#i spent a lot of time going over his skin with maroon and gray to make sure it was Peak Unhealthy™️

[apuff]

this is technically a panel redraw i suppose

zera *collapses on floor*

day UHM IDK of this thing:

(castoff[great comic go read it])

i'm probably going to stop doing this for a bit cause i need to do my math 😭i also ran out of ideas for ari's day

[mariesdeluluworld]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Next Chapter

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and his twin, Y/n their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, the first timeout on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. (Y/n wanted to strangle his dimwitted cousin at that. Could he not see the old woman who just recently broke her leg?!)

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry and Y/n Hunting. This was why Y/n and Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, they both would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny. "They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it ― it might be sick." finished Y/n, and then ran, before Dudley could work out what they'd said. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Y/n at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before, however, Y/n was still very fond of them and he continued to pet and play with them even though Harry refused to get near any of them. Mrs. Figg even let Harry and Y/n watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life. As Y/n looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins. He looked so handsome and grown-up. Y/n wanted to laugh, he thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Y/n went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" Y/n asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he or Harry dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she said. Y/n looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you both. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." Y/n and Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. They sat down at the table and tried not to think about how they were going to look on his first day at Stonewall High ― like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's and Y/n's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry and Y/n get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke them with your Smelting stick, Dudley." Harry and Y/n dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and ― a letter for Harry and Y/n. Harry picked them up, and he handed Y/n his letter before he stared at it. Y/n's heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He and Harry had no friends, no other relatives ― he and Harry didn't belong to the library, so they'd never even got rude notes asking for books back.

Yet there it was, a letter addressed so plainly there could be no mistake: Mr. Y/I. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey.

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Y/n's hand trembling, Harry and Y/n saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boys!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. Harry and Y/n went back to the kitchen, still staring at their letter. They handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then Y/n sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk―."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry, and Y/n got something!" Y/n and Harry were on the point of unfolding their letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope when it was jerked sharply out of their hands by Uncle Vernon."That's ours!" said Harry and Y/n, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you two?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter's open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within the second set was the grayish white of old porridge."P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letters to read them, but Uncle Vernon held them high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took them curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness ― Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Y/n, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read those letters," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside its envelope. Harry didn't move, while Y/n glared at his aunt and uncle furiously. "I WANT MY LETTER!" Harry shouted. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall and grabbed Y/n by his arm and shoved him into his twin brother, then slammed the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor, while Y/n pushed Dudley over to look into the keyhole (the two of them ended up pushing the other out of the way for a while until Dudley decided to place his head on top of Y/n's, but he didn't care, he was too busy trying to listen to his aunt and uncle).

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address ― how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching ― spying ― might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. "But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want ―" Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....,"

"But ―"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Y/n in their cupboard. "Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?" asked Y/n, his arms were crossed over his chest.

"No one. It was addressed to you, by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had our cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er ― yes, Harry, Y/n ― about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you both are really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you guys moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom.

It only took Harry and Y/n one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. Y/n sat down on the bed and stared around him as Harry put their stuff away. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next-door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end-all bent because Dudley had sat on it.

Other shelves were full of books (which Y/n was happy about). They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want them in there... I need that room... make them get out...." Harry sighed and Y/n stretched out on the bed. Yesterday, they'd have given anything to be up here. Today, they'd rather be back in their cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

"G'night Harry," mumbled Y/n, he closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. Harry looked at his twin, smiling. "Good night Y/n,"

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall, while Y/n watched his cousin throwing a tantrum in amusement.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Y/n, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted,

"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive ―'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Y/n right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind while Y/n was on his arms, trying to get the fat man to stay still.

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's and Y/n's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard ― I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at the boys.

"Dudley ― go ― just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room with Y/n right behind him. Someone knew Y/n and Harry had moved out of their cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time, Harry will make sure they didn't fail.

He had a plan. The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. "Harry? What are you doing?" asked Y/n. He rose up from the bed, sleep still in his e/c eyes. "I'm going to go get our letters," he said. Y/n looked at his brother.

"But -"

"No, no buts. You stay here." Y/n tried to object, but Harry strode out of the small bedroom. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door― Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Y/n looked at his brother and shook his head. He was awoken by his uncle shouting at Harry and he dragged himself out of bed to help his brother make breakfast.

Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink. "I want―" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia. They're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Y/n. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked and jumped at small noises. On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Y/n found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.

While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Y/n in amazement. On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers. "no damn letters today ―"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. The next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one, while Y/n rolled his eyes at his brother and picked one up from the floor, tearing it open in seconds.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and grabbed Y/n by his arm, ripping the now open letter out of his hands before Y/n could even read the cursive ink writing, and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" He looked so dangerous, with half his mustache missing, that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later, they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.

Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Now and then, Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'emoff," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry. He'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry, and Y/n shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Harry and Y/n stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering ... They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day.

They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table."'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/n. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I. Potter.

Room 17

Railview Hotel Cokeworth.

Harry and Y/n made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared. "I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for. None of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again.

The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday ― and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television ― then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's and Y/n's eleventh birthday.

Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun ― last year, the Dursleys had given Harry a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks and Y/n got a moth-eaten pair of socks with some string. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them. "I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon. "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed; the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and Y/n privately agreed; though the thought didn't cheer them up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, while Harry and Y/n were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Y/n was sitting up, his knees brought to his chest as he shivered. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry and Y/n they'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. Harry laid and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go.

Y/n heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go.

Maybe the house on Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go.

Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he and Harry would be eleven.

Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten...nine ― maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him ― three... two...one...BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright and Y/n shot up, his eyes wide and staring at the door.

Someone was outside. Knocking to come in.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all. 

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1971    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

[gryffindors-weasley]

A Known Love

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Draco felt as though his relationship was kept secret, though one person sees everything.

Warnings: angst, anxiety, fluff, kissing

(not my gif)

Dawn was rapidly approaching, the navy hues of the sky beginning to lighten and the stars began to disappear as slivers of orange stretch across the horizon. It was Draco’s least favorite time of day, for it was when he had to say goodbye to you until the following evening. The hours in the day had always passed as if each were an eternity, one longer than the last, agonizing as he thought of nothing else but you.

“You really should be going now, love,” he murmurs softly, his lips ghosting over the skin on your neck. His hand enveloped your own as he pulled you farther behind the shadows of the crumbling stone statue, impossibly closer to him.

“I suppose I will once you let me go, Draco,” you laugh softly. A kiss is pressed just below your ear, another to your cheek, and another to your lips to quiet your very logical reasoning. He hadn’t wanted to let you go yet. He never wanted to let you go.

He pulls back to look at you, still close enough to feel your breath on his lips, gray eyes twinkling under the soft moonlight as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His attempts at goodbye were quickly becoming more pitiful with each moment that passed him by, and he knew it. He had the same problem every time the moment arises.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you say with a smile, your thumb brushing over his slightly pouted lip and he finds himself leaning into your touch. “You’ll have the whole day to miss me.”

For that, he closes any remaining gap once more, delicate kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw. He’s very knowledgeable of the way it makes you squirm, your jovial laughter slipping out into the crisp summer air, unable to be controlled much like his smile. His lips find yours in another attempt to silence you, soft and sweet as he hums lightly, your lips melding in a kiss he hadn’t wanted to end.

He’s reluctant to pull away, but the cooing of the morning doves is too hard to ignore. A sigh is exhaled and the sight of your kiss swollen lips leaves him wanting to do nothing but continue to kiss them, more so with the way you’re beaming up at him.

“Promise you’ll be here tonight?” He murmurs, forehead pressed to yours as his eyes fall closed. A quiet laugh escapes you and fans against his lips.

“I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful?” He asks in a quieter tone, something akin to fear weaving around his words even if he’d tried to hide it.

“I will try, my love,” you murmur.

He pulls away once more and looks at you with narrowed eyes, a frown pulling at his lips. You tilt your head and look at him with a sweet smile, settling your hand on his cheek. He was not happy with your nonchalance. “It is not funny.”

You couldn’t stifle the soft laugh you’d tried to hold, appeasing his grumbling and worry as you brushed the platinum strands of hair out of his eyes.

“I will be here and I will be fine,” you say, kissing the very tip of his nose.

The tension in his embrace lessens considerably at your words, tightening his hold as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. Even with your reassurance, he was still rather scared that this would be the last time he kissed you, the last time he held you. So he relished in every second of it. He memorized the sweet smell of your perfume, the taste of your kisses, the softness of your skin. He took it all in and stored it away in his mind for safe keeping.

He released you with a chaste kiss to your neck, and one to your lips as his arms dropped to his sides. Your fingertips brush over his cheek once more as you smile, and in a matter of moments he’s standing by himself behind the moss covered statue, looking at the spot you’d once been standing in just seconds ago.

—

Draco spent the entirety of the day in his bedroom, pacing around in front of his bed aimlessly. He’d tried to get some sleep, he had been rather busy running around in a secret endeavor the night before. But he only found himself staring at the deep green velvet curtain splayed high above each of his bedposts. He hadn’t wanted to leave his room for a good while, however, there wasn’t reason to and he certainly didn’t want to run into his father. The man had become more insufferable with each passing day it seemed, if that was even possible. Besides, his mind was far too busy to hold any sort of meaningless conversation with him should there be any.

His boredom was near maddening, the Manor wasn’t exactly a place that had been bustling with entertainment. It was a place filled with silence and luxury that was made to be viewed but not touched. He looked at his clock, the hand only inching closer to eight o’clock in the evening much to his dismay; it was as if it was taunting him.

On a more positive note, it had been late enough for him to feel as though he could venture into the halls without chance of running into anyone. So he did. He found himself navigating the gray corridors with a practiced ease, eyes darting around each and every corner he passed. The residence was practically a maze; anyone who hadn’t been familiar with it would surely get lost in a matter of moments, unable to find a door to exit. He’d lived there for nearly eighteen years and still found himself wandering down unfamiliar halls.

In a matter of minutes, he finds himself standing in front of an old mahogany door, intricately carved like most others. He twisted the tarnished metal knob and pushed it open, wincing at the very audible creak it made. The scent of old books had immediately hit him as he closes the door behind him, trickles of sunlight streaming in through the latticed windows. The golden light illuminated the dust particles floating around the unfrequented room, nearly making him sneeze.

He just about jumped out of his skin when a soft voice broke through the silence in the air, his heart racing momentarily as he searched for the source. His mother sat in the corner, a half-read book propped open in her lap.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d been all day,” she says with a soft laugh, peering at him over the tops of her glasses.

“I was in my room,” he states when he settles, trying to sound believable even though that’s exactly where he’s been.

He smooths his hair behind his ear before spinning on his heel, unable to withstand her stare a moment longer. His hands were growing clammy as he wandered the familiar aisles, lined floor to ceiling with books ranging from the history of magic to even some Shakespeare classics. Those were Narcissa’s favorite.

“Draco, what ever is the matter with you?” Narcissa asks suddenly, her brows furrowing as she looks over at her son and marks her page.

“Nothing, Mother,” he says, plucking a maroon book from its spot on the dust covered shelf, looking over the aged cover briefly and putting it back before moving onto the next.

They were the very shelves he roamed between with you in the late hours of the night, speaking in hushed whispers in the nearly abandoned library. The very shelves you hid behind to share stolen kisses and tight embraces, gently whispered ‘I love you’s’ spoken against flushed skin. They house books of fabricated fiction and tales of forbidden love, stories he finds himself reading and wishing he didn’t understand what it had felt like to be the lovers within them.

Regardless, you loved when he read to you, his voice soft as he spoke each word with ease. You’d lay on his chest, tucked away somewhere private in the Manor, somewhere with enough moonlight streaming in to ensure there was no need for a light to draw any attention. His fingers would absentmindedly tangle through your hair as he read, stopping occasionally to press a kiss to your forehead. He’d stop once you fell asleep, his eyes bouncing around the room for any chance of prying eyes. He was quiet for any chance of listening ears.

“Draco?”

He startled slightly as looks over at his mother as she continues to sit in her black velvet chair, her brow raised curiously and expectantly. His cheeks flush a pale pink as he realizes he’s gotten lost in his thoughts.

“You’re distracted,” she states.

“No I’m not,” he says almost immediately, too fast to be believable.

She chuckles, shaking her head briefly. “Then what have I just told you, darling?”

He averts his gaze and focuses on the tattered book spines stacked in front of him, the heat in his face now burning down his neck as he scrambles to think of a proper answer for her, one that isn’t foolish.

“School has been rather busy. That amongst other things,” he says, tone sharp though she knows precisely what he’s talking about. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, Mother.”

She overlooks the bite to his words as she gestures to the seat just paces away from her own, wordlessly telling him to sit down. His finger stops it’s tracing on the old books and drops to his side, wiping his hand on his blazer and leaving a smear of pale dust behind on the pristine black fabric. He takes a seat, her gaze having him fix a stare on anything but her.

A quiet tension settles over the room, thick and unwavering for a few moments, the only sound being the ticking of the grand clock in the far end of it. He knows his reasoning couldn’t have been any good, at least not half of it. It had been summer break, one that was highly anticipated before the start of seventh year. So his excuse for academic stress didn’t seem to be quite as fitting at this very moment.

“What is her name?” She asks abruptly.

His heart stills in his chest at the question, and he looks at her immediately before narrowing his eyes to contain the flurry of emotions raining down on him. Had he heard her correctly? He had to have, she couldn’t have said anything else.

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, sitting up a little straighter as he smooths his tie.

She knew about you, of course she did. She’s known about you for far longer than Draco could ever be privy to. In fact, the first time she had ever been made aware of your relationship was last summer. It was dawn, and she was unable to sleep, though she always had been an early riser. She had her morning tea in hand as she made her rounds around the Manor, that’s when it had caught her eye. Narcissa had known the place like the back of her hand, therefore it had been easy to note anything out of place, such as the tracking of mud in a very familiar shoe print leading from the door to her gardens.

Upon closer inspection, she peered out of the windows into the moonlit maze of roses and finely manicured bushes. She had caught glimpse of her son weaving through flowers and statues, hand enveloped with that of a strikingly beautiful girl; and even with such a distance she could see the smile on his face, big and bright.

She had seen you once or twice before, knew enough to know you wouldn’t have been someone her husband would approve of. But technicalities aside, she stayed put and she watched the sight before her for a few moments longer for she hasn’t seen her son quite this happy.

Her eyes fell on Draco, the blush that had spilled from his cheeks to the tips of his ears now a very noticeable shade, one that was very indicative that he did in fact know just who she was talking about. He began to fidget in the grand velvet chair, twirling the ring around his finger in nervous habit. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could happen, panic flooding his chest.

“Your father wouldn’t approve of this, you know,” she says, though there’s a soft laugh in her words. Regardless, the thought makes Draco’s stomach swirl with nausea, anger building and pressing within his chest.

He knows this, he knows you don’t fit his fathers preposterous ideals because he’s too caught up in pleasing the Dark Lord’s wishes to see with even an ounce of rationality. However, he’s always been one for conforming to absurd standards to better his reputation, he supposes.

“You don’t understand,” Draco defends in hushed anger, his jaw tensing as he fights to reign in his temper.

“Then enlighten me, my dear boy.”

He stares at his mother for a few moments, then shifts his gaze to the dark hardwood floors, seconds feeling like hours as his heart hammers in his chest and the heat crawls up his neck. His mind is bombarded with intrusive thoughts, one after another. If he tells her what’s been plaguing his mind, who has been residing there for the better part of a year, he could very well lose you. If he doesn’t, her suspicions will ruin any chance of time spent alone with you in fear of wandering eyes.

“I’m in love with her.”

It tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself from saying it, it’s as though all sense had left his body. You have a habit of doing that to him. Though his words were a bit shaky, the declaration came out clear as day, not a single drop of doubt in his words. He doesn’t know what she’ll say next, and quite honestly he does not care, not entirely. Not enough to hide his feelings for a moment longer, feelings that are so strong he doesn’t quite know how to handle them. 

The look on her face is unreadable for the first several moments after he sputtered his confession, and the panic simmering in his chest is beginning to build and boil over. But something softens in her stoic expression, and she nods slightly. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what to make of the small gesture until she speaks up.

“I see.” 

That’s all she says.

He finds the statement hard to interpret, unable to find any sort of relief from those two words as he swallows thickly and tugs at the collar of his black dress shirt, loosening the tie around his neck a fraction. The large room suddenly felt terribly suffocating and he desperately wanted some air. He was quickly beginning to regret ever opening his mouth, even though it seemed it had done so of its own accord. He could never keep anything from her, she could coax his deepest darkest secrets out of him with just a simple look. Right now, he felt it’d be perfectly suitable if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole.

He had to take the statement back somehow.

“Mother, I-”

“What is her name?” She asks once more, effectively cutting his stammering short.

He looks at her cautiously, surprised to find her to be truly interested, and not for malicious reasoning. Hesitancy still clouds his mind as he wonders whether or not he should give her such details, but a part of him feels as though it’s okay if she’s privy to it.

“Y/n,” he says softly, almost too quiet to be heard, his eyes darting around the room in search of anyone who may be listening in. “Her name is Y/n.”

She smiles softly with another nod. “She’s beautiful, Draco.”

He smiles lightly at his hands, his mind wandering to you once more. To the way your lips curve, to the soft freckles smattering across your cheeks that he could spend a ridiculous amount of time kissing. Perhaps his favorite is the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, the way you look at him. He will never feel as though he’s worthy of such affection, it doesn’t make sense to him. For that very reason, it worries him everyday that you’ll slip through his fingers. That you’ll realize the person you’ve chosen to love, you’ll come to your senses and you’ll disappear.

It wasn’t easy loving a Malfoy, after all. Anyone who simply hears the name turns their lip up in disgust. He can’t say he blamed them, his family wasn’t known for anything noble or kind. He wasn’t proud of himself either, which was all the more reason he feared your seemingly inevitable epiphany.

“I know,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head. His hands are shaking as he reaches up to swipe at the hair dipping in his eyes. “How…how did you know?”

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in quite some time, Draco. It was rather easy to figure out,” she starts, her words bittersweet the more she allowed herself to think about it. “The smell of perfume had given it away in an instant. It lingers, you know.”

His face reddens, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, his hair falling back in his eyes again.

“Does she treat you well?” She inquires.

He smiles lightly as he nods. “She’s quite wonderful, more than I can say about myself.”

It was true. In his eyes, you were the embodiment of sunshine to put it simply. You were the kindest person he’s ever known, so much so he hadn’t been used to it at first. He had been skeptical. You treated him far better than he could have ever anticipated, though you did not hesitate to correct him when he was wrong.

“Mother?”

“Yes, my dear?”

He gulps, his mind swimming in horrific scenarios he hadn’t ever wanted to think of, possibilities he wished he didn’t have to fear. Each one was worse than the last, and paired with his pounding heart, he wasn’t sure if he could hide his internal conflict from her. It felt as though his throat was impossibly dry and the air had been stolen from his very lungs.

“Please don’t tell him,” he whispers, the lump in his throat becoming hard to ignore. The thought of how his father would react out of spite made his stomach churn and twist in knots. “Please.”

She looks at him with furrowed brows, her crimson nails tapping on the curved wood of the chairs arm. You hadn’t entirely fit the ideals set in place for the only Malfoy heir, and she knew for certain that repercussions would follow such a romance. But the unease and the color draining from her sons face had shown how truly distraught he was, and she couldn’t bring herself to tamper with it. She had never seen him care so deeply for something. She had seen just how much you had been keeping him afloat amidst the troublesome darkness trying to pull him down. Maybe she will warm up to you if he ever decides to introduce you, she would have to. For you kept him happier than could be imagined and she didn’t want to take it from him.

She fought for her love with Lucius, she fought desperately and unrelenting for it. It quickly became apparent to her that it wasn’t her place to stand in the way of it, it would be rather hypocritical if she did.

“As you wish,” she says with a soft smile, one that eased the tension in his body as she grabbed her book again. “Off you go now, Draco. I believe someone is waiting for you.”

She nodded slightly towards the window and he gets up without another word, promptly exiting the quiet library upon her dismissal making quick strides. A soft smile tugged at his lips that he had fought desperately to contain, but the attempts were proving to be pointless every time he caught glimpse of the setting sun. The hues of oranges and yellows painting the somber walls of the Manor only reminded him of you, of how you’d be waiting for him behind the decades old statue in the garden.

His conversation was brief and unexpected, one that offered waves of comfort and lightened some of the weight on his chest. Only some. Because consequences of his love were uncertain, but it hadn’t seemed to matter in that very moment. Maybe it was selfish of him to think that way, and maybe his purposeful walk had given way to the fact that he had something to look forward to. Maybe he shouldn’t have told his mother about you, he did not know.

What was known was the steady pounding of his heart within his chest and the scarlet in his cheeks.

What was known was that he loved you.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

[lumosinlove]

Coast To Coast

part viii

Sometimes Leo put on one of Finn’s old Harvard sweatshirts and looked in the mirror. And wondered. He tried to picture their old frat house and having a room there. He’d only seen pictures, but it looked nice. It had a big kitchen and back yard. Would he have a roommate? What would he have studied? English? Maybe he and Finn would have become close like that in the same way that they had become close now. Reading together. Maybe they would have studied together. Would he have gotten a ride to practice in Finn’s car like Logan had? How much older were they in the fantasy? Would he lose them after just one year? Would he lose one and then the other? Or could he be their age, and they could all go together. But then, if they were trying for the NHL, they’d get split up without a doubt.

So, Leo put on the maroon sweatshirt—not Lions maroon, but close—and thought. Would he watch them fall in love like he thought he had watched them in the first months of the season? All of them meeting at once, it could be too complicated, and maybe they would chose each other anyway—

Finn talked about it more than Logan ever did. Logan was getting better but Leo could practically see the guilt well up at certain things. Both of them seemed, overall, fond of their days at Harvard. And yet, sometimes they clutched each other so closely that Leo thought they weren’t sure any of this was real. Leo knew how they felt on that part. He couldn’t believe his luck. The NHL. The Gryffindor Lions. Going to the playoffs his rookie season. And Logan and Finn.

It wasn’t that they didn’t hold Leo just as close, but Leo would be lying if he said it wasn’t with a different grip. Finn and Logan had lost each other and lost each other. Leo had only just been found.

Leo twisted the sweatshirt in his hands, the fraying hem and sleeves. It smelled like Finn. Finn had worn this sweatshirt while he was falling in love with Logan. Finn had worn this sweatshirt when he was the same age as Leo was now. And he let Leo take it whenever he wanted to, smiled when he saw him in it, smiled when he saw Leo.

Leo smoothed the fabric back out and flicked the bathroom light off. He could hear the noises from the TV in the living room. Logan was sprawled out on the couch, eyes on the movie. Finn was out with Alex, a quick meet up between regular season and playoffs. They’d gone to dinner with him yesterday, and Leo had liked Alex because of how much he reminded him of Finn. But Alex was also a good deal calmer than his brother. Logan was snarky with him, old friends. Leo was new.

Everything was new and fresh—and set against very old ties.

Logan looked up when Leo came back and spread his thighs a little, looking warm in his thick, gray sweatshirt—Leo’s—and sweatpants. He flexed his toes and they cracked, a habit Leo associated with him finally winding down for the night on roadies.

“Ça va?”

Leo nodded as he knelt on the couch before bracketing Logan in with his hands and knees. Logan smiled and his laugh was the quiet one that Leo loved. It was sleepy, it came out in the early morning and the night and only him and Finn ever heard it. It came with ruffled hair and the slight scent of the tiger balm that Logan liked for his ankles and feet when they were sore from tightly laced skates. They had spent the day unpacking Logan’s things into the third bedroom—which was mostly for closet space only. They’d all taken to Finn’s king sized bed. Leo had never looked forward to falling asleep so much. Even when he woke up in the middle of the night, it was almost easy to fall asleep again. Logan, the lightest sleeper on Earth, had figured Leo’s habits out pretty quickly and would spend Leo didn’t know how long running his fingers over Leo’s neck and back. Leo wanted to stay awake sometimes, just to hear Logan’s half-asleep, half-French replies.

Almost two months ago, Leo had told Logan and Finn that he was going to fall for them when, truthfully, Leo had already been in free-fall.

He wondered what they’d say if he told them that they’d already caught him—that he’d realized this all a few days ago, sweaty and maybe a little dehydrated after their win against Vegas. He’d watched Logan trading sips of champagne with Pascal, and felt Finn pressed against his side, lips against his neck whispering, shut out, shut out, baby, shut out—

I love you, Leo had thought.

“Plus jolie,” Logan’s socked feet settled near the backs of Leo’s knees, hands wrapping around Leo’s wrists. He was still smiling. Leo didn’t really have a plan from here, but he definitely didn’t want to stop looking at Logan.

Leo wrinkled his nose and Logan laughed. “Un chérubin.” Logan reached up and tugged lightly on a lock of Leo’s hair. “Les boucles.”

Leo shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”

“Curls,” Logan translated, and then pushed his fingers through Leo’s hair. “I liked you in that shirt last night.”

Leo smiled. Logan was becoming more and more like this. He seemed to take the most pleasure in telling Leo and Finn every little thing he liked. It happened all the time and left Leo and Finn just grinning at each other.

“Oh yeah?” Leo lowered himself to his forearms and Logan’s ankles slid to loop with his.

“You looked so good.”

It had the same effect on Leo every time. A warm wash over his whole being.

“I like you living here,” Leo replied, and leaned down to press a kiss to Logan’s mouth.

Logan looked pleased and pushed his chin up for another kiss before looking up and behind him at the empty boxes piled in the corner. “Finn’ll be happy he got out of the last of the unboxing.” Logan smiled back at Leo. “You’re better at organizing anyway.”

“And folding,” Leo said. “And cleaning—”

Logan pressed his palms to Leo’s cheeks, pushing them until his lips puckered. “D’accord, d’accord.”

Leo had to kiss him again. Logan sighed when Leo parted from him to sit up his heels. He looked at the TV where there was some sort of car chase happening, rubbing his hands along Logan’s thighs, digging his thumbs into his hip flexors, where he knew he was always sore. Logan hummed happily and closed his eyes.

“What’s this movie again?”

“No idea,” Logan said. “Ouch. Fuck, that feels good.”

“Do you think Alex liked me?” Leo said as he pressed into Logan’s firm muscle.

Logan cracked on eye open. “Yeah, I do.”

Leo nodded. “Okay, good.”

Logan’s muscles tensed beneath Leo’s palms as he hooked his ankles around Leo’s back to pull himself up into a sitting position. Leo felt Logan’s fingers on his chin a moment later, bringing his face away from the television.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

Logan tilted his head and pulled himself closer, making Leo spread his knees. He stroked his thumb over Leo’s lip. “You look sad or something.”

Leo couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not really sad.” He lifted Logan’s knees for a minute so he could push his straighten his legs out the other way. He held Logan’s hips when they settled again, facing each other, tangled.

“I don’t know,” Leo said as Logan messed with his hair again. “I think meeting Alex, like really meeting him, just…made me remember that you and Finn have known each other a lot longer than I’ve been in the picture.”

Logan’s fingers stilled. He looked at Leo and there was a little glance of fear in his expression.

“Well,” he began. “I mean, yeah, but…but that’s okay. You don’t feel like we—do we make you feel bad?”

Leo shook his head quickly. “Not even a little.” Leo looked down at his sweatshirt. Finn’s. “I just… Sometimes I think about Harvard.”

“Harvard?” Logan repeated. “What do you mean?”

Leo looked at the movie again. The cars were gone and there was a house in a field, and two parties were sneaking around it.

“I wasn’t there,” Leo said. “Sometimes that’s…like, I wonder what it would have been like if I was. You two are so close because of it and I love hearing stories about it, but I just… I think about it.”

Logan was quiet for so long that Leo looked at him. When he did, it was to see Logan with concerned eyes. He was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Harvard was really great. But it was also really hard,” Logan swallowed. “You think the NHL is bad with this stuff, you should try a bunch of seventeen to twenty year-olds in a locker room. Being gay—or anything other than a guy who likes to talk about how big a girl’s breasts are—it was a complete joke. It was worse than a joke. And I’m so glad you weren’t there.”

Logan seemed to be half talking to himself, hands trailing across the turn of Leo’s jaw. Always busy. He and Finn both did that. They were always reaching out to touch, Logan only recently so. Leo loved it. He loved their hands and their skin and the way it was mindless and gentle. Leo looked over Logan’s face. Soft lips, darkest eyelashes Leo had ever seen, sun faded scar across his nose.

Leo squeezed his hips. “Don’t stress. Lo, you never do anything to make me feel like, what,” Leo snorted. “Left out. Neither of you do.”

“I’m not stressed,” Logan said. “It’s just weird to think about. I was so convinced, you know? That this wasn’t an option.” Logan looked down. “I hurt Finn.”

“Tremz,” Leo shook his head. “Look at what kind of situation you were in.”

“I know, but I did hurt him,” Logan looked back up at Leo with a small smile. “And I know I don’t talk about it. And I know me and him still have more to say about it. But I won’t hurt you.” He pressed his palms to Leo’s cheeks and kissed him firmly. “So, I don’t want you at Harvard. I want you now, where I can want you with—with everything. Toutes les choses.”

Leo let his head drop back, grinning, and Logan laughed.

“Too mushy for you?” He pulled Leo in by his shirt, his lips against Leo’s throat. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“I don’t know, Finn gets pretty mushy.”

Logan laughed louder, untangling their legs and pushing his way into Leo’s lap. “He does. But heads up, he’s horrible at gift giving. Which is kind of ironic, given how good he is at…” Logan pushed his hips down against Leo’s. “Literally everything else. Besides cooking. And unboxing, apparently,” He kissed below Leo’s chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Leo sighed. “It’s—what’s bothering me isn’t something I actually think.”

When Logan just raised an eyebrow at him, Leo couldn’t help but laugh. “This is where Finn would be literally begging me to tell him.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Logan shrugged. He turned his head and kissed Leo’s wrist, right where his bracelet was.

They kissed quietly then, Logan pressing so close that Leo felt surrounded by him. They both jumped when a bomb went off in the movie, gunfire exploding into action.

Logan cursed and reached for the remote to flick it off. “We’re not even watching this.”

“What should we get for dinner?” Leo said, drumming his fingers on Logan’s back. “Should we order something? Want sushi?”

“Ouais, sounds good.”

Logan stayed nestled against Leo while he put the order into Caviar. They lay together quietly, which was almost nicer than anything else. Logan was somehow both one of the most guarded and most open people Leo had ever met at the same time. He didn’t always want to talk about it, but he understood himself. Leo loved that about him. He loved Logan.

“You almost kissed me,” Leo said into the quiet. “Twice.”

“Freaked myself the fuck out,” Logan smiled. Leo felt the words rumble against his chest. “And probably you, too. Sorry.”

Leo shook his head. “It was—it was sort of good. It made me decided that I was going to talk to you. Not at Christmas, when you met June for the first time, but the second time. On the road. And then Finn kissed me a few days later.”

“What would you have said?” Logan asked softly.

“I…well, I wasn’t going to tell you I liked you or anything like that. I was just going to say that I understood. Because I thought you liked Finn. And I was pretty sure I was just…the easier option.” Leo laughed a little. “I almost stopped wearing my bracelet. Thought it was too obvious. But then Finn kissed me and, well, you know what happened next.”

“I didn’t know about you,” Logan replied. “I just…”

Leo pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re the most impulsive and the most guarded person in the entire world.”

Logan laughed. “I guess I am.”

~

Sharing a hotel room with Logan was torture.

He was messy as hell. He left water all over the bathroom floor as if he had tried to take a shower at the sink. He complained about the too silky feeling of the hotel sheets. He slept in threadbare sleep pants with a hole at the top of one thigh that was not getting any smaller. He ordered peppermint tea before bed and sipped it, holding the cup close with both hands. Sometimes he snorted when he laughed. They sat on one bed instead of two when they watched TV. One time Leo had fallen asleep and woken up at one thirty in the morning to Logan beside him. Logan had let him stay.

Leo had immediately felt bad. They had a game tomorrow. He was taking up so much room, Logan should have taken his bed, really. But, instead, he was curled on his side facing Leo, asleep. Their bare feet were touching, like they had found each other in the night.

Leo didn’t know how he had managed to fall asleep in the first place. Not after everything.

They had been watching National Treasure. They’d been half keeping track of the plot, half scrolling on their phones, maybe another half talking about the game coming up. Leo could tell something was wrong. He’d seen it in Finn, too. Logan, loud and fiery, was subdued. And Leo couldn’t believe himself, but he thought Finn had something to do with it. Leo couldn’t believe himself, but he wanted nothing more than to reach out and fix it.

Logan was torture, because Logan was Logan, and Leo was Leo.

Leo rubbed the bracelet on his wrist and looked at the blue light from the phone light up Logan’s face. His lips were parted, breathing softly as he looked mindlessly at instagram, flashing through pictures of babies, couples with wine glasses, peace signs and advertisements for the car he’d been looking at. Logan had his hood pulled over his head, and he was slumped into his pillows, knees pulled up. It looked like the overly plush hotel quilt would swallow him up if he sunk down any further.

Leo was stretched out, toes near the edge of the bed. Characters were running through a market on the TV, and Leo was trying to decide if he should say something—

“Tremz,” Leo said.

“Hm,” Logan had switched to twitter.

“Do you want your tea? I’m gonna order the sundae on the room service menu.”

Logan looked at him.

“What?” Leo shrugged. “I had a good game. Everyone needs a good sundae every once in a while.”

A small smile crept over Logan’s face and Leo felt like he could practically watch Logan look at him. His green eyes flit between Leo’s, down to his mouth, and then back up again.

“I…yes. Yeah, I’ll have one, too. And tea.”

Leo rolled onto his side, back towards Logan, to make the call. When he faced the television again, Logan was still looking at him.

“Did you want something else?” Leo asked. “I should’ve checked.”

Logan shook his head. “Non.” He cleared his throat and pushed himself up against his pillows. “Non, it’s perfect.”

“Me and my dad would have sundaes,” Leo said. “After games. He’d take me to this ice cream place that had been there for, like, a century or something way old like that. And so, if I have a good game, or if I miss home, I usually have one. Haven’t really done it on the road yet, though.” Leo smiled. “Finn sure likes it when I make them.”

Logan blinked at the mention of Finn, but he didn’t mention him further. “Do you miss home now?” he asked instead.

Leo ran a hand through his hair. “I think I always miss home a little.”

Logan was still looking at him with his dark-lashed eyes. “Like, home as in New Orleans, or home as in your family?”

“Both,” Leo said. “But I definitely think home is more people-based for me.”

Logan nodded slowly. He looked down at his phone, turning it over in his hands a few times. The background, Leo had noticed before, was a picture of him and Finn. It had been taken by someone else and they looked younger in it, maybe a little drunk. Finn had Logan’s hat on and their cheeks were pressed together, both laughing.

“Yeah,” Logan said faintly, looking at it. Then, he looked at Leo, and Leo looked at Logan looking at him all over again. “Me, too.” 

“Do you—” Leo began, then paused. “You miss someone, Tremz?”

Logan’s laugh was small and humorless. “Does it count if I see them every day?”

Leo jolted a little. He hadn’t expected a response like that. He hadn’t really expected a response at all. And Logan wasn’t looking at him anymore, not even at his phone, but the complete other direction. Out the dark hotel window.

Leo risked scooting forward a little. This was surreal. This was Logan Tremblay who he was comforting—well, trying to anyways. The boy who Leo had watched on TV more times than he could count, who he admired endlessly. Just as Logan was about to speak again, Logan turned towards him again, leaning in.

“Leo—”

Leo felt them both freeze. Leo knew he was probably too close. He could feel Logan’s breaths. He thought about Christmas, and Logan’s mouth so close to his. He definitely thought about just leaning forward—

“I’m sorry you’re homesick,” Logan finally said. The words settled quietly between them, and Logan didn’t move away.

“That’s okay. I’m sorry you’re…”

Logan smiled a closed smile when Leo trailed off.

“Oui,” Logan whispered, and his eyes moved to Leo’s mouth, then back up. “I don’t know what I am, either.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Room service,” came a muffled voice.

Leo, unable to stand the tormented look that Logan had on his face, rolled off of the bed and got the door.

~

“I looked up to you guys before getting here,” Leo said quietly.

Logan pushed himself onto his elbows to look at Leo. “Did you have our posters?”

Leo snorted. “You’ll never know.”

“Please tell me. Our jerseys?”

Leo just raised an eyebrow and smiled. “What if I only had one of your jerseys and not the other’s?”

Logan’s eyes lit up. “Please let me tell Finn that you had mine and not his.”

“No way.”

“As a prank, please, Nut, please.”

“If Finn thinks that is real for even two seconds he will never stop talking about it,” Leo laughed. “No way.”

“But I love it when he’s angry, it’s so—not really angry, but his little fits where his ears get red?” Logan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling like it was the best thing he could ever think about.

Leo smiled. “I really love that I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

I love you.

“Nous avons de la chance,” Logan grinned.

We’re lucky.

“It’s just that,” Leo took a slow breath. “I feel, like, too lucky. What if things had happened differently? What if Finn never told me he liked me? Because I would never have told him, or either of you. I never would have, Tremz, I couldn’t ruin you two like that. And then, I just would have—sat there every day.”

Logan said something soft and soothing in French. His mouth, when he kissed Leo, was just as gentle.

“I know,” Logan said. “And I can’t think about that. I need you.”

“I need you, too.”

~

Finn was at Dumo’s Christmas party with a girl. June. June was nice. Leo liked June. And maybe Finn did, too, but…still. Leo wondered what Logan thought.

Standing there in Pascal’s kitchen, looking at Logan’s pale face, Leo wondered what Logan knew.

“Excuse me,” Logan breathed, and then he was bolting down the basement steps to where Leo knew his bedroom was.

“I’ll go make sure he’s,” Leo began, but trailed off over a hard swallow. Finn looked sort of wrecked, as much as Logan had, Remus looked confused, and June looked—almost analytical.

“He’s had a lot to drink,” Leo finished lamely, and made his escape after Logan.

He was…endlessly confused by June.

The basement was a kid’s wonderland. A small floor hockey rink was put down over the carpet, littered with various sized roller blades. There was a mat for gymnastics, a foam basketball hoop, Barbie houses and legos and pirate ships all pushed together to make a giant, impressively realistic sort of town with ports and streets and gardens. There was a massive television with equally large, plush leather couches, thick fleece blankets thrown over the backs. Bean bags, and video games, and surround-sound. And to the left of it all, Logan’s bedroom door, plastered with loving signs made for him by the Dumais children. Stick figure after stick figure with hearts and stars—some of them looked like they were wearing a backwards hat. Leo smiled at the sight, then knocked on the slightly ajar door.

“Tremz?” he called out softly.

There was no sound from within for a second, and then he heard Logan clear his throat. “Ouais. Yeah, come in.”

Leo slid through the door and closed it behind him. Logan looked frozen, back towards him, between the door and his bed. His hands were in fists at his sides, and Leo, only half sure of what he was doing, crossed the room until they were facing each other. He took one of Logan’s hands and uncurled it, and then the other. Logan watched him do it with a glazed expression on his face.

“I’m fine,” Logan said.

Leo just hugged him.

“I’m fine,” Logan said again, voice more hoarse. “I didn’t drink that much.”

“Okay.”

Logan’s shoulders only relaxed after a good minute, and he turned his nose into Leo’s neck and held on.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine,” Leo replied.

“Knutty,” Logan whispered, and Leo had a sudden feeling that Logan was going to fall apart right there in his arms.

“What can I do, Tremz?”

Logan pulled back some, but only enough that his cheek brushed Leo’s, the side of his mouth against Leo’s jaw. Leo stopped breathing entirely. This was the most contact like this that he had had in a long time, and Logan was warm and gorgeous, but he was also hurting, and Finn was upstairs with a girl, and Leo didn’t understand.

“Logan?” Leo whispered.

All Leo could make out from this close, this angle, was that Logan had his eyes closed. If Leo turned his head any more to look, they’d be—

Logan leaned into him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I—no, that’s okay—”

Logan sucked in a sharp breath and then he was turning away, out of Leo’s arms. There was a horrible moment of hanging in a balance of silence.

“We should get back to the party,” was all Logan said after that.

~

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asked, brushing their lips together.

“Christmas,” Leo whispered back.

“Knutty,” Logan’s brows drew together. Seconds after the word was out of his mouth, he was kissing Leo, a little sloppily, hands in his hair. Leo breathed in through his nose and let it fill him up.

“How’s that?” Logan said when they finally broke apart.

“Very purposeful, thanks.”

Logan smiled, looking down at Leo, and then the smile slowly dropped off of his face.

Leo blinked. “What? What’s wrong?”

Logan sighed. He carded his fingers through Leo’s hair, thumb and forefinger messing with the grayish tuft at the front. “Harzy’s going to kill me.”

Leo’s laugh was halted in his confusion. “Why…”

Logan’s mouth twisted a little, like he was biting the inside of his cheek, and then he watched his own fingers twirling the gray streak in Leo’s hair for a moment. When his eyes found Leo’s again, he looked resolute. “I love you.”

Leo thought about Harvard.

He wondered about loving Logan and Finn amid locker room glances and looming dreams of success. Between classes and team dinners and roommates. Late night studying and parties where he would have to watch them pick up girls. He thought of four years of it, instead of a few months.

Leo thought about Christmas.

He thought of Finn, and days in the apartment with him, reading and talking and staying up late. Then, June. Logan’s wound up frame.

Logan was looking at him now, green eyes soft and calm. He knew Leo loved him. Leo supposed he had known Logan loved him. Finn, too. Logan just smiled and kissed his surprised mouth in quick bursts, and then in long, aching strokes that pulled Leo’s heart completely apart like it was merely made of string.

“Mon coeur,” Logan mumbled.

“I love you,” Leo finally managed. The words sounded surprised, although he wasn’t. 

“I would have loved you at Harvard,” Logan said softly. “I would love you in, I don’t know—in the arctic. I would love you at war, or stuck on some island together, or I would love you in fucking ancient Rome. I’d love you anywhere, Leo. I love you now. We both do.”

Keys jingled in the door, and Logan smiled, glancing up. Leo was glad that he didn’t hear Finn talking because that meant Alex wasn’t with him and Leo was fairly sure he couldn’t hold any type of conversation right now. Logan whispered the phrase once more into the soft skin of Leo’s jaw that he was kissing.

“I love coming home, wow,” Leo heard Finn sigh out as the door shut behind him. There was a clink that sounded like him throwing his keys onto the counter and then he appeared upside down above Leo, his hands on the couch arm behind Leo’s head. “Hi, guys.”

Logan laughed softly into Leo’s neck. Leo just stared up at him.

Finn looked between them. “What?”

When they didn’t answer, Finn’s face turned worried and he pulled himself around to crouch at their sides, one hand on Logan’s back. “What the fuck, what?”

“I…” Leo began.

“Watch this,” Logan said, and then looked at Leo, brushing their noses together. “Love you, Knutty.”

Leo bit his lip. “Love you.”

Finn was quiet for a long moment. Logan looked at him expectantly, Leo sheepishly. Finn’s face seemed frozen. Strangely blank. And then he punched Logan in the arm. Hard.

“Ow,” Logan laughed louder.

“Fucking—” Finn shook his head. “Fuck you. We had a plan.”

“I had to,” Logan said. “He was just sitting there, not knowing. He was sad.”

Leo hit Logan on the back of the head lightly. “I wasn’t sad.”

“But without me?” Finn pushed on. “You couldn’t have waited another fucking hour?”

Logan just buried his face in Leo’s neck again, settling himself more firmly on top of him. It left Leo and Finn looking at each other, Leo smiling in a way that felt a little dopey to him, and Finn with his mouth open. He had his glasses on, making his brown eyes reflect the light and turn all sorts of different shades.

“Well, fuck,” Finn said. “This is the most unromantic thing ever.”

“No, it’s not,” Logan mumbled.

Finn sent him a glare, even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll get you for this, Tremblay.”

Logan peaked out at him. Leo could feel his eyelashes against his neck. “That sounds fun.”

“Logan,” Finn groaned.

Logan smiled and scraped his teeth against Leo’s neck in a playful nip. It unraveled him all over again. “Don’t you have something you wanna tell Leo?”

Finn’s expression melted some at that. He looked at Leo and took a long, slow breath. He still had his coat on, and the dark wool made his pale skin creamy.

“You had to know,” Finn said softly. Leo thought he could hear a catch of emotion in his voice. “Of course, we were going to tell you, but…you had to know how much we love you.”

Leo nodded. “I…I wasn’t sure, but…Or, I was sure. But it’s not really true until… And you two have known each other so much longer.” Leo sighed. “When Tremz said I was sad. I wasn’t, but I guess that’s been bothering me. I’m…newer. And I hear you guys say it and I…I love hearing you say you love each other. But I also wanted it and I knew I should wait because I’m not, you know. If you weren’t ready, I didn’t want to say it first and, like, make you feel like you had to.”

“Baby,” Finn whispered. He reached out and laced his fingers in Leo’s hair. “I…Me and Tremz, how could we not—Tremz?”

Logan raised his head. “I remember realizing I liked you.”

Finn snorted. “I remember realizing Logan liked you.” He smirked. “Because I liked that.”

“I’m talking.”

“Sorry.”

“I remember realizing I liked you,” Logan said again. “And I remember almost kissing you, and…Nut, I could never feel like I had to do anything with you. There is no have to. It’s all want.”

Leo smiled. “Yeah?”

Finn leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to Leo’s cheek and looked at his torso. “Nice sweatshirt.”

Leo bit his lip. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t have to know us then or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Leo let his head fall back against the cushions. With things like these, Finn always seemed to know.

“We didn’t even know us then, if you think about it,” Finn smiled. “You just had to be the tall as hell, kind, hot ass rookie that suddenly showed up in our lives. Who we didn’t know we needed.” Finn looked up at Logan briefly when Logan took his hand. “We love you,” he said, and looked at Logan, then at Leo. He seemed at serious as Logan had, sure and steady and hoping. “I love you.”

Leo had a hand on each of them, Finn pressing his cheek into his palm. “Love you, Fish.”

The buzzer rang, signaling someone was at the door downstairs.

“Food,” Logan said and rolled off of Leo. He pulled Finn in for a kiss before he went to the door, socks slipping a little on the floor as he went to let the delivery up.

It freed up space for Finn to pull himself between Leo’s thighs and kiss him quiet and warm.

“I love you so fucking much, Nutter Butter,” Finn whispered.

“Me too,” Leo said. Finn smelled like the wind and coming snow, and Leo wanted to warm him right up.

Finn grinned. “I love you and we’re going to the playoffs.”

“Yeah, we are,” Leo pushed Finn’s glasses up his nose.

“And you can do the splits.”

Leo snorted. “Is this how your brain works?”

“Yeah,” Finn nodded hurriedly with a shrug, looking nothing short of elated.

“Food,” Logan called out, closing the apartment door behind him. “Nutty, allez, or I’m taking all the edamame.”

Finn got up and pulled Leo after him.

~

“Mama?” Leo said into his phone.

“Hi, honey,” Eloise Knut said. Leo could hear the pots and pans in the background and when he closed his eyes he could practically smell the spices cooking. “How are you, baby? I’m just starting dinner. We’ve got all our tickets booked, me and your daddy, we’re so excited! Oh, Wyatt’s just buying all of your boys’ stuff—mostly yours.”

“Picture that,” Leo smiled into the phone. “Wyatt Knut buying hockey merch.”

Eloise laughed. “Our closet’s a Lions’ den, that’s for sure. We’ve got Black, we’ve got Potter—oh and you know how I like that Tremblay.”

Leo pressed a hand over his cheek, grinning so hard they hurt. “Yes, I know.”

“That accent,” Eloise said. “And those eyes.”

“Is dad still at work?” Leo said. “I just have some—well, news. Some good—really good news.”

“Better than the playoffs? Damn, honey. Well, yes, Wyatt’s still at the office, but you know him, always home soon. Do you wanna wait, or…”

Leo laughed. “Like you could let me wait after hearing I have news.”

“Well, if you want to!” his mom tapped a spoon on the side of a pan. “I’ll just be here making some stew, minding my own business.”

As if Leo could ever hold out on telling her now that he’d gotten this far.

“Mama—” he said, then cut off. Tears welled up in his throat and he pressed a hand over his eyes.

“Sweetheart? Honey, what is it? Are you—” she paused. “Is…is this about something to do with…you know, the bracelet?”

“Yeah,” Leo managed. “Yeah, mama.”

“Oh, Leo,” she breathed. “Let me turn the stove off.”

Leo laughed wetly, wiping his eyes as he listened to his mom bustle around the kitchen, heard a chair scrape out against the kitchen tiles.

“Okay, I’m ready, I’m ready.”

Leo could picture her there, blonde hair piled high on her head with a clip, strong and lean from her morning runs. He could see the sunlight coming in through the shutters and the radio playing softly in the steam from the food she was cooking.

“It’s—it’s a little more than we’ve ever talked about so stay with me, okay?” Leo said.

“Honey, you could fall in love with a sea turtle and I’d throw you a wedding party.”

“No sea turtles over here, but…”

“But?” Eloise said. “Oh, tell me, I’m gonna fall over.”

Leo grinned, laying back on his bed. “You were saying you liked Logan Tremblay?”

There was one beat of silence, then two, and then Eloise all but squeaked.

“No,” she shouted into the phone and Leo laughed. “Oh my—my favorite?”

“That’s not all,” Leo said, rubbing a hand over his chest. His heart was pounding.

“Not all?”

“Finn O’Hara?” Leo said. “My—

“Your roommate? Oh, Leo. Wait…Logan and Finn? When you said more, I wasn’t thinking…”

“Pretty crazy, huh? But yeah.” Leo looked towards his closed door, towards the living room where he knew they were waiting for him. “Logan and Finn, we’re all…Logan moved in and, well, we’re us.”

“Tell me everything.”

Logan was laying on Finn’s chest on the couch when Leo came back into the living room.

Finn’s eyes found his from the TV and he scoffed. “Lover-nut, why you gotta be so pretty when you’ve been crying?”

They made room for Leo to sit down, Logan in the middle and basically throwing his weight into Leo’s side. Leo wrapped an arm around him. “Both of you have called me pretty today.”

“You are,” Logan said.

Finn threw his legs across them. “How’d it go?”

“Really good. My dad wasn’t there, but I’m sure my mom will let it slip before I call again,” Leo laughed. “But really, really good. You’re my mom’s favorite, Tremz.”

Logan whooped and Finn hit the couch.

“Damn.”

“Also, also—” Logan began, already laughing.

“No, Lo,” Leo tried to cover his mouth.

“Knutty had my jersey and not yours, Finn.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I—”

“Excuse me, Leonardonius Knut? I’m going to get one of mine right fucking now—”

Leo just laughed, and let Finn wrestle him down to the couch, shaking his head at a smirking Logan.

“—and you’re putting it on—”

“I only had Kasey’s jersey if you must know.”

“Kasey?” they said.

“I’m a goalie, guys, what did you expect?”

Finn looked between them. “Is this a joke? Lo. Lo, were you fucking with me?”

Logan tugged lightly on the band of Leo’s sweatpants. “Ouais. But you could still give Leo your jersey if you wanted to.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Be right back.”

Logan laughed and kissed him as Finn climbed over the back of the couch.

Leo loved them, more than he could say, and each time he thought it, he felt brand-new.

[kaitycole]

chapter two: how it all began

Summary: Two little friends have always desired one thing: to end up as siblings. So when the chance presented itself after a finalized divorce, who were they to decline such an opportunity to finally bring their parents together?

Pairings: Bokuto Kōtarō x f!Reader

Word Count: 2577

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mentions of divorce, cheating, cussing

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this series. Part of the @babythotshq​​ Dearest Daddy Collab

Tags: open (send me an ask to be added!)

October 2018

Jess wasn’t sure if she should take Bo up on his offer, her mind had her convinced that it was just him being friendly. He saw the way he had looked at you and yeah, he said you had just gotten married, but that doesn’t mean feelings just fade.

She had pulled up his contact several times in the two weeks since she’d gotten it. Since she wasn’t familiar with Osaka or Japan at all, there were no run-ins with him which Jess couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

It was a rainy Friday when she finally texted him; her thoughts had caught up to her and it dawned on her that no number of miles would cure the pain in her heart.

The adult part of her understood that people are busy and Bo wasn’t ignoring her, he is a pro-athlete after all. But the other part of her, the part that isn’t so mature, chalks up the 20 minutes that passed as he didn’t really mean his offer.

Bo was finishing up in the locker room after practice, he pulled his phone out of his bag before stuffing in his practice clothes. He was on his way out when he finally glanced down and saw two notifications.

Y/N: Just wanted to remind you that I won’t be able to text until next Friday! I’ll bring back souvenirs! (4:05 pm)

He didn’t reply, it was painful to hear about your honeymoon and to be fair he didn’t really want a souvenir either; some constant reminder that you were with someone else. Not to mention all you talked about was how much Youta wanted to start a family. Yeah, he really didn’t need that reminder.

He did perk up however when he saw the second text, one from an unknown number.

Jess: Hey. It’s Jess. (3:12 pm)

Bo quickly noticed that it’d been over an hour since Jess texted him and he panicked. Should he call her or text her back? He groaned when he got to the main exit only to see it was pouring and he once again forgot an umbrella.

Bokuto: Hey! Just got out of practice, sup? (4:40 pm)

Jess smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead, instantly feeling dumb for not realizing it sooner. She stared at her screen, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Jess: I was wondering if your offer was still available? (4:44 pm)

A huge grin spread across Bokuto’s face as he read the message. It no longer mattered to him that it was raining heavily as he walked to the bus station or that he’d have to shower again when he got home.

Bokuto: ‘Course! When are you free? (4:50 pm)

Jess: Sunday? Noon? (4:51 pm)

Bokuto: See you then! (4:52 pm)

Saturday was spent texting Bo most of the day, eagerly deciding where they should go. They ended up agreeing to go to the Shinsaibashi district once Jess mentioned needing to pick up a few things for her apartment. They were both surprised when they learned they lived in neighboring complexes, just a short walk to the others.

On Sunday, Bo all but bounced his way to Jess’s apartment. He had mentioned their texts and conversations to Kuroo who was almost as excited as Bo was; Kuroo liked you, he always had, but he didn’t like seeing Bo so hung up on you and Jess gave him a way to let you go. Jess opened the door and was taken back for a moment, the last time she’d seen Bo he was post-game sweaty in a volleyball uniform, but here he was in her doorway wearing tight black jeans and a hoodie taking her breath away.

Bokuto smiled when saw Jess dressed up; when they met she had on a pantsuit, but here she looked more comfortable. She had one a maroon knee-length dress, stockings and brown boots, accompanied with a scarf; her brown hair was down and curled.

“Ready?” He reached out his hand.

“Ready!” She took his hand as she shut the door.

*                      * A few hours shopping around Shinsaibashi and Bo’s hands are full with most of Jess’s bags. She swore to him that she really didn’t mind carrying them, they were hers after all, but Bo wouldn’t hear it. What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t help? She has a few new pieces to add to her wardrobe, a couple of picture frames for prints she wanted to hang up and a few beauty ideas.

He motioned for her to head to a café, sitting her bags in a spare chair at their table.

“You sure there’ll be room in your apartment for all this?” He teased.

Her cheeks burn red as she tried to hide her face with the menu, “I’m sorry. I could’ve gone shopping on my own. I’m sure you don’t want to waste a day off running errands.”

He waved her off, “It’s fine. This is fun. My only plans were to watch TV.”

“Oh. I guess I thought you might hang out with Y/N.” Jess smiled at the waitress as she ordered.

Bo quickly ordered what Jess had, not really paying much attention the mention of you had thrown him for a loop. “I…uhm…she’s out of town.” He cleared his throat, “Honeymoon.”

“I…I am so sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything!” Jess’s eye widened instantly feeling awful. “Wow I just keep messing up today.”

“It’s fine. Really.” He took a sip of his water, “I’m having a lot of fun.”

Jess bit her lip before she began to pick at the croissant she had ordered. Bo ate quietly too which was odd for him but he really wasn’t sure what to say.

“So?” They both spoke at the same time causing them both to laugh.

“You go first.” She offered with a small smile.

“What brought you to Japan?” Bo asked, mouth slightly full of croissant which makes her laugh for a second.

She fiddled with her napkin, her mouth dried slightly. “Can I speak freely?”

Bo cocked his head to the side, not fully understanding, “Of course.”

“I guess you could say I have a Y/N of my own.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “His name is Mark and for years he told me that when he fulfilled his goals, he’d finally be ready for a relationship. Well six years is a long time and 5300+ miles seemed far enough to start over.”

Bo nodded, part of him was glad that he met someone who understood, but the other part, the bigger part of him hated it because no one deserves to feel that way.

“Well, Mark sounds like a dick, but I am glad that it brought you here. I like you.” Bo smiled, noticing her cheeks turned bright pink.

“I like you too.” Jess smiled.

*                      * It didn’t take long for Jess and Bo to become attached at the hip; after the first few hangouts they quickly learned they had a lot in common. And for the things they didn’t have in common? They just taught each other about it.

The moment she expressed interest in volleyball, Bo jumped on the opportunity to teach her; even bringing her to the gym to show her a few moves with Hinata and Kuroo. The latter spent most of the time teasing Bo by flirting with Jess, even picking her up when she assisted in a block. Kuroo lived to pick on Bo, but he was happy Bo had someone in his life to help him get move on. He even managed to snap a photo when Bo picked up her, cheering with a sparkle in her eyes when she spiked a ball.

When Bo mentioned that he had always liked plants but couldn’t seem to keep on alive, Jess jumped on the chance to help him. Her apartment was filled with various types of plants; flowers and herbs and Bo loved listening to her go on and on about them. She went out and bought pots, soil and seeds and made it a challenge to see who could grow their plant the tallest; Bo quickly accepted and then in the same breath overwatered the seeds. Jess gifted him a fake plant short after.

Mid-April 2019

“Are you sure I look okay?” Jess asked, for the fourth time since Bo picked her up. They were sitting in his car outside of Kuroo’s apartment. Just like the other three times, he assured her that she looked beautiful.

“You’ll be the best looking one there.” Bo smiled as she rolled her eyes at him. He wasn’t lying, based on what Bo heard from Kuroo it was mostly just going be you, Jess, Bo, Kuroo and Kenma.

She looked down at her outfit one more time; dark blue skinny jeans, a pale pink flowy top with a thin gray sweater. She knew she’d looked fine, this was her go-to outfit back in California, but for some reason she didn’t feel confident in it. Maybe she should’ve worn her black ankle boots instead of her chestnut brown ones.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Bo opened her door, reaching his hand for hers. She gave him a straight smile as he pulled her into a hug. Breathing in his woody scented cologne instantly relaxed her; sandalwood quickly became a scent she yearned for since meeting him.

He lifted her chin with his index finger, making eye contact with her, “You look stunning. Stop worrying so much.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead causing her to smile.

He intertwined his fingers with hers before they walked into Kuroo’s apartment. Kuroo quickly answered the door.

“HEY HEY HEY!” Bo shouted in reply to Kuroo’s “HEY HEY!”

“Hey, Kuroo.” Jess smiled and then blushed when Kuroo grabbed her free hand, kissing the back of it.

“You know you can call me Tetsu.” He winked which caused Bo to pull Jess into the apartment, muttering that Kuroo worked just fine. Bo knew Kuroo was doing it to get under his skin, he wasn’t clueless, but Jess meant the world to Bo and he wanted to protect her. Kuroo was one of his closest friends and yeah, he trusted him, but Mark was still constantly on Jess’s mind. She needed more time to heal.

You were sitting on the couch when Bo and Jess walked in. You smiled at the pair, noting that Bo was still clinging on to her hand and how he had stiffened at Kuroo’s suggestion for her to call him by his first name.

After failing to agree on where to go to enjoy the night, Kuroo suggested seeing which set of best friends knew each other better. Kuroo clearly feeling that he and Kenma would have a landslide of a victory. Kenma shrugged since Kuroo took his gaming console and hid it which Kuroo and Bokuto took as agreeing. Bokuto was game for anything to show off his competitive side and to beat Kuroo.

The only issue was who would be Bokuto’s partner. Jess awkwardly stared between everyone not wanting to step on anyone’s toes.

“Bo, you can have Jess and Y/N. You’ll need all the help you can get.” Kuroo winked at Jess.

“It’s fine, I can sit this game out.”  Jess said, holding her hands up. “I’ll pick the questions to ask.” “Oh no, it’s fine.” You smiled at her, “I don’t mind seeing what you got.”

“Are we gonna have a cat fight?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow which gained a glare from you, an elbow to the ribcage from Kenma and Bo shaking his head.

“No. I just think it’d be fun. If I play, we’d smoke ya!” You teased Kuroo, sticking out your tongue.

“What do ya, Jess? Be my partner?” Bo smiled and you couldn’t help but see the way Jess’s face flushed as she nodded before moving to sit next to him.

You watched the two of them scoot closer to each other, Bo’s hand resting gently on her thigh as if that’s the most natural thing. Bo was a touchy person, you weren’t blind to that but it made you feel…jealous?

Once upon a time, during the first year you met Bokuto, you developed a crush on the two-toned haired boy. You thought that you had been obvious about it and had dropped hints, but Bo never seemed to reciprocate it or catch on. So, you moved on, leaving the idea in your first-year classroom.

“Y/N, ask the first question!” Kuroo shouted.

“Hold on, hold on.” You scrolled on a website until you found what you were looking for. “Okay, we’ll start with Team KuroKen: What’s your best friend’s favorite food?”

“Easy peasy! Apple pie!” Kuroo smirked, knowing he was right.

“Grilled Mackerel.” Kenma sighed, clearly uninterested.

“Correct!” You cheered. “Now for Team Bess.” “Bess?” Jess scrunched up her face.

You shrugged, “All I could think of on short notice.”

“Cool name or not, we’re gonna win!” Bo wrapped his arm around Jess’s waist, pulling her tighter to him. “Jess’s favorite food is mashed potatoes.”

Jess grinned towards you, “And Bo’s is BBQ meat.”

“C’mon Y/N, give us a hard question!” Kuroo begged.

The four of them continued to answer question after question until both teams had a tied score of 20. You began to smirk to yourself when you found the perfect question. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Jess, she seemed nice enough, but Bokuto had been your best friend for years and you didn’t like the fact that someone thought that six months was long enough to act like they knew Bo.

“Here we go, perfect question.” You winked at Jess, “What was the last movie your best friend watched?”

Team KuroKen quickly answered and a confident Kuroo started gloating about how they already won.

“Bo last watched Coco!” Jess exclaimed.

“Actually, it was (your favorite movie) a few weeks ago when I was upset.” You shrugged with a smirk on your face. Jess got up, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

“WE WON!” Kuroo shouted before teasing Bokuto that maybe he’d have better luck next time.

“Kuroo, calm down.” Kenma sighed.

“No, Y/N, it was Coco.” Bo stood up, shaking his head, “We watched it together a few nights ago.”

“Well,” you stammered, crossing your arms. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You could’ve waited until I answered.” He let out a deep breath.

“That doesn’t make her your best friend.” You all but shouted.

“I can have more than one best friend.” Bo started walking towards the bathroom to find Jess. “You do, you have Youta, right? Why can’t I have Jess?”

Kuroo let out a low, awkward whistle before Kenma shook his head, heading into the kitchen.

“Youta is my husband. Jess is just...Jess. You’ve known her less than a year.”

“But you always said you’d marry your best friend. And so what? Jess is important to me, that should be enough for you to accept her.”

He walked down the hall, knocking on the bathroom door before gently opening it. He found Jess sitting on the side of the tub, tears in her eyes. Bo kneeled in front of her, pulling her into his arms, apologizing.

“Guess I should’ve just picked the questions, huh?” She laughed and a small sob mixed with it.

Bo started to laugh, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Previous/ Masterlist /Next

[jabbajambler]

1

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,139

*GIF by @no-droids​*

       "I can't believe you would do this! This is the best opportunity you've had in years."

         Greef stood proudly with his hands on his hips while I shouted at him. To him, it was the same as any other quarrel we had. I would get angry, he would stay calm, and we'd be over it within an hour.

         This time was different. My anger built and bubbled inside of me, bringing my blood to a violent boil. This was the best opportunity the Guild had received in years and I figured I would be first in line for the position.

         I guess I was wrong.

         "Myrah," he spoke calmly, "you and I both know that he is qualified enough for this bounty. Hell, he just might be the best. He will be fine."

         Yes, the man was a great hunter, but he was far from the best. I deserved this opportunity. I spent the last five years proving myself and I was more than capable of it.

         "I don't particularly care for his well-being, Greef. You and I both know that I can handle that bounty. Why did you hand it off to some tin-man?"

         I could feel my nails pressing into the skin of my palms, no doubt leaving small crescent shaped indentions in my skin. My face grew red and warm as I fumed. If I was any angrier, I'm sure steam would have burst from my ears.

         "I am just as qualified as your precious Mandalorian if not more so. I have been working with you for five years and have gotten nothing but petty missions. Don't you think I deserve a high commission bounty?"

         Greef sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose as he always does when he's frustrated. I couldn't understand how he was upset when I was the one getting cheated out of an assignment.

         "Myrah, I can't favor you over the others. Don't you understand?"

         "It's not favoring if I deserve it."

         He placed his hands firmly on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him in his relaxed, deep brown eyes. "I think you need to go blow off some steam."

         I huffed a forced laugh. "Find a stick and stuff it."

         "Myrah!" He scolded and reached for me as I shrugged his hands off of me.

         I spun on my heel and left the place I had learned to call a home, allowing the door to slam behind me without another word. I stomped through the streets, angrily mumbling each of the pathetic excuses that Greef had given me.

         It was an abnormally chilly day, which helped me cool off from my blow up. Even with the light jacket that I had tossed on, the breeze swept through and brought goosebumps to my skin.

         The sight of the gray planet made me frown. What once was a peaceful, neutral place had become incredibly depressing. There was no color to anyone's life, not even a speck of joy. How could someone live in a place that does nothing but make you sad?

         As if the galaxy was trying to test my limits, someone walked past me like they were on a high-stakes mission. Their shoulder roughly hit mine as they went, sending a sharp pain through my arm.

         "Watch where you're going!" I snapped.

         They turned around and revealed the shiny helmet that I immediately recognized as one of the Mandalorians. Not just any, however, oh no. Each helm was specifically crafted for each individual and that one just so happened to belong to the one person Greef believed could handle the mission of a lifetime.

          The Mandalorian simply turned back around and continued walking down the path. A part of me wanted to run after him and knock some sense into his hollow skull, but then it hit me.

         His ship was left unattended.

         Most Mandalorians traveled alone and I assumed he was no exception. Well, he certainly didn't seem the family type at least. This was the perfect opportunity for revenge.

         As a child, I was always told that revenge was a fancy word for hate. Now, hate wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it led people down a dark path if you let it fester for too long. More than anything, we were taught to be compassionate.

         But that could wait a few hours.

         The corners of my mouth tugged into a smug grin. If Greef wasn't going to give me the task, then I supposed I would have to take it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

         I began my stroll towards the landing area right outside of the town entrance. It was the most convenient spot unless you were dealing with some shady business.

         People typically left their ships unlocked and unattended, which worked great for me. It wasn't common for citizens of Nevarro to try to steal a ship or...sneak onboard.

         Greef told me stories of the Mandalorian's ship, the Razor Crest. Ever since he joined the Guild, he was always the topic of conversation. He gawked over everything he did, but he especially loved the man's ship. Seeing it up close, I have to admit that it's quite a beauty.

         I didn't expect for him to own such a large ship considering he lives alone, but if you spend enough time in a space, I'm sure the extra room is nice.

          Despite it's beaten up, slightly miserable appearance, it held some sort of attractive quality. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I was drawn to the ship.

         The ship was created before the Empire which meant that the rust-bucket of a ship was older than me. Why anyone would waste their time with such a ship was beyond me. I couldn't even begin to imagine the repair costs on this thing.

         The button for the ramp wasn't too hard to find. It was a bit loud, creaking as I closed it from the inside. Luckily, no one was around to arouse any suspicion.

         There were wires strung about the ceiling. They twisted and frayed, leaving the ship less than appealing. It was so dark and dingy, it was almost as depressing as Nevarro. How the Mandalorian spent so much of his time in here, I had no idea.

         I suppose I was wrong when I assumed he took better care of his ship.

         I gave myself a quick tour of the ship, finding each room to be even more dull than the last. There was a small living space of sorts in the belly of the ship. It held a small cot, a washroom, and several cabinets that I'm sure held an abundance of weapons.

         I like to consider myself a rather sneaky person. After spending years of hiding from the Empire, I've discovered quite a few ways to go under the radar. I doubt that Mando will even know that I'm here. I mean, he has no reason to suspect any stowaways on board.

         I hid in the escape pod across from the cockpit with my blaster held tight in my hand. As much as I wanted to continue exploring, especially those locked up closets, I couldn't. I couldn't take any risks while I was down here, all I could do was sit.

         So, I waited.

             And waited.

                   And waited.

         After nearly two hours of sitting, the soft hiss of the ramp filled the silence of the ship. I was beginning to think he was dead.

         Well, some can only hope.

         I pulled my hood over my head and tugged my maroon scarf over the lower half of my face. It was a mediocre disguise, but it worked in situations like these. Being a bounty hunter, these situations tended to happen a lot.

          I didn't want the Mandalorian to recognize me either. Most of the Guild members were aware of my relationship with Greef and how I've become his adopted daughter of sorts. One look at me and he would be calling for Greef to pick me up like some runaway child.

         My nerves grew as I neared the cockpit. Mandalorians are incredibly well trained and disciplined, perhaps even more so than the Jedi once were. He must've been fighting since he was a child, probably came out of the womb with a blaster in his hand. The only way I could win is with the element of surprise.

         He sat peacefully and unknowingly in the pilot's seat, taking his time to start up the ship. I had to move before he started the engines or else this would get very messy very fast.

         My fingers tightened around the handle of my blaster as I raised it and pressed it into the back of his neck. Mandalorians have very few places on their body that are not covered with armor and the neck just so happens to be one of those unlucky spots.

         "I won't hurt you." I spoke. "Just give me the tracking fob."

         I was shocked that my voice didn't crack. My hands were steady no matter how much I could feel them tremble.

         He was silent as he inched his hand towards the blaster on his hip. Apparently, he didn't think I would notice. That was a foolish move on his part.

         "I wouldn't do that if I were you." I threatened and pulled back the safety on the gun.

         He stood faster than I expected with his weapon drawn. I moved and grabbed the barrel of the blaster just as he grabbed mine, both of us ending with the other's gun.

         "This doesn't have to get ugly." Mando spoke surprisingly calm with a muffled but smooth voice.

         I scoffed and rolled my eyes. 'This doesn't have to get ugly' my ass.

         "It already has."

         I brought my foot up and forced it down on his knee. He faltered slightly, giving me an opportunity to grasp his shoulders and pull my knee into his stomach.

         That was a mistake.

         He dropped my blaster and grabbed my leg, forcing me to lose my balance. I fell to the ground, but not before grabbing his chest plate and pulling him to the floor with me.

         We both managed to clamber back to our feet, staring at each other from opposite sides of the small room. I pulled out his blaster and fired poor shot, giving him a chance to duck under my arm.

         I expected that. It was a mediocre shot, I've done much better.

         What I didn't expect was for him to shove me into the wall and press his arm against my chest. He tried to grab the gun while he held me in place, but I continued to struggle and keep it just out of his reach.

         Pressing my back firmly against the wall, I was able to lift my feet and kick him back into the control panel. I tossed his blaster on the ground and swung my leg against his, knocking him to the floor.

         I opened my mouth to speak as I stood over him, but was rudely interrupted by him pulling me to the ground next to him.

         A grunt escaped my mouth as my head hit the floor. My scarf fell from my face and gathered around my neck while I pulled myself to my knees, my fingers barely brushing against the engraved hilt on my hip.

         I pulled it off of its clip, but he beat me to the attack, tackling me to the ground.

         Mando had me pinned to the cold floor with my hands held above my head. I squirmed and held on tightly to the handle in my grasp as he tried to tear it from me.

         But then he stopped.

         His gaze scanned over my face. At least, that's what I assumed he was doing. With the tinted glass, I couldn't see any hint of humanity lying behind the cold stare. Nevertheless, he was distracted.

         I was able to knock him off of me and onto his back while I rolled over his body. My knees pressed down on his hips to keep him from moving while I grasped his wrists in my hand. It was a struggle, but I managed.

         "You put up a good fight, Mando." I chuckled with a wicked smirk on my face.

         I was out of breath. Well, we both were. Our chests heaved in sync, starting to slow with the lack of action. I could feel a small bead of sweat roll down my forehead as I leaned my face down towards his.

         "Greef was right about you. What a shame."

         I raised the hilt and knocked it against the side of the helmet, stilling him on the ground and sending an echoed ring through the ship. Not dead, just unconscious.

         Either way, the bounty was mine.

[joannie95]

Wicked Game

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and him were not the same. His world is white picket fences and religion. You're from the rough side and dependency. He could do better but do you really want him to? Does he really want you or is this a faze. 

Warnings: Some swearing, angst 

A/N: This is my submission for @fvckingavengers​ quarantine writing challenge the song I used was Wicked Game by Chris Isaak  I’m very excited with what I came up with and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to @itsanerdlife​ for your help and allowing me to use one of your stories as inspiration and @mo320​​ and @luckyfiction17​​ for proofreading 

A/N: song lyrics in italics and text message in bold 

Word Count: 2k+ Bucky's POV

I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

I was walking around with Steve when I saw her in the distance sitting underneath a tree, coffee in one hand and a book in the other. I was so enthralled in her I didn't hear my friend talking.

"Earth to Bucky, are you even listening to me." Steve starts to wave a hand in front of my face.

"Sorry what?" I quickly tried to compose myself. 

"I said what are you going to do about Dot?" 

I rolled my eyes. I didn't even want to think about her, she followed me around like a lost puppy. No matter how many times I tried to avoid her she just wouldn't get the message. "Don't even say her name, the girl won't leave me alone. I'm just going to keep avoiding her and hope she gets the message." 

"It hasn't worked before so I don't know why you think it'll work now." 

Before I could respond Steve had to leave for his next class and we both agreed to meet up later. I saw you collecting your things ready to leave, no better time to make my move. 

Y/N's POV

You were so focused on the words on the page you didn't see him walking towards you till it was too late. Your book and what was left of your coffee fell to the ground. "Dammit, will you watch where you're going." When you look up you see a pair of familiar blue eyes. "Oh it's just you."

He bent down to pick up your book and cup. "Sorry about that, here let me get you a new coffee." 

You let out a breath. "No, it's fine, I was just about finished anyways." 

"Well then, let me take you out on a date to make up for it." His cheeks had a light tinge of pink to them.

You raised your brow. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be mad." 

"What girlfriend?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"That girl you hang around with. Curly red hair, crazy eyes, shrill voice." 

He shakes his head and lets out a breath. "She's not my girlfriend, just someone my folks want me to spend time with." 

"Well you should go spend time with her."

"Maybe I want to spend time with you." 

"I'm not the kind of girl you should be hanging out with." 

"Maybe you're the kind of girl I want to hangout with." He had a little smirk on his face.

You chuckled and grabbed your book from his hand. You started walking off before shouting back to him. "See you around Barnes."

I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

The next day you had a feeling of deja-vu when someone bumped into you again. "Seriously Barnes, you should really start watching where you're going."

"Let me make it up to you, let me take you on a date." He seems a lot more confident than yesterday.

"Barnes." You were starting to get slightly irritated.

"Just one date and if you don't have fun you never have to see me again." He gave you the sweetest puppy eyes that were hard to resist.

You groaned knowing he broke you. "Fine, but. It's not a date, it's just 2 people hanging out."

"Whatever you say." He was beaming. 

Later that day you were in your room with Natasha trying to find something to wear. You've spent the last hour going through your closet twice but you still couldn't decide.

"For someone who's insisting that it's not a date you sure are putting a lot of effort to look nice." The red head was laying in your bed scrolling through her phone.

"Will you shut up and help me please." You were frustrated, why were you stressing out so much? This most definitely wasn't a date. 

"Fine, move." She pushed you to the side and started searching.

You heard your phone go off, as Natasha searched through your closet you responded to the text you saw was from Bucky.

Bucky: Send me your address, I'll pick you up.

You started to panic, you didn't want Bucky to see the rundown building you and Natasha lived in.

Y/N: Actually I'll just meet you there.

Bucky: Are you sure?

Y/N: Yeah it's no problem at all 

Bucky: Alright, I'll see you at 7.

"Here wear this." In a matter of minutes Natasha managed to find something. She hands you a black skater skirt, a fitted gray shirt with a semi deep v and your beloved leather jacket. As soon as she noticed your raised brow she spoke up with a smirk on her face. "You know what they say, if you got it, flaunt it."

"I hate you." You grabbed your outfit and changed. You slipped on a pair of black sneakers, put your hair up in a messy pony and you were ready to go.

At 7 o'clock on the dot you pull up to an ice cream shop and see Bucky standing in front. He was wearing a pair of well fitting jeans and a maroon Henley that hugged his muscles. You have to keep reminding yourself that it's not a date.

"Hey, you look really nice." He tried to keep his voice steady to try and hide how nervous he was.

"Thanks so do you. So, ice cream?" You questioned him.

"Yeah, nothing says two people just hanging out like ice cream." 

You chuckled. "Alright." 

You both grabbed a cup of ice cream and decided to walk around a nearby park.

"So, tell me about yourself." 

"There's not much to know, I grew up in a pretty bad home. Left with Natasha when we were 18 and never looked back." You tried to keep it as brief as possible, the less he knew the better. "What about you. What's the life of Bucky Barnes like?" 

He chuckled. "Well I grew up in a relatively small town. It was my mom, dad, my younger sister Rebecca and I. My best friend Steve grew up there too, we were more like brothers. My dads a pastor in our town's church, once I'm done with school I'm supposed to go back and take over for him."

"Is that something you want to do?"

He gave you a quizzical look as if it's the first time he's been asked that. "I've actually never thought about it. I've always been told that was the plan so I never questioned it."

You both continue to talk into the night, about hobbies, likes and dislikes. You learned he's had an interest in fixing cars and he learned about your love for writing.

You looked down at your watch and were surprised at the time. "Oh wow, it's about to be 10. We've been talking for nearly 3 hours."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that, I guess I lost track of time. Let me walk you back to your car." 

On your way there was an awkward silence between the two of you. 

"I had a lot of fun." He looked down as he was starting to get nervous again.

You gave him a small smile as you felt your cheeks warm. "Me too." You noticed he was slowly leaning towards you. You wanted to lean forward too but you knew you shouldn't. He could do so much better than you. Before he got any closer you spoke up in a whisper you weren't sure he'd hear. "I'm not the girl for you."

What a wicked game you play to make me feel this way.

He leaned back and with a sad smile and disappointed voice he spoke up. "Have a good night Y/N." 

He walked back to his car and you could feel the pain in your chest from how much you hurt him. But it's for the best, he could do so much better than you.

A few days have passed and you've been doing your best to avoid Bucky. When you got home that night you explained to Natasha what you did and she called you an idiot. She was right, but you were doing what you thought was best. 

You were leaving class ready to go home after a long day. You were rounding the corner when you nearly bumped into the one person you were avoiding. "Hi." You looked at him but quickly lowered your head in shame.

"Hi." He looked and sounded tired. Dark circles under his eyes that seemed to have lost that light you were so used to seeing in them.

You were about to walk off when he quickly stopped you.

"What did you mean when you said you're not the girl for me? I should be able to make that decision myself" 

You started to shake your head, you didn't want to do this again. "Bucky-."

"No." He interrupted you. "If it concerns me I have a right to know." He didn't sound mad, just very hurt.

"You and I are completely different. You come from a white picket fence life with an extremely religious family and I come from the rough side of town with a family who couldn't care less. It could never work." If avoiding him wouldn't work maybe being brutally honest would.

"You don't know that." 

"Yes I do. That's just how life works." You were about to continue when you both heard a shrill voice calling his name.

"James didn't you hear me calling you?" She placed her perfectly manicured hands around his arm. She scoffed when she saw you. "What are you doing with her? You know your parents wouldn't like that James." 

You gave him an I told you so look before walking away. "Bye Bucky." 

Once the weekend arrived, Nat decided you needed to go out to get you out of your moping state. In her words "you got yourself into this so it's your job to get yourself out." 

You both walked into a fraternity party and you internally screamed when you saw a certain group of friends on the other side of the room. You were about to ask your friend to leave when you made eye contact with him. 

Bucky's POV

I'm not sure why I'm here, I'd rather be home wallowing in my own misery. According to Steve and Sam I need to go out and stop feeling sorry for myself. When I looked up there she was, skin tight jeans with a cropped band t shirt. Only she could make something so simple look so beautiful. 

"Bucky are you even listening to me?" That shrill voice brought him back. "Why are we even here?" 

"No one told you to follow us. If you don't want to be here you can go." I was done being nice, she obviously couldn't understand we didn't want her around. I walked outside to get another drink and to clear my head. 

I couldn't understand why she'd try so hard to push me away, so what if we come from two different lives. That shouldn't matter. I walked back inside to talk some sense into her, maybe if she knew I didn't care about that she'd consider giving it a shot. I looked around for her, I saw her redheaded friend so she couldn't be far behind. 

"Hey have you seen Y/N anywhere?" 

She looked at me for a second before speaking up. "Yeah she said she was going to find a bathroom but that was a little while ago." 

We both scanned the crowd when I saw her coming out of a room. She pulled down on her shirt and adjusted her hair. She looked up and saw us, immediately after a random guy came out of the room behind her. I thought I was going to be sick, I left and didn't look back.

What a wicked thing to do to let me dream of you 

And I don't wanna fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart)

No, I don't wanna fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart)

With you

Y/N's POV

After searching with no luck you finally managed to find an unlocked bedroom with a small bathroom in the back. Once you stepped out you saw a random guy with a drink in his hand. You quickly apologized thinking it was his room, you were about to go back to the party when he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you close. He said he wanted to have a little fun but you quickly twisted his hand and pushed him off of you.

When you stepped out you made sure to adjust your shirt and fix your hair. You looked up and immediately saw Bucky and Natasha. She looked confused and he looked so hurt, you were about to walk up to them when he turned around and left. You walked towards Natasha to ask her what happened when she questioned you first.

"What the hell was that?" 

"What the hell was what?" You were genuinely confused about what she was talking about.

"You and that guy, did you really just do something stupid to try and push Bucky away?" She was getting extremely mad at this point.

"Nat I really don't know what you're talking about." The confusion in your voice seemed to calm her down. 

"Bucky and I saw you walk out of that room with that guy, and by the way you walked out it seems like something happened between you two." 

"What? No of course not. When I walked out of the bathroom that guy was already in there. He pulled me towards him but I shoved him away, trust me nothing happened." You were hurt that she thought you would do that.

"What are you still doing here? Go after him and tell him the truth." She gave you a nudge but you didn't move.

"No." You seemed confident in that decision but it pained you to say it. "It's for the best, he can do so much better than me." 

She just shook her head and gave you a disappointed look. "Sometimes you really are an idiot. Why can't you just admit how you feel. You two are completely different but who cares none of that should matter. So just go after him and tell him how you feel." 

She's right, you are an absolute idiot, you tried so hard to keep him from ruining his life that you only ended up hurting him. You ran out of the fraternity and frantically looked around you hoping Bucky hadn't gotten too far. You saw him walking in the distance. 

You started to run after him and call out his name. "Bucky! Please wait, let me explain." You slowed down once you got near him.

"You don't have to explain anything." He wouldn't turn around, he kept walking.

"Bucky please just listen to me. Nothing happened." 

That stopped him in his tracks and he turned around. "What do you mean nothing happened, I saw you leaving that room with him."

You noticed the tears in his eyes. "I went to the bathroom and when I came out he was just standing there. He grabbed me by the waist and I pushed him away but nothing else happened"

He started to walk towards you but you took a step back. 

"Why do you constantly do that, why do you keep pushing me away?" He kept clenching his fists.

"Because I'm not good enough for you Bucky!" You shouted but started to calm down when you saw him flinch. "Why can't you just see that you deserve someone better, someone who's not broken." You felt the tears begin to fall. "I'm sorry that I can't be good enough for you." You turned around and started to walk away. 

He pulled you back and turned you around. "Why can't you understand that you're all I want, you push me away and I keep coming back." 

"But you shouldn't want me." Your voice started to shake as you spoke. "You should want someone who can share that white picket fence life with you. Someone you wouldn't be ashamed to be with, someone better than me." 

"I don't want better, I want you." He put both his hands on either side of your face. "I don't want any of that if it means I can't be with you." He brushed the tears from your cheeks and put his forehead against yours. "I want you."

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.

You put your hands on top of his and share a heated kiss. "I want you too."

@agentmarvel13​​ @1v-kayla​​ @5sos-wdw​​ @a-dancing-hufflepuff @agent-barnes40​​ @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff​​ @annoylinglyaries​​ @antclottz​​ @avngrsinitiative​​ @bradfordsgreekgod​​ @babypink224221​​ @captainam-erika-trash​​ @carisi-sonny​​ @chook007​​ @cosmiccomicloverqueen​​ @daniellajocelyn​​ @doctoranon​​ @ecamille-xo​​ @editsbyjenny @ellieababy​​ @eternaleviee​​ @futuremissstark @geeksareunique​​ @gummiwormsandonedirection​​ @henrietteoaks​​ @hermionie-is-my-queen​​ @imahoeforbucky​​ @ineedmorefanfics​​ @isabella-bby​​ @jaemingold​​ @junitorials13​​ @katykyll​​ @klanceiscannon14​​ @lady-sigyn​​ @littlephoenix-fire​​ @lovemarvelousfics​​ @l0kisbitch​​ @luckyfiction17​​ @ludwigvonbaethoven @maddie-laufeyson​​ @magnificentsoulecollector​​ @mikariell95​​ @mistressoftorture  @moli1497 @nanajaeminniee @orderoftheflamingflamingos​​ @paintballkid711​​ @pastelpurplexoox​​ @peteyparkersbabyy @princessizzy36​​ @shallowshawn @sillydecoy @spodermanpete​​ @starstruckgardenstudentzonk​​ @stuckyandsciencebros​​ @superhero2552​​ @thatharrypotterfan13 @thatweirdchick147​​ @the-ducks-umbrella @tienna-laufeyson16 @trustme3-13​​ @wishiwasanavenger​​ @xalinx​​ @yougottalovefandoms​​ @zaza-jones​​ @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash​​

[lovehugsandcandy]

Eight Days a Week, Eight Seconds a Kiss (Part 10/Epilogue 2)  (Colt x MC)

A/N: Happy Birthday, Des @ desireepow-1986. Wingman Colt is the story that won’t die! Originally, there were only supposed to be 2 epilogues but I realized I needed another to set up the actual last one so here you go!

Length: ~1600 words

Rating: PG-13 (drunken antics, swearing)

Six Years Later: Pushing Our Luck, Getting Wiped Out

She didn’t step off the curb. She didn’t fall either, because that would have been embarrassing. Instead, the curb moved, warping underneath her foggy eyes, and her feet were already having a hard time on flat pavement anyway, so, when the curb shifted, so did she, falling into Riya as they collapsed together into a pool of limbs and uproarious laughter under the streetlights.

“Oh my God, Ellie!” Riya squirmed under her, and it took a full minute for Ellie to stop laughing and clamber up. “I’m gossiping here.”

She slurred the words. Riya was drunk as she was, so they both had a hard time standing. “I know, I’m sorry, just-the curb jumped!”

“Oh my God.” They linked arms and wandered away from the club, listing as they walked, and Riya continued her story. “So, anyway, my old roommate thought she was dating this guy for a year, a whole freaking year, and it turned out they were in a situationship and he was sleeping with half of Detroit!”

“Oh no- wait, what’s a situationship?”

“Oh, Ellie…” Riya stopped to pull out her phone and check on her ride. “You are so- it’s when a guy doesn’t ask you to be his girlfriend but lets you assume he is while he’s dating other people too.”

“Oh, that sucks. It’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about that; you and Darius have been together forever.”

“I know,” Riya sighed dreamily.

Ellie was looking at her phone, tracking how far away her own ride was, when her heart fell. Colt had never asked her to be his girlfriend. They finally finally kissed and, after that, had been inseparable as she finished senior year; since she moved back to LA after school, it seemed like everything had continued normally, just as it had been before. They spent so much time together that Ellie had assumed that… but what if…? “Riya?” She looked up from her phone in a panic. “Riya, am I in a situationship?”

“What?”

She grabbed Riya’s arm. “Colt never really asked me to be his girlfriend. Not even when I was in high school! Riya, Riya, what if-” 

“But-”

“I mean, he made some vague comment to Toby that we were together but he never really asked…”

“Ellie, I don’t-”

“What if I’m in a situationship?!?” Her wail was cut off as her cell phone vibrated and she realized that they were right next to a gray Ford Focus. Or a Nissan something or other? For someone with a penchant for luxury cars, she had always been awful at differentiating one sedan from another, especially after she and Riya polished off far too many glasses of rosé at their biweekly girl’s nights. And maybe the car was black. Actually, it was so dark that maybe it was maroon, but it didn’t matter anyway because the license plates matched and she had to get in. “I have to go.”

“Ellie, wait-” Riya stuttered, looking up at her with confused eyes.

“Text me when you get home, ok?”

“I will.” 

Ellie shut the door and waved, taking in her best friend’s worried expression, one that she was sure was echoed on her own face. The entire ride home, she picked at her fingernails and panicked. Had he played her for a fool this entire time? When the Dryve finally pulled up in front of the apartment, she stumbled out and up the stairs, legs moving quickly, both the anxiety and desire to outrun the spinning hallways making her hustle.

“Colt?!?” she yelled as she flew through the door, ignoring the crash as she dropped her purse to the floor. She heard everything tumble out, wallet and keys spilling across the room, but ignored it in her shuffle to the bedroom. She would clean it up tomorrow; this was more important. “Colt!”

The door slammed open as she rushed in, skidding to a stop at the foot of the bed.

“What?”

“Colt!” She collapsed, pitching herself forward so she could crawl to his side. He was still half-asleep, eyes dazed as he blinked and hair sticking up in pointed tufts around his face. “Whoa. You look like an anime.”

“What the…?” He pushed up on his elbows, still out of it. “What time is it?”

Her brain started again, and she recalled what she had been thinking as tears spring anew to her eyes. “Colt,” she started and, to her embarrassment, broke into sobs. 

“Hey…” He was awake now, eyes flashing across her face, wild and frantic; he got this expression on his face every time Ellie burst into tears: it was a cross between a desperate need to make it stop and an absolute astonishment that he, he who has hatched plans to steal cars and kill cops and a million other precise schemes, that he, of all people, cannot immediately conjure a plan that will soothe whatever ails her. That look was on his face as he realized that she was rapidly becoming a sobbing mess.

“Colt---” she hiccuped and words were painful through her dry, worried throat. “Are we in a situationship?”

“What?” He shifted closer so he could reach her, fingers gentle as they slid down her arm. “Are you ok?”

“Are we-” She had to wipe her cheeks; moisture was blurring his face, turning him into a mirage, twisting and turning on the bed in front of her. Was he moving or was it the wine? “Are we in a situationship?”

“What in the world is a…are you drunk?!?”

“No.” She hiccuped again and then burst into hysterics. “It’s just that Riya was talking about this girl from school and she thought she was dating someone but then we tripped over the curb and I might have left my phone in the Dryve.”

He said nothing at first, only gaped at her before hesitantly speaking. “I think you should-”

“Are we in a situationship?!? Why won’t you answer me!!!”

“What the hell is a situationship?”

“It’s when you think you’re in a relationship but it’s actually not, you’re just hooking up with me and I’m not actually your girlfriend.”

“Ellie, for Christ’s sake…” he muttered.

“You never asked me to be your girlfriend!”

“Ellie, we live together.”

Her wail got caught in her throat, and her shoulders dropped as she peers at him. “Oh.” He had a point. “But you never asked-”

“Ellie.” He cradled her cheeks with both hands. “You smell like you fell in a vat of rosé and drank your way out. You’re drunk. You’re drunk as fuck and you’re not gonna remember this conversation tomorrow. And that’s the only reason I’m gonna tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m not gonna ask you to be my girlfriend.”

“You’re not?” Her heart broke; she could hear the shattering sound in her chest and, if her limbs weren’t so heavy, she would walk out the door of their apartment and head straight to Riya’s where she could self-medicate her mortification with even more rosé and her best friend.

“No. I’m gonna ask you to be my wife.”

Her mouth fell open, and she had to sniff back even more tears. “You are?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like right now?”

“Dear God, not right now,” he chuckled. “You wouldn’t remember, anyway.”

“But like…” Her body wasn’t working; she could think of words, lots of them, but they were failing to make their way to her mouth. “You’re gonna...wait. Do you have a ring?”

He only smirked. “If I gave it to you now, you’d lose it.”

“Colt?”

“Yeah?”

She sat back on her heels to study him, and even that simple movement made the room spin. “We’re not in a situationship, are we?”

“No, Ellie. No, we’re not.”

“Oh.”

“Can we please go to sleep now?”

She nodded, subdued and mollified, breaking into a dumb smile aided by the copious amount of alcohol in her veins. “Ok.” She watched him settle into bed before she headed to the bathroom, hands shaky, dragging on her pajamas over leaden feet. And even though she walked into her bureau, she couldn’t stop the smile from splitting her face.

She had just slid next to him, sheets cool on her overheated skin, when the alcohol compeled her to speak again. “You wanna marry me…”

“I can’t really tell you why at this very second.”

“It’s cuz you loooove me.”

“I would love you a lot more if you just let me sleep.”

She settled her head on the pillow and giggled, bright and happy in the darkness of their bedroom.

“Ellie!”

“Sorry, sorry.” She made it five seconds before the giggles started again, her drunken happiness making her way through her warm cheeks.

“Ellie!” He rolled over to glare at her, but the smile tugging at the corner of his lips rendered the effort at intimidation ineffective.

“You love me!”

He rolled his eyes but responded to her baiting, anyway. “Yes. Yes, I love you.”

“Even when I’m drunk.”

“Even when you’re drunk.” 

“Even when I think we’re in a situationship.”

“Even when you make up terms for scenarios that make no sense,” he murmured with a shake of his head.

“Even when I tear apart this apartment looking for the ring.”

“Even- wait, what?”

She smiled, burrowing into his arms. “Imma find it.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.” She was warm, content, eyes slowly opening and closing against his chest. “I will. I swear.”

But, despite her fervent promises, the only thing she remembered when she woke up the next morning, through her throbbing head and roiling stomach, was that she felt very, very loved.

[calumthoodposts]

Broken Home | Part 2

Warnings: Abused mind

Take care of yourself<3

The backs of her exposed thighs coming in contact with the freezing metal chair made the hairs on her arms stand on edge. Reyna attributed her chills to that instead of the fact that she was sat in an interrogation room with a woman that she had never met before staring at her empathetically. The concrete walls didn't contribute warmth or comfort, neither did the stereotypical one-way mirror that took up the expanse of the wall straight across from her. 

The police officer was a woman named Lori. Her brown hair was in tight curls and she had the kindest eyes that Reyna had ever seen on a person. Even with those silvery-blue irises pleading with her, to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, she couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to just come out and admit that the man that she had loved since she was seventeen had been emotionally and physically abusing her for nearly half of that time. It was obvious, but it felt impossible for her to say that Aaron simply acted how he always did.

She didn't seek some false sense of justice because that was how things played out for her. In her eyes, she had swung twice and missed both times. The first swing was her dropping out of university as Aaron wanted to be the one who provided. In her eyes, she could always go back to school, but she could never find another Aaron. It was an ultimatum that seemed simple.

He needed to feel like a man, and if her not having a career was what would make him happy, it was a sacrifice that she was more than willing to make. That same sacrifice made her father and mother's disgruntlement grow until they eventually stopped checking in altogether. She never blamed them for it. They worked relentlessly to provide her with a future that she traded in for a man they didn't believe was worthy of her love. Never would she blame them for having higher hopes for her than domesticity.

The second swing was trying to make him a better man, the man she loved before he became who he was now. It was easy for her to see that through all of her efforts, she still didn't do enough. When the bills were tight, which they always were, her nights were spent across the hall babysitting the neighbor’s kid for money. It wasn't difficult to slip out of his arms at night, his drunken snores never faltered as she shut their bedroom door and crossed the hall. Reyna would hide the bills that they didn't have money for and pay them in secret, him never remembering when things were due made it easy. It was easy for her to lie to herself and say she preferred it like that.

Keeping him distracted was how she tried to combat his stress, but that never worked as he would just get frustrated with her and reach for the Jack on the counter instead of the soft skin on her waist. Reyna tried her best to get him into counseling, but she was never convincing enough to make him actually go. In the beginning, she felt hope in his promise to seek help. She could see it in his eyes that he saw what he was becoming. The drugs reminded him of his father in a way that scared him at first until he eventually found comfort in that familiarity. The two misses made her accept the defeat and take accountability. 

In the back of her mind as she recounted those thoughts she was aware of Lori staring at her with the empathetic eyes of a woman who just wanted the truth. The question Reyna had to answer was simple: Who started the fight and why? 

That question was met with her silence, her eyes glossed over as she stared at her hands and thought about how she never wanted to end up here. No matter how violent and irrational Aaron got, she would never have gone to the authorities. It made her feel sick seeing him shoved into the back of a police cab with chains around his wrists. 

"Honey, I know it's hard to talk about situations like this. We just want to make sure that we have the facts straight. Nothing bad is going to happen to you." Reyna let her brown eyes snap to Lori's. She was sure that they must have been swimming with satirical amusement. Bad things had already happened to her, she wasn't scared for herself. There was only apprehension for Aaron in her mind. "Can I see him?" 

The officer let out a breath that was exasperated and melancholic but was perceived by the brown-eyed girl as thoughtful. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Mr. Deming is still very intoxicated and we're having trouble getting him to cooperate." 

"I can make him calm down," Reyna spoke quickly and looked into her eyes, pleadingly. "Please just let me see him. Let me talk to him first and I'll give you my statement." 

The woman looked at her with a sad resolution, one that made the younger girl's stomach churn in an almost guilty way, before she said that she would speak to some people and see what she could do. Reyna knew her hands were tied. It was an investigation of aggravated assault that everyone knew– they'd have to be daft not to– who was guilty of initiating it.

She had ridden to the station in the back of the last cop car at the scene. They had only left to the station after an ambulance had come to take care of the boy who had helped her and was nearly beaten to a pulp as a consequence. The only battle scars Aaron adorned were the light scratches on his cheek from being pushed against the brick wall.

Lori came back with a small smile on her face, one that she knew was for her benefit. The older woman didn't bother to sit down and she only walked to the table and leaned against it lightly. "They said that you can see him when they finish questioning him a little." Reyna locked her gaze with her and breathed a breath of relief. "Thank you so much."

She needed to see him. It felt like a monster was digging its nails into her heart and squeezing it tighter with every minute that passed. She needed to talk to him because it didn't make her feel good knowing that he was angry and in pain without her. "In the meantime, the other boy arrived only a few minutes ago and finished his statement. He's a lot more cooperative than your frie-."

"He's my boyfriend." Reyna's lips spat out before she could think and she gave Lori an apologetic look immediately after, to which she just smiled halfheartedly, the sad look still in her eyes. "Would you like to speak with Mr. Hood while we wait? It'll be a little while." 

Reyna thought about her question. At first, she nearly scoffed at the mention of the boy who was the reason for them being here in the first place. Her wanting to talk with him felt asinine to her, she was too emotionally high strung that she felt almost irritated at the thought of him. The logical part of her took a little too long to kick in, but when it did, she acquiesced. She wanted to ask him why.

The hallways that she was led through matched the cold concrete theme of the room she was just in. The bright lights above that reflected off the gray floor and into her eyes, marking her head throb slightly. It was like every jail in every movie ever, living up to every stereotype. Even a box of doughnuts laid next to the coffee and snacks in the breakroom they passed by. 

The room that Hood, it dawned on her that she didn't know his first name yet, didn't surprise her when it was identical to hers. Even the frigid cold that hit her when she stepped inside of it was the same, making her hair stand on end. The boy was sat in the metal chair and had his head leaned back, his eyes were closed, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When the door opened he looked at her with an unreadable expression and, upon seeing his face in the light, she let out a breath and her jaw fell open.

It was adorned with butterfly bandages over a particularly deep cut on his brow bone, not deep enough to need stitches, but too deep to just leave it be. The white bandages contrasted the dark purple and maroon red bruising that formed across his cheeks and his left eye. Seeing him made the feeling of sickness come back up again. She was absolutely speechless, drinking him in. "I'll come and check on you two in five minutes."

It was a kind sentiment, but both of the people left in the room knew there would be people listening on the other side of the two-way mirror. The door shut and the silence that followed was deafening. Neither of them spoke as they just stared at each other. Her eyes swam with shock and worry while he held a curiosity that she hadn't ever seen before.

"I'm sorry." Finally tearing her eyes away from his face and forcing them to look at the ground, she walked to the chair opposite of him and sat down. When her eyes met him again, he had his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

He had an accent that she hadn't noticed before and it intrigued her as to why a boy all the way from Australia was at the Clubs. She didn't ask though and replied quietly. "For everything. For getting you stuck in jail at 2 in the morning and for your–well…"

"My face that looks like tenderized steak?" He joked, but it failed to bring any humor out of her as she continued to gawk at his injuries with guilt. "Trust me. Out of everyone, you're the last one who needs to be apologizing."

A look of incredulity spread across her tired face. "Have you seen yourself? None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me and I'm so goddamn sorry." 

"You didn't start any of what happened. I wish I could give you credit for this number babe, but that goes to your boyfriend." He had a playful smirk on his face as he tried to make light of the situation. His valiant effort was admirable, but it was wasted on her. "Don't call me babe." 

"What else am I supposed to call you?" He questioned softly. The tone in his voice took her by surprise with its comforting inflection. He didn't want to fight with her, and that attempt to not escalate and aggravate her any further wasn't something she was used to. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Her apology formed a frown that etched itself between his eyebrows and he leaned forward in his chair with his fingers laced together on the table in front of him. "You don't have to apologize, I understand that you're going through something right now. I'm Calum." He spoke so easily that it could put her mind at ease if she let it. Of course, she wouldn't. 

"Reyna." She held her hand out to him and the small smile was brought back to his face as he shook it, holding her gaze warmly. They lingered for a moment, her pulling away first and clearing her throat awkwardly and looking back at her chipped nail polish from the 99 cent store. "Reyna, why were you at the club? You didn't seem like you wanted to be there."

The way his voice spoke her name made a warmth run through her body. "We go there every weekend so he can unwind." She answered easily. "Why did you follow us into the alleyway?"

It was a question she had been asking herself since it happened and it had her head reeling. "I saw you earlier in the night and you looked... uncomfortable. I looked over when his hand– and you pushed him off and left the table. The look in his eyes when he watched you leave and how he ran after you would've made any person worried."

It embarrassed her that he saw their entire exchange. A stranger watching her boyfriend force his hand up her skirt made her cheeks turn pink in mortification, even though she knew that wasn't the largest take-away from his explanation. "Any person wouldn't have followed us outside, though. Why did you involve yourself in something that didn't concern you?"

Calum inhaled deeply through his busted lips and straightened his back before replying easily. "I have a sister and a mother. The thought of a man treating them the way your boyfriend was treating you makes me feel sick to my stomach. You looked so scared, and no one could have stopped me from following you out that door to at least see if you were alright. And you weren't."

His admittance and his reasoning left her in awe. She swallowed thickly and looked at her lap, fiddling with the ring on her index finger. Her heart was beating a thousand beats per minute in her throat as she processed what he had said. This complete stranger cared about her wellbeing because he cared about people and that brought a feeling into her heart that she couldn't explain. It also brought tears to her eyes. "Fucking hell." 

She covered her face with her hands as more tears grew in her eyes. In one word, the feeling she felt was overwhelmed. Exhaustion and worry made her mind chatter with 'what ifs' and she just desperately wanted everything to stop. She wanted to breathe, and Calum's admittance that her relationship was obviously toxic just by a few glances from across a dance floor made her tears fall harder. Not knowing why she always looked the other way when he would throw words like daggers at her, Reyna wanted him to change. The love she had for Aaron left her so vulnerable that standing up for herself against him wasn't an option. She wanted to stand with him, and if that meant against herself, then so be it.

The hand that was suddenly placed comfortingly on her shoulder startled her and she pried her eyes open to see the curly-haired boy standing over her. "Come here," he whispered softly and tugged her hand so she was standing before he wrapped his arms around her. Her muscles hardened under the foreign feeling of someone who wasn't her boyfriend embracing her, although it would have been foreign if it had been Aaron too. 

It took what seemed like minutes for her to melt slightly under Calum's hold. He was relentless and his embrace that stayed around her until she accepted it made her heart wrench even more. It wasn't demanding in any way, only an affection that let her know that she could be vulnerable in front of him. Affection was something that she hadn't had in over a year. She had forgotten what it felt like to just be held, comforted in the way she desperately needed. 

Her arms wound around his muscular back and she sobbed loudly into his chest. The tears that stained his shirt celebrated in waves that wracked her body. She never allowed herself to cry over the things that happened to her and Calum was forced to bear witness to the flood that finally broke free onto his dress shirt. 

"I'm sorry." She sobbed again and her arms wrapped around him tighter. "I know you don't want me to apologize, but I have to because he won't. He's gotten violent before, but never that bad. Never to someone we didn't know."

His hands rubbed up and down her back rhythmically in an attempt to soothe her. It worked as she felt the goosebumps deflate under his warm fingers. "It's okay, Reyna. You're safe and you're going to get the justice you deserve."

Like a bucket of cold water was poured over her, his words instantly made her tense and she pulled away from him. The cold that hung in the air wrapped itself around her again as she looked up at him with wide eyes. "You can't press charges."

"What do you mean?" He was looking at her quizzically as if he genuinely couldn't comprehend what she had said. She knew it was confusing because it confused her. There was a part of her that wanted to get Aaron out of her life, but a much stronger part of her felt like she couldn't live without him. "You can't do that. Please. I need him, Calum."

"Listen, I know it's hard to be in a situation like this, but he can't just walk away from thi-" He didn't understand and he never would. That was okay with her because he didn't have to. He didn't need to try and make sense of the absurdity of it all, nor did he need to be some knight in shining armor that would pull her out of her mess. "You don't understand. I don't have a job and I can't get one quick enough to pay the bills. He's literally all I have, Calum. No one else."

Saying it out loud sounded insane to her. It wasn't lost on her that Aaron put her into this position. He constructed walls around her in the form of a cage that only he had a key to. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and she soon learned to find comfort in it. Over-dependency always irked her when she was younger and she found it ridiculous that people could be comfortable in entirely relying on their significant other. Aaron held a flame in his hand and she was scared of fire. He easily backed her into that corner and, before she could even realize it, her independence was stripped away. The thought of having it back terrified her. "Reyna…"

"No, Calum. I appreciate what you did for me and you'll never have any idea how grateful I am for it. I just need you– I'm begging you– to let this go." Salty tears rolled down her face and he peered down at her with the softest eyes she had ever seen. He wasn't pitying her and she could see that as he breathed out a sigh and bit his lower lip.

With his lower lip tucked in between his teeth, he looked away from her and ran his hand through his tangled black curls. She watched his back wearily, gauging his reaction as the muscles tensed against the fabric of his shirt. He paced back and forth, torturing her as she anticipated his reply. "I can't." 

"What?" She breathed. When he turned to her the answer to her question was clear by the remorse in his chiseled and bruised features. He neared her and placed his arms on her shoulders. "I can't do that. I know that where he has you feels permanent, but he doesn't just get to walk away from what he did. I'm not just talking about what he did to me, mostly to you."

"He hasn't done anything to me!" She lied in denial. The disbelief that danced across Calum's face let her know that he saw right through the lie and that he didn't believe a word of it. "It's just the way he is. He gets angry sometimes and I just have to wait until he calms down."

"Reyna, him being that way just because he has always been is bullshit and you know that. I don't know you very well– at all actually– but when I saw you tonight in the bar I saw a girl who knew she deserved better." Her teary brown eyes looked into his that were filled with frustration and a fit of anger that, for the first time in years, she wasn't afraid of because it didn't feel directed at her. "That's why you didn't let him touch you the way he wanted."

It was true and even she, blind as can be, could see that. Aaron didn't give her the life he promised her when she was nineteen and stupid enough to believe that blindly following the boy she was certain was her soulmate was the only option that ended with her being happy. Happiness had once been Aaron. Any future with him in it was the one she wanted, but never did she account for what would happen if the Aaron she loved didn't exist anymore. He was a shell of a broken man, too far gone for her to help. She knew that in the back of her mind, somewhere hidden in the attic behind dusty boxes filled with her forgotten aspirations, memories with him that were good. They were good at one point.

That point was long gone, though. Any trace of the life she had envisioned with him was gone, but she couldn't accept it. Somewhere beneath all the rubble was the man she loved and she wanted to find him and pull him out, only failing to account for the fact that she only loved an idea and not an actual man. "Why didn't you fight back?"

The boy with curly hair, a cracked lip, a face coated in bruises, and a white shirt, that surprisingly had no blood on it, looked at her with comforting dark brown eyes. It overwhelmed her, how much light she saw in them. His hands that planted on her shoulders softly were warming and soothing. "I'm not a violent person to begin with and I wasn't going to do that in front of you."

He bit his lip and winced slightly as it stung his cut. The white light that washed over him made him look pale and she could see the bags under his eyes. It must have been nearing 4 in the morning by then and it was showing on his tired face. She was certain it was even more apparent in hers. His words made her heart pound in her chest with a sense of adoration that she ignored.

The metal door opened and scratched the floor loudly as Lori stepped through with the soft smile that never seemed to leave her face. Reyna watched her take in her and Calum, the space that situated itself between them was only slight and Calum's large hands were still situated on her small shoulders. "Mr. Deming has given his statement and you can see him now." Reyna nodded vigorously and sniffled, pressing the backs of her hands into her eyes to wipe the tears that had yet to fall. Looking at Calum, she smiled at him softly. "I'm sorry again, Calum. I really am."

-----

His hands sat on splayed on the cool metal table with cuffs still around his wrists. The skin that poked out from beneath the metal was red and rubbed raw from his relentless drunken struggling, the alcohol undoubtedly numbing him from the pain. The sunken green eyes that stared at her were a stranger's, but the face was still Aaron's and that gave her comfort. "Have you given your statement yet?"

The iciness that laced his voice chilled her heart and the erratic twitching he exhibited made her anxious. "Not yet. I'm set to give mine after Calum's."

"Calum?" He scoffed and looked away from her to glare at the wall. His eyes leaving her nervous frame allowed her to take a deep breath from the break of his cold gaze. "Is that the little pussy's name?"

She winced at his insult and stayed silent. Reyna knew that any reply she gave would be sadly insufficient to him. "What, are you guys best friends now? Are you gonna make him miserable too?"

His head turned to look at her and she looked at her hands before he could meet her gaze. Aaron's words stung her, but she knew what she was walking into when the metal door opened. Of course, he was going to be angry and would need to get it out. "You know I wouldn't-"

"Do I? From your behavior last night, it seems that I don't know you that well at all, doesn't it."

"I'm on your side, Aaron," Reyna spoke softly. She watched his jaw clench and unclench along with his fist before he released a sigh and flattened his palms on the table. His gaze softened like clockwork. "I know, baby. I'm just tired, and after you tell them that he started it we can go home."

He seemed sincere and genuine like he was capable of apologizing without actually uttering 'I'm sorry'. It seemed as though he hadn't thought it out though, as all of the evidence pointed toward him. Reyna would've believed him and she desperately wanted to, but she knew him. She knew that his tone softening and the use of the pet name that made her cringe was because of the police officers standing outside of the room and watching from the transparent side of the glass. "Aaron…"

When her voice trailed off softly he sighed and stood up. It surprised her when he came to her side of the table and fell to his knees in front of her, taking her face gently in his hands and looking deeply into her eyes. "I'll love you until the day I die, remember?"

It had been months since he touched her so tenderly and it had her heart pounding in her chest. His confession had her speechless and she stared at him, mulling his words over in her mind. His fingers were rough against her cheeks and she wanted to pull back, but she stayed where she was and stared at him. His gaze was soft but held a warning in them that she didn't miss. As he pulled her head down and placed his lips to her forehead, she gripped his wrist and closed her eyes as tears stung them. "I remember. I love you too. So fucking much."

Reyna's voice was but a whimper and when she opened her eyes and looked at him once again, he only held a look of victory. The initial softness was gone as if he couldn't be bothered to keep up the act. He always said that he would love her until the day he died and she believed him. Every fiber of her being believed him because of how much she loved him. She was anything but dishonest. Reyna wasn't dumb either. Only sadly in love with the shell of the boy in front of her, she knew that the Aaron she loved was already dead. That much was clear by the look in his eyes and the smirk on his face, the one that was so foreign she wouldn't have been able to recognize it out of a line-up

[bo-queen-rhap]

First Night

Anon Request: first time spending the night at Rami’s house

This did not turn out at all as I was expecting it to I honestly have no idea what happened when I was writing this but oh well...

1.4k words

Warnings: Fluff, drinking, general cuteness

Masterlist

It had only been a couple of months since your first date with Rami, yet you had a feeling in your gut that this was something special. Something about him just made you feel so comfortable, but there were still little butterflies in your stomach whenever you saw him. His schedule was obviously very busy, so you didn’t have date nights as often as you’d like. Plus whenever you did go out, there were always fans asking for selfies or just the not-so-discrete pointing and whispers. It seemed like he was used to it, but he could tell that you weren’t which is why he suggested that for your next date, he’d cook dinner at his house for the two of you. You agreed straightaway, and then suddenly felt like a brick hit your face as you realized that this was somewhat of a big step.

Whatever… it’s just dinner… it’ll be fine… it doesn’t have to lead to anything else You kept reminding yourself as you examined your outfit in the mirror. You didn’t even know what you were supposed to wear to a date like this. You didn’t want to be too fancy, it was his house, not a nice restaurant. You decided to slip on your cute burgundy high-heeled booties to tie together your ensemble of dark jeans, a nice white t-shirt and black blazer. Moving over to your jewelry box, without thinking you grabbed the gold necklace that your grandmother had given you. After adding some blush to your cheeks (you almost always forgot to put on blush) and smoothing out your long curls, you were ready to go.

You paused at the door, and your hand started to shake when you brought it up to ring the bell. He must’ve been waiting because your hand was still on the little white button when the door swung open and his big beautiful eyes were staring down at you. A small giggle escaped your lips when you saw the red and white checkered apron hanging from his neck. Then you looked back up and all your nerves vanished at the sight of his smile. You could feel your insides melt every time that you saw his smile.

“Hi” he said with a burst of excitement as he opened the door wider and stepped aside so you could enter. Your brain couldn’t make up its mind on whether you were nervous or happy. Both, you decided, but it seemed that every second you spent with Rami you became more relaxed. His smile must have been contagious because yours grew on your face at the sight of his. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, but you broke contact when a delectable aroma snuck out from the kitchen.

“What are you cooking it smells really good?” you blurted out in a single breath. Rami laughed at how cute you were getting distracted by the prospect of food. “Chicken enchiladas” he said tentatively, almost as a question. “I wasn’t sure if you like Mexican but it’s one of the few things I’m decent at making.”

“That’s perfect Rami” you responded quietly but reassuringly. He nodded and grinned before offering out his arm for you to follow him down the hall. The kitchen wasn’t too big, but very nice and clean, with a table off to the side already set with candles and wine. You sat on the counter as he poured a glass of Sangiovese and handed it to you. You sipped on the wine while he finished preparing the meal, both of you quiet but sneaking quick glances at each other.

By the time the meal was done, along with two bottles, you were deep in conversation about your childhoods, specifically with your siblings. He told you so many stories of him and Sami being troublemakers, one of those stories almost making you spit wine out of your nose. It hadn’t taken long for that comfortable feeling to return and you felt like you were talking to someone you’d known your whole life.

After insisting for the third time, Rami had agreed to let you help clean up, so you nudged him away from the sink causing him to smirk at you and his tongue poked out between his lips. As you finished drying the last dish, you hear the pop of a cork and turn to see Rami pouring each of you another glass. “Hey I probably shouldn’t—” you got quieter on the last word as he looked at you with a puzzled expression. “I drove here and I’ve already had…” your sentenced drifted away from you again when he continued to pour the dark red liquid.

He stretched his arm out to hand you the stemmed glass and stared into your eyes. “So just sleep here tonight” he stated with an obviousness that had you taken aback for a moment. You were about to go on about how you didn’t want to intrude and you’d get an Uber or call your friend, but you didn’t. The look in his eyes and the way he said those words, you wanted to say yes and you knew that he wanted it too.

You took the glass and looked down at it in your hand. It took a second for you to realized that you were smiling, a lot. You tried to put the thoughts in your head into a coherent sentence but he spoke before you got the chance. “I know we’re taking things slow and I’d want our first time together to be sober anyway so you can sleep in the guest room if you want or you can sleep with me I promise I won’t try anything but I understand if you don’t want to.” At this point you realized how tipsy he was as he rambled on without taking a second to breathe. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your mouth and you just shook your head while he tried to figure out what your reaction was supposed to mean.

“I’d love to sleep with you tonight” the words had barely left your lips before he was wrapping his arms around you. “Yaayyy” he screamed, but in trying to hug you he managed to spill wine all over your shirt. “Oh shit I’m so sorry” he stared at your chest as the maroon stain spread over it. “It’s fine Rami I never really liked this shirt anyway” you lied.

“Come with me, I’ll get you something to change into” he started towards the stairs and you followed, pulling the wet fabric away from your skin to inspect the damage. His bedroom was decorated simply, but it was very tasteful. He emerged from what you assume was the closet with a faded blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants. “They might be a little big on you” he sheepishly handed you the clothes and you muttered a “thanks” as you started to remove your shoes and blazer. Rami disappeared into the closet again and you quickly began to change.

Now in his bed, with him right next to you, staring at you with nothing but adoration (and some drunkenness) in his eyes, you were surprised at how at-ease you felt. He grabbed the tv remote and pulled up Netflix, scrolling through before settling on a comedy that you’d seen a hundred times. “I love this movie” he muttered to himself before adjusting his body so he was half-facing you and he stretched one arm behind your neck while the other one snaked around your waist. You leaned into his touch, to silently let him know that you were okay with this.

He smiled and let out a satisfied sigh, then leaned forward to press his soft lips against yours. You kissed him slowly, for what seemed like hours and you didn’t want it to end. When you reluctantly pulled away, he leaned in again, this time to place the sweetest little peck on the tip of your nose. “Goodnight Y/N” he slurred as he closed his eyes and let his head fall into the crook of your neck. “Goodnight Rami” you kissed his temple and smiled to yourself as you drifted into sleep at the sound of both of your breathing falling into rhythm with each other.

Permanent Taglist: @godknowsimtaylored @blxxdy-hell @getdownmakeluv@mazzellocheese @littledarlingwellaway @thekillercoolcat @39hystericalqueens @drummerqueenrmt @jiswoogannon

Let me know if you want to be added to the permanent taglist!

-Bri

[annak47hq]

& so it goes ‘ anam

Who: Adam Levine and Anna Kendrick @alcvinehf

What: Anna finally decides on which room for the nursery, but is having trouble figuring out what paint color to use so she calls Adam over for help 

Where: Annas home, in Los Angeles, California. 

When: January 15th, 2019 (sometime at night)

Trigger Warnings: none  

Anna: Had spent the last two hours going through pant samples, and wallpaper books in a store that she went to today. Knowing now that she wanted the nursery for her twins to be in the room next to Dusty, it was time for her to start planning. The brunette wished her mom was here, but the older women left early this morning and Anna was now changed into comfortable clothing. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and she stood in the empty room. It had white walls, and a white ceiling. The actress earlier had made a small mark on the wall in “soft duckling yellow” and “gray owl” next to each other. Standing there with her hands on her hips, Anna starred at them trying to picture everything together. Texting Adam to come over and that it was an emergency, the brunette took a breath.

Adam: The word emergency never sat well with Adam, and this time had been no different, especially since she was now pregnant. So, when he had returned home this afternoon from Illinois after a last minute show and gig with Maroon 5, Adam had gotten that text and had decided to leave Dusty with his mom for a few extra hours until he could see Anna and figure out if she needed him or if something was wrong. Once he had gotten to her place, he walked into the house and closed the door behind him. “Babe?” He called out, walking up the stairs and down the hall. Once he stopped in the room that they had agreed would become the twins nursery, he tilts his head as he leans against the doorframe. “Anna…baby what’s wrong?”

Anna: She forgot that he went to Illinois for a show, and Anna was now feeling bad that she used the word emergency. Pushing the strain pieces of hair out of her face, the brunette heard the front door open but continued to stare at the wall. Getting a bit frustrated, Anna turned around and looked at Adam leaning in the doorway “I.., do you like the gray better or the yellow? I mean.., for the wall? Maybe we can yellow for the wall, and gray for the ceiling. Can you paint a ceiling gray? Can we even paint this ceiling?” Anna questioned

Adam: Raising an eyebrow, Adam steps further into the room and lets out a small breath, had it been increased from the thought that something was seriously wrong with her or the twins, or all three of them. He leans in to get a better look at the colors and then points to the yellow. “Yellow wall, ceiling gray.” He says, looking up for a few moments and nodding his head. “I can get it done. Are you alright though? Was that your emergency?”

Anna: As he steps further into the room, Anna took a breath and then looked at the spot on the wall where she made a small square of the two colors. Swallowing hard, the actress turned to face in and listened to his decision. “That’s what I was thinking, but then I said gray wall and yellow ceiling but I don’t know. I think.., I think the yellow walls are good.” She said, and sighed but then looked him “I’m fine baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to write emergency.” Anna walked closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist

Adam: “Either one would look good babe, but I think yellow is nice. It’s neutral and a lot can really go with it, you know? We can be really versatile with yellow walls and a gray ceiling.” As she says that she’s fine, Adam lets out a sigh but it’s a sigh of relief, “You scared me. Don’t do that to me next time.”

Anna: Nodding her head, Anna kissed his lips softly and then pressed her forehead against his. Holding onto his waist, not wanting to let go the brunette looked around the room with her eyes for a couple of moments and then chewed her lips “This is their room.” She said, trying not to get choked up but then swallowed the lump forming in her throat “Our.. this is their nursery.” Kissing him once more, Anna sighed and then shook her head “I’m sorry baby. I know.. I don’t know why I said emergency. I just, I’ve been in here for hours.”

Adam: “It’ll be the coolest room our twins have ever seen.” He grins, knowing that the twins actually won’t really understand it when they’re first born, but the words come out of his mouth and he hopes that they make Anna feel better anyway. As he looks down at her, he brings both of his hands up to both sides of her face and holds her face in his hands. A smile is settled and appearing across his lips, and he nods his head. Gently kissing her back, he lets out a small breath and his forehead presses against her own for a moment. “Their nursery…I like the sound of that.” He chuckles, but it softens and quiets down after a moment or two before he finds himself sighing again. “You’ve been in here for hours?” He asks, “Just looking at the paint and stuff?”

Anna: She smiled big, and then chewed her lips. The actress knew how excited Adam was for the twins, and she was excited too. Taking a breath, Anna noticed as he looks down at her and she closed her eyes for a few moments as his hands touched her face. When he kisses her back, she left her forehead against his and looked him in the eyes “I love you.” She whispered, and then looked at him again “Yeah.” Was all she could say, and the continued to look at the paint again, finally letting go of him “I couldn’t decide which color for the walls. I also found a green, it was like a forest green or something if we decided to do jungle theme but went with yellow instead. It’s calming.”

Adam: “I love you too. I love you /so/ much.” He never had any reason to lie telling her that, and it was apparent through the look on his face. He loved her more than anything and they had been together for almost a year, but now she wasn’t only carrying just one of his babies, she was carrying two. That was the most attractive thing in the world to him, and he couldn’t get enough. “Mmhm…” He laughed a little, nodding his head. “I like the yellow, babe. Yellow walls and gray ceiling. I’ll get it done for you.” He whispers, kissing her cheek. “Are you sure that you’re alright?”

Anna: “I love you more than anything too.” Anna said, and she was being honest. They’ve been together for almost a year and she couldn’t of been happier and more in love. In this moment, holding onto him Anna felt so conent. Burying her face into her chest, she laughed a little but then looked at him “Wait a minute, I kind of want to help with this.” She said and kissed him deeply “I promise, Im okay.”

Adam: “Mmhm, good.” He teases against the skin of her neck before gently placing a kiss there and letting out a small chuckle. Once he pulls back a little, he nods. “Alright, alright. We’ll compromise and do it together instead.” He says, wrapping his arms around her carefully and gently bringing her forward to press her body against his own. Kissing her forehead, he’s content in that moment with her answer before he nods slowly once more to answer her. “Okay.” He whispers.

&FINISHED 

[allthevmff]

Haunted

by Scandalpants

I'm trying not to think about you Can't you just let me be?

~Almost Lover, by A Fine Frenzy

Chapter One - Monk

The deep blue spreads slowly, herding the sun over the horizon. Tonight's sunset isn't Midas; it grants only a touch of pink and orange before its benefactor slinks off to light up another part of the world. He picks a memory to match in tone, staying away from any after he moved to Neptune. He's not in the mood for those tonight.

He lets himself remember his mom, and a dreary day when he'd been ten and they were still living in Los Angeles. Just his mom and dad were home, his sister thankfully gone, staying with a friend for the weekend. The sky was a slate gray, the deluge of rain keeping him stuck in the house.

But he'd been so bored. His father, Aaron, was in one of his moods, the kind that usually kept Logan outside even when his stomach growled for food. Logan ran toward his room to get another Hot Wheel for the chase scene he was putting together on the living room rug.

Aaron lay on the couch, reading a script with his feet resting in Lynn's lap, and looked up. "Logan! When you come back here you will walk. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." It didn't take a genius to hear the threat in his dad's voice. Logan forced his feet to slow, and made his way quietly to his room. He considered moving his setup to the bedroom, but it had already taken an hour to get just how he wanted it and didn't feel like starting over. He just had to remember to walk.

Moving in measured steps on the way back, he dropped to the rug and put the car in place, smiling at what he'd created. He started to execute the scene he pictured, making what he thought were realistic siren and explosion sounds in a low voice.

Logan was surprised when he felt his mom drop to the carpet behind him, curving herself over his back and whispering in his ear. "I have a great idea. Let's go build a fort in your room. Then I'll make popcorn and hot cocoa and we'll have a picnic in it."

He wanted to say no so he could finish his car chase idea but, catching the tight, angry expression his father wore, he realized he messed up. Maybe it was the noises he made, or the way he'd spread his toys over the carpet. It didn't matter why; Dad was mad again and it was his fault.

So, instead of arguing, he asked his mom to help him clean up his cars and they did just as she'd said. The fort they built was cozy and private, using chairs borrowed from the guest bedrooms to create a circle enclosed with sheets. They enjoyed the picnic she'd promised while playing hours of Go-Fish and War, marooned on their own island where Aaron didn't live.

That night she tucked him in and, like always, brushed the hair off his forehead before placing a kiss on it and whispering, "I love you, Logan."

Another memory tries to invade his mind. A night in a hotel lobby when he truly realized his mom was dead. He had bent over and grabbed his knees, and then—

No. Not tonight. Go back. Remember Mom tucking you in.

And he does. Remembers again the motion of her brushing back his hair and then laying a kiss on his forehead. How both gestures made him feel loved. He remembers the soft way she looked at him when she said his name.

The sky now dark, he tucks the memory away where it belongs, with the name. He isn't Logan anymore. He hasn't been for a long time.

Heading down the stairs, he evaluates his options for the evening. He's not tired. There isn't a lot of entertainment on the Penelope to begin with, and this is the last night of an extra- long run. Their route usually takes them on a three-week circuit; however, another tub in their four-reefer fleet is laid up for repairs so they've been going straight for almost six.

All the time at sea has exhausted the crew's meager options for amusement. He's read every book he brought at least twice, and is saving a third reread of Lonesome Dove for tomorrow. The large flatscreen broke about a week ago so group movies are out, and he's not in the mood to watch one alone. There are a few games on the shelf in the mess, but he's played more chess with Carlos this month than he'd ever thought possible. As for the rest, this isn't the kind of crew that considers Milton Bradley a good time guy. Since payday isn't until tomorrow, everyone is too broke to play poker.

Not wanting to head for his berth just yet, he walks to the mess to see if there's any coffee. Most of the seventeen-man crew is hanging out in there, restless like he is. Once they drop off their load at Coquimbo in the morning, it will take the day to reach their home base in Antofagasta, in northern Chile. They'll get a week of freedom before it all starts again.

As he enters the room, only Carlos calls outs "Monk" in greeting. Nobody else looks up.

His first week on the ship some cleversmith teased him about taking a vow of silence and called him 'Monk'. The cleversmith left to work on another boat, but the name stuck.

He doesn't mind; it's as authentic as the name on his passport.

The coffee is fresh and hot. Monk grabs his java, then sits on the couch, closes his eyes and tilts his head back while listening to the others in the room.

Predictably, the guys' conversation is focused on how they will spend the time off. Captain Diego runs a dry ship so, as usual, the talk is as much about getting drunk as it is about getting laid. Monk hasn't had a drink in over eleven years, nor does he want one, so the discussion about alcohol bores him. As for getting laid, he doesn't get a lot of charge hearing about other people's sexual exploits. He seemed to outgrow that vicarious thrill about the time he watched the video of his—

No. No. If you can't keep your head straight, go to bed.

Nobody says anything to him as he swallows down the last of his coffee and puts the mug in the bus bin. That doesn't bother him; he's used to slipping in and out of these rooms unacknowledged.

Though, when they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, somehow corporeal ghost never made it to the top of the list.

He hesitates a minute before going into his room. The evening is beautiful, though chilly. The cold doesn't bother him and he's spent more than one night sleeping on deck, staring up at the stars until he can't keep his eyes open. He discards that notion tonight, though. The mood the other men are in, they won't be settling in any time soon and their laughter carries.

He attempts to read a little, but gives up after a few minutes and turns out the light. His memories want to come to the surface and it's taking an inordinate amount of concentration to keep them locked away where they belong.

So he turns his thoughts to Eva. She's his salvation on nights like these, when he would otherwise give in to every thought that tries to pull him backward. Knowing he'll be with her tomorrow is the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. This job, this lifestyle, works for him on many levels, but he's happiest during the one week a month he gets to spend at home with her.

Nine years as lovers; hard to believe it's been that long. Monk feels content knowing he'll be with her soon. He'll stroke that dark skin and kiss those sweet, pink lips. He'll sink into her softness and fall asleep holding her sturdy form in his arms.

One more day, sweetheart.

Moving his hand down, he strokes himself; sometimes that's all that's needed to help him sleep. He imagines Eva's large, warm hands touching him as his own hand moves. He pictures her soft, warm mouth lowering down on him. As the pressure builds he envisions that mouth replaced with her straddling him, dropping down and bucking her hips until he calls out her name.

As often happens when he's doing this alone, he has to push away memories of a smaller woman, one with fine, silky hair and petite hands that were always a little cold. The name that falls from his lips begins as Eva, but extends into something else. Saying it aloud is as much of a release as the rest of this act.

Sated, his mind finally stills and he drifts into a quiet sleep.

The next morning, they pull into Coquimbo and unload the shipment of Argentinian beef they're carrying. As reefer ships go, theirs is moderately sized, only about sixty meters long. The cargo doors are built into the side of the ship, and the stock is removed by forklifts, hand trucks, and a lot of old-style muscle. It takes a couple hours, but knowing they're almost home puts everyone in a last-day-of-school mood. Their planned replacement cargo is small, but before they begin loading it Diego waves Monk over.

Though he spent a fair amount of time at home with his mother, Diego also traveled the world on his father's ship. His accent is slight, and he oddly sounds more like he's from Southern California than South America.

"I've been fighting with Manny in the business office. We just got pulled for another job, and I couldn't get us out of it. Dammit! It'll add another five or six days between picking up our cargo, taking it to Los Angeles, and coming home. We'll drive straight through, with no stops. To pull that off, I need both you and Carlos to help me with taking shifts at the wheel. Es Bueno?"

No. No "es bueno". You're from El Salvador, dude. I'd think you'd know what bueno means and use it correctly..

Shit. Monk's been looking forward to spending the next week at his La Culpa beach house, surfing and hanging out with Eva. But he also knows that they need three helmsmen, so there's not a lot of options. He nods - Eva will understand. Diego rarely asks much of him beyond the norm, so he can delay his homecoming by five days.

"Ok. We only need a small crew; three for bow watch, and three to handle navigation and engine checks. There'll be help with the loading and unloading at both ends. I know Carlos will help drive, and Javier will stay on as cook."

Javier cooking is a good thing? Tell me our cargo is frozen rats again and I may die of starvation.

Diego and Monk walk over to where the other men mill around, wondering why they aren't loading up their cargo yet. With a loud whistle, Monk gets their attention so Diego can speak.

"Change of plans. We got a one-time job. It means another five day stretch."

The resultant moans sound like the death rattles of a herd of zombies. Diego raises his hands and bobs them up and down as he lowers them.

"I know, I know. A couple navigators assigned to the Angelica live here and agreed to help us out, but I need four more, three for bow watch and one navigator. There's good news and bad news. Good news, is double pay, and you'll get two weeks off when we're done. Whoever doesn't work it, another boat is coming through in an hour to take you home."

The men look more appeased and the grumbling lessens. Monk sees a couple of the crew raise their hands, and then lower them when Diego talks again.

"Now the bad news. Something went down; there is an American yacht about 45 knots from here. The crew and all the passengers are dead. The bodies need to go into cold storage and be transported to L.A. We just got hired for the job."

Oh. That's one delightful little detail Diego left out. Who knew rat cargo could be topped?

The men shift and shuffle their feet, looking at each other and whispering. This time no hands are raised. The desire to go home is pretty strong, but Monk suspects it isn't why the majority are hesitating. When they are out at sea conversation often turns to ghosts and legends. Spending even a few days with a boatload of bodies is enough to unsettle anyone, but especially a bunch of superstitious sailors. Monk feels a little queasy himself at the thought.

I think I just figured out the perfect setting for another Reanimator sequel, though.

Diego nods, knowing their concerns as well as Monk does. "Come on guys. Double pay? Two weeks off? No volunteers?"

Not surprisingly, only a handful of guys put up their hands. Monk groans at the slim pickings. The navigator, Louis, is an okay guy. He's just a young man who doesn't yet have a family, so the extra sea time isn't an inconvenience. But the others are ones who drifted into this job because a conventional life just didn't suit them. They bring brawn, rather than brains, to the crew; Chuck is a braggart and an asshole, and George follows Chuck like he's a messiah. Winston, though a hell of a nice guy, has the IQ of a mollusk with special needs.

And, oh yeah, there's that whole gullible, hypochondriac thing. I swear I could convince him he had water-elf disease.

They have to wait for the other two navigators to show up, and spend the time filling the freshwater tanks, disposing of garbage, and loading the food stock to get them through the next week. Since this jaunt wasn't planned, their choices are limited to what they can exchange with other ships docking, and the supplies loaned to them by their sister ship, La Concepción, when it comes to pick up their leftover crew.

Awesome, ragtag rations. What the hell are we going to do with currants? I have to remember to tell Javier not to get creative.

When they finally get underway, Monk hangs out in the helm while Diego points the ship toward their destination. Anxiety laces his boss' voice. "What the hell, Monk. It's good money and we just have to tell ourselves its meat, right? We transport meat all the time. There's no difference, right?"

Nope. Absolutely no difference between people who were walking, talking, thinking human beings, and a bovine whose best skill was sticking its tongue entirely up its nose.

Monk shrugs; he won't interfere with this need to rationalize. They're three hours away from picking up their cargo regardless of how they feel about it, and it's obviously freaking Diego out a little. The guy is in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face that looks like it was taken off, put out in the sun to dry, and then stretched back on. He's been a sailor most of his life and believes in much of the lore and legends that come with the life.

Diego lets out a huge sigh, and looks over at Monk. "They say it's over thirty bodies. I want the large port bay lined with visqueen to keep it from getting contamined."

In case they leak? Okay, that's just gross.

Grimacing, Monk heads off to find his help. It's just after lunch, and at this time of day the crew that isn't working is usually hanging out in the mess. He can find a few loafers for the task.

Monk enters the room to a round of raucous laughter from four men sitting, their bodies oriented to face a portly fifth man, Chuck, who's standing with one foot on a chair, leaning toward the group. "…so I came home, naked, staggerin' drunk, and covered in puke. With a parrot I got, who knows where, sitting on my shoulder." His shoulders shake with laughter. "That's when she finally decided it was time to throw my ass out."

Stifling an audible snort, Monk avoids eye contact with anyone until he's sure he can keep his face from showing the derision he feels.

I've seen you naked, Chuck. Something tells me the parrot wasn't the deciding factor in that decision.

He's heard this story before, as have most of the other men. But time moves slowly when you're trapped on a boat with the same people, travelling the same familiar waters, and even repeated stories break the monotony.

It's Chuck that notices him first. They aren't friends; Monk can't stand the man, but Chuck doesn't know that. Every snarky comment Monk's ever thought has been held back and, since Chuck understands subtlety about as well as he understands women, the other man is under the illusion they are actually friends. No matter, it makes things easier since they have to work together.

"Monk, hey man! We're talking about things we've done to piss off broads. Got a story to throw down?"

How about I throw down a helpful tip, instead? Calling them broads might be what's pissing them off.

Monk stares at the man in answer. He has many stories to throw down but he won't allow himself to think of them. Most of the time he doesn't even allow himself to think of the names of any of the women he's angered, except for Eva. Instead he distracts himself in these moments by imagining all the ways he'd like to hand Chuck's ass to him.

Shoving a handful of live, baby eels into that hole on his faces. Make him keep his mouth closed until he swallows them. At least he'd be quiet for a few minutes.

After a couple of seconds of waiting, Chuck shakes his head. "Nah? Well, makes sense. Women are harder to piss off when you aren't talking to them or nailing them, right Monk?" Chuck laughter follows his own statement, as he looks at the other men to join in.

Hmmm…with women, my tongue has gotten me out of as much trouble as it's gotten me into. One more thing Chuck hasn't figured out, I guess.

No one else laughs at Chuck's taunt, instead shifting their eyes away and shuffling uncomfortably. Monk's used to this, too. He knows there's speculation about him. The crew accepts his muteness; it's not the strangest trait a sailor can have. They respect that he's a hard worker and Captain Diego's right hand. But that's all they know, and that bothers them. Rumors have gone around that he's everything from an assassin, to a descendent of Black Bart.

Whenever there's a new theory, Diego tells him and they share a laugh. The most recent is that he is a government spy. Why Monk would spend eleven years working on a refrigerated cargo boat, or which government he's working for, doesn't seem to matter.

But Diego keeps his secrets, the few he knows. Thinks the crew being scared keeps them in line. They initially bonded over their alcoholism, though Diego told let on he banned booze from the ship for religious reasons; no one wants to know their Captain and First Officer are drunks. Diego is the only one that knows about Eva and the beach house. And, due to a long night spent reading the abbreviated story Monk wrote down for him, Diego is the only one that knows Monk never leaves the ship when they're in the U.S. because he is an American, and his passport says something different.

Monk points to three men, George and the two navigators loaned to them by the other ship, and indicates they should follow him. George isn't bright, but the job ahead of them is easy. Though he doesn't know Connor or Vincente, he wants the opportunity to find out what kind of workers they are.

They grab the visqueen he indicates on the way, then follow him to the refrigeration bay and watch while he makes their needs clear. He's gotten good at using pantomime to give instructions. With the four of them working, they have the bay cleared and prepped like a kill room in just under two hours.

It's another hour before they spot a ship. It's a large luxury yacht, the kind that carries as many crew members as it does passengers. The Chilean police force is anchored nearby. Diego anchors the Penelope as close as possible, though they are still several hundred yards away. Even a moderate sized reefer like theirs needs some lead room for stopping.

They use the winch to lower the smaller boat from the deck to the water. Diego selects two guys, Javier and Louis, to accompany him. Connor stays by the radio, relaying the plan after Diego reaches the other ship and checks in. The bodies are being photographed, tagged and bagged, then will be loaded six at a time onto the smaller boat Diego took with him. The rest of the crew stay on their reefer to unload and place the corpses into the refrigeration bay.

The day is beautiful; sunny and hot, with enough of a breeze to make it comfortable to stay outside. The guys start up a shuffleboard game, interrupted briefly when a helicopter flies over their head to land on the yacht. Within a few minutes Connor tells Monk that two FBI agents will accompany the bodies back to L.A. Berths need to be cleared and cleaned for them.

The FBI. Fuck. A yachtful of dead Americans. Rich, dead Americans. Monk should have realized the U.S. feds would be involved. A wake of fear goes through him, and he forces it down.

There's no reason they should care, or even ask about him; they're coming on the ship for the bodies and nothing else. Nobody pays attention to the bus driver. All he has to do is keep his mouth shut, which isn't a problem. His quiet, hidden life will stay just that.

Logan Echolls has been gone for a long time. He can damn well stay gone.

The ship's central hub consists of a four-story rectangle. The entire fourth story is a glass encased wheelhouse, with an upper deck that allows the bow watchman a 360 degree view around the ship. On the second and third levels are several berths that sleep two to three people each, and the master head and shower room. Lastly, the main deck level has another head, a mess, and a galley on one side. On the other side are a few storage rooms, and three private berths with outside entrances, one occupied by Monk, one normally occupied by their third driver, Carlos, and the last by Andy, a senior crew member who has gone home during this trip.

It's Carlos' and the Andy's rooms that will be used by the feds playing body escorts. Monk assigns Chuck the room prep since it will keep the guy out of his way for a while. Little is required other than making up the beds and going over the rooms with a dust cloth, but it takes five minutes to make this clear with motions. However, from experience Monk knows written instructions are wasted on Chuck.

Incredible. Chuck can barely read, but acts like he's smarter than me because he can recite a limerick.

In another hour the first boatload comes over, accompanied by a couple of the cops from the Carabineros de Chile, and they spend the rest of the afternoon in staggered shifts. The fragrant, black body bags are unloaded from Diego's small boat via a net and pully system, then placed side by side on the floor in the cold storage.

It's surprising, the weight of a body after death, which makes the work hard. Also, their unfortunate guests have been gone long enough that there is no rigor. They have to have a man on each end of the bag, pulling as well as lifting, or it tends to sag at the middle. It takes a few awkward tries to figure this out, but they soon work out a rhythm.

The gruesome work naturally leads to talk of death; other bodies they've seen, family members who've died. Monk tunes them out.

No way, man. Think about Eva or book. Think about surfing. DO NOT think about that.

After the last body is loaded, while the cops take the small boat back to the yacht, Monk and the other men go clean up, taking extra-long showers to wash away the imagined contamination of death.

Monk returns to his berth and his books. The smell from the bodies is still in his nasal cavities, removing any appetite for dinner. He pulls out a book at random and retreats into a fantasy world until it's time to watch the sun set.

Climbing the final flight of stairs to his spot, a small observation deck on the third level, Monk is irritated to see a pair of dark boots on the floor above his head. This is unprecedented. Everyone knows he has staked out this corner to watch the sunset. Eleven years on this ship and he's been out here, alone, every fucking evening. And he likes it that way.

He doesn't ask for a lot. He gets the job done and keeps to himself, doesn't complain or cause any trouble. Diego depends on him to run the crew and he always delivers. The least they can do is leave him alone for thirty minutes a night. Just because they aren't doing their usual work right now doesn't mean this has changed.

Taking the last few steps, he comes around the wall to toss overboard whoever is sitting on his bench. But it's not a member of the crew. Instead its confirmation he's finally managed to make himself go crazy. He'd thought allowing himself only this time each day to dwell on the past would keep him within the lines of sanity, but apparently he was wrong. Because if that were true, he wouldn't be imagining Veronica sitting there.

But, as frightened as he is for the trick his brain is playing on him, he's also grateful. She's been just a memory for so long that the mirage is welcome. Even if she looks different. Her hair is shorter and straighter than the last time he saw her, and a little darker. She's rounded out a bit more, adding a slight fullness to her face. There are faint lines at the corners of her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears, and she wears a familiar, irritated expression.

Funny, you'd think when I finally got around to hallucinating about her, she'd be smiling at me. But this actually makes sense, since the last time I saw her she was also crying.

Just as he's about to give her a smile, she snaps at him. "Trying to have a private moment here. Do you mind?"

Her talking is what makes him realize she's real. Thirteen years since he's heard her voice, and he's been remembering it wrong. In his mind it was just a decibel higher, and friendlier. But no, it was always like this; just low enough to be sexy, and brimming with snark.

He can't move. It's as if his feet are soldered to the floor and, instead of watching the sky, he's watching the golden, fading light on her skin.

You found me. How did you find me? After everything I did to disappear! What the hell are you doing here?

The words are caught, panic snagging them in his brain before they can ever attempt to leave his mouth.

She glares at him, her eyes narrowing in anger. Her hands wipe at her cheeks. "If you're going to insist on being here, can you at least turn around? You didn't pay for the show."

He has no idea what to say to her. She's owed an apology, but if he apologizes for one thing he'll have to apologize for a thousand. Better to wait for her to lay into him, and deal with her accusations individually.

But instead of the tirade he expects from her, she turns her head slightly, enabling her to avoid his gaze but still keep an eye on him. When she lifts her right hand to wipe at her cheek again her jacket falls open, revealing the gold badge on her hip.

You're FBI? Shit. I don't know if I should be proud of you, or scared. Is this some fucked-up twist of fate, or did a little Mars-nipulation get you here?

Either way she doesn't seem surprised to see him now. He doesn't know what to do with a Veronica that hesitates to yell a list of her grievances at him. Even the amount of time and distance that has separated them shouldn't make her treat him with the coldness of a stranger.

Come on, Veronica. You always come into a fight with a set idea of how you want to bring me to heel. Let me know what you want from me.

While he's just continued to stare at her, not saying anything, color has filled her cheeks, creating a blush made of pique. Her silence, combined with obvious fury, has him impatient to get this started. Just as he's about to end this standoff, she stands up and stomps toward the stairs.

"Fine. It's all yours tonight. But I call dibs tomorrow."

He's frozen by this unexpected turn, watching as she glares at him for the first couple steps of her descent. Their eyes don't connect, and he doesn't know if it's because of the sunglasses he's still wearing, or because she's so angry at him. Long after she's gone he continues to watch the stairs, both hoping and dreading that she'll come back.

Is this your game, Mars? Track me down in a place where you have me captive for the next three days, then make me sweat it out? If I know you, and I still might, I bet you won't make any part of this easy.

A/N: A huge debt of gratitude to nevertothethird for so many things: Encouraging me to continue with this story, your brilliant beta advice, not holding back on either praise or criticism, and for suggesting the song Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy as the accompaniment to this story. Not only does it fit perfectly, you've played cupid between me and a new favorite artist.

A/N: I am finally on tumblr (link is in my profile) so maybe I'll catch you there as well. As always, please review. Even if it's to tell me this story line is completely bonkers. I may not argue with you, but plot bunnies have to be fed or they start eating your brain.

via FanFiction.Net: Veronica Mars, Last Updated https://ift.tt/1xolg6i March 25, 2019 at 05:20PM

[lesbianrewrites]

Sorcerer’s Stone Chapter 03

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of Harry Potter by J.K Rowling.

Chapters will be posted every other day around 9-10pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

The Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Hayley her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Hayley was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley’s gang, who visited the house every single day. Petra, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley’s favorite sport: Hayley Hunting.

This was why Hayley spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Petra Polkiss was going there too. Hayley, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Hayley. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”

“No, thanks,” said Hayley. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick.” Then she ran, before Dudley could work out what she’d said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Hayley at Mrs. Figg’s. Mrs. Figg wasn’t as bad as usual. It turned out she’d broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn’t seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Hayley watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Hayley didn’t trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

*   *   *

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Hayley went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

“What’s this?” she asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if Hayley dared to ask a question.

“Your new school uniform,” she said.

Hayley looked in the bowl again.

“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize it had to be so wet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I’m dyeing some of Dudley’s old things gray for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished.”

Hayley seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High — like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Hayley’s new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Hayley get it.”

“Get the mail, Hayley.”

“Make Dudley get it.”

“Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”

Hayley dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Hayley.

Hayley picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives — she didn’t belong to the library, so she’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Ms. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Hayley saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

“Hurry up, girl!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Hayley went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

“Marge’s ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk …”

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Hayley’s got something!”

Hayley was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Uncle Vernon.

“That’s mine!” said Hayley, trying to snatch it back.

“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Hayley and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Hayley furiously, “as it’s mine.”

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Hayley didn’t move.

“I WANT MY LETTER!” she shouted.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Hayley and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Hayley and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Hayley, her glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address — how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”

“Watching — spying — might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want —”

Hayley could see Uncle Vernon’s shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

“No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer. … Yes, that’s best … we won’t do anything. …”

“But —”

“I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took her in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Hayley in her cupboard.

“Where’s my letter?” said Hayley, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”

“It was not a mistake,” said Hayley angrily, “it had my cupboard on it.”

“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

“Er — yes, Hayley — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking … you’re really getting a bit big for it … we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“Why?” said Hayley.

“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took Hayley one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s foot; in the corner was Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they’d never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, “I don’t want her in there … I need that room … make her get out. …”

Hayley sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she’d have given anything to be up here. Today she’d rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his newest game system through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Hayley was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she’d opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Hayley, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s another one! ‘Ms. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —’ ”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Hayley right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Hayley had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Hayley’s letter clutched in his hand.

“Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Hayley. “Dudley — go — just go.”

Hayley walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn’t received her first letter. Surely that meant they’d try again? And this time she’d make sure they didn’t fail. She had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o’clock the next morning. Hayley turned it off quickly and dressed silently She mustn’t wake the Dursleys. She stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

She was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door —

“AAAAARRRGH!”

Hayley leapt into the air; she’d trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat — something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to her horror Hayley realized that the big, squashy something had been her uncle’s face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Hayley didn’t do exactly what she’d been trying to do. She shouted at Hayley for about half an hour and then told her to go and make a cup of tea. Hayley shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon’s lap. Hayley could see three letters addressed in green ink.

“I want —” she began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before her eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon.”

“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Hayley. As they couldn’t go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Hayley found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked Hayley in amazement.

*   *   *

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today —”

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Hayley leapt into the air trying to catch one —

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon seized Hayley around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

“Shake ’em off … shake ’em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He’d never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he’d missed five television programs he’d wanted to see, and he’d never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Hayley shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Hayley stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering. …

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

“ ’Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. H. Potter? Only I got about an ’undred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Ms. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Hayley made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked her hand out of the way. The woman stared.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

*   *   *

“Wouldn’t it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

“It’s Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television.”

Monday. This reminded Hayley of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Hayley’s eleventh birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks. Still, you weren’t eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’d bought.

“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman’s kindly agreed to lend us his boat!”

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

“I’ve already got us some rations,” said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Hayley privately agreed, though the thought didn’t cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Hayley was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Hayley couldn’t sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley’s snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Hayley she’d be eleven in ten minutes’ time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Hayley heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn’t going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she’d be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she’d be eleven. Thirty seconds … twenty … ten … nine — maybe she’d wake Dudley up, just to annoy him — three … two … one …

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Hayley sat bolt upright, long hair whipping out in front of her face as she stared at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

[casualcatchycookie]

Harry potter Chapter 3 Book 1

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley’s gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley’s favorite sport: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”

“No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick. ” Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he’d said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg’s. Mrs. Figg wasn’t as bad as usual. It turned out she’d broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn’t seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings’ boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

“What’s this?” he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

“Your new school uniform,” she said.

Harry looked in the bowl again.

“Oh,” he said, “I didn’t realize it had to be so wet. ”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I’m dyeing some of Dudley’s old things gray for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished. ”

Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High — like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry’s new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Harry get it. ”

“Get the mail, Harry. ”

“Make Dudley get it. ”

“Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley. ”

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn’t belong to the library, so he’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

“Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

“Marge’s ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk. . . ”

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

“That’s mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it’s mine. ”

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn’t move.

“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”

“Watching — spying — might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want–”

Harry could see Uncle Vernon’s shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

“No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer. . . Yes, that’s best. . . we won’t do anything. . . ”

“But–”

“I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

“Where’s my letter?” said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it. ”

“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had my cupboard on it. ”

“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking. . . you’re really getting a bit big for it. . . we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.

“Why?” said Harry.

“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now. ”

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they’d never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don’t want him in there. . . I need that room. . . make him get out. . . ”

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he’d have given anything to be up here. Today he’d rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he’d opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s another one! ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive — ‘”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry’s letter clutched in his hand.

“Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Harry. “Dudley — go — just go. ”

Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn’t received his first letter. Surely that meant they’d try again? And this time he’d make sure they didn’t fail. He had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o’clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn’t wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door —

“AAAAARRRGH!”

Harry leapt into the air; he’d trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat — something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle’s face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn’t do exactly what he’d been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon’s lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

“I want — ” he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up. ”

“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon. ”

“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn’t go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked Harry in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today–”

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one —

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

“Shake ’em off. . . shake ’em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He’d never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he’d missed five television programs he’d wanted to see, and he’d never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering. . .

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

“‘Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an ‘undred of these at the front desk. ”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

“Wouldn’t it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

“It’s Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. ”

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry’s eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks. Still, you weren’t eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’d bought.

“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman’s kindly agreed to lend us his boat!”

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

“I’ve already got us some rations,” said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn’t cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn’t sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley’s snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he’d be eleven in ten minutes’ time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn’t going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he’d be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he’d be eleven. Thirty seconds. . . twenty. . . ten. . . nine — maybe he’d wake Dudley up, just to annoy him — three. . . two. . . one. . .

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

[kansascityhappenings]

Identity of man found in Idaho cave 40 years ago revealed, along with his colorful criminal past

DUBOIS, Idaho — Nobody could have guessed the identity of a man whose body was found in Idaho’s Civil Defense Caves in 1979.

For 40 years, anthropologists, scientists and investigators from Idaho State University all the way to the Smithsonian and the FBI tried to unravel the mystery of who this man was. The big question none of them could figure out was how long he had been in the caves, East Idaho News reports.

The answers were revealed Tuesday during a riveting news conference held by Clark County Sheriff Bart Mary and others involved in the decades-long investigation.

The man’s remains were so well preserved, there was still skin on the body. Anthropologists believed that he had maybe only been in the caves for five to 10 years. When the DNA Doe Project finally put the genetic and genealogical pieces together, they learned he had been in the cave since 1916.

“Through our research, following the tireless experts of innumerable experts, we have identified Clark County John Doe. His name was Joseph Henry Loveless,” DNA Doe Project team leader Anthony Redgrave said. “Joseph Henry Loveless was born Dec. 3, 1870, in Payson, Utah territory.

Loveless was a notorious outlaw, bootlegger, jailbird and a vicious murderer, according to newspaper records from the era.

The revelation that the man anthropologists believed had likely died sometime between 1969 and 1979 had actually died in 1916 was a shocking revelation.

“This definitely threw most anthropologists — all anthropologists that looked at this (case),” ISU anthropology department assistant professor Samantha Blatt said.

Loveless’s torso, arms and legs have been recovered, but his head has never been found. Researchers have not been able to uncover a photo of him either. Fortunately, the wanted poster published from when he murdered his wife has a description of what he looked like, although he was going by a different name at the time.

Joseph Henry Loveless was a notorious outlaw and vicious murderer, according to newspaper records from the era. The composite image was created using images of his closest relatives and written descriptions.

“Walt Cairns, age about 40 years, height about 5 ft. 8 or 9 in., weight about 165 pounds, dark brown hair, slightly gray around ears, eyes bluish brown, medium complexion, has little or no eyebrows, small scar over right eye, tattoo of star on right hand between thumb and index finger, also tattoo of anchor same place on left hand; he wore a light colored hat, brown coat, red sweater, blue overalls over black trousers,” the poster reads.

A composite of what Loveless may have looked like was created by combining images of his closest relatives and from written descriptions.

The story of how scientists and historians identified Loveless is remarkable. Redgrave said this is now one of the oldest cases to be solved using DNA.

Road to identification On Aug. 26, 1979, a family was searching for arrowheads in a cave near the entrance of the Civil Defense Caves just north of Dubois. Instead of arrowheads, they found something else.

Wrapped in burlap and buried in a shallow grave was the headless torso of a man. He was wearing a white shirt with blue pinstripes and a maroon sweater. He was also missing his arms and legs.

Earl Holden, the Clark County Sheriff at the time, had the area searched for any other remains, but to no avail. He believed, based on the clothing the man was wearing, that he was likely a gambler from 60 years prior.

Coroner Ernest Still performed an investigation and determined the man must have died within the last decade due to the presence of flesh and odor.

Still wasn’t the only one who thought that. In 1979, the top forensic anthropologist in the world, Dr. Doug Ubelaker from the Smithsonian Institute, believed the remains could have been anywhere from six months to ten years old.

“Already, at the beginning, no one could identify who this person was,” ISU anthropology department assistant professor Samantha Blatt said.

Twelve years later, an 11-year-old girl was exploring the cave when she discovered a hand sticking out of the ground. An excavation led by Idaho State University and the Idaho Museum of Natural History uncovered the man’s arms and legs.

Joseph Henry Loveless’ remains were found in the Civil Defense Caves near Dubois, ID, in 1979.

In 1997, the remains were transferred to the ISU Anthropology Department where they have remained ever since.

In March 2019, Drs. Amy Michael and Samantha Blatt with the Idaho State University Anthropology Department decided to ask if DNA Doe Project would be willing to help try to identify the man in the cave.

DNA Doe Project is a nonprofit organization that uses a methodology known as genetic genealogy to identify unknown individuals by using their DNA to find their family tree. Volunteers search through records and other sources to piece the individual’s family history together until they are able to identify the person.

Led by team leader Anthony Redgrave, 14 volunteer genealogists spent more than 2,000 hours researching Clark County John Doe’s family tree. They found 31,730 individuals in the tree and narrowed their investigation down to 250 “DNA cousins.” Searching through those family trees, they tentatively identified the man as Joseph Henry Loveless.

The genealogists discovered Loveless’s parents were Latter-day Saint pioneers from the Utah valley and were polygamists, which made DNA Doe Project’s job much more difficult.

“Descendants of pioneers who have done their family history will know that their ancestors had many, many children – often with several different spouses during the time period that polygamy was practiced,” Redgrave said.

He explained that often leads to intermarrying, which can affect the DNA in unpredictable ways. It also leads to half-relationships or half-cousins where two people only share DNA with one parent. Redgrave said that even though they had numerous close DNA matches, it was difficult to work with and narrow down to one individual.

“We took a lot of extra effort to confirm our potential identity over the course of several days,” Redgrave said.

Even then, Clark County Sheriff Bart May wanted to make extra sure the identity was correct.

“I felt like we needed to take it a step farther to make sure we were 100 percent correct. So we tracked down living relatives, which was really hard to do. But we found an 87-year-old grandson who was willing to talk with us and meet with us and give us his DNA,” May said.

Through the grandson’s DNA, authorities were able to confirm the remains did belong to Joseph Henry Loveless.

“This was an amazing case because watching it progress, it was so difficult because of the intermarriages and the Latter-day Saints practice of polygamy. There were many, many complicated family relationships that we thought would take forever to untangle,” DNA Doe Project Co-founder Dr. Margaret Press said.

The outlaw Finding out the body was Joseph Henry Loveless was one thing. Finding out details about his life was another. To do that, DNA Doe Project searched through eastern Idaho newspaper records.

The man they discovered had a notorious reputation.

Joseph Henry Loveless was born to Latter-day Saint pioneers Joseph Jackson Loveless and Sarah Jane Scriggins.

When he was 28, in 1899, Loveless married Harriett Jane Savage in Salt Lake City, Utah. Five years later, Harriett filed for divorce on the grounds of desertion and failure to support their child.

A year after the divorce, Loveless married Agnes Octavia Caldwell in Bear Lake County, Idaho. They had four children together but Loveless wasn’t the type to settle down. In 1914, he was arrested for bootlegging in Burley. A few months later he was again arrested for bootlegging in Burley but he managed to escape from jail — and it wouldn’t be the last time.

In 1916, newspaper records show a man named Walter Garron pulled off a daring escape by cutting his jail cell’s bars with a saw and then stopping a train.

“The news article is strangely worded but we assume he was being transported to jail on a train and somehow stopped the train in an attempt to escape it,” Redgrave said. “He was somehow caught and put in prison and escaped again anyway.”

Walter Garron was just one of the various aliases Loveless went by. Others included Walter Cairins, Curran, Currans, Cairns, Curnans and Charles Smith.

On May 5, 1916, Agnes Loveless was found dead in the tent she, Loveless and their 8-year-old son lived in on the outskirts Dubois. Loveless was nowhere to be found and became the prime suspect. The problem was, he and his wife were using aliases at the time. The couple, both suspected bootleggers, were known in town as Charles and Ada Smith.

This led to confusion among researchers about who killed Agnes and where Loveless was. They eventually came to the conclusion that Charles and Ada Smith were, in fact, Joseph and Agnes Loveless.

On May 12, 1916, the Pocatello Chronicle published an article titled “Under Arrest on Murder Charge.” Law enforcement had arrested a man they believed to be Walter Currans (Joseph Loveless) for Ada Smith’s (Agnes Loveless) murder.

“Sheriff John Spencer of Fremont County in Spencer, Ida., charged (him) with beating out his wife’s brains. Her death resulted after 50 hours of intense agony. It is charged that the ax was wielded by her common-law husband in Dubois at an early hour Saturday morning after she had returned home from a dance in that city,” the article read.

According to the news article, their 8-year-old son found her and she had been beaten to death with an ax.

At Agnes’s funeral, one of their children was quoted as saying, “Papa never stayed in jail very long and he’ll soon be out.”

On May 23, 1916, Loveless escaped from jail again by cutting the bars using a saw he had hidden in his shoes.

After that, Loveless wasn’t seen again until his headless, dismembered corpse was discovered in 1979. It’s not clear who murdered Loveless, or how he was killed. There is a near certainty though that the murderer is also dead.

Despite that, the Clark County Sheriff’s Office plans to continue the investigation and hopefully discover who killed Loveless.

“This is one of the most exciting cases we have worked,” forensic genealogist Lee Redgrave, Anthony Redgrave’s wife said.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2020/01/01/identity-of-man-found-in-cave-40-years-ago-revealed-along-with-his-colorful-criminal-past/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2020/01/01/identity-of-man-found-in-idaho-cave-40-years-ago-revealed-along-with-his-colorful-criminal-past/