted to me. The night my mother burned my name off our family tree she held me in her arms as i cried and i finally felt what home is supposed to feel like. I wrote her a letter, expressing my yearning for her. I plan to give it to her very soon, along with a locket I picked out. Lily insisted on the dainty silver chain with a locket of our picture from our first year together, she even helped me enchant to image to capture y/n's smile as she sat next to me. she say's it's sentimental, and that girls like this sort of thing.

I never had a home, truly. just four walls surrounding me. My own mother disgraced my name, Regulus has been absent in my life. I'm thankful for my friends but my love for y/n is like no other. i just wish want her to feel the way i do, i hope she does. With everything, she can not get involved it's too dangerous. But I will love her anyway. The kind of love that could break the most heinous curse.

Harry stood for a moment, looking over his godfather's handwriting. it was sentimental. "I wonder if we could find her," Harry offered hopefully. "There's no mention of a last name." Ron pointed out. "I'm sure we could ask someone, if she knew the black family she can't be too terribly hard to find," Hermione said, offering a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think Sirius would love that."

[yannaryartside]

Animal symbolism in “the bear”

It’s midnight and I can’t sleep so let’s talk about animal symbolism. With little to no research, because it’s kinda of the point.

I am not going to give you too much zoology here, just the general facts/nature of the animals, as well as some spiritual symbolism.

It’s interesting that Carmy (as well as Michael and Nat imo) can be represented with the bear (and if I am remembering correctly, they are the ones that are called “bear” in the show, apart from Claire) but Donna is represented by a leopard and Richie is a fox.

The 3 siblings being bears could talk about how all of them are trapped inside their own trauma. Bears don’t travel or live in packs, they don’t even live in couples to raise cups. Bears are solitary animals by nature. They are powerfully but they are not known for their violence, because they don’t have big preys or actively hunt to survive. To me, they are symbols of resilience.

Donna’s animal speaks of her cunning and predatory nature, on top of the nature of her motherhood. That’s kinda the big difference for me. Both bear and leopards are predators but bears are mostly vegetarians, and when they eat fish there is not a lurking/active hunt happening. They basically wait for the fish to fly to them. Leopard spends 50/50 of their time divided between active hunting and waiting for the prey. They also “play” to learn to hunt. It could be a very good metaphor for the nature of narcissism. They fact the cannot “change its spots” as the popular saying goes.

Also, cats are very involved, almost overprotective mothers but their parenting ends when the cubs know how to hunt well enough to feed themselves. To be fair that’s is the case of most mammals. They are also very solitary animals.

Richie wanting to be a fox probably talks about feeling alone most of his life and thinking he had to find a family using his own intellect and instincts. It makes me think on how he tried to work for Cicero saying he knew stuff, but what he meant is that he could take part of the cunning. Wich speaks on the perception people have of fox as cunning animals.

I would give Cicero a wolf, he used to break people’s legs after all. He thinks he is a fox though, more cunning that he actually is. He is smart put depends on his pack (whatever Alfa he serves too, godfather style)

Also, Claire is not a bear, she is called that by the Faks and Richie in an effort to force her integration and ignore her otherwise lackey relationship with the family. She is called bear because she is supposed to be Carmy’s pair. If we are to believe the red flags people in this fandom have felt or point out, using a cat/feline to represent her would be more accurate. She is supposed to be deceptive version of the wild cat that is Donna so, it fits. I would give her a house cat, because she seems inoffensive but cats are also very predatory, because they hunt modestly for fun (since they are domesticated). A supposedly inoffensive cat, but a cat still.

I am not giving the Faks are animal, but if I were I would use something squishy and with little brain cells. An animal that is very naive and excessively dependent.

I think Marcus is a dog (he used to have a dog and I think it fits) he is loyal, kind and receptive, and can go a long time working mostly on impulse. Idk what I would give Tina, a large animal that can seem predatory but is mostly for self defense. I am not giving everyone in the crew an animal either, there is not enough info.

So, let’s see Syd. Most people in the fandom have associated her with a deer, I think it originated with Ayos “dove eyes”, she is wearing a fish T-shirt in the pilot but most people have associated it with her being exactly the type of young talent Carny would like to “smoke” in order to make a name for himself.

But you know what? I think we are right on the money.

For what I have been reading. The deer fits Sydney’s nature and power perfectly. She is the inner peace.

The interesting thing is that the relatives of the deer are the natural prey of the leopard and other big cats. But if Donna had Sydney were to meet, Sydney is the most equipped person to not fall for her manipulations.

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Zen’in Chiaki. Sixty-three. Location is in Okinawa, Japan… Reason for kill–tampering of legal documents within the company…

  The more I read this shit, it doesn’t make sense to me. A Zen’in being targeted for fucking with documents? I have no fear when it comes to those fuckers, but I don’t think anyone would be reckless enough to get themselves involved with that family. 

 My time there had me witnessing the most gruesome shit whenever someone tried to interfere with their affairs, so anyone without guts would even try to take them out. Now I’m reading a contract with a sixty-three-year-old woman that’s on their shitlist for tampering? 

 Something’s not adding up, especially when the woman appears to be from that family.

 Zen’in Chiaki? That name doesn’t ring a bell.  Don’t remember my old man having any aunts, and all his siblings are men. Could she be a cousin? A wife? I have no fucking clue. But I need a more detailed reason why she’s being targeted to kill because I just don’t go around sniping old ladies for the hell of it. 

  Is this why Kong was up my ass about taking this contract? Because the person is a Zen’in? Does he think I want to take revenge on those fuckers who abused me and the ones who witnessed it? Maybe if I didn’t have Megumi, I’d find pleasure in this. However, I can’t take that risk and do anything that could possibly fall back on my kid. 

 Just when I was about to close the folder and call Kong to reject this contract, something in her file grabs my attention. 

 Target had relations with several members of the Zen'in Family. 

 “What the fuck…” That’s what this is? They want to kill some broad they all slept with? So she’s definitely someone’s mistress. My guess is she’s not actually from the family and was married into, and probably slept around for money.

 Maybe now they’re not giving her what she wants, she went into tampering, they found out, and now they want to wipe her out.

 That’s the only thing that makes sense. Some shit Kong got me into, but still–why does he want me to take this?  

 Pulling out my burner phone from my locked desk draw, I speed dial Kong to get a clear answer. Because at this point, I’m tired of the vague crap.

 “Fucking pick up. I know you’re not asleep…” I mutter to myself. Most likely the fucker is up and smoking cigarettes yet the line is still ringing. “You got to me kidd–”

 “Oh, fuck yes.” Did this… motherfucker really answer the phone while he’s balls deep in some woman? “Fushiguro–calling so late. Did you miss me?”

 “You couldn’t get your dick together before answering the phone?”

 He deeply sighs followed with a chuckle. “Can’t have my lover waiting for me.”

 “Cut the crap. It’s about the file. Get the girl out the room or go somewhere private you can talk,” I say firmly. 

 “Ah, so you’ve finally read it. You’re going to take it. Yeah?” 

 “Why’d you give me this shit? Who’s Chiaki Zen’in?” 

 I hear him light a cigarette and take a puff. “That’s not my family, Fushiguro. How the hell am I supposed to know?”

 “Because you gave this to me! Now I definitely feel like you’re trying to set me up.” 

 “Fushiguro, get your fucking head out your ass and use your brain for once. What benefit do I get for setting you up?”

 I shrug. “Money.”

 “Like I don’t have plenty. It actually hurts that you don’t trust me as Megumi’s godfather.” Again with the banter because I know Kong loves messing with me. 

 “Fuck off.”

 “And plus, I value my life. You’re a crazy son of a bitch. I know my place.”

 At least he knows. 

 He continues, “Look—I think you should take the contract. It might help you get the answers you’re looking for. You don’t have to kill the lady, but maybe she knows something about what actually happened to your wife.”

 I arched my brow. “And how would she know?”  

 “That’s why you fucking ask, genius. If Naoya overheard them talk, there’s a possibility she could’ve as well,” he says. “If she was a mistress, then they might’ve talked around her without realizing she’s listening. Take the contract, go find her, and get answers.”

 Kong does have a point. 

 Since that Zen’in fuck insinuated my old man had something to do with my late wife’s death, I’ve been losing sleep to do further digging, and have Kong do the same. 

 Asking my father or uncle directly won’t do anything because I know they’ll just lie. And quite frankly, if I ever see them again, I’d probably just beat them both to a pulp. So maybe seeing who this Chiaki Zen’in woman is would help me get the answers I need.

  The convenience of this contract is that it’s due in three months—around the time I’m flying to Tokyo. What an interesting fucking trip this will be.

 “Alright. I’ll take it.”

three weeks later…

 “Y/N, where… are… we?”

  Alright—when Y/N said to take the day off because we’re going on a date, never did I expect for her to take us to a Formula One track race. Especially to a race that I thought was fucking sold out. 

 And the craziness thing is—I never mentioned wanting to go, so how did she know? 

 Is this the fluffy shit they talk about in relationships? Remembering what your partner enjoys to make them happy? Because when it comes to Y/N, I’ll do whatever just to see that pretty smile on her face. 

 Just don’t expect that to happen to me, though. Simply ‘cuz I’ve never experienced it. But since I made Y/N mine a little over a month ago, she’s gotten me used to certain shit. 

 Dates. Skin to skin contact in bed. Fucking self care routine that involves this retinol concoction I still don’t understand but visibly see the difference it does to my face. 

 And to top it off, making videos together where we dress up in coordinating outfits before we go out. All of this shit is foreign to me, yet…it feels damn good. 

 For the first time in a while, life isn’t too bad. Me and Megs are pretty decent, and now my relationship with Y/N. . . I have nothing to complain about. 

 “We’re at a Formula One—” Before she got the chance to respond, I crashed my lips against her to show my fucking appreciation. Her stiff nature shows she’s shocked at my sudden kiss, but she immediately relaxes in my embrace and the moment I grip her ass. 

 Those soft moans always taste the sweetest when we’re out in public, and Y/N must’ve forgot I have a exhibitionism kink. 

 “I know where we’re at, Y/N.” I look into her eyes, hoping my own conveys how I feel at this moment. With how she’s smiling at me, I’m sure it does. 

 She’s so fucking pretty. Don’t think I’ll ever get over that. 

 “Easy, big guy. I see the look in your eyes,” she teases. “We have the whole day together.”

 I kiss her cheek before grabbing her hand to walk toward the stadium. “You’re wearing that tiny ass skirt around me and expect me to behave?”

 “Toji—I could be wearing a cheese suit and you’d still want to fuck me.”

 I throw my head back and chuckle. “Glad you know me, sweets.” 

 She nods with a smile. “I do.”

 “How’d you get these tickets anyways? Tried to get them myself and they fucking sold out in a minute.”

 “Your girl has some connections. Meaning, I know a guy.”

 I raise a brown in concern. “Hope it’s not any exes.”

 “No, baby,” she says through a giggle. “One of my students' older brothers, who I happened to be acquainted with, gave me his tickets.”

 “Willingly?”

 “You should know how charming I could be, Mr. Fushiguro.”

 I shake my head. “Trust me. I know.”

 She wraps her arms around mine and leans against me. “I’m excited, TJ. I’ve never been to a Formula One race before.”

 “They’re pretty cool. Just here to bet some money, though.”

 “Should I be surprised?”

 “Nope,” I responded with an exaggerated pop sound. 

 “Well, I’ll just be the pretty girlfriend who asks a thousand questions.”

 Being with Y/N is starting to feel like second nature to me. Her presence is so damn addicting and I know I’ll never grow tired of it. 

 Almost like if I keep spending time with her, these memories I’ve been having lately will start making sense. The shit is weird, and I don’t believe in anything… but I do believe in Y/N. I believe she’s it for me. And say if we don’t work out. . . Well, I’ll keep trying until we do. 

  Please, don’t leave me. That voice keeps echoing in my head, and I can’t help but think it’s Y/N. 

 I won’t, I respond internally. 

 “. . . Baby, you’re okay?” A soft, concerned voice overlaps my thoughts, reminding me I’m with Y/N.

 “Y-Yeah, my bad, sweets.”

 “You’ve been doing a lot of zoning out lately,” she says, brows slightly dipping. “You sure everything’s okay?”

 “Positive,” I lied, not wanting her to worry. 

 She looks like she doesn’t believe me, but decides to drop it, which I’m grateful for. “Okay,” she replies with a soft smile. 

 Eventually we found our seats just before the race and I find myself itching to place bets with the fuckers around me. Never can pass up an opportunity to make extra cash. 

 “. . . it’s round one of the Formula One season of . . .” The commentator blares throughout the stadium with intros of each racer and all the other shit they say before the race begins. 

 Courtesy of whoever this person gave Y/N the tickets, our seats are pretty damn good. But, of course, the best view of the stadium is my girl sitting next to me. 

 The best view of the stadium is my girl sitting next to me. Wow, how fucking corny did that sound? I’ve been turning into an all time sap ever since I’ve seen Y/N for the first time. It’s not like I give a damn. 

 Told myself I want to be better for her because quite frankly, a fucker like me doesn’t deserve a girl like Y/N. And it’s not like I’m trying to convince myself of it either, but I’m known to be the Zen’in fuck up. The unlovable child. The accident. . . 

 Why don’t you understand that I love you?

 Every time I even think for a second about all the fucked up shit my old man said to me, that familiar voice pops up in my mind. 

 However, I didn’t get a chance to think about it any longer. 

 Y/N’s plush lips were on mine, rewarding me with a kiss that brought me back to reality and rushed arousal to my cock. But still…it managed to be soft…longing…reassuring. . . The kiss put words in my mouth that felt weird for me to say. 

 It’s like she knew I was thinking about some shit that had me internally spiraling, though, rather than asking, she gave me a kiss that dispel any negative thoughts lingering inside of me. 

 “Hi, big guy.” Her voice is filled with tenderness, barely above a whisper when she looks at me with those eyes that say it’s okay. 

 Something I probably need to hear. 

 “So, how much do you usually bet on these games?” she asked, changing the topic from where my mind was. 

 “Depends, but Formula One races are usually filled with rich fuckers, so I bid higher.” 

 “. . . And this is the track we’re racing on today—fifty-eight laps. Three point two-eight miles per lap. . .”

 Thirty minutes later, and the race starts. But honestly, I barely gave a damn about the race or betting since I was more invested in listening to Y/N’s commentary. 

 If it wasn’t her being concerned about the drivers crashing into the mountain of tires, it was her telling me how hot I’d look in the driver’s gear. 

 Her words. Not mine. 

 Whenever I was into the race, yelling at the track like a maniac because I eventually placed bets, she was right there with me—shouting like she placed bets. 

 Where I was serious, she took it as race shit talking. 

 Couldn’t believe this, but I was actually having… fun. 

 Fun. 

 Fuck, that’s another word that feels weird to say. 

 It’s the truth, though. And it’s all because of Y/N. 

 Kind of wish the kid was here with us, but I haven’t grown balls big enough to tell him I’m with his reading teacher. Seeing how my mood is with  her, if I had him here, too, I knew I would be the cheesiest motherfucker in the world. 

 “Toji, be honest,” she starts, dragging me from my thoughts. “Do you actually ever win your bets?”

 “Fuck no.” And something about my answer had Y/N bursting into a fit of laughter. “Damn, didn’t know me losing money was that funny to you.” I acted like I was offended, but she knows I wasn’t. 

 “Because the driver we're rooting for is losing, baby.” 

 I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with an underdog.”

 “It is when you’re not profiting off the underdog in question,” she argues.

 “Fair point.”

 She sighs before standing up. “All this yelling has me needing the restroom, and I’m hungry. I’ll be right back.” She gets up, purposely stopping to where her ass levels with my face, and I know the exact shit she’s trying to pull. 

 “Okay, Y/N,” I simply say. 

 She giggles. “You want anything, babe?”

 I shook my head, but pulled out cash to give to Y/N before slapping her ass, earning a yelp and pervert, from her while watching her walk away. 

 Definitely fucking her when we get back home. 

 This day couldn’t get any better. From the bullshit at work to this contract Kong finally got me to sign weeks ago, I didn’t realize how much I needed a day of me and Y/N. 

 Seeing how our conversations have been lately, she probably knew something was up with me, which technically, there is. 

 Just haven’t had the chance to tell her. 

 Don’t know if I will.  

 I mean, how exactly do I fucking bring up my family possibly had something to do with my wife’s death, and I’m taking a contract to find out more? Not happening. 

 Can’t have her thinking I’m full of shit and been lying to her the entire time. Can’t risk Y/N freaking out and potentially calling the cops. Can’t risk…

 Losing her. 

 It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen. Yeah, I talk down on myself and say how much I don’t deserve Y/N. But I’m a selfish son of a bitch. 

 Even when I know I shouldn’t have something (or in this case, someone) I’ll take it anyway. That’s just who I am. 

 A buzzing sound in my pocket gets on my fucking nerves and several missed calls and text messages from Kong. 

 

And besides, I didn’t feel the damn vibration until now. 

“What the…”  

 Here’s here. Here’s here. 

 Here’s here. Here’s here.

 Here’s here. Here’s here.

 I waste no time speed dialing Kong and maneuvering out the crowd to somewhere I can what the fuck is he talking about. 

 “Finally—”

 “Speak,” I cut him off after he answered the phone. “Now.” 

 “I’m at the bar near the condo I’m renting and some geezer comes up to me and tells me to give you his regards,” Kong explains. “I’m wondering who the fuck is he. Then, I realized he reminds me of someone. You, Fushiguro.”

 This has to  be some kind of sick twisted joke. 

 The kind I don’t find fucking funny. 

 Twenty years. I have seen that bastard in over twenty years, and somehow he reappears in the city I came to start a new life in. Of all places. 

 The first person that comes to mind is that Zen’in brat that was adamant about having to do shit when that family, and now all of a sudden my old man is fucking here. That little shit is his eyes. I knew I couldn’t trust that motherfucker for a reason. 

 Pissed isn’t even the word to describe how I feel. I’m furious. My blood burns with rage and at this moment, if anyone even looks at me wrong, I’ll bash their face in picturing my old man. 

 You unlovable child. 

 Your mother should’ve aborted you. 

 Go in the street and die. Like I care. 

 You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re useless. You’re— 

 “Fushiguro!” Kong yells. “Are you fucking listening?”

 No. 

 And it’s not like I can right now. 

 “Text me what you said. I have to go.” I hang up and throw my phone back in my pocket. I need to go. Now. I need to find—

 “Y/N.” 

 Shit, my head was so far up my ass, I forgot she went to the bathroom and concession stand. 

 I peek over to find our empty seats, leaving me to believe Y/N hasn’t come back yet. So my next move was to rush near the restrooms, asking different women who’s coming out did they see a beautiful, dark skin woman with the additional description I gave them.

 Some answered no, and others were too busy ogling like I would a fuck about their attention. 

 The concession stands were next, and it’s not helping that there’s damn near hundreds of them on this floor alone. 

 I know Y/N is fine. Probably just waiting in line to buy food. It’s just… I can’t be here right now. My lungs have grown tighter and it’s been harder to breathe since Kong told me about my old man being here. 

 I’m forty-two. It’s been a little over two decades. Shouldn’t be triggered by this shit anymore. I’ve forgotten. I don’t care. But that little weak boy inside of me is dripping out and reminding me that I’m still… not okay. 

 Maybe ‘cuz I’m worried about everything going good in my life now turning to complete shit the minute a Zen’in shows up around me. Specifically those two drunk fucks—my old man and his brother. 

 Y/N, where are you? 

 I’ve passed at least six concession stands already and still haven’t found her. Dammit, she probably got lost. I know this is her first time at a Formula One race, so she—

 Don’t fuck with me. 

 Don’t fuck with me. 

 Anger blurs my vision when I look across to see Y/N and my fucking old man—talking. Talking like they’re old friends. 

 My strides are long and hard while pushing through the crowd, not caring about the glares, scoffs, or complaints from the people I’m pushing out my way. All I care about is getting to Y/N and getting her the hell away from my old man. 

 As I close in on them, I’m able to hear their conversation. 

 “Are you single by chance? I have a son that you would be fantastic with,” he says. 

 She nervously giggles, but not in the way she usually does… she’s uncomfortable. “Oh, uhm, no. I have a boyfriend—”

 “Y/N!” I shout, causing her to turn around and look at me. The moment we lock eyes, relief floods her expression, confirming my observation of her being uncomfortable. 

 “Toji—” I pull her behind me to level with my father and grab him by his suit collar.

 Of course he’s the same coward as before because the moment I snatched him up, three fuckers dressed in black ran toward us to protect him, but he held his hand up to stop them in their tracks. 

 “What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked through gritted teeth. I’m itching to kill him, and had it not been for us being in public or Y/N, no questions would’ve been asked.

 “My dear son. Is this how you greet your father after twenty years?” The mockery and condescending tone is his voice makes me want to rip out his fucking throat. “Also, I see you lack manners as usual. Did you not see me talking to this beautiful young woman?”

 “You have shit to talk about with her.”

 His brows raised in realization. “Overprotective over a woman? Is this your significant partner?”

 “Y–”

 “No,” I answered, cutting her off and instantly regretting it. I don’t need to look at Y/N to know confusion fills her face. “Answer my fucking question.”

 “Just making friendly conversation, is all. Am I not allowed to do that?”

 “I-”

 “Fushiguro,” Y/N interrupts. She catches me off guard by using my last name, but I guess it’s only fair since I denied she was my girlfriend. “Let’s go.”

 The silent plea in her eyes makes me wish I never allowed this piece shit to pull a reaction out of me. ‘Cuz by the looks of it, Y/N is scared… and it’s all because of me. 

 You’re worthless. Don’t ever come near this estate again. 

 These damn thoughts in my head will do everything in their power to skin me alive. I’ll just ignore them… like I always do. 

 Last thing I want, which she probably already does now, is to regret being mine. So I took her hand, ignored that fucker and his condescending voice, and rushed through the crowd again to get the hell out of here. 

 “Toji,” Y/N calls me, sounding worried. “Toji, wait. Was that your—”

 “Old man.” 

 My fucking old man. 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[camywamycam]

what was left behind in the rubble P.2

1,150 words

soon to be harry x reader 

summary: you moved in with your father Sirius Black from California two months ago and he completely ignores you when Harry arrives for your birthday your adoptive father visits you and hell breaks loose.

Sirius Black had many questions, as did everyone else. Harry had been talking with Sirius about something, but at this point, he couldn't remember because of how often the subject would change. that's when he heard a knock on the door and the hushed voice of Remus who was practically interrogating him. "who are you? how did you find this place" Remus said harshly. As the man was about to answer both men heard a loud gasp coming from the hallway. Harry and Sirius both watched as y/n practically jumped off the staircase into the grasp of the strange man. "I can't believe you're here!" "Of course I'm here it's not like I would've missed your birthday," Joel said in a sarcastic voice. Joel was a large man. standing 6'5 (taller than Sirius by 8 inches) and he had a scowl embedded permanently on his stubble-covered face. he was quite intimidating to put it shortly, although Harry could tell that wouldn't stop Sirius and his stupidity from picking a fight with the man. Joel smiled as he put down the strange object he was holding and spun y/n around. Harry looked at Sirius with wide eyes as Sirius stood up and walked cockily toward the much bigger man.

I'm sorry, and you are? Sirius said in a rude tone as Remus just stood back in shock. he and Molly had been trying to get you to open up to them for months. you never smiled or left your room. they would invite you to partake in activities with them but you would always refuse and opt to stay in your room with your muggle cassette tapes and guitar. seeing you switch up your demeanor and so easily jump into the arms of this random man made him reflect upon himself. maybe he should've tried harder. maybe he should try to bond with you over your interests. he felt as if he failed to be your godfather. Sirius despite having ignored you during all the time you had been staying in his house had a random rush of a fatherly authority. who was this strange man holding his daughter? Who the hell did he think he is? instead of wondering why you didn't act that way with him, he chose to ignore how happy you were with him and focus on getting this guy out of his house. "oh um Im Joel, her muggle guardian, that's what they call us right y/n? muggle?" "yeah Dad" Sirius felt his heart drop. all of a sudden his reality dawned on him. you never called him that. he never gave you the father-daughter relationship he was supposed to give you, instead he pushed you away just as he did your mother before she passed. though, he was much too prideful to let his self-reflection show in the presence of all these people. he was much too prideful to admit he had fucked up, it was a talent he carried throughout his life. his blissful ignorance. "I'm sorry but this home is being used by the order, you can't be here," he said in an attempt to get him to leave. Harry just watched as the other nosey children of the home started filling in the room silently as if they could smell conflict. Joel having picked up on the negative vibes Sirius sent his way instantly began returning the same hostility. "actually I was just about to leave" Joel said giving Sirius a fake smile "I just wanted to drop off y/ns gift before I take her out for the day" Sirius ignored the new information. he didn't know it was your birthday, he never bothered to ask. "what makes you think you can take out my daughter?" he said making a point to exaggerate the "my" "I'm not your daughter and I never will be" y/n said in a closed off tone. who the hell did he think he is? For the past month, he acted as if you didn't exist while he treated that Potter kid as if he was god himself. Joel noticed you're now closed-off manner and your fidgeting hands as he reached out to put his arm around you to calm you down. Sirius being the ignorant dumb child man he is ignored how uncomfortable you were and instead of backing down he chose to provoke Joel into arguing with her "I'm not letting some junkie take my daughter" "Oh please look at yourself you reek of cigarettes"

before Sirius could get the crap beaten out of him Remus stepped in and made him step down as you and Joel left. Remus had always wanted a family but he ignored the small one in front of him. having seen your beautiful platonic relationship with Joel Remus was now determined to make you feel more included even if he had to drag you out of your room. he was jealous and disappointed in himself.

you didn't come back for a long while. you showed Joel around the area that you were now somewhat knowledgeable about although you pretended as if you were an expert to make him impressed. Joel took you shopping in the muggle side of town, somewhere you haven't been allowed to go to. he even took you to the movies! Joel felt bad for the scene that Sirius he had caused. when you walked into the dining room the tension thickened. the children in the room looked between the adults anticipating drama. "so, how was your day with your drug dealer?" "Sirius that's eno-" "What the fuck is your problem? You never cared about me until now, stop trying to act like your my dad because you never will be!" the table went silent. "I am your father, you are my blood!" Sirius squared like a segal on drugs as Molly ushered the children up the stairs. all left but Harry since he was so entitled to push himself into your problems. "Sirius does everything for you and you treat him like shit!" Harry said ignorantly. "oh I'm treating him like shit? I've talked to him twice in the 4 months I've been here!" you retreated up to your room pushing the other teens who were eavesdropping from the staircase. you flopped on your bed as you curled up into a ball and cried.

Remus felt terrible. even if he had treated you kindly he still sat back and allowed you to be treated as if you were nothing. he should've intervened earlier but now all he can do is hope you are willing to forgive him.

Remus knocked on the door "May I come in?" Remus said wearily "Yeah sure..." Remus walked into the room that was dimly lit by your muggle "led" lights. he didn't speak. he engaged you in his warm hugs and held you as you cried. "shh it's okay, let it out."

tag list 

@moonys0chocolate @venomsvl   @quackitysdrugdealer

[kquil]

NOT HERS

PAIR. : Sirius Black x Vanessa (moot)

SUM. : Vanessa, being Harry's 4th grade teacher, eventually ends up meeting his ever so charming Godfather

LENGTH : 1.9k

DEDICATED TO @loving-and-dreaming (1k cake request)

EVENT : CLOSED

“Harry, is this man really your godfather?” you ask with caution in your voice. It was the end of the school day and you always made it a point to wave goodbye to all the children you teach. You've kept this ritual up for as long as you could remember and so you’ve become relatively familiar with the children’s parents and guardians. For Harry, one of your most beloved students to teach despite the regular mischief he gets up to, you expected to see him off with either Lily or James, his known parents. However, the man standing in front of you was neither James nor Lily. He look completely unrelated with his wavy, ebony hair, angular, almost feminine features, pale skin, tattoos and leather attire. You’ve never seen him before so you were quick to judge and eye him cautiously, never fully allowing yourself to succumb to his charming good looks and suave mannerisms. 

“Yeah Yeah!” Harry cheers, running up to the man who immediately drops down with open arms and sweeps little Harry up with a bark of laughter, “Uncle Siri!” as Harry wraps his arms around the man’s neck and presses his small face into his shoulder, his supposed uncle meets your eyes and winks, sending your heart racing. 

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself, taking your hand and leaning down slightly to press a kiss against your knuckles. His grey eyes never leave yours and sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “and you must be?...”

“Vanessa, I’m Harry’s teacher,” you introduce, tamping down the butterflies in your stomach and regulating your breathing so that the heat spreading across your cheeks cools down quickly. 

With a smirk, he nods and rises back to his full height, towering over you with interested eyes, “Of course,” his display of charm has sent multiple mothers and guardians around you swooning, if the light gasps and flurry of excited whispers were any indication but you weren’t about to be any of them. You’re too much of a pessimist at heart that when it comes to your own lovelife the thought that any man would look your way twice is an impossibility. So you’ve grown a habit of dismissing all potential lovers, it’s a terrible habit but one that’s saved you so much heartache; it continues to perpetuate your negative views on love for yourself, “a pleasure to meet you, doll,”

The loving name he appoints you has no effect, peaking his interest further, “the pleasure’s all mine,” you then turn to Harry who has been watching the exchange between you (his favourite teacher of all time) and his uncle with attentive doe eyes, “get home safe, Harry, tell your parents I said hi and I hope you have a good weekend,” you speak softly, voice, gentle and warm as the summer sun and eyes, kind and ever so blue. Sirius is shocked. From the way you spoke to him, he would think that you had nothing but ice in your veins and deeply questioned your choice of occupation but he had no reason for such doubts anymore; you’re every bit the angel Harry had described you to be when praising your way of teaching at the dinner table. 

“You too, Miss!” Harry returns with a toothy grin that earns him a wider smile from you, “See you Monday!” 

As Sirius walks away with Harry in his arms, you wave at the little boy past the man’s shoulders and eventually turn your attention to your other departing students. In Sirius’ arms, Harry pulls away slightly and eyes him with an impish glint in his eyes but doesn’t say anything, even when Sirius sets the little boy down on his motorbike in order to retrieve their helmets. 

“What is it Harry?” Sirius eventually asks. 

“You like Miss Vanessa, don’t you?” Harry giggles behind his small hands and looks up at his uncle with smiling eyes. 

“Of course I do, she takes really good care of you, prongslet,” Sirius comments with a smile and brings Harry’s helmet over his head. 

“Righhtttt~” Harry teases, sounding just like James, which brings a smile to Sirius’ lips, “I can ask her if she’s single for you, uncle Siri,”

“Alright!” Sirius distracts with a chuckle, “Let’s get you home shall we?” 

In your initial meeting, Sirius didn’t know how to feel about you; you were warm and sweet, kind as could be but also cold and a grump. It was an odd combination but definitely worth his attention. You were spoken highly of by Harry, James and Lily as a teacher but meeting you for himself was a different story. He was definitely interested in you so he made the effort of volunteering to collect Harry and drop him off whenever possible. His actions definitely raised a lot of questions between Lily and James but the questions remained silent; they wanted to see how it all played out. 

Months pass as the couple watches Sirius happily volunteer to drop off Harry for school and encourage their Friday date nights to become a regular thing so that he would have an excuse to see you weekly. The couple watched as Harry sang your praises during meals, especially when Sirius was over for dinner. They watched as Sirius became more excited for school than Harry in the mornings. And they watched when Harry sang Sirius’ praises to you during parents evenings, where they came in to talk with you about Harry’s progress, only for the conversation to turn to how fun and amazing and handsome his uncle Siri was. Amused, the couple zipped their lips and held their tongues — but only until it was time to gossip to Remus about it. 

“Oh god, is that who I think it is?” James chuckles as he slings his arm across Lily’s shoulders and eyes your form from across the pub. 

“It’s Vanessa!” Lily’s giggles ring with recognition as the couple eye you happily chatting with your group of friends at the bar before turning to Sirius and trying to alert him of your presence. However, with the busy night and high level of background noise, their warnings go unnoticed.  

“Is that the famous Vanessa I keep hearing so much about?” Remus chuckles in an attempt to help out, looking over his shoulder to examine you himself. As a university professor, he was quite busy so he’s only heard about you through James and Lily. Seeing you for the first time, he can understand the couple’s speculation of Sirius’ blossoming affections, you have every feature Sirius was ever weak for, sweet looking and kind with gentle eyes and a warm smile. Sitting right beside Sirius, Remus’ exclamation, draws in the tatted man’s attention right away. 

“Where?!” Sirius, slightly tipsy, looks around in excitement, grey eyes immediately landing on you and grinning widely. Without a second thought, he gets up and dusts himself off, “It’s my chance,” he says to himself, his adoring eyes never leaving your beautiful figure from across the room, “no little kids screaming to get in the way, no Harry to tease me, no parents to watch me make a fool of myself….” his friends laugh at his hushed ramblings and usher him off with a word of ‘good luck’ on their lips. 

“Doll!” Sirius cheers and throws his arms around your waist from behind, “Fancy seeing you here~” he presses his forehead against your shoulder and takes a deep breath, sighing contentedly at your comforting smell. He’s tried multiple times to get close to you but the situation was never appropriate so your fragrance is left tempting him from a distance in faint notes as he resists the urge to pull you close. Now, with no inhibitions, he’ll take what he’s resisted for so long. 

“S-Sirius?!” you squeal in surprise, your flustered expression making the tipsy man coo in adoration. 

“I knew you would be cute like this,” Sirius sighs and turns you in his arms so that your front was pressed up against his chest, “lemme take a closer look at ya’,” you could smell the alcohol on his breath when he leans in close as you desperately try to slow your racing heart. 

“Sirius, this is very inappropriate,” you huff but make little to no attempt at pushing him away, only giving his shoulders a slight push, not wanting to hurt him in his inebriated state. 

“No it’s not,” he childishly protests but becomes quiet as he examines your face with his steel-grey eyes. Despite your flustered state from his closeness, your eyes don’t stray from his as he takes you in, “wow, Vanessa,” he whispers your name with so much adoration, your heart can’t help but lurch with a sickening hope, “you’re so beautiful,” he leans closer, was he going to kiss you?! His nose lands on your shoulder and he whispers into the fabric of your shirt, “and so soft… you smell nice…” he holds you closer and groans in drunken delight, “I want to hold you forever,”

“Sirius, you’re drunk,” you say firmly, using your teacher's voice on him, which was fitting for his childish mannerisms. He’s so different now from the man who moved like a prowling, debonair wolf. 

“No I’m not!” he meets your eyes with defiance but relents when you give him the very same look you give your kids when you catch them misbehaving, “Maybe a little but that doesn’t take away from your beauty, Doll,” he reasons and chuckles deeply at your stunned and bashful expression, “gimme your number,” he demands, relaxed but firm, his confident command making your heart ache with want even though there’s a persistent voice in the back of your mind telling you that it’s not true. He doesn’t want my number… habitually, you turn to your friend, who watches the exchange excitedly with your other friends. She was prettier, she was the prettiest — surely it was her number that Sirius wanted.

Curious over what had your attention, Sirius follows your eyes to meet with your friend’s just as you turn around to face him again and witness the exchange of glances between the two. 

I knew it… 

“Your number, doll?” Sirius asks, his attention back on you as he raises his phone for you to add your contact in. 

You push him away to do so but with your friend’s contact, “here,” hurriedly giving back his phone, you turn to your friends and hide away your disappointment and heartbreak. How dare you get your hopes up like that? You know how it always ends. How could a charming, funny and handsome guy like Sirius ever want to be with someone like you? 

Your thoughts spiral negatively and you swear to never get your hopes up again but are pulled out of it when you hear your friend’s phone ring from across the table. Snapping your head up, you watch your beautiful friend reach for her phone only for the ringing to suddenly stop and you’re forcefully turned around to face a very sober-looking Sirius, “I asked for your number, Dollface,” he raises a hand to caress your soft cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch gentle and kind despite the dark look in his eyes, “not hers,” Sirius feels somewhat insulted, “I know what I want,” ‘you’ his eyes say silently but earnestly, “I’m not letting you decide for me,” 

A/N : i really wish i could have developed this more but i swore to myself that each cake request had to be between 1 to 2k words just to be fair and so i don't tire myself out with requests. Vanessa! my darling! i hope this did you justice! im sorry if it's not enough, i wish i could do more but i did my best for you, my love!

1K MILESTONE EVENT : CLOSED | NAVI.

[skzhocomments]

A Chance of Fate (Lee Know) - Chapter 5 - The Gathering

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

---

Chapter 5 - The Gathering

Chapter word count: 4.1k words

“NO WAY, HYUNG!” I.N. exclaimed, laughter erupting all over the table where all the people around it listened to Han excitedly talk about his life in Uni.

“Yahhhhh, I can’t believe you guys did that!” Chan said. “I mean, yeah, it’s true that that professor was kind of a dick, but still! Throwing him in the river?”

“AND AFTERWARDS-” Han continued his story “SOMEONE HAD TO JUMP AFTER HIM BECAUSE THE FUCKER COULDN’T SWIM!”

Everyone was holding their bellies at this point; Felix was hitting the table with his fist, Seungmin was mocking Han and Hyunjin was already too far gone in laughter’s land.

Observing everyone carefully, you felt almost included in their circle of friends. When your gaze flicked to Minho’s side profile, you got charmed once again by how beautiful he was. Your eyes lingered long enough on his features for him to notice you were basically staring, so he turned to you and offered you his kind smile, his hand finding yours under the table, squeezing it.

“So, Dal-Rae, I guess we’re all curious about you, why don’t you tell us more about yourself?” Olivia asked you loudly after finishing up her 6th glass of soju.

“What are you curious about?” You smiled.

“How did you meet Minho?” The question came from Seungmin.

“I happened to walk in front of his restaurant, and it smelled so good-”

“It was the special recipe.” Han interrupted you.

“- and I walked in, that’s when I met Han and Minho.”

“What- just like that?” Seungmin asked again, perplexed by your simple answer.

“What’s your profession?” This time, Chan was the curious one.

“I don’t have a job right now, but… I used to be an accountant. I’m actually searching for one, though.” You added, chuckling uncomfortably, and avoided Minho’s piercing gaze, still feeling his hand on top of yours under the table.

“Really? How long have you worked as an accountant?” Felix asked.

“And where?” Chan continued.

“Okay guys, this feels more like an interrogation.” Minho tried to stop his group of friends, but Olivia ignored him completely.

“Guys, c’mon! Jobs, jobs, jobs… this is boring! Let’s change the subject to something more interesting! Dal-Rae, as you know I have a cuuuute daughter at home.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “I remember you showing me a picture of her. Her name’s Isabella, isn’t it?”

“You remembered that?” Olivia smiled brightly, the first genuine she’s shown you after the whole fiasco at her store. “Anyway, what are you cooking in there, a boy or a girl?”

“Now that I think of it, you also haven’t told me earlier!” Han turned his attention to you. “Shouldn’t the Godfather know of this? What kind of clothes should I buy if I don’t know???”

“Gender neutral ones, dumbass.” Hyunjin replied sarcastically. “But wait, the Godfather? How did that happen?”

“Yeah! I asked earlier!” he smiled brightly, before having his face turn into a frown once again. “But Dal-Rae, you still didn’t tell me.”

“Hannie, don’t be upset. I don’t know either.” You chuckled.

“Wait, you don’t KNOW?” Seungmin asked you, once again perplexed by your simple answer.

“No. I just figured that I’m gonna love them just as much either way, so why not keep it a surprise? A boy, a girl… why does it matter?”

“Fair point!” Olivia seemed satisfied with your answer. “We also didn’t want to know at first, but anxiety got the better of me and I just had to be prepared for everything.”

You smiled, even if you haven’t exactly told the truth. Part of it was true, it truly didn’t matter to you. However, how were you supposed to tell everyone that you didn’t want to find out because you were scared of your ex’s reaction? He told you so many times that he wanted a boy. If you found out you had a girl, it wouldn’t matter that you would be over the moon. He’d ruin the excitement and flip off, and you’d be at the other end of his rage.

It was simply better not finding out and using this simple excuse of “I want it to be a surprise!”, and your ex couldn’t argue with that.

~

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and on the way back you heard an unfamiliar voice, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“Hello y’all! Sorry I’m late to the party! I just landed 2 hours ago. Can’t believe no one remembered to come pick me up!”

“Jess? Oh my god!I thought you were coming tomorrow!” Olivia shouted loudly.

Who is this person? Is it a friend of theirs? 

But why isn’t anyone else but Olivia saying anything?

“Oh my, Lee Know! This place looks amazing! So, where should I sit?”

As she scanned the table, her eyes landed on the empty seat next to Minho.

“Aww, you even saved me a seat! I would’ve much rather seen you at the airport with some flowers, though!”

You heard the sound of a chair scratching the wooden floor and winced. The sound was so uncomfortable, you momentarily hugged yourself and squinted your eyes.

Seen you at the airport with some flowers? You thought her words in your head over and over again. By the little information you knew about Minho’s love life, you knew he was single, so… who, exactly, was this Jess?

“Hi, Jess. Glad to know you returned safe.” Minho’s voice reached your ears. It somehow sounded… different than usual. Cold, devoid of the usual kindness he’s always showing you and his friends.

“I missed you so much, Minho! I couldn’t wait to return and hug you like this.” She continued, and you grimaced. You didn’t mean to, but it’s okay, no one even knows you’re no longer in the bathroom; they can’t see you.

Are they hugging right now? You wondered, feeling unreasonably hurt. What kind of face was Minho making? Did he miss this person as well?

What kind of relationship did they have for this woman to declare so loudly and publicly that she missed him, but not say the same to the others?

“I thought of you every day. You were right, I should’ve never left. And this? This is what is truly precious to me. Being friends with everyone and hanging out like this… I’m really sorry I didn’t stay in touch with you, guys! But as you know, America is hectic!”

No one was really saying anything to this girl – Jess. You were wondering why the air around you felt stuffy, and curiosity got the better of you. You couldn’t stay hidden forever, so you returned to the table.

When you re-entered the room and saw her… you were simply speechless. Her long hair, blonde and wavy, was gently hugging her shoulders. She was beautifully dressed, even though her attire was informal: a pair of jeans and a white blouse, both complimenting her slim figure. You were reminded of the first time you met Olivia, of the perfect girl in the magazine image she had and how much it stunned you – and Jess was no less than that: her jaw sharp, her teeth perfect, her skin flawless – a sense of inferiority began rising in your chest as you noticed that you simply couldn’t compare to her at all.

Of course Minho’s type had to be the perfect Barbie doll-girl. You thought and smiled to yourself bitterly, counting in your head how many times your ex called you ugly these past few months – and how he was right. You gained baby weight, you had stretch marks, your skin was pale, and you had prominent dark circles under your eyes. That’s not even mentioning the fading bruises sitting idly under the thick layer of foundation.

You were simply the complete opposite of Jess.

She was sitting down in your seat comfortably, laughing loudly until her gaze landed on you. She scanned you head to toe, before her eyes stopped on your bump. Then, she noticed Han getting up and coming to you, so she assumed you were his girlfriend.

“Hannie, how come you didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend and a child on the way?” Jess smiled in a fake manner. “Heya, nice to meet you girl! I’m Jess.” She shouted from over the table and raised her right arm in the air, waving it to you, before looking at Minho and arranging a strand of hair on his forehead.

Ouch.

Your insides started burning watching her be so familiar with him, and for some reason, a wave of nausea washed over you. You felt sick, and your chest tightened, to the point of hurting you, and you felt the need to grab onto your chest as if you could somehow pat your heart through it and tell it that it’s all going to be okay.

“Jess, that seat is taken, and that’s not Han’s girlfriend.” Minho clarified coldly and smacked her hand away. “Get up and grab another chair if you want to join that badly. That seat you’re in is taken already.”

“… What did you say?” Jess chuckled in disbelief.

“What, is your hearing that bad nowadays?” Minho mocked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I said, that seat is taken, and you should move the hell away from it.”

“Minho-” Chan tried to intervene, noticing how tense the air between the two was becoming. However, Jess was having none of it, and immediately cut him off, her voice changing from laid-back to outright rage.

“Minho, who the fuck is this bitch?” she looked at you with contempt, her top lip twitching slightly, revealing her pearly whites.

“Don’t speak like that about her!” Minho spat out, his voice also rising to higher levels than you were used to.

“I can speak about her however the fuck I want!” Jess’ voice grew even louder, and the whole table seemed stunned, not knowing how to react to the full-on fight happening in front of them.

“Yeah, that you can do.” Minho nodded. “Outside of my fucking restaurant. Get the hell out, Jess.”

Watching everything unfold, you were glad that Han got up and stood by your side. Otherwise, it would’ve felt like you were just out of place there, in the corner of the room, alone. Han seemed to notice what you were feeling, as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly.

“How dare you say something like that to me? Have you been cheating on me with this bitch? Got her pregnant behind my back?!”

“Behind your back?!” Minho’s eyes grew so large, they almost went out of orbits. “What the fuck, has America fried your brain? Why are you so delusional?”

“You fucking piece of shit cheater!” Jess screamed her lungs out at him, who just started to chuckle.

“Ha! Look who's talking! Get the hell out while I’m still nice, Jess.” He warned, his face suddenly turning very serious. However, he managed to keep calm this time and stopped raising his voice.

“You stopped replying to my texts, then I come back here and see you with this fucking whale!” Jess got up, her hands steadily on the table, supporting her weight.

The screaming got to you. You tried to keep calm and dissociate, but it was getting to be too much. You kept getting flashbacks of your ex screaming at you, and you started to tremble, moment when Han squeezed your hand tighter and asked in a whisper:

“Are you okay?”

Before you got the chance to reply, however, Minho said something. You couldn’t hear what it was, but it must’ve been bad, as it immediately set Jess off. 

The moment the words left his mouth, Jess got so angry, she got up and stormed towards you, screaming something incomprehensible. Thankfully though, both Han and Chris reacted quickly, Han getting in front of you protectively and Chris getting up and grabbing her by the hand, pulling her back.

Everyone around you started talking at the same time, arguing, screaming, and Jess tried putting up a fight, but it all got too much. It was too much.

Too much, too much, too much, too much.

You weren’t able to hear or see anything anymore. All you could think of was your ex screaming at you and rushing over to hit you, memories you’ve been trying to bury deep down for the past few weeks.

You didn’t want to, fuck it, but every bone in your body was already shaking badly, and warm tears started forming in your eyes.

You needed to go somewhere safe, you couldn’t stay there any longer.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere safe.

Your eyes scanned the room, landing on a very concerned Minho, but you couldn’t be there anymore. You needed to go. You needed to leave now.

“Excuse me.” You said quickly and turned around, snatching your hand away from Han’s grasp.

“Dal-Rae!” Han’s voice became distant, as you practically ran up the stairs and into your room, closing the door behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn the lights on. Finally finding the bed in the darkness, you let all the tears out and started shaking even worse. It was hard to breathe, you were hyperventilating, and your chest hurt.

Everything was too overwhelming, and nothing made any sense. What the hell happened? Who was Jess? Why did she storm over to you?

You couldn’t understand anything, and the crying gave you a headache, making it even more impossible to think.

A few moments later, when your breath regulated a tiny bit, you heard a loud thud coming directly from the bed, which made you jolt. Soon after, the bed shifted with the small weight of a cat that came directly next to you, cuddling to your chest, trying to get your attention.

You weren’t sure which cat it was, but by the texture of its fur and the fat on its belly, you thought it might’ve been Soonie. You petted him lovingly and focused on his purrs, which brought you a sense of peace and managed to almost calm you down.

~

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Minho started screaming again and got up, getting in front of Jess and confronting her.

“NO, what are YOU doing? Who the fuck was that, Minho?! Did you really get another woman pregnant?! Olivia, why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this?!”

“Don’t involve me, please!” Olivia waved her hands in front of her defensively and turned her attention to the almost empty strawberry Soju glass in front of her.

“Who that is is NONE of your business, Jess! NONE!” Minho screamed again.

“What do you mean?! We’re together, for fuck’s sake!” She cried.

“You truly got insane! I can’t believe this.” He scoffed.

“Didn’t you say you’d wait for me?!”

“And I did! I waited for you for years and you couldn’t send a fucking text back!”

“Minho, you know how sorry I am about cutting you off for a while… but when I texted you back, you never even replied… you said you’d wait however long was necessary and I thought that we’d still be together, and-!”

“Cut the bullshit. You don’t get to return here after so much time and pretend that you never left and that we’re still together. We’re not. Now, leave my fucking restaurant.”

“But baby-”

“Don’t you dare call me that. Get out.”

“Please hear me out! I realised how much I love you and I still want to be with-”

“But I don’t! I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you here!Just go. I don’t want to see you again! Ever!” Minho cut her off and raised his voice once more, which he hated himself for. He saw how scared you were before you rushed upstairs, and yet – he shouted.

“Look, I can even overlook your cheating if you just-”

“You’re batshit crazy.” Minho shook his head again in disbelief. “Wasn’t I clear enough, Jess? Did I stutter? Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?! Get the hell out!”

Minho felt his pulse becoming too irregular for his own good, so he decided to stop waiting for her to leave, and to remove himself from the situation before he did something he’d regret. He went to the kitchen to calm down, placing both of his hands on the counter and sighing deeply.

It was true he used to love Jess. He even thought that he’d spend the rest of his life with her at some point in the distant past. But that was before she left and started living her life without him.

That was before he met you. 

He had many years to make amends and realise that he’s been blinded by a love he had to let go of. And if she sometimes crossed his mind, ever since you came in the picture, he even forgot how her face looked like, let alone how much he wanted her to return. He finally realised that all those years spent waiting were for nothing, and that he was finally ready to permanently close the chapter of his failed relationship.

What he told Chan was true. Having you in his life brought back so many positive feelings he buried deep down, that he didn’t even know he was still able to feel. Seeing Jess now only reinforced it. He no longer had any feelings for her – that was for sure.

“Hey… do you mind if I come in?” Olivia interrupted his train of thoughts, standing in the doorframe and observing him carefully. When he nodded, she walked in and placed her hand on his shoulder, comforting him.

“I’m sorry about Jess… I’m the one who told her we’re meeting up at your restaurant and stuff. I gave her the address… I really thought she’d be arriving tomorrow though…”

“That’s… okay. Whatever.”

“Look, I know I messed up. I didn’t think she’d ever react like that when she would see Dal-Rae… Hell, I didn’t even know she would see Dal-Rae at all.”

“Yeah, well, she did.”

“… Why is she here, Minho?”

“God.” He scoffed in disbelief. “Why don’t you mind your own business for once, hm?” he continued harshly.

“Minho-”

“Olivia” he straightened his back and looked at her coldly. “You’ve all been acting like shit towards Dal-Rae the whole night. What is the matter with all of you? Does it bother you so much that I started caring for someone else? Why? Because she’s pregnant? Because it’s not my child?”

“You know we just want what’s best for you-”

“So, you invite Jess? After I haven’t spoken to her in 5 years? You think that’s what’s best for me?”

“I told you I didn’t invite her!”

“Right. You just gave her my new address. Well, thank you for that, Olivia! You’re such a good friend!” He scoffed.

“I just thought-. Look, I messed up, but I can’t apologise for how she behaves, you know that, right?”

“You can’t apologise for how Jess behaves. That’s fine. You can’t control how other people act, and I get that. But what you can do is apologise to Dal-Rae for acting like such a terrible human being towards her, who’s been nothing but kind to you.”

“I simply don’t get why you’re so protective of her. Do you like her that much that you would set your own morals aside? Do you want the illusion of that happy family so much that you’re ready to take care of that baby she’s carrying like it’s yours?! Come on, Minho, be serious!”

“You know what?” He chuckled bitterly. “Nevermind. Maybe you should leave. Let’s speak some other time.”

Minho left the kitchen, leaving Olivia behind. He didn’t need to hear that shit. 

Getting back to the restaurant, he was glad to see that Jess had already left. Considering the mess on the table and the broken glasses on the floor, she most certainly didn’t leave without a fight, but she’s gone, and that’s the only thing that mattered.

However, this whole incident soured his mood; he was no longer in the mood to spend time with any of his friends, so he told them as much. The only thing on his mind was you. Were you still scared, trembling? He needed to see how you were feeling.

“Let’s call this a night. Jisung, there’s no need for you to clean this up. I’ll do it tomorrow. Go home and rest.” He instructed the younger boy, who simply nodded and looked at the ground, feeling bad for everything that happened.

“Dal-Rae… can you make sure she is okay?” Han asked quietly, being quickly assured by his friend’s nod.

“Minho-” Chan started, but was quickly interrupted, as Minho was having none of it.

“Hyung, just… let’s stop talking about it. Go home, okay? I really need some alone time to think.”

And with that, he turned around and lazily made his way up the stairs. He closed the door behind him and listened closely as all of his friends left the restaurant, and then, he made his way towards the first door on the left, your door, and stood in front of it, contemplating if it would be a good idea to get in.

He knocked quietly but heard no response from you. After a few more moments, he gathered his courage and opened it slowly.

“Dal-Rae?”

Still no response.

He got closer to the bed but couldn’t see much in the dark.

Suddenly, a loud Meow! echoed through the room, surprising him.

Minho sat down on the bed and now, being close enough to you, he could hear your small sniffles. His eyes were quickly adjusting to the dark in the room and he was able to see your silhouette holding one of the cats.

“Hey” he spoke softly. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“How did you manage to make Soonie cuddle with you?” he asked, making you chuckle slightly.

“He likes me.”

“He does. Do you also like him?”

“He’s fluffy.”

Minho chuckled as well.

“Sorry for leaving like that. I just-”

“I know.” He placed his hand on your arm and caressed it gently. “You’re still shaking...”

“When she came like that towards me… I just remembered…”

“Shh, that’s okay.”

He laid down on the bed as well and hugged you from behind.

“I’m so sorry, Dal-Rae. You got scared because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault…”

“It was. You should’ve never met her.”

“Was that… your girlfriend?”

“My ex. We broke up over 5 years ago when she left to study in the US.”

“Then why… why did she…” you weren’t able to form a coherent question, but Minho seemed to know too well what you wanted to ask.

“We both have our share of crazy exes, don’t we?” he asked, making you chuckle.

“I guess we do.”

“I really want to apologise to you for raising my voice. I shouldn’t have. It was quite scary, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t blame you at all for anything. Maybe I should just not be so sensitive.” You said in a contemplative tone.

“It’s okay to be. You’ve just gotten out of an abusive relationship, so it’s normal to be sensitive to loud voices.” He rubbed your arm and spoke quietly.

“They all hate me, don’t they?” You asked in a whisper, and thankfully, you didn’t have to explain who you were referring to.

“No, they don’t. Look at Jisung, Felix, Changbin, Hyunjin… they really like you. As for the rest… they’re just looking out for me. When they get to know you better, I’m sure they will warm up to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You know what? How about we close this weekend and go on a little trip? Take a small break from this?”

Minho’s proposition surprised you.

“A trip?”

“Yeah. Why not? It’ll be the last trip before the baby comes. Did you ever get to see the mountains during winter? They should be covered in snow by now.”

“I don’t think so, no.” you shook your head, daring to place your right hand on top of his, that was now resting gently on your stomach. The baby kicked just then, as if wanting to touch you two as well.

“Perfect. Let’s drive over there when we wake up, hm?”

“That sounds nice.” You smiled, not even noticing that you’ve finally calmed down. Your heart rate returned to normal, and you felt the safety of Minho’s embrace, and it was finally easy to close your eyes and not replay in your head over and over any of the traumatic events that transpired in the past.

“I’ll go pack up for us, so we can leave when you wake up tomorrow.” He squeezed you from behind once more before standing up, and your back felt suddenly cold, so did the spot on your tummy where his hand rested mere seconds ago.

“Oh, do you need any help?” You asked, sitting up as Soonie decided he no longer wanted to lay next to you.

“No, don’t worry about anything. You can go to sleep and rest. I bet today was very draining.”

“Are you sure?” You asked with a slight frown that you knew he couldn’t see due to the darkness in the room. Truth was, he was right, and you truly felt drained. You wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and forget today happened.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Good night, Dal-Rae. Head to sleep, hm?”

“I will. Good night, Minho.”

~

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

[cookinguptales]

I don't care if it's not what ConcernedApe intended, my headcanon when I play Stardew Valley will always be that Shane is Jas's biological father.

Like... while they both call Marnie their aunt, it seems like she's only actually the biological aunt of Shane. Then Shane is Jas's "godfather", so after the death of her parents, he took her in. But according to the secret notes, Jas has been at the ranch with Marnie for many years -- and according to her, Shane has only been living with her for a few months.

So I suppose the implication is that Shane got custody of Jas and then immediately dumped her on his aunt...? I'd push that a step further, though. Jas clearly believes that Shane is her godfather because he was friends with her parents, but we see a photo of her with Marnie (i.e. Shane's biological family, not hers) when she's an infant, so she was clearly too young to remember any of that stuff clearly.

I posit that Shane is actually Jas's biological father, and he and Marnie have kept that fact from her to spare her feelings. Shane didn't feel capable of taking care of her when he was younger and even more irresponsible than he is now, so his aunt raised her instead.

We don't know why Shane has come to Stardew Valley, but it probably has to do with his depression and alcoholism. I wouldn't be surprised if he lost his prior housing and moved to the valley out of necessity after his aunt offered to let him rent a room if he helped out around the farm.

This, of course, put him back into contact with the little girl that he gave up years before. She believes that he's her deceased parents' friend, not realizing that her family decided that deceased parents would be easier for a child to understand than a father who wanted nothing to do with her upbringing.

He feels overwhelming guilt at the way he failed her, though, and only feels worse when he traumatizes her now -- just as he always assumed he eventually would. That said, he eventually comes to terms with his past missteps and decides to try and go to therapy and get his life back on track for the sake of the family that he now wishes to fully join.

(That said, he does leave Jas with Marnie if he moves in with the farmer, rip.)

idk, personally I just think it would make all three of their interactions make more sense. Shane's affection and guilt towards Jas, and the sense of indebtedness that he seems to feel toward Marnie. The way that Marnie clearly raises Jas far more than Shane does despite not being a blood relative, Marnie's loving exasperation toward Shane, and the way she gets tired of his bullshit after it further harms Jas. And, y'know, the deep loneliness and sense of abandonment in Jas that she doesn't seem to be fully able to articulate. She talks about being alone fairly often, clearly misses parents she can't remember, and is traumatized by Shane talking about dying as well.

Like... regardless, it's canon that Shane is at the very least her godfather and therefore should be Jas's guardian but is clearly leaving most of the rearing to his aunt. I just get the vibes that they're all talking around something deeply traumatic, and Shane being her real father would fit the bill!

[engie-ivy]

(Last day of August, just in time for a @wolfstarmicrofic August prompt!)

Bonus: S'mores

917 words

Happy Camper

“I’m sorry,” Dora says for about the hundredth time.

Remus just glares at her.

Dora tries to look guilty, but she has to bite her lip not to laugh.

Around them, hyperactive and overly excited children are running around, while a surprisingly cheery bus driver is trying to get a whole pile of backpacks into the bus’s luggage compartment.

Remus himself is carrying a bag of his own, rethinking the events that got him in this situation.

Dora and he were attending a meeting hosted by the Parents’ Committee at Teddy’s school, and Molly Weasley had been assigning tasks to all reluctantly volunteering parents. They had both managed not to get any tasks assigned to them, and Remus had been hopeful he was going to dodge the bullet, when they arrived at the last item.

The yearly camping trip.

They needed one more parent to supervise the children while out camping in the woods by the lake for a week. While everyone in the room was hoping that not making eye contact with Molly might prevent her from seeing you, Dora had loudly exclaimed “Remus, didn’t you tell me you used to be in the boy scouts?”

Remus did in fact tell her this, because he was telling her how he quit after two meetings because he had hated it so much, and how he detested the concept of ‘going back to basic’. But before he got a chance to say any of this, Molly had already smiled and said “Excellent”, while noting Remus’ name down on her clipboard. And everyone knows, once you’re on the clipboard, there’s no getting off anymore.

Some boys run past them, one carrying a pocket knife and one somehow already having lost his shoes.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Remus says.

Dora grimaces watching the boy run away with the knife. “I truly didn’t mean to,” she says. “I genuinely just remembered you once having said something about the boy scouts, and I spoke before I could think.”

Remus scoffs. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easy! Forcing me into this nightmare. It’ll take more than sorry for me to forgive you.”

Remus hasn’t decided yet how long he’ll wait before forgiving Dora. It’ll probably depend on how disastrous this week is going to be.

Dora is his... Well, she started out as his one night stand, then she got pregnant, and became the mother of his son. Gradually, she also became one of his closest friends. Neither of them ever had feelings for the other beyond friendship, though, save for that one night of blatant sexual attraction.

Dora rolls her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic, Remus. But alright. I guess I do owe you a bottle of wine, the good stuff, alright?”

Remus is about to reply, when a voice interrupts.

“Excuse me, are you Teddy’s dad?”

Remus looks up and his jaw drops. A man comes walking towards them.

And what a man.

He’s tall and lean. He has long, dark hair falling elegantly over his piercing silver-grey eyes and a bright smile on his handsome face. He has a duffle bag thrown over one, remarkably broad, shoulder.

“Uh..” Remus says eloquently.

Dora, who was also eyeing the man appreciatively, turns to look at Remus with a knowing smirk.

The man just smiles at Remus. “I believe we’ll be camp counsellors together!”

Remus blinks. “I thought I was paired with Harry’s dad?”

“Ah, yes.” The man runs a hand through his hair. “James has fallen ill, I’m afraid. He asked me to cover for him. I’m Harry’s godfather!” He holds out his hand. “I’m Sirius. The star.” He pauses for a moment, before quickly adding “I mean written as the star! God, can you imagine?” He chuckles. “One Calvin Klein photoshoot and I’d go around introducing myself as ‘the star’. No, I promise it hasn’t inflated my ego that much!”

“I’m Remus,” Remus replies, making a mental note to do a Google search for the most recent Calvin Klein add the moment he gets home.

“Nice to meet you, Remus!” Sirius replies. “James told me you were supposed to share a tent? I hope you won’t mind sharing with me?”

Remus swallows, his throat suddenly a little dry. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Great!” Sirius beams at him. “Then we’ll be getting go know each other pretty well the coming week.” He gives Remus a wink, and it should probably be cheesy, but when Sirius does it, it’s just damn attractive.

“Oh!” Sirius exclaims. “And I hope you like S’mores!” He pats his bag. “This is almost completely filled with just chocolate and marshmallows. I hardly brought any clothes,” he admits. “So it’s a good thing I’m probably going to be walking around in my swimming trunks all week anyway!”

“Yeah,” Remus manages to say. “Good thing indeed.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Sirius says. “I promised James I’d embarrass Harry by loudly telling him his father sends him lots of love and kisses in front of all his friends. See you in the bus?”

“Uh-huh,” Remus says. He watches Sirius walk away, trying to wrap his head around the sudden appearance of a gorgeous Calvin Klein model who will be around him in only his swimming trunks all week and also share a tent with him, while bringing loads of chocolate.

“Well,” Dora says, pulling him from his thoughts. “On second thought, I’d say you owe me that bottle of wine!”

[free-for-all-fics]

Enola Holmes and Enola Holmes 2 Prompts Part 2! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these and I’d love to read it! 🕵🏻🖤🕵🏻‍♀️

13. You’re the illegitimate daughter of a rich and powerful man, your mother having been one of his mistresses. While in public, your father calls himself your godfather and you his goddaughter and neither of you can ever acknowledge your true relation in public, but he does show that he loves you. With your engagement to Sherlock Holmes, you’re very happy. He loves you, and you love him. You know that. He’s your best friend and your mother used to say that you must marry the man who is your dearest friend. But suddenly, he’s stopped you from going with him on cases. You’re not sure why, as you’ve accompanied him and sometimes even his younger sister, Enola, before. You go to your father for guidance in this situation.

“He was more interested in going on capers than with spending any time at all with me. He used to let me tag along with him, we used to be a team, working on solving cases together, but lately, something in him has changed. It’s only getting worse. He values my insight and my perspective on cases, but he won’t let me help beyond looking over clues in his flat. He suddenly says it’s too dangerous, that it’s better if he works alone. But his sister is still a minor and she’s gone on wild adventures while solving her own cases. Why won’t he let me join him anymore?”

“Y/N, please. Sit. Whatever my issues with Mr. Holmes, I know that he cares deeply for you. That he loves you. And remember, it is you who is to become Mrs. Sherlock Holmes. It could be coming from a fear of losing you. What he does and what his sister does is highly dangerous. I can understand his worry. After what happened the last time…”

He doesn’t even have to say it for you to know exactly what he’s referring to. While investigating a case, you were in a coach with Enola when your driver was shot. The horses whinnied in fright as they were spooked into galloping aimlessly at breakneck speed and the two of you were tossed about the rattling coach like dice in a cup, glass shattering and wood splintering around you as you were shot at, causing the carriage to disconnect from the horses and overturn off a cliff.

~

“Y/N, are you all right?”

“I don't believe it's hit bone.”

“You need to tie it off.”

While your ankle was wounded, Enola was luckily relatively unscathed and still able to walk, only suffering some non-fatal cuts and bruises. She helped to support you as you walked, panting and grunting the entire way.

“Why do you think we've been followed all the way up here?”

“Because we know too much. Enola, if I don't get away and you do, I need you to give your brother a message.”

“You'll have to deliver that message yourself, as I have no intention of either of us dying today.”

~

“Y/N, we must hurry. I think it's best if we stick to the woods. Is the pain better or worse?”

“Hard to tell. I think my brain has already habituated to it.”

“What did you want to tell me? Your message.”

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“Oh. I’m not a fool, Y/N. I saw the love between Sarah Chapman and William Lyon during one of my previous cases and I myself am in love with Viscount Tewkesbury. I can recognize that look.”

You grunted.

“‘Dull,’ I think Sherlock called it. But he doesn’t always mean what he says. Does he know how you feel?”

“Not the extent of it.”

“And is it reciprocated?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, I...I suspected it all along, but to actually hear you say it... He’s wonderful. He’ll make you very happy. Look after him, Y/N.”

“I shall do my best.”

“Well, I suppose I can brag that I introduced the two of you.”

“I know it's hard to comprehend. I've questioned my own feelings many times. I told myself it's concern and duty on his part, dependence on mine. And naturally, I realize how inappropriate it is, but...there are certain things a woman cannot control.”

“I told you, love resides in the heart.”

“Nonsense. It's still physiology.”

“Oh.”

“His brain reacts to qualities in me that he lacks in himself... He can be dispassionate and cold, only ever animated and excited during a case. While I am sociable, and exude kindness, warmth…”

“Humility.”

“That, too. And my brain reacts to qualities in him that I lack in myself. Courage, for example.”

“You’ve shown more courage in the last few days than most people do in their entire lifetime. No one deserves love more than you. Come on.”

When you went to hospital, Sherlock was called and told of the incident. Despite you telling him yourself that it was unnecessary and that you and Enola were fine, just a sprained ankle and some cuts and bruises, he still came over to see you.

“You had expectations of me, Y/N. Fair ones. I got caught up in this case…a matter of confounding urgency that…overtook me, and then…I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Sherlock,

The nurse just told me you'd been in to see her. Should've let me know, I'd have made sure I was there. It's been a while. I'm sure she appreciates it. You know she'd tell you that herself if she could. You know she loves you and doesn’t blame you for what happened. And neither do I. Call me when you get this message.

Enola

“If there’s one thing Mr. Holmes and I can agree on, it’s that we don’t want to see you hurt or dead.” Your father says, pulling you back to the present.

“Yes, that very well could be it. He’s never been in love before, and neither have I. I’d understand if he was scared. I’m scared too. But I’m ready to be a wife. His wife. But is he really ready to be a husband? My husband? Have you seen how he gazes at his work during his investigations? How he leaps out of his chair when he’s suddenly had an epiphany? How he hangs onto every word of every person he’s ever interviewed? I love that about him. I know he leads a busy life. I’ve always known that, but his inability to balance his professional life with his love life is so…concerning. I worry for his health sometimes. There are days he barely eats, and nights he barely sleeps. When a case vexes him, he imbibes in alcohol, tobacco, or even other drugs like cocaine. Why does he endlessly push himself? I fear that I’ll be as my mother was to you. An accessory. Papa, I understand the ways of men of your standing, but Sherlock and I haven’t even begun a life together.”

“I promise you I will bring Mr. Holmes to heel. I will not let you suffer.”

“As your wife has? And my mother has? Sometimes, it’s as though the whole of England whispers as I pass by. ‘There goes that poor, unwanted, misbegotten thing.’”

“Oh, Y/N. My girl. You are so dear to me.”

You won’t rely on your father to fix your relationship with your fiancé. You’re a grown woman, you can handle this yourself. You know Sherlock has always worked alone, but you’ll show him that he doesn’t have to anymore. Your marriage, like all marriages should be, will be a partnership. You will be equals. You’ll be very happy. Even if you have to enlist Enola’s help in snapping Sherlock out of whatever funk he’s in, you’ll do what must be done so you can go back to how things used to be. You won’t let him treat you like a fragile, weak thing made of glass.

~

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s been a strange day. There is something I would like to speak with you about which is troubling me.”

“Well, that can’t stand, can it? I won’t let you be troubled when you’re with me. It’s not permitted. Please, look at me. You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know that is no easy feat for someone like me, for someone whose family she’s not allowed to acknowledge, who’s always aware of the whispers when she enters a room, who’s never had solace or a name to call her own. And this is why I cannot wait to be announced as Mrs. Sherlock Holmes on our big day. In belonging to you, I will finally belong.”

14. You were once Sherlock Holmes’ friend, but then something happened to you that set off a chain reaction of bad events which led to you doing many odd jobs, including selling your hair and working at a match factory, a tailoring shop, and even becoming a prostitute. You’re well aware of the Jack the Ripper killings that have been occurring, but Sherlock once told you to stay unemotional, and so you do. You have to, to bear going through with the kind of work you do, to let men lay on top of you and do what they wish to you for coin. But then you become pregnant and, after your child is born, they are taken from you against your wishes by the Madame. You wake up in the middle of the night and discover your baby gone. You escape from the hospital you were put in and desperately enlist the help of your old friend Sherlock to find your baby. You couldn’t care less about the man who got you pregnant. He’s dead to you. But your baby…you still want him/her. They came from your body, they’re yours. Sherlock feels terrible and guilty for leading such a busy life that he lost touch with you, and has been unaware of the series of unfortunate events that have befallen you.

“Now what may I observe about you? Shoes a state. Hair’s not much better. You need to wash your clothes every now and again. You are pale…undernourished, and you’ve lost your…”

“Stop!” You point your finger at him.

“And then there’s your fingernails. Why on earth were you working in a match factory?”

“What?”

“Last night, they were dirty with green traces. This morning, they are black. The phosphorus from the match-making has mixed with the oxygen in the atmosphere.”

“How did you…”

“And your neck is red. Someone has gripped it or held a knife against…” Sherlock stops as he looks at you. “Are you involved in something dangerous? Because you are still my friend. If you need my help, my offer remains on the table.”

“The Madame didn’t want a baby. She didn’t want me to keep it, so she…sent me to a hospital. They took the baby from me. I’m fortunate I bled too much and they left me intact instead of sterilizing me like they do other women. But I want my baby back. Please, Sherlock. I know I’ve fallen on hard times and it seems I’m incapable, but I…I want the chance to try, to be a mother.”

“Having your baby… That made you happy. To feel loved, didn’t it?”

“When my baby was born, they were covered in blood, and the nurses wiped them down, and they laid my baby on me, and from that moment, I loved them. Please, Sherlock. Help me find them.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll help you get back on your feet. I promise this will never happen to you again. You’ll never have to go back to that place.”

~

“Sherlock…I thought I’d lost you. What are we going to do?”

“We’ll find a way. Is that not what you want?”

“I just fear that you love this version of me, your friend, and all the qualities that you like in me as a friend, you would not want in a wife.”

“I love you for your kindness and your courage, your beauty, and your fierce intelligence. You challenge me. What are you scared of, Y/N?”

“Love that is not truthful is not love. It’s only passion. Is it not true that you want a wife, a family, a place to call home? That’s what you want?”

“Is that so wrong?”

“No. But at this moment, I’m not sure that I…”

“You need rest.”

“In the hospital, you asked me, did I want a family?”

“And you said that you did.”

“I have dreamt about it often, but I realize here in this room what it is I value most dearly in life. I was born a gentleman. I have grown accustomed to behaving in a certain, correct way, not quite saying what it is I want and don’t want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you.”

15. You've always been average, rather Plain Jane compared to your sisters. Unlike your beautiful and multi-talented sisters, you’ve no serious marriage prospects, so your parents often forget you in favor of focusing on securing your sisters’ marriages to men of wealth and social status. You love your parents and your sisters, but you suffer from classic middle child syndrome. Your family keeps asking you to run errands for them which means you can't focus on any one thing for a longer time, and you can’t say no to them. You often run into Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective, among many other accomplishments, while running these errands. Impressed by his many talents, his charm, his devilishly handsome good looks and more, you befriend him. Not an easy feat, since he’s a man who prefers to keep to himself. “Stay unemotional,” and “You’re emotional. It’s understandable but unnecessary,” are two of his favorite phrases to live by. Though he’s hesitant to admit it, even to himself, he enjoys your company, and you always spare him a thought or two, inadvertently helping him with his cases without thinking much of it, failing to recognize your own genius and other attractive qualities. You never thought of yourself as anything much. Not a great beauty, musician, athlete, or artist like your sisters.

Your family even sends you out on errands at night, sometimes without access to a horse or carriage if your sisters need to use them. You’re left to walk, scared half to death by shady characters and wild dogs when you run into Sherlock and his younger sister, Enola, who stop their carriage once they see you. It’s not safe for a woman like you to be out alone at night, especially with money in your purse. There are scary people about. They offer to give you a ride, which you gladly accept. Though Sherlock is in quite an inebriated state. He doesn’t usually imbibe, but he’s on a case, you see. It’s proven rather tricky. Sherlock introduces you and Enola, slurring his words as he does so. Though it’s under less than ideal circumstances, you’re happy to meet her.

You help Enola carry Sherlock, slinging his other arm around your shoulders and supporting his other side as, it turns out, he is medievally heavy. It’s like carrying a dead horse on which sits another dead horse.

“That’s A, and I’m B.”

“I didn’t know you had steps.”

“One should always have steps to avoid people stepping on you. That’s a tip, you should probably write that down.”

You help Enola to get Sherlock up the steps, and though it’s not an easy task, the two of you manage to get him inside his flat and he throws himself onto the couch. While he’s sleeping, you and Enola look around. The place is a mess.

“It’s perfect. Don’t touch anything.”

“What are you investigating?”

“None of your business. I work alone. It’s private. Shh! Don’t go in there. No.”

You stay the night and while Sherlock all but kicks Enola out, (“Dundee cake. Door. You can help by leaving.”) He permits you to stay, using some excuse like you’re an adult and not his sister, so he can’t tell you what to do. You help him clean up his flat just the way he likes it while he’s hungover and indisposed with a headache. While you’re cleaning, you chat about many things.

Soon you’re making excuses to your family so you can go out and see him during both the day and the night. They’re none the wiser, assuming you’re eager to get to your chores. This turns into a secret romance between you and Sherlock. The secret places you meet at are far from glamorous, but you’ll take a flat, a building with a leaky roof, a spot in the woods, or a pub any day. Just to spend hours in his arms while investigating his current case with him. But first, you have to overcome the bane of your existence, the corset: A symbol of repression to those who are forced to wear it. But for you, who chooses to wear it, the bust enhancer and the hip regulators will hide the secret messages Sherlock has given you. And as they do so, they will make you look like that truly unlikely thing: A lady!

“This one is too small.”

“We shall just have to get you a tighter cinch,” your mother says as she comes in.

“I cannot breathe as it is.”

“If one cannot breathe, one cannot eat. Tighter. Tighter!”

“Is she to breathe, Mama?” One of your sisters tries to interject.

“I was able to squeeze my waist into the size of an orange and a half when I was your sister’s age. She shall do the same. How’s it coming?”

“It’s difficult to say.”

“I’m told it’s the latest fashion in London.”

“Well, women in London must’ve learned not to breathe! Ow! I can barely breathe!”

“You must suffer to be beautiful, so say the French.”

“The French are crazy.”

One of your other sisters comes into the room, holding a large box. “Sister, dear, Father has left a gift for you.”

You open it. It’s an evening dress and, unlike your mother’s choices, this dress is to your liking. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

“Isn’t it?”

“May I inquire as to the occasion?”

“Does Father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter? Go on. Actually, he…he had hoped you might wear it for the ball tonight.”

“Ball?”

“The Match Maker’s Ball.”

“I knew it!” You turn towards your maid. “No, Tessie. I'll not wear this evening dress as I have no need to flatter myself.”

“It’s a charity gala. To combat Typhus.”

“Will there be gentlemen present? I should say, rather, there will be gentlemen present, yes, but not for me. Just for you and our sisters. It’s only a ball, and I’m only there for the food, as Mother likes to say.”

“All the more reason to make an impression,” your mother points out.

“Please, Sister, won’t you wear it?”

“Mr. Clark will be there. He’s a fine gentleman, don’t you think? He fancies you, you know.”

“I can't decide whether they abhor our shape or crave another,” you say to your maid once you’re alone in the room again.

“They believe us to be delicate creatures, miss.”

“Then to hell with them.”

Coincidentally, Sherlock’s case and Enola’s case and your family’s desire to see your sisters married leads the three of you to the same place: The Match Maker’s Ball hosted by the Lyons. You and Enola and Sherlock meet again while going undercover to investigate the case and underneath the fancy dress and sparkling jewelry, Sherlock recognizes you. Even when you were dressed as a kitchen mouse to disguise yourself, he always thought you were beautiful. He puts his name or alias in your dance card and you dance together. You thought those lessons with your sisters teaching you how to use a fan were boring and pointless.

~

“What are we learning today?”

“We are learning the art of the fan.”

“Fascinating.” You deadpanned.

“Yes. Get up. Get up. We only have about ten minutes in which to communicate this. Now, first of all, one handles a fan very deliberately. It's a tremendous tool of communication. That's it. You can say things like, ‘I'm feeling flirtatious. Come hither.’ You can say, ‘l never wish to speak to you again. Go away.’ You can say, ‘I'm feeling terribly shy today.’ And you...Are you sassing your sister?”

“I would never sass you, Sister.”

“This is also a way of showing you're annoyed.” Your sister hit you with her fan.

~

Now, you use the fan to your advantage to cover your mouth while discussing the case in hushed tones. You also use it to tell Sherlock, “I love you,” from afar. You’ve been in love for such a long time, but were too blind to see it.

“Picking up any gossip?”

“Mmhm.”

Your family starts to get suspicious, especially when they notice you’ve barely spent any time with your caller and have been seen dancing with Sherlock Holmes. Your caller interrupts you and Sherlock after the dance is over, asking for a moment of your time. You and Sherlock bow and curtsy to each other, then part ways. He takes you to the second floor and you look out at the dance floor below from over the banister.

“May I have a moment? You look lovely, Y/N.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind. This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved. A marriage to a fine woman. You have become a fine woman, Y/N.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, I…I’m a bit nervous myself.”

You fall from the second story balcony, landing on a table. Horrified gasps and screams fill the room, causing a commotion as Sherlock pushes his way through the crowd and towards you. Focused on getting you to breathe again, he cuts open your dress and corset, ripping the damned death trap off of you. You greedily gasp for air, your lungs desperate for it. You look up at Sherlock with dazed eyes. After you recover, he gets you alone to ask you some questions that have been weighing on his mind.

“When I teased you and said that perhaps you're in love with him, you said that you were. Did you mean it?”

“I imagine I was teasing you back.”

“I think I'm in love with you.”

“There you go again, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I know it's embarrassing to speak of such things, that we should keep them to ourselves and abide by the codes that keep us civilized, but how can we be civilized when we've experienced something like this? Turn me down, by all means...but don't pretend I have no feelings for you.”

Sometime in the future, Sherlock is your husband. He is the softest, most doting husband you could ever ask for. Whenever you can’t decide what you should wear for the day, he picks out a dress for you. He’s the one to help you put on your dresses and take them off. With so many things to lace and button, and so many buttons being tiny, close together, and often in hard-to-reach places in the case of undergarments, and the goddamn corset that is the bane of your existence. Sometimes you curse women’s fashion for being so complicated and coming with so many layers, but Sherlock is always ever so patient in helping you get ready. It’s probably one of his favorite parts of the day. It’s no wonder that many women relied on the help of a lady’s maid or an obliging sister for help getting dressed. But you have no maids, and your sisters live elsewhere with their own husbands, so you must rely on your husband to help you get ready for the day and prepare for bed at night. He buttons and unbuttons the back of your dress or ties and unties your dress laces for you while you brush out your hair. He doesn’t force you to wear a corset if you don’t want to, uncaring if it isn’t proper. He values your comfort above your appearance.

“Good heavens, that corset looks painful. Might I help you off with it, my love?”

He holds the hand mirror for you while you fix your hairdo or makeup, though he may not be able to resist kissing your neck and getting distracted. You, of course, return the favor by tying his cravats for him when his fingers seem to fumble and he just can’t get it right, helping him with his cuff links, or buttoning up his vests and coats. When your corset and/or dress has trouble closing, that’s when you and Sherlock suspect that you might be pregnant.

16. “I tried to stop her but she’s full of this fight.”

“You can’t control Enola Holmes. She’s a force of nature, a law unto herself.”

“Yes, she is. And I fear she will hang.”

Even long after the case of Sarah Chapman is solved and Enola is safe and sound, Sherlock occasionally experiences nightmares in which he couldn’t save Enola and she was hanged.

Grail pounces on Enola, and the two tumble into the shadowy backstage of the theatre. Onstage, Lord Tewkesbury duels a corrupt officer with a sword hidden in a cane, tossed to him by Sherlock. Backstage, Enola crawls behind a stack of flats as Grail limps around looking for her. Enola is beneath the workbench, when it flips over! Tools and paint brushes scatter across the floor. Grail stands there, with a fire extinguisher raised above his head. He brings it crashing down. Enola dives from its path. His veins bulge, his blood bubbles thinking of Enola like a slippery little rat or fly to be crushed, a pest to be rid of. He whips around to find Enola ascending a ladder to the catwalk above. Grail follows. Above the stage, Grail pulls himself onto the catwalk. He limps across the raised platform as Tewkesbury and Sherlock come close to incapacitating their opponents below. But where is the damn girl? Just as the thought enters Grail’s mind, Enola drops down from the lighting rig above. She lands on Grail’s back, wrapping a length of rope around his neck. Grail flings himself forward, flipping Enola over him and the catwalk’s handrails. Enola hangs, holding on for dear life. Grail smiles down at her and inches his foot toward Enola’s hand. Stomp. He jams his heel down, breaking three of her fingers. Enola pulls her hand from under Grail’s foot. Now she’s dangling by one arm. Far below is the stage floor and certain death. Grail places his shoe just above her hand.

“You insolent little girl, I want you to die knowing I’m going to be Commissioner. I’m going to rule this town with an iron fist, and after I’m through with you, I’m going straight for the rest of your family.”

“Yes, Superintendent Grail. Your career is on the rise.”

Just as Grail’s about to bring down his foot, Enola swings her free arm onto the catwalk, grabbing hold of a large sandbag. She yanks it with all of her might, pulling it over the edge. It hurtles toward the stage below, pulling the rope it’s tied to. The rope that’s wrapped around Grail’s neck. Thwip, when the bag’s only halfway down, the rope snaps taut. Thrown over a beam in the lighting rig, it pulls tight, lifting Grail into the air. He reaches up trying to free himself, but it’s no use. His neck is caught in the tangles. His eyes bulge, then roll back. He chokes, twitches, spasms twice more, and finally goes limp as Sherlock watches. Grail sways softly in the rafters of the theatre, dead as a door nail. Grail’s face shows signs of strangulation. His death was not a pleasant one. Enola pulls herself onto the catwalk.

Sherlock tosses and turns, kicking his blankets off and talking in his sleep while he sweats profusely. You’ve often woken him up from these night terrors, but it’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s as if his body and mind are trapped somewhere between wake and dream, and he has to fight against himself so that the paralysis that has taken over his mind and body will relinquish their hold on him. You rub his back and hush him as you hold him, combing your fingers through his damp hair. Sometimes the nightmare changes, and instead it’s Enola who gets murdered by Grail, her limp body left swinging from a rope in the rafters. Other times, it’s you on the noose instead. But in your case, it’s not just a nightmare, but a memory. Sherlock mentioned to Enola that he and Grail had a history. This was part of it. You were part of it.

In his younger days, he thought he would never fall in love. He led far too busy a life. He never got involved with people, unless they were clues. Until one day, he met you, a breathtaking woman. You were more than beautiful, you were intoxicating, mysterious, clever, everything he’d ever dreamed of. He felt his heart would burst if he couldn’t have you. And Sherlock, the poor idiot, he married you in secret. You honeymooned in secret. He took you to his flat and you were happy for a time, as happy as a man and a woman can be as they solve cases together and end up in wild, unpredictable, sometimes highly dangerous adventures in the pursuit of answers and the trail to the true culprits. Then one day, you were riding through the woods, and you were thrown from your horse, and knocked unconscious. When Sherlock rushed to your side and hurried to help you, your dress was torn and he noticed a mark on your body... Something he’d never seen before, something you’d managed to keep hidden all this time, even while making love. You’d been branded. Given a mark that is only reserved for those who are to be executed for murder. Sherlock was confused. How could you, the woman he loved, his bride, betray him like this? You’d lied to him, but there must’ve been more to the story. In his line of work, he knew not everything is as it seems. When you came to, you swore that you’d been falsely accused of these crimes, and he believed you. From then on, he took your case, convinced he could find the truth of what really happened in your past and who really committed the murder you’d been tried and convicted of. Both he and you used the utmost discretion. But then, despite how careful you and Sherlock were to keep what you were doing hush hush so that nobody else in London would know your business, the police came to take you away to be put back on Death’s Row and executed, and you…you were still professing your undying love. While Sherlock was working on the case from the outside, you were held in a cell, but still able to investigate from the inside. Unbeknownst to the guards, you’re an expert lock picker and snuck in and out of your cell to snoop in the Commissioner’s office or other forbidden areas to uncover files and private records, anything that would help your case. Sherlock came to visit you often, and when he did so, you told him in hushed whispers of what you’d found.

“Sir—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock held up a finger while passing the gate and going back to the cells, where you were. When you saw him, you got up from your spot on the bench and ran up to the bars, stretching your arm out through them to hold and kiss Sherlock’s hands.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Holmes.”

“Grail. I wish to speak with your prisoner. In private.”

“By all means, do so while you still can. The Commissioner likes you, and has ordered a stay of execution. Unless you can find new evidence that proves her innocent or Mrs. Holmes miraculously finds herself with child, she’s still set to die in thirty days.”

“What exactly is my wife in prison for?” he asked.

“This I did not know. But when I heard that you were coming, I asked my fellow officer here that myself.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said his brother was just looking for a good time. When your wife murdered him. Eyes front and keep your nose clean, Holmes - a noose and a short drop is how we deal with troublemakers. Murderers, pickpockets - doesn’t matter what you do. All you lot will end up swinging from here.”

Grail never once scared or intimidated you. He was a repulsive man, slimy and smug. But nothing he could say or do to you would get you into giving a false confession. Even as your time ran out and you were walked to the gallows, you weren’t afraid.

Wind howls. Sherlock’s grip on you starts to give.

“Don’t lose me, darling. Darling? Sherlock? Sherlock!”

Your hand slips from Sherlock’s fingers. You’re pushed to the ground by a gust of cold air. You tumble through briars and thickets of dry-brush, till you land with a thump on the floorboards of an old wooden courthouse. You look up to find a village worth of angry townsfolk leering over you. Two men grab your arms and yank you to your feet.

“No! Let her go!”

You’re dragged to the bench of a decrepit, old judge. He points to you with a spindly, spotted finger.

“Y/N Holmes! You vile creature! You have been found guilty of the crime of murder. This crime being sinister in nature. For this crime, you are sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The villagers pounce on you. You’re suddenly in a clearing, the heart of what will one day become a forest. You’re staring at a rickety platform. A noose hangs down from a beam up above. The townsfolk take hold of you and push you toward the gallows.

“Kill the murderer!”

“Kill her!”

You’re thrown onto the scaffold. In the back of the crowd gathered to watch the execution, one man stands out. You can make out his hair and his tall stature. It’s Sherlock, calling to you. An executioner pulls a rope around your neck as the judge cries out.

“Never shall she plague this land again! This land which we paid for with blood! Her immortal soul shall rot here. And the roots of the wood we plant shall ensnare her forevermore. Any last requests?”

“Yes. Loosen the knot and let me go.”

“Of course we don't let her go!”

Sherlock desperately claws his way thorough the mob.

“Darling, you have to take control! You’re giving them the power! With it, they can kill you!”

But the illusion is too strong. The nightmare has Sherlock caught in the memory of your almost death. The executioner takes hold of the lever, ready to release the trapdoor beneath your feet.

“The innocent must suffer.”

“Sherlock!”

“The guilty must be punished.”

“Sherlock!”

“You must taste blood to be a man!”

At the judge’s signal, the executioner pulls. The floor beneath you falls away. Sherlock hurls himself at you, catching you midair.

“Her neck did not break. Oh, I'm so sorry. Now, we must watch her strangle to death.”

The two of you go crashing through the confines of his mind. Lights flash. Bulbs burst.

“Sherlock, wake up!”

Then quiet. You and Sherlock land on a dusty, dirty carpet in a large, dark room. Your flat at 221 Baker’s Street. You both sit, brushing yourselves off.

“Sherlock! Are you all right?”

“I got scared. You’re…you’re really here? I’m not still dreaming?”

“Yes, I’m here. You’re awake now, and everything is fine. Was it…that nightmare again?”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, but his actions speak louder than his words as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tighter, sobbing as he lays his head on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat. It and your voice whispering to him sweet nothings are the only sounds that can calm him down and keep him grounded in this situation.

In reality, Sherlock caused a distraction, which allowed him to make his way towards the scaffold where you were. The platform below you dropped as the lever was pulled but Sherlock threw a sword beneath your feet, saving you from dying. But it was still difficult to keep your balance as your feet kept slipping on the metal of the cutlass. A bullet was fired, cutting the rope and causing you to drop from the noose. You ripped off the torn rope. Sherlock interrupted the proceedings by coming in with all the evidence necessary to prove it wasn’t you who committed the murder, flawlessly going through step-by-step the series of events. Society demands swift justice, and he gave it to them. Sherlock informed Inspector Lestrade of who the real culprit was and to arrest them at once. With that, a mistrial was declared, the old trial was thrown out, and you were free to go and Sherlock took you home. Ever since suffering that public humiliation that cost him his reputation and most coveted promotion to Commissioner, Grail hated Sherlock and you even more than he already did, because your innocence being proven at the last minute and the failure of having you executed put a major black mark on his image and a wedge in his plans of climbing up in position through any means necessary, even corruption.

In present day, Grail is dead, killed by Enola while he tried to kill her in a conspiracy to cover up corruption. His head cracked like an egg. You’re alive and here, and so is Enola. You’re both safe. Grail can’t hurt any of you anymore. It’s over. All Sherlock said was that he and Grail had a history, and Enola still doesn’t know the full extent of it. You and Sherlock are still undecided if you’re going to tell her or not, as the past seems not to matter now that the man is dead. As you make the both of you a cup of tea (or maybe something stronger) to calm your and your husband’s nerves, Sherlock knows that these night terrors will pass. Eventually. For now, all he needs is reassurance that you’re still here and won’t be going anywhere without him.

17. Nanny McPhee-esque AU: You’re the scullery maid to Eudoria Holmes, the matriarch of an upper class family. She’s a widowed woman with two grown sons who left home shortly after her husband died, and Enola, a young girl of sixteen who you’ve looked after as she was growing up. While you’re very intelligent and intuitive and have a keen eye among other qualities, you’re an orphan who’s never had a proper education. When you were hired, you were uneducated and couldn’t read or write, so Eudoria helped you to learn alongside Enola when the day’s work was done.

“What’s this word?”

“Lovingly. ‘He took her lovingly by the hand’.”

Eudoria was not an ordinary mother. She didn't teach Enola to string seashells or practice her embroidery. They did different things. She also taught you everything she taught Enola: Reading, science, all sorts of exercise, both physical...and mental. She said you were free to do anything at Ferndell...and be anyone. She was Enola’s whole world. You’ve befriended the young girl over the years as she grew up. Enola’s like a sister to you, in a way. You are the same to Enola. When Eudoria leaves the night before Enola’s sixteenth birthday, she instructs you to look after her daughter and give her these presents. While Enola goes to meet her brothers at the train station, you prepare yourself by dressing like a powderpuff or “proper lady” with a hat and gloves. When they return home and ask if Enola has had a governess, (“Enola, you at least had a governess? Tell me, she at least saw that you had an education?”) you step in, pretending you’re her governess. When Mycroft grills you with questions, you answer all of them sufficiently and confidently, maintaining your composure and eye contact. When they point out the state of the house, you reiterate you’re a governess, not a housekeeper.

Despite your exemplary performance, Mycroft is a stubborn old mule and doesn’t think you’re good enough, so he brings in Miss Harrison, who “offers” to take away Enola to a finishing school for girls so she may receive private tuition in literature, history, deportment, and elocution. After witnessing Miss Harrison strike Enola across the face and her desperate display of pleading to her brothers, you and she hatch a plan in the night so you go instead while she escapes to find her mother. At first, Enola couldn’t possibly ask you to make such a sacrifice, but you let her know that, despite realizing what it’d mean for you, you want to go. It could be good for you, since your background means you have no prospects. You’re in your late twenties or early thirties and are already considered an “old maid” by society. By the time Enola’s brothers and Miss Harrison realize a switch has been made, it’ll be too late. You’ll never tell them where Enola is. She doesn’t have to be miserable and you can get your much desired education, even if it’s repetitive and monotonous lessons in how to be a proper lady. After all, Sherlock wouldn’t love you if you couldn’t read or write. He’d think you stupid, uneducated, and beneath him. When you absentmindedly say this thought out loud, Enola hums to herself and begins brainstorming to play matchmaker and set you and her brother up. When Enola is caught and brought to the school, you’re taken out. You confront Sherlock and talk some sense into him about Enola. You know he cares for her, he’s just been too afraid to admit it, so accustomed to living the busy life of a bachelor and detective, where he never forms attachments or gets emotional in his line of work.

“You overstep.”

“She is your sister.”

“She is Mycroft’s ward, and thus his responsibility.”

“Responsibility?”

“You’ve done more than enough. Do not make this any more difficult than it already is.”

“I wish to know something, Sherlock. Tonight, when you leave this study that you continue to keep at your family home, are you to return to your bachelor lodgings at 221 Baker Street, or will you pay a visit to a certain woman of the night that you pick up in a bar on the other side of town? If your father was still here, Enola wouldn’t have so much pressure put on her to be matched. The man would have let her pave her own path and find love in her own time. The man, who already had two grown sons, would’ve never seen a need to push his daughter to be a wife and mother when she’s just barely a woman, because it’s his eldest son’s responsibility to have a wife and child, not yours and not Enola’s. And yet here Mycroft is, unmarried and childless, relying on your younger sister to one day do the job that he and you will not. You sound just like him. You and he like to speak of responsibility. My dear Mr. Holmes! Of duty? Pray tell, what should you know of it? What should Mycroft know of it? When you both went away, I came to be employed here since I was but seventeen years old, not much older than Enola is now. For at least twelve years, I’ve been by her side. For twelve or so years, neither you nor Mycroft ever wrote, nor visited. And yet it took your mother’s disappearance to bring you home. Now you think that because you’re older, that because you’re men, you can just waltz back in this house and dictate how your sister is to act? What she is to do with her life? I sat with her in that drawing room for years and do you know what I saw when those women manhandled her and measured her, when Mycroft spoke to her in such a detestable manner, all of them treating her like a horse to be trussed up and sold off to market, while you said and did nothing? I saw a young woman who is terrified because she knows what kind of life, what kind of future awaits her should you and Mycroft continue to get in her way. Mycroft only sees her as an object to be beaten down and molded into what society wants. He only seeks to use her to further his position. ‘You have to go to school, Enola!’ ‘But I don't want to go to a finishing school, Mycroft.’ ‘Well, what else are we going to do with you? You're a girl!’ But I see her as an unusual and independent person, capable of her own thinking, dreams, ambitions, and paving her own path. She’s still a minor. She’s not even of age yet. It’s perfectly normal for her to not want a husband. She doesn’t need that ‘educated out of her.’ You don’t get involved with people, unless they’re clues. So you must ask yourself, Sherlock, are you merely the world’s greatest detective and all the rest of your accomplishments, or are you Enola’s older brother? Will you be her legal guardian and the man of this house or won’t you?”

Throughout your speech, he tried to interject, to object, but you wouldn’t let him. You swiftly turn and leave the room, leaving him to think on what you said. But even without your interference, Enola still escapes from Miss Harrison’s finishing school with the help of Lord Tewkesbury. You’re proud of her for finding the true culprit and getting there before Sherlock, so you and she go out to celebrate. Meanwhile, Sherlock is also very proud of his sister and starts to realize that he may care for you. That he may love you.

While Enola turns down his offer of a Holmes and Holmes partnership, she points out that she likes this new version of him and that no one should be alone all the time. A friend would do him well. So he asks you to work with him, (not for him, he made it very clear you’d be equals) and you agree, on the condition you can dedicate some of your time to Enola and her cases, should she need your assistance. You’re the only person to not filter yourself around him. You’re not starstruck or intimidated by him in the slightest, despite his fame and reputation as the world’s greatest detective of the time. He keeps you on because you’ve got brains and a keen eye, able to see things in the tiniest of details that others don’t, just like he and Enola do. Enola likes you a great deal, and your sincerity is refreshing when he’s surrounded by fake smiles and major suck ups. The constant fawning and groveling gets old. You whip him back into shape whenever he’s being difficult. When he gets himself drunk and is wallowing in self-pity and frustration at getting stuck during a case, you’re the one to pick him up. “Remind me again why I should feel bad for you? You’re a famous and accomplished detective, scholar, chemist, virtuoso violinist, expert marksman, swordsman, singlestick fighter, pugilist, and a brilliant deductive thinker. You got all of English society practically worshipping the ground you stand on and always asking for your services, and while you choose to live in a flat, your childhood estate is among one of the most expensive and beautiful houses on the planet! C’mon, Mr. Holmes. You’re famous, handsome, and rich. So chop, chop, fix your hair, put on some clean clothes, drink some water, and let’s get going.” God, he loves you. He hasn’t admitted it to you yet, but he’s been thinking of courting you. He has everything. Everything…except someone to share it with.

18. Nanny McPhee inspired: For an alternate telling of events for the above prompt, Instead of Enola, it’s you who goes to Miss Harrison’s finishing school, posing as a Holmes sister even though in reality, you’re just a scullery maid. Mycroft isn’t there to make sure it’s Enola that gets in the carriage, which makes this switch possible. Thinking it’s Enola that’s being taken away in the carriage, Sherlock chases after it, calling her name.

“Enola! Enola!”

“Now then, you better tell me your name, little girl.”

“Enola!”

“Don’t be shy, my dear. What is your name? Sit up straight and tell me your name.”

“No! Enola!” Just as he yells out her name in desperation, he hears Enola’s voice calling his name.

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”

She runs to him, and he embraces her in relief.

“But if… Then… Then who’s…”

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

“And what a pretty name it is too.”

“Y/N. Oh.”

Later, It’s Sherlock’s wedding but, unbeknownst to everyone except him, it’s all a ruse so he can bring a culprit out of hiding for one of his cases. You hide your heartbreak at what you believe is the man you love marrying another when you return to see Sherlock and Enola again.

“Delectable to see you again, Mr. Holmes. And how nice to see the young lady, Miss Enola.”

“Welcome back, Y/N. You look well. Are you well?”

“I am most content.” The smile you give him is noticeably forced. “You must be very happy to be marrying.”

“Yes. I’m…I’m… How did you put it? Most content. Of course.”

“I am so glad. Pray, excuse me.”

~

“I’m concerned you’re being bought on the cusp of your true independence, on the finding of your own powerful words. I fear you’re being seduced.”

“Well, I fear you’re behaving like an irritating sister. How about, ‘what a lovely party, Sherlock. Please extend my thanks to your generous bride-to-be.’”

“Generous? She humiliated you.”

“She did not humiliate me.”

“She laughed at your expense.”

“It was a moment or two of teasing.”

“That debased you.”

“If I’m not fussed by it, then why should you be? You don’t care about me particularly. You made that quite clear when I asked you to marry me. You said no, if you recall.”

“She’s unkind to you, in public, no less which isn’t right for you, Sherlock. Don’t you see? You deserve someone who is adventurous and curious and—”

“Someone like you?”

“Yes. Someone like me. But not me.”

“A yahoo tributary.”

“What?”

“It’s an Indian name for a tributary that runs beside a main river. It flirts with joining it. It comes very close, but it never does. A woman exactly like that, untied to the suffocating social mores, the very opposite of any number of women down there. And the opposite of you too. So full of judgment yet trussed up like a turkey in your corset and your fancy dress. I decided, unlike you, that I want not to be alone, childless, lonely, corseted. You’re no taxi tributary. In fact, you’re swimming right down the middle of the stream.”

“Sherlock, wait. I— In my mind, it was easy enough to tell you how I felt, what this has meant, but…but words fail me. All I want is to be worthy of you.”

“I am to be married, Y/N. Within an hour, I’m to be a husband. It’s just not that simple.”

“It could be.”

With help from Enola, when the time is right, he sabotages his own wedding.

“Enola, Tennis practice.” Sherlock uses a violin (not his own) to bat and Enola pitches a mini cake, but when he hits it, it flies in your direction, and hits you in the face and/or chest. Sherlock is embarrassed, until you stand up and throw a cake back at him, hitting his sleeve. Your laughter encourages him to throw cake back at you with the violin as a bat as you participate in the ensuing food fight or other disruption, ignoring Miss Harrison’s scoldings of, “Y/N! Where are your manners?”

“Sod my manners, you old trout! This is the first fun I’ve had in weeks!”

Until the bride and/or the bride’s family gets so angry she/they call it off. They try to leave, but, whether the bride is guilty or not, Sherlock stops her and her family when he reveals in front of everyone the true culprit of the crime and how they did it.

“As for your youngest sister, a lengthy spell in a corrective institution is long overdue. And you, Y/N, I can see you’re as wild as her.”

“And proud to be. I love Enola, Miss Harrison, which is more than you do.”

“Insolence! Come away now!”

Enola tries to grab your hand, but you let it go as you follow Miss Harrison. Enola then gets a bright idea. Why waste a good wedding?

“Wait! Wait! My brother will marry today.”

“What?” Sherlock asks incredulously.

“What?” Miss Harrison asks incredulously.

“Who?” The officiant asks.

“He’ll marry Y/N!” She says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You and Sherlock look at each other.

“Incest?” Miss Harrison asks, disgusted and aghast.

“No! No, Miss Harrison! Y/N isn’t our sister!” Enola is quick to clarify.

“Not your sister?”

“Of course she’s not our sister!”

“Well, who is she then?”

“I’m the scullery maid.” You admit, finally.

“What?”

“Y/N, do you love Sherlock?” Enola asks bluntly, cutting straight to the point.

“Of course not. I know my place. That wouldn’t be right. I mean… Yes.”

“Sherlock, do you love Y/N?”

“What are you saying? That would be totally improper. I mean, anything like that could never happen. I mean, obviously… Yes.”

You and Sherlock smile at each other, while Miss Harrison exclaims, “He’s marrying a scullery maid?” and faints.

“What I said, I did so because I needed to hurt you. They were watching. I had to uphold the charade or else they would’ve suspected something was amiss.”

“I know.”

“I’m deeply sorry.”

“I know that too.”

“Too often, things said in anger come from a place of…of affection. And what should be spoken out loud is left unuttered. And life is too short for that. You will feel quite comfortable here.”

You and Sherlock are happy as husband and wife, and Enola loves you as her new sister-in-law.

19. You have an identical twin sister who works as a secretary or other for Mycroft Holmes. Your sister respects him as her employer, but she can’t stand him as a person, believing him odious, too much of a stubborn old goat who hates the very thought of any microscopic change in the word around him, and all around dull and exhausting to be around. He lacks practicality and is completely dispassionate. While he’s talented like his siblings, he’s far too lazy and is unwilling to ever use his gifts or put any physical effort into working. Something unexpected happens in your sister’s life that makes her ask (more like beg) you to switch places and pretend to be her just for a few weeks. Nobody will even notice, and the Master of the house especially won’t since he’s so busy and traveling all the time, she assured you. But doing what she does daily is much harder than you thought it would be, and things get more tense when his younger brother, Sherlock, keeps running into you while on a case.

At least for Sherlock, he’s never met you or your sister before, so he’s none the wiser. And as for Mycroft, he just thinks your “behavior shift” is because you’re a woman and acting hysterical or ridiculous. He’s completely disinterested in you/your sister, so long as you get the work done. The longer you pretend to be your sister, the more you get entangled with the case Sherlock is investigating. Turns out, your sister is involved in something that may be very dangerous. A conspiracy of some sort to reveal corruption or some other crime. She’s something of a spy. The more you and Sherlock bond, you break down his walls as he opens up to you. He never gets involved with people unless they’re clues, but you’re different. You develop a friendship which may turn romantic. When it comes time for you and your sister to switch back, the situation becomes complicated as Sherlock is left wondering why he’s suddenly getting the cold shoulder and strictly professional treatment as if nothing’s happened between the two of you the next time he sees you in public. Why won’t you let him hold your hand or kiss you? He thinks he’s in love with your sister, but it’s you. It’s always been you. And the woman in front of him now is not you. And he isn’t aware of what you and your sister had done. An already bad situation is made worse when the bad guys your sister has proven herself to be a worthy adversary against mistake you for her and kidnap and/or try to kill you by poison or drowning in an attempt to silence you. They may use you for leverage to draw out your sister’s group. Whatever the case, your sister goes to Sherlock for help, revealing to him what you and her have done. After the bad guys are killed and/or arrested, he saves you, carrying your unconscious or nearly unconscious body bridal style into the hospital. You’re laid up for many days or weeks, and he and your sister both watch over you the entire time.

20. You’re a journalist who’s been tasked by your chief editor to get an interview with Sherlock Holmes, the world’s greatest detective, and one of the country’s hottest bachelors on the market due to his many, many talents and accomplishments, not to mention his devilishly handsome good looks and family house. Every time you think you have a good story, a competitor gets to it first, so your workplace has been on your ass about getting this exclusive interview. Too bad Holmes is a very elusive and private man who works alone and doesn’t do interviews or anything like that. He’s the one who asks the questions, not the one who gets asked the questions. He keeps to himself, outright refusing and slipping away from any news outlets no matter how hard they try to corner him. Your boss pitches a new idea: Sherlock has never met you, so he has no idea what you look like. If you can go undercover, gain his trust, and find out everything you can about his personal life, then you’ll be promoted. A man like him must have secrets. You’re very attractive, intelligent, and clever, so if anyone can do this, it’s you.

“Get a load of my next piece. ‘Ugly Fall Sweaters of the Stars.’ It's gonna be brilliant, I tell you.”

“Excuse me.”

“Uh, not now.”

“No, this'll just take a second. I just had a couple of questions about your article, the Fashion Week piece that I'm editing.”

“Uh... go.”

“Well, see, the thing is that the boss wanted 300 words, and this is 650. And one of the designers you quoted wasn't even on the floor, so...”

“Y/N, I don't have time for this right now. Just clean it up.”

“It's not just a clean-up, it's a major rewrite.”

“What are you, the executive editor now?”

“No, I'm just trying to explain that...”

“Just fix it, okay?”

“That went well. Let me guess. You're gonna rewrite his stinky old article and save his butt. Just like you always do.”

“Well, it is my job.”

“You could tell him where to put it.”

“I'm not telling him anything.”

“Y/N, we're junior editors, not writers.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to become a real journalist?”

“You'll get there. Of course you will.”

“Five rejection letters in a month. Hardly killing it on the freelance writing market.”

“Y/N, big boss man wants to see you in his office, now. Have fun.” They then answer the ringing phone. “…Magazine, how may I help you?”

“If this is about the article about Fashion Week...”

“Forget Fashion Week. I got something else for you. Sit. So, what do you know about the Holmes Family of England?”

“England? Wait, their father died, and the boys left home not long after. They have a younger sister, Enola, but I don’t know much about her. The eldest son, Mycroft, works for the government, the younger son, Sherlock, is a scholar, chemist, virtuoso violinist, expert marksman, swordsman, singlestick fighter, pugilist, and a brilliant deductive thinker, one of the world’s most famous detectives. Enola is being courted by a young Tewkesbury who’s a Lord or Viscount, but both sons are unmarried and unattached. People say Sherlock is a playboy, and the mother, Eudoria, never remarried and is a scandalous socialite fighting for women’s suffrage or equal rights.”

“Playboy Sherlock Holmes took off after Daddy died, which wouldn't be a problem, except he leads a busy life, so it’s near impossible to get close to him. When he’s not working on a case, how does he spend his days? Why is he not attached to a woman or married despite being thirty years of age? Who is he underneath the public persona he puts on for his clients and admirers?”

“Right…” you trail off, trying to see where they’re going with this train of thought.

“That's exactly what you're gonna find out. Mr. Holmes is due back this weekend. But just in case he absconds, I need somebody there to follow his trail. I need boots on the ground.”

“I don't mean to shoot myself in the foot, but why me?”

“You're talented, hungry, smart. And none of my regular writers can go this week.”

~

“This guy is your assignment?”

“He thinks he's so hot. Mm, another secret girlfriend, possibly?”

“Gross. What a creep.”

“Chill out. He's like a 12.”

“Not my type.”

“Honey, he's everyone's type.”

“Not mine.”

“If I set you up with one more hot, successful guy who you blow off I'm gonna punch you, girl.”

“Ouch. I'm just not on the market.”

“You and your beau broke up, what, a year ago? You can't let him make you gun-shy.”

“Can we just not talk about my love life right now?”

“Seriously, this assignment could jumpstart your career.”

~

“What? What is it?”

“My editor has given me a story to cover.”

“Your own story?”

“It's about the Holmes family of England. The younger son, he's a bit of a playboy.”

“This sounds like it's gonna be your big break.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, I'd have to be away for weeks, possibly even months. And I know that you'd be alone. I just—”

“Sounds like you need a bit of Fatherly Advice 101. When me and your mom opened this place, there were a million reasons why not to, but your mom said, ‘Honey, you gotta take a chance.’”

“So you're telling me to open a bakery?”

“Ha. No. I'm telling you to stay true to your dreams, all right? And success will follow. Huh? That's good, right? Sounds like a fortune cookie. All right. Anyway, the point is, you gotta take a risk if you're gonna win. So don't worry about your old man. I'll be fine, all right? You go over there to English-whatnot--“

“England.”

“England, that's it. And you make us proud.”

“All right.”

“Still $4.95, though.”

~

When you do meet Sherlock for the first time, it’s not at a big fancy event like a rich person’s house party or a concert, but rather a coffee shop, a dog park, the street, or somewhere else that’s common. Maybe he saves you from being trampled by a runaway horse/carriage or steals your cab. For the case Sherlock’s currently investigating, he’s cleverly disguised himself so he looks nothing like Sherlock Holmes and so forgettable that nobody even recognizes him. The little gray man.

“Excuse me!”

“I'm sorry, I really have to go.”

“No, but this is my cab!”

“I apologize.”

“You can't just do that. Selfish jerk!”

“That man just took her cab. Seriously, can you believe that guy? Who does he think he is?”

“First time?” Another reporter asks you while you’re surveying your surroundings and taking notes for your piece.

“Hm?”

“First time covering the Holmes family?”

“First time covering anything. Any words of wisdom?”

“Pick a new career.”

~

“May I help you?”

“No. No, I... Yes. I was supposed to be...”

“Ah. American.”

“Excuse me?”

“You must be the new American tutor for Miss Enola.”

Seeing an opening, an opportunity, you decide to go with it and play along. “Yes. That's me, the tutor.”

“Very good. Follow me, please. Miss Edith? Miss Enola’s new tutor has arrived.”

“[fake name]?”

“That's me. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh. I thought your agency said you weren't available till the first of the year?”

“I wasn't, but then my last assignment ended early, so...”

“So you thought you'd just show up...here. Two weeks early.”

“Sorry, I know that it... I can leave, if it was a bad idea.”

“Mrs. Holmes did mention that she wished she had someone to occupy Miss Enola over the summer months. Her last tutor left rather abruptly.”

“What happened?”

“That's no concern of yours. Something about a mouse in her bed. Come with me, please. Where's your luggage?”

“At the inn.”

“I'll have somebody fetch it for you.”

“No, no, that's okay. I can get it.”

“I'm surprised you were able to find a room with all the press in town. Parasites, the lot of them. Scum of the earth. Mr. Holmes will want to meet you.”

“The elder or the younger?”

“It’s Mr. Sherlock Holmes who is Enola’s guardian now, so he will be the one to talk to. I trust you're familiar with our English etiquette.”

~

“I needed some time to think.”

“You've had time, Sherlock. You may be the younger son, but you can't keep missing these official engagements.”

“Yes, Mycroft.”

“Not anymore.”

You then enter the room and Sherlock’s and your eyes light up with recognition at the same time.

“You.” You both say simultaneously.

Mycroft looks between the two of you. “You know each other?”

“Our paths have crossed. Selfish jerk, at your service.”

“I am so sorry. I had...”

“No, no, no. It's I who should apologize. And you are?”

“Mr. Holmes, may I present Miss [fake name], Miss Enola’s new tutor.”

“Sherlock!” Enola yelled, running into the room and towards him like a bat out of hell.

“There you are, my little imp.”

“I am not an imp.”

“Yes, you are. You're a little imp.” He picked her up and swung her around.

“Sherlock, put her down. Sherlock. Put her down, Sherlock.” Mycroft keeps pestering.

“As you wish.”

“I am not a china doll, Mycroft.” Enola huffs in annoyance.

“No, but you’re a lady. And a lady doesn’t run indoors.”

Enola rolls her eyes and turns her attention towards you. “Mycroft doesn't let me do anything but study and go to the loo.”

“Well, now I do feel sorry for you.” You smile.

“Beard looks awful, by the way.” Enola says to Sherlock.

“Yes, you do look like a derelict Santa Claus.” Mycroft agrees with a crinkle of his nose.

“Yes, I only grew it so I wouldn't be recognized. And it appears to be doing the trick.”

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Enola asks you bluntly.

“Enola, manners. She's your new tutor from America.”

“I'm... I am [fake name]. So pleased to meet you, Enola.”

“You are supposed to call me Miss Holmes or Miss Enola. Don't they teach you anything at tutor school?”

“You'll be starting your lessons right away, Enola.”

“But it's summer.”

“I hope Miss [fake name] lasts longer than your previous tutor. Place your bets.”

“I actually like mice.” You say awkwardly, trying to get Enola to warm up to you.

“Mrs. Lane, would you show Miss [Fake name] to her new quarters, please?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Good day.” With that, Mycroft puts on his coat and top hat and left, leaving you with Sherlock and Enola.

~

Later in the afternoon, while Enola and Sherlock are out, you sneak away to make a long-distance phone call to your friends and coworkers.

“I'm actually inside the Holmes house. Undercover. I love it. This is better than an exclusive. But I had to lie to get in here.”

“Who cares?”

“Could I go to jail for this?”

“Two, maybe three weeks tops.”

“Oh. Not helping.”

“Listen, just play this out as long as you can. Get lots of material, whatever you can grab. Can you do this?”

“Absolutely.”

~

“I trust you have the curriculum and lesson plan I sent your agency.” Sherlock tells you.

“I, uh... No, they must have forgotten.”

“My experience with US agencies could best be described as loosey-goosey.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Holmes. There is nothing loose about this goose.” You want to hit yourself for saying something so stupid.

“Enola. You remember Miss L/N.”

“Good morning, Miss Enola.”

“Go away.”

“Now that's no way to treat your new tutor. Please, be seated.” Sherlock pulls out your chair for you at the breakfast table.

“Thank you.” You nearly want to scream when you see a small mouse on the chair. Instead you pick it up and put it outside.

“I thought you said you liked mice.”

Sherlock gives Enola a pointed look, but she ignores it.

“Not as a seat cushion. Now if you've finished with the excitement for this morning, I suggest you start on your lessons. I started with Modern Art. What do you think?”

“Delightful. I'll leave you to it.” Sherlock is soon out the door after that.

~

“So, how did I do?”

“Looks good to me.”

“I got 92 on the state exam.”

“Well, seeing as you're already so good at math, why don't we do some writing? English is my best subject.”

“You're a writer?”

“Yes. No, no, but I studied it at school in New York.”

“I thought you're from Minnesota.”

“I am, but I went to college in New York.” You quickly cover.

~

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just catching up on some letters. Are you ready for your lesson?”

“No. We're going to bake cookies instead.”

“You're gonna get me in big trouble if we don't start your lesson by 9:00.”

“Not nearly as much trouble as if I told my brothers your real name. Miss Y/N L/N. Don't even bother denying it.”

“But, how—”

“You don't know the first thing about tutoring, for one. Also, I looked at your journal yesterday while you were in the loo.”

“It's locked.”

“Yes, but you put the key in plain sight. Big mistake.”

“I'll pack my things.”

“Wait. No one has to know.”

“You're not gonna tell anyone?”

“Not as long as we have a deal.”

“What kind of a deal?”

“You write the truth about my brother, and I'll keep your secret.”

“You mean the things that are written about him, they're...”

“They're not true? Not even close.”

“So he's not a playboy or a philanderer?”

“You've seen him. His idea of fun is working a case or playing William Tell with a bow and arrow. So, do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good. Now, about those cookies...I hope you have a big appetite. We are making a lot of cookies.”

“So, what's going on with your brother and Irene?”

“Is this for your story?”

“I need to know the truth if I'm gonna write the truth.”

“He used to love her, but that was a long time ago. Now she's back, so who knows? Mycroft’s into her. Mycroft’s wanted everything Sherlock had since they were boys. Seems like everyone wants what we have.”

“You are the Holmes family.”

“Things used to be different before my father died and my mother left. And now that they’re both gone...”

“Hey. They’re not gone. You'll always have your father in your heart and your mother is always nearby, watching over you from afar so she can keep you safe. Now, come on, we've gotta get these in the oven.”

~

Over the course of your stay, you and Sherlock catch feelings for each other and what started off as pretend becomes real. When Sherlock uncovers the truth about why you got close to him and that your “fateful meeting” was actually all a set up for your new piece, and realizes who you really are and why you’re here, he’s not as hurt as you thought he’d be. A part of him is hurt, but the other part of him is impressed you were clever enough to be able to get past him. Still, he can’t in good faith allow you to stay.

~

“Sherlock, wait!”

“What for?”

“You have to know that I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“I don't know anything anymore. I don't know who you are. I don't even know who I am.”

“I'm Y/N. Y/N L/N. That is my real name. And I didn't come here to— Things just got so out of hand.”

“Well, you've got a grand story to tell now. I wish you well in your aspirations.”

How can you ever hope to make it up to him? Maybe Enola will have to be brought in to talk some sense into her brother and get him to see reason.

~

“So, what did you think?” You ask your boss as he reads over your story about Sherlock.

“It's a thoughtful, mature, well-written story that will never see the light of day.”

“What?”

“It's a puff piece, Y/N. Pure schmaltz. Not our brand.”

“But it's honest and it's the truth.”

“You were at ground zero. You were living under the same roof as Sherlock and Enola. He let you into his flat! You had personal papers and case documents written by Sherlock himself in your hands. You might as well have had his private journal in your possession, and you did nothing with it. You really blew it big time.”

“But this is who he is. This is what happened.”

“I really don't care. In the meantime, I need you to jump back on the copy desk. There are articles that need a polish.”

“You know what? Find someone else to do your mop jobs.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm done.”

~

“So, what are you gonna do?” Your friends and former coworkers ask you as you pack up your stuff.

“Time to focus on my own work. That's what I've been saying all along. I'm gonna start with a column about Sherlock Holmes, the real story.”

~

“What are you doing here?” You ask in surprise as you go outside to meet Sherlock, who is standing in the street right outside your dad’s bakery. You thought he was an illusion at first, a trick of the mind. But no, he’s here in the flesh.

“I never had the chance to say goodbye. Or thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me. I'm responsible for this whole mess in the first place.”

“No. You opened a door that needed to be opened. That's what a great reporter does. Enola showed me your columns.”

“She did?”

“Why didn't you publish it in your magazine?”

“Too much schmaltz.”

“Schmaltz?” He’s clearly unfamiliar with this American phrase.

“It means it was too sentimental. I wrote the truth about you, that you're kind, compassionate. That you stole my cab, and that you're gonna solve cases from the heart as well as from the mind.”

“Enola misses you terribly. So do I.”

“I miss you too.”

“A flat is a lonely place for a man without a flatmate. But a home is an even lonelier place for a man without…a wife.” He gets down on one knee.

Your brain doesn’t know how to process this. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few seconds before you stammer, “But my whole life is in America.”

“Well, we can come back as much as you want.”

“But my career, I'm not ready to—”

“I don't want to make you give up anything, Y/N.���

“I could never leave my father.”

“I can give him his own wing at the main house. There’s plenty of rooms since Mycroft, Enola, and I moved out. We only go back there for special occasions now. Or I could buy him his own flat in London. Or we could just pick this building up and move it to any corner or any street he wishes. How long do you plan to keep a detective on his knees?”

“You haven't thought about this. I mean, we barely know each other.”

“I've never been more certain of anything in my life. And I've been known to be indecisive. Look, I know it's sudden, but… Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

21. Spy AU: Something major has been going on in the underground crime world, and you’re asked to intern under Agent Holmes and go undercover to find out what it is. You're a tailor, spy master and survivalist who has both designed and worn state of the art disguises/outfits that allow you to conceal microphones, cameras, weapons, and anything else you may need according to the mission. Holmes is your boss and senior agent/director by night, and his cover as a dorky American news reporter named Kent by day works well. He provides you with only the latest and best in spy gadgetry, both for everyday and espionage. The latest tasks of which is impersonating a celebrity/socialite and designing devices that can be small and inconspicuous enough to be worn under or with a designer dress that was originally supposed to be worn by a female spy at the World Summit as a bugging device so they can get very important intel.

The trouble is, the intended agent can’t perform the job for whatever reason. And you’re the only other woman with a close enough resemblance. So it looks like it has to be you, or else the whole operation is a bust. The closer you seem to get to uncovering the truth, the weirder things get. Holmes begins acting very strangely, when he starts receiving threats from anonymous persons - Magazine cut out notes urging him to work faster, untraceable phone calls with modulated voices, dead flowers, etc. You and he begin to piece the mystery together, but will either of you live long enough to see it through?

22. Spy/Crime/Political Espinoage AU: You work for a cute little boutique as a seamstress. You are highly skilled, best known for your high-quality evening/formal wear and handbags. You typically cater to affluent businessmen and the like. But what nobody living knows about you is that you were the youngest member of a secret society of women that schemed and plotted for social reform, even if it was through violent and illegal means. The very secret society of women that Eudoria Holmes and Edith are part of. You were eighteen when you joined, only two years older than Enola was when she discovered her mother’s secret. You used to work as the Secret Service's Secret Seamstress. It was your responsibility to protect the President from any possible wardrobe malfunction (ripped trousers, food stains, sweat marks, etc.) while in the public eye, as well as protecting him. You had to take precautions before and during any large event and, despite leaving that career behind and “retiring”, you still have habits that you learned and kept with you, such as discreetly eavesdropping and people-watching. Recently, an atypical customer stops into your shop with a strange request and a LOT of money. You’re on guard, as always, but how can you refuse? You’re closing up the shop for the night when you see five men walk in through the front door and lock it behind them. You’re very surprised when one of the men go to an inconspicuous framed picture hanging on the wall. It’s just a picture of flowers or something generic, what’s so special— oh. He turns it counter-clockwise, revealing a secret passageway behind a one-way mirror. After he performs the typical complex unlocking mechanism, you’re ordered to follow. Turns out this “cute little boutique” has been a front for special operatives for many years. In their secret meeting place, they give you your new alias and the run down of your first assignment. You've been tasked with a special project: 12 poison-laced suits to go with a poison-laced dress. You unwittingly cross paths with Sherlock Holmes, alias “Sherrinford Hope”. He’s a special kind of agent, a man who not just provides disguises but also weapons for assassins and wet workers. He’s now getting ready to send new suits to the men who are about to start a revolution, lined with poison and concealed weapons to use on their targets. This is part of a conspiracy plot of assassinating world leaders and other prominent individuals of power and social status. Other key players among this revolution are John Wilson, alias “Ormond Sacker” and Irene Adler, alias “The Woman”. And since you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and are now a witness, the only way these people can keep you alive is if you become involved in the conspiracy and join their team. Perhaps they’ll fake your death and give you a new identity to go along with their newest round of aliases. You could be a sparrow, a secret agent trained in the act of seduction. Later, You receive a knock at the door and an important looking man in a black tailored suit hands you a sealed envelope with your name on it. You open it to find a check written to your name for English pounds that equal to about $65 million USD with the note, "Let's do this" in the memo.

23. A group of would-be criminals kidnaps you, the sister or wife of Sherlock Holmes (platonic or romantic, up to you). They plan on holding you for ransom in an isolated location while sending Sherlock on a wild goose chase or running him around in an endless dance, but their plan starts to unravel when they discover that you, their captive, are actually so much more than what you seem. Their first and last mistake was in underestimating you and your abilities. You escape from them quite easily, but that’s just the beginning as you’re still on the run and need to find a way to either send a message to Sherlock and Enola (the latter may or may not be your twin sister) and to find your way back to them. The people who kidnapped you won’t stop hunting you until they’re dead. Whatever their motive, whoever’s paying them, it must be good for them to go through all this trouble.

[sailtomarina]

Friends don't

Their dance had been going on for weeks now, a step here, a touch there, a flurry of repartee that left them breathless and flushed. If anyone were to ask Hermione, she’d explain it all away as a long-held chemistry of rivals, that cocktail of volatility they’d shared from the start as first years. If they were to ask Draco, however, he’d give a very different answer.

“We’re not students anymore, Hermione. Draco hasn’t bullied you for years,” said Pansy, as she fluffed the kitchen’s floral arrangement.

“He literally ended our last face-to face with an insult.” Hermione resisted flicking the spatula at her. As irresistible as the image of an egg-covered Pansy was, she still valued her life.

“To be fair, you were being an insufferable know-it-all…hey!” A dainty hand rubbed at her stung arse.

Hermione brandished the towel with a raised brow, ready to snap it at her friend once more. “Even if Snape’s his godfather, nobody else is allowed to call me that!”

“Okaaay, but think about it. Friends don’t act the way that you two’ve both been acting lately. The sexual tension is thickkk.”

“You might have an eye for art, but this time you’re definitely blind.” Hermione tossed her curls in dismissal and turned back to the stovetop, setting her shoulders into a stubborn line.

“Mhm…you keep telling yourself that, darling. Where’d you get these flowers, by the way? They’re lovely.”

“Malfoy left them behind since he mis-ordered too many for Mother’s Day.”

Pansy hummed in understanding. She would keep the meaning of gardenias to herself, a language Draco knew very well but Hermione obviously didn’t. Who was she to point out the gaps in her knowledge?

“Does he do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Give you flowers.”

“It’s not like he’s going out of his way to give them to me,” she admitted, “he just happens to come across them more than others thanks to Narcissa’s gardens and his…fans.”

Interesting that Hermione was on a first-name basis with the Malfoy matriarch. Pansy could remember a time not that long ago where she was still Lady Malfoy.

“I suppose that’s nice.”

“It is! They already donate so many bouquets to St. Mungos—I’m really just an afterthought. Here, taste this.”

Pansy accepted the spoonful thrust in front of her, moaning at the explosion of flavor on her tongue. “How are these scrambled eggs? What kind of magic did you use to make it so creamy?”

“Just a bit of salt, fat, acid, and heat. Hand me those plates, would you?”

As the two women settled down for a bit of brunch and a lot of gossip, Pansy lamented the idea of these days soon coming to an end. She’d been friends with Draco long enough to know that flowers were just the first step to what had to be a master plan to woo Hermione Granger. The only question now was how long she had left to hoard the Golden Girl to herself.

“Vegas. Let’s do a girl’s trip to Vegas!”

Pansy should have remembered the city’s reputation for gambling and impromptu weddings. She should have expected Draco to crash their plans in favor of his own. She should have done a lot of things, but right now, her mind was filled with neon lights, music shows, and lots and lots of champagne. 

Draco had a plan, and it wouldn’t stay secret for long.

[jakeysbuttsheeks]

Godfather | 11

Warnings: profanity, age gap , mature themes , overdose , drug use , substance use , death of parent , orphaning , other weird shit

Pairings : Jake X fem reader

3 agonising weeks had passed . You thought staying with Jake's parents would make it easy but instead all you could think of was Jake . You never expected to miss him .

Maybe you'd just gotten used to his presence? But it didn't make sense. The tension was so thick you couldn't be in the same room with him for more that 10 minutes and now you miss him ?

Maybe you missed the space he gave you . Karen and Kelly (Jake's parents) were very inclusive and always wanted to be close to you. Jake on the other hand let you keep to yourself most of the time .

Jake only came to see you and bring you some of your favourite stuff on the weekends . Otherwise you never saw or heard from him .

You barely spent a month away from him and you already wanted to go back . You dad used to say that when Jake came over when you were a kid , you would cry when he left .

But today you were going to see him at a concert with his parents . You loved watching him play and goof around but when he was on stage he was serious and all for the show .

You dressed up really pretty and left to the show with his parents. And boy were you in awe . There was something different about Jake when you saw him in his stage outfit.

A black suit with shiney chunks of black on it .The coat was cropped to his waist with nothing inside but a bunch of chains decorating his bare chest , with high waist pants ,His hips and stomach spilling out just the right amount of flesh . He was covered in sweat , His stubble showed ever so slightly over his top lip .

His lips were pink and his eyes were slightly tired. But he smiled at the crowed every now and then , making them go crazy when he arched his back and humped his guitar, his thick fingers moving sinfully on the strings .

You imagined what it would be like to be touched by him , held by him and have his perfectly pink bow shaped lips against yours . He stood proud on the stage , a figure of comfort and attachment to you .

You and Jake had always had an intense and intimate relationship. It wasn't quite father-daughter , but it wasn't buddies either . What was it ? You didn't know . You always found Jake attractive , you were aware of that fact . But today on stage , he looked attractive in ways he shouldn't be to you .

You couldn't help but go home that night finding your panties soaked with arousal. You had no choice but to relieve yourself of the overwhelm . And you'd be lying if you said you didn't think of Jake when you got off.

You felt horrible after it tho . Remembering he was supposed to be your father figure. You told yourself it was just your hormones and you were probably ovulating and to never let yourself do it again .

☆⋆⋅─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⋆⋅☆

"honey?" Karen called as she knocked on the door

"yeah it's open" you called as you were focused on painting your toe nails on your bed .

"honey I need to ask you something" she said as she let herself in .

You stopped what you were doing and looked up at her as she leaned against your door frame .

"me and Kelly were planning to go on a trip to this weekend. Would you be okay with staying here alone or do you wanna move back with Jake for a while. I know you miss him" she gave you a sneaky smile . You couldn't help but be over joyed with that information.

"ofcourse mrs.k have fun" you laughed lightly and she smiled back widely as she left , closing the door behind her .

☆⋆⋅─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⋆⋅☆

The weekend had come faster than you thought and Jake had picked you up to take you back to his place before the kiszka parents had left for their trip .

"I haven't touched your room . It's just how you left it- oh! And guess what?" Jake speaks excitedly as he enters his house with you .

"what?" You smile .

"I got this thing from Amazon" he says as he seemed to rummage for it , grabbing it off the coffee table and handing it to you .

"when I press this button, a light goes off in your room. Now I can reach you even if you have your phone on silent or music blasting" he states proudly and you couldn't help but laugh , remembering the awkward scene that happened weeks ago.

"oh by the way. I have someone coming over tonight. Don't mind her she's just my girlfriend" Jake stops in his tracks as he reminds himself to tell you .

His what-!?

"ooh alright" You force out. You felt weird. His girlfriend? Since when? And he had the audacity to only tell you about her now !? Why was this so upsetting? It was like you Barely knew anything about him .

Even Jake noticed how blunt your response was but he brushed it off thinking you were just tired from the trip .

You waited, anxiously for this girlfriend of Jake's to arrive. Also wouldn't it be awkward? What if they wanted to fuck all night ? You'd just be in their way . You were boiling up in anger and you didn't even understand why .

You were lying in bed when you heard a female voice and the front door shutting . Your ears perked up and you hurried to your door to crack it open slightly, just to get a glimpse of what she sounded like .

"she's upstairs?" You heard her say faintly . Jake responded to her but his voice was lower in frequency plus it sounded like they were in close proximity to eachother so he didn't need to talk very loud .

You heard her squeal followed by a couple giggles from the both of them . Were you jealous? Why would you be jealous? Maybe because you were just upset that Jake never said anything about something so intricate about his life . You didn't know , You didn't want to know .

The light that Jake got for you in your room flashed , meaning he was calling you down.

You were nervous to go down an meet her . But you went down , putting on your best smile .

"y|n, this is Carrie. Carrie this is y|n" he introduced. You noted how he didn't call you by a nickname in front of her . He probably liked her alot .

"hii it's so nice to finally meet you! Jake's told me so much about you" she smiled brightly as she pulled you into a hug .

"he's never mentioned you actually" you say as she broke the hug and you saw her glare at Jake .

"I met her at a bar a few days after you left from here so I didn't really find the time to tell you" Jake explains to you . You feel a sort of comfort to know they've only been dating for for a month .

You sat around and talked with them for a while . You noticed how he called her all the names he'd usually call you . 'love, honey, sweetie, mama etc' . While he only called you by your name , which he usually never did .

Once you notice the wine they were drinking was getting to them and they were getting touchy with eachother, you excused yourself to your room . You couldn't stand seeing his hands on her , caressing her and kissing her cheek and the way he looked at her .

You were angry . No. You were jealous. You couldn't believe yourself. Millions of girls must be jealous. I mean look at him.

Why did you feel like you wanted him all to yourself? Why did you absolutely hate the thought of him being with another woman?

You grabbed your pillow and threw it across the room in frustration before you picked up your phone and vented out to your friend.

That was the moment you truely know how you felt about him . That was the moment you acknowledged to yourself the reason behind the awkward interactions and weird tensions. You'd been ignoring it , but you couldn't be blind to it anymore .

You couldn't do this . Not just because jake was so much older than you . But because he was supposed to be your father figure and also your father's bestfriend. You couldn't do this to him .

You cried yourself to sleep that night , blasting music into your ears so you didn't have to think about anything or hear what Jake and his girlfriend was doing.

You woke up in a daze and realised you'd fallen asleep with your headphones on . You woke up and grabbed your stuff to head out to your part time , noticing Jake in the kitchen.

"I made you breakfast love!" He called before you could leave.

"no thank you" you say as you slipped your shoes on . It came out more rudely than you wanted it to and you looked over at the kitchen to see his sad expression.

"ugh fine" you sigh as you head over to the kitchen and grab a couple pancakes.

You looked at him again and he was smiling at you this time . But your eyes fell to his neck , noticing a dark plum red mark on the side of his throat . You wished you didn't have to see it .

"what's wrong?" He asked , noticing your mood worsen .

"nothing. I gotta go" you say before you turned around and left. You barely caught a glimpse of another hickey on the side of his neck but you didn't want to look at him anymore. You wondered where else Carrie had marked him as hers .

☆⋆⋅─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⋆⋅☆

As the day went by you hoped you would calm down . But your day just kept getting worse , Shit happening at work and your boss yelling at you and other shit . You were just pent up in frustration by the end of the day .

You even decided to get a coffee to calm yourself on the way home . But some jerk had to bump into you and make you spill it all over yourself and stain your sweater completely.

You barged into the house , almost growling as you walked to the laundry room .

"y|n?" Jake called out.

You rolled your eyes , annoyed because you wanted at least an hour to yourself. Jake wasn't supposed to be home .

You still didn't care to answer him , you grab the ends of your sweater to rip it off over your head until you can't pull it over your head anymore.

You groan loudly in frustration again , tears brimming your eyes as you try to take the sweater off , but you were stuck when you hear the laundry room door open .

"woah woah woah!" Jake saw you struggling in your sweater , your arms stuck in the air , with your face burried inside it , you must've looked so stupid you thought.

You felt Jake's strong hands grab your sweater and help pull it over your head gently while you aggressively fought out of it .

Once you escaped from the sweater, you snatched it out of Jake's , startling him before you opened the washing machine in front of you to throw your sweater in.

"honey wants wrong you've been off the whole day are you alright?" Jake asks in worry as he watches you as you slam the door closed but even that had to pop right open again .

"I'm! Fine!" You scream as you slam the washing machine door between each word , but the door kept opening again .

"FUCK!" You yelp as your finger gets in the way the third time you try to snap the door close. Jake immediately grabbed your hand you get a look at it as blob of blood pools on the finger .

"wait here" he said and quickly rushed out . You felt tired . Tired of feeling how you felt and tired that you were forced to keep it to yourself. Your finger throbbed and tears threatened to fall.

Jake rushed back in and with a alcohol swab and band aids . He quickly tended to your finger as tears fell down your face .

"oh I'm sorry. Does it sting too bad?" Jake asks , noticing your tears . But you weren't crying because of the physical pain. You weren't crying because of the physical pain at all for the emotional hurt you felt was too big it almost drowned out any other pain .

You just stood there and cried as Jake plastered up your finger . You let out a choked sob and Jake looked at you worried.

"y|n i-" he spoke but you cut him off as you burried your face in your hands and began to sob .

"hey it's alright" Jake comforted , wrapping his arms around you as you cried into him . He knew you weren't just crying because your finger hurt . He knew there was something else bothering you .

"I miss him" you choke out and Jake's heart breaks , squeezing you tighter.

All this wouldn't be happening if your dad was here. Seeing him waste away and get high on every drug on the planet was something you didn't miss. But you still missed your dad.

"I hate everything!" You wail into your palms pressed against his chest and he holds you tight and rubs your back.

"I'm a horrible person" you mutter. And Jake shushs you, he thought the same of it himself.

After Jake saw you naked that night it was all he could think about. Frustrated with himself he decided to hook up with a girl or get a girlfriend so he could stop obsessing over you. Because he thought it was just his hormones and loneliness making him feel like that.

But getting a girlfriend didn't help. He could only think of you. That's why he avoided you and barely visited you when you were at his parent's.

He never wanted to bring it up to himself or anyone about how he felt about you. How he longed for your presence when you were gone and how he'd wish he would've had a different approach to everything.

No one was more of a horrible person than him, he thought. He hated himself for even considering to look at you in that way. When he practically watched you grow up your whole life.

He was pretty young when you were born too. And so was your dad . They barely knew what the were doing. But so far you came out alright.

You broke away from him and sniffled as you wiped your eyes.

"you okay sweetie?" he asked . He was so curious to know what had you so worked up . And honestly, you didn't even know either.

"you have milk in your hair" he says , touching your soaked hair that fell over your shoulder and chest .

"I'm gonna go shower" you say as you walk past him , leaving him in the laundry room alone and confused.

Just when you thought your day literally couldn't get worse . You took your clothes off to your panties stained .

"fuck my life" you look up at the ceiling as tears continued to fall from your tired eyes. At least that explains alot .

And even worse , you walk up to your cabinet and find no tampons or sanitary pads. You didn't even pack any like the idiot you were .

What the fuck were you going to do now.

"Jake-" you call , your clogged nose voice cracks as you call out to him from your bathroom.

"Jake!" You yell louder.

"what's wrong?" You hear his voice,, worried behind the door.

"I um-" you hiccup from crying do much.

"I'm sorry i- I need- I've got my" you try to talk but all you could do was cry.

"y|n?" Jake asked, his voice showing he was properly worried .

"I don't have tampons-" you blurt and Jake's shoulders relax as he sighs .

"it's alright I'll go get some. Tell me whatever you need" Jake speaks comfortingly.

You tell him what you needed and he quickly runs off to the store . He went and decided to buy you everything you ever mentioned to like too , to make you feel better. It was the least he could do . He was back by the time you'd finished your bath in perfect timing.

"y|n I'm back!" He yells as he walked into the front door with two bag fulls.

"in here!" You yell from the bathroom as you hide behind the door , wrapped in only your towel as you crack the door open slightly and reached your hand out .

You felt him pass you the box of tampons before you slipped your hand back in and closed the door .

"thank you Jake" you say and he takes note of how you sounded better after a nice hot bath .

"it's alright love" he calls back.

He gave you a few minutes to get dressed and go into your room and settle down before knocking on your room door.

"it's open!" You call , your nose was still blocked from crying as you sat on your bed , your arms tired from trying to blow dry your hair .

The door flicked open and Jake came in with the stuff he got you .

"what's all that?" You ask in confusion as he sets it down on your bed.

He shrugs and gestured for you to look in them . You hesitantly looked to find a bunch of chocolates and candies and so much unnecessary stuff.

"Jake it's only my period I'm not dying" you smile up at him .

"you sure acted like you were dying about an hour ago in the laundry room" he teased and you groaned in embarrassment as you laughed with him.

"bedsides, you deserve a treat" he spoke , his laugh dying out as he pat your head , noticing your hair was still soaking wet .

Jake was always the guy that helped you dry your hair ever since you were a baby. So much that you didn't even know how to do it yourself.

"need some help?" Jake asks , reaching out for the blow drier in your hand.

"yes please" you sighed , handing it to him and moving for him to take a seat on your bed next to you .

Your eyes closed in bliss as you felt his calloused fingers massage into your scalp as he dried your hair . He smiled , remembering old times.

"ow my neck" you groan when Jake turned your head to do the other side .

"c'mere" he said as he moved back on the bed and gesture for you to sit between his legs as he spread them out .

You smiled widely as you made yourself comfortable between his legs , resting your back against his chest as he massaged and dried the rest of your hair .

Your eyes started to get heavy so you kept them closed , struggling to keep your head upright for Jake. Until you dropped off on his shoulder.

He didn't realise you'd fallen asleep ,but he knew you were tired . He continued drying the top of your head and the front before he was completely done .

He put the dryer down to find you softly snoring on his shoulder because of your blocked nose from crying , sound asleep just like old times . How you'd fall asleep in his lap and he'd carry you to bed .

He made an upside down smile at the sight . He stayed stiff , not wanting to wake you. He waited a while like that , realising you weren't going to wake up soon .

So he backed to your pillows on the bed, you shuffled at the movements but didn't wake up. He pulled you up slightly next to him , laying your head on the pillows. As just as he turned to get off your bed , you cuddled into him , throwing your arm over him and letting out a tired hum.

His body tensed before it relaxed again . He lay there , waiting for the right time to escape from you , but you held him tightly.

So he just lay there with you , caressing your hair and back as you fell into a deep sleep in his embrace.

NEXT PART

Tags:

@mackalah @mindastreamofcolours @jjwasneverhere @themoreyou-love @thetroublegetssoloud71 @sarah-gvf01 @gvf23

[historia-vitae-magistras]

"Petty" for the wip game

This fic is actually complete. Short but thorough. I have a friend who really liked his Maria with my Matt, and this was his Christmas present one year, so it's old and kinda cringeworthy and kind of smutty, and I don't really stand by it anymore, but it's kind of nice, I think.

Vancouver, 1995

“I never noticed you don't own a rosary,” Maria asked him one morning. She lay in a beam of buttery yellow sunlight, and he thought of technicolour marigold altars. A riot of colours he wanted to paint her body in, maybe outlined in a bright, crystalline, sugar-skull white of the sheets. She is gold, in her real sunshine. “Or even keep one on the wall.”

“I'm not that Catholic.” He shrugged.

“Sure you are, tabernako,” The pads of her fingers rested on his thigh for a long moment. He thought she might want to go again, that the seven orgasms weren't enough, but she tapped him thoughtfully instead. His profanity was Catholic, sure. But he didn't know how to say that. It didn't mean he believed in much.

“I think the first thing I can remember my father giving me is a rosary,” She said. “White ivory and gold. It's in a museum now, in the capital.”

“It sounds beautiful.” He replied lightly.

“Antonio's a piece of shit, but he has good taste,” Mari stretched, her entire body arching in a way that made him itch to paint. “At least the Catholics have an aesthetic.”

“I think I've got a higher rate of protestants than you, though.” Matthew pointed out. “I'm not so Catholic anymore.”

Mari laughed like the porcelain bells that he often saw on the porches of her neighbours. “You apologized when I only came six times. If that's not Catholic guilt I don't know what is.”

He snorted and shrugged again. “Just making up for what you spend on dairy when I come over.”

“You do consume more crema than anyone I've ever met. Even for a white boy.” She pondered this a moment. “Mostly white boy. Whatever. So you don't have them? Or you've never had them. The worry beads, I mean.”

“I have one.” He said, standing and opening the old trunk at the end of the bed to take it out from where it still lay. Father had never approved of it. Black and wooden and plain, he'd carved it from Scottish oak scraps while stuck in bed after the handover.

“It's pretty.” She said. It wasn't, and they both knew it, but he thanked her anyway.

“Monsieur Bonnefoy gave me one when I was born.” He said. “Black stone beads. It had his bulla in the center. Rome gave it to him, I guess. It was set under a plate with the virgin stamped in iron to attach it. To keep me safe.”

“Thoughtful of him.” She said dryly. "Strange how they're always squabbling over the sons of Rome."

He flushed, thinking of France's invasion in the 1860s. “Sorry.”

“What happened to it?” She said, batting his apology away with a wave of her hand. She rolled onto her back, her hair a cloud of wildfire smoke around her golden face, and he pillowed her head in his thigh and leaned against the headboard, playing with her hair. She liked that, she'd said once because he didn't mess with the pattern of her curls. “In a museum in Ottawa?”

“No,” Matt said. “He took it back. It was in their agreement, his and Father's. Monsieur Bonnefoy took his name and his protection back. Property too, but his politicians had already taken that back when they fled anyway. So my rosary and a few little odds and ends went back in a box. I had a set of apostles spoons from Uncle Alasdair he took back too, even though my uncle was my godfather.”

“That's petty.”

“That's Monsieur Bonnefoy for you.” Matt shrugged.

“I suppose at least you're not still paying him for the privilege of being colonized.” She said.

“Did your father take anything back?”

“You mean besides the pile of silver he dug out of me?” She raised a brow.

“Ah,” Matt said, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Maybe he was Catholic. “I just kept Elizabeth on the money and Dad's content.”

“Aren't you a lucky one,” She teased. “Now, why don't you get back down there and make your brother jealous all the way from Japan.”

“Well,” Matthew grinned, his angsty bullshit mood gone in a moment. Her thigh was warm when he kissed it. “He did say we had to get to know each other.”

“I'd—” She gasped. “I'd say we're getting…” The little intake of breath she made was better than praise. “To know each other.”

Send me a word, if it’s in one of my wip documents I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[bellaevilqueen]

Cinderella

Summary: Bella is an orphaned girl who lives with her stepmother and two stepsisters. At the ball in Fittes, she meets her Prince Charming and falls in love.

Chapter 3

*BELLA'S POV*

I was just starting my morning shift at Arif's when the doorbell rang. George came through the door

-Hi George-

-Hi. I'm going for donuts. Arif was supposed to pack them-

-I'll get it now- I turned to grab the box and hand it to him

-Listen, you know that I work in the agency, right?- I nodded- wouldn't you like to meet my boss? Just for tea - I stopped at this suggestion. He offered me a date with his boss. A date with Anthony Lockwood. A date with the person I spent the entire ball with- Say something? -

-I don't think this will work-

-It's worth a try. Think about it. You know where we live, so you can come-he paid and left. In a moment, Arif came out of the back room with a newspaper

-I think you need to see something. All London is talking about it - he handed me the newspaper. There was a huge photo on the front page. Not just any photo. My photo. A photo of me waltzing with Anthony Lockwood. My heart stopped in shock

-All of London?-

-Yes. Everyone wants to know the identity of the beautiful stranger - I threw the newspaper on the counter - You should go on that date. It certainly won't be that tragic. It's just tea-

-Maybe you're right. I'll call George later-

-Do it now-

-But the customers...-

-I will take care of this. Remember, I'm your fairy godfather- he disappeared into the room and I dialed the number at 35 Portland Row. A girl answered

-Lockwood&co. How can I help you?-

-Hey,did I find George?-

-No, he's not here yet-

-Oh...you can tell him that Bella called and that I agree to the tea-

-Wait, Bella?Like Bella the waitress?-

-Yes-

-Cool, I'm Lucy. I'm glad you agreed to go on a date with Lockwood-

-It's not a date. I'll come for tea-

-Right. So see you...uh...tomorrow is ok with you?-

-Yes-

-Great, see you tomorrow then-

-See you-I hung up

-And how?-

-I'll go for tea tomorrow-

-Great-I went home after my shift. There was no ghost business today so I went home relaxed. Until her stepmother started cursing at a stranger from the ball

-The mean girl is taking away my daughter's chances of becoming the future Mrs. Lockwood and taking over this company. What are you looking at?-she looked at me- the house won't clean itself, especially since I have a brilliant plan. We'll invite Mr. Lockwood for tea and then he'll fall in love with one of my daughters-I heard them starting to argue so I just shook my head and went upstairs to the room, more like the attic than the room. I changed and started cleaning.

*LOCKWOOD'S POV*

-What did you do!?- I saw Lucy jump at the sound of my raised voice

-I set you up with a waitress. She'll come for tea today. Anyone can be a princess from ball. You're getting your hopes up unnecessarily-

-I have to find her, that's why I put an announcement in the newspaper-

-What announcement?-Luce joined the conversation

-That she lost something and if she knows what it is then I'll be sure it's her-

-It's a London version of Cinderella-I smiled when Luce said it-why are you smiling so much?-

-That's what I called her. Cinderella-

-Oh my God, you are hopelessly in love with her. You don't even know her identity-

-I know George. She's the most wonderful person in the world. It is enough for me-

-Great, but you won't miss your date anyway. She'll be here at 5 p.m. Make her spaghetti. You can't ruin it-but George was wrong. I'm standing over the stove and trying not to burn the sauce or pasta. Suddenly I heard the doorbell

-Shit-I left it and ran to open it. I saw a pretty brunette with curly hair and those very familiar blue eyes

-Hi, I'm Bella-

-I...Anthony-what are you doing Lockwood?You can't fall in love with her-come in-she came in and took off her scarf looking around the house-let me help you with the coat-I helped her take it off and hung it on the hanger

-Is something burning?-my spaghetti

-Wait here or sit in the living room. I'll be back in a moment- I ran to the kitchen. My pasta boiled over and the sauce burned. I started straining the pasta and then I burned my whole hand. My pot fell and the bang made her enter the kitchen

-Everything's all right?-

-Yes, I just... wanted to make dinner and I just got burnt-

-Did you wash it with cold water?-

-No-

-Otherwise there will be blisters-she took my hand and turned on the water

-Where is your first aid kit?-

-Upper cabinet-She stood on her tiptoes and pulled out the first aid kit from the cabinet. She took my hand and started applying ointment

-I'm really sorry if you're disappointed. I wanted to make a good impression-she took the bandage and started tying my hand

-Don't worry about anything. We were just supposed to drink tea anyway, right?

-Yes, but I also wanted to make dinner-

-Really, tea is enough. Ready-

-Thank you. I'll make some tea and then we can talk in the living room- after a while we were sitting in the living room and talking about everything and nothing. I found out that she is an agent in Rotwell and work for Arif to help support her family. It was getting late so she slowly started getting ready. As she was leaving, it started snowing. She looked at him with fascination

-I once saw my parents dancing in the garden. It was snowing and it looked so magical. Since then, I've been dreaming that my Prince Charming would ask me to dance like that-

-I know it's stupid, but...- I held out my hand to her. I had to check something

-Anthony...-

-Dance with me-she smiled- I know I'm not Prince Charming, but it's the least I can do for a spoiled dinner -

-Agreed - I took my coat and shoes and we left. I held out my hand. Her hand rested perfectly on mine. I pulled her towards me and we started dancing. My senses were enveloped by the same sweet scent as at the ball. How could I be so blind?That's her. I finally found her. When we finished dancing, she smiled and curtsied

-Thank you for the dance, Prince Charming- I just looked at her

-It's you-her smile disappeared

-What?-

-You're the stranger from the ball. You're the one I danced with all night long-she broke free from my embrace and started running. I stood there stunned for a moment, but then I started running after her. I did not make it. She got into a taxi and drove away. When George and Lucy came back from the case, they found me in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey

-The meeting didn't go well?-I looked at Lucy

-I burned my dinner and burned my hand, but there are advantages. I know she was at the ball. So I'm looking for her-

-Really?Lockwood is fantastic-

-Don't get happy too soon, Luce. There's always a but-George was right

-She ran away before I said anything-

-Don't worry. We'll meet her at Arif's. You will find your princess-I hope George is right.

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

Hi,This is the penultimate part. The last part will be published on Sunday.

[seriouslysam8]

Give me 11 for the ask. I'm gonna be extra and ask for some specifics that you've changed lol

11. How close has your WIP stayed to its outline/original vision?

Oh gosh, okay. Things I’ve changed. 

I think I stayed true to most of the major plot points in my original outline. I’ll try to remember everything I changed. 

Hinny was supposed to get together at the beginning of 6th year. I wanted them to pine and be adorable idiots all summer but I have a hard time writing the two together and NOT seen couple-y. So they got together in June. 

All of you know that Sirius was originally going to be fuck buddies with Rosamond. I changed that to Tegan because I thought I’d be putting him through the wringer enough. I thought the betrayal would be too hard on Sirius with everything else. 

Speaking of the betrayal, Rosamond was supposed to be the one to see where Charlotte was while over at Sirius’ house. But since there was no reason for her to be there, I changed it to Harry. While I always planned on having the mental connection between Harry and Voldemort linger and be a constant battle, I didn’t have it be so central.

Speaking of Tegan, she was not as big of a presence in the original outline. Originally, I only had her collaborate that Peter was at the Grimmauld attack to help free Sirius so that the readers felt a bit more connection to Demelza to see her background. But every time I wrote Sirius and Tegan together, I added her more and more. 

Speaking of Sirigan, the attack on Snowdonia wasn’t in the original outline either. I wanted Sirius and Tegan to work together to see if they really did have chemistry before I totally nixed the Rosamond idea. When they did click so well, I crafted the Fidelius and subsequent rescue as a hint that Rosamond was playing Sirius and could not be trusted. 

I knew I wanted Sirius to kill Malfoy. But I had no idea when or how. I knew there was going to be a big rescue sequence for Cepheus and I believe it was @justalittleconfusing who suggested that Sirius kill Malfoy then. 

Fluffernoodle was not meant to be a star either. I just had it as a funny little thing Harry did to conjure a snake, despite for his godfather to share this ability that he hates because it connects him to Voldemort. But all of you started loving on him and then I grew attached and then Fluffernoodle was born.

Lastly, France was a last minute decision as well. After the attack on Grimmauld Place, I was faced with a decision on where the hell do they all go. The Burrow seemed like a natural choice. But, I don’t know, as I was writing it, I wanted Sirius and Harry to have a little happy getaway. I wanted the two of them to bond and be happy for once. So, you know, France happened.

Lastly, there are some things that I've tweaked in future chapters. One of them being a pretty major plot point. I wanted to diverge more from the book than I had originally planned, so I shifted the second half of the school year to be unfamiliar and make you guessing what will happen.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Until The Very End -(WITS Sequel)

A/N: None of you bitches told me today was the 26th how am I supposed to know I have to post a new chapter Anyway, HAPPY 1000TH POST!! -Danny

Words: 2,301

Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next chapter Listen to: 'Photograph' -by Cody Fry

2006

When Rose Granger-Weasley was born, they discovered Ron was the overprotective father of the whole lot. Not even Erick had acted that way with his babies. Hermione found it exasperating, but to Ron, that little girl was his firstborn, and nothing was going to stop him from keeping her safe.

If they were packed with children before, now it was definitely overwhelming. Fred had a good reason to be losing his mind over it, there was always a baby or a toddler he had to be mindful not to step on or sit on accident.

Regulus, who was the eldest child, hadn't changed much after his talk with Mel. He was a kid still, so she wasn't expecting him to change his behaviour, he was too young to grasp it all. However, he seemed a little bit uneasy about attending Hogwarts now.

Emily Flint, on the other hand, couldn't wait to go. She was determined to be as good as her father to the point of claiming she'd be a Headgirl too. She wanted to be in Slytherin like him, but Erick had advised her not to force herself into a house where she might not belong.

"You should let the hat do its work, love," He'd told her. "If you talk too soon, you'll be trapped in a house where you're not comfortable."

"Listen to your father, he should know," Mel teased him. "He became my friend out of boredom and before he knew it he was dragged into our mess."

"Yeah, worst decision of my life," he mused, kissing the top of his son's head, who was sound asleep in his arms.

Matthew John Potter was born on January twelve, also known as Erick's birthday. Naturally, Mel and Harry asked him to be the godfather.

Erick was more than pleased, he was ready to take the boy under his wing and guide him through life. What that meant, no one knew, but Mel trusted he'd do a good job anyway.

Amy Flint was born in February of the same year, the fifth—and last of their babies, according to Anne and Erick.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Fred and Joseph decided to get married. It wasn't that they weren't expecting them to last, they'd been dating for almost a decade, but since they lived together and didn't seem to have any interest in getting married, it wasn't exactly anticipated.

Fred's wedding, in spite of what he'd promised when they were younger, was as elegant as any other, if not more. Joseph was firm on having the best of the best in every aspect, and Fred let him do his thing since he wasn't an expert at weddings.

"If it were for me, we'd just hire some bloke to marry us in our apartment and that'd be it, but Jo finds that, er, what did you call it, love? I just know it was a bad French insult to my person," he teased.

"You won't ruin my day, Weasley," Joseph replied unbothered. "I've been dreaming of this since our first year together."

"Wow, that's faith," Mel grinned.

"Oh, don't say that like you didn't dream about getting married to Glasses since you were a kid!" George exclaimed. "You probably talk to Harry once and you started to design the cake."

"She wanted me to be her best man, actually," Harry spoke from his place in the rug, he'd been playing with his twins quietly until that moment. They were starting to show signs of wanting to walk, so now they had to always be watching over them when they were awake. "She wanted to marry Prince William."

"What—"

"Thank you for that, Glasses," she groaned, falling back on the couch and hiding her face behind a cushion. "I'll never hear the end of it..."

"Blimey! Princess Mel of England—has a ring to it, lady."

"To think you almost got to be Lady Dumbledore for real!" Fred chortled.

"Shut up, you two," she scowled at the twins. "It was a nice thing to imagine as a child. Either way, when I first dated Harry, I don't remember thinking about a wedding. The most I would picture was Hogsmeade dates and holding hands in front of everyone once Skeeter left us alone..."

"Skeeter's no longer a problem now, is she?" George taunted her. "You guys are disgustingly sweet in public nowadays."

"Well, Georgie, being close to dying really changes your priorities," She joked.

"Look at this one!" Mel laughed, handing the picture to Ginny. "Look how tiny we look next to Charlie!"

The redhead laughs as she looks at the photo Mel's showing her, it's from the 1994 summer, the year of the Quidditch final, before hell broke loose. "Sweet Merlin, look at Charlie's hair!"

They're looking for old pictures of Joe and Fred for the ceremony, and Mel's the only one who has pictures of the both of them at Hogwarts. Mel looks at the images and it's been so long since she sat and look through them, that now she's able to see how much they've changed. 

Her fourteen-year-old self smiles at them, waving enthusiastically at the camera from where she's standing behind the burrow's sofa. Sitting there are Fred and George, and they're scribbling something on parchment, probably the pricelist for his inventions. Her face is much rounder than it is nowadays, though, in a year's time, Mel knows that will change. 

The trauma and growth spurt are bound to sharpen her features, but she remains innocent and sweet in that photo, forever enjoying her summer with the Weasleys and Harry, the boy she has a crush on.

As she looks through the album she starts to think about Hogwarts again, and it amazes her just how much she'd almost forgotten. The spring days sitting under that huge tree by the lake, the late night studying with her friends in the common room, and how could she forget the meal times with Fred and George making her laugh until she choked on her pumpkin juice!

It was all so long ago... a whole decade of experiences and changes, and yet all those memories came back to her as easily as a spell. Her fingers grazed around the soft features of that young Mel, so full of life, with a soul so whole and bright she could take down dementors by just standing there—not quite true, but now it felt like that had been the case—and her eyes teared up a bit.

"Mel, what's the matter?" Ginny asked worryingly.

"Sorry," she sniffed, hastily cleaning her face. "I just... I remembered how young we were when we met—it's so strange... knowing we were once that little, and at some point, I just... forgot."

Ginny looked at her with a soft and understanding smile. "It is strange, isn't it? It's hard not to forget how it felt to be that small... especially someone like you, I guess, holding all that power... hard to believe you were once a little girl, right?"

Mel stared at the picture for a while. She didn't know how badly she loved that little girl until now, and she felt guilty when she thought of the times she'd been embarrassed to have been her. Why, when little Mel had been all that was good in the world? 

She looked at herself with the same eyes her Uncle Lu had at the end of her third year at school, what a remarkable little thing she was, with eyes so smart and clever she looked like she knew more than she let on. No wonder adults were always a little on edge when she was around.

A little girl's squeal brought her back and she looked up. Harry walked into the drawing room holding Emmie's hands as she marched into the room with clumsy feet. Luna walked right after them with James still safely tucked in her arms. 

"Look at her go!" Ginny said proudly. "Hang on, Harry, don't pick her up yet!" She reached for Mel's old camera on the coffee table and turned the baby and her father. "She looks so cute!"

Mel watched as her daughter moved across the room holding tightly to Harry's fingers. He had a huge smile on his face as he encouraged his daughter to keep walking, glancing at Mel from time to time to point Emmie in her direction.

The young mother slipped off the couch and knelt to receive the toddler in her arms, which only encouraged Emmeline to walk faster. Harry almost tripped trying to keep up. Mel laughed and held one hand out for her daughter. "Come along, love, you can do it!"

Ginny took the picture then, the moment Emmeline crashed against her mother's chest and Mel fell on her butt, laughing as much as the baby. Harry helped her to sit up, smiling proudly at his daughter's accomplishment. "She's got good legs," he grinned. "Might be a good climber just like you."

Mel laughed again, cupping her daughter's cheek and beaming. "As long as she learns to not fall on her head, then it's fine."

"Dad!" Emmeline squealed, reaching her chubby little arms to try and pull Harry closer, he sat next to Mel on the rug and kissed Emmie's head, brushing her hair back. 

"What's this?" He grabbed one of the pictures and smiled at it. "Look, Mel, Emmie looks so much like you here!"

He showed her the photo, it was them on her ninth birthday, with icing on her cheek and the roundest cheeks she'd ever seen on a little girl. Harry had one arm around her shoulders and his fingers had icing the same colour as the one on her face. Little Matthew had the same bright emerald eyes as him.

"Yeah she does," Mel beamed, holding onto the toddler and kissing the top of her head. "I hope she gets to be just as happy as I was, too."

Once a month her mother, Remus and Tonks offered to look after the twins and Matthew so she and Harry could go out with Hermione and Ron. They left Rose with Ron's parents and left to spend a whole day in London.

First, they considered going to Diagon Alley, but they didn't want to risk finding Skeeter there, she'd been trying to get a glimpse of Rose and Matthew as well as the twins, and even though they didn't have the kids with them, they didn't want to be disturbed.

So instead, they walked around the muggle city and took Ron to the movies.

"Heard Professor Sprout is planning to retire," Hermione mentioned as she grabbed a fistful of popcorn. "Might be a good idea to mention it to Neville, don't you think?"

"Doesn't he have his own apothecary near his grandma's house?"

"Yeah, but his grandma's really old now, and I mean really old," Mel pointed out. "So it'd be a good idea for him and Hannah to start thinking about their future."

"Thinking about their future?" Ron made a face. "Not like their lives revolve around Neville's grandma..."

"Oh, you know Neville only lives so out of the way to be close to her," Hermione admitted with a sigh. "I agree with Mel, that's why I mentioned Professor's Sprout possible retirement. I think, Mel," she leaned forward and gave her a careful look. "That if you talk to her, she might consider writing to Neville to ask if he's interested."

"I don't know if I even need to do that," Mel shrugged. "He was one of her best students, maybe she's already considering him to fill the spot."

"Wouldn't hurt to make sure of it," Hermione insisted.

"Been years since we went to school and you still look after him," Ron teased her, though his voice was affectionate. "He's a grown man like all of us, Mione, he can do things himself if he wants to."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "You're right. You're right. Sorry, it's just... sometimes I think I still see him as that little boy that used to hide behind us during potions."

Mel giggled, understanding her feelings. "Lately I've been thinking about our time in school as well... the other day I had this dream that I had fallen asleep and everyone had gone to class, but I couldn't find the classrooms, it was as if the entire castle had changed it's hallways and staircases, but I was sure they looked exactly the same, it was me who'd forgotten the directions... and then I looked at myself as I passed next to a window and saw myself in that old Gryffindor uniform?" She smiled. "It felt strange to be wearing it again, even if it was a dream."

"I don't miss wearing those stupid hats," Ron scoffed. "Or the ties..."

"The ties were lovely," Hermione argued. "I liked our winter cloaks and the scarfs were really thick and warm."

"I liked how you looked in your uniform," Harry told Mel with a grin. "Especially the Quidditch one."

Mel lightly hit his shoulder and he laughed, she shook her head. "Isn't it weird that next year Regulus will attend Hogwarts? He'll be part of a house, and use the same uniform, and he'll go to the same classes we did, but it won't be like our time there at all."

"He's definitely a Gryffindor, though," Ron added.

"Yeah," responded the other three.

"I think that makes it just as exciting for us as it will be for him," Hermione said, smiling giddily. "Everything will be new to us in a way."

"Yeah, a first year with no three-headed dogs and giant games of chess," Ron smirked. "We never got to know what that was like."

"We should get him an owl for his eleventh birthday," Mel nudged Harry's arm. "He's got Padfoot, so I don't think a cat's a good idea."

"Padfoot gets along with Grey just fine," he frowned.

"Grey's an old cat, he's too tired to fight him," Mel replied humorously. "A young cat would most likely try to murder Padfoot and Padfoot would probably sit on them until they suffocated."

Harry laughed. "Fine, an owl it is."

Next Chapter—>

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