#i figured with this prompt being 'professor' it was the perfect choice

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 6 / 31 * PROFESSOR 」

1942

He barely got the chance to make himself a cup of coffee before he was swarmed by his colleagues, all hungry for even a snippet of information that had to do with the newest rumour making its way around the campus grounds. Even those of his fellow professors who thought him damaged goods, an obsessive nutcase with more than a few screws loose, turned up at his doorstep, their intentions written clean across their faces.

Emmett had managed to shoo most of them away with a few frantic flicks of his wrist, save for Dr. Warren, an elder professor in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair streaked with a few strands of grey. Dr. Warren had actually liked him or at the very least tolerated him–some days Emmett wasn’t sure which it was–and his passionate ramblings without jumping to the near immediate conclusion of many of the other faculty that, despite his impressive academic career on paper, he was teetering along the edge of insanity. 

For what it was worth, Emmett rather liked the older man too, impressed by his clever sense of wit and more than a few of his papers he’d published over the years.

“We heard through the grapevine that a certain somebody visited you yesterday,” Dr. Warren says, his bright green eyes twinkling as he lifts his own mug of coffee to his lips.

“The grapevine? A certain somebody?” Emmett quirks a brow, trying to keep the big secret from writing itself across his face by following suit. He grimaces the moment the scalding coffee burns his tongue and Dr. Warren smirks, catching his younger colleague red-handed. 

“Don’t play coy, Emmett. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“So what if he was here? He’s associated with Caltech all the same; he’s still a professor here, even if he only stays for a single term. Him stopping by the campus isn’t unheard of.”

Dr. Warren stares long and hard at him. “It is when it isn’t his term and where he’s supposed to be is almost four hundred miles away. If you’re going to try and lie, at least do better.”

“Who told you?”

“Anderson.”

Emmett blinks. “Anderson? How’d he know?”

“Right place, right time, apparently. I caught up with Anderson for lunch and he shared that Oppenheimer had come, asking about you. I thought it was going to be about—”

Emmett clears his throat aggressively and waves his hand. “That was one time and it was an accident, you know that. It was repaired.”  

“Right. Anyway, that wasn’t it. He just asked where he could find you, said he had something he wanted to talk to you about, then left.” 

Well, that confirmed his suspicions regarding the undue attention he’d suddenly been given this morning. 

“So Anderson told the rest of the physics department, is that it?” 

Dr. Warren shrugs as Emmett huffs into his coffee. “That, or they caught a glimpse of him themselves. And with that large soldier following him around, there are only a few realistic guesses as to why he could be looking for you.” 

He starts counting the reasons off with his fingers. One. “Either you’ve been suspected of treason and they’re here to investigate you, or”—two—“it has something to do with that big project they’ve been keeping under wraps. Don’t give me that look. You know the one; you’ve been talking about it since word first got out about it.”

“Show me one of our colleagues that hasn’t been talking about it! I’m not saying the research we’ve all been doing for the war effort isn’t important, but comparatively—” 

“It’s not top-secret military-backed research,” Warren finishes, throwing a knowing look Emmett’s way. “So he asked you to be part of it.”

Emmett nods enthusiastically. “Oppenheimer made me an offer probably knowing I’d accept. But I won’t know for certain whether or not I’ve been approved for a few weeks. Background checks, investigations—they aren’t leaving anything to chance.”  

“Any skeletons in your closet you’re afraid they’ll dig up?”

“No. I have nothing to hide. If there’s something they want to find, they’ll find it, and there will be nothing I can do about that.” That would be a worst-case scenario; a devastating blow when he’s so close he can practically grasp it in his hands. “It’s the being stuck in limbo while they dig through my records that will be unbearable. How am I supposed to focus on anything else knowing what’s on the horizon?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Did you tell your students?”

“If you’ve all heard the news, I suspect word has already reached my students.” Emmett checks his wristwatch and pulls his lips into a thin line. “But I suppose I’ll find out for sure in twelve minutes.”

“And don’t forget to talk to Millikan!” Dr. Warren shouts after Emmett’s retreating form.

“I won’t. But I have a sneaking suspicion that if Anderson knew, Millikan was already well-aware of this visit.”

After all, Emmett wasn’t the first scientist to be poached from the university–several of his colleagues had already put in for their temporary leave, had their classes scheduled to be dissolved and their students merged into other courses of their choosing. 

As he walks down the corridor to the lecture hall, sipping on his coffee, Emmett already begins to imagine the conversation he’ll have to have with Robert Millikan and the knowing, unsurprised expression he expects to find on his face when he walks through the door to his office.

[mrshowlettsgarden]

The Day We Met - Logan Howlett: the one where Logan meets reader the day he arrives at the X - mansion

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: fluff, flirty; this is loosely base off of the first xmen movie

─➭ note: welcome to my first post! I'll start taking requests! (prompt list)

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Logan Howlett definitely didn’t welcome the invitation of practically being kidnapped by a couple of freaks in black and loud leather suits. The teenager he was with in the car accident, Rogue, did though because she found a place to call home and Logan? Well, he claimed he didn't need one to the Professor as he introduced himself and the others to Logan. But Charles made a bargain with Logan.

“While you stay here, Dr. Grey and I will help regain the memories you had lost,” Charles said calmly. 

A dirty look was seen on Logan’s face when the bald man said that. “Now why would I let you or her get into my head, huh?” he scowled at the Professor and Jean, who was protectively standing behind him. 

“You never wondered where you got the name the Wolverine from?’ Charles asked as he nodded towards Logan’s dog tags, “We can help you, Logan. You can move on from cage fighting and stay here.” 

A scoff slipped from Logan’s lips as he anxiously looked around Charles’ office almost looking for an out from this stupid conversation. He gave up the idea of figuring out where he came from years ago or at least he thought he did. Of course he wondered where he got his dog tags from and that’s all he’s ever known for as far as he can remember. But he needed to move on from those thoughts or at least forget the fact that he can’t ever regain his memories again. 

Letting out a deep breath Logan looks back at Charles and thinks for a bit longer. What if the Professor can actually help him? What if this is his only chance at figuring out who he is and how he came to be? Can any of these damn geeks actually help at all?

Fuck this bullshit…

“Fine,” Logan snaps against his own thoughts, “But the second shit goes sideways and I don’t like it, I’m fuckin’ outta here.” He points his finger at the Professor. 

Charles smiles and moves towards the door, “Perfect. Now come while I show you around your new home.” 

Logan can’t count how many times he’s scoffed since he woke up in this new place. He reluctantly follows Charles and gives a dirty look to Scott or Cyclops before he leaves the room. Scott sighs as he looks back at Jean and then Ororo, also known as Storm, “He’s going to be nothing but trouble while he stays here.”

“Everyone is troubled when they first start off here, Scott,” Storms says with a smile as she walks out of the room.  

Jean smiles too as she walks towards her fiancé and gives Scott a kiss on the cheek, “You were nothing but trouble too.”

Scott rolls his eyes as he follows Jean out. “I wasn’t even that bad.”

”You blew up Charles' tree.”

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Logan and Charles made their rounds around the mansion. From classrooms to the bedrooms and as well as the laboratories similar to the one Logan first woke up in. As they walked, Charles shared that this place was a school and a home for mutants, mainly youngsters who are trying to navigate the hardships of being a mutant and having mutant powers all while trying to live a normal life as humans do at their age. Charles also shared that Rogue has the choice to stay and rejoin the world as an educated mutant if she so wishes.

“Most of the adults here were my earlier students who are now teachers. I also teach physics throughout the week,” Charles shared.

“Yeah, well I ain’t about to teach shit while I’m here either,” Logan rolled his eyes. 

“No,” Charles lets out a soft chuckle, “But you will be subbing for those who are away and cannot attend their class. Call it your payment while you stay here.” Logan couldn’t get a word in to talk back as Charles moved ahead of him towards a couple of double glass doors that lead outside, “Now for the backyard.” The professor opens a set of doors with his mind and leads Logan to the balcony that oversees the property. 

“This is a backyard?” Logan questions with a raised eyebrow as looks around the massive green field and trees decorating the property. There’s a fountain ahead of them both and if he looks further there is a trail that leads to a pond further back. There’s students running around on a basketball court. Some are sitting in the grass reading or talking. He also sees a small farm to his right and swears he can smell horse shit from where he’s standing. “The hell is this place…”

 Ignoring Logan’s comment he takes him further into the yard onto a cemented path. “You’ve so far met Storm, Scott, and Jean but we have another Professor here who enjoys spending her time outside so she wasn’t part of your welcome party,” Charles says as he leads Logan towards a glass greenhouse.

Logan looks up and around the huge building and immediately notices the green vines and various plants surrounding the perimeter of the glass walls. He almost guesses that it’s a two-story building with how high the roof is and he’s not even inside yet. “Lemme guess, she’s got a green thumb for powers,” Logan scoffs with assumption behind his tone. 

Charles laughs as they walk towards the double doors, “Something like that,” he says.

And before they even reached the door, two brown branches covered in leaves on both sides of the door began to move towards the door handles. Logan’s eyebrows furrow on high alert as he watches the branches turn the handles to open the doors for the two of them to enter. After both doors open, Logan is greeted with the greenest view he’s ever seen. While it’s not a two-story building like he thought, the high ceilings were a matching height with trees set up around the huge room.It’s like he walked into a second backyard. He can see and smell the collections of plants and flowers filling his senses as he and Charles walk further into the greenhouse. 

And as the further they walk the more Logan can see different landscapes that he assumes correlate the plants to where they’re originally from. He follows the professor as he makes a turn to their left around a hedge to a research area decorated with science equipment and desks for the students. 

“Professor?” a soft female voice calls out anxiously, “Why is everyone telling me there’s a wolverine running around the mansion?” Logan hears Charles softly laugh at the question. “If there’s an actual animal running around, I don’t know how to feel about that because everyone is stressing me out about being eaten!”

There’s a concerned tone in the voice and Logan nearly rolls his eyes at the woman’s thought of him being the animal “running around” and him “eating” them. Before he can bark out a snarky comment, you come around a different corner of a group of plants with a watering can in your hands. Logan cannot deny the fact he almost lost his breath at the sight of you. But he shook the fluttering feeling away before it settled in his chest. 

“Oh!” you say in surprise and pure embarrassment as you see the professor and the “animal” you were stressing about standing tall and intimidating behind Charles’ wheelchair. You really want to slap yourself with the watering can for believing the damn plants about being eaten by a wolverine. 

Charles smiles as he moves closer to you. “No, my dear. No animal,” he speaks softly to you, “This is Logan. The Wolverine that your friends were warning you about.”

You feel your body heat up with more embarrassment while you nervously laugh at the professor’s words. But the nervous smile you were holding went away in a split second as you locked eyes with a pair of scowling hazel ones across from you. You shy away from the dirty look Logan was giving you. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out, “If I knew you weren’t an actual wolverine, I wouldn’t have called you an animal… That was very rude for them to say that about you.”

“Them?” Logan questions with a slight attitude.

“The plants,” Charles says like a proud father would sound as he turns himself towards Logan who stood locked in his place, “Logan, this is Dr. Y/n L/n. She teaches biology to the students here in the greenhouse.” 

Logan hums as his eyes study your face and he sees that you move your gaze away from his and it makes him smirk. “So, your mutation is making friends with plants?” he chuckles as he looks at his surroundings.

You look back at him with a slight frown at the overused assumption about your powers. “I can move and grow plants at my own will,” you sigh out with a disappointed look in your eyes but you carry a neutral face, “Communicating with the plants is a bonus…” Logan looks back at you after you answer and sees the disappointing look in your eyes and he starts to feel bad for trying to pick fun at you. 

“I was giving Logan a tour of the property. He will be staying with us for a while,” Charles says as he notices the soft look Logan's holding as he looks at you. With a knowing smirk he turned his full attention to you and you looked back at him, “Y/N, why don’t you continue the tour for me and show Logan his room? I sense that Jean is requesting my presence back in the lab,” he lies through his teeth as he sends you a picture of one of the vacant rooms for Logan from his mind.

Not knowing the real hidden reason for making you finish the tour for him, you nod your head with an understanding look. “Will do, Professor,” you say in a gentle tone. 

Charles moves away from you and past Logan going back toward the doors, “I will see you two for dinner.”

And with that Charles left and silence took over the air between you and the bruting man standing across from you. “Um, well let’s take you to your room. I’m sure you’ve had a rough day,” you say as you put the watering can on top of the table next to you. Logan nods as he begins to follow behind you to leave the garden. 

As he follows you towards the door, Logan sees you raise one of your hands as green like dust form from in between your fingers and with a wave of your fingers he feels something shift in the room. He turns around back towards the greenhouse and sees the branches and vines move to close down the lamps illuminating the gardens in the room then he hears the sound of water in the background slowly die out from the fountains. When he looks back towards you, he swears he sees your eyes turn from green back to your original eye color. 

“Ready?” you ask with a small smile.  

Logan nods silently again and follows you out. 

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The walk back into the mansion was quiet. You nervously played with your fingers as you led him inside and all the way upstairs. As you both walked through the hallway of the corridor, Logan couldn’t help but to steal a glance towards you as the afternoon sun slowly turned to evening. The light that was shining through the window at the end of the hall brightened your facial features that he couldn’t see back inside the greenhouse. He wanted to look at you a little longer but he knew he'd already pushed your boundaries from earlier so he looked away before you could realize.

You then walked a couple of extra steps ahead of him towards a closed door to what he assumes is his room. You open it and extend your arm out with a soft smile. “This is your room,” you say and Logan walks in silently with his hands behind his back to look around. “You have your own bathroom around the corner right here,” you maneuver around the room to open another door to the said bathroom. Then you look towards another side of the room and point to a closet and a set of drawers, “You should have enough room for your things to put in there too.”

The brunette haired man hums in acknowledgment as he walks about his new home. He opens and inspects his closet then turns towards you. “And where is your room?” he asks as he walks towards you. 

Your eyebrows raise at his question. “Down the hall,” you say in a flat tone as you stare at him. Logan hears the faintest attitude behind your words as a soft smirk forms on his lips. You almost want to back away from how intimidating he’s being but that's just because he’s so freakishly tall and built compared to you. Your soft gaze meets his as he’s just an arms length away from you. “Do you need anything else, Logan?” you ask in a soft tone. 

His hazel eyes analyze your face a little better up close and…god you’re so fucking beautiful. He’s eternally beating himself up on the inside for being a brash asshole to you in the beginning. Seeing you this close is making this fluttering feeling in his chest come back again and he’s not going to fight it this time. His gaze moves from your eyes to your rosy lips and he has to take a deep breath to stop himself from making a move on you. Logan can already feel how good it’ll feel to have your lips against his as his hands move gently across your body and down to your –

“Logan?” you snap him out of his daydream that he blinks away from, “Are you alright?”

No… No he’s not. He can feel himself getting hard at the thought of him just kissing you. 

What a damn pervert…

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he says back in a gentle tone, “Didn’t mean to make fun of you or anything like that about your powers.”

A soft cheeky smile formed on your lips at his words. He then realized that he wanted to keep seeing that cheeky smile from here on out. “It’s okay, Logan,” you say back, “Take it as payback for when my plants and I called you an animal when you're not.”

An airy laugh slips from Logan’s mouth. He moves his eyes down to your hands where you’ve been nervously playing with your fingers and then grabs a hold of one of them with his calloused hand. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you watch him guide your hand towards his lips. His soft lips lightly meet your knuckles before he looks back at you. “Still… That wasn’t right of me, darlin’”, he says.

You can feel your cheeks warming up from the gesture and your words nearly don’t form in your head or voice. You gently pull your hand away from his with a small but nervous giggle. “You haven’t been here for a full day and you’re already flirty your way in,” you joke as you slowly walk backwards towards the door. “You should’ve waited to settle in first at least.” 

Logan smirks as he watches you walk away from him, “Don’t be afraid to like it, darlin’” Your pretty smile graces his eyes again as you nod and take your leave as you close his door. Logan lets out a near blissful sigh as he sits down on the bed. He runs a hand through his unruly hair nervously before laying down on his back to look up at the ceiling. 

“Maybe, I’ll stay a little longer…”

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[deluluass]

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

 "Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers. 

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you. 

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

 It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be. 

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.  

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you. 

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that. 

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.” 

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again. 

You moved out of that school. 

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better. 

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally. 

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium. 

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes? 

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you. 

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then— 

“You,” he whispered. 

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it. 

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle. 

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!” 

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early. 

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience. 

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about. 

“They’re so mean to you.” 

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room. 

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows. 

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave. 

You disliked those moments with him. 

You disliked him especially when he played. 

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face. 

It looked like....anger. 

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again. 

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach. 

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away. 

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully. 

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself. 

 What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

 “Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face. 

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.  

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat. 

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!” 

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”  

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!” 

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa. 

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?” 

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does. 

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed. 

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.  

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer. 

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?” 

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this. 

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.” 

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?” 

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards. 

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it. 

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time. 

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru. 

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores. 

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations. 

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head. 

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you. 

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying? 

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason. 

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide. 

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth. 

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else. 

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed. 

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss. 

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.  

"Hey, where'd senpai go?" 

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say. 

You could answer that question. All you  had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first. 

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.  

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.  

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard. 

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you. 

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite. 

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this. 

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person. 

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs. 

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms. 

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh. 

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster. 

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours. 

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you. 

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips. 

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps. 

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?” 

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?” 

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left. 

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please. 

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. 

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear. 

“I hate you,” you rasped. 

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.” 

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. 

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows. 

[bffsoobin]

7

➤taehyun x reader, hogwarts!au, besties!au

↳Prompt 7: “What’s our exit strategy?” “Our what?” “Oh my god, we’re all going to die.”

requested?: yes

word count: 1,020

warnings: swearing, perilous situations, talks of claustrophobia but no actual claustrophobic conditions, I did not proof read or edit

A/N: Hi, college is hard and so is being an adult. I know I haven’t been active here lately but I miss y'all and I am in the mood to write something that won’t be graded so here I am :) feel free to continue sending me requests as I’m feeling more and more inclined to get back into writing!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

A long groan sounded from the stones above your head, the unmistakable clang of something giving way ripping into your eardrums. Your feet stutter on their own; threatening to make you trip over the moss-slick cobblestones you’re treading on so lightly. 

In the darkness you feel even more disoriented, unable to use the feeble light from your wand to see all the way up to the ceiling. “Taehyun!” He doesn’t answer and you’re almost sure that your whisper-shout got eaten up by the oppressing silence between you. If it weren’t for the yellow-white glow of his own wand, you would think he had abandoned you here as some kind of sick joke. 

Soobin had led you to this fate, bragging about how he found a secret corridor that lead him right into the grassy courtyard: a perfect spot for stargazing outside of the oppression of astronomy class. Taehyun, always the spontaneous of the two of you, had talked about it for days until you finally cracked and admitted to meet him at midnight to go check it out. 

“I’m right here.” He finally answers and his voice brings a welcome wave of calm, ebbing into the heated anxiety thrumming at the back of your skull. 

“Something is breaking-” a loud groan, like the sound of a giant heaving itself up from the floor, has you gluing your body into his. You can feel the heave of his shoulders, the shake he’s trying so hard to contain as you weigh your options. In all his glamor about the corridor, Soobin had failed to mention that in order to actually get out into the courtyard there was a complicated looking puzzle that neither you or Taehyun could decipher after several minutes of trying. 

“I’ve got a feeling this place isn’t as stable as Soobin thought it to be.” He frowned in the dim light of your wands as he regarded the puzzle door once more; leaning closer as if it would whisper its secrets to him.“I bet one of his other friends gave him some kind of key or a guide. Would have been nice of him to share.” 

“Surely. Let’s go.” You tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, hoping that seeing his feet move will convince your own to do the same. “Before the ceiling caves in, please?” The structure in question is groaning consistently now, and it sounds as if a section of the dirt-rock mixture was about to break free. “Seriously, Taehyun. We can’t see the ceiling and if that falls on us, our next order of business will be figuring out who we want to haunt. Please, let’s go!” 

“But if it falls after we leave the corridor we won’t ever be able to use it again!” Taehyun damn near stomps his foot at the idea of leaving and your mind whirls with anger.  “I don’t give a damn! When you die down here I’ll tell your mother you left all of your expensive sweaters to me!” You had long abandoned your quiet voice, losing grip on yourself as fear unfurls in your stomach. With the small pool of light ahead of you, you catch a glimpse of specks of dirt falling toward the floor in a steady stream. 

“I think I can figure out the puzzle.” Taehyun’s cheery voice fills the underground space as your hands begin to shake. “It looks kind of like something I studied for an exam but we weren’t tested on...I must have picked it up from a random Divination textbook...” The specks of dirt continue their graceful arc to the floor.

“Merlin, what’s our exit strategy?” You blurt, no longer able to disguise the wavering of your voice. 

“Our what?” He responds, sounding miles away as your heartbeat quickens in your ears. 

“We’re both going to die!” A scarily sized chunk of dirt and rocks falls from the ceiling as soon as the words leave your mouth and for once you think that maybe manifestation has some truth behind it. If that was the case, you were well and truly fucked. Taehyun grunts behind you as a group of rocks fall and scatter, one sliding mere inches away from your booted feet. There was surely a hole in the top of the corridor now but you were afraid to look, afraid to conceptualize the danger you were likely in. A metallic click and something like a ball rolling down a ramp sounded, directly followed by the satisfying pressure of a door popping open. Moonlight floods the corridor just enough to see the outline of Taehyun’s body as he lunges toward you, yanking at the first section of your clothes that he can reach and hauling you out into the courtyard.

Fresh, sweet air swirls around you, cooling your heated cheeks and banishing the sweat on the nape of your neck. For a moment you glance at Taehyun’s moon drenched form, the look of relief as his face slackens and the door stands open. You revel in the moment of peace, ready to turn away from the small horror of the crumbling corridor when it all finally gives way- a colossal crack and the slamming of rock into cement that has you reeling.  Dust billows from the door as the entire thing collapses. You and Taehyun stand in stunned silence, and part of you feels like you may be dreaming until he hooks his arm around your neck and hurries the pair of you behind the cover of some bushes just before a gaggle of professors comes busting out of the castle. 

Your heart stills in your chest as you watch them investigate, but Taehyun is giggling. You send him a look that could kill as he holds his hand over his mouth and tears wet the corners of his eyes. “Fuck, sorry- I just never pegged our Professor for the unicorn-pajamas type.” You have no choice but to laugh along with him, mind reeling at the turn of events as you fall back to rest in the cooled grass. 

“Hey, Soobin was right. This is a good stargazing spot.”

[cerises-amoureuses]

Firstly, what we need to realise is that Harry was incredibly attracted to Ginny throughout HBP, to the stage where seeing Ginny kiss another boy drove him up the wall. He spent a better part of the year wrestling with his emotions, which is something he didn’t go through with Cho Chang. Of course, this could be because Ginny, being Ron’s little sister, posed an interesting dilemma, but also because Harry’s feelings extended beyond a simple crush. The easiest way to deduct this is to go back to Harry’s infamous first kiss: he did not enjoy it, nor did he express any sort of desire to do it again. But in Ginny’s case, he had barely worked out his feelings for her when he started envisioning himself kissing her. Harry only ever thought Cho was nice-looking, but he experienced a very typical, boyish sort of lust and want when it came to Ginny.

“She began popping up in his dreams in ways that made his devoutly thankful Ron could not perform legilimency.” – Harry, HBP.

It does not take a genius to figure out exactly what he and Ginny were doing in Harry’s dreams. This inneuendo is remarkably suggestive; Harry had begun having sexual, inappropriate dreams about his best friend’s little sister that made him feel guilty and embarrassed. Moreover, note the instances when Ginny and Harry came in contact; they were often punctuated with Harry either feeling a “swooping sensation” or getting so tense that goosebumps erupted on the back of his neck. There is no evidence of Harry ever feeling jumpy by a girl’s slight touch before, which begs the question why it flustered him so physically in the first place. All evidences point to the thick sexual tension that Harry was feeling between himself and Ginny.

Simply put, Harry’s attraction to Ginny had permeated the boundaries of innocent crushes and gone straight to lustful thoughts and wild dreams.

“… He had received a lot more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch .. “ - Harry, HBP.

There is little room for argument for one trying to say that Harry was admiring Ginny in all innocence from a broomstick suspended in midair. This is another not-so subtle allusion to Harry’s burgeoning sexual attraction. Being a sixteen-year old boy, it is fairly plausible that Harry was being highly inappropriate, possibly undressing Ginny with his eyes, and he needed the force of a Bludger to snap him out of it. It is ridiculous to insinuate that Harry wasn’t looking a little intently than he ought to at Ginny; how else could he have ignored a Bludger speeding at him?

Quite apart from the fact that Harry described his impromptu mid-common room snog with Ginny in a remarkably heavenly fashion, he also explicitly went on to say that if they had time, they would talk about the Quidditch match. This does not specifically point to anything too scandalous, but it does make very clear that Harry intended on taking Ginny to a deserted area for more kissing. This seems a terribly bold step for two people who haven’t even started dating yet. It speaks a lot about their relationship that they started things off with a good, (presumably) lengthy snog, and jumped headlong into the opportunity to snog some more. It insinuates that the two were already very comfortable with each other, and already moving very fast in their relationship.

If that didn’t scream CLUE!!! enough, the next sure indicator was Harry’s feelings while they were dating. His narration was light, airy and genuinely happy – a dramatic change from the teenage angst that readers had been dealing with since GOF. It might be in my imagination, but I have always thought Harry in that period to be all kinds of insufferable, walking around with a goofy grin on his face and not paying much attention to anything – that lovestruck behaviour is largely hinted at in the books,after all. Hadn’t Professor Slughorn attributed Harry’s detoriating Potions grade to “lovesickness”? This obviously meant that Harry had been displaying visible symptoms of the same, which prompted that line of reasoning. What else could make the Boy-Who-Finally-Got-A-Girlfriend “happily impervious to gossip”?

On a particularly striking instance, Harry states that he was reliving a happy moment spent with Ginny in the grounds – if it was “happy” enough for Harry to dwell on it later, what could they have been doing, one wonders? (Cough, cough). Harry expressed explicit frustration that he could no longer spend time with Ginny, and there a very choice things that would, per say, “frustrate” a sixteen-year old boy.

Perhaps it isn’t overly obvious on skimming HBP, but if one analyses Harry’s narration, as I have, it becomes laughably clear that Harry and Ginny were almost definitely being adventurous. Ginny, for her part, is described as fiery and passionate – nothing in her character suggests restraint or holding back. A war, of which Harry was a main part, was going on in full-swing outside the cosy walls of the castle. It is additionally suggestive that JK Rowling also wrote in a specific conversation where it was revealed to Harry that people often elope during times of war. Ginny herself had commented playfully on it. If taking that step as such a young age wasn’t exactly responsible, the could hardly be blamed for it.

Another compelling argument is the fact that Harry, in particular, was, for want of a better word, especially well-equipped. For goodness’ sakes, the boy owned a legitimate Invisibilty Cloak, the Marauder’s Map and was an active user of the Room of Requirement. While Harry made use of these magical items for relatively noble and innocent purposes – in a non-Voldemort dangered world, what else would students want to make themselves invisible for? Ginny, in particular, doesn’t seem the type to ignore the dual potential of items like the map and Cloak.

Lastly, the dealbreaker was the stiflingly unbearable encounters between Harry and Ginny in DH. If there was slight sexual tension in the air between them in HBP, this was magnified about a hundred times in DH. Not many people choose to dwell on this, but I invite you think for a moment – imagine being boyfriend and girlfriend scarcely two months ago, and having a blissful, perfect relationship. Now, imagine being forced to live under the same roof – two teenagers – when they were so unwillingly forced to break up. They had barely spent a month dating, only to be brutally separated, and then made to live together again? Forget Crucio, there’s nothing more torturous than that.

Every time Harry made eye-contact her, he starts to recall moments spent with Ginny in secluded parts of the grounds, which is possibly the least subtle reference in the entire franchise. Again, he experiences acute, agonising frustration, to the point where he is actively trying not to brush against her while they eat dinner – it sounds almost as if he doesn’t trust himself. Another extremely suggestive moment is when Aunt Muriel makes a comment on the scandalous, revealing quality of Ginny’s bridesmaid dress, and the latter turns around and winks at Harry.

No explanation needed.

Need I dwell on Harry’s absolutely endearing jealousy while Ginny danced with other boys at the wedding? He, quite literally, leans against a pillar, folds his arms, (presumably with a glare on his face) and stares fixedly at Ginny.

One confusing instance, however, was Ginny’s – ahem – birthday present to Harry, in which he says, “And then she was kissing him like she had never kissed him before ...” This could somewhat serve as proof that they never progressed farther than snogging, but this greatly contradicts that aforementioned alusions to the same. It also seems a little naive to assume that they were exceedingly good little children while they disappeared for hours to secluded corners and fondly dwell on those instances to the point of distraction afterwards. No, it is my belief that it had been so long since Harry kissed her that he was automatically prone to over-exaggerating their sudden reprisal.

As I come to my conclusion, a few worthy mentions – Harry’s thoughts just before Voldemort struck him in the Forbidden Forest in DH: “And Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –“ Alas, he never completed his train of thinking, but it does leave considerable food for thought.

Therefore, one can comfortably assume that in at least one area of his life, Harry acted like any normal boy his age. He had strong, passionate feelings for Ginny, and she unquestionably felt the same about him (“I never gave up on you. Not really. I always hoped …”), and those kind of things are recipes for teenage intimacy. However, anyone clinging to childhood beliefs can also safely predict that they waited. We may never know, but the evident has always been there, just as JK Rowling intended.

What are you thinking? 🤔

[iliveiloveiwrite]

My Love, My Soulmate

Request: Hi there - I see your requests are open! Would you consider a Marauders era Sirius x reader for a Soulmates au? With Sirius resisting of course! Tattoos, colour, dreams - I don’t mind which you choose. Nice angsty/fluff mix with a tiny bit of zest?! 💕 - @fific7

A/N: Here’s your request! I hope you like and I hope it meets your expectations! There’s a little bit of fluff, little bit of angst and a little bit of zest. I’m unsure of whether my explanation of soulmates makes sense but I still like it nonetheless. Also, I 100% believe that the teachers at Hogwarts had like a bet on which students would end up together and that they thrived on gossip.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: swearing, making out, eludes to sex, angst. If there is anything I've missed, let me know and I’ll add it immediately.

Word count: 3.4k 

It starts as a burn. As if you’ve caught yourself on your curling wand. A short, sharp shock of pain and it’s over.

Pulling your wrist from your chest, you peek at the two letters now engrained onto your skin. A mark no bigger than the size of a muggle penny coin details your soulmate’s initials. There in magical black ink are the letters: S.B.

You lie back with a groan, pulling your pillow over your face to hide away the emotions. It seemed the fates were playing a sick game with you when they decided to make Sirius Black your soulmate.

The initials of your soulmate appears on your wrist on your seventeenth birthday. As far as you know, it is only a phenomenon that occurs within the wizarding community. Muggles, for the sake of their hearts, believe in soulmates but will spend their lives trying to find their perfect match. For wizards, the soulmate mark is the result of the countless hunts for witches and wizards across history. As society progressed and began to hunt those who did not seem to fit with the norms, the fates decided that every witch and wizard would find their soulmate at the age of seventeen as a way to protect the population. It would manifest in a bond between the soulmates; only felt between the two individuals.

As witches and wizards went underground and hid their identities, the soulmate mark and the subsequent bond became a thing of fairy tales told before bedtime. Little girls and boys lulled to sleep with the idea that somewhere in the big, wide world there was someone waiting for them.

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Sirius sees the initials on his wrist and knows immediately whose they are. Your face flashes in his mind and he groans as he falls back onto his pillow.

For so long, he has dreaded this day. He believed in soulmates, he did. His own parents were soulmates; their initials marking each of their wrists. But they were completely wrong for each other, and he slowly saw his mother become poisoned with his father’s vitriol. From a young age, Sirius had always questioned the magic behind soulmates. If they partnered someone as lovely as his mother with someone as mean as his father then he couldn’t put much stock in the whole institution.

He watches you that day; checking for any reaction for whether his initials had been marked onto your wrist. The day ends with him feeling disappointed; you either hadn’t got the marks yet or you were an exceptionally good actress. Your face gave nothing away the whole day other than curiosity when you caught his eyes on you for the third time.

You were the complete opposite to him. He loved heavy metal music; you preferred the crooning sounds of artists such as Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong. Sirius had heard you hum their songs under your breath enough that he was sure he knew the lyrics to them.

You think pranks are childish and they have the potential to be a real danger; he disagrees, he thinks that pranks can be a work of genius if the right amount of planning and preparation is put into it.

Sirius frowns; he didn’t think he paid you this much attention. You had never flowed in the same social circle; conversations between the two of you limited to classes where communication was only necessary if you were sat together. He found you attractive, that much he could not deny. But the fear of turning out like his parents loomed over him; prevented him from taking it any further.

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“He couldn’t be any more my polar opposite!” You moan to your friend, Jude.

It had been a month since Sirius’ initials had appeared on your wrist, and for all of your wondering, you could not figure out how Sirius worked out to be your soulmate. There was so little you had in common. The only things being your academic status and a love of books. It was rare to see Sirius with a book when he was in a crowd, but when it was him and the Marauders in the common room, he could be found with a leather-bound book open on his lap. His eyes would scan the pages so fast, you wondered if he was truly reading the words on the page.

Jude pats your head, “Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“Jude… I need a little more sympathy here, please.”

She frowns, “It’s hard to dredge up more sympathy when all you’ve done is complain since you found his initials, my dear.”

You frown back at her, “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ve been an arse about this – who knows? Don’t they say opposites attract?”

Jude smiles at you, “I do believe that is the saying.”

“Well let’s hope it’s true then.” You murmur, your eyes landing on the shaggy-haired Marauder sat further down the table from you. His friend, James, elbows him, pointing over to you when Sirius protests his elbow. Your heart starts to race the minute you lock eyes with Sirius; for a singular moment, everything else seems to fade away and your vision solely focuses on him.

The moment is broken when Sirius turns away with a scoff.

The hope that had begun to grow within you quickly dims. You let your head fall onto your arms, “I don’t think he likes me, Jude.”

Jude tuts, sending a glare down the table to where the Marauders sit, “Then he’s a prick.”

“That’s my soulmate you’re talking about.”

Jude shrugs, “He’s still a prick. If you were my soulmate, I’d be over the moon.”

“You’re too good to me, Jude.”

“I know.” She states, “Now, come on, we’ve got Charms first and I want to practice the Deletrius charm, I’m certain it’ll come up on the summer exams.”

You let her drag you out of the Great Hall by the hand, feeling Sirius’ eyes on you with every step you take.

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Filius Flitwick was an exceptional teacher and an interesting man – but he was also notorious for loving gossip. The staff room at Hogwarts was always rife with gossip when another pair of students had found their soulmate in each other. Professor McGonagall would always claim that she had known from the start; Flitwick was not one to argue with her. Besides, she was probably right.

The staff room was positively rioting when news hit of Sirius Black finding his soulmate in (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Professor Flitwick wanted to question the match given how at odds they were to each other, but he knew never to argue with the fates.

Professor Flitwick had changed the seating plan.

He changed the seating plan so Sirius would be sat next to (Y/N). The teachers at Hogwarts all promised to not intervene with soulmates, yet they all did. Professor McGonagall would be happy to hear of this prompting; she had been worrying over Sirius Black finding his soulmate for longer than she cared to admit.

Walking into Charms, you saw that the class was lined up against the back wall. You grumbled to yourself; the last thing needed was a new seating plan. You got on well with the Ravenclaw girl you were sitting next to, you didn’t want any more change.

Your stomach dropped to the floor when Professor Flitwick announced that your new place would be next to Sirius.

You felt as if you were in two minds. Since seeing his initials on your wrist, you were drawn to him – wanting nothing more to be in his orbit. Yet, the look on his face as he turned away from you in the Great Hall had dread unfurling in your stomach as you walked towards your new seating place.

“Sir, what was wrong with the old seating plan?” Sirius asks, refusing to take his seat next to you.

“Seating plans need to change to better fit the needs of the students, Mr Black. Please take your seat next to Miss (Y/L/N) so I can begin my lesson.”

Sirius grits his teeth as he slides into the seat next to yours. His entire body tense while he opens his parchment and prepares his quill and ink.

It doesn’t take long for the atmosphere to change between the two of you.

It’s like electricity, or so you think. The space between the two of you hums to life and you can feel the change. You gasp involuntarily, biting your lip as goose bumps break out across your skin at the mere notion of having Sirius this close to you. You know he hears your gasp and you know he feels the same as you; he shifts imperceptibly to try and stave off whatever he’s feeling but he’s finding it harder and harder to resist you.

It’s the bond between soulmates, you think to yourself. The bond was a living, breathing thing between the pair whether it was accepted or not.

The class drags on for what feels like hours. Sirius gives up trying to pay any attention to Professor Flitwick and instead, focuses on resisting the urge to drag you from the classroom.

He practically throws his things into his bag when Professor Flitwick dismisses the class at the sound of the bell.

“Sirius, I need to talk to you.” You call, following him from the classroom.

“I know what you want to talk about, and believe me, I was just as shocked as you were when I found your initials on my wrist.”

“But what do we do about it?” He can hear the hope in your voice and see the promises in your eyes.

It almost breaks him when he says, “Nothing. We do nothing.”

Your mouth drops open, “What? Why?”

“I didn’t choose you.”

“It isn’t a choice, Sirius. The fates decide soulmates, everyone knows that.”

“Still. I didn’t choose you.”

His words land this time; each one a blow to your heart. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, gritting your teeth to stop them. You would not show an ounce of weakness in front of him. Anger rises within you, turning your blood to flame.

You glare at the teenager in front of you, spitting the words, “I wouldn’t have picked you for me either, but the fates did Sirius and it’s something that we both have to live with.”

You turn away from him, leaving him there in the corridor. You barely make it to the common room before the tears start to fall and your breath falls short due to the sobs heaving from your chest. You blindly make your way to your room, pausing now and then to wipe the tears from your eyes and to berate yourself for crying over a silly boy.

But he isn’t a silly boy; he’s your soulmate and he rejected you. That lone thought has the tears beginning all over again as you hide yourself under your duvet, making sure to pull on all the curtains around your bed.

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His rejection of the bond did nothing for your feelings. If anything, they made them stronger, but you knew that you could not act on it. Sirius had made his feelings for you clear so you settled for loving him from the sidelines; watching as he hid his wrist whenever he started to flirt with other girls.

It destroyed you, but he had made his decision. You would not push him on this.

In such a short amount of time, you had gone from barely recognising Sirius as a friend to being his soulmate to being completely in love with him. Whenever you thought of your feelings for the Marauder, you felt dizzy because of how fast it had all happened. If this was the magic of soulmates, you felt whiplashed.

Jude remained your rock; handing you tissues and listening to your complaints. She had found her soulmate; a Slytherin named Poppy. And yet, Jude remained by your side through it all. Poppy joining her more often than not, and a close friendship developed between you both. You felt like a burden to them; ruining their happiness with your sadness but they assured you that they would have a lifetime to be happy. But they wanted you to be happy too – which you were working on.

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Sirius felt awful. Truthfully, he felt empty. And he had done since he said those words to you after Charms class.

He felt the idiot; he felt the fool. He could see how it was affecting you and knew that it was mirrored on his own face. He was just so scared of turning out like his parents; of fulfilling the cursed cycle all the couples in his family seem to take. First, loving each other passionately before turning to hate each other down the line. If that happened with you, he would never forgive himself.

He watches you from across the room. Your nose stuck in a book that he’s seen you read a thousand times over the last month; as if this particular book is a comfort read. He takes a deep breath before walking over to you.

“Can we talk?” He asks you, motioning to the stairs that lead to the boys dormitories – the only place in Gryffindor tower where there is privacy.

You nod, not trusting your voice around him. You wanted so badly to say no, that he has to earn that right but looking into his eyes, seeing the small light of hope there. You had to say yes. Your mind rebelled, throwing every logical reason at you, but your heart won out and you were following him up the stairs before your mind could catch up.

Sirius holds the door open for you. You duck inside, stopping in the middle of room. Tensing slightly as you hear the door shut.

“Can I be honest with you?” He asks, joining you in the middle of the room.

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want to reject the soulmate bond.”

“What?” A hot flash of anger pangs through your body – how dare he say that? How dare he say that after the pain you’ve been through watching him with other girls and keeping your mouth shut.

“I didn’t want to reject the soulmate bond.”

“Then why did you? Why have I sat by for a month with a broken heart?”

He voice is small when he replies, “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want us to be like my parents,” He confesses, “They’re soulmates yet entirely wrong for each other. It’s like that with every couple in my family, and I would never forgive myself that happened to us. So I pushed you away, told you I didn’t want the bond and then flirted with other girls to dig it in. It was a shitty move, and I am so sorry, but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to stay away from you, I want to be with you.”

“Sirius, I just spent the last month of my life wondering what was so wrong with me that you couldn’t possibly love me. I sat by and tried to be happy for my best friend who had found her soulmate, but I couldn’t because my heart was in pieces. I watched you flirt with other girls as if I was nothing to you and it broke me. And it was because you were scared? Sirius, you should have talked to me. I know that we didn’t socialise much before, but you should have told your fears when my initials showed up on your wrist. I am your soulmate; I am supposed to help you through it all.”

Sirius falls to his knees before you, pressing his face to your stomach, “I know, I know. You’re right, and if I need to I’ll stay on my knees and beg for your forgiveness even though I don’t deserve it. But we can do this right? We can be together?”

Your hands begin to card themselves through his hair without thinking, “Sirius…”

He shakes his head, “There aren’t enough words in the English language for me to tell you how sorry I am. I felt it too; I felt the heartbreak and the sadness. I shouldn’t have done it, but my fear outweighed my logic.”

“We aren’t going to be like your parents.”

“But how do you know?” He whispers, fear creeping into his voice.

Your hand cradles his cheek, “Because I’ll remind you… every single day if I need to. I’m not saying I forgive you immediately, but I want this to work. The fates gave me your initials for a reason; I felt our bond in Charms, we are destined to be together.”

Sirius presses his face into your hand, dropping a kiss to the palm, “I didn’t mean it, you know. If I had to pick anyone to be my soulmate, it would be you. I am honoured that it is you.”

“You mean it?”

“I do. You’re perfect for me, and I think I’ve already fallen in love with you.” He states, eyes shining with unshed tears.

You close your eyes, his words feeling like balm spread over the gaping wound of your heart, “Thank god, because I’ve fallen in love with you too. I didn’t mean it either, I would always pick you.”

You are in his arms in an instant; his mouth hot and insistent on yours. His hands roam over your body. Your hands in his hair, grabbing a handful to keep him pressed to you. At the feel of his touch, all previous reservations fly out of your mind – the only word running through your brain is his name being repeated like a prayer. His touch feels so right, and you simply give in to what your heart has wanted since the night you saw his initials.

He walks you back towards the bed, never once pulling his lips away from yours. He only pulls away when he lays you down on top of his covers; you lie underneath him happily, enjoying the feeling of his lips leaving open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. His hands undo the buttons to your shirt, and you shift so he can push your shirt from your shoulders. He latches his lips back to your collarbone, sucking a mark there that will surely be a dark bruise by morning.

Your hands shove the hem of his t-shirt up; he pulls away from your body for long enough to take the shirt off. The minute its gone; your hands run over the expanse of his stomach, savouring the feeling of his muscles contracting at your touch. You pull his face back to yours, desperate to feel him. Your lips glide together seamlessly; as if made for each other.

Sirius runs his hands down your sides; memorising every curve of your body, grinning into the kiss as you shiver underneath him. You bite down on bottom lip; a move that has him moaning into your mouth.

“I need to know…” He whispers into your mouth; the words barely heard as they’re swallowed by you.

“What?”

“Do you want to do this?” He asks, pulling away from your mouth to run his eyes over your face, checking for any hint of hesitation whilst simultaneously asking for permission.

Your eyes sting with the tears at his care for you. You kiss him sweetly, lovingly before looking into his eyes, “I want this. I want it to be with you.”

That’s all he needs to know before he’s casting a silencing charm on the room and locking the door.

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Sirius finds it hard to keep his hands off you after the acceptance of the bond. He has to be touching you at all times whether it’s a shoulder pressed against yours, his hand holding on tight to yours, or his arms around your waist. It keeps him grounded, it keeps him calm when the stresses of life begin to settle in.

He thinks back to the beginning of your relationship; how cruel he was, and he looks at you in awe because he still doesn’t understand how you could forgive him – let alone, love him. On the days where those thoughts plague his mind, he places kiss after kiss on the mark on your wrist where his initials sit.

You know the meaning behind these kisses, knowing he’s torturing himself internally. On these days, you draw his attention from your wrist to your mouth instead where you remind him of how much you love him and how you’ve forgiven him for those early days.

His fears are quashed and his love for you only grows. You’re his soulmate, he’s yours. It’s as simple as that.

*******

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff

Sirius Black taglist: @cheapglitter @fific7

[lifeistooshorttowasteyourtime]

Different worlds, same heart - Chapter 8 (the end)

Chapter summary: After months apart, (Y/N) is determinate to keep fighting alongside Theseus and the ministry against Grindelwald and his followers. Her conviction and strength makes the Auror rethink about his choices, his feelings and the path he wants to follow.

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 – PART 4 – PART 5 – PART 6 – PART 7

***

Theseus smiled sightly seeing the graduates reuniting with their families, some with joy, some with sadness. Some of them had lost relatives, friends… That celebration wasn’t a happy one. Those students had ended their life in Hogwarts, but it was far from being a happy occasion. The director and some professors, Dumbledore and (Y/N) between them, tried to cheer up the students, but they weren’t very successful.

(Y/N) said goodbye to some of her alumnus, with small smiles or hugs, specially from those who had lost someone and had found comfort with the professor. Theseus knew first hand all those loses, he was the one to give the bad news to the children back at the school next to the family. (Y/N) was always next to him to wrap her arms around the devasted families. The Auror and the professor had seen each other more than they thought in the last five months, although they would rather have met in other situations, like those weekends at London. Those days they could just forget about the war, walking, laughing, just in each other company.

The Auror titled his head approaching (Y/N) slowly without making his presence known. He thought about how he actually missed her when they weren’t together. At the beginning it scared him, feeling so strongly, but he ended up embracing it and accepting that he couldn’t stop the growing feelings for the Ravenclaw who had been respectful of his boundaries but without fear of being affectionate too.

“Take care, dear” she said to an alumnus who had lost both parents in a raid before she turned with a sad face.

But when (Y/N) saw Theseus there, a few meters from her, smiling slightly with his hands in his coat’s pockets, her face lit up. She ran towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck “thank you for coming” she whispered next to his ear.

Theseus smiled and hugged her back “of course, are you ready to go?”.

She pulled away and nodded “I think that, for the first time since I work as a professor, I want to leave Hogwarts, I need to go back to the ministry and fight”.

“We’ve talked about this…” he started to say.

“I-will-fight. Next to you” he knew it was a lost cause trying to talk her out of it, so he just nodded with a sigh “I have to say goodbye to some of the professors and take my trunk. Then, we can go”.

“I’ll wait for you at the main door”.

Not much later, Theseus and (Y/N) stood in front of her house back in London. Without a word, he followed her into the apartment where she sorted out her luggage. The Auror waited for her in the living room, looking through one of the windows.

“Theseus” he turned to see her back from her room “I wouldn’t want to keep you from doing…”.

“If they need me, they will send a patronus” he said walking to her and taking her hands softly “what do you want to do? We can stay here and just rest, you may be tired”.

“I’ve been tired for months, just like you” she said squeezing his hands “but if I stay here I will think about everything we’ve been through and the journey we still have ahead, and I don’t want to think anymore…” her eyes filled with tears.

Theseus pressed his lips into a think line and hugged her closely to his body “you still have nightmares?”.

“From time to time…” she whispered back and snuggled into his chest “but I’m okay. I will be fine”.

He kissed her hair and they stayed like that, breathing deeply into each other, enjoying the warmth and comfort. She cherished every hug Theseus was willing to give her and tried to make them as long as possible because, even though she knew the Auror felt something beautiful for her, he might not even act on his feelings soon. If ever.

“What do you want to do?” he asked after a while in silence.

“Let’s just see where our feet carry us”.

They started to walk through the streets of London, through High Park, until they decided to have dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. There, although some people recognized them, no one approached to talk because somehow, they knew that Theseus, as a wizard who was in the first line of the fight, needed to rest.

“How it was Newt’s class?” Theseus asked with a small smile.

“The students were delighted to have their last class of Care of Magical Creatures by the hand of the best one in that field. It was amazing” she smiled at Theseus who had the habit of tease her about her admiration for the youngest Scamander “as if I was to ask you to give a class about defensive spells and battling”.

“That’s a proposition for next year?”.

“I hope so” she said with sadness before taking a deep breath and looking up at him “you know? Yes, this is a proposition because we will be victorious and the students will learn a lot from the best Auror”.

Theseus smiled at her and took her hand over the table “your conviction is more than welcomed, I sometimes feel myself wondering if we’ll defeat Grindelwald”.

“We will” she said as a promised and a genuine smile.

After having dinner, the both of them decided to go back home, their tiredness began to become visible. In their way to her apartment, they walked through a park too familiar for them, although that night there was a muggle representation. They stopped to watch it, they didn’t understand what it was happening. Those persons were just singing and dancing with vibrant colours in their clothes, making the children around laugh.

(Y/N) sighed and took Theseus arm, leaning her head on his shoulder contemplating the spectacle in front of them. The Auror caressed her hand calling her attention and pointed to three persons a few meters from them. Those persons were looking at them and nodded, they were wizards and witches too. (Y/N) smiled and observed how their fellow wizards were enjoying the dance of the muggles.

“This is why we have to keep fighting, for us and for them. To live in harmony and enjoy the beauty of both worlds. To keep the muggles fascinated about the wonders they can’t explain, to relish in their simplicity and complexity. To keep having two types of magic, ours and theirs”.

Theseus stared at her profile, appreciating her words that were filled with determination and resonated in him with force.

(Y/N) shivered and he took his jacket, as the perfect gentleman he was, and put it over her shoulders. She smiled thankfully and put it on properly, a bit big on her figure but really warm.

They stayed just a couple of minutes more before keep going their way.

“I will go tomorrow morning to the minister, I know Dumbledore will too” she said once they were at her street.

“I can pick you up and go together, if you want” he suggested softly.

They stopped at her door and she turned to him smiling “sure, I’ll wait for you. Thank you for today, Theseus. Today and all days actually” she pulled her hair behind her ear shyly.

He smiled softly and took her hand, kissing the back of it “same here. Rest, okay?”.

“You too, goodnight”.

“Night” he said softly watching her stepped into her building.

Theseus walked down the street with a small smile, thinking about that night. Past nights. Smiles. Laughs. Touches. Looks… And he suddenly felt cold. And it wasn’t for the lack of jacket that he had just realized he didn’t have with him, but because of the absence of (Y/N) next to him. Theseus swallowed and turned, taking a run back to her house but found her already running to him.

“You forgot your jacket” she said smiling and taking it off.

The Auror observed her there, under the light of a lamppost, his jacket in her hand and a bright smile with twinkling eyes. And his heart made the choice at least.

Theseus ran the few meters that separated them and took her face softly, making her eyes widen in surprise, before he pressed his lips on hers softly. He heard his jacket fall to the floor and then he felt her pressing back her lips slightly with a sigh. The Auror pulled away slowly and opened his eyes to see (Y/N)’s eyes still closed for a few seconds before opening them and stare at him. His ragged breath hit her lips that made her bit her lower lip. Theseus smiled slightly before kissing her again. She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting him to press her to him by her waist before one of his hands travelled to the back of her head. Their lips speaking for them, demonstrating the desire contained all those months with passion.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) giggled happily and he chuckled kissing her forehead while holding her tightly. She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes to peck his lips once more. Theseus caressed her cheek looking her with the most tender eyes. They didn’t need to say anything when their eyes and lips did say everything.

***

One year later

“Thank you very much, minister”.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you here, Ms. (Y/S)” the minister said standing up from his seat and went with her to the door of his office.

“It’s been a real honor that the new spells were registered under my authorship”.

“I wouldn’t have it in another way. They have been so helpful to defeat the followers of Grindelwald… There were so many of them even after Dumbledore’s victory” the man said with a sad sigh “but we are now at peace”.

“That we are, so we must enjoy our time with our love ones after all the terror we have suffered”.

“I couldn’t agree more with you”.

They smiled at each other before saying their goodbyes and (Y/N) left the minister’s office. Looking at her watch, she saw it was near time for lunch so she smiled brightly and walked to an office she had visited quite a bit in the last year. She knocked softly and waited to be allowed in.

“Hope you don’t have plans for lunch”.

Theseus looked up and smiled seeing there the woman who made his days bright, especially with the way she smiled at him like in that moment. He stood up and went to her as she closed the door behind her. The Auror took her face to kiss her sweetly “it’s not that I’m not happy to see you here but… What are you doing here? I don’t remember you telling me that you were coming”.

She smiled taking his wrists and caressing the back of his hands with her thumbs “I received an owl this morning really early, the minister was calling me for the authorship of the spells” he smiled brightly letting his hands go to her waist and her hands to his shoulders.

“So your work has finally been recognized, congratulations darling” he said before pecking her lips “now we do have to celebrate this great news!”.

“You can come to mine tonight if you want” she smiled sweetly at him.

“No, we will go out to dinner, and not to the Leaky Cauldron” he winked making her giggle.

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows with a smile before they were interrupted by an owl who pecked the window.

Theseus went to take the letter which made him smile “it’s from my brother. I guess you scolded him in your last letter to write to me too. I guess he liked you more than me”.

She laughed shaking her head “you know it’s not true, we just have a… Unique bond about the knowledge of magical creatures and our letters are more interesting that the ones you send him”.

“How dare you…” he said feigning hurt.

Through their relationship, Theseus learnt to let his less serious side appear comfortably. Even though he had joked with her before they started to court, he used to be on alert, as if he always was in Auror mode, so he wasn’t completely relaxed. Thankfully, next to (Y/N) he learnt to be not tense around her.

A thing he didn’t have to learn was the intimacy, both had been affectionate before and they didn’t have problem to display their love for each other when they were together. They kept it minimum when they were with more people, although Newt and Tina had seen them sharing soft touches and short kisses on the forehead or cheek, comfortable with the youngest brother and his girlfriend who were really happy for them.

Ever since that night Theseus summoned the bravery of the Gryffindors and let his heart speak, they had fought together, cried together, laughed together and just love each other without measure. She made him see things in another light while he challenged her, they were different but their differences joined them even more thanks to their comprehensive and generous natures. And what most united them were their desire to make the world a better place and the love they nurtured every day.

“Well, lunch. I’m afraid we’ll have to eat in the cafeteria here” he said pressing his lips into a thin line.

“It’s okay, it reminds me of our classes days” she replied smiling.

Theseus returned his smile, kept the letter of his brother in his pocket and took her hands “let’s go then”.

After having lunch together, (Y/N) left the ministry to go back to her apartment where Theseus met her that night.

She was finishing to get ready while the Auror waited for her in the living room. He saw many scrolls on the table and he couldn’t help himself but peeking. They were plans for the next year in Hogwarts which made him smile softly.

“Okay, I’m ready” she said putting on her coat.

He turned to see her and couldn’t help but checking her out, giving her love eyes when he reached her face “you are beautiful”.

(Y/N) blushed and slapped his arm softly “stop it”.

“It’s true” he said getting her closer by her waist “you are just so wonderful in every sense”.

“Are you going all romantic on me, Mr. Scamander?” she asked still with red cheeks.

“Yes, I am. I know you love it deep down” she laughed and he smiled before kissing her cheek and caressing her hair “I mean it, you are such an exceptional woman. I’m lucky”.

(Y/N) shook her head and kissed his lips softly as an answer. Theseus took her hands and felt a ring in one of them, which made him smile brightly because it was a ring he had giving her on her birthday a couple of months before. She had been scared when she saw the box, but he reassured her it wasn’t what she thought. That ring was a symbol of his loyalty and adoration to her, a promise of one day having a future together. And she didn’t take it off except when she was in class.

“Well, Mr. Highest Auror, where are we going tonight?”.

“As you once said, let’s see where our feet carry us. It worked quite well that night”.

“Yeah, it did” she smiled brightly at him.

Theseus looked from her eyes to her lips a couple of times before putting one of his hands on the side of her neck, the other on her hip and took her to him before leaning down to kiss her with as much passion as the first time.

Note: Well, this is it. Thank you so much to those who have read it, comments are more than welcome. Hope you have enjoyed this little story about the oldest Scamader xx

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

--

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary:   Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary:  Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

 He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water. 

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

or

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary:  After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

//

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

OR

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

--

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary:  and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings:  none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary:  The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

  He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary:  Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary:   Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

OR

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary:  Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.  

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary:  More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary:  May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

--

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

--

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags: 

warnings: 

[imagine-that]

Snowball

Warnings: absolutely none, just a super cute, fluffy, wintery fic

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

AN: this is for @potterverseimagine ‘s 300 writing challenge, I used prompt #11 “You look freezing. Let me warm you up.” This is honestly one of my favourite ones I’ve written so far so I hope you guys like it too. Also, Fred is one of the main loves of my life right now so I kind of write a lot of him (yes all of them are fictional.)

As class is finally dismissed, you run through the halls, quickly making your way outside to the courtyard where your boyfriend had asked you to meet him.

Then again, when you really thought about it, he hadn’t so much asked as he’d told. From what you remembered, which was most of it, it was more like he’d said “You, me, the courtyard after class.” And winked in an overdramatic manner, his typical move.

Obviously you’d agreed, your curiosity getting the better of you.

As you spot his red locks of hair, you quietly tiptoe through the snow behind him, putting a finger to your smiling lips as one of his brothers notices you. You excitedly put your hands over his eyes, suppressing your giggles as his brother watches in amusement.

“Guess who.” You sing song, masking your voice awfully.

“Hm I wonder who it could possibly be?” He says sarcastically, a grin on his face. “Could it be y/n?” He asks thoughtfully, making you giggle.

“Afternoon Freddy.” You greet, confirming his suspicions as you peck him on the cheek and he removes your hands and turns around, grinning proudly at you.

The snow is falling in big, fluffy flakes all around the three of you in a beautiful manner but you’re too focused on the look across your scheming boyfriends face.

“I know that look... What’re you up to?” You ask with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed over your chest.

He looks over to George for permission to share, though you know he most likely would’ve told you anyways and his brother nods towards you, telling him to continue.

“What would you say if I told you we were going to start the biggest bloody fight Hogwarts has ever seen?” He asks with a mischievous grin, his brother showcasing a matching one.

“I’d say that you’re crazy and need to reconsider your choices.” You respond with a sigh.

They look between each other, both glancing back at you with a shrug and an apologetic smile.

“Merlin... why do I spend so much time with you two gits?” You ask, shaking your head with a smile tugging at your lips.

“Because you love me? And tolerate him of course.” George says, coming over and slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Ah yes, how could I forget.” You respond sarcastically, laughing and rolling your eyes at his joke.

Fred scoffs in amusement. “As if. We all know I’m the better looking one.” He says, pulling you away from his brother and back into his arms.

You chuckle to yourself, squeezing him in a hug tightly.

“True, true. Now, please explain what exactly you two did?” You ask, almost scared to know what the answer to that question may entail.

“Well...” Fred says, grinning the way he did whenever they were up to something.

Before he can say anything more, students come flying through the doors to the grounds, some on brooms and some on foot, a bit of every house included. They’re all wearing their winter coats and gloves and hats and scarves, clearly prepared to spend time outdoors.

You stare at the students flooding through the doors, completely confused. You obviously knew that the majority of them were meant to be in a lesson, the twins and yourself included. The only reason you’d opted to come and meet him rather than get to class early was because you didn’t take much of a liking to potions.

“For Godric’s sake what did you two do?” You demand, pointing an accusatory finger at the boys.

“Something wicked of course!” Fred smirks, looking around at the chaos.

“Something bloody brilliant!” George adds.

Soon enough, you can hear Filch running anxiously down the hall, if you can call what he does running.

“Students out of class! Students out of class!” He cries to any staff member who will listen.

“We’re well aware you idiotic ninny!” Professor McGonagall exclaims, rolling her eyes as he stops to catch his breath, looking disappointed by the lack of action being taken.

“What’s happeni-.” You start but you’re quickly stopped as a ball of white goes flying past you, smacking Cormac McLagen directly in the face.

His face contorts in shock, clearly having not expected it.

A second later, another few whip through the air, one hitting a younger Slytherin boy and one hitting Cho Chang on the shoulder.

Everyone starts frantically forming balls out of the snow, tossing them at their friends and foes. The air fills with laughter as students get hit and dodge.

“Now I see what you mean by fight!” You shout at Fred, smiling from ear to ear as you throw one of your own at Fred. To your dismay, he easily dodges it and the ball instead hits George.

He gives you a look that makes you instantly regret the toss.

“Oh no....” You squeak, running over to Fred and hiding behind him, holding on to his arms to keep him there. “Protect me Freddy!” You order, squealing as you start getting pelted with them at least three or four at a time.

“Oi! I thought we said no wand tricks!” Fred says to his brother with an eyebrow raised teasingly.

George merely shrugs in response, continuing his previous tactic.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you love!” Fred declares, staying his ground in front of you.

Still, George manages to hit you with every last one he sends your way, your hair practically white from all the snow falling into it.

You adjust your hat, pulling it even further onto your head to cover your already rosey ears.

“Harry! We draw the line at the cloak, no one else has one it wouldn’t be fair!” George shouts as one flies at him out of nowhere. Thankfully, no one else around seems to hear him but you laugh to yourself as Harry appears out of midair with a defeated look across his face.

You all spend the afternoon pelting the snowballs at each other, some using their wands to do it in multiples, some flying around in the air on their broomsticks and dropping the snow on unexpecting students on the ground but no matter how everybody is doing it, you’re all having fun. You could swear you’d even seen Professor McGonagall throw a snowball or two, though you knew she’d never admit it if asked.

Even Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy seem to be enjoying themselves, even if they were mostly attacking the first years. Seeing as it was only snow, no one seemed to care.

The one time anyone almost gets in trouble is when the twins throw a snowball each at Filch, in nearly perfect sync with each other, both of them landing on their target. He grumbles on and on about detention or expulsion but professor Dumbledore winks at them, waving them back over to the fun.

Some students grow bored of the snowball fight but no one heads in, finding other ways to enjoy the beautiful winter day. You catch glimpses of snow angels, watch the younger students use anything and everything the can find to go tobogganing with, shooting down the hill at high speeds and several others figure out fun games for everyone to enjoy.

As the sun begins to set and the sky grows darker, more and more students make their way inside, all either tired of the snowball war or too cold and hungry to continue. Only when professor Snape is hit across the face by one thrown by one of the Gryffindor quidditch team members on their broom are students ordered back into the castle, of course by the potions teacher himself.

But that isn’t before Oliver Wood, fly’s overhead, dropping an oversized ball of snow directly over you. You shriek as the rush of cold hits your body, soaking you even more than every other one combined.

“Wood!” You cry, glaring up at him.

He shrugs with a playful smile. “It was requested.” He says simply, waving and flying off before he has to face your wrath.

“Let me take one guess who requested that...” You say as you turn to face Fred, the two of you happening to be two of the only ones left outside apart from the odd Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw passing by to get to their dinner.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says innocently, coming closer to you and playfully tugging your hat down over your eyes.

You scoff, leaning into his chest and wrapping your arms around him, using one hand to push the brim of the hat back up.

“Mm you smell good.” You murmur into his jacket.

He chuckles, gently pulling you off of him.

“Let’s go back inside you nut.” He says, holding your hand in his contently.

As others file into the great hall, famished from the afternoon of fun, you and Fred push your way through the crowd and he gently pulls you along behind him as he says the Gryffindor password, only having to repeat it a few times as the lady insists on singing even louder. Finally she gives up and lets you two inside.

“You and your brother sure know how to make a scene.” You tease, grinning over at Fred as he smirks.

“Yes, yes we do. And we have bloody good fun doing it.” He responds.

You laugh. “And how did you come up with this particular idea, might I ask?” You question, head tilted to the side as you wait for an answer.

“Figured everyone could use a way to enjoy themselves before their O.W.L.S and their N.E.W.T.S. Or at the very least, make a few people laugh when we get the chance to hit professor snape or filch in the face with a snowball of course.” He explains.

“I don’t think I even want to know how you managed to pull it off either.” You say with a grimace.

“We partially got Dumbledore’s permission! That should count, even if it is only partially.” He counters, letting go of your hand and walking over to the boys dormitory entrance.

“Wha- hey! Where are you going?” You ask, your brows furrowed and your lip jutted out in a dramatic pout.

“Y/n, I don’t know if you realize but I’d rather not eat in soaking wet robes.” He laughs, smiling at your slight neediness.

“But Fred!” You whine, giving him a look you hope is just adorable enough to work, your y/e/c eyes twinkling hopefully.

He chuckles, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’ll be back in just a moment darling.” He promises. Before you can protest even a little bit, he’s walked away to his dorm, leaving you with your mouth wide open in shock.

You sink into the couch, waiting for him to return. A moment later, he hops into the spot next to you, coming to wrap his arms around you but immediately pulling away as he notices your overly rosey cheeks and your chattering teeth, your figure shivering heavily.

“Merlin y/n, You look freezing. Let me warm you up.” He exclaims, using a simple fire charm and starting a roaring fire in the fireplace in front of you, the lights dancing around in the darkened room.

You try to argue but he ignores you, pulling off his sweater and forcing it over your head.

He stares at you admiringly for a moment, making you smile like an idiot.

“What?” You ask through giggles.

“Nothing just that I think I might need a new sweater because that one is clearly better on you.” He compliments and your lips curl upwards, his words making you feel warmer already.

He runs back into his dorm before you have the chance to actually tell him so though, and comes back with his entire comforter trailing across the floor behind him.

He goes behind you, draping the blanket over your shoulders and wrapping you up in it in a hug from behind.

When he finally sits back down, he wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you over to him and onto his lap, blanket and all

“There. You don’t look nearly as blue as you did. Only a hint of the colour that I can see.” He says, grinning as you give him a pointed look, still shaking from the cold. “Might just help if you changed out of these sopping wet clothes love.” He adds, knitting his fingers in and out of your own.

“Oh fine.” You grumble, standing up and trudging off to your own dorm, quickly peeling off your clothes from earlier and changing into a fresh set of robes, pulling Fred’s sweater back over your body once you’re finished.

You eagerly head back, jumping into his arms and snuggling up to him in his lap.

“You were gone for a moment!” He states with a laugh.

“Yes but it was a moment too long.” You murmur into his chest.

“Ah yes well, I suppose a moment away from me must feel like an eternity.” He responds and you gently jab his shoulder with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah yeah. I love you you idiot.” You giggle, moving your head up and placing your lips on his, kissing him deeply.

“I love you too darling. Really missed me that much though eh?” He teases with a grin and you laugh again.

“Always.” You whisper, resting your head back down on his shoulder. He pulls the blanket over both of you, pulling you even closer to him, your body pressed up against his chest.

“I suppose this is one good way to warm up.” He jokes in a hushed tone, the feeling of his breath tickling your ear.

“It’s the perfect way to warm up.” You correct softly, nuzzling your head up to him even closer and shutting your eyes.

Even though neither of you had eaten anything since lunch, you both drift off blissfully in each other’s arms, staying warm and cozy by the firelight of Gryffindor tower with wide and content grins practically etched on your faces.

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

22 with Claude?

Pairing: Claude x reader

Prompt: The way you say I love you “muffled, through the other side of the door”

Description: You weren’t too keen on joining Claude for training today, that is until he suggested to spice it up by playing a simple game of tag instead. As expected, the two of you take it far too seriously and end up having much more fun than you would have ever guessed.

Content Warning: they play tag? just a lot of chasing and teasing

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 1610

Notes: God u know this is about Claude but every time I see this one I think about the Alfonse fic I wrote with this prompt bc it slaps!! Fuck this piece slaps too this prompt is just GOOD

Edited: 6/7/21; this was already pretty much perfect idk why I bothered lol

_____________________________________________________

“Catch me if you can!” You called out to behind you, giggling all the while. Claude was laughing too, running after you as you ran through the monastery. “Or are you just too slow?” You teased, running across the bridge to the ruined chapel.

“Don’t be so cocky! Don’t you know you’re running from a master tactician?” He called right back, hardly two meters behind you. You picked up the pace, sure you could lose him in the church and then run back across the bridge without him noticing.

“There’s not much to think about! We’re just playing tag!” You laughed, watching as the guards hurriedly opened the door for the two of you running into the chapel. You burst in, turning right sharply so you would be going down the stairs to one of the lower areas. You barely slowed down, heart pumping too fast to care if you tripped on your way down the steps. Claude was right behind you but the steps surprised him and he had to take a moment to catch himself, giving you enough time to rush down the stairs yourself. By the time you reached the bottom Claude was half way down. You were too caught up in going up the next set, that you didn’t see his eyes light up. He would cut you off in the church its self– there were only two ways you could leave, after all, through the main entrance or the one leading to the goddess tower. Either way, he had your cornered.

“That mistake will cost you, _____! I’ll catch you before you know it!” You heard Claude’s distant voice call to you. Looking briefly over your shoulder, you saw his climbing the stars you just decended. You didn’t have time to worry about his plan as you took the next set of stairs two at a time. You had to stay ahead of him!

You rushed past people and animals at a break neck speed, trying to regulate your breathing and ignore the stain in your leg and guts. Claude was right when he said this would be a much more fun way to get your training in, that was for sure but now you didn’t want to lose to him. As you entered the church you saw Claude come in through the main entrance. Pushing yourself even more, you ran to the left exit, seeing the Goddess tower and getting a fantastic idea. Claude couldn’t tag you if he couldn’t touch you!

“Just try and get me!” You laughed with renewed vigor. Claude didn’t know where you got all this energy, he was just as ready to call it quits. Reaching the exit himself Claude could only wonder why you choose to go to the Goddess tower and trap yourself. With no time to question it, he simply followed you through the open front door, hearing your footsteps echo loudly as you climbed the tower. Claude could hear your heavy breathing, just over his own, and figured he had you at this point.

“Too bad for you–!” Claude blinked as he watched you push open and close the large door shut right before him. He tried to push it open, hearing your breathing just on the other side. He gave a push, only to meet with resistance; you were on the other side, using the last of your strength to make sure he didn’t get the door open!

“Guess… guess I win this one.” You laughed through the door, slowly regaining your breath. You could still hear your heart beating wildly in your ears, feel the heavy thumping of your chest as you panted.

“I… gotta admit.” Claude let out a chuckle. “You seem to have got me this time, _____.” His voice was muffled though the heavy wood of the door. It was quiet a moment, then, the both of you waiting for the other to move, to speak. “But… you’ll have to leave, eventually. And as of now, I have a lot of free time of my hand.” He laughed, sliding down to sit with his back against the door, just as you were on the other side.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You huffed. “Can’t you just admit I’ve beat you? Just this once?” You pleaded.

“Mm…” Claude pretended to think on it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Surely our army needs its leader, no?” You countered.

“The professor has things handled! I’m training, after all.” He laughed.

“I could leave out one of the windows…” You hummed.

“I’ll be waiting below to catch you in my waiting arms.” He said. “To make sure you don’t get hurt. And then maybe win.”

“What can I do to make you leave me?” You sighed.

“Oh? Are you bribing with me?” Claude’s voice came in such a way that you knew this was a bad idea. Your pride left you with little other choice, though.

“What do you want, Claude?” You sighed. Your gut was twisting in a way that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but still had your heart beating as fast as it was during your little chase.

“Do you remember 5 years ago? When we were here alone like this?” He said softly. You hardly caught the words.

“How could I forget? It was on the night of the heron ball…” You remembered it fondly but stayed alert; he was probably just trying to lower your guard after all.

“You promised to stay by my side… until I could see my dream fulfilled.” He sighed wistfully.

“I’m still here,” You said, heart jumping into your throat. It was getting harder to speak.

“And I appreciate that, friend. I don’t know what I would do without you…” He took a deep breath, one you could hear clearly from your side of the door. “Since we found our way here again, would you mind if I made one more selfish request of you?” His voice had gone so soft. You were leaning closer to the door, straining to hear his every word.

“I-I don’t mind.” Your words stumbled out of your mouth. Even without seeing Claude, his words had your blushing. You were glad for this door between you, lest he see your fluster.

“Would you mind staying with me, even after this war is over?” There was more he wanted to say but the words caught in his throat. Claude found it hard to speak with the silence that followed.

“Claude…” Your voice saying his name so sweetly had him taking deep breaths, reminding himself to say composed. “What are you trying to say?” You swallowed thickly at the lump forming in your throat, both thrilled and scared about where this conversation was heading.

“I… I guess I’m saying I love you.” Even if the door hadn’t been between the two of you, Claude’s words would still have been mumbled. His heart was pounding faster than it ever had been minutes before when he was chasing you, the thought of rejection playing on his mind.

“…You’re not playing with me, are you? This isn’t some cruel joke to get me to open the door?” You asked back softly, doubt playing with your fragile feelings.

“N-no! I would never do anything like that!” Claude quickly scrambled to his feet despite their complaint, facing the door as he spoke earnestly. “____, I swear, I love you more than I could ever express!” Slowly, Claude watched as you opened the heavy wooden door, looking at him with eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

“You promise?” You asked, softly, taking a step back into the Goddess Tower proper.

“I promise.” Claude followed in after you, small smile gracing his face as he watched you light up.

“Then… yeah. I’d like to stay by your side, Claude. Now and always.” You took a deep breath, moving closer to pull him into you. “I love you too.” Claude placed a chaste kiss to your forehead, arms finding way around your hips as yours wound around his neck.

“I guess in the end I do win.” He chuckled softly, causing your cheeks to flush. “After all… in the end not only did I catch you but your heart as well.” You pouted at him as he laughed on, sighing and rolling your eyes.

“Fine… fine. You win again.” You couldn’t help but smile, though, too happy to really care about your loss at his hand. “Just don’t brag too much, okay?” You asked.

“Of course not! I have much more important things to brag about now, like how I’m so lucky to have you.” He placed another kiss on your nose and you were left sputtering and blushing at his affectionate gestures.

“O-okay, actually, that’s worse. I would much prefer you brag about beating me!” You whined, hiding your face in his chest.

“Aww, it’s okay.” He cooed. “I swear, after while everyone else will be begging me to shut up too. You won’t be the only one embarrassed then!”

“Claude!” You looked up at him with wide eyes and flushed face and Claude once again found himself struck by you.

“Though… maybe if you kiss me enough, I’ll stay quiet.” He winked, looking down at you.

“W-we’ll see…” You huffed. If he was going to act like that, he could wait for his kisses. “Let’s just leave here, the rumors are already going to spread once we’re seen leaving together…” You sighed.

“And that’s just why I have to speak louder than any gossip.” He laughed. You shook your head, going down the stairs with him hand and hand this time. Who knew being ‘it’ could be so sweet?

[smiting-finger]

Previous HP AU parts: Here, here, here and here

“So, Requiem,” Wei Wuxian says as soon as the image on the surface of the bronze mirror ripples out into the uppermost three quarters of Nie Huaisang’s head.

(“My brother hung it in the office when he took over as Sect Leader,” Nie Huaisang explains during their first mirror-call after Wei Wuxian’s return. 

Wei Wuxian immediately drops the topic.

“Do the other Sect Leaders just … let it go?” he asks Lan Zhan later, and receives a small headshake in reply.

“He adds extra seat cushions to his chair during official meetings,” Lan Zhan says, his voice uncoloured by emotion, his gaze steady as he turns to meet Wei Wuxian’s. “But he says they’re difficult to balance on.”

Wei Wuxian drops the topic a second time.)

“The song that we learned at school for calming restless souls?” Nie Huaisang asks with three quarters of an appraising look, and then adds, “Those of us who weren’t tone-deaf, anyway.”

“That’s the one,” Wei Wuxian agrees, and if that’s a dig at the time he deliberately played out of tune and almost sent old Professor Lan beyond the veil to soothe the spirits of the dead in person, he stands by his choices.

(If it’s a reference to Wen Ning, then - well, the poor boy tried his best. You can’t be good at everything.)

“I was thinking,” he continues, leaning back in his chair. He waves his wand at the small pile of paper birds in front of him, which line up obediently along the desk edge and take turns to divebomb the makeshift target drawn on the back of his office door. 

“We use Requiem as a conduit to magically encourage emotional calm - so there’s no reason, in theory, that we couldn’t use music to do the opposite, is there?”

Nie Huaisang taps his fan against his chin a few times (or, at least, that’s what Wei Wuxian assumes is causing the soft patting sounds he hears, since his line of sight stops at Nie Huaisang’s upper lip), before asking:

“You want to ... compose a song that makes souls restless?”

“Not restless,” Wei Wuxian doesn’t need magic to do that, “I just want to … encourage them to feel certain things. Or have certain states of mind.”

He slings a dart at the door and sighs when it only barely makes it into the target’s outermost boundary.

“You mean,” Nie Huaisang begins slowly, “like that time with Professor Lan and your shitty flute playing in third year?”

“Well, yes,” Wuxian allows, because technically that is what happened, “but also no. I’m also thinking more through the actual music than the quality thereof. And ... I’m also possibly not looking to induce rage?”

His second dart lands closer to the centre, but not by much. A paper bird embedded into the next section over starts to shake its butt at him in a smug victory dance.

Rude.

“So instead,” Nie Huaisang prompts gently, “you’re looking to induce…?”

“...arousal?” Wei Wuxian offers hopefully.

There’s a moment of silence, which is eventually broken by the slide of Nie Huaisang’s fan as he flicks it open.

“Why?” he asks finally, doing a remarkable job of keeping the judgment out of his face.

“The pursuit of knowledge is a worthwhile goal in and of itself,” Wei Wuxian supplies in his loftiest impression of Lan Qiren’s lecture-voice.

Nie Huaisang simply looks at him.

“And maybe in this case, the knowledge might have some personal application, too,” Wei Wuxian admits, and is met with a second moment of silence.

“I truly don’t know if Lan Wangji deserves my condolences or congratulations,” Nie Huaisang says eventually, and shakes his head.

“Why not both?” Wei Wuxian shrugs.

-

“It comes down to a question of whether lust is fundamentally physical or spiritual, doesn’t it?” Lan Xichen muses between stirs. “Could you pass me the three-legged crow feathers, please? They’re in the box on the - no, the one next to - yes, that one, thank you.”

He takes the dish from Wei Wuxian, scatters the feathers evenly across the bubbling surface of whatever potion he’s brewing and immediately takes a step back, drawing Wei Wuxian along by the elbow. A second later, the feathers begin to spark, whizzing around in jerky figure-eights before finally sinking into the pale liquid with a soft hiss and a few wisps of white smoke.

“Now where were we?” Lan Xichen asks himself, picking up his wooden ladle to resume his gentle stirring. “Oh yes, that’s right. Requiem acts on the metaphysical component of the being - the mind and soul, if you will. We know that because of its effectiveness on ghosts, who possess no physical component at all. Therefore, it follows that if lust is purely - or, otherwise necessarily - physical, then Requiem will not be a useful basis for what you’re trying to achieve.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding slowly. “And that’s not even considering that the physical and mental components of lust might vary in comparative size from person to person...”

Lan Xichen hums in agreement and opens a box of yao grass, carefully selecting a sprig and then slipping off the small cord binding it together.

“We’ll just have to test it, then,” Wei Wuxian decides firmly.

To Lan Xichen’s credit, his hand, outstretched as it is over the mouth of the cauldron, only pauses for the briefest of moments before his fingers uncurl to allow the yao grass to fall in.

“I look forward to your findings,” he says serenely.

-

“Get out,” Lan Qiren says.

“But-” Wei Wuxian protests, because he has an entire speech prepared to explain why, as the Theory of Magic teacher, Lan Qiren should be absolutely be interested in this project.

“OUT,” Lan Qiren thunders.

Wei Wuxian gets.

-

“Can ghosts even … release?” Nie Huaisang wonders from his perch on the edge of the water, on one of his rare visit to the Gusu Academy. 

With both classes and Nie Huaisang’s official business finished for the day, the afternoon presents a perfect opportunity for Wei Wuxian to indulge in nostalgia for their schooling days. And so, as soon as lunch is over, he drags Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning out the door and into a romp all over the grounds to marvel at all the things that have changed, as well as all the things that haven’t.

Somehow they’ve ended up at the cold springs, the scene of many a student tryst (tragically, not a single one of them involving Wei Wuxian), and countless youthful fantasies.

None of which the three of them are calling to mind, sitting as they are with their pant legs rolled up to their knees so that they can soak their feet (or, in Wen Ning’s case, hold their feet above the water in a good approximation thereof) like the old men they are.

It’s not quite like the old days (the absence of a familiar, derisive snort; of the loud words that are almost sharp enough to hide the fondness thrumming beneath them like heartbeats under breastbone, is too pronounced for that), but in the miracle of After, it’s more than Wei Wuxian thought he’d be able to have.

(It’s enough.)

“Let’s say lust is metaphysical enough for your reverse-Requiem to work,” Nie Huaisang continues, “and then you play it for a spirit, and get them worked up. What do they ... do with that? Can ghosts-”

He makes an unmistakeable jerking gesture with his hand.

Wei Wuxian frowns. He hadn’t considered that.

And then, with an eerie synchronisation that Wei Wuxian can only attribute to the seven formative years they spent living in each other’s pockets, they turn as one to look at Wen Ning, who lets out an alarmed squeak.

“Does it matter?” Wei Wuxian asks, deciding to take pity on Wen Ning and refrain from pursuing that line of inquiry, 

“Well,” Nie Huaisang answers, turning to him with a significant wide-eyed glance, “think about it this way: if you were a resentful spirit, and someone played a song for you that made you build up all this lust that had nowhere to go … wouldn’t you become more resentful?”

Wen Ning squeaks again, his eyes like black saucers in his pale face.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian says, pausing to consider this most excellent point.

“Actually, wait” Nie Huaisang says after a moment. “There’s at least one outlet that I’ve just thought of-”

“Possession,” Wei Wuxian supplies immediately.

“Right?” Nie Huaisang exclaims, waving his fan excitedly. “Can you imagine, a horny, possessed horde-”

“-charging around the countryside” Wei Wuxian continues, grinning with mixed horror and delight, “humping everything in its path-”

(They spend the next hour casting bubble-head charms on themselves and taking turns to swim to the bottom of the cold spring so that they can promise Wen Ning that no, they certainly won’t be asking him to help them test any of this, and they won’t be testing anywhere near him, either, Wei Wuxian will make sure that all testing happens far, far away, so can he please come back out now, the students would be sad if he stayed hiding inside the pool forever-)

-

“WHY ARE YOU SO EMBARRASSING?” Jin Ling yells, not letting the fact that he’s currently upside-down and hanging from the ceiling get in the way of his outrage.

“Students who break into my office to poke around my things have no right to complain about what they find,” Wei Wuxian replies calmly, leaning back in his chair so that he can look up at the two bodies suspended in mid-air and wriggling fruitlessly against the confines of their bindings. 

“IT WAS A DARE,” Jin Ling shouts defensively, starting to swing back and forth from the force of his own righteousness.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of that if I were you,” Lan Jingyi mutters under his breath.

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian inquires politely, leaning forward so that he can rest his elbows on his desk and pointedly steeple his fingers at his miscreant students. 

“A dare to look through my notes?”

“No,” Jin Ling shoots back hotly, before subsiding into a muttered, “I just looked at those because they were there. AND,” he resumes, remembering his earlier indignation, “when I did,” it turned out to be all - all -”

What the boys have managed to find are actually all Wei Wuxian’s half-sketched plans of ways to surpass (or just match, Wei Wuxian would be more than happy with even approximately matching) Lan Zhan’s patently unmatchable love confession. 

(Ten years of waiting and the first thing out of his mouth when he sees Wei Wuxian’s face again is “Wei Ying, I love you.”

What was the first thing that came out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth after seeing Lan Zhan’s face again?

“Ho ho ho, you think your puny barrier charm is gonna make me sleep in this box when I could be sleeping in your bed? Well think again!”

It really doesn’t compare.)

So far, each one has ended in a frustrated jumble of scribbled-out lines and some variation on WHAT WAS I THINKING? THIS DOESN’T EVEN COME CLOSE, but he’ll get there eventually.

“-all-” Jin Ling continues to splutter, “plans to - to have your way with Professor Lan!”

Wei Wuxian hums in agreement. What a charmingly missish turn of phrase - Jiang Cheng’s fingerprints are all over the boy’s upbringing.

“Everyone’s always talking about all the things you invented during the War,” Jin Ling continues to rage, unaware that his intended audience is only half-listening, “talking about how you were the best mind of your generation - The best mind, and THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE WASTING IT ON?”

“Can you stop?” Lan Jingyi hisses. “If you make him angry, he’ll never let us go!”

He jerks his hip in a clear attempt to nudge his fellow prisoner. Unfortunately for him, he uses too much force and overshoots the mark, excess momentum instead sending them both spiralling around each other as the charmed ropes holding them up begin to rapidly intertwine.

“What else would I use it on?” Wei Wuxian asks, watching with badly-concealed amusement as the boys’ efforts to stop spinning only make them spin faster. “I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t think of anything more important than getting into Lan Zhan’s-”

“SHAMELESS!” Jin Ling howls as he and Lan Jingyi begin to spin in the opposite direction.

“STOP YELLING!” Lan Jingyi yells.

“You wouldn’t have seen it, because I haven’t written it down yet,” Wei Wuxian continues mercilessly over the top of the resultant shouting match. “But if the song doesn’t work, there’s this part-human creature in Europe that does an apparently irresistible seduction dance. It shouldn’t take me too long to learn it-”

Jin Ling’s answering bellow of rage, Wei Wuxian notes fondly, is almost an exact copy of Jiang Cheng’s.

-

“So what’s this actually about?” Nie Huaisang asks during their next mirror-call, after Wei Wuxian plays another three notes that create a curl of something in his belly that could maybe be mild interest (or could maybe be just gas).

“What do you mean, ‘actually’?” Wei Wuxian asks reflexively, picking up his brush and carefully crossing yet another failed stanza off his list. “It’s about what it’s about - expanding my foreplay repertoire so that Lan Zhan doesn’t get bored and leave me for Mianmian.”

“You said it wasn’t about inciting rage,” Nie Huaisang continues thoughtfully, completely ignoring him. “So what else would you need to draw out of people?”

He tilts his face up towards the ceiling and purses his lips.

“It wouldn’t be happiness - we’ve already got charms for that - sadness? But why would you-”

Nie Huaisang freezes, and then slowly, carefully, brings his eyes back down to meet Wei Wuxian’s.

Theirs is a generation that grew up in war. Who among them doesn’t have unresolved grief? Who doesn’t have emotions they’ve repressed (trauma, resentment, guilt) - at first because there wasn’t the time or energy between the fighting and the surviving to properly work through them, and then afterwards because it just seemed easier to move on and try to forget?

(How many ghosts are unable to move on because they cannot resolve worldly attachments that they’re too afraid to remember?)

Nie Huaisang clears his throat.

“Why don’t you play me that last one again?” he suggests lightly. “I think you inverted one of the chords wrong. After we fix that, maybe it’ll work better.”

-

“Oh good, you’re back,” Wei Wuxian says when he steps into the Jingshi to find Lan Zhan already waiting. “Shall we-”

“Am I not passionate enough for you?” Lan Zhan cuts in, apropos of nothing. His voice is mild, but there’s a glint in his eyes that puts Wei Wuxian on immediate alert.

(And Little Wei Wuxian on immediate alert too, but that’s basically a given when Lan Zhan is involved.)

“...no? What makes you think that?” Wei Wuxian asks carefully, and Lan Zhan mutely lifts up a very familiar, half-finished composition.

Ah.

“I can explain,” Wei Wuxian offers quickly, holding his arms out between them and automatically stepping backwards in response to Lan Zhan’s very forceful (and very long!) step forwards.

“I have very valid reasons,” he adds, continuing to scramble back as Lan Zhan continues to advance, until he finds himself pinned between a rock and Lan Zhan’s hard, manly chest, “none of which are in any way a challenge to the strength of your ardour-”

He has just enough time for a half-laugh, half-yelp as he’s picked up and thrown onto the bed, and then all further protests are put on hold while Lan Zhan proves, aggressively and comprehensively, that he’s more than passionate enough.

-

With Lan Zhan’s musical expertise involved, the deconstruction of Requiem into its core magical components goes a lot more smoothly, and much more quickly.

The “testing” of Wei Wuxian’s derivative composition also becomes a lot more fun, if a lot less reliable in terms of producing valid results.

In the end, Wei Wuxian is only a little disappointed that they don’t manage to get an aphrodisiac song out of it.*

-

In the second year after his return, Yiling Patriarch Wei Wuxian developed the song Release, which has since been adapted for a wide range of therapeutic applications, including use in treatments for anxiety, depression, stress and trauma. 

With assistance from noted symphonimagus Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian deconstructed the then-established Requiem and, by applying its foundational magical principles in reverse, was able to create a song that, when played, encouraged the controlled expression of emotion under the player’s guidance. 

Unfortunately, his notes and experimental logs have since been lost.

-excerpt from the Annals of the Cloud Recesses

-

*

“LAN ZHAN, LOOK!” Wei Wuxian shrieks, running down the side of the hill towards him, waving a handful of leaves and flowers, “APHRODISIAC GRASS!”

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #12

 Word Count: ~ 2.400

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 12: Secret Santa

December had come around, bringing with it the heaps of snow Hogwarts had been spared from so far. Within days it buried everything in sight under a thick white blanket, transforming the landscape outside into a powdery winter wonderland.

Peeves had took it as his personal assignment to dump a heap of snow on every unsuspecting passer-by from questionable heights until Professor McGonagall publicly threatened to turn him into a Christmas cracker if she saw him with so much as a single snowflake in his unsubstantial hands again.

And as the castle was slowly but surely covered in ornaments and twinkling lights, the festive spirit spread into even the most remote corners of the dungeons.

It had become tradition for the Hufflepuff team to celebrate the holidays in their own way. Even back when Orion hadn’t been captain, the team used to gather after the last practise of the year for a small get-together in the Common Room, including a game of Secret Santa.

Whereas the idea of material gifts had never posed much of an interest to him, Orion couldn’t deny the astounding effect the game had on the rest of the team. The excitement of receiving a present from someone unknown positively electrified his friends. Consulting the ones closest to your assigned person for a suitable gift never failed to knit their team closer together.

So he had just continued entertaining this ritual after he had stepped up into his position. Especially this year, they could do with a little bit of festive unison.

The snowfall had increased again just as they were wrapping up their last manoeuvres. Everyone practically jumped off their broomsticks to retreat into the comforting warmth and light of the Common Room.  

McNully was already waiting for them as they entered through the narrow passageway, a trail of melted snow dragging on behind them. A small jute pouch adorned with an embroidered Christmas Tree rested on his lap. Fully immersed in the festive spirit, he was sporting a particularly nasty sweater picturing a badger dancing with a raven instead of his usual white shirt and tie. His golden snitch was still pinned to his chest, however.  

He wiggled his eyebrows in anticipation as they all got changed into their yellow and black team sweaters and settled down around him. A pot of hot chocolate was passed around, the warm smell spreading in the Common Room as each player poured themselves a cup, glad for something to put their freezing hands around.

McNully reached into the pouch and started mixing up the slips of parchment he had prepared in advance while reminding them of the rules.

“It is time for our annual Christmas draw, ladies and gentlemen! As we have some new faces to join in on the fun this year,” he inclined his head towards Everett, “I will present to you the rules once again.”

Orion shook his head with a chuckle. Murphy McNully, forever the presenter.

“Everyone is to draw a name of another member of the team. You have time until Christmas Day to buy, craft or create a suitable present for your assigned person. You may not reveal your identity to them unless they guess correctly. You are not to reveal your draw to another person unless your un-festive mind can’t think of anything to gift and needs creative assistance. If you fail to deliver on your task, I will brand you a Christmas troll and announce it publicly on your next friendly.”

Orion bit back a laugh at Murphy’s newest addition to the rules. His friend took the holidays very seriously.

They all took their turn lining up and dove their hands into the pouch, pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment. The reactions to the names written on them ranged from relief over confusion to horror when it was a particularly difficult person to find a gift for. Orion found it fascinating to observe.

Laughter erupting from one of the armchairs drew his attention. Skye slumped in it while Lizzie was sitting on the floor with her back against the yellow armrest. Lucy had just showed her parchment to them, looking more chagrined than anything. Upon reading what was written on it, Skye had whispered something to them, prompting the girls to burst into laughter.

“You are not supposed to show who you got just yet!” Murphy scolded the girls. Spreading Christmas joy was a very serious business to him.

“Sorry!” Lizzie tried to appease him while still shaking from suppressed laughter. “Just go on!” Skye muttered something into her ear, drawing another set of giggles from her.

With an indignant huff Murphy returned to monitor the drawing while Orion quietly observed the scene. There were still some stray snowflakes hanging in her hair which was curling around her face as it dried in the warm air of the room. Her cheeks had turned red from laughing at Skye’s joke, a smile lingering on her lips, reaching up into her eyes.

He hadn’t seen Lizzie as carefree since what had happened back at the concert a few weeks prior. Everyone but McNully had left Hogsmeade soon after she had suddenly disappeared. They had found her in the Common Room, curled up in front of the fireplace, nose buried in a book and Mouse snuggled up on her lap. She had retreated to her dorm almost immediately after their arrival.

Neither of them had mentioned what had happened with so much as even a word. It wasn’t like Orion had a problem with that. He wasn’t entirely sure himself in what direction they had set their steps that day, or why he couldn’t get a hold of the reason everything had gone out of hand. It was like smoke, evading his grasp as soon as he tried to set his mind on unravelling what had taken place between them.

But he had noticed how Lizzie had started avoiding his company. Where she had been perfectly comfortable around him before, she now made sure someone was with her at all times, positively clinging to Skye when they had practise or her friend Rowan during their tutoring lessons.

It was this change of atmosphere Orion felt truly sorry about. He considered his friends his family and Lizzie actively seeking her distance from him unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It had never been his intention to cross a line. Like  a fool, he had let himself get carried away in the spur of the moment. He should have known better by now.

He missed chatting with her in the greenhouse the most. Lizzie was one of the few people seeing beyond him being the captain of the Hufflepuff team. She was actually listening to what he had to say. Instead of tuning out when she didn’t understand his point, she gave his words a thought until she had figured it out.  

As much as he longed to equilibrate their friendship again, he would have never forced her to talk to him if she clearly did not wish to do so.

Perhaps it was a good thing the Christmas break was so close. For the first time in years Orion was glad almost everyone was returning home for the holidays. Having the Common Room mostly to himself was the perfect occasion to take a step back and regain the balance he had been struggling to maintain as of late.

He wasn’t the only one watching the chuckling group of girls, however.

Everett seemed to be oddly interested in their conversation as well, his intense gaze trailing Lizzie’s every movement. Sensing Orion’s attention shifting to him, he suddenly perked his head up. His grey eyes narrowed as they made contact with Orion, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them.

Orion had no interest in a fight with him, so he merely held his gaze with level eyes. It took Everett a moment, but eventually, he broke the contact and turned away.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” McNully had finished monitoring the draw and came over to him. Everyone else was chatting excitedly about gift ideas and the upcoming break by now.

Orion’s eyes followed Everett as he got up and strutted over to the boys sharing their dorm. Maybe choosing him for the team had not been the wisest decision after all.

“People with strong characters like him often feel the inherent need to establish a hierarchy between them and others they deem a threat to their dominance,” Orion responded, half lost in thought.

“A threat, you?” McNully chortled.

He had to smile at his poor choice of words. “While I may not portray a dominant character, as captain I do fill the most prominent position in this team,” he explained his meaning. “I consider every one of us a vital piece of the greater picture and I find rivalries within our team to be unfortunate; we should always strive for unison. Because without unison, how can we reach a common goal?”

McNully stared after their roommate, silently calculating. “Whatever this is about, if he happened to have drawn your name, I’d like to inform you that there is the small possibility of 9.2 % that a present from him might be really unpleasant.”

His face suddenly lit up again and he shoved the almost empty pouch in Orion’s face. “Speaking of which, there’s only you and I left now.”

Not being half as enthusiastic as his friend, Orion waved him on. “Go ahead, I’ll take the last one.”

McNully pulled one of the two remaining slips of parchment out of the bag. A grin spread on his face when he read the name written on it. “Oh, that’s a tough one,” he mused, grey eyes sparkling. “Brilliant! I like a good challenge.”

He upended the pouch into his hand and handed the last parchment to Orion; he always took the one that was left.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he read the name written on it. Apparently, the universe had his own twisted sense of humour.

“Who’d you get to make you grin like that?”

Skye had suddenly appeared by his side, craning her head to catch a glimpse of the piece of paper between Orion’s fingers. He shifted his arm slightly to block her view and folded it up again.

“Skye, are you coming? We need to finish that Charms essay before the library closes,” Lizzie called over to her friend. She had gotten to her feet, her hand resting only lightly on the back of the armchair. She seemed very eager to leave the scene.

“Go ahead if you don’t want to wait, I’ll catch up to you.”

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before stepping back towards the group. She rubbed her hands against her arm and joined them, albeit subtly standing as far away from Orion as possible without it looking suspicious. He noticed it anyway.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment as she caught him looking at her and she immediately dropped her gaze, suddenly very invested in pulling on a loose thread at the hem of her sweater.

Skye tried to use his distraction to her advantage. With a quick movement she attempted to snatch the piece of parchment he was still holding between his index and his middle finger out of his hand.

“You are not supposed to know!” McNully shooed her away as Orion tucked the paper into the pocket of his pants.

“Don’t violate the rules, Skye Parkin, I’m warning you!” McNully scowled at her. “Lucy shouldn’t have shown you her parchment either. What was so funny about it anyway?”

Skye stuck her tongue out at him. “Of course, now you want to know.” She snickered again. “Lucy got Everett and has no idea what to get him. I told her maybe a braincell or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Orion tried to suppress his grin in vain, while even Lizzie started giggling again. Everett really didn’t seem to be the most popular member of their team.

“This is not what this game is about!” Murphy scolded, but he was grinning at Skye’s suggestion all the same. “Don’t ruin the Christmas spirit with your bad jokes.”

They were the only ones left in front of the fireplace. The other members of their team had one after the other filed away, now minding their own business. Skye sat down on the armrest of the sofa, resting her feet on the cushions.

“Speaking of Christmas, what are your plans this year?”

“I’m with my mum and grandma of course ,” Murphy told them while pointedly pushing Skye’s feet off the seat again. “Orion is going stay at the castle, I presume?”

Orion inclined his head. He always stayed at Hogwarts if he could.

“I’ll be with my family as well,” Lizzie added to the conversation. “We haven’t had a family Christmas for two years in a row now. My parents have been visiting my brother Jacob in the States.”

“I remember; you were at Weasley’s place for the past two years, weren’t you?” Skye mused. “That was when you and him- “

“Exactly; I’m really looking forward to being home for a bit,” Lizzie shut her friend up hurriedly.

Orion could see her cheeks blush slightly. He wondered why she was so intent on silencing Skye.

“It’ll be great to spend a bit of time with my family,” she quickly continued, brushing over Skye’s protest. “I’ll probably meet Penny some time as well; her family doesn’t live far from us.”

Skye had stopped protesting at her words; a sad expression shone in her eyes. The relationship between her and Penny was still strained, as far as Orion was aware.

He watched the girls chatter on about Christmas in silence. He saw Skye lean in to Lizzie. Although he didn’t mean to overhear their conversation, Skye was talking too loudly for him not to hear her words.

“You’re meeting Penny?” she asked silently. “Do you think you could talk to her on my behalf? Things are still so weird and I just want this to be over with,” she pleaded.

Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I can try.”

“Smashing!”

Orion was still thinking about Skye’s request after the girls had left for the library and he and McNully had started a round of Wizards Chess. The Christmas break came at exactly the right time. It was an opportunity to look at things from a healthy distance and to get things back to order.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was desperately in need of it.

[malarkay]

To Walk With Dreams and Darkness: Chapter One

Summary:  The year: 1982. The place: Brixton, London, England. Piper is a normal 11-year-old kid trying to enjoy the summer holiday with her foster brothers, Aaron and Finn. But when a stranger shows up bearing an acceptance letter to a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she’s swept away to a magical world, one that is just beginning to heal from a brutal, decade-long war. There she will make new friends and new enemies. And she just might find herself a part of something bigger than she ever imagined.

                                                        Chapter 1:

Minerva studied him with a tight-lipped look of disapproval. "I trust you aren't planning on delivering this letter dressed like that."

 Arygyn made a show of looking down at his outfit, a deep aqua robe trimmed in red, with billowy sleeves and metallic gold feathers embroidered around the cuffs and high collar, "Not colourful enough?"

 Minerva's stern façade didn't crack.  "I see that your time away from us has not granted you any more maturity.  Or humility."

 "I know how terribly disappointed you'd be if it had," he said, grinning at her.  

 She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Given the circumstances of your resignation, I had foolishly assumed you'd be on your best behaviour to prove to the Headmaster that he made the right decision in inviting you back."

 "Oh?  And what do you know of the 'circumstances of my resignation'?" he asked airily.

 "Need I remind you that I am Deputy Headmistress of this school? There aren't many secrets the Headmaster keeps from me.  Do you think I don't know what prompted your departure?"

 That sobered him up. "Minerva," he began, but she held up a hand.

 "What's done is done.  We cannot change the past.  We can only strive to do better moving forward."

 He felt his face flush.  He wasn't easily embarrassed, but Minerva McGonagall had always possessed the rare ability to discomfit him, even as children.

 "Back to the matter at hand, I took the liberty of choosing a Muggle outfit for you to wear on this assignment."  She nodded to the folding screen that blocked off a small corner of her office.  

 He walked behind the screen to discover a brown tweed suit with a white button-down shirt and matching brown tie.

 "Minerva, no!"

 His protestation was met with a soft noise of amused satisfaction from her.

 Grudgingly, he changed into the suit.  Emerging from the privacy of the screen, he frowned at her as she smiled in open amusement now.  "I think you forget something," she pointed out, her gaze flicking up to his hair.

 He sighed, retrieving his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket and pointing it at his head.  "Colovaria!"  He looked at the mirror she had hanging on the wall, watching as his hair and beard faded from their glorious green and purple to his natural dirty blond.

 "Well, I hope you're happy," he said, carding his fingers through his hair self-consciously.

 "Oh, you have no idea," she responded, holding out an envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest in red wax.  "I won't keep you any longer.  This letter is already late."

                                                      ~*~*~

 "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

 "Aww, c'mon, Piper!  They're bullies!  They deserve this!"

 Piper frowned.  Finn, one of her foster brothers, had a point.  The gang of older kids had caused them nothing but grief since they'd known them, constantly picking on them for no other reason than the fact that they were younger and smaller than them.  And now here they were, clowning around in the corner shop while their bikes laid unlocked and unattended outside.  Still….

 "I know they're bullies, but we're not thieves."  

 She looked over to her other foster brother, confident that he would back her up.  But he was staring at the bikes with a mischievous gleam in his green eyes. She nudged him with her elbow to get his attention.  "Right, Aaron?"

 "Let's do this!" Aaron said with finality, and Finn pumped his fist in the air, certain that the matter was settled with Aaron on board with his plan.

 "I can't believe you two!" she hissed.

 "What's the matter?  Do you not know how to ride a bike or something?" Finn challenged.

 "Of course I know how to ride a bike! Probably better than you! I…" she stopped abruptly when she noticed his triumphant grin.  "Finnegan Fletcher!  I will not be goaded into going along with your stupid plan!"

 "God, Piper, why do you always have to be such a goody-goody?"

 "I wouldn't have to be if you'd stop being such a screw-up!"

 He mouthed her words mockingly back at her, and she was about to really lay into him when he suddenly grinned.  "Hey Piper, guess what?"

 "What?" she spat at him.

 "Too late," he said, punctuating his words with a pair of finger guns.  She looked to where he was pointing.  While they were busy bickering, Aaron had gone and nicked one of the bikes, mounting it. Finn laughed and ran over to do the same, and she had no choice but to follow or be left behind to deal with the consequences.  

 She glanced through the glass door of the shop as she took a bike, making sure no one had noticed them.  Luckily, the two leaders of the gang seemed to be embroiled in an argument of their own, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence.  They were a brother-sister duo, a pair of upper-middle-class kids in their late teens who tried to cultivate a working-class punk image but couldn't quite pull it off.  Nonetheless, they had managed to amass a following of half a dozen townies who followed them wherever they went.  It was their bikes that she and Aaron had been sure to pick.  She wasn't sure who Finn's belonged to.

 "Let's get out of here before they figure out what's going on," she said.

 "You don't have to tell me twice!"

 With that, they pedalled like mad all the way home. Between their front garden and their neighbour's was a tall privacy hedge with a large hollow spot in the centre. It had made for a great little secret hideout when they were younger, and it was the perfect place to stash their contraband bicycles now.  With the bikes hidden, she began walking up to their house when she spotted the white sedan parked out front and froze in her tracks.  "Um, guys, was Ms Davies supposed to visit today?"

 "No, she's not supposed to come until Monday," Aaron answered.

 "They know about the bikes!" she yelped. She wheeled on Finn and poked him hard in the chest with a finger.  "This is all your fault!  What if she's here to take us away from the Wrights because of this?  We'll be separated and never see each other again!"

 "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Aaron cut in, putting a hand on Piper's shoulder.  "Piper, calm down!  There's no way they know about the bikes.  It's only been twenty minutes."

 "Well, she's here early for some reason, and that can't be good," Piper said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

 "What if she is here to take one of us away?" Finn asked, sounding worried now.  "Not 'cause of the bikes, but just because."

 "There's no reason to think that," Aaron said confidently.

 "No reason to think that?  Mate, when was the last time she ever came for an unscheduled visit?" Finn pointed out.

 Aaron opened his mouth to answer, but he must have realized he didn't have a good response because he closed it again.

 "Listen, standing here and worrying isn't going to do us any good," Piper decided.  Taking a deep breath, she marched up the walkway to the front door before she lost her nerve.  Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the sight of her foster mother, social worker, and a tall, suited man she had never seen before sitting in the parlour sharing a pot of tea.  

 "And that," the man said with a dramatic flourish of one hand. "Is how I narrowly avoided getting expelled from H-ah, Saint Cyprian's, myself!"  He had a flamboyant, lilting way of speaking that didn't fit his stuffy appearance.  She and her brothers stood gaping in the doorway as Agatha Wright and Florence Davies burst into scandalized laughter at his tale.

 "Oh my," Agatha said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.  "Well, I don't expect our Piper will be getting into such mischief.  She's never been any trouble."

 "Speak of the dickens!" the mysterious man said, eyes falling upon the trio.  Putting his teacup down, he stood and swept over to them.  "Piper Cochran, I presume?"

 She nodded hesitantly, and he gave a bow that was every bit as dramatic as his earlier flourish had been.  "I am Professor Skeelur, and I represent Saint Cyprian's School for Gifted Children."

 Beside her, Finn giggled and nudged Aaron. "Is it just me, or does that sound like something straight out of the X-Men?"

 "You two strapping lads must be Aaron and Finnegan!"

 Aaron grinned, and Finn puffed out his chest. No one had ever called them strapping before, certainly not skinny little Finn.  "Yes, sir," Aaron answered for them.  "If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?"

 "I don't mind at all.  I am here to offer Ms Cochran here a spot at our school.  You see, her excellent marks make her just the kind of pupil we look for."

 Piper's eyes lit up.  "Really?  I've never heard of this school.  Is it here in London?"

 "Scotland, actually.  It's a boarding school."

 "Oh," Piper said, her face falling. "Sounds expensive."

 Ms Davies spoke up from her spot on the sofa. "The school covers tuition, room, and board.  Money's no issue.  And should you choose to attend, you'll receive the stipend the Wrights receive for your care during the time school is in session, for school supplies, and anything else you might need while you're away."

 Piper looked hopeful, "And I'll get to come back here when school isn't in session?"

 "Of course," Agatha said, beckoning her over and pulling her into a hug.  "You will always have a place here.  You know that."

 Professor Skeelur clapped his hands together, bringing their attention back to him.  "Now, there are a few details that need to be discussed before Piper makes her decision.  Is there somewhere that Ms Davies and I can speak to Piper privately?"

 Agatha nodded.  "She has her own room; you can speak in there."

 Piper led them to her room.  The professor shut the door and then, much to her confusion, he pulled a pale, slightly gnarled stick from the inside pocket of his jacket and pointed it at the door.  "Sanctum impervius!"

  "Now then, we can speak freely," he said, turning to her.  "I must confess that I wasn't entirely honest with you back there.  There is no Saint Cyprian's.  I'm here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Smile, kid!  Your life just got a whole lot more interesting!  You're a witch."

 She frowned.  

 "Is this a joke?  Because if it is, it's not funny."  She had actually been stupid enough to believe that she had gotten accepted into a good school.  She should have known better.  

 "Piper," Ms Davies said gently.  "It's not a joke."

 She scoffed, and the professor – if that's what he really was – added, "And I can prove it."

 "What are you going to do?  Pull a rabbit out of a hat?  Saw Ms Davies in half?" Piper asked sarcastically.

 If anything, her mockery just made his grin widen. "You misunderstand.  You're not going to be learning parlour tricks. You're going to be learning real magic. Like this!  Well, not exactly like this.  There aren't many witches and wizards who can do this.  But it'll give you an idea."

 He stepped back, giving himself room, and then…well, then she couldn't quite believe her eyes.  He began to warp and shift until suddenly the man was gone, and in his place was a bird.  It had iridescent blue-green feathers, a red underbelly, and a tail over twice its body length.  It launched itself into the air and flew around the room.

 Ms Davies gasped.  Piper could only stare wide-eyed as the bird landed and transformed back into the professor.

 "Close your mouth, kid.  You'll catch flies," he told her.  "Do you believe me now?"

 "I'm dreaming," she decided.

 Professor Skeelur stepped forward and delivered a sharp pinch to her arm.

 "Ow!  Why'd you do that?"

 "To help you decide if you're dreaming or not. And what d'you know, it looks like you aren't!"

 "So, you're really a wizard?"

 "Yes."

 "And I'm a witch?"

 "Yes."  

 "And is Ms Davies a witch?"  She looked curiously at the woman she thought she had known for half her life.

 "No," Ms Davies said.

 "She's a Muggle."

 "Oh no, what's that?" Piper asked, wondering if her social worker would transform into some strange creature now, too.

 "I don't have any magic," Ms Davies explained.  "But you aren't the first case I've had who ended up being magical, so this didn't come as a complete shock to me.  At least, not until he turned into a bird.  I haven't seen that before!"

 "Does Agatha know?"

 "No."

 "Why not?"

 "The fewer Muggles who know about us, the better," Professor Skeelur explained.  "We have pretty strict laws against revealing ourselves unnecessarily."

 "But what about other people like me?  Don't their families know?"

 "Well, yes.  Most Muggle-born children's immediate families are told."

 "Then why can't Agatha, and Robert, and Aaron and Finn know?  They're my family."

 Professor Skeelur took a moment to consider her words, then shrugged.  "Well, if you consider them family, then I suppose you can tell them if you want and if you think they can keep it to themselves.  I leave that decision up to you.  Oh! I almost forgot."

 He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her.  She looked at the front, finding her name and address written in green ink. Flipping it over, she saw that it was closed with a wax seal.  Snapping the seal, she pulled out the letter within.  The first sheet of paper was an acceptance letter that rehashed what the professor had already told her.  The second page was a list of school supplies she would need.

 "Work robes, dragonhide gloves, pewter cauldron, a wand," she read aloud before skimming over the rest of the list, eyebrows raising.  "Where am I supposed to get all this?"

 "Diagon Alley."

 "I don't know where that is."

 "Well, of course you don't.  That's part of the reason I'm here."

 "You'll take me?"

 "Yes.  This very afternoon if Ms Davies doesn't mind driving us.  I'd Apparate us there, but you're new to magic.  I don't know how you'd respond, and frankly, I'd rather not have you getting sick on me."

 Piper nodded.  She didn't want to get sick on him, either.

 When Ms Davies agreed, they told Agatha that she had accepted her spot at the school and that they were off to purchase school supplies, and then the three of them piled into Ms Davies' car.  She drove them to Charing Cross Road, and the professor led them into and through a dilapidated pub and out into a back alley.

 Taking out his wand, he tapped a series of bricks and, to Piper's amazement, the wall rearranged itself into an archway, revealing a whole new world beyond.

 "Wow," she breathed.

 Their first stop was to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where Professor Skeelur and Ms Davies helped her set up an account and get her stipend money exchanged into wizarding currency.  She tried not to stare too hard at the bankers, who the professor told her were goblins, during the transaction.  She didn't want to be rude.

 "Where to next?" the professor asked once they left the bank.

 "Back near the entrance was a shop with a stack of cauldrons outside.  I need one of those."

 The professor nodded and led the way to the shop. He ended up negotiating a reasonable price for a display model that had no flaws other than a darker patina that suggested that it had been sitting there for some time.  

 Next door, they purchased a set of brass scales and a telescope before heading to the apothecary across the street to pick up a set of glass phials.  

 They passed a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies that had a large window display showing off brooms, an odd assortment of balls, and protective gear.  "What are the brooms for?" she asked.

 "Flying, of course."

 She stopped walking and stared at him before bursting into laughter.  "You're telling me that witches actually do fly around on broomsticks?"

 "All the time."

 "Why haven't we ever seen any, then?"

 "I told you, we're cautious about not revealing magic to Muggles."

 They stopped off at the stationary store, where she purchased some quills, ink, and a pack of parchment rolls, along with some notebooks.  Next came Flourish & Blotts.  Stepping into the store, Piper felt her pulse jump.  It was the most glorious bookshop she had ever seen in her life.  The store was two stories tall, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves ran along the perimeter of each floor.  Smaller bookcases and tables stacked precariously high with books dotted the first floor, and even more books surrounded the checkout counter. The shop was large but was so cluttered that it felt cosy, warm, and inviting.

 She slowly worked her way around the shop, perusing the books.  There were hardcover and paperback books that were no different from those you'd find in a regular bookshop.  But there were also ones bound in what Professor Skeelur claimed was dragon hide, as well as books bound in silk.  There were giant books she could barely lift and tiny books with print so small she couldn't read it without a magnifying glass.

 Eventually, she came across a section of second-hand textbooks.  She carefully selected the best cared for ones she could find.  In line at the checkout counter, she picked up a copy of a book called The Tales of Beedle the Bard.  She flipped through the pages and asked, "Is this a book of fables?"

 Professor Skeelur nodded, and Piper added it to her pile. "Aren't you a little old for children's stories?" he joked.

 "Well, in the Muggle world, you can actually learn a lot about a culture by reading their fables.  I imagine it's the same with the wizarding world.  And I want to learn about you.  About us."

 The professor smiled a genuine smile and excused himself.  After a moment, he came back with another book, this one titled Hogwarts: A History. "I think you'll like this one, too. I'll buy it for you."

 "You don't have to do that," she told him.

 "Of course I don't, kid.  I want to.  You're welcome."

 She grinned as they paid for her books and reluctantly left the shop.  

 Next, they stopped at the professor's behest at Cranville Quincey's Magical Junk Shop shop.  "All this stuff of yours is getting heavy," he complained. "Even split between the three of us.  And by the three of us, I mean mostly me.  Don't think I haven't noticed that I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting here."  

 He set down the bags he had been carrying, the ones with her books and cauldron, before searching through the small, cluttered shop.  "Luck is on our side today!" he said, as he yanked a battered leather steamer trunk free from where it was wedged between an old wardrobe and an armchair that had seen better days.  He checked the price tag and, satisfied with it, paid the shopkeeper and ushered them back outside.

 Once out in the light of the sun, the trunk looked even less impressive.  It was beyond beat up, with tears in the leather, a sagging lid, and a broken latch.

 "Thanks," she said with as much politeness as she could muster.  

 Professor Skeelur smirked.  "Nothing a little spit-shine won't fix."

 "Please don't spit on it.  It's been through enough."

 "Piper!" Ms Davies said reproachfully.

 But Professor Skeelur just laughed it off. "Watch and learn, Little Miss Sassy Pants!"  He pointed his wand at the trunk and said, "Reparo!"

 The trunk began to mend.  The tears in the leather closed, the latch realigned itself and firmly reattached to the trunk, and the structural integrity of the lid was restored.  

 "Wow!"

 "Oh, I'm not done."  He pointed his wand again.  "Installare rotae!"  

 The trunk rose a few centimetres off the ground. She looked closer and discovered that it was because locking wheels had been added to each corner of the trunk.

 "Capacious extremis!"  Piper watched but didn't notice anything different about the trunk. She looked at him quizzically. "Extension Charm," he explained.  "It gives you more room on the inside.  Now then, what's your favourite colour?"

 "Blue."

 "Colovaria!"  

 The dull brown leather of the chest transformed into a deep, royal blue that really made the brass fixtures pop.  

 "Wow…."  She was getting a lot of use out of that word today.

 "How do you like it now?" he asked smugly.

 "I love it!"

 "Good.  Now pack your things away, and let's continue.  We still need your robes and your wand."

 They went to a second-hand robe shop next, where she found three sets of school uniforms and work robes in good shape for half the price the professor said Madam Malkin's would cost.

 All that was left was her wand.  The professor led them to a little shop toward the end of the street.  "Ollivander," the professor told her, "is the best wandmaker in all of Britain.  If there's one area you don't want to skimp on, it's your wand."  Ms Davies elected to stay outside with her trunk so that things wouldn't get too cramped inside.

 Ollivander's was a small, dimly lit shop. The air was stuffy and smelt faintly of dust. Shelves lined the wall behind the counter, each one stacked high with long, narrow boxes.  

 Behind the counter was a man with unruly white hair. Piper assumed he must be Mr Ollivander. He had his back turned as he searched the shelves, running his finger along a row of boxes before choosing one.

 Setting it on the counter, he opened the lid, taking out a wand and offering it to the only other customer in the shop, a dark-haired girl her age.

 "This one is blackthorn and unicorn hair, 11 inches, fairly flexible. A very loyal combination.  Once the wand bonds with its owner, it's very unlikely to be won by another. Good for duelists."

 The girl gave the wand a wave. When nothing happened, Mr Ollivander took the wand back, setting it aside with others that formed a small discard pile on the counter.

 The man resumed his search of the shelves, choosing another. "Birch and phoenix feather, 12 inches, unyielding. Phoenix feather wands favour your family. Your father and grandmother were both chosen by them. Give it a try."

 Piper looked up at Professor Skeelur. She wanted to ask him what the man meant by the wand choosing people, but he had his attention focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to where a woman stood silently off to the side. She was an older, aristocratic woman dressed in black, Victorian-era clothing. Her long, sleek hair was either pure white or platinum blonde; Piper couldn't tell which. Her eyes were an icy blue and just as cold as she stared back at the professor with a level of antipathy that he matched.

 "No?" Ollivander's voice drew her attention back to him and the girl. "Let's try this one. Elm and phoenix feather, 10 inches, pliable."

 Again, nothing seemed to happen when the girl waved the wand, and the man added it to the pile of rejected wands.

 Ollivander scanned the shelves, stroking his chin. A full minute of silence stretched out before he chose another box.

 "Yew and dragon heartstring, 12 inches, rigid."

 The girl perked up the moment the wand touched her hand. She raised the wand, and Piper jumped as a shower of silver sparks shot into the air, bathing the room in a ghostly glow before fading.

 "Excellent!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I'll box this up for you."

 The woman stepped up to the counter to pay for the wand, and the girl turned, finally noticing that they weren't alone. Casting a surreptitious glance toward the woman, making sure her attention was elsewhere, she walked over to them.

 Face to face, Piper was able to get a better look at her. She was of a similar height to Piper with a pale, heart-shaped face and, unusually, deep violet eyes.

 "What are you doing here?" she asked the professor without preamble.

 "Hogwarts business."

 "Oh," the girl said, disappointment apparent in her tone. "I thought perhaps..." her eyes cut to Piper, and she elected not to finish her sentence. Instead, she studied Piper, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. "You're Muggle-born." It wasn't a question.

 Piper nodded. "And you're," she hesitated for just a moment, realizing she wasn't sure of the proper terminology, but took a deep breath and ploughed on ahead anyway. "Witch-born."

 Beside her, Professor Skeelur coughed, pressing a fist to his mouth. By the way his eyes sparkled, she could tell his cough was covering laughter.

 The girl laughed outright, not bothering to hide her amusement. She stuck out a hand, "I'm Lark Cyclonis."

 Before Piper could introduce herself, the woman was at Lark's side, slapping down her offered hand.

 "Merlin's beard, Anarchis," Professor Skeelur said heatedly.  “Is she not allowed to make new friends?”

 "Don't be absurd, Arygyn. Befriend a Muggle-born? Out of the question.”

 Piper's jaw tightened. Unlike when Lark had said it, Anarchis' use of the word 'Muggle-born' was filled with disdain. She was no stranger to that tone. She had heard it often enough from people who couldn't keep their opinions to themselves when it came to her living situation or heritage.

 Professor Skeelur narrowed his eyes at the woman, and when he spoke, his voice was as cool as hers. "Why don't you just use the word we all know you really want to use?"

 Anarchis sneered. "Watch your tongue with me, boy. This is precisely why you are to have nothing to do with this family. I don't need you teaching Larkspur how to be a disrespectful blood traitor."

 "Grandmother, please," Lark's voice was tight, her face carefully blank.

 "Not another word," Anarchis snapped at her. She handed Lark the bag with her wand before gripping the back of her neck. "Now come along. We still need your books." Without another glance at either Professor Skeelur or herself, the woman marched the girl out of the shop.

 Piper crossed her arms as she watched them go. "Good to know I'm not good enough for some people in this world, either," she said, aiming for a light tone, but the lump in her throat got in the way.

 "Kid," Professor Skeelur said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "Anyone here who thinks you're not good enough isn't worth knowing. Now let's get you your wand."

 She nodded, giving him a weak smile.

 He walked her up to the counter. "Mr Ollivander, this is Piper Cochran. She'll be starting her first year at Hogwarts this fall."

 "It's nice to meet you, sir," she greeted him as he peered at her with luminous, silvery eyes. If it weren't for Professor Skeelur and that awful Anarchis woman both having blue eyes, she'd seriously be starting to wonder if odd-coloured eyes were the norm in this strange world.

 "The pleasure is all mine," he replied. He walked around the counter with a tape measure in hand. "Now, let's see what we're working with."

 He released the tape measure, and it went to work on its own. It measured her height, the length of her arms, wrist circumference, palm width, the distance between her eyes, and a dozen other nonsensical measurements. A quill jotted down the information for Ollivander as he asked her about her dominant hand and when, where, and at what time she was born.

 By the end of it, she wasn't quite sure if he meant to sell her a wand, tailor her school uniform, or write up her astrological chart.

 He walked back around to the other side of the counter and searched the shelves, speaking to her as he went. "Each wand has its own unique personality," he explained. "The different wood types and wand cores have certain characteristics they bring to the table, with each individual tree and creature adding their own flair. Length and flexibility each play their parts. And, of course, the personality of the wizard the wand bonds with is the final ingredient. When you put all those pieces together, you get a wand that is unlike any that has ever existed or will exist again. The choosing of a wand is one of the most important moments in a young witch or wizard's life."

 Plucking a box from the shelf, he turned and smiled at her. Opening the box, he offered her the wand within. "Grapevine and dragon heartstring, 11", swishy."

 She took the wand and, having watched this process play out with Lark before her, gave it a little wave. Nothing happened, and Ollivander took the wand back, placing it back into the box before setting it aside. "You see, the wand chooses the wizard. If the wand decides you're not a good fit for it, it will refuse to perform for you or will perform poorly. You can use another's wand in a pinch, but neither you nor the wand will reach your full potential that way. Here, my goal is to match you with the perfect wand. I hate wasted potential."

 "How will I know if a wand is a perfect match?"

 "Oh, it will let you know. Now then, try this one on for size. Alder and unicorn hair, 13 inches, supple."

 Again, she tried waving the wand, and again nothing happened. Nothing happened with cedar and unicorn hair or aspen and dragon heartstring, either.

 As the pile of discarded wands grew, Piper began to wonder if Professor Skeelur had made a mistake. Maybe there was another Piper Cochran out there somewhere who was the real witch, waiting on a Hogwarts letter that would never come because it had been handed to her imposter, instead.

 "Maple and phoenix feather, 12 and a half inches, reasonably supple."

 Piper took the wand, and a feeling of warmth spread through her. She waved the wand, and a glowing ball of blue light shot from it, flew around the perimeter of the shop, and right out the window.

 Ollivander smiled, "An excellent wand! And an auspicious start to your new life as a witch. Both maple and phoenix feather are highly prized. For a wand of such calibre to choose you tells me that you can achieve greatness. But never rest on your laurels. Maple demands an adventurous and innovative spirit in its owner, or it will languish."

 "Really?" Piper breathed. "You aren't just saying that to make me feel better about myself?"

 "Why would I do that? I take my craft very seriously. If I believed you to be a mediocre witch in the making, I'd simply say nothing at all," Ollivander said matter-of-factly.

 "What about that last wand you sold?"

 "Yew and dragon heartstring? Why do you want to know? Taking a shine to wand lore already?"

 "Just curious."

 "Well, it's a powerful combination."

 "More powerful than maple and phoenix feather?"

 Ollivander hummed as he mulled the question over. "I would say so, yes. Phoenix feather will excel at any task you put it toward. But it's also stubborn. It makes you earn its excellence. But I find that those who are chosen by it are up to the challenge. Dragon heartstring possesses more brute strength and is easier to work with, but that isn't necessarily a good thing. You're more likely to accidentally blow yourself up with a dragon heartstring wand."

 She laughed but stopped when she realized neither Ollivander nor the professor was laughing with her. "You're serious?"

 "Quite. There's a reason magic requires so many years of schooling and why underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school. As for the wood, yew is rare and powerful. Some would say..."

 "Dark," Professor Skeelur cut in, and Ollivander frowned.

 "Yes, some would say that. Yew's reputation has been unfairly maligned over the centuries. I was going to say that yew is bold. It's attracted to the strong, the resolute. It appreciates a certain level of audacity in its owner. None of those qualities are inherently evil. Does that answer your question?"

 "I think so, thank you."

 Ollivander smiled again. "If you're still interested in wand lore after your fifth year, come see me. I might be persuaded to offer you a summer apprenticeship."

 Grinning, she thanked him again. He packaged up the wand as she counted out the money she owed him. "Your wand registration number is printed on a card inside the wand box. Don't lose it. You may need it someday, especially if you ever plan to travel to the states. They have strict permitting laws over there."

 She thanked him for a third time, and Professor Skeelur smirked at her as they left the shop. "Look at you. Your first day in the wizarding world, and you're already getting job offers."

 Her smile didn't fade for the rest of the day. This was going to be fun.

                                              ~*~*~

A/N: Okay, who made it this far?  Really?  Great!  Scale of 1-10, how interested are you in continuing to read this?

[aclosetfan]

hi so like

“i saw this and thought of you immediately”

if you want to for any ship HDHDHDHDHD

@over-under-through1 Okay, so, I gave ya greens last time, and you said ANY ship, so I decided to give my rare pair some love. And it’s just sweet pure brain rot. Anyway, as always, thanks for the prompt!!! 

Prompt: “I saw this and thought of you immediately” from the prompt list of ways to say “I love you” without actually saying it 😊 that whole list makes me go soft. Pairing: brick/bubbles 

Word count: 4696// this was supposed to be a drabble :)))))

Summary: I’ve got nothing witty to say. Bubbles just gives our boy a gift and he almost hemorrhages. 

(Bubbles’ love language would totally be gift-giving based on how crafty she is, my love language is definitely NOT gift giving so I hope this isn’t horrible)

Brick licked chip crumbs from his fingers as he flipped through the tv. On the floor, next to the recliner he had deemed his for the afternoon, his journalism partner—one seemingly disgruntled Blossom Utonium—was busy organizing their project into five hundred million different tasks. She was dividing them evenly, and despite her warnings and threats, he had already resigned to do his two hundred and fifty million assigned mini-steps last minute like usual. It was the same song and dance they did for every project they were paired up for, which was incredibly often and, frankly, not by choice, though now, he supposed he'd be a bit insulted if she went and picked a new partner after everything they had been through together.

Investigative Journalism 302 was supposed to be another blowoff class he had decided to take solely for the credits. Still, when it became clear to the professor that Brick wasn't going to be taking their class seriously, they had gone out of their way to ruin his life and pair him with Blossom Utonium. Despite the good A-quality content they churned out, it had not been an easy go around the first few times they had been paired together. They were too similar and too different in all the worst ways. She was too type-A to his type-B, and they were both too stubborn to admit when they were wrong. But, him and Blossom both had a penchant for sticking their noses in places they shouldn't, so somewhere along the line—probably around the time they had broken into More Co. to follow a lead and diffused a hostage situation at the Mayor's Manor—they figured it was easier to be friends, not enemies.

They were chalking up to be Townsville's resident Sherlock and Watson, except they both fancied themselves Sherlock and the other Watson, but, eh, what relationship was perfect?    

This time around, they were investigating some strange chemical. The only lead they had come from Blossom's own father. He had apparently said something "cryptic" over Sunday brunch that had launched Blossom into overdrive. Eavesdropping on one of her old man's telephone conversations, she had listened to him mutter about the letter X, failed mutations, a strict deadline, and an explosion that may or may not have been the same explosion at the 'abandon' smelting factory two weeks ago.

She took the information personally since it involved her father, but Brick had met the man before and didn't think there was an evil bone in his body. The lab he worked for, though, was an entirely different story. H.I. Mechanics was one hundred different kinds of shady.

Three days from now, Blossom had decided that he would need to have the, again, two hundred and fifty million preliminary tasks done before their big stakeout. She’d be lucky if he decided to do three of them, but he entertained her ramblings anyway because the longer he stuck around her place, the longer he got to bum her cable.

That had become their routine. Meet at Blossom's place, let her rant like an anal madwoman, ignore her in favor of the reality trash tv that he loved but could not afford at his own apartment, and then have whatever painstakingly thought-out plan Blossom had concocted backfire on them in the near distant future. The process was like clockwork.

"—and if we go in at that time, really, why would they refuse us entry? The records we're looking for should technically be public record, though they're no doubt redacted. We're going to have to—you're not listening to me, are you?"

"Yeah," he hummed, more focused on the reality tv season wrap-up reunion he was watching, then whatever she was talking about, "that sounds good."

"So, you're not." She snipped, and the tone of her voice caught his attention.

"Huh?" He glanced at her for a moment before looking back at the tv, "Not what?

"Listening to me." She gave him a cross look, stepping in front of the tv, "You're not listening to me.

"Whaaa?" He tried sounding offended as he attempted to shoo her out of the way, "Noooo, what gave you that impression?"

"Listen," she snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times, and he felt his face scrunch up in distaste—he wasn't a dog, "both of my sisters are going to be home soon, and I don't want them to get mixed up in all of this, so we need to drill out the details of this plan before they get home!"

Blossom lived with her sisters—Buttercup, and Bubbles—in a two-bedroom apartment close to the University in downtown Townsville. All three went to TownU, which wasn't too surprising to Brick. It was an incredibly good school, and he'd admit all three of them were smart, but still, three for three had to be a little weird, right? And to think, people accused him and his brothers of being joined at the hips.

He gave her a dry look as she walked back to her spot on the carpet. "We both know that's not how this works."

Blossom slammed the book she had opened shut, "You're impossible."

"I think you meant to say consistent." He spared her one last glance before settling back into the recliner, "Really, Bloss, how in the world do you think you'd be able to keep this one from them? At this point, my brothers just assume I'm at the center of the mayhem."

She tsked, but the lack of argument was deafening. After a moment, she sighed, and her shoulders dropped, "I just don't want them to get hurt. Not like last time."

"Don't know what you're so worried about." He drawled, "I recall them saving us, not the other way around."

"And I recall the scar that's now running up and down Butters' back." She shot back, "This time, there will be no mess-ups."

"Yeah, wanna bet on—"

"Home!" Buttercup's voice rang throughout the apartment as the front door was slammed open and shut, "How we feeling about take-out—Oh, sup, Brick. You good with Chinese tonight?"

"We're working on school stuff!" Blossom exclaimed, scrambling to cover up the more elicit details of their ‘homework.'

Buttercup rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip, "I can tell. What's it this time, huh? Something normal or is there a bomb threatening to reactivate the volcano in Townsville Central Park that I should be made aware of?"

"It's norm—"

"—mutants." He interrupted Blossom, "The man funding your dad's company is sups sketch."

Buttercup shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, "Does this have to do with that Chemical-X stuff dad was talking about?"

"Don't you have a shower you should be taking?" Blossom huffed, glaring at the both of them, "You just finished a run, I can tell; you smell like a pig."

"That's what tipped you off?" Buttercup snorted, "Not the copious amount of sweat dripping down my face? Hey," she nodded her head at them, "ask me how my run went."

Together, he and Blossom rolled their eyes and sighed, "How'd your run—"

"Really well, wow, thanks for asking!" Buttercup smiled, "I beat my average, sooo think hard about what where you want to order from for dinner tonight. We're celebrating! I already texted Bubs," Buttercup stuck her tongue out at them, "she was much more enthusiastic."  

"Then celebrate with her," Blossom frowned from her spot on the floor, fingering the edges of her notebook, "we've got a lot to finish tonight. I don't think we'll have—"

"Yeah, yeah. Listen here, hero-girl," Buttercup scowled, hands back on her hips, "you still gotta eat. Ima take a shower, you have till then to put the spy shit away. Speaking of spy shit," her glare shifted to him, "your brother done fixing my car yet?"

"Ask him, babe." He sniffed, looking pointedly at the tv, "I ain't the middleman."

He suppressed the urge to bulk as Buttercup lifted him up off the recliner by the collar of his shirt. A dark smile snuck its way across her face as she leaned close into him, "Considering the fact that you owe me for getting it destroyed in the first place, baby, then I think you are."

"A lesson in forgiveness would do you well, but fine, I'll ask." He sneered back, unwillingly to show the dread that ran up his spine when he saw the look in her eyes, "You do realize, though, it'd be faster if you just called—"

"Nope!" She sang, dropping him back down in the seat, like nothing had just transpired between them, "If he wants my number, he has to ask for it!" She walked down the hall towards the bathroom, "I don't make the rules."

He scowled, watching her walk away before turning his head back to Blossom, "She's lucky I owe her."

"You're lucky," Buttercup called from down the hallway, "that I saved your sorry ass!"

Blossom snorted, and he shot her a dirty look, "Don't encourage her."

"Oh, be quiet," Blossom snickered, "just watch TV like you always do, and I'll put—"

"I'm home!" A high, singsong voice rang through the house, as the door was once again thrown open, and his heart palpitated without permission. He forced his eyes to focus on the tv, and if Blossom noticed how he sunk low into the recliner, she thankfully didn't say anything.

"In here!" Blossom called back, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as Bubbles stuck her head around the corner. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the tv and tried his best not to seem at all interested as she practically danced her way into the room. She was always practically dancing everywhere she went. It was annoying.

"Blossy, oh my god, you will not believe what—Brick!" She exclaimed, shoving a finger in his face when she noticed he was in the room, "Wai—Brick Jojo! Do not move from that spot!"

He blinked and looked around at the spot he had forged for himself in their living room. His bookbag, snack bags, disregarded textbooks, and his jacket littered the space around him, and his body had imprinted into the recliner's seat cushions, so when he looked back at Bubbles and gave her a dry look, he meant it when he said, "Yeah, wasn't planning on it."

He looked away quickly when she beamed at him. Her smile was bright, sweet, and dimply, and also very annoying. People couldn't always be so immovably happy, could they?

Bubbles giggled and did a little hoppy-dance before she calmed down and looked back at him, "Ahhh, okay!" She wagged a finger at him, "You stay! I've got a surpriiiisseee for you."

"Again," He huffed, ignoring all the less-than-innocent surprise scenarios his traitorous brain played through, "wasn't going anywhere."

"If you're not going anywhere, why don't you actually do some work while you wait." Blossom's voice bit through the air, but he ignored her, going back to flipping through the tv.

"Yeeepp," He popped, his tone no drier than hers, "wasn't planning on that either."

 Blossom mumbled to herself and looked at Bubbles, "Before you go, can you help me with these books? I'm putting them in my bedroom."

Bubbles held out her arms, moving around the recliner and out of his field of vision, "No prob-lamo, chica! What's this all for?"

"Don't worry about it." Blossom brushed Bubbles off, and her sister giggled again.

"What?" The blonde snorted, "Is there a bomb in the volcano?"

He could practically hear the way Blossom stiffened, "Why does everyone keep saying—do people think there's a bomb in the—"

"Blossom!" He groaned, "I'm fucking hungry, hurry up."

She hmphed and stomped out of the living room with Bubbles presumably following, so he relaxed in his seat, ready to blow out the deep breath he was holding when Bubbles' visage filled his vision.

Her smile crinkled the corners of her baby blue eyes, and the back of his neck instantly warmed at the proximity. He wasn't one for people invading his personal space, but Bubbles literally had no freaking concept of it. She was always shoving her face in his. So, unfortunately, Brick was very aware of the sun freckles that littered their way throughout her cheeks and it was particularly distressing because staring at her face made it easier to forget the No Touching Rule he was pretty adamant about people following.

"Stay." She reminded him; her tone tinged with lingering laughter. This close, she smelt like the physical embodiment of a bakery, and it took a significant amount of willpower to pull his eyes away from her.

"Whatever." He mumbled.

With another giggle—always with the dumb giggling—she was gone, and he was finally alone to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a string of particularly nasty curse words at himself. Objectively, he was well aware that Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were…attractive, but he was never actually supposed to be attracted to any of them. They were the girls. They were just the girls. Ever since he had known them, they had been just the girls.

Blossom had a stick up her ass.

Buttercup could probably disembowel him.

And Bubbles giggled and smiled.

And it didn't matter if she giggled and smiled at him. Because she giggled and smiled at everything. She was one of those people, the kind of person that gave someone their undivided attention in a room full of people. She was good at making people feel good about themselves. She didn’t do it just for him. No see, if he was attracted to Bubbles, which he wasn't, it was because she was very good at making all people feel seen. So, he wasn't special. He wasn't. And it just—she would…he wasn't used to people just automatically assuming the good in him. People so optimistic tended to avoid him.

The positive attention was just making his head spin, making things confusing, and that was it. He wasn't one of those sad, lonely guys who mistook niceness for flirting. He had a clear head on his shoulders. It was just attention he was unused to. And it was a kind of attention he didn't need. Bubbles was just a nuisance. Her personality was too sweet. They were so different. Even if he did actually end up somehow magically liking her, it wouldn't work between them in a million years.

Besides, everyone already knew that pretty social butterflies didn't actually go for anti-social dweebs. Real-life wasn't an overdramatic coming-of-age rom-com. Realistically, she probably went for guys like Boomer.

He let out a shaky breath and turned up the volume on the tv. Some housewife was crying about something laughably petty, but he couldn't find it in himself to smile.

A second later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of hands clasped together over his eyes. He only relaxed when he heard Bubbles voice nice and warm next to his ear. "Peak-a-boo," she laughed, "guess who!"

He ignored the way her breath tickled his neck and frowned into the darkness, "A heart attack?"

"Oof, so close!" She snorted, releasing her hands from his face and leaning around the recliner, so he could see her smiling at him, "It's Bubbles!"

"Hello, Bubbles." He droned, not resisting the way his eyes rolled but fighting the way his mouth was trying to twitch into a smile.

"Ready for your surpriiisse!" She sang, walking around the chair so she could stand in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. He pressed his way further into the recliner after their knees knocked together, distancing himself from her.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "What is it?"

"It's a gift!" She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, still smiling.

"Okaayyy." He reached a hand out with grabby fingers, "Let's get this over with, give it here."

She tilted her head back and laughed, a real honest belly laugh, before she looked down at him again, and suddenly, he felt tiny under her gaze. "Oh, my goodness, Brick," She chided, "I'm not just gonna hand it to you! Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

He adjusted the brim of his hat lower down his face and looked away, "I don't—"

"I said—" she repeated, reaching a hand out to pull his hat down completely over his eyes, "Close your eyes!"

"Fine." He hissed, trying to sound as grumpy as he was pretending to be and readjusted his hat as he shut his eyes, "They're closed. Happy?"

"Hold out your hands!"

He sighed but complied, and after a bit of shuffling on Bubbles' part, something small was placed in his hands.

"Okay," she announced, "now open your eyes!"

He opened his eyes and stared at the little…thing in his hands. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he figured it was some kind of fluffy…hat…keychain? He didn't know. He gave it a quizzical look before returning his stare to Bubbles.

"Ta-da!" she sang, accompanied by a pair of jazz hands, before she clapped them together, "Do you like it!"

"What…is it?"

There was a pause, and the smile on Bubbles's face fell away. "What is it!" She huffed, cheeks puffed out like an angry chipmunk, which was the worst angry face she could have because it just made her cuter, "It's a dog keychain!"

"This—" he held the keychain up for both of them to examine, "—is not a dog. It's a ball of fluff."

Bubbles' mouth dropped open, "It totally is! Look," she snatched it out of his hands, smooshing the fluff down so she could show off its' pointed ears, stubby little legs, and tail, "see! Puppy! A little Pomeranian! Baby puppy! Puppy, puppy, puppy!"

With something akin to bloodcurdling embarrassment pulsing through his veins, he watched as Bubbles continued to baby talk the offensive keychain, placing a tiny peck on its' small nose.

"And look!" She gushed, shoving it back into his face, "Look at its wittle red hat!" She squealed, bring it back to her so she could cuddle it to her face, "It's so cute I can't even!" Without warning, she dropped into his lap, which was around the same time his heart dropped into his stomach, "I saw it and thought of you immediately!"

He froze at the admission. He had never once thought of himself as someone who short-circuited very often, but people didn't compare him to a cute Pomeranian keychain very often either. In fact, he had been called a lot of things in his short lifespan—wiseass, smartass, punkass, there was a very consistent theme of derogatory titles thrown at him on the daily—but cute Pomeranian was not one of them. And, frankly, he couldn't say he was a fan.

"Are you comparing me to a Pomeranian?" He sneered, momentarily forgetting the fact that Bubbles Utonium was making herself comfortable on his lap, and he was neglecting to stop her.  

"Duh!" She said rather flippantly, pushing the brim of his hat up and off his face, so they could look at each other. Another definite no-no that he was too flabbergasted to address.

"I would not be a Pomeranian!" He argued when he collected his jaw off the ground.  

"Uhhh, yes, you would, lol." She argued back, playing with the fluffy little keychain in her hands. She kissed its face again, and in turn, his face only got hotter.

"Uhhhhhh," he mocked, "no, I wouldn't be."

She looked up from the keychain and gave him a somewhat patronizing look, "Yes, you would be."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

She laughed, "Brick, yes! You're just like a Pomeranian! You're super intelligent, curious, feisty, you like being the center of attention," she looked off for a second in thought, waving a hand in the air as she talked, "and you've definitely got some tiny dog syndrome in you."

He blinked at her, gaping, as his brain worked overload to find something to dispute in that analysis, but when he couldn't find any, he spat at her, "Why do you know all this shit about Pomeranians, huh?"

"They're one of my favorite breeds!" Her face lit up, "They're just so cute! I love them! And you remind me of them, so I got this for you!" She held the keychain up again, "It's so cute!"

His mind ground to a sudden halt as the words' cute' and 'love' and 'you' repeatedly echoed in his head. His heart hammered away in his chest, and in his panic, he contemplated throwing her off his lap and burning the whole apartment complex to the ground. What was one more arson charge on his record, anyway?  

"Bubs—stop saying…so what?" He asked, floundering before changing tactics. She wasn't the only one who could say embarrassing shit. "Does that mean you think I'm cute or something?" He flirted with a smirk, but it was only after the sentence left his mouth that he remembered Bubbles Utonium didn't get embarrassed. She smiled and giggled.

And that continued to ring turn even now, as she laughed, wrapping her arms around hia neck, she squeezed him. Only letting go of him slightly, to the bring the keychain up to his face, so she could bop the little dog’s nose and his nose together. "Of course!" She agreed, "Cute as a button!"

"N-no!" He sputtered.

"No," she pulled away from the crook of his neck, tilting her head in question, "what?"

"No," he sneered, "I'm not cute like a button."

She considered this for a second, tapping the keychain to her face, before shooting him a broad smile, "Handsome? Is that better?" Mirth tinkled in her big doe eyes, "You're our handsome boy?"

"That's worse!" He complained almost hysterically, running a frantic hand through his hair, knocking the hat he had somehow forgotten he had on from his head.  

"Aw, Brick, come on," She rolled her eyes, catching the hat before it fell to the ground and plopping it on her head, "what do you want me to say then?"

"The truth never hurt," He spat as if he hadn't lied through his teeth at least three different times this week to three professors that he couldn't attend class because his beloved family pet 'Insert Name Here' had died.

Bubbles pouted, "But I told you the truth! I think you're handsome!" She held up the keychain, and with a horribly fake and cheesy deep voice, she used the gift as a puppet, "You're the most handsomest boy in the whole world!"

She solidified her point by making the keychain kiss his nose once more before pulling back to gape at him, "Wow, see even Mr. Puppy agrees with me!"

"Oh, right," he shook his head, in mock agreement, "a handsome boy with little dog syndrome, right?"

"Well," she shrugged, waving him off, "I never said you were charming."

His retort was caught off with a giggle, and she made the keychain kiss his nose once, then twice, and then his breath hitched as a third wet kiss was planted on his cheek by Bubbles herself. She pulled back with a coy smile.

"Brick…" she hummed, trailing off, and something about her tone made him swallow thickly.

"Y-yeah." He finally pushed out after a moment.

"Can I play with your hair?" She asked, leaning forward, laying her head on his shoulder as she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, and he swore his soul left his body. No one, absolutely no one, touched his hair. No one wore his hat. No one sat on his lap. And here she was. And here he was. And he wasn't stopping her like he should have been.

"Uhh, umm, I—uhh—"

"Bubs, jeez!"

He jumped, choking on his own spit, as Buttercup marched into the room, her hair still dripping wet.

"Seriously, personal space, you're making him uncomfortable." Buttercup huffed, one hand on her hip as he gestured to his face, which was probably redder than his hat.

"Uncomfy!" Bubbles shot up, and a guilty look flashed across her face as she took in his face, "Ah, shoot, sorry, is this too much?" She took her arms away from his neck and wrung her hands together, for the first time blushing, "I just get too excited sometimes! I have a lotta love in my heart, ya know?" She finished with a bashful chuckle.

The small distance between them actually made it a little easier to think again, but she didn't need to know that. Embarrassed by the noticeable flush of his face and his reaction to Buttercup catching them, Brick shrugged and looked away, "You're fine."

That was apparently not good enough for Bubbles because she pleaded again, "I'm sorry!"

"I said," he hissed, wishing she'd drop it, "you're fine!"

"I'm still so sorry!" Looking back over, he was surprised to see her lower lip wobbling, "I shouldn't have forgotten!" She put her hands on her face, squishing her cheeks, as tears began to well in her eyes, and he sent a frantic look over towards Buttercup, "I know you're not a hugger, I should have asked and—"

"—Bubs, he said he was fine." Buttercup interjected again, "Now, you're just making him uncomfortable all over!"  

Bubbles looked from Buttercup to him, back to Buttercup, and then finally to him once more. "You're fine?" She clarified, “This is okay?”

And all he could do was nod, "Yep."

Visibly relaxing, her eyes became less and less watery, and she shot him a relieved look.

"Sheesh." Buttercup mumbled and walked away, "zero to one hundred. Bloss!" She called out, "Come save your poor counterpart from the clutches of cuddly evil over here and let's order the food!"

"What!" Blossom called from her room down the hall.

With an exasperated huff on Buttercup’s part and something more frantic on his part, they both yelled out, "Food!" and there was a scoff from the bedrooms.

"No need to yell!" She shot back, "I'm coming!"

Buttercup shook her head before jabbing her thumb in the direction of their tiny kitchen and announced, "I'm getting the take-out menus."

Bubbles nodded and then, beamed when she noticed Blossom had walked into the room.

"Blossom! Look at this cute keychain I got for Brick!" She cooed, her eyes bright and excited again, which would have brought him some relief if she hadn't opened her big mouth and kept talking, "Doesn't it remind you of him? It's a Pomeranian!"

Face aflame once more, he snapped, "I'm not a Pomeranian!"

"Ho—ly shit!" Obnoxious laughter floated its way out of the kitchen that only made him grind his teeth, "He totally is!"  

"It's the little dog syndrome." Blossom agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the crude gesture he shot her way as she walked past him towards the kitchen, "BC, let's order from Lee's!"

"No way!" Buttercup argued, "Pa Changs!"

He turned back to Bubbles, who, despite it all, had yet to remove herself from his lap. He was about to make some remark about him pushing her off of his lap in the next three seconds, but the way her eyes flinted over his face made him pause. When she realized she had been caught staring, she smiled once more, bright and beaming, and his heart did another funny little dance.

"You like it, right?" She tilted her head, holding the keychain up so it dangled between them, "I…I can take it back if you want."

Her smile fell the slightest of fractions along with his heart.

"No!" His hand shot out, taking hold of the keychain, "It's—I like it, whatever." He sniffed and turned his head away, "So quit the kicked puppy shit, alright?"

Another smile. Another giggle. It felt like a sick joke, but Brick was pretty sure he was falling in love.

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

A/N: That’s right! It seems the only way I can write romance is with a shit ton of pining!!!! To love is to long, I guess. It’s a little awkward in some places, but it was for fun, so I decided to cut myself some slack and post it anyway! I hope you like it!!! The pairing doesn’t get a lot of love, but I think opposites attract dynamic is so so so cute.

Also, sorry this took me forever! First, I got distracted looking at cute dog pics and then halfway through writing the drabble I was like “hey what if I stuck Blossom in this and she and Brick solved mysteries??” So, then I lived with that AU floating around in my head rent-free, and now, finally, here we are. ANYWAY, in this AU, Blossom is in a very sapphic relationship with Princess, who, along with HIM, is the main antagonist. The Professor is the damsel in distress btws. Brick and Bubbles are disgusting cute. Boomer’s gay, who for tho?? Who knows! Not me! But he’s a freelancer, who’s hardcore freeloading off of Brick and Butch, and that’s all you really need to know. Buttercup has big Mom Friend vibes. Also, Butch is a mechanic and playfully flirts with Buttercup, which she thinks is funny until he actually starts really flirting with her, and then she’s like “um, sir, I am a maiden???” b/c she is actually both shy and a prude. (And you know I like my greens) Anyway, el oh el, it’s a good time.

inspo for the keychain (and brick):

[sunflowerhae]

-> Forgotten Love [M.L]

Requested by • @sweetie-yoongi7 hope you like it bb!✨🐌🍄

•3.7k

warnings• slight verbal abuse, language, a fight 👊💥😤

“Write about an experience where someone you love hurt you. Explain the situation, what was done or said, how you both responded, and what the outcome was. Must be 5 full pages long, and in MLA format. God, how annoying is that? I mean, what do I write about, my mom not letting me get McDonald’s one time because we had food at home?” You scoffed while pushing yourself back into your chair at the cool, air conditioned coffee shop you currently found yourself in. Summer was just officially ending, and October was creeping it’s way into the year, which meant the air wasn’t exactly hot, but it definitely wasn’t cool enough to walk around with a jacket on. You found solace in the beige and dark brown toned drink house, that smelled like coffee beans and lured in customers with its smooth jazz playlist. You were thankful Mark picked this place to have your little date in between classes, for the chill ambiance calmed down your irritated interior.

While you loved your creative writing class, and you absolutely adored your professor, you couldn’t help but be slightly pissed off at the writing prompt she randomly assigned you. You stared at it for what seemed like hours during class, no specific moment like described coming to your conscious. You were still thinking about it as you finally looked up at Mark’s shrunken frame, and the prompt was easily forgotten as worry took over your emotions.

“Babe? Are you okay?” At your concerned tone, Mark lifted his head to meet you eyes, before quickly looking back down at his coffee. He kept glancing between your eyes and his drink, while you patiently waited for him to explain what was bothering him.

Mark scratched the back of his neck, before looking back up at you one final time, and huffing out a soft sigh. “I know what you can write about.” He had barely even mumbled it, so neither of you were surprised when you asked him to repeat himself.

“I..know what you can write about.” The way Mark refused to look you in the eyes, and the tone of his voice, lead you to believe you knew what he was talking about, and you knew he didn’t want to say it.

You and Mark were an amazing couple.

You liked the same music, you both had the same sense of humor, and you were both equally loving towards each other and your friends. You were the two oldest people in your younger friend group, and two of the youngest in your older friend group. You both balanced it out quite well, and set an example for both groups as a healthy relationship while you did it.

But that’s not to say you were perfect.

It was a year ago, to be exact. You were both at the beginning of your sophomore year of college, and the priorities were starting to stack for both of you. Mark -being a music major- had to write a song and collab with the dance majors to make a dance for the song in about two months and turn it in as a beginning of the year exam. Meanwhile, you -being a film major- had to make a small movie using the theater kids as your actors; due in a month. To top on to all the stress, you had both recently moved in together, and had barely started unboxing before the projects got thrust at you.

You hadn’t noticed he was distancing himself from you, at first.

You were so distracted with your project, that every time he would blow off eating dinner together, or would stay at the school until well into the night, you didn’t complain much; just trying to finish your project and get a good grade. It wasn’t until a month later that you started to see that something was wrong. You had finished your project and had gotten amazing grades, and all you wanted to do was go out on a nice date with your boyfriend; something you hadn’t done in about a month. You texted him the time and place to meet you at, to dress nice, and that you’d be waiting with a surprise. You had seen the small “read 3:14pm” under the text, and while you were a bit puzzled as to why he didn’t respond, you didn’t worry about it too much - seeing as lately that was his thing - and just got ready for the night you hoped would be just as amazing as the day was.

You thought you looked pretty beautiful.

Your hair was nicely done, your nails were painted marks favorite color, and the black, tight dress with sleeves hanging off the side accentuated your body and breasts perfectly. You had even sent Haechan a picture to make sure it was “hot,” to which he replied that Mark’s a lucky man, which made you smile. You were looking fine tonight, and while you had had a reason to celebrate, you couldn’t wait to give Mark your all tonight.

{for more effect, I suggest playing It Happened Quiet by AURORA here}

You took your seat in the dimly lit restaurant that was definitely too expensive for a music and film major, and waited for your water that was requested to the waiter to arrive. With a quick glance at the time on your phone, you realized Mark wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes or so. So you just sat there, trying to distract yourself from the excessive amount of bread on your table, and watched the clock count down until 7:30, when Mark should be arriving.

7:40 rolled around and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the door like it just did you super dirty. While it was just 10 minutes late, Mark was never one to be late.

Okay, that’s a lie, but he was never late to these type of things. And you perfectly timed it so that he would have time to get home from school, change, and then get to the restaurant. You quickly shot Mark a “you on your way?” text, before setting down your phone, trying not to be the clingy girlfriend, and keep your hope that Mark would be there soon.

Yet, by the time the clock struck 9, and your bread was stale and you had drank enough water to definitely get a bladder infection if you didn’t pee soon, your hope was completely dead. You silently got up from your seat and gave a small smile and nod to the hostess - who shot a sympathetic smile to you - before pushing the door of the restaurant open and walking toward your car.

You tried not to cry on the way home, but when you walked through the front door to see a dark and cold apartment, indicating that Mark had not yet come home, you couldn’t help but let the tears fall at the thought of something happening to him. You had called and texted him multiple times, and when he answered none of them, you even called the hospital to see if they had seen a patient that fit Mark’s description, or had someone named Mark Lee come in. You called all the hospitals in your area, in fact, but nothing came up. Your last hope was someone you actually didn’t want to call. Not because you didn’t want to call her, but because you didn’t want what you’re thinking to be true. But when all of your friends said they hadn’t heard from him, you had almost no choice.

“Hello?” Her chipper voice on the other end made you want to cringe, but you held it together.

“If Mark is in the room, don’t say my name. It’s y/n. Is mark with you?”

Yerim honestly didn’t know what to say. She stuttered a bit on the other end, before clearing her throat and mumbling a, “yes”.

You sighed and gave a half hearted, “okay, don’t tell him I called or anything, okay? Can you just, like, pretend you never even talked to me? Thanks Yeri,” hanging up the phone before she could answer.

You didn’t know how you felt about Mark working on a school project with his ex. When you had met Mark, it was at a college party during freshman year, around a year or so ago, actually. He had just been through a terrible breakup with his high school sweetheart who was - you guessed it - Yeri. If you were being honest with yourself, you knew you were the rebound. You just, fell so hard for him in the short time you had known him that, it didn’t really matter. You guessed somewhere along the way, Mark actually did fall for you, because he stayed, and he said he loved you, and you moved in together. Because of this, and because of the fact that Yeri was never brought up, you didn’t feel too insecure about your relationship.

But now that you’re sitting on the couch in silence, thinking about the fact that your boyfriend ditched your date to hang out with his ex, you can’t help but feel a bit unconfident in where your standing was with Mark. You slowly started realizing that Mark had, in fact, been distancing himself the past month; choosing to instead spend time with his ex-girlfriend instead of the girl that he claimed he loved.

Jealously and insecurities bit away at your insides when you heard the door slowly being unlocked from the outside. Looking at your phone, you realized it was 11:32pm. You had called Yeri at 10:15, so you suppose she honored your request to not tell Mark you called.

Mark was surprised to see you sitting on the couch when he walked in. He had figured that you would have gone to bed already. It was quite late for a Friday for you, seeing as this was the day you usually went to bed early; tired from the week. He felt guilty looking at you, so he choose to train his eyes on anything besides your crumbled figure on the couch. Meanwhile, you stood up, trying to catch his gaze.

“Mark. Where were you tonight?” Your harsh infliction made Mark slightly flinch. He wanted to apologize, because he knows what he missed. And when he finally did look at you, he felt even more guilty, because you looked quite upset about the situation, and you also looked absolutely beautiful tonight. Your black dress fit your body and extenuated your curves perfectly. Your hair was done gorgeously, and he could tell you spent a long time on your makeup. Mark did want to apologize, but when you said,

“Do you even care about this relationship, I mean it seems like all you’ve done lately is ignore me-”

Mark had almost seen red. Every little thing bothering him lately just...boiled over. He wasn’t thinking before he spoke, which never worked for him; this time wasn’t so different.

“God, shut up! Just shut up! All you do is talk! This is why I prefer to spend my time with Yeri, because she’s not so extreme like you always are! You’re not even half the women Yeri is, and you’ll never be! Sometimes I wish I hadn’t picked you to be my rebound for her an-“ Mark stopped himself from talking by clamping his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

He hadn’t meant that.

He had not meant that.

He was just so upset by everything lately, and he spoke without thinking, like an absolute idiot.

But you didn’t know that. The tears streaming out of your eyes and the wobbling chin showed that for him. He reached out for you and took a step forward, only for you to take a step back, which basically broke Mark in half.

“Y/n I...” Nothing was said between you too, what was there to be said? To you, Mark had finally shown how he had really felt for the past month or so. You gave him one last look, before walking past him, putting on your heels - which were the fastest thing you could slip on - and quickly opening the door.

At the sound of the door, Mark snapped out of his daze, and rushed after you. “Y/n, no! Give me the keys, you can’t drive right now!”

Your tears had, in fact, gotten worse, but you said nothing to Mark as you picked up your pace to the parking lot of your apartments. Mark almost caught up with you, but you sped up even faster, which silently baffled him because you were wearing heals.

You finally got into the car and quickly got in to the drivers seat and locked the door just as mark arrived at the door. He was practically begging you not to go, and pleading to open the door. You just cried more and put your keys into the ignition, before backing out and driving out; Mark feeling like he was watching his whole life drive away from him.

{for more effect, I suggest playing Forgotten Love by AURORA here. You may have to play it multiple times.}

It had been three months since that incident. Three months since you and Mark talked. Three months of you being single. You, unfortunately, had a basic math class with Mark, and while you two used to sit in the corner together, you now both sat on opposite sides of the classroom. Or you in the front - him in the back. Wherever the first one in sat, the other sat on the opposite side.

Mark felt like he went through hell and back in those three months. He felt incredibly bad for what he said to you, and the fact that after that night, he didn’t try to get you back at all. The Monday after, you just sat on opposite ends, quietly agreeing that it was over. You had gotten all your stuff from the apartment, and luckily Haechan had a spare room you could live in.

Speaking of Haechan, your friend group was absolutely baffled when you both told them you had broken up. It had seemed like just a month before, you two were completely in love with each other; on the same page and everything. Then a month later; it’s over. They didn’t know who they should invite where, but you both reassured them (seperately. You both were just secretly on the same page still, without knowing it.) that you would be fine at the same social events.

You, of course, didn’t factor in that you would be watching your ex-boyfriend bring girls up to random rooms in his friends frat during parties. And that at bonfires, you would see him kissing random girls cheeks from across the fire. Or that, when you all had a group study date, he would bring a girl that none of you knew. You didn’t factor in that your ex-boyfriend would actively go out of his way to hurt you.

Truthfully, Mark didn’t do it to hurt you. He did it because if he didn’t hook up with girls at frat parties, he would drink too much and end up trying to kiss you. And if he didn’t flirt with girls at bonfires, he would spend the whole time staring at your from across the fire. And if he didn’t bring a girl to the study dates, he would break his pencils in anger when jaemin would wrap his arm around you in affection. But, at every event, no matter who he was with, Mark always failed.

He couldn’t stop stealing glances at you from across the fire while you laughed at something Nayeon - Johnny’s girlfriend - said to you. He couldn’t stop himself from breaking his pencils under the table when jaemin played with the tips of your hair. And he always ended up leaving the girls before anything happened at frat parties because he couldn’t stop wishing it was you.

It was actually at a frat party that Mark had gotten you back.

You were trying to have a good time. You didn’t come to the frat parties much, because the pain of seeing Mark lead a girl upstairs hurt you so much, you felt like your chest was on fire. But Haechan had all but begged you show up to this one, and you would have never declined anyway; It was Taeil’s birthday, after all.

You were dancing with Dahyun and Chaeyoung when you felt two hands grip your waist. You expected it to be one of the guys, so you turned with a smile on your face, only to come face to face with a man you had never met. The smile on your face dropped, and you took a step back from his grip.

He gave you a sick smile, and moved forward, back into your space.

“Hey, pretty girl. Wanna dance?”

“No.” You exclaimed disgustingly, before trying to move away from the unknown man. However, that proved difficult as his grip on your wrist was quite violent, and strong. You winced, and kept tugging on your hand, to no avail.

“Leave me alone, I don’t want to dance with you.” You kept pushing your arm back, but he just tugged you closer to his chest. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, and felt sick to your stomach at what was about to happen. At the thought, you started wiggling out of his grip at a faster speed.

“Bitch, stop moving-“

“Call her a bitch one more fucking time, asshole.” You opened your eyes to see a small group has formed around you, your mystery creeper, and..Mark?!

“Get lost, man. This ones mine.”

Mark was seeing red again.

“She’s...not ....PROPERTY!” and with that final statement, Mark swung his fist and you ducked just in time for the weirdo to be struck in the face and loosen his grip on you completely. You pushed yourself forward, and ran behind Mark, to the open arms of your friends, who - as you understand - ran to get mark the minute they saw you struggling.

Mark fought this dude almost twice his size for a minute, and he was about to be taken out, before he locked eyes with you, and the power surged through him. One final punch to the unknown asshole, and he was on floor. Everyone cheered, and some people were already picking up his body, chanting “POOL! POOL! POOL!” But the noise faded out as Mark strides up to you, takes your hand, and drags you upstairs. He pushes you both into a bathroom, where you suddenly take charge as you force him down on the seat, and look through the cabinet for a first aid kit.

You and Mark say nothing as you rub his cut with alcohol. At the sudden sting, Mark hisses and places his hands on your hips, gripping them harshly to push himself through the burn. You can’t help but let your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of the love of your life’s hands on you again. You felt like you had lived a thousand years without water, and were suddenly given a water bottle.

You didn’t realize how long you stood there, relishing in the feeling of Marks hands on you. Mark had opened his eyes, to see you with your eyes closed and you hands clasped together in front of your chest - the cotton ball resting in your hands. Mark pulled you closer to him with a whimper, and when you opened your eyes back, you saw that you were significantly closer to Mark, and that he had tears threatening to fall.

With a cough, you looked back at the first aid kit and pushed yourself out of Mark’s strong grip. Another couple of minutes went by in silence, before Mark finally let out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Your movements halted, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look down at the sad boys eyes.

“I spoke before thinking. I didn’t really mean the things I said, I was just stressed out from school, a-and, fuck I don’t know, y/n. I just..”

Mark was crying now, and he leaned down and placed his hands in his hands. You stepped back in surprise with wide eyes. “I just want you back. I want my girlfriend back. I want to love you again and spend a decade and then some apologizing for what I said. I’m such a fucking idiot I know I don’t deser-“

You shut him up by pushing his shoulders back up, sitting on his lap with your legs on either side of him (terribly hard to do on a toilet, but you’re a master), and kissing him like a woman starved. Mark quickly falls into your lips, and brings his hands up and under your butt, effectively scooping you up a bit.

You don’t know how long you and Mark sat there kissing, but when Yuta walked into the bathroom to pee and had to see two twenty year olds kissing, he never let you live it down.

You smile fondly at the memory, before looking back up at your lover, awkwardly sitting across from you. Before you know it, you’re leaning forward and taking his hand in yours.

“I’m not going to write about that. That was a personal thing between us, and I honestly don’t want to relive that moment longer than I have already. I’m going to write about the time my cousin stole my DS.” You laughed, and Mark visibly relaxed at hearing you weren’t going to write about it. While he had suggested it, that was because he wanted you to feel like you could talk about it if you wanted, but the truth is he hated reliving those three months too. He remembers what terrible state he was in without you, and he doesn’t like to think about it.

You knew he was dwelling on it, so you stood up slightly from the table and leaned down to kiss Mark - who saw what you were doing and met you half way. You both gave each other a few more pecks before you whispered, “I forgive you, always and forever. And I love you.”

[tootiredmotel]

That damn front door (or “Hey, TK”)

Read on AO3 

Word count: 6.8k

After months of living with his dad, TK finally gets his own place, only to find that his next door neighbor is that handsome police officer he's been crushing on from afar.

---

“Any other day. Any day but today. Why today?” TK muttered as he turned off the ignition and pulled up his hoodie. “It never rains in Austin. Except for today. Why.” He sat there for just a minute, head against the back of his seat and fingers fiddling with the cord of his hood, all the while entranced by the drizzle hitting the pavement and the raindrops racing down his windshield. TK was never one to turn down a rainy day, he loved them, but only when he had the choice to stay in; Hulu or Netflix browsing and some hot chocolate, or perhaps practicing on the guitar that no one knew he owned, while any and all outside distractions were blocked out by the curtain of white noise that was a steady rainfall outside his window? A perfect day in his book. He’d get plenty of those in New York during the late summer, and he made the most of them on the few days he had off from work, but in the five months he’d spent in Austin, not once had there been a rainy day such as this one.

And it just had to be the day he was moving into his new house.

It was 6am on a Sunday, his one day off, and his dad had all but dragged him off the bed. Owen was otherwise occupied that day with a certain professor of psychology, but he had helped TK pack and stuff all the remaining boxes into the car the night before (not to mention, he was lending TK the Cherokee in the first place), so he couldn't exactly complain. He could still, however, curse under his breath as much as he wanted, which is exactly what he did as he willed himself to get out of the car and run back to the trunk. 

He was struggling to get it open (because of course, it was going to give him trouble now) when he heard another car pull up behind him. He hoped and prayed for lightning to strike him down then and there, as it would be less embarrassing than being seen for the first time struggling with his car by one of his new neighbors, but the trunk popped open before he could finish the thought; perhaps a little too suddenly, since it almost hit him in the chin. It was a day of almost-bad luck for him.

Half curiosity and half paranoia forced him to take a peek over his shoulder, but the rain and darkness of the early morning wouldn't let him make out the person in the driver's seat of the Camaro. The car was still running even though it was parked, meaning the person was maybe waiting for the rain to let up, therefore, they'd see TK's entire ordeal. So TK, being TK and looking to make an impression, took a box, then another, then piled a third on top before realizing his abysmal mistake. The tower of boxes came up to his nose if he held his head up.

With much effort and coordination between his left arm and his torso, he managed to shut the trunk, cursing his father for not investing in the hands-free feature for the car. He then heard the Camaro turn off behind him and the driver's door opening, prompting TK to resume his silent request for lightning to make quick work of him.

"Here, let me help you with that," He heard the person's voice through the spattering of the rain. Any second now, lightning, TK thought.

Not wanting to come off as rude, he turned around and let them take the top two boxes before immediately facing the ground to hide his face under his hood.

It was him.  It was the hot cop.

Every once in a while (multiple times in a week, if he was lucky), TK would spot this hunk of a policeman on calls or patrolling around town, but he’d never get the chance to talk to him. He was damn good at his job, and TK had once or twice seen him respond to the name 'Reyes'. That's all he knew about the man, apart from the fact that his patrol uniform was just tight enough around his shoulders to make TK stare without meaning to. And now, he knew that his smile could make even a day this bleak look brighter.

TK muttered a quick thanks as he briskly made his way towards the door of his new modern home, Hot Cop Reyes following close behind. Once under the small roof of the entryway, waiting for TK to open the front door, Hot Cop balanced the boxes against his torso with one hand and used the other to shake the rain out of his curls. He must've noticed TK staring out of the corner of his eye, because he smiled at him again, and TK turned away so as to not be blinded by the sight. He was fumbling to get the key into the knob when Hot Cop spoke up.

"Are you new to Austin?"

God, even his voice was hot. TK had heard him yelling orders before, from a distance, and that was enough to make his breath hitch; hearing him up close, casual and easy and right over TK's shoulder, it made the hairs at the nape of his neck rise. Good thing he was wearing a hoodie.

He snapped himself out of it to mumble a reply. "Uh no, I- I've um, I've been here a few months."

Smooth, TK.

He finally got the lock open, wondering why every single door that stood in his way that morning was out to get him, and led Hot Cop inside.

There wasn't much in the house yet; a couch, a wall-mounted TV, a half-stocked fridge, a couple of kitchen appliances, and enough in the bedroom and bathroom to last him until he could buy whatever was left with his next paychecks; but the cream and brown tones of the walls and the little but functional furniture he had made TK feel good enough about the small house to not make any excuses or apologies about not being settled in yet.

TK set his box down next to the door, and Hot Cop followed suit.

"I'm Carlos, by the way."

Finally, TK thought, turning to find Carlos with an outstretched hand and a tight smile that only broadened when he saw TK's face. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, and TK figured there was no more use in hiding, so he pulled back his hood and shook Carlos' (strong, callused, and yet, somehow, soft) hand.

"TK."

"Yeah." Carlos slightly tilted his head to the side. "You're fire department. You're pretty good at what you do."

TK's heartbeat picked up. Had Carlos (gosh, he loved knowing his name) noticed him too? Like, how TK had noticed him? He let the sliver of hope boost his confidence a bit. "You're not so bad yourself, Carlos."

  ---

Had he told Michelle to meet up at an earlier hour, Carlos didn't even want to think about what could've happened. Had he not stopped to check his mail on his way out, he might have already left. For all he knew, if he hadn't been at home that particular day at that particular time, TK could've burned down the whole neighborhood.

He just knew his heart dropped to his stomach when he heard his neighbor's fire alarm go off.

His feet were rushing him toward the house before his brain could even fully process the situation (something he would later mark up to police training instincts). Carlos quickly assessed the structure: he couldn't see any smoke, at least from the front of the house, and he could only detect a faint smell of burning from the front steps.

He tried the knob and found it locked. "TK! TK, I'm coming in!" 

With one hand reaching for his phone to call for help, he slammed his body against the door, knocking it open at the third try. He instantly found himself drowning in white smoke and the stench of burning... fish?

"TK!" He called out again.

A cough from the kitchen and a tired "Here," was his response.

Carlos made his way over, still staying low and covering his nose and mouth with his elbow. TK stood in front of the stove, cooking mitt and rag in his hands, defeated eyes on the blackened salmon in front of him. Mirroring his stance, Carlos stood next to TK, and after about two minutes could no longer suppress it. He chuckled.

"Don't laugh."

"I'm sorry," Carlos muttered behind his fist, laughing more.

"Dude, seriously, don't laugh," TK repeated, starting to smile himself.

Carlos leaned back against the counter, now on the verge of hysterical. "The fireman almost burns down his new house while cooking a fish, mano, that's hilarious."

TK playfully threw him the cooking rag, telling him to shut up in between chuckles that turned into coughs. After a good while of laughing along, TK exhaled. "I should probably open some windows."

"I think so, yeah," Carlos sarcastically played along, earning himself a cooking mitt to the shoulder.

As TK began opening windows around the house, the wheels in Carlos' head began to spin. He was a pretty experienced cook, and next to him on the counter were a couple more fish. Michelle would understand if he texted her that there was an emergency with his neighbor and he wasn't going to make it to eat before their shifts. 

He spoke up before his nerves had a chance to betray him. "Hey, TK."

It was weird. So very weird, Carlos thought. Weird how drawn he felt to this man. Weird how much he wanted to be in his company. They'd only spoken a few times since TK moved in, but spending time with him was just so easy. Carlos was... let's call it curious.

"You want some help with this, man?" He asked, inspecting the salmons.

TK looked over his shoulder as he opened the last of the windows, scanning Carlos up and down. He was probably taking note of his uniform, but Carlos could've sworn his gaze held something else. "Don't you have a shift?" He questioned, walking over.

"Not until 8. I usually leave about two hours early to run some errands." That was technically true. 

TK stopped mere inches in front of Carlos, leaning against the same counter. His eyes searched for something, scanning Carlos' expression (he figured TK was debating whether to let him stay or not); out of nature, and maybe looking to impress a little, Carlos straightened up to his full height, while still maintaining a soft (hopefully friendly-looking) smile. 

"Yeah alright." TK finally said, and Carlos couldn't help how his smile became wider as TK turned away from him and toward the fish. "You a good cook?"

"I would hope so", Carlos replied, shooting a quick apology text to Michelle, letting her know that he wasn't going to make it to the food truck today. "My tío Andrés and tía Valeria own a restaurant out in Luling."

"Where is that?" 

"About an hour away, Guadalupe county, right along the San Marcos river."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that's where you grew up?"

"God, I miss going to the river."

"Ya know, in New York, if you wanna swim, rivers aren't really an option. You either hit up a public pool or hike to a watering hole somewhere."

"Did you ever do that? Hike to a swimming hole?"

"A few times. There was this one weekend-"

And thus the conversation rolled on. Carlos spoke about his family, about growing up in Texas, about becoming a cop; TK spoke about his adventures in New York, about his dad, about all the nutjobs one has to deal with in the big apple (Carlos made sure to take note of him mentioning a guy he dated). The hour and a half it took to prepare the meal seemed to go by in a blink, the two of them chopping and stirring and working around each other like a surprisingly well-oiled machine, all the while exchanging stories and laughs and smiles and more than a few stolen glances. Every accidental touch and brush of skin in passing would send chills up Carlos' spine, and as he guided TK through properly cooking the salmon he stood just a bit too close behind him, but TK didn't seem to mind. 

Just as they put the finishing touches and seasonings on the dish, Carlos caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. "Shit."

"What is it, what did I do?" 

TK's panicked expression as he took a step back from the fish made Carlos chuckle. "Nothing man, it looks great," Carlos noticed TK exhale before he continued, "but I have to go."

"Wait, you're not gonna eat?"

But Carlos was already gathering his belongings. "I have 20 minutes to clock in, TK."

"Ah shit, I'm sorry dude, if I hadn'-"

"Don't worry about it, really." He turned around halfway to the door, walking a few steps backwards as he said, "I had fun."

"Yeah," TK smiled at him. "Me too."

Carlos smiled back and began showing himself out, but stopped one last time at the doorway, thinking about how to ask him to do this again without being too forward. "Hey, TK?" TK hummed in response, and Carlos threw him a look over his shoulder. "Next time you try cooking something new just... check if I'm home first?"

TK's toothy grin made his heart leap all over the place. "Will do, Carlos." 

Carlos kept smiling to himself even after shutting the door and rushing to his car; he thought he heard TK call out to him from inside that he was going to save him some leftovers.

Much later that night, his suspicions were confirmed. When he arrived home after his excruciatingly exhausting shift, at around 2am, he was met with two tupperware containers on his front steps, along with a quickly scribbled note on top that read:

"It turned out delicious. Could be thanks to you. Buen provecho! -TKS"

That night, Carlos enjoyed what was one of the best after-midnight meals he'd had in his life. It could've been thanks to their combined talents in preparing it that made the dish so good, but it could also have been because, the whole time, Carlos was thinking about the cute gray-eyed fireman right next door, about how much he loved spending time with him that afternoon, and about how much he wanted to spend some more.

  ---

"You've done a great job with this place TK." 

TK turned around and smiled at his dad, who was taking a look around from his seat at the counter.

"Learned from the best," He replied, making his way from the cupboard to the fridge.

"I know it's only been, what, three months?"

"And a half."

"Three and a half months," Owen corrected himself," but the house feels pretty empty without you, son."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure it does," TK brought over their glasses and shot his dad a look, the one with a raised eyebrow that both generations had mastered. "Especially with how much time Professor Hottie has been spending there." 

After a sip of his water and a second to look at the ground, Owen replied, "No comment."

Their shared laugh was interrupted by a light knock on the front door, and a voice casually calling out "Hey, TK." Not a second later, Carlos let himself in, not taking his eyes off a large book in his hand as he put the spare key back in its spot, on top of the outdoor wall lamp. It was commonplace for them to do this by now, they'd walk into each other's houses with little to no announcement (which led to a couple of slightly awkward, partly naked encounters at the beginning, but neither of them made much of a fuss about it), whether to rant about something that happened on one of their calls, or to try out a new recipe one of them found, or simply to hang out. TK could've sworn, however, that he had told Carlos his dad was coming over for dinner that night, although, with everything they tend to talk about from day to day, he wouldn't even take his own word for it.

"So my tía came to town and I asked her to let me borrow this for a while," Carlos started as he shut the door behind him, and Owen sent his son an questioning look. "It has a bunch of my family's recipes, so I thought you and I could-" The instant he looked up and noticed the present company, Carlos shut the book closed and held it at his side, standing up straight and donning his stoic policeman face. "Captain Strand."

"Officer." 

At Carlos' deer-in-headlights expression, TK tried his best (and utterly failed) to contain a snort.

"At ease, Reyes." Owen continued, rather amused. "Surprised to see me here? You do know he's my son, right?"

"Yes, yes I did, sir. Um- I just didn't- I didn't know you would-" 

Now this was a sight to behold for TK. Carlos Reyes, embarrassed in front of his dad. He let a smile grow onto his face, not really to mock or poke fun at his friend, but more because he couldn't help it. Smiling around Carlos came naturally at this point; besides, the situation was kinda funny. 

"I'll just leave you to it."

TK's smile faltered, slowly vanishing as Carlos walked back to the front door. Owen seemingly noticed his son's expression, though, since he quickly spoke up while rising from his seat.

"Won't you join us?"

Carlos turned around with wide eyes, looking to TK for any indication as to what to reply. TK simply shrugged; why his dad was inviting Carlos to stay for dinner, he had no clue, but he didn't really have any reason to complain about it.

"I don't want to impose, sir."

"Please." TK watched as his dad motioned for Carlos to take a seat, before saying, "Call me Owen."

Carlos took tentative steps toward the counter. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Owen," He corrected again, "And of course, there's more than enough to go around! TK, tell him what we're having."

"Well, Carlos," TK sent his friend a teasing smile as he played along with his dad, reaching into the oven to pull out the appetizer. "The menu tonight consist of vegan cheddar and broccoli quinoa bites, to start-"

Owen's eyes lit up as he muttered, "I love me some quinoa."

"And in a bit, we'll be having some grilled asparagus and shiitake tacos." 

Owen leaned towards Carlos. "I'm a bit of a health nut, hope you don't mind."

"Sounds delicious, TK." Carlos stared pointedly at him, his eyes conveying 'I can't believe this', or maybe 'I can't believe you'. TK decided it was the former. In an attempt to provide a bit of comfort, TK softly squinted at him with an easy, closed-lip smile, hopefully letting him know there was nothing to worry about. 

That exchange must've taken longer than it seemed, because they were interrupted by Owen clearing his throat before speaking up.

"So, Carlos," He pointed at the book Carlos was still holding, "You were saying about the book?"

"Right." He placed the book on the counter. "My tía Valeria, she owns a restaurant, she has been holding on to this for years, and I asked her if she could let me borrow it for a few weeks." The book was old, handmade, and on the genuine leather cover were scraped the words 'Recetas de los Reyes'. "It has all of my family's best recipes going back four generations. I thought maybe..." He trailed off, smiling softly at TK. 

TK, seeing in Carlos' eyes that this meant more to him than he had initially let on, told him, "Carlos, I would love to try your family's recipes with you."

TK noticed Carlos' brow relax and his smile widen. He noticed how handsome his laugh lines were, how he bit his lip as he looked down. And he noticed how softly his hands moved across the book as he opened it and began scanning through, before realizing he was probably staring too much.

"You think there's anything vegan in there?" Owen asked, peering over the book.

"I highly doubt it, Guatemalan diet is ridiculously meat-heavy. I mean look at this, the first three recipes are for churrasco."

TK felt a certain warmth in his chest at the picture in front of him: his dad and Carlos wrapped up in conversation, sharing a moment and some quinoa bites. He watched them for a few seconds with a smile that he couldn't explain if he was asked about it, before taking an appetizer for himself and then finishing up the tacos.

 Once seated around the dining table, after already starting with the main dish, Owen spoke up.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been-"

"Oh, we met that same day I moved in," TK chimed in, having been ready since earlier for the 'how long have you known each other' interrogation. "We started hanging out a couple weeks later."

"Does he know about the fire alarm incident?" Carlos asked him.

"I'm sorry, the... fire alarm incident?" 

"That's a no, then."

TK and Carlos then launched into the story, followed by multiple recounts of cooking mishaps they'd had over the last three months: the dried out turkey, the spilled tres-leches batter (of which there were probably still remains in the nooks and crannies of the kitchen), and that one time they almost flooded Carlos' house, although that one was less about the cooking and more about the chaotic dish-washing that came after (to put it simply, they both ended up soaked and covered in soap suds). Owen himself had more than a few stories of his own, which earned him a lot of shushing and 'dad-that's-so-embarrassing’ facepalms from TK. 

 Just as their laughter was dying down from the story of TK getting reprimanded two days into the job for accidentally taking out six firefighters with the hose (five of which found the whole ordeal hilarious), Owen's phone chimed. TK began clearing the empty plates, Carlos quickly standing up to help, as his dad checked the message.

"Ah, I'm sorry boys, I'm gonna have to skip dessert. Michelle needs me to fill out some stuff at the firehouse. Says it's urgent." He stood up and held out his hand to Carlos, who handed TK the dishes he was holding so he could shake it. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Carlos."

"Likewise capt- Owen." They shared a chuckle. "Say hi to Captain Blake for me."

"Will do. I'll see you out there. TK," He called to his son, who had heard the exchange from the kitchen where he was dumping the mountain of plates he'd had to carry to the sink. "Walk me out?"

As he made his way back, Carlos passed him and let him know he'd get started on the dishes. TK thanked him and approached his father, who put an arm around him as they walked to the front door. 

"You found a good one, TK." 

With a mystified chuckle, he asked him, "What do you mean, dad?"

"I mean I like him." Owen looked back at Carlos and contentedly put his hands in his pockets. He turned back towards TK as he opened the door. "You've had much worse boyfriends."

TK almost choked. Simultaneously, he heard Carlos fumble and drop a dish in the sink, awkwardly clearing his throat afterwards. 

"And none with a better ear apparently." Owen commented.

TK could feel his ears, his face, his entire body probably, heat up at the thought, before quickly correcting his dad without meeting his eyes.

"Dad, he's not m- we're not-" He couldn't even get the words out, but his dad knew him so well that he didn't have to.

"Really?" Owen whispered incredulously. "Could've fooled me. I mean with how much you've been talking to each other while on calls, all the looks and the smiles-"

"Goodbye dad!" TK gave him a quick hug before practically shoving him out the door. He heard him quickly call out "See you at work, son!" before the slam of the door cut him off.

Shit, was he right? Did they come off as a couple? Maybe there was a certain domestic vibe to them, but that's because they mostly hung out at their houses! Had his team gotten the same impression? Surely, there would've been a lot more teasing if they had...

When he noticed he was lingering at the door just a bit too long, he made his way back to the kitchen. Carlos kept washing the dishes as if he’d heard nothing, so TK decided to just shove it to the back of his mind for now and tried to restore the mood.

"Ya know, maybe it's a good thing my dad left," He remarked casually as he pulled dessert out of the oven. "Or else there wouldn't have been enough chocolate chip zucchini bread to go around."

He heard Carlos behind him quickly put down the dishes and, in a split second, he was standing next to TK, drying his hands and ready to pounce on the small loaf of bread. TK had to all but run away from him to get the first bite, and they ended up sitting on the counter chairs munching on the entire thing.

 "This how you thought you'd spend your Tuesday night?" TK spoke up after a while.

Carlos laughed into his beverage before putting it down. "Having a vegan dinner with the captain of the 126? No, definitely not.” He took a bite with a smile. “Thought it'd be you, me, a bit of google translate, and a growing grocery list."

TK couldn't help but grin at the domesticity of the thought. 

"The food was amazing though," Carlos commented, mouth still half full from the last bite of bread that TK let him have. "And your dad's a fun guy." 

"Yeah. Trust me, he knows. Goes to his head sometimes."

"No me digas." Carlos laughed. 

TK loved hearing his bits of spanish come out here and there, and proceeded to ask with a smile. "What's that mean?"

"It's like saying 'you don't say', but not... in a sarcastic way."

At that moment, TK realized that he’d found himself noticing more little things about Carlos that night than he ever had before. Like how much he gestured with his hands when he explained something, and how he tended to puff his chest out when he did so. Like how his right eyebrow always sat just a little higher than the left. Like how wickedly sharp his jaw was and how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he laughed. He let his mind and his gaze wander, giving his dad's comment the benefit of the doubt, before cutting himself off. There was no way, something would've happened between them by now. He couldn't believe the man.

"Who? Your dad?" It was then TK realized he'd said that last remark out loud. "What are you thinking about, TK?" Carlos asked, leaning his elbow on the counter and letting his head rest on his shoulder, eyes and attention fully fixated on TK.

It made his heart race, it made his guts turn, but he figured there was no harm in talking about it.

"My dad, he uh, he thought-” He cleared his throat, focused on the plate of crumbs in front of him. “Well, he assumed we were.. a thing, I guess." It wasn't until he fully made his way through the sentence that TK let himself look up at him. Carlos momentarily raised his eyebrows as he blinked, as if in realization, before donning a slight smile and looking away from TK.

"Right. Yeah, I thought I heard something like that."

"And that's..." TK searched Carlos' gaze, prompted him to finish the sentence, practically begging him to voice his thoughts about it. "Ya know, it's..."

Carlos looked back up at him, seemingly searching for something too, before letting his gaze fall again. "It's... it's ridiculous."

"Is it? Is it so ridiculous that I do want to date you? That I kinda want to kiss you right now? Would it be so ridiculous if we were a thing?" These were all the things going through TK's mind at that moment, all the things he could've said, instead of feigning a chuckle in agreement, saying "Right? The guy's crazy." 

TK hoped and prayed he wasn't giving away how much his chest hurt as he asked his friend (and nothing more), "Don't you have an early shift tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Carlos exhaled as he checked his watch. "Who needs an agenda when I have a TK?" He lightly patted TK on the arm as he stood up and made his way out, exchanging a quick and quiet "See you."

 And just like that, all was back to normal, or so TK had hoped it would be. The next day at the station, various coworkers asked him what was wrong, if he was okay (Judd even pulled him aside and asked if he'd had some sort of relapse). The rest of the week he tried his best to seem as upbeat as possible, though that wasn't very hard with friends like Mateo, Marjan, and Paul. Owen did approach him however, and asked him if everything was okay between him and Carlos, having noticed that they weren't talking as much on the field. TK blew it off as "they were quick calls, we didn't have much time" while fully aware that his dad knew him better than that, but thankfully he dropped it. TK had no choice to be aware of the fact that he was, indeed, avoiding Carlos as much as possible, and he hated it. Hated that he was doing it, and hated that Carlos had become such a big part of his life that no one would let him ignore it. He hated that he needed Carlos, hated that he wanted him, and hated, most of all, that Carlos had given no indication of feeling the same way.

  ---

"Chica, I don't know what to do." Carlos rubbed his face in his hands, throwing himself back against his couch. "He's been avoiding me all week, something changed that night."

"You talk to him, Carlos," He heard Michelle's voice through his phone, which lay on the coffee table in front of him. "You will not know what changed, if anything, until you ask him."

"What if he just doesn't want anything to do with me anymore?"

"You said things were going great with him, that you were building up to asking him out, right?”

“Yeah, I was,” Carlos emphasized the word. “But then when his dad assumed we were dating, he acted like he couldn’t bear the thought.”

Carlos heard Michelle sympathetically click her tongue before speaking. “Oh, I’m sorry Carlos.”

“No it- it’s fine. If he doesn’t like me like that then, that’s okay, I just-” He fiddled with one of the cords of his sweatpants as he (figuratively and literally) swallowed his pride. “I miss him.”

Michelle allowed a few seconds of silence before saying, “I still think you should try talking to him.” As she spoke, Carlos began noticing a faint sound. “Maybe you clear things up, or maybe things slowly get back to norm-”

"Wait, wait, shh." Carlos cut her off. The sound was music, coming from outside, toward the back of his house. "Sorry, let me call you back, Michelle."

Without letting her reply so much as an "okay", Carlos hung up the call and began making his way to the back door to investigate. As the music became louder, he made out that it was a single guitar, and the sound was too bright and clear to be coming from a speaker. He walked out onto the small, board-fenced backyard that he didn't use much, with only a couple of chairs and a barbecue grill, and quietly followed the sound toward his left. He stopped in front of the fence where his yard met TK's and stood there for a second, entranced by the melancholic, unfamiliar melody, the strings becoming softer and softer until there was only silence in the early evening air.

Carlos waited a few seconds before knocking on the fence. "Hey, TK?" he called over gently so as to not startle him.

He figured it didn't really work when he heard a loud exhale on the other side. "Yeah?" The voice he'd missed hearing so much replied.

"Was that you playing?"

TK took just a little too long to answer. "No?"

"Liar." Carlos chuckled. "Can I come over?"

"Yeah, you know where the key is."

Carlos felt a clench in his chest when he noticed the apprehension in TK's voice, but he turned around to go to his house anyway. He stopped short when he noticed the stack of chairs against the wall though, and decided that there was a quicker way to get there. 

He took the chairs (thankful that they were on the sturdier side) and carried them over to where he was previously standing. He used them as a step to boost himself over the 7 foot fence, landing swiftly on the other side before turning to a surprised TK.

"Who says I need the key?"

TK laughed, clearly amused, using the hand he had propped up on the guitar to cover his face. Carlos grinned at the sight.

"You know, for security purposes, those should really be higher," Carlos said, smoothing out his t-shirt as he walked over to TK. "That was way too easy."

"You're a show-off."

"Yeah, maybe a little."

Carlos took a look around TK's much nicer backyard. There was a small, still barely-grown vegetable garden to one side, and close to the house was one of those wooden table and bench sets. This was where TK was sitting, on top of the table with a black acoustic guitar in his lap, his hair a fluffy mess under one of his hundreds of hoodies. The last moments of golden hour upon him made his skin gleam and his cloudy eyes twinkle, and Carlos only noticed he was staring when TK scooted over to let him sit. He chose to sit on the bench rather than on the table, letting TK have space if he so wanted it.

"You never told me you could play."

"I’ve never told anyone I can play." TK responded, starting on another, sweeter, simpler melody. "Not even my dad."

"And he never found out?” Carlos propped his elbows up on the table behind him, resolving to watch the sunset overhead. “Even while you were living together?"

"This is the first time I’ve taken it out since we got to Austin."

Carlos tore his eyes away from the swirl of colors in the sky to shoot TK a shocked glance, or what was meant to be only a glance. Once his eyes landed on him, he couldn't rip them away, as if spellbound by TK, who was casually focused on the chords he was playing, chords that seemed infinitely complex to Carlos.

"I guess some people just don't lose their touch." Carlos remarked more to himself than anything, but it made TK smile, which made him grateful to have said it out loud. Carlos had long realized he'd probably do anything if it meant making TK smile. He watched him for a little longer, still unfamiliar to the melodies his fingers carried, and let him finish the song before speaking up again. "I always wanted to learn. Guitar, piano, something." He turned back towards the sky, now darker but just as colorful as it was three minutes before. "I was always taking care of my siblings, and then I got into the academy so young, I just... never really had the chance, I guess."

After a few seconds, Carlos noticed TK silently handing him the guitar from the corner of his eye. He took it and placed it on his lap as TK shifted from his seat on the table to the bench, a leg on either side of it, facing Carlos. He took Carlos' left hand in his own, positioning it on the arm of the guitar. He slowly and carefully placed Carlos' three middle fingers where they needed to go, one on the first fret of the third string, and the others on the second fret of the fifth and fourth strings.

"Now strum," He told him, and Carlos did so. It rang out beautifully. "That's E major." A bright and youthful smile grew onto Carlos' face.

TK repositioned Carlos' fingers into a new chord, an A major, now on the second fret of the second, third, and fourth strings. He strummed again, his smile widening and his insides flipping at the thrill of both making music and of TK's hand on his own (not to mention his knee against his thigh, and his breath on his shoulder; pretty much every bit of proximity was driving Carlos crazy). 

Still, he played on under TK's tutelage, and soon enough was strumming what could be considered a song after learning a third chord (D major). After a while of practicing a specific progression, once he was finally getting the hang of it, TK began humming over his shoulder. Then he started singing softly, right by Carlos' ear and sending chills down his spine.

"If I lay here... If I just lay here... Would you lie with me and just forget the world..." 

"Hey, I know this." Carlos managed to say without breaking the strumming, allowing TK to keep singing with an amused smile on his face as he watched how much Carlos was enjoying himself.

"I don't quite know... How to say... How I feel..."

Before jumping into the next verse, Carlos turned to TK. He was still bobbing his head along to the strumming, but he managed to join into the lyrics.

"Those three words..." They sang in unison. "Are said too much..." Neither of them could help their gazes traveling down to the other's lips, only a few inches away from each other. "They're not enough..."

When the chord change for the chorus came, Carlos stumbled and simply stopped playing. The sour notes lingered in the air around them, like something in wait, in need of being fixed. Something to be cleared up and made right. A crackle of energy, of magnetism, yearning to be fulfilled.

Finally, it was TK that uttered the words "Fuck it," cupping Carlos' face and softly kissing him. Carlos took a mere millisecond to respond, carefully putting down the guitar and turning to pull him closer. The kiss was gentle, slow, careful, both of them savoring every movement and change as if it was the most beautiful melody on Earth. Their lips fit perfectly into each other as if in harmony, and every touch was like a new instrument joining into the grandest symphony ever heard.

They eventually parted, both repeatedly coming back for smaller kisses until they were left leaning their foreheads together. TK's hands still slowly roamed Carlos' torso, while Carlos caressed TK's cheeks and hair. 

"Guess my dad wasn't so crazy after all..."

Laughing, Carlos let his head drop onto TK's shoulder, which TK took as an opportunity to bury his nose into the crook of Carlos' neck and wrap his arms around his shoulders. Almost instinctively, Carlos returned the embrace, and that was, perhaps, what felt the most right. How perfectly their bodies fit into each other, how blissful and comforted they both felt in the other's arms, and they both just wondered why the hell this hadn't happened until now. They stayed there until the sky was almost fully dark, and it was Carlos who pulled away and stood up in front of TK.

He held out his hand and cleared his throat. "Tyler Kennedy Strand,"

"Wait, how do you know-"

"Irrelevant," Carlos interrupted his question, to which TK responded with an eye roll and a grin. "Tyler Kennedy Strand, will you go out with me?"

TK took his hand and stood up in front of him. "Yes, Carlos Reyes, I will go out with you." He intertwined their fingers and brought his other hand up to the back of Carlos' neck, kissing him again with just a little more fervor than before, running his fingers through his hair. TK pulled away only to whisper: "Not tonight though."