#i watched first class and days of future past and well. i am charmed..

[hercury]

guess im in xmen world now

[oliviainjapann]

May 27th- Arashiyama Bamboo Forest and Monkey Park

Today was an adventurous day! I started off by making eggs for Maddie and I, and then we headed over to the class meeting in the rain. I was bummed about the weather but it is what it is. Then, we travelled to Arashiyama where we walked around the town on the way to the bamboo forest. I won’t lie, the bamboo forest was very underwhelming. The beginning part of it barely had any bamboo, and then the actual main trail that you see on most pictures of the forest only lasted about 5 minutes and there were so many people that we could not get any pictures. We also walked through it so fast that I feel like I did not appreciate it as well as I should have. We then walked around this beautiful river and the scenic views were amazing with the fog on the mountains. We proceeded to the monkey park that began with a grueling hike. I was drenched in sweat and gave up on using the umbrella and just embraced the rain drops. When we reached the peak of the hike I could tell it was going to be worth it once I saw all the monkeys. They were SO cute, and I swear I could watch them play for hours. They also walked so close to us and didn’t seem scared to be around us. My favorite part was seeing the mom and baby monkey interactions, especially when the baby would cling to the mom’s underbelly when she would walk. We then walked back down the mountain which was much easier, and settled on a pizza place for lunch. This was incredible, as well as the dessert I got which was fried pizza dough bites with ice cream and Nutella. I currently am regretting it due to my stomach pains but it was still so yummy. We then returned home, and we’re now doing laundry and rotting. But Ryder and I plan to run in a bit to burn off our lunches and then we want to all go to a rooftop bar to watch the sunset. I hope it doesn’t rain! I’m getting so sad for this trip to end and I truly don’t understand how it has already almost been a month.

Academic Reflection

The first reading today focused on the bamboo forest as well as preservation and conservation of forests in Japan. This made me create connections between the last readings we’ve had about nature conservation in Japan as well as much areas being so incredibly well-kept and maintained. Although Arashiyama is a very touristy spot, it was clear to me that much care still goes into maintains the luscious forests around the area as well as the actual bamboo. The reading discussed how in the past, the area was not as preserved as it used to be and went though much harm and trials such as disease and deforestation, but has clearly done a 180 now and flourishes in the much safer environment that it is today.

In terms of the other two readings, it was hard for me to find a connection between them and the bamboo forest and monkey park, however the Tale of Genji was still an interesting story. It was kind of dramatic in that Genji’s wife was killed by Lady Rokujo as she is his mistress, and then Genji went to meet the Lady at the shrine where he gives her a branch from the sacred tree. He also cries when pondering the love affair, which is odd as his wife was just killed. Regardless, we saw a shrine in the bamboo forest where you can purchase charms for love to either help bond an existing relationship or help ensure/foster a future one. I think Genji and his mistress need more help than just a love charm.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

alphabet boy

SYNOPSIS: You should feel extremely lucky that the handsome and intelligent Armin Arlert is your tutor...even when he's a little mean to you. Because that's your fault, isn't it? He wouldn't have to be mean if you weren't so damn stupid.

PAIRING: Armin x FEM!Reader

DEDICATED TO: armin fuckers. non armin fuckers, i hope i can convert you.

TW: dubcon touching, manipulative behavior, gaslighting, academia shaming,

WC: 1.8k

“Maybe you’re not cut out for this class.”

He said it so casually, a comment spoken between the flip of textbook pages. You couldn’t shake off the undeniable hurt.

“I-Uhm, uh, yeah I have to study a lot...but I like this class. It was a pain to get off the waitlist.” You keep your voice optimistic and light, hoping to mask the offense taken.

You don’t know why Armin would say that, but maybe he was just being logical...he’s seen you struggle, of course, he’d think the class was too hard for you.

The blond sighs, closing his novel that he brought with him while he waited for you to finish your practice problems.

“You can barely keep up with the weekly homework assignments. You didn’t even hand in your assignment last week, right? Better drop out now before the add and drop deadline.” His voice is soft and cold at the same time. It’s unnerving.

You tuck your hair behind your ears, eyes set low, too ashamed to meet your tutor’s. Armin had been your tutor for the past few weeks now, and you thought it was going pretty well. He was so so smart that you couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. He was handsome too, short-cropped blond hair, wide blue eyes, with a wardrobe that was composed of slacks and sweaters.

Usually, he was always overly polite and charming. You could make countless mistakes and his patience was endless. He had some off-days where he was a little withdrawn and quiet. You never held it against him though, knowing he had no obligation to make idle chatter. But sometimes, you could feel his chilly gaze watching you even though he had a book propped open.

“I emailed the professor, he was really chill about it. Last week was really rough for me, you know? I wasn’t feeling well and...”

“You know excuses don’t fly in the real world right? You’re in college now. Professor Ackerman was just being courteous. He probably thinks you’re lazy.” Even though you try not to look at him, you can feel Armin’s azure blues burn holes into you. There was this quiet intensity about him that made you worry about when the restraints would come off.

Armin can’t help but let condescension drip over his words. Any self-respecting person would defend themselves, but not you. Not when you’re already broken by your own insecurities that make it that much easier for him to trample on.

He can already see pearly-sheened tears leaking from the corner of your hopeless eyes. How cute. You part your pretty little mouth to say something, but no words come out. You close your mouth soon enough, looking every bit like a dumb little airhead.

So he continues: “You know your classmates learned all the first few chapters from high school right? You’re the only one starting fresh.” He moves closer, elbows inching closer to infiltrate your little personal-space bubble, knees knocking into yours under the desk.

More tears form under your lower lashes, and Armin mentally counts the crystal droplets. You’re recoiling into yourself like a shrinking violet which only encourages Armin to go just a little farther.

“You don’t even have your major picked out yet. This is a core class for your classmates, you know. You’re wasting your-no, everyone’s time.”

Not wanting to cry in front of your tutor, you rub your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, fully aware of how utterly pathetic you look right now.

In a small voice, you manage to utter, “I have a right...to be in this class. Even though I’m slow now, I think with some decent amount of studying...I’ll catch up. Even if I’m not-” you take a deep breath, “as quick as my classmates, I still really enjoy what I learn. And..and...I think at the end of the day, that’s what really matters!”

Armin scoffs, “Do you really like the class or are you staying for Ackerman? God knows how many fangirls he’s had to put up with.”

Even as he spoke those words, Armin knew it wasn’t entirely true. You admired the man zealously and had read all of his published papers. Honestly, your admiration had always annoyed him.

You wince at the insinuation but you could feel the anger simmering in your gut, “You have no right to imply that! Wh-why-” Your voice breaks, “are you being so mean?”

Armin thinks you’re so cute, the way you jut out your bottom lip. So cute and pathetic. The corners of his lips quirk upwards. It’s almost endearing how you say “mean” like it’s the worst thing a person can be.

“Am I being mean or am I being realistic?” The blond coos, “I’m your tutor, right? I know the best for you.”

He takes your silence as an invitation to goad you harder: “You’re only upset because I’m telling you what you don’t want to hear.”

You don’t notice the proximity until Armin lays his hand over yours, squeezing the soft flesh of your palms. His voice is gentle as he reassures you: “Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

He made you cry, but you don’t have it in you to pull away from the only semblance of comfort given to you. His chair scrapes the floor as he sets it right beside yours, wrapping an arm around you, encouraging you to lean your head against his shoulder.

It’s a little sad but this is probably the most physical contact you’ve gotten in a while. You’re an utter mess, and on top of all that, touch-starved.

You’re still sniffling like a crybaby, trying to sort your own emotions out. You take a few deep breaths and force yourself to face the facts:

You’re behind.

The class is too much work for you.

Armin’s right, you’re upset because he’s telling you what you don’t want to hear.

“D-do you really think I should drop the class?” Your voice is so defeated, a pinch louder than a whisper.

His long fingers play with the ends of your hair, “I know this class is really important to you and we both want you to do well...so why don’t we increase our tutoring sessions? Maybe we should meet three times a week.”

He smiles at you, and it looks so genuine. You’re immensely grateful, you are, but confusion washes over you, “Wow, Uh, that’ll be great actually but um, uni tutoring services is once a week...so-”

Armin dismisses your concerns with a gentle wave of his hands, “Don’t worry, It’ll be off the books. Think of this as private tutoring. Of course, we’ll have to start meeting in my room from now on.”

While he doesn’t elaborate on why you have to meet in his dorm, you assume Armin has a good reason and it probably involves university-sanctioned student-tutor guidelines.

You’re stammering out thank-you’s, still trying to rub the tears out of your eyes until you feel a soft handkerchief wiping them away.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” He reassures, “Don’t use your sleeve. It’s too rough for your pretty face.”

You blush under his words, wide eyes locked into his oceanic blues, “I d-don’t know if I’ll be able to compensate you f-for the private tutoring.”

His eyebrows crease as he gives you a smile full of pearly teeth, “You don’t have to worry about that for now.” His hands graze over your knuckles, “We’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you Armin.” You say it so sincerely, trying to muster the biggest smile you can after the blond essentially trampled over your self-esteem to only nurse it back with sweet promises.

“Well, we better finish today’s work then.” He responds calmly, not bothering to detangle himself from you. You can feel his body heat radiating onto you, and how his hand moved to casually rest on your thigh. But that’s normal right? If you think about it, Armin was not exactly adverse to touch. During your past tutoring sessions, his hand would always be on the small of your back or shoulders.

“Hey, you’re not getting distracted again, are you?” His voice is playful like he isn’t sliding his hand up and down the span of skin between your skirt and tights. When you don't respond, he pinches your inner thigh, eliciting a startled gasp from you.

"Focus." It's a demand so it must be followed.

Embarrassed, you nod your head and return your focus to the problem sets even though your hands are shaky as you grip the ballpoint pen.

You don’t notice how the blond’s eyes gleam under the fluorescent lighting at your easy compliance. He’s always liked obedient girls.

Your thighs are growing warmer, and it doesn’t help to have Armin peering over you. Still, you try your best to lull yourself to focus until a ringtone breaks your concentration.

Armin breaks away from you to find his phone and you find your body subconsciously missing the warmth. He lightly curses under his breath once he sees the contact name, but answers nonetheless.

“Yeah...sorry babe. I forgot. I’ll be right over.” He sounds apologetic but he looks downright bored.

And like that, the call is over. He looks over at you with an apology falling from his lips, “Sorry about that. I forgot I had something to do today. We’ll end early.”

Your throat is dry as you ask, “Was that your girlfriend?” You regretted your words the moment they escaped. That was none of your business. It doesn’t matter if he was holding you earlier. He was doing so because you were bawling like a baby. But why did he touch your thighs?

That doesn’t have to mean anything, you rationalize. Besides, Armin would never make a move on you. He was a handsome senior with a perfect GPA and a powerful position in the student government. Stupid freshman girls like you are not worth the time he so generously gives out.

The blond smirks, seeming to notice your internal struggle, “Something like that. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure she won’t distract me from our future sessions.”

That was a puzzling comment. His girlfriend supposedly distracting from your study time wasn’t even a concern you held.

“No, no, that’s ok.” You quickly assure, “You’ve already helped me out so much.”

The blond pats the top of your head like you were a puppy, “I’d do anything for my cute little student.”

The way your face heats up with a dark blush should be criminal. All he did was pat your head, and you’re looking at him starry-eyed like he didn’t grope your thighs under the table. Honestly, all your cute little blubbering had gone straight to his cock. Annie would have to handle his big problem.

These private sessions are going to be fun.

part I ---- complete

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[wordofthewicked]

Switched- A Fred and George Weasley Fan Fiction

Fred and George Weasley are the most infamous duo at Hogwarts- you'll never find one without the other trailing close behind. Many people can't even tell them apart, and even fewer try to figure it out. However, there is more to the twins than meets the eye. Perhaps being two halves of the same whole isn't their choice in the first place. When a date with George's longtime crush leads to a new budding romance, chaos ensues within the Gryffindor house. This girl holds some key to George's future, but can he outrun the danger that comes with loving her?

~All characters, places, objects, and events that happen in the Harry Potter Universe are property of J.K Rowling. I own none of them. This book is purely a work of fan fiction.~

General Masterlist

Switched Masterlist (All Chapters)

Chapter Two: The News

Fred's POV:

After walking Stevie back to the Slytherin common room, I rushed towards the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Bauldersash!" I shouted, impatient to go talk to George.

"Hmmph, in a rush are we?" She hummed, crossing her arms.

"Yes! A big rush! Baulderdash!" I repeated.

"Alright alright, don't get your wand in a twist." Her frame swung open, revealing the hole behind it.

I ran straight through, ignoring the questioning stares from those who were heading off towards breakfast. I ran up the stairway on the left, shoving past Ron and Harry who were on their way down.

"Oi- watch where you're going mate!" Ron grumbled, eyes half open.

"You watch it! I've got places to be!" I called over my shoulder.

Once I reached my dormitory, I flung open the door. Lee and George were sitting on one of the beds, in a heated conversation. George hadn't bothered to get dressed, despite him having to be up for over an hour by now.

"Hiya Georgie! Interesting morning?" I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

"Save it. I don't even know if I want to hear what happened after we switched." He groaned.

"Listen, it was great. If she wasn't a Slytherin, I'd say she's perfect for you," I plopped down on the bed opposite of them. "You do, however, have a date with her next Saturday."

George's eyes went wide, horror flooding his features. "A date? A DATE?" He threw the pillow that was in his lap and my head, but I dodged it before it made contact.

"Why would you do that to me? You know how she makes me feel. How do you think I'm supposed to go on a date when I can barely speak to her?" George rambled.

"She's just a girl. You'll be-" I began, before George swiftly continued talking over me.

"And you know what? What if we switch? Then you'll be on a date with her. You know that we're more likely to accidentally switch when one of us is nervous. How do I explain that? And what if it goes well? And she wants to go out again? How do I explain to her that some days I'm not me, but I am me, just in a different body? She'll think I'm mental."

Lee grabbed George's shoulders and shook him gently "Merlins beard George- take a breath. Freddie did you a solid here, don't waste the opportunity.

"I have a plan for everything. I'll be nearby so that if we do switch, which we won't, we can just switch back! She won't notice anything." I ensured him, smiling brightly.

While switches happen randomly and tend to have no distance limit (albeit, we're never far away from each other), as long as we're close by, we can switch on our own accord. When taking exams- it's useful. I'm dreadful at Transfiguration, but George seems to get every spell almost immediately. Likewise, I'm much better at charms, allowing us to at least pass those classes easily.

"You think so?"

"I know so. Now get dressed- Wood wants us on the field after breakfast and I'm not about to let you make us miss food." Standing up, I headed towards the door to leave.

"You're the one who always makes us late!" George argued, climbing out of bed.

"Well I was up bright and early this morning- I even saw the sunrise!" I chortled, before shutting the door behind me and making my way back down the stairs to the common room.

~~~

Stevie's POV:

"Weasley? Really?" Blaise rolled his eyes, reaching over Draco for another croissant.

"He's really sweet! I think it'll be fun!" I reasoned.

"Talk about sleeping with the enemy." Adrien joked, shaking his head.

"It's about time you finally talked to him. I'm tired of you ogling over him during meets, instead of cheering us on." Draco sneered, picking his coffee up.

"I do not ogle! I just simply... admire. From a distance. Frequently."

"Whatever you say. I don't blame you honestly. He's quite fit and- 6'4 you said? I'd climb him like a tree too." Pansy snorted, enjoying Draco's disgusted face.

I blushed slightly before stuttering out "I'm not climbing anyone like a tree. It's just a date!"

"Mmm sure. Didn't you say the same thing about Higgs at the end of term party last year? I remember quite well trying to think of a spell to get rid of those love bites." Millicent chimed in, winking at me.

"I hate the lot of you," I stood up from the bench "I'm going back to the common room to start on McGonagall's essay. I don't know how they expect us to do well on OWLs if they're already bombarding us with homework."

"I haven't even thought about starting mine, so I could use the encouragement." Adrian got up from the table and stood beside me. "You four should enjoy how easy your fourth year is before it's over."

"I'll be sure to do just that then, as I spend the whole weekend not having anything to do." Draco smirked, raising his eyebrows proudly.

"I can't wait to watch him flounder next year." I whispered to Adrian, walking away from him.

"He's a prick- it'll definitely be amusing." He chortled back.

As we were passing through the doors of the Great Hall, I saw Fred and George turn the corner, their friend with the dreadlocks following closely behind. George looked just as good as he did earlier, an effortless appeal to him. I waved at him and smiled, meeting his eyes. He immediately waved back, sending a wink in my direction. I blushed a bit before speeding up my walking.

"Oi- you're going on a date with him but you won't even stop to talk to him?" Adrian questioned, catching up with me.

"We spent the whole morning talking on the Astronomy Tower- what's left to say?" I rationalized, my mind drifting to how close we were standing to each other. How for just a moment, when he looked at me and opened his eyes wider, I thought he might just kiss me.

"I don't understand you," he shook his head slightly "You're the most confusing girl I think I've ever met."

"Well perhaps you're meeting the wrong girls then- huh?" I retorted, taking a sharp left and descending the stairs towards the dungeons.

"I guess so." Adrian shrugged, following me down the stairs.

When we arrived at the entrance, I muttered 'wiggenweld' and the stones in the wall parted, revealing the common room just beyond. Adrian and I stepped through, looking around for other students. The room was quite empty- not unusual for a Saturday morning. Many people were still in bed.

"I have to go grab my textbook and parchment. I'll meet you back out here in a minute." I headed off towards the girl's hallway, my thoughts wandering back to George as I did.

I've had a small crush on him since my second year, though I never felt right acting on it. Aside from the fact that he was a year above me, he's also a Gryffindor and a Weasley. I highly doubt my parents would think he was fit to be friends with me, let alone take me on a date. Still, there was something about him that I couldn't help but be drawn to. He was well known throughout the school as one half of the dynamic prankster duo that set the school alight with fireworks, but he was so much more. Fred always managed to light up a crowd around the Gryffindor table with his animated stories, but it was the way George sat faithfully by his side and only chimed in during certain moments that got to me. It was the fact that he was also so observant, his eyes were always scanning across the room, noticing everything around him. It was stupid to think that someone I never talked to before this morning could be so enticing to me, but he made me weak.

quickly grabbed what I needed from my room and joined Adrien on one of the couches by the fireplace. I set my book and parchment gently on the table in front of me.

"Fuck- I completely forgot a quill and ink." I groaned, sinking down into the couch.

"Here," Adrien handed me a quill "I grabbed an extra for you. We can share my ink pot."

"Ugh- you're the best!" I squealed, sitting forward and opening my book, "I seriously don't know what I'd do without you!"

"Die, probably." He joked.

Our eyes met for a moment, and I let them linger. He kept his head still, staring back at me. I felt him move closer to me, our legs against each other. The weight between us was definitely noticeable to anyone around us, but I didn't know how to stop it. Adrian was good looking, and he'd always been a great friend to me. Finally, I cleared my throat and forced myself to look down at my hands.

"Right- we should probably get started." I muttered, flipping through the first couple pages of the Transfiguration spells.

"Right." He sighed, shifting slightly away from me.

Despite being friends for 5 years now, I know that Adrian's had feelings for me for a while. He asked me out in our third year- but we were barely 16 and I didn't feel old enough to date yet. There'd been some weird moments between us since, including one particularly drunk incident on his last birthday, but he never asked me again. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel fondly of him, and I know he'd be the perfect person to bring home to my parents. Yet, every time I try to give him my attention, George's stupid grin lights up in the back of my mind.

There was something about George Weasley that I just couldn't shake, and he haunted my thoughts day and night. But honestly? I didn’t know if that was such a bad thing anymore.

~~~

George's POV

"That was kind of weird, huh?" I observed, sliding next to Ginny on the bench.

Lee sat down across from me. "I'm surprised she didn't talk to you. Nerves maybe?" He offered.

"It's got Pucey's stench all over it, never liked that git." Fred muttered, piling his plate full.

Hermione made eye contact with me from across the table before getting up from Harry and Ron and sitting next to Lee. "What's this I've heard of you finally asking out Stevie?"

I choked on my tea, the hot liquid spilled down my robes as I tried to catch my breath. "Bloody hell Hermione. That just happened like 45 minutes ago- how did you find out?"

"Well, Cho overheard Stevie talking about it this morning at the Slytherin table, so she told Padma. Then Padma asked Luna if she knew anything, and Luna then told Ginny. As soon as Ginny heard, she told me!"

I sighed and rested my head against my hand "News travels fast here, huh?’

"How did you do it? I know you've been pining over her for years!" Hermione's dark brown eyes were wide with excitement.

Despite being Ron's best friend (though the way I saw it, it was only a matter of time before they were something more) I always had a soft spot for Hermione. She was awkward and shy, but she had a big heart once you got to know her. When she wasn't berating me about his grades, she was a pretty great person to talk to. Plus, it only took her until the end of her first year to realize that we switched- something that many of our friends couldn't figure out at all.

"Actually- I did all the heavy lifting." Fred smirked, leaning closer to her. "George and I switched when he was alone with her, so I took a chance. Worked out great though- eh?"

Understanding flooded Hermione's features, before she furrowed her brows. "Have you got a plan for not switching during the date?"

"A poor one, but we're taking a risk. I'm not too worried about it." Fred nodded, puffing out his chest.

"Because it's not your date! I, on the other hand, am scared out of my mind." I ran my hands through my hair, pushing the food in front of me away.

Hermione grabbed my hand from across the table and smiled sympathetically. "You're going to be alright. I know she's a Slytherin and friends with Malfoy, but she seems decent. Even if you tell her, I'm sure she'll be okay."

I nodded thankfully as she got up and rejoined the boys.

"I don't think you should do it." Ginny piped up, anger etched on her face. "She's everything we were raised to not believe in- you're just going to turn your back on that because she's hot?"

"I'm not turning my back on anything. Since when did we judge people based on their houses?" I reasoned.

Ginny gathered her belongings before standing up. "We don't. We also don't hang out with people whose parents are known Death Eaters, either. I guess it's okay to forget that when it's convenient to you, huh?" She stormed out, leaving silence in her wake.

"I don't know what is up with her." I shook my head. "Since when does she care who I date?"

"I don't entirely disagree with her," Fred picked up another helping of toast. "But it's not like you're going to marry the girl. It's one date. Besides- I don't think she'd be going out with you if she agreed with her parents decisions."

I glanced across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table and immediately made eye contact with Malfoy. He had a sour look on his face- which wasn't unusual; he always kind of look like he just smelled piss. He narrowed his eyes at me before promptly turning away and rejoining his conversation.

"I don't know anything about her parents, but there's just something about her I can't get away from. Merlin- I've talked to her once and yet she's lived in the back of my head for the past 4 years. I want to see where this can go. We have some sort of connection that I need to see where it leads." I elaborated.

"Mate- you hit your head? You're starting to sound like Trelawney with her weird visions and premonitions." Lee joked.

"I'm fine, just thinking out loud I guess." I picked my tea back up and held the mug between my hands.

There was something about Stevie Blythe that I just couldn't shake, and she haunted my thoughts day and night. But honestly? I don't know if that's such a bad thing anymore.

[mystic-shadows42]

The Lothbroks’ Reaction at you Marrying Somebody other than them

Bjorn had put off speaking to you as long as possible. It was obvious to everybody that he was angry that you were marrying someone else. He fought aggressively and showed no mercy.

It was no coincidence that during the battle you two were fighting near each other. No matter the differences and the struggle you had, you watched his back as he did yours.

You were both young, but you knew Bjorn wasn’t serious for marriage yet. He may never be.

Out of all the times to speak to you, he waited after battle. He had blood dripping down his face while you were trying to catch your breath.

“How could you marry that man?”

“That man is now my husband. He’s a good man. Treats me well.”

“Did I not treat you well that you had to go running off with someone else?” 

You stood up facing him down. There was death all around, yet he wanted to have this conversation now.

You walked over to grab your sword from the ground with Bjorn following.

“I’m talking to you.”

“You want to do this right now?” You asked angrily.

“Yes, I want to do this now.”

He grabbed your arm in a manner that you did not care for. You had far too much adrenaline for you to allow him to touch you. You hit his chest and pushed him back with all your strength.

“You want to know the truth?! We were not serious Bjorn. We would argue all the time and if we weren’t arguing then we were fucking. That does not make for a lasting relationship.”

Bjorn looked over at you shaking his head.

“Why did you leave? We could’ve talked about it. We would’ve somehow made it work.”

“To be honest, it was the last night we spent together that made it clear to me. You called out Porunn’s name instead of mine. You really are an ass for not remembering. It lets me know that I made the right choice.”

You shouldered Bjorn as you left him standing there in a daze.

The first time you’d see Ubbe again was when you were with your husband. He’d glance now and then, but he wouldn’t act on it. Not until you found yourself alone, that is.

“I see that you chose a lowly farmer over me? I could’ve given you so much more.”

Ubbe wasn’t a mean man. He was only hurt. When you two went your separate ways it seemed amicable then. Although, now it seems that more of it was coming to the surface.

“It’s not about what you can give me, Ubbe. Yes, I married a farmer which is a simple life but not an unpleasant one. Your father was once a farmer, was he not?”

“Yes, he was,” Ubbe sighed. “But why him? What can he give you that I couldn’t?”

“I enjoyed your company but every time I was with you, it was never serious. I would talk about the future of having a family someday and you’d laugh. Everything was a joke to you. You’d use your charm to get out of anything that you deemed too serious.”

“I can assure you that I was serious about you.”

“Not serious enough to see that what I say matters. I understand having fun and enjoying the moment, but sometimes reality needs to settle in at some point.”

“Whatever you felt was not one-sided. I wasn’t as expressive with how I felt, but you can’t fault me for that. When I heard the news of your marriage, it broke me. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You’re already too late. I’m happy where my life’s at right now.”

He nodded his head. “I’m happy for you. I wish to find what you have one day.”

You grabbed his hand in yours. 

“You will. It’ll happen to you one day. I’m sure of it.”

He looked down at your joined hands which made you let go. Ubbe bit his lip and looked away. 

“I was a young man back then. I understand that now. I apologize for any heartache I may have caused you. Just know that I did truly love you.” He turned his back to you and left.

“My husband certainly isn’t taking too kindly to your mockery of him.”

Hvitserk huffed out a laugh as he started changing out of his clothes in front of you.

“I wasn’t mocking him.”

You gave Hvitserk a look knowing he was being full of it.

“I’m pretty sure bowing and laughing at the same time surely means you weren’t serious. Oh, and walking out while he’s trying to lay out plans for raids, was really convincing,” you said sarcastically.

Hvitserk started to pull down his trousers which made you turn your back to him. You knew he was enjoying your discomfort.

“If I hurt your poor husband’s feelings then I apologize. He didn’t need to send his wife in here to fight his battles for him.”

“You didn’t hurt his feelings. Also, I came in here on my own accord. If he were to confront you for this then there’d probably be a fight, no less, a battle would ensue.”

“Look at me.”

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes.”

You turned around and were relieved that he was now dressed again in different clothes. More casual ones.

“Why did you change in the first place?”

“I thought I was greeting a man of high class, but now I can see my fine clothes were wasted.”

Now he was just getting under your skin.

“You think you can see past people with just one look? I saw past all your flaws, yet you were the one who couldn’t see past mine. It hurts to know that you’re still that same man who can’t see outside his own standards.”

This time Hvitserk made no comment. For now, he saw the truth in your words.

You know dealing with Ivar on any occasion would be no easy task. So it was no surprise to you that in a room full of people that he’d make a scene.

As you walked through the door Ivar’s eyes focused on you.

“Ah if it isn’t the woman who rejects my love and marries another.”

You made no comment back to Ivar. He was trying to bait you.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I am now a happily married man. Married to the most beautiful woman.” He exaggerated.

“Then why do you still sound bitter?”

There was a chorus of mutters in the room making it tense. Ivar looked away from you smiling bitterly as he chuckled.

“You must be mistaken. I merely wanted to share the joy I’ve been experiencing since you left me. I may be boneless but the man you married is spineless.”

Ivar was now mere inches from your face. He had a way of looking at people to make them feel uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“Ivar if you would please give her some space. She is after all carrying.”

Ivar looked perplexed. He searched your face for any hint of falseness before looking down at your stomach.

“You’re,” he gulped. “You are with child?”

“Yes, but I didn’t want anyone else to know.” You looked over at the advisor of your husband, not at all pleased with his lack of discretion.

“Everybody out.”

“I would not advise that,” the advisor spoke up.

“I advise you to leave before I make an example out of you for not listening.”

Right away everybody started to leave in a hurry. Ivar waited until the last man closed the doors.

“You are with child so soon after your marriage.” When you didn’t say anything, he continued on. “Do you know if it’s mine?”

His tone had changed from when he first saw you up until now.

“I honestly don’t know Ivar. Although, considering you can’t have children I thought that it mustn’t be yours.”

“The timing doesn’t sit right with me. You are either saying your husband is extremely potent which is unlikely or that you’re afraid to admit that you’re bound to me with our miracle child.”

At this, Ivar had his hand on your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“You know which one is true.” Ivar held you close as his lips were pressing on your neck. “You’re bound to me... forever.”

You pulled away from him and stood your ground.

“We’ll just see about that.”

Tagged: @belovedcherry​ @lordsexmachine​ @lol-haha-joke​ @mariaenchanted​ @ethereallysimple​

[poppunkporco]

the one where you walked me home (porco x reader fic)

the one where you walked me home (porco x reader)

contents: porco x fem reader, mentions of marcel galliard, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, alternate universe - college/university, modern au, bisexuality, smoking, porco galliard-centric

rating: teen and up audiences

summary: When he walks her home that night, Porco realizes he might have feelings for his childhood best friend. He has no idea in hell how to deal with it but he tries.

word count: 5079

notes: i just thought it'd be interesting to try writing a modern au porco/reader fic in a more porco-centric POV. what i try to do here is explore how he deals with the soft sappy feelings of slowly realizing he's in love since he's pretty bad at emotions and even more so when it's not a [strong, violent type of feeling]

*fic loosely based on this song:

*this is also cross-posted on ao3

***

2:40 AM at an empty parking lot behind a 7-Eleven. The nearest lamp post flickers weakly with its dimming orange light as Porco sets down his third empty beer can on the concrete with a yawn.

“Hey,” he says, lightly shrugging the shoulder against which she leaned her head on. She doesn’t budge from beside him. He rubs the lethargy off his eyes.

They’ve been sitting on this parking block for almost three hours now-- since they left the gig hours ago at the pub just across the university. They’d just spent the past few hours ranting about midterms and how fucked up alienated labor is along with the absence of ethical consumption under capitalism-- and how everyone is forced to participate in it, talking about trips they’d like to make in and outside the city, their ideal lovers, and anxieties about the future. This was a thing they did now and then, usually on Fridays and Saturdays-- seeking a kind of cathartic escape from their hectic academic life in each other’s company. A friendly rendezvous they’d jokingly call dates every now and then.

He leans forward just enough to get a peek at her face, partly obscured by the mess of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. 

So she’s asleep.

His eyes dart towards their things lumped together beside her feet-- their backpacks sitting atop an A4-size sketchbook along with the last unopened beer can.

Porco idly clinks his finger against the top of the beer can he had just emptied as he breathes out a wistful sigh.

Somehow, she always reminded him of his long-gone brother. Not to say that she shared even a bit of Marcel's fairly easygoing yet charming demeanor. Because she was far from that. She was loud with a crude mouth-- more like Porco himself, really-- except that she at least was kinder, more pleasantly charismatic towards other people than himself. And in that way, yes, she did remind him of Marcel. But there were other things-- pastimes and memories that reminded him of his brother when she came to mind. They’d known each other even as kids. Back in middle school, Porco remembers how she’d visit their home on the weekends so the three of them could build a Lego city which Marcel himself had drafted on the back of one of his sketchbooks. Those two were always quite the artists even as kids-- Porco recalls fondly. His brother had been the one to introduce her to Porco during one of those weekends. He didn’t like it at first-- how Marcel would seem to pay more attention to her at times as they animatedly sketched parts of the city on paper in the middle of assembling the Lego blocks. He’d eventually learned to be tolerant of her presence at least as the weekends passed by and the city gradually came to life-- vast with skyscrapers, houses, trees, vehicles, and lamp posts. Porco distinctly remembers building a garden with her beside a house that resembled the Galliard residence. He had assembled the green pieces that resembled leaf blades onto the flat Lego board, while she topped them off with tiny colorful flower pieces. It was honestly quite fun and it became a thing he eventually looked forward to on the weekends with Marcel.

But all things come to an end and at times, at points where they feel like they’re not supposed to. Porco knows this well.

In Marcel’s old room, the city remains hidden away, unfinished.

It was on a rainy day when Marcel had met an accident on his way home with a schoolmate. Onlookers had witnessed him racing against the red light to push Reiner away from the path of an incoming vehicle.

Even if it was an accident, Porco despises Reiner after that. He'd decided to never talk to him after the incident but as fate would ridiculously have it, they’d meet again in high school-- as classmates, nonetheless, to his dismay.

It was after this same incident that Porco had grown closer to her-- the only other person who possibly knew Marcel almost nearly as he himself did. She knew about the city and she knew about his sketches, after all. In the first few days after his brother’s wake, they’d simply talk about Marcel as they walked home together after school and how they both missed him. Those walks home would eventually involve detours at the nearest Mcdonald’s where they’d get nuggets and buy a Happy Meal-- the ones that came in flimsy cardboard packaging printed with colorful cartoon mascots-- for the sake of getting the collectibles that came with them. It was a thing they never really grew out of. Even now, as college kids, whenever they’d find themselves eating out together at the nearest Mcdonald’s after their Philosophy classes scheduled on Tuesdays and Thursdays, they’d get themselves a Happy Meal, even if they sometimes earned puzzled looks from the cashier as they engaged in quick, petty quarrels as to which collectible they should get.

Soon, Porco feels her shuffle in her seat beside him, the weight of her head now off his shoulder. She rubs the sleep off her eyes with a yawn.

“...should go home,” she drawls, accidentally kicking one of the empty beer cans sprawled in front of them on the concrete. It lands right at the feet of a passer-by who in turn shoots her a cold glare before kicking the can back in her direction. "I-- hey, uh, sorry about that," she apologizes, louder than necessary. Said passer-by only clicks their tongue in annoyance as they raised a middle finger at her before walking away with a muffled swear under their breath.

She exchanges incredulous, befuddled looks with Porco for a few silent moments before eventually letting out a snort and bursting into a fit of stupidly drunken laughter with him. 

“...is what I mean… fucking capitalism... makesnasshole out ofveryone,” she remarks, broken phrases drawn out in between chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I got it for the tenth time,” Porco says, laughing with a roll of his eyes. He stands up and stretches out a hand in front of her. “Now can we go home? Can’t exactly start a revolution when the alcohol’s fucked you up that bad,” he says with an impatient sigh.

“Yeah? How do you know? Did Karl Marx write that?” She languidly takes his hand.

“No, but-- fucking… well, I don’t know. Maybe? Indirectly? I mean, we did just give in to consumerism,” Porco says with a sharp click of his tongue as he pulls her up to stand.

“Well… yeah. I guess so.”

“Anyway.” Porco places a palm at the top of her head and urges her to face him. “You seem more out of it than me. I’m walking you home this time, alright?

”She shrugs languidly. “Sure, whatever,” she says, her words muffled as she falls face first into his chest. 

--

“Give me the fucking keys,” he says coarsely after her third failed attempt at unlocking the door to her own flat. In the dim light of the hall, Porco tries to make out the shape of what he recognizes as the right one among the five keys dangling from her keychain. He sighs, frustrated as he finally unlocks the door. 

“How the hell did you--?” Confused, she eyes the keys still dangling from the door. “Why wouldn’t it open when it was me?”

“For the love of--” Porco runs a palm down across his face with an exasperated sigh. “You were forcing the wrong key.”

“Oh.” She snorts trying to stifle a chuckle. Porco pulls the keys from the door and hands them to her along with the sketchbook he’d been carrying.

“Thanks.” She gives the door a light push before finally taking a step into the flat. And then a sudden stop. She pockets her keys and lets the sketchbook fall on the carpeted floor of the foyer. She tilts her head pensively for a few moments, staring blankly at the darkness of her room. Porco raises an eyebrow in confusion. She turns on her heel to face him again.

“What is it?” he asks.

She stands on the tips of her toes, eyeing Porco with what felt to him like newfound curiosity. She rests a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

Her other hand soon reaches up to cradle the side of his face. It comes as a surprise, but not the kind that made you flinch or visibly react in some way. This was simply… unexpected. Weird. And somehow new.

She’s looking at me. And she’s looking like she’s waiting.

And what is she waiting for, exactly? He feels a nervous lump in his throat, swallows it down. He has half the mind to lean his face closer as he, too, looks at her-- and he looks at her like he’s waiting.

Alas, whatever this is-- it ends where it feels like it’s not supposed to.

“‘Night, Porco,” she says with a feeble smile before falling back flatly on her feet.

“Yeah. You too. I’ll see you around,” he says, tentatively glancing at his side.She crouches down to lazily pick up the sketchbook before finally entering her flat again. Porco catches her giving him a tiny wave through the crack of the door moments before she completely pushes it closed. He bids her goodbye with a curt nod.

Once the door closes, he rolls up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time. 

3:15 AM. Porco raises a palm to his cheek. The ghost of her touch lingers on his skin.

***

“Are you serious?” Porco scoffs. “Y/N, you’re not even watching the film.” He leans his head against his palm with his arm resting on the side of the couch.

“Sure I am,” she says, unpinning her hair before letting her head fall on his lap. As she types out a message on her phone, Porco manages to make out Pieck’s name at the top of the chat box.

“You keep checking your phone.”

“It’s fine. We’ve both seen this film before anyway. I told you-- I’m just rewatching it for my paper on Nietzsche.”

“So you dragged me into this for what?”

She gives a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know. Felt like it. Just wanted to bother you for a good film.” She finally sets aside her phone to look up at Porco with a shit-eating grin. He sighs and flicks a finger against her forehead. “Ow. What the fuck.”

“At least try to look like you’re actually watching,” Porco says, turning her head to face the TV screen.

"Fine, fine," she says with a grimace as she kneads the pain away on her forehead.

They’re now about an hour into Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. As lovers Joel and Clementine ran through the memories-- hand in hand mapping the history of their relationship-- the ups and downs-- scenes of the two playfully mocking the film at a drive-in theater, a stroll through the flea market leading into talks of having a child, lovemaking underneath the covers as Clementine told Joel about her insecurities rooting from childhood-- all these small intimacies that nonetheless revealed to each other their flawed, detestable selves along with reasons they probably shouldn’t be together, Porco realizes it. 

He looks at her, notes the way the flicker of the TV screen daintily lit up her solemn face and how she’d break into a smile every now and then. She’d brush the back of her hand against his knee and point at the TV screen to tell him that this was among her favorite parts so he absolutely had to pay close attention. A bit funny considering she was the one who wasn’t paying much attention to the film during the first part, Porco thinks. At least she’s watching now, even as he can’t help but watch her instead.

As he absentmindedly brushes a hand against her hair, he wonders if they could be something more, wonders if they’d be anything like Joel and Clementine-- imperfect, but nonetheless worthwhile. They’d known each other since they were kids and he can definitely make a list of things he doesn’t like about her-- like the way she’s too loud and frisky and never seemed to take the right things seriously, how scatterbrained she was that she’d forget the schedule for a midterm exam and how her room always seemed to be in shambles, the way she was so stubborn she’d easily get upset at something as simple as choosing to eat at a fast food different from the one she insisted on, how she’d smoke in his dorm no matter how many times he’d told her that she could get him in trouble for it. But it's not like he's perfect either. She’d told him that he came on too headstrong at times and that’s why a lot of people felt intimidated by him-- a trait that had gotten him into fights and eventually, long afternoons of detention back in high school. She says she hates the way he thought himself too strong to cry in front of anyone and how he’d grown dismissive of opening up to her as they got older. Whenever they’d get into heated fights, she’d tell him that all you ever are is angry and how he was pretty shit at saying sorry like he meant it. And despite all of these, they had remained close friends over the years. They’d promised each other that they’d get better-- slowly, but surely-- even if that was something easier said than done. He could live with that. He would.

***

“Hey, uh--” Porco breathes out a puff of smoke as he hands her the cigarette. He gazes distantly at the parade of city lights before them-- from the headlamps of the vehicles passing below them on the bridge, the streetlights, and the buildings overhead. “--do you still like Pieck?”

She suddenly lets out a cough and a puff of smoke at that. She gapes at Porco incredulously.

“Pock, it’s been three years since we broke up. And that was high school.”

“Look, I know that, but--” he sighs. “I was just wondering.”

She laughs. “That’s not really what you wanted to ask, is it? There’s something else.” She raises an eyebrow at Porco. He rolls his eyes at that, irked at how easily she could read him. “So ask.” She passes him the cigarette and he takes a drag of it.

“Ok--” he says with a sigh. “--Have you liked any other girls after her?”

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“No, not really. Nothing serious, at least. I mean, I did have a crush on this girl who sat beside me in English class during freshman year. But... that was freshman year, you know? Nothing ever really came of it. And you know I would have told you if something actually did, anyway."

“I see.”

“There’s more you want to ask,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“Ok. Fine.” Another drag of the cigarette. “How about-- boys? Have you liked any guy at all since then?” The city lights blur against the filter of smoke. Porco refuses to meet her eyes even as he feels her gaze on him-- heavy with something he could not exactly put his finger on. He knows she’s not smiling anymore and from his periphery, he thinks he senses a swallow in her throat. She turns to the city overhead.

“Yes, actually.” She takes the cigarette from him, smiling fondly upon the light brush of their fingers. “I-- you know, even though I’ve known for a long time that I liked both guys and girls, I still find myself doubting that sometimes. When I’m attracted to a girl, I sometimes think that maybe I was just gay all along. And now that I find myself actually liking a boy again, a part of me entertains the thought that maybe me liking girls was just a phase and maybe I was straight all along. But... I just know it’s not like that. And yet, what people say still gets to me-- they’ve got a way of making you think that being bi isn’t a real thing. Even though it is. I know because... I’m real, right?”

“Yeah. You are. You’re… you’re here.” The corner of his lips turn up as he says it. “I get it. I mean, I think I’m the same.”

“Really?” She turns to gape at him.

“I suppose I’ve never told you this either because it’s so fucking embarrassing, but…” He sighs defeatedly, kneading his temples with unease. “...I made out with Reiner in high school.”

She regards him with a scandalized look.

“Dude, what the fuck. I thought you hated the guy.” 

“I do, alright? It’s just that… teenage hormones and shit. I was stupid and he’s stupid. I-- I don’t know what I was thinking that time. But… I do wonder sometimes--” He scratches his head tentatively. “--what my brother was thinking rushing in to save him from that accident. Like… just what did he see in that meathead that was worth saving?”

“And did you find your answer to that when you were making out?”

Porco eyes her with a deathly glare.

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh, so you did,” she says with an impish grin.

Porco flicks a finger against her forehead.

“Ow-- hey! Stop that,” she says with a grimace. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Reiner’s hot.”

He clicks his tongue at the remark before hastily seizing the cigarette from her grasp to take another drag. "Not like he's the only guy I ever found ho-- I mean liked."

She laughs.

"We should head back," he says coldly.

"Sure.” She nods. “Though… is there anything else you wanted to ask?"

As the filter of smoke hangs between them, Porco wonders about the boy she likes.

He shakes his head. "No. It's nothing."

***

“It was like deja vu,” Porco says, sighing into his phone as he shifts to lie near the edge of his bed. “Except in this dream… before she said goodnight, we, uh--”

“You kissed?” Pieck suggests from the other line.

“Well… yeah.” He puts a palm to cover his face, feeling the flush on his cheeks as he says it.

“So you like her,” Pieck says, almost breaking into a chuckle.

“I, uh…”

“I get it. She’s charming and reminds you of Marcel.”

“That’s…”

“I’ll be honest with you.” She sighs and Porco senses a smile from her tone. “Remember when I said I broke up with her because uni was getting too busy? The truth is that… I feel like you two always seemed to get along better than I ever could with her-- and it probably has to do with Marcel. When I realized that, I’ll admit I did start to feel jealous. I thought back then that you two might eventually get together. After all, you two were both still in high school, while I was already away in uni. It left me distraught for months so I just... decided to break it off. Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s been years and it’s not like I haven’t dated anyone else since then. And in hindsight, that just might have been for the best. I mean, you confiding in me about her right now-- I think-- is a testament to that. Because you realized it too, didn’t you?”

“Oh." He pauses. "I never thought that you-- Pieck, look, I--”

“Pock, if you feel guilty about it just because I used to date her, don’t. It’s not anyone’s fault. That… that she just loved you first. It’s circumstance. She met you and Marcel first before me.”

That she loved you first. As Porco echoes the words in his head, he becomes acutely aware of the beating in his chest and the warmth swarming his face. He buries his face in a pillow and screams into it.

“Hey, Pock? You ok there?” Pieck chuckles.

“How do I-- you think I should tell her?”

“Well, it’s the honest thing to do. And I genuinely think you don’t stand to lose much by doing so. Even if by the littlest chance of her not returning your feelings, I don’t think confessing would ruin your friendship. Might be a little awkward at first, but I don’t think she’ll end up hating or avoiding you at all.”

“You sure you’re not just sayi--”

“No, Pock. I’m not just saying this because we’re friends. I’m saying it because it’s what makes sense.”

“Ok, well… thanks,” he sighs. “And by the way… I’m sorry I called you this early. I know you’re probably busy especially since it’s your thesis year.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you told me. Frankly, I do find satisfaction in knowing my speculations are correct. And you guys… you two are more predictable than you think-- if I’m being honest,” Pieck laughs.

“Well, I suppose being predictable isn’t so bad… if you’re right.”

Once they bid each other goodbye on the phone, Porco remains sprawled across the bed staring blankly at the ceiling. He rests a palm on his cheek, internally cursing Marcel as he feels the warmth streaming his face once again.

***

“Fuck,” Porco swears under his breath as they both ran towards the car, their feet splashing against the puddled ground as the rain cascades. A looming thunder rolls across the night sky as they make it to the safety of the vehicle.

“So… still not convinced that trying to get a Happy Meal on a rainy Friday at midnight was a bad idea?” Porco says, trying to catch his breath as he sets down the paper bag on the space between their seats.

“Well, I’ll admit it kinda sucked that you had to have your car still parked in school. And in my defense, I didn't expect the drizzle to cascade so soon on the way back. But you know what? It’s fine. We got what we needed and that’s all that matters. I’ll stand by this being a good idea.” She laughs as she peels off her drenched jacket. “Oh, by the way, where can I put this?”

“Just put it in the backseat,” Porco says as he peeled off his own jacket.

“Got it. Here, give me yours too,” she says before turning to place both of their drenched jackets in the backseat.

“Thanks.” Porco switches on the car’s dome light and the windshield wipers. The car’s interior now warmly lit, he rummages inside the paper bag, then hands her a box of chicken nuggets along with a plastic fork. “You want the fries now or later?”

“Later’s good. Thanks.” Porco acknowledges her with a nod, then leans back on the car seat with a languished sigh.

The rain patters incessantly against the windows over the rhythm of the windshield wipers. The faint yellow glow lulls from the ceiling of his car. He recalls a rainy evening spent staring out the window as he nervously waited for Marcel to come home. A distant memory weighs heavy on his eyelids.

“Porco. Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah.” Porco shifts lightly in his seat, slightly startled. “I just… remembered something.”

“What is it?”

“The rain. It just reminded me of Marcel.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, he was…” She puts down her food and lightly wipes the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Back then, I considered him as something a little more than a best friend. I like that he liked my drawings and how he never made fun of them… even though he was ways better than me at it,” she recalls fondly.

He scoffs. “So… are you guilt-tripping me for something I said about your drawings when we were twelve?”

“You were an asshole, but you should be glad I’m past that.” She rolls her eyes with a sigh. “All I’m saying now is that Marcel was... really special to me.”

“What-- did you have a crush on Marcel or something?”

She snorts. “You could say... it was something like that. Yeah.”

Figures. He nonchalantly crosses his arms in front of his chest. The pattering rain fills in the lull in their conversation.

“I like your drawings too,” he finally says.

“That’s why I drag you along every time I go out to draw. You like watching me, right?” She teasingly raises an eyebrow as she says it.

“Well, sure.” He shrugs awkwardly in his seat.

“Tell me. What else do you like?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see…” he sighs, feigning annoyance with a roll of his eyes. “I like it when I’m in the middle of pulling an all-nighter at Tim Hortons… and you go on and disturb me just to get a Happy Meal on a rainy Friday midnight.”

“Yeah?” she chuckles. “What else?”

Porco turns to glance at her. As she meets him with a playful grin, his mind races with answers.

I like it when you steal my jacket and you leave me to freeze to death in the cold of the cafe’s AC. I like it when you go on a chaotic, semi-coherent drunken rant about how badly you want capitalism dismantled. I like it when you remember Marcel. I like your hair. I like how your hands unpin your hair before you rest your head on my lap.

He scoffs-- more in reaction to his own thoughts than at her teasing. Who knew he could be that embarrassingly sappy? “What are you… getting at?”

“Nevermind.” She shakes her head, still smiling. She laughs while timidly raising a palm to her cheek. “Can we share your fries now?”

***

“So I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Porco says, settling himself on the dormitory steps faintly lit by the porch lights hanging on both sides of the entrance.

“Cool. So where do you want it?” She sits beside him while setting down her things-- a shoulder bag and a sketchbook on the concrete step.

“I was just thinking on my arm,” he says, pointing a finger at a spot on his skin.

“What do you want it to look like?”

“Not sure yet.”

“I could draw you one.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I could do it right now.”

“Really?”

She takes the ballpoint pen out of the spring of her sketchbook and begins to doodle something on his arm. Covering her drawing with a cupped palm, she chuckles while mischievously peering up at him.

“I swear to god, if you’re drawing something embarrassing-- Oh, fuck you.” Porco laughs, managing to take a peek at the ink drawing of a cartoon porcupine with the hair on its head stylishly pushed back. Below the drawing, it writes 'porcopine.' He pulls his arm away from her grasp.

"What? You don't like it?" She grimaces.

"Porcopine? Really?"

“What? It's cute,” she says with an offended click of her tongue, reaching for his arm once again.

Below the word 'porcopine,' she then writes the phrase 'i <3 you.'

Porco furrows his brows upon reading the phrase, then lets out a chuckle. “What does this--?” he asks, pointing out the inked words on his skin.

“What do you mean? It is what it is.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

“How do you mean it?”

She tilts her head pensively and squints at Porco as she gathers how to describe exactly what she meant. She supposes that he’s right-- a clarification was indeed necessary. This kind of thing could get confusing, after all. When you’ve known each other for so long in a relationship such as this, lines tend to blur. One day, you could both feel like the bestest of friends, and then like lovers the next.

“I mean it in a way that I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

“Oh.” Porco gapes at her for a moment. “Ok,” he says, letting out an awkward chuckle.

“What’s with that reaction? I’m serious, Pock.”

“I just… I mean, to be honest…” He furrows his brows, carefully pondering his words. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you either.” Porco scratches his head sheepishly.

“Ok then,” she chuckles, shifting in her seat to face him. “We could build something. Something bigger than a Lego house. Maybe one with a garden. A story with a perfect ending.”

“Yeah? And if it’s not perfect, what then?”

“Something worthwhile, then. An ending that feels like an ending.”

“Ok. I can live with that,” he laughs.

“Porco.”

As she cradles his face in between her palms, Porco becomes acutely aware of the flush in his cheeks.

Then, slowly, she leans closer to gingerly place a kiss at the tip of his nose.

They soon find themselves both chuckling at what was probably the most blatantly romantic gesture between them thus far.

“So, uh, what are we now, exactly?” he asks awkwardly as they soon pull away.

She shrugs. “Lovers? Best friends who would marry each other? Though the latter is kind of a mouthful if you ask me.”

“Yeah. Let’s go with that first one.”

“Say, Porco.” She tilts her head questioningly at him. “You want to tell me how this night ends?”

“How the hell should I--”

She puts a finger to his lips and shakes her head. “Hey. Lovers now, remember? I’m not the only one telling this story. So tell me.”

“Ok. Let’s see,” he sighs. And so he indulges her. “It ends with you beside me. We’re lying down on my bed.”

“Clothed or naked?”

He gapes. “Are you seriously even consi--”

She flicks a finger against his forehead as she regards him with a mischievous smile. “Just answer the question.”

“Ok, fine,” he resigns, lightly kneading his forehead. “Look, I want to say naked because my AC’s broken ri--”

“Naked it is, then.”

“Clothed.” He glares. “For tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” she says, scratching her head in resignation. “You sure you’re not having second thoughts about letting me stay tonight, though? Not worried you might wake up with a bunch of porcopines on your face? Or I don’t know-- dick drawings?”

“Fuck off,” he says with a chuckle.

“So… what is it, really? You want me to stay or you want me to go?”

Porco sighs before slowly leaning his face closer to hers.

“I want you to stay,” he says against her cheek, before placing a chaste kiss on her skin. “Whatever I wake up to in the morning, I’m sure it’s worth it.”

[apiratewhopines]

I’m going to alternate artwork so we get leather-clad Killian and fancy dress up Killian.

Midnight

Chapter 3 — The Godfather

Summary: In which our heroine accepts the finer things in life

Chapter 3 of 7 on AO3

“He gave her things that she was needin’

He gave her a home built of gold and steel

A diamond car with platinum wheels”

-Minnie The Moocher, Cab Calloway

The creeping pace her warden set was nerve-racking. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if every eye in the place was watching their slow procession through the ballroom. Finally exiting the room, they paused in the hallway and Emma said resignedly, “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’ve had my eye on you from the moment you walked in,” the other man commented, nodding to passersby with no hint of distress. “You should have known better than to think you could escape unnoticed.”

“Well, I thought if I left quietly, no one would be the wiser,” she replied, smiling at him with a hopeful kind of chagrin. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Don’t apologize, my dear. There are three of us in rebellion against this entertainment if you want to call it that. I think I may turn down all future invitations from Regina if this is the torture we will be subject to…” Grabbing her arm softly, he started steering them through the throng still attempting to find a place in the ballroom.

She was shocked they weren’t heading to the front entrance. The man, who had yet to introduce himself, was leading her down a back hallway. Moments later, he paused in front of a closed door. “You do play bridge, yes?”

Emma hadn’t played the game since she was a teenager staying with Granny, but as usual, the lessons the older woman taught her were going to save her from a terrible fate. “Yes, though I’m a bit rusty. But why me?”

“You’re charming, you’re bored, and you have the face of someone who wouldn’t trump your partner’s ace,” he explained with a breezy smile. Placing his finger to his lips to hush any further conversation, he pressed an ear to the door and then gave two quick raps against the frame. Taking one more second, he then opened it and ushered her in.

Upon entering, she saw two occupants huddled by the fireplace, which blazed happily with a roaring fire in opposition to the warm night. Immediately, his pause made sense as she noticed a faint smudge of lipstick on the smooth skin of the man’s face.

“Lancelot, Guinevere, allow me to introduce Madam—I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

Scrambling, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Jones.”

“Ah, Madam Jones, I’m Sidney Glass, your knight in shining armor for the evening. This is Guinevere Soberano and Lancelot du Lac, your fellow insurrectionists.” Her knight joked before adding, “Lance is the most dangerous man in the room, so watch yourself.”

Seeing how the tall, handsome man took his time sizing her up, she had a feeling she knew what made him dangerous. The fashionable lines of his tuxedo did little to hide his muscular build, and while he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d met that evening, she knew if they had met on any other night of her life, he would have been. She could tell by how his eyes continued to seek her out that he wasn’t immune to her charms either. It should have made her feel better considering she’d been in the same outfit for nearly two days and her hair was still wet from her dash through the thunderstorm. Instead, it made her feel tired.

Taking a seat with trepidation, she tried to hide her feelings of discomfort. She was the one who ran when offered a cozy landing place, so now she needed to play the hand she was dealt. Literally. Watching as Sidney took over as dealer, she asked, “What are we playing for? Bragging rights?”

“How about our normal stakes? Five dollars a point?”

Eyes wide, she calculated if she remembered the game correctly, there would be thousands of dollars exchanging hands tonight. If only a fraction of that money came her way, she may be able to get out of this dress and fill up her tank so she could hit the road and resume her search. She refused to think about what she would do if she didn’t win. Granny had been a cutthroat player, so she had more than enough practice.

Lance settled in as her partner, his eyes never leaving her face as the group silently arranged their cards and planned their strategies. Her heart racing, Emma mumbled, “Two spades.”

And the game began.

Hours later, they were in the hole and she couldn’t help wishing Sidney or the other woman was her partner. Lance seemed much more interested in flirting with her than winning, and if she weren’t sure it would get her thrown out, she would have kicked him under the table for screwing up her chance to turn her luck around. Not to mention the fact that with every suggestive exchange, Guinevere’s eyes grew a little bit colder. She had a feeling the woman would make a formidable enemy.

The door to their hideaway opened to admit her former neighbor, his eyes as unnerving by firelight as they had been in the brighter gleam of the ballroom. The ever-present smirk was there in full force as he made his way to their table and planted himself between Lance and Guinevere. “Darling, why don’t you introduce me to your newest recruit?”

“Madam Jones, this is my husband Arthur Soberano, the only man on the planet who enjoys these little parties. Arthur, this is Madam Jones, a woman in need of a better bridge partner.”

“It’s so hard to concentrate on cards sometimes,” Lance murmured, his heated glance never leaving her face so no one had any doubts about what was distracting him.

Arthur observed the exchange, and the subsequent reactions, with the expression of a man who finally found his silver lining. She hoped it was catching. “Jones, eh? Would you be one of the Rhode Island Joneses?”

Pasting a bright smile on her face, she demurred. “No, but I’ve heard they’re lovely people.”

“You’re American, correct?”

“What gave it away? My abysmal accent?”

“Something like that,” Arthur responded with a smile. “So if not Rhode Island, what Jones clan do you hail from?”

“Oh, Jones is my married name. My husband is from Cambridge.”

“Of course! I should have known. I ran into Baron Jones a few years ago in Budapest, and he spoke of an American girl. How is he? Is he here tonight?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, because of course there would be a Baron Jones and of course this enigmatic man would know him, she stared at her cards and hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt when she said, “No, no. He’s still in Budapest. He wasn’t feeling well enough for transatlantic travel. You know, the old trouble flaring up.”

Tsking with a hint of amusement, Arthur narrowed his eyes. “That’s too bad. Guinevere, we really must make a trip there soon. Beautiful city. Tell me, Madam Jones, did they ever finish the metro Line 1?”

For the love of all that was holy, would the man never stop with the questions? “You know how construction is…the roads are still a mess here and there.”

She knew by the way his body shifted that she had misstepped. She wasn’t sure what trap he laid, but she walked right into it. To add insult to injury, the final hand of the night went into their loss column.

Lance shook his head in defeat and pulled out his wallet. “I really must apologize, Madam Jones. I’m usually a much better player. You’ll have to let me make amends to you. Perhaps lunch tomorrow? What’s your favorite place?”

“That depends, Lance. How much money am I out tonight? I will exact revenge in corresponding measure.”

Sidney piped in with a gleeful laugh. “Four thousand dollars from each of you. Not a bad haul, if I do say so myself. But bypassing the awful concert makes the win priceless.”

Her head swam with the figure, trying to ignore the way Arthur was circling the room like a caged lion and wondering how plausible it was for a baroness not to carry cash. Surely, the nobility class had people to handle this kind of thing for them. “I’m not sure I have that much on me. I hope you’ll accept my IOU. Has anyone seen my bag?”

She saw the look Guinevere and Sidney exchanged and her stomach dropped. They wouldn’t let it go. Perhaps looking for her non-existent purse would allow her to sneak out.

“Is this it, Madam Jones?”

“Yes, thank you.” Turning around, she saw a beaded clutch she’d never laid eyes on before in Arthur’s extended hand. She hadn’t stolen a single thing in her life, and she wasn’t thrilled to start now, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Opening it, she found a wad of cash that looked like it could bankroll a small country for a year. Shocked, her gaze flew to meet Arthur’s and he winked before departing the room.

—

No matter how hard she tried to shake him, Lance would not leave her alone. Subsequently, everyone in the entourage hung on like they had nothing better to do than tag along while she flitted around the club trying to lose them. Finally, the evening started breaking up. Large groups of people gave each other air kisses and made plans to meet at various houses for brunch the next day. Freedom was within reach if she could only make it out the front door.

They bid goodbye to their hostess, who was high on finding the supposed party crasher, an older woman they dragged from the downstairs powder room and tossed out into the night, still swearing she didn’t know anyone named Neal and claiming she was the Duchess of Longbourn.

Emma thought a silent apology to the woman and hoped karma graded on a curve.

“Allow me to wait with you until your car pulls around,” Lance said, offering his arm to help her down the steps.

“I’d hate to trouble you,” Emma ground out, her voice deepened with the effort of holding in a groan of frustration. “My chauffeur is habitually late.”

“Then I should give you a ride,” Lance countered. He had yet to let go of her arm, and she was afraid she would have to cut it off to make a clean break. “Where are you staying?”

Having no clue of the lodging situation in Misthaven, she worried about another trap under Arthur’s expectant stare. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“The Ritz,” he immediately countered.

“Right in one! But really, I’d rather wait for my car.” When the words left her mouth, the familiar lines of a black BMW cruised down the street slowly like the driver was looking for something. Or someone. Panicked, she flashed her new admirer a dazzling smile. “On second thought, let’s get out of here.”

As Lance handed her into his sports car, she heard Guinevere’s voice muttering to Sidney, “We don’t know anything about her. She came here all alone.”

“I notice she’s not leaving alone,” Arthur replied, smile widening as he caught her eye through the window and gave her a jaunty wave.

By jumping into a car with a virtual stranger for the second time that evening, she avoided one issue but created another. Her time was running out because this charade was doomed to fail when they arrived at the hotel and there wasn’t a room for Baroness Jones. She’d have to get rid of him in the parking lot.

Unsurprisingly, considering how her night was going, it was easier said than done. Lance appeared to be a gentleman if you overlooked his tendency to have affairs with other men’s wives and wouldn’t hear of dropping her off at the entrance. Throwing his keys toward the valet stand, he made his way to the concierge desk over her protests that she had some things to handle in the lobby before heading to her room.

She closed her eyes as she heard him say, “Checking into Baroness Jones’s room.”

Here it came. The boom.

“Of course, sir. Will that be all?”

Opening one eye, she watched as the employee handed over the room card. This couldn’t be right. She must be trapped in some nightmare where her pain and humiliation hung like a knife above her head, and the anticipation of the stabbing turned out to be worse than the violent act itself.

Laughing with fake merriment, she snatched the card from Lance before he could pocket it and said forcefully, “Thank you for a lovely evening. Good night.”

“My mother always said to see a woman to her door, or my job wasn’t done.”

Unable to hide her exasperation one second longer, she asked, “Don’t you know when to go home?”

“No.” With a broad smile, he held the elevator door open while she entered and wished for death. In hindsight, her original plan of sleeping on a park bench seemed like a real winner compared to this slow torture. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the warm bed and warmer smile she had also turned down.

Tired, annoyed, and pining for her original driver of the evening, she didn’t even try to maintain a conversation with the man beside her, her head filled with dread at the idea she was about to open the door to a hotel room occupied by the real Baroness Jones. With the resigned stride of a prisoner walking the green mile, she reached the room slower than the situation called for and leaned against the door facing Lance. With a stony expression, she said pointedly, “Look, right to the door. You did your mother proud and can go home and sleep peacefully.”

“What? No nightcap?”

“No, absolutely not. I don’t need a mother to tell me inviting a man into my hotel room in the middle of the night is a bad idea. Go home.”

Laughing, he reached out and pushed her hair away from her face. “You’re magnificent.”

“I’m also married,” she bit out, barely resisting the urge to slap his hand away. There was something riveting about a man with an overabundance of confidence, but she refused to be charmed. If she were going to give in to any urges, she would have done it with the person behind Door Number One.

“So I’ve heard. At least make sure the card works. Those things are notoriously fickle, like most wives I’ve met.”

Chuckling despite herself, she swiped the card against the reader, grateful to hear the lock disengage in the quiet hallway. “There. Good night.”

Before he could say or do anything else, she slipped into the room and clicked the door firmly back in place. She tiptoed through the suite, not daring to turn on the lights while she looked for any trace someone else was in the room. Her search coming up empty, she reached over and flooded the bedroom with light.

The king-size bed looked heavenly. Giggling, she decided to make the most of this temporary reprieve. She dropped her clothes in a pile and ran to the bathroom, happy to find it as luxurious as the rest of the rooms in the suite. Turning the water all the way to hot, she allowed the steamy spray to wash away the hurt, the hopelessness, and the hysteria.

She stepped out of the shower an hour later, eyes red-rimmed and body weak with fatigue. Not even bothering to dry off, she collapsed in the bed and fell into a sleep plagued with blue eyes and black cars.

—

The sound of the antique telephone ringing penetrated the fog in her brain as the last strands of sleep broke. Startled, Emma glanced down at her nude form and immediately looked beside her to see if she was alone. Her dreams of the previous night didn’t fade quickly, and the vivid image of the Captain and his wonderful stubble made her ache.

Groaning as memory replaced fantasy, she plopped back against the mattress and grabbed one of the nearly two dozen pillows haphazardly strewn across the bed to cover her head in an attempt to drown out the noise.

It wasn’t really her hotel room, so she probably shouldn’t answer it anyway.

Unfortunately, the caller didn’t know she was an imposter and seemed determined to reach the room’s occupant. She picked up the receiver and pulled it under the pillow to join her. In a groggy voice she asked, “What?”

The chirpy voice of a hotel employee responded, “Good morning, Baroness Jones. Your luggage has arrived.”

“From Boston?” That didn’t make any sense. She’d pawned her last remaining possessions less than forty-eight hours ago, but unless she packed a boomerang in the pocket of her favorite jeans, she wasn’t sure what they were doing in Misthaven.

“I’m not sure, madam. The delivery driver only mentioned it was for the baroness. It should be arriving at your room momentarily.”

As if summoned by magic, there was a knock and she hung up the phone while trying to wrap herself in the thick comforter. Dragging the ends of the blanket like a train behind her, she threw open the door and felt her eyes widen at the sight greeting her. Lining the hallway was a parade of hotel employees carrying a few pieces of luggage each.

In mute shock, she moved out of the way and the group started piling the bags in the living room of the suite. When the final trunk was laid in the corner by the wall of windows overlooking the town, she stood staring unblinkingly at the head bellhop.

“Will there be anything else, Baroness?”

“No, I think this is quite enough.”

“Very well.”

The group seemed hesitant to depart, and she did a quick check to make sure her makeshift toga hadn’t slipped. Finding everything was as it should be, reason soaked through her dazed brain and she said, “Oh, the tip!”

“No, madam. Your chauffeur took care of it already. He wanted to know if you’d be needing the car today. It’s beautiful weather out.”

“My chauffeur took care of the tip and wants to know if I need the car…” she echoed back, trying to see if the words made more sense if she was the one saying them. No. No such luck. She was going mad. That was the only explanation. Or maybe the Captain wasn’t all he seemed to be and he had drugged her and this was simply a hallucination. Noticing the flock of bellhops was waiting patiently for her response, she smiled benignly and said, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

A voice called out from the doorway, “And what about breakfast, Baroness?”

The hotel employees filed out, leaving her and her unexpected visitor alone. Pulling the comforter more tightly around herself, she hissed, “Arthur. It was you.”

“What was me, my dear?”

“The money, the room, the clothes, the chauffeur. Does Baron Jones even exist, or did you make him up?”

“I like to think of him as more of a group effort. You provided the inspiration; I provided the title. Seeing you in all your lost girl glory last night gave me an idea.”

“From the moment you looked at me, I had an idea you had an idea. I’m not interested.”

Chuckling, he tossed his hat and jacket across a nearby chair and sank into the couch. “I’m sure there is a robe or something a little less linen closet in one of these suitcases. I’ll close my eyes while you look if you’d like.”

“I think I’ll stay over here.” Where it’s safe.

“You have nothing to fear from me, dear. I’m here to make a proposal. One that will be mutually beneficial, I hope,” he drawled, picking a piece of fluff off his pants. He continued to avert his eyes, which she found strange since he stopped by to proposition her over breakfast apparently. “This is only the tip of the iceberg. I can guarantee you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

“Still not interested. You know the way out.”

“Come on, Baroness. Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable and hear me out? I promise it’s nothing like what you think.”

“Arthur, when Little Red Riding Hood spots long, gray whiskers, it’s ridiculous to keep insisting you’re the grandmother,” she retorted, moving carefully toward the nearest bag so she didn’t accidentally flash him. Pulling out a shirt at random, she riffled through the case until she found a pair of shorts as well. Scrambling to the bathroom, she called out over her shoulder. “Go huff and puff somewhere else.”

“I guess that means I’m the big bad wolf,” he said with a smile as he moved to trail after her. When she slammed the door in his face, he raised his voice and added, “I’ve certainly been called worse. Tell me, what was your impression of Lance?”

“I think neither of you takes no for an answer very well,” she mumbled as she pulled on the shirt and stared at herself in the mirror. What bizarre alternate universe had she stumbled into, and how in the world was she going to return to reality. Talking to her reflection, she said, “You’re Emma Swan. You’re not a baroness. Killian Jones is not your husband. You are not going to shack up with Lance or Arthur.”

“Nice pep talk, but if I may be so bold as to suggest a different path,” her visitor interrupted from the other side of the door. “You see, my old friend Lancelot and my wife think they are in love.”

“That’s very cozy but not my problem.”

“I’d like to pay you to make it your problem, Emma Swan. Nice name, by the way. Last night was the first time since their affair started that I thought there might be a ray of hope. The whole time Lance was flirting with you, my wife was fighting tears.”

Rolling her eyes, she snapped open the door and was satisfied to see him lose his balance. “Who won?”

“I plan to, and I’d like you to be on my team. I just need you to keep his attention long enough for Guin to come to her senses.”

Moving past him, she picked up her discarded dress from the prior evening and grabbed the laundry bag out of the nearby closet. “Why don’t you punch him and be done with it?”

“He’s the top man at our boxing club. And besides, the last thing I need is to drive her further into his arms by making him a martyr.” He reached over and placed his hand on her arm, stilling her frantic movements. “Please. At least hear me out.”

Meeting his gaze for the first time since he entered the room, she observed, “You really love her, don’t you?”

“Yes. She’s not the only one who made mistakes. I need your help to make this right. And it might work out well for you too, you know. Lance’s family makes a superior income from a very inferior champagne. He’s no baron, but he does have the bank account of one.”

“I think you need a lawyer, not another homewrecker.”

“I’ll never get a divorce. Come on, Emma. We’re having a party at my estate in the Enchanted Forest. Come out this weekend and give it a go. I’ll pay you fifty thousand to show up and another fifty if this harebrained scheme works.”

“I… I’m not sure…”

“Am I upsetting some other plans? Do you have another offer?”

Thinking of black leather jackets and pie, she smiled wistfully. Shaking herself, she tried to focus on the fact that a hundred grand would pay back what Neal had stolen from Granny and leave enough for her to put a down payment on a place in the city. “Yes, I think I do. But fine, I’ll play along through the end of the weekend. Then I’m out regardless of what happens.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let Guin know I ran into you and invited you to join the party,” he said with a grin. If he had a mustache, she was sure he’d be twirling it.

Before they could discuss any other details, there was another knock at the door. With an exasperated expression, Emma asked her companion, “What now?”

Putting his hands up in a placating gesture, Arthur assured her, “Hey, this one isn’t me.”

Yanking open the door, she saw an enormous bouquet of red roses. She took the flowers with both hands as Arthur cocked his eyebrow in silent question and pulled out the card. “‘If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden. -Lance.’ Huh. I rather resent that. The note to Guin just said, ‘So glad we met.’”

Notes:

For those who were wondering about Arthur’s trap, the Budapest subway is one of the oldest in the world and the line he mentioned was completed in 1896.

The quote on Lancelot’s card is from Claudia Adrienne Grandi.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Four

Warnings: explicit language

Word count: 2k

Your alarm forces you out of a deep sleep at eight on the dot. Groaning, you blindly press the snooze button and flip your face into your pillow, not quite ready to deal with a new day. You let yourself doze for a few minutes, longing for the dark pull of sleep to take you back.

Now, you had to be at your class in under an hour and you were stressed. Seeing how much time had passed in your drowsy state allowed a fire to be lit under your butt, encouraging you to quickly jump in the shower and get ready for the day. All the while, all you wanted to do was answer the call of your abandoned bed.

After rushing around your apartment, you finally stepped out in some light brown corduroys and an embroidered blouse tucked into the waist. A light jacket thrown over top, you felt put together enough to start your day. Even with the rush, you managed to grab a couple of your million muffins from your baking spree yesterday and a to-go mug of coffee. You learned your mistake yesterday, when you showed up to morning classes without caffeine to push you through.

Walking across campus, you watch other students scurry off to their own morning classes. It still being the first week of the semester, most people hadn’t lost the motivation to go to their early classes just yet. You really hope that you won’t fall victim to that… you can’t afford to skip in a class you struggle with.

Once you arrive at your classroom, you head to the same spot you sat last class, and plop your bag down as you get your muffin out to eat before class. Setting it out, you sip your coffee and scroll though your phone, checking your inbox that had accumulated honestly way too many emails overnight.

Your eyes glued to your phone, you don’t even notice when a large hand swipes the muffin right off your desk.

Still absorbed in an email about volunteering for a local animal shelter, you hear someone sit loudly in the seat behind you. Ignoring it, you continue to read though the details of the email --- it looked like the animal shelter for your city, Autumn Leaves Adoption Center, was accepting new volunteers and was looking for students from your university specifically. You had always had a huge soft spot for animals, so you were excited at a chance to spend time helping out.

You glance up from your phone when you finish, and immediately notice your muffin missing from it’s spot on your desk. Bewildered, you begin to search around the classroom with your eyes to locate the stolen baked good. Not finding it with anyone on your sides or in front of you, you swing around to check out the suspects hiding from view.

Ding ding ding!

You found it. Well, you found half of it. The attractive boy that had pestered you yesterday had the other half of your precious muffin stuffed in his cheeks like some sort of squirrel. Caught, he gives the best grin he can with his mouth full, including his eyes crinkling and his eyes shining with mischief.

“Excuse me, you can’t just steal people’s breakfasts right off their desks! Who raised you?!” you whisper yelled. You could feel the blood rush to your cheeks from being flustered, and hoped he couldn’t see.

“Wuh yahr warn ehten et,” he replied, cheeks still full.

“Ugh, at least swallow first you animal!”

“Well, you weren’t eating it,” he flashes a grin.

“Um, excuse me sir, who allowed you to go around stealing people’s food the second you deem them to be not interested in it,” you snapped.

“Oohhh, can you say that again?” As he spoke, he raised an eyebrow while his eyes traveled up your body.

“Say what?” Your flat tone gave away your high level of irritation at him.

“Call me sir again, sweetheart. I think you and I both liked it,” he leaned forward as he spoke. His gaze was challenging, almost to see if you were able to handle him.

The truth is, if this asshole hadn’t just stolen your goddamn muffin you’d be happy to do so --- outside of the classroom --- anytime. The guy, you remember being named Taehyung, had gorgeous dark curls that anyone would dream about pulling on. His dark eyes were enigmatic, and by every definition intense. Tanned skin, clear and smooth only made him seem more ethereal. HIs natural looks, coupled with an artistic and sophisticated fashion sense, made him look like a character of a k-drama.

But, this guy had some audacity if you’ve ever seen any. So, you weren’t going to give into his charm as easily as he wanted.

Slowly, you lean forward on his desk, allowing him to get a good view of your tits while you lift a hand to his mouth, to swipe away excess crumbs that had been forgotten during his cookie monster moment. You lightly trace his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, pushing down just hard enough for the flesh to ripple.

His eyes become more hooded, obviously thinking he had won you over with his charms.

“Why would I call someone sir, if they need to clean up after like a child, hmm?” You dropped your voice as you spoke, not only trying to limit prying ears but also to give yourself a more sultry sound.

You lean back and retract your arm. But instead of letting it drop, you raise the hand you had reached out to him to your face, and pop your thumb into your mouth. While your lips are still encircling your thumb, you let your eyes meet his.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting him to look as affected as he does. His eyes are narrow, surely from your jibe. However, you see that he seems to be breathing a little heavier than before, and that his hands were gripping the edges of his desk with more force than would be considered normal. This makes the veins and tendons pop on his already large and beautiful hands and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on them for a little.

“Mmm, I did a good job with these muffins, I can tell even with just crumbs,” you say after popping your thumb out of your mouth.

Catching you off guard, a cheery voice asks from over your turned around shoulder, “Oooo, are you sharing muffins? I love muffins!”

You turn around in your seat quickly in response. “Oh, uh, yeah.” You bend over and grab the other muffin you brought with you, thinking you’d eat it as a snack later in the day. Oh well.

You hand the muffin over, and quickly realize this is the same guy that sat in front of you yesterday, the cute one with the even cuter smile.

“Yay! Thank you so much! You’re my new favorite person!” he declared. He was giving you a smile even bigger than the one that you had swooned over prior, and really looked like the embodiment of sunshine. “My name is Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi.”

“I’m y/n! And don’t worry about the muffin, I have about a million back at home. I went on a bit of a baking spree yesterday,” you giggled.

You hear a surprised scoff come from behind you. Apparently, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome is unhappy with the heat you gave him, now knowing that not only did you have much more at home, but had another with you. And you gave it away. You can’t help but let out a small smile at his indignation.

“It’s nice to meet you y/n! I hope I’ll get to have more of your treats in the future, this is delicious!” Hoseok says, already taking a bite.

You give him a wide smile in return. “If you want, I can save you one of whatever I make. I love to bake new things all the time.”

Hoseok begins to reply, but is cut off by the professor starting class. His eyes widen a little, surprised at the intrusion, but quickly sends you an apologetic smile as he turns around to face the lecturer.

Prepared for social hour to be over, because frankly, this was way too much for you at 9 am, you pulled out your notes. As you straighten up, you feel a presence behind your ear. Being this close, you could smell a musky, dark, masculine scent wash over you.

“I hope you save some for me too, sweetheart. I’m a growing boy,” Taehyung huskily murmurs, quiet enough to be missed by anyone else.

Cheeks hot at the double meaning of his words, all you manage to get out was a flat, “No promises.” Hoping to appear unaffected by him, you go right back to paying attention to your professor. Hoseok, in front of you, was oblivious to your and Taehyung’s hushed conversation and was busy scribbling away in his notes. You take a deep breath, and follow suit.

Unfortunately, calculus is as hard as you remember. As the professor lectured, you could feel whatever understanding you had previously drift away. You write notes at a furious pace, in hopes that whatever you copy down you’ll understand at a later time.

You sigh after your professor dismisses class. You are feeling frustrated that even during the first week, you seem to be slipping behind in your understanding of the class material.

“Hey are you okay? Class was a lot today, huh.” Hoseok turned around in his chair to speak, seeming to have caught your pitiful sigh. You glace up to meet his eyes, your expression slightly sheepish.

“Yeah, I’m okay, just not very good at calculus,” you admit with a small smile.

He gives you a sunny smile in return. “Do you wanna study together? I actually like math. I know, I’m strange for that.”

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. He barely knows you but is offering to help you with the subject you struggle with the most. It was a no-brainer.

“Oh my gosh, yes! I’d love to have a study partner for this class. I’m so worried about falling behind.” You feel your face fall into a small pout at your confession.

“Can I join? I’m not too great at math either.” You jump a little, completely forgetting about the human pain in the ass behind you.

“Of course! The more the merrier!” Hoseok beams, looking past you to the boy behind. “I’m Hoseok, but everyone just calls me Hobi.”

“I’m Taehyung, nice to meet you.” He gives Hoseok a grin as he introduces himself, seemingly never not up to trouble.

“You too! Do you guys want to meet tomorrow? We can go to the coffee shop around the corner from here,” Hoseok suggests.

You nod, and Taehyung gives a noise of agreement behind you, before asking, “Do you guys want to trade numbers? That way we don’t have to wait to see each other to get help.”

Internally, you sigh, having a feeling he was going to use your number for more than just that. Regardless, you comply. The three of you swap your phones, inputting your contact information, and stand to exit the classroom as a new stream of students enter waiting for the next class to start.

“Bye guys! See you tomorrow!” Hoseok flashes his signature sunny smile as you depart.

“Bye Hobi!” You smile at him in response. Taehyung gives his own goodbye to the boy.

After Hoseok heads off a different direction, Taehyung leans closer to you to give you your own farewell. “Goodbye y/n, see you tomorrow sweetheart,” he basically purrs at you.

You give him a glare in response. “Bye, Taehyung.” After, you swiftly make your exit. That boy was a handful, to say the least. But, as much as you hate to admit it, he was hot. Like really hot. While Hoseok had that ‘boy next door’ quality, Taehyung oozed sex appeal. You were really going to have to train yourself to act normal around those two, if you were going to be spending extended time alone with them. Heading to your next class, you decide that is a problem for later.

[haikyuuwaifu]

Rockabye

Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Toxic Relationship, Underage Drinking, Mentions of Cheating

Masterlist

THE DATE AS FRIENDS| Y/N’S BACKSTORY| THE STORY OF THE INCIDENT

THE STORY OF THE INCIDENT

Before Y/N could continue her story, Katsuki sat up, straightening out his legs. “How much am I not going to like this story princess?” He grumbled, looking down at his hands. “Probably, the entirety of it Katsuki. He didn’t like assault me or anything...” Y/N mumbled drifting off her sentence. “Things just weren’t as picture perfect as 17 year old me thought they would be.” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I was 15 when I first met Mirio Togata. I was a freshman in high school and he was a part of the student council welcoming committee.” Y/N mumbled laying her head against her arms. “He was funny, charming, and overall a really good people pleaser. But he did it in a way, that he had them eating out of the palm of his hand...He was the Sophmore class rep, and naturally when I first met him I wanted to hit him.” Katuski huffed out a chuckle as Shinsou stood up. He moved behind Y/N and sat down pulling her into his chest. Slowly, he began stroking the top of her head, silently urging her to continue her story. 

“It took him a while, to get past my defenses, and the likes of Shoto, Dabi, and Natsu; but he somehow managed to do it. He was like a breath of fresh air, and I was 15. I would have literally believed anything he told me and I stupidly did.” Y/N muttered unfolding her knees and curling further into Shinsou’s chest. “I finished out freshman year, with good grades and a boyfriend. Sophomore and the first 3 months of Junior year were the same. My relationship was steady and Mirio an I loved each other...he always called me his sunshine; and at 16 he was the only thing I saw when I thought about my future.” Y/N sat there, drawing patterns into Shinsou’s chest; her eyes welling with tears as she thought about the next number of months she’d have to talk about. 

“About 3 months into, My junior year and his senior year, things started getting a little less honeymoon and a lot more realistic.” she whispered. “We ended up arguing a lot, about where he would go to college, what my plans after high school were, and things of that nature.” “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, because I knew I would be set up with Enji or Dabi after I graduated. Mirio always hated how close the Todoroki’s and I were.” As Y/N told Shinsou and Katsuki about how this boy, called her names, accused her of things, and cheated on her repeatedly; Katsuki could feel the rage bubbling at the surface. Shinsou, knowing his friend for a good number of years; knew Katsuki was on the verge of snapping. He tugged the blonde man down, and pulled him into Y/N; wrapping her arms around the blonde she watched as his tense muscles relaxed in her tight hold. “What happened with Ryu teddy bear?” Katsuki grumbled, burying his face into her stomach. Y/N ran her fingers through his soft hair, as she continued on with her story. “We had just made up from a huge fight, when I had decided that I wanted to give him my first time. It was not some magical moment that I will cherish forever.” she giggled tapping Katsuki’s forehead lightly. “We were at a party, and we had both been drinking, and the girl he had cheated on me with before was there; ready to snatch him up.” Y/N whispered, the memory bringing stray tears to the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know why, but I had decided that was the night; and thus my virginity was lost in a bedroom at some random person’s house; while I was heavily inebriated.” she huffed out, a wry smile on her face. 

Shinsou, snuggled her closer speaking into the air in front of them. “ I think it goes without saying, that if Katsuki and I had met your first; your first time would have been one for the fucking storybooks kitten.” He grumbled, inhaling her soft scent. “Yeah well, maybe then you two would be Ryu’s biological dad.” Y/N mumbled, picking at the invisible lint on Katsuki’s shirt. “Don’t be stupid babygirl, we are Ryu’s dads regardless of blood.” Katsuki huffed craning his head for a kiss. Y/N smiled, and leaned down to press her lips to his own; humming at the softness. “A few weeks after the party I found out I was pregnant. I told Mirio about it, he dumped me, got with the girl he cheated with; and proceeded to out my business to everyone in the school.” Y/N huffed out. “The school pulled my scholarship, and the orphanage kicked me out; but Enji paid the rest of my tuition and took me in.” She smiled softly. “When Mrs. Hasegawa found out what happened, she went straight to the city officials office to lodge an investigation. The previous headmistress was fired, and Enji spent a lot of money refurbishing the entire place. Every year, he makes a hefty donation on my behalf so the kids here don’t go through what I did.” After her declaration, Y/N made to get up, when she found herself wrapped in two sets of strong arms. “I’m in a much better place now, and I didn’t have a hard time with my pregnancy. The boys freaked out for most of it, and the girls were probably more useful.” she giggled recalling the amount of times Natsuo, Shoto, and Dabi would freak over every little thing. “The last time I saw Mirio was the day Ryuji was born, when he tried to take  him away from me. He slipped in when one of the boys stepped out; but he didn’t take into account that Keigo was making his way back and heard everything Mirio said... And as much shit as Ryu gives Keigo; Keigo beat the living shit out of Mirio that day, when he threatened to take my son away from me, and for that alone; I’ll forever be grateful to him.” Y/N declared, as she noticed Mrs. Hasegawa waving the three adults inside. “Now! Let’s get a move on, I know she made my favorite.” Y/N declared clapping her hands before shoving the two men over and making a run for the back door. The three adults spent the rest of their date, with the kids at the orphanage and Mrs. Hasegawa regaling Katsuki and Shinsou with stories that had both men in literal tears by the end of it. 

@dabilove27 @abyssmium @amarillyis @mushimoon14 @shikiry @therealwalmartjesus @bbymilkbread @kac-chowsballs  @wineandionysus @loverofallthingsfoxy @mint-mai@cataxtrophic @bakuhoetoedoroki @kit-kat428 @moon-spirit-yue @ouijaeater15 @yafriendlyfangirl @nerdynstoned @furfoxsake22 @ditu-m9 @percabethismyotp14@definitelynotaundrayuh

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 9 - Historical (Regency, Ancient Greece/Rome, Prehistory etc.) / Modern / Futuristic AU

Mr Hotchner, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance (Regency AU)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader (dresses, mention of becoming an old maid)

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: General Audiences

TW: None

AN: Day 9 of @tropetember. Yet another Hotch story that could be expanded into a small series. Not sure how effective it is a Regency piece? Any feedback would be much appreciated.

A widower with a good fortune and a son moves into the nearby great estate. Will that be any concern of yours?

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.5k

When Jane Austen observed that a young man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, she was not incorrect. The question is whether all of those criteria needed to be met for similar conclusions to be made of men in similar circumstances.

Mr Hotchner, whilst in possession of good fortune, could no longer be classed as young, being in his mid-thirties. To further complicate matters, he was a widower and had a child from his first match.

When the inhabitants of the surrounding area became acquainted with the details of the new owner of the neighbouring great estate, they too were unsure. Some claimed he would be past his prime, grief would likely have ruined him, left crags upon his face and aged him beyond his years. Others, notably those with unwed daughters, argued that a mother figure for his son and match for himself would only increase the happiness and imagined handsomeness of the fine gentleman due to enter the parish.

As it is in most cases, neither party was entirely correct. On his arrival into the county, he was noted to be a handsome man, but he never smiled. He was charming and generous, but rarely spoke unless questioned. He may be improved by feminine influence, but did not seem to be in the market for such.

Whilst you were aware of the excitement of the new neighbour, you chose not involve yourself in the fray. At nearly 29, your future as an old maid had been declared by the villagers for many years. You were lucky that your younger brother was set to inherit your fathers modest estate upon his passing. You knew your brother would continue to look after you, and in return you did what you could to help your family in the day to day.

You had been so disconnected from the gossip, that it came as a surprise when your father notified you that the family had been invited to the estate for dinner and cards. Mr Hotchner was hosting one of his friends, Sir David Rossi, and it was apparently at his suggestion that the event was conceived.

As usual before an engagement, you select a nice dress, a new one you had been treated to a few weeks earlier, made of fine fabrics and with lace trim. Your maid, Sarah, had helped you style your hair and by the end of it, even you would agree that you looked pretty. You’d never be a beauty, but you were looking your best in the spring of your late bloom.

The carriage ride to the estate was quiet. Your brother mainly discussed business with your father as your mother and yourself admired the countryside. This admiration only grew as you entered the estate’s gardens. They were spectacular. A balanced combination of wilderness and cultivation.

Pulling up, you all clambered from the carriage and were led into the house by one of the servants. Inside, a modest party of the foremost members of the neighbourhood were gathered and you greeted them as you entered. It was not until around 5 minutes later that Mr Hotchner and his friend entered.

He was very handsome, something the slightly severe expression on his face could not hide. You could not help but watch as he slowly made his way around the room. He had a very authoritative presence, but not in an arrogant or rude way. It seemed more that he was aware of his role and status.

It was not long until it was your turn to be introduced to him. You curtsied and shyly met his eyes as you rose back to full height. For the first time in many years, you felt your breath catch slightly.

Your eyes were drawn away from Mr Hotchner’s as Sir David was also introduced to you. He was older than his companion, with a well maintained beard and a gentle grin resting on his features. He was also effortlessly charming but in a more extroverted manner than his friend.

You conversed with the pair for a while, polite conversation you make with new acquaintances about how they are enjoying the area and settling and such. It is not until dinner is called that you’re reluctantly separated. Good conversationalists were sorely lacking in this part of the world and you were already looking forward to getting to know them.

Dinner was a tasty and lively affair, with many laughs and much conversation. Afterwards the gentlemen separate off to have their whisky, leaving the women to gossip and you to nip out to answer the call of nature.

On your way back, you are met with an unexpected sight.

At the bottom of the main staircase stands a young boy in a dressing gown, stuffed toy in hand. Seeing that he looks upset, you slowly approach him and smile gently.

“Hello” you greet him. “Are you well?” you ask the little boy, not wanting to crowd him but unsure why he is upset.

He shakes his head shyly and his eyes stay trained on the floor. It breaks your heart a little.

Bobbing down, you pull a handkerchief from the hidden pocket in your dress to gently wipe his tears. Once they’re cleared away, you introduce yourself to him.

He reaches out a hand as his manners kick. “I’m Jack Hotchner. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

His voice isn’t full bodied but it’s a good start.

“Well, what a polite young gentleman.” He smiles at you for the compliment and holds himself a little taller. “Where might you be heading this late at night.”

“I," he pauses, "I want to see my father.”

You nod your head.

“Of course young sir” you give a theatrical bow to offer your hand to him which makes him giggle as he takes hold, “follow me.”

You head down to the room you saw the men head into and knock gently, hearing Mr Hotchner call for you to enter.

Gently pushing the door, you answer his questioning expression. “I found someone in the entrance hall who wished to see you.” He looks concerned until he spots his son’s head peeking around you. His face breaks out into a large smile which makes him appear far more youthful than you would have guessed. Sir David’s tales of him being a heartbreaker may not be as exaggerated as you first believed.

He greets the young boy, taking his hands as he lowers himself to his son’s level to ask what is wrong. On discovery of Jack having had a nightmare, he brings him into the room, thanking you for looking after him and releasing you to head back to the ladies.

Your mother immediately corners you upon your return and you do your best to divert her by claiming to have been appreciating the art decorating the corridors. It is not necessarily a lie, the house itself is beautiful enough itself to be considered such, but you doubt Mr Hotchner would appreciate you sharing his son’s nightmares with people who are strangers to him.

You do not have to distract your mother for long thankfully, as the gentlemen soon return and card tables are drawn up. There are slightly too many people for everyone to play so you offer to sit out and take a seat on a nearby settee with one of the books from the shelves. You are slightly surprised when a small body, now dressed in his father’s suit jacket, settles on the cushion next to you.

As you entertain the young Hotchner, you are unaware of the discussion taking place across the room.

“She seems good with him,” observes Sir David, deliberately keeping his voice down and pretending to contemplate his cards.

Mr Hotchner shoots him a withering glance before allowing, “she does. In general, she seems like a lovely woman. I am glad we have made her acquaintance.”

Sir David hums as his gaze drifts back to you, now teaching the young boy some sort of clapping game. “You know, I would be rather upset with you if you were not to throw a ball before I am to leave for London.”

“I believe you are meddling again Sir David,” Mr Hotchner plays a card as he continues, “but I will speak to the staff tomorrow about organising one.”

“You will be expected to dance, since you are hosting.”

Despite not normally being one to give into his friends' schemes, Mr Hotchner nods, eyes once again fixed on you.

“I’m sure I can find someone suitable,” he says and at that moment your eyes meet his. Yes, he thinks, he is sure you will dance as beautifully as you smile.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part twenty one) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5850 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part twenty one: It’s Dean’s turn to make an entrance in the main arena. The rides lead to an interesting business proposal by a new client, but brings a lot of doubt too. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Watching From A Distance - David Ramirez (opening scene) Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @atc74​, @manawhaat​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     Saturday morning has started early for the crew of the Gold Canyon Ranch. Before the crack of dawn Benny has mucked out the stables and fed the horses, making sure they had time to digest their pellets before the show starts. Together with Jo, Y/N has hand-walked the animals who are competing today, letting them stretch their legs and graze a bit. She took extra time for Meadow, who always seems to need a moment to adjust to new surroundings. The mare was fresh today, the brisk air only fueling her feisty temper. Her owner couldn’t help but snigger when she lifted her tail and started jogging next to her instead of just strolling along, showing off to anyone who would look at her.

     It’s 8 AM when Dean puts his foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swinging his right leg over the back of the Bon Jovi, the light catching the fringe of his chaps. He pulls his hat a little tighter on his head once he’s seated, while the well-behaved stallion waits patiently for his rider to give him an aid, which he does, after adjusting the length of his reins.

     With the sun only just peeking from behind the horizon, rays break through the leaves of the trees next to the warmup area, adding to the still peaceful surroundings. The commentator isn’t blaring through the speakers yet, the ring isn’t full of other riders trying to find a spot to train without running into each other. It’s the calm before the storm, a bit of peace and quiet both horse and human appreciate. No distractions, no sensory overload for the inexperienced stallion. It’s the perfect way to introduce him to the element of competition.

Y/N has just finished filling up the water buckets in the stables and rests her arms on the fence of the small arena. She watches Dean slowly start up the beautiful palomino, its coat seemingly made from gold in the morning light. Her boyfriend is wearing clean dark jeans and a navy button up, a black Stetson to match his show outfit. Never will she get tired of watching that man ride, but dressed like he is now, she can’t take her eyes off him. Y/N sighs deeply, swooning at the sight. She really did land the most handsome cowboy in Arizona, didn’t she?

     The head wrangler seems composed as ever, not breaking a sweat over having to ride into the ring in thirty minutes, something that she admires and envies all at the same time. She wishes she could feel relaxed right before a test, instead of being the nervous wreck that she usually is. Meadow will not make her entry until later this evening and already Y/N dodged breakfast, well aware that she won’t be able to swallow a bite, stage fright blocking her throat. Just thinking about the premiere of her freestyle makes it slightly harder to breathe, but Dean takes that away when he rides past, breaking his concentration for a second and shooting her a wink and a soft smile. She chuckles as they keep a hold of each other’s gaze for a few seconds as his horse walks by. God, she wishes she has his confidence.

     Other competitors join Dean and Bon Jovi in the warm up area, but the stallion only murmurs at a mare once, its rider gently yet strictly reminding him to keep his head in the game. Before they know it, the same voice that did the commentary on last night’s barrel race competition sounds from the amplifiers.

     “Good mornin’, folks! It’s another beautiful day here at the Flagstaff Horsefair. We’re getting ready for the first class of the day, the Standlee Forage Reining Competition for four year olds. Highest overall score wins five bags of high quality horse food.”

     The commentator continues to promote the sponsors of the event, Dean giving his horse a little scratch on the shoulder when he tenses slightly as the loud voice sounds from the speakers. Aware that it will soon be their turn, the rider allows himself to enjoy the atmosphere as he casts his gaze over the other competitors. He isn’t too worried about the fixture, confident in his own skills and those of his horse.

     “Dean Winchester, two minutes!” A steward announces, looking down at his clipboard to double check the line up.      The cowboy nods in acknowledgement, directing his gaze to Y/N as he waits for her to catch up. He watches as she puts down the grooming bag next to her on the sandy arena footing, attending to the bell boots that Bon Jovi is still wearing. She unbuckles the leather clasps, putting the leg protection away.      “Would you like some water?” she offers.      He shakes his head, casually, taking in the arena. “Nah, I’m good.”

     Y/N looks up at him, trying to read what he is feeling. To her, it is strange how he doesn’t seem nervous. He’s relaxed, collected; reminding her of the still waters at Canyon Lake, where they swam together for the first time on the trail that changed everything. It is as if he can’t register the pressure that should be resting on his shoulders. Maybe he truly believed he is that good.      “Break a leg,” she speaks, fondly.      “Don’t wish that upon me, Yankee,” Dean chuckles. “Kinda need them to do my job.”        She laughs and pats him lovingly on his denim clad thigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”      “Well, I have my good luck charm with me.” He lays his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “C’mere.”       She steps closer to Bon Jovi, tiptoeing to reach up while Dean leans over to level with her. His lips brush over hers softly, his nose nuzzling hers in a sweet gesture. She smiles into the gentle kiss.      “Go get’em, cowboy.”

     The wrangler straightens himself in the saddle, while his girlfriend picks up the groom bag and steps back. He guides his horse into the tunnel under the bleachers towards the arena, concentrating on the gates in front of him, waiting for them to open. The reigns feel smooth between his fingers as he drowns out the noise around him. With his free hand, he encouragingly strokes the side of Bon Jovi’s neck, his pearly white manes contrasting beautifully against his flaxen coat. He has grown accustomed to these kinds of events, his nerves not bothering him anymore. He finds solace in his work, seeing it more as fun than as a chore. He enjoys the challenge the youngsters bring him, from the initial moment of putting on a halter, to getting in a saddle, to showing them all for the very first time. In less than a year, the horses go through such growth, and it’s always a pleasure to be a part of their journey.

     “First competitor of the day is Dean Winchester, riding Bon Jovi, a stallion by Renegade. This horse is bred by Victor Hendriksen and owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch in Phoenix, Arizona.”

     Y/N watches as the palomino calmly comes through the gate, not batting an eye at his new and impressive surroundings. Submissive and willing, the stallion responds to his rider’s aids when he’s asked to halt. To witness how trustful each and every horse is with the trainer, surfaces some kind of gratification inside of her. The way Dean schools the animals isn’t based on authority or rank, but much more about collaboration and respect. It’s something she admires about him from the get go.

     Dean leads Bon Jovi through a precise pattern of figures, spins and stops. Reining is all about the athletic abilities of the horse, and the rider controlling every movement. The horse demonstrates attitude and willingness, while the signals given by the rider are nearly imperceptible. The run is evaluated by a panel of three judges, who mark each pattern individually. In this youngster class, speed isn’t key yet, but correctness is. Every stride must look effortless and relaxed, as if the animal and rider have become one. That’s exactly what is on display in the arena right now.

     With a smile of adoration across her face, Y/N leans her forearms on the steel fence, watching the head wrangler. A small crowd that got up at the crack of dawn have occupied the first rows on the bleachers and by the fence, encouraging shouts and whistles rallying the first competitor on. The young horse is so fixed on his rider, that he doesn’t even pick up on the sounds. Bon Jovi isn’t fast in the spins yet, but that’s okay, because his footwork is close to perfect. After three well executed sliding stops, Dean gives the palomino the signal to back up, his spur not even touching the horse’s flank. Submissively, he reverses until his rider drops the reins and rewards the stallion, who blows out a purr through his nose, looking up at the stands curiously when they applaud the performance, much like the commentator.

     “Well, if that ain’t setting the bar, I don’t know what is. What a solid ride from Dean Winchester and Bon Jovi!”

     While Dean exits the arena, he searches the people along the fence and on the bleachers. He’s looking for Bobby, who he finds on the sidelines. His uncle holds his gaze and gives the head wrangler a nod, telling him so much without using actual words. They haven’t spoken about the elephant in the room yet, today’s pace being far too high to squeeze in the awkward conversation, and so both men have decided for themselves to let it rest. Besides, they might have sold a number of horses yesterday, that doesn’t mean they can lean back now.

     The cowboy leads his horse back to the warm up ring, meeting his girlfriend half way.      “Good run!” she compliments, taking Bon Jovi’s reins after Dean swings his right leg over the saddle and dismounts. She shoves the water bottle in his hand this time, knowing if she had asked, he would have declined anyway.      “I had a little wobble in the second roll back, but yeah, the rest was good.” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, thirstier than he likes to admit.

     Since Dean is competing two separate horses in the same class, he’s both first and last to enter the main arena. It’s going to be a race against the clock, and he looks around the warm-up area in search for his next four-legged dance partner.      “Where’s Jo? Ringo is up in thirty minutes.”      “Better get off your high horse, Mister, otherwise this is the last time I’ll tack up for you,” his cousin replies snappily, appearing from behind with a bay gelding named Ringo Starr in tow.      Dean is about to counter her, but he bites his tongue, knowing she’s not kidding and will never do him a favor again if he gives her attitude. And so he mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath when he takes the Quarterhorse from her.

     As swiftly as he got down from Bon Jovi, he now mounts Ringo, the next four year old for him to compete. As he does so, his score is announced over the speakers, but he can’t quite make out the numbers. When he glances at the scoreboard, he’s pleasantly surprised.      “218.5 points!” Y/N cries out, delighted. “That’s fantastic!”      With a content smirk adorning his features, Dean nods satisfied; that is indeed a good score. Good enough to put Bon Jovi on the podium. Good enough to ask a high price when the buyers come calling. He doesn’t have time to settle on a high cloud, though; he needs to ready Ringo for his run.

     Y/N hoists the groombag on her shoulder and takes the kind palomino stallion to exit the warm-up arena. This is her job after all, she might be dating her supervisor, she’s still the intern. They made a deal when she arrived at the ranch that Dean would not treat her differently, so she intends to do the work she’s come here to do. Jo, however, seems to have a different idea, and nudges her.      “I’ll take Jovi. You go cheer on your John Wayne.” The blonde cowgirl winks at her friend, taking over the load.

     She chuckles, handing the petite blonde the horse. Grateful to be able to see more of Dean’s horsemanship in action, she finds a spot by the fence. The sun steadily rises, casting out what was left of the night’s coolness, the light radiating down on her much warmer and brighter. Wishing she had brought a hat, the cowgirl takes off her jacket and puts it away in the groombag. She watches her boyfriend warm up Ringo, who seems a little bit more nervous, now that the ring is more crowded. His rider does a good job reassuring the young animal, though, giving the bay gelding some light exercises to keep his mind of the commotion around him, rewarding the Quarter every time he shows a sign of relaxation.

     “Beautiful day to be buying horses, isn’t it, darling?”      Y/N startles at the sudden gruff voice, snapping her head to where the sound came from. The supposedly kind words to start conversation are pronounced with a English accent, by a stranger dressed in black. The rather short man who she guesses would be somewhere in his fifties leans on the steel rail, his fingers laced together while he watches riders in the arena.

     “Y - yeah, I suppose so,” Y/N stammers, unsure how to respond.      “My apologies, where are my manners.” The man turns to her and offers his hand. “The name is Fergus. Fergus MacLeod.”      The cowgirl frowns at his introduction. She has heard of him, but has never met the owner of the MacLeod Studfarms in person.      “Y/N Y/L/N,” she returns, slightly hesitant.      “Oh, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work. You’re quite the talent,” the Englishman admits. “That run at the State Championships was spectacular.”

     Slightly creeped out, but not trusting her instincts entirely, she stays quiet for a moment. This is a man of great influence in the business, so she does want to hear what he has to say.      “You saw me ride?” she replies.      He nods, an amused smirk resting on his thin lips. “I did indeed, love. Talking about talent, that horse is something else as well. Meadowsweet, is her name, isn’t it?”      “Yeah...” Y/N returns, somewhat suspicious.      “Tell me; are you the owner of that lovely mare? Or are there parents and sponsors involved?”

     Her stance becomes a bit more defensive, not just because of the rapid questions that are fired at her, no matter how charming this gentleman is trying to be. No, it’s his assumption that she’s too young to own such a horse that gets to her.      “I am the owner, as a matter of fact,” she states, a new found strength in her voice.      “Good to know I am talking to the proper person then.” Her company chuckles, apparently pleased by her feisty counter. “Because I have a proposition for you.”      Before he can make her an offer, Y/N intervenes. “Meadow isn’t changing owners, if that’s where you’re headed, Mr. MacLeod.”      Fergus takes her in, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the pleased little smile remains. “I can make it worth your while.”      “I believe you can, but no matter your offer; she’s not for sale,” the cowgirl makes herself clear, a sternness in her voice that should tone the horse trader down.      It doesn’t. Instead he chuckles dryly and takes a little booklet out of the inner pocket of his black coat; it’s a cheque book. Not taking no for an answer, he pulls out a pen and writes down his signature.      “Everything is for sale, love. All one has to do is pay the right price,” he says, wisely.

     Fergus MacLeod rips off the sheet of paper, handing her the cheque. Not wanting to be downright rude, she takes it, staring at the empty line; it’s blank.      “You may write down whatever number you seem fit. It’s up to you,” the Brit elaborates. “Now that I’ve got your attention, would you happen to know where I can find Bobby Singer? I would like to have a little chat with my old friend.”      “He’s by the main arena.” She points in the direction of the entrance.      “Wonderful,” he quips. “It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

     A shiver runs down her spine as MacLeod walks away to find her boss. She’s highly aware that he is a very influential and important person in the industry, but he has got some nerve. Y/N might look like an innocent and timid girl, but there is no way in hell that she would ever give up Meadow, no matter how large the figure.

     She stares at the cheque, crumbling it in her hand before she stuffs it in her pocket, angrily. She has never met someone as brazen as Fergus Macleod at a show before, and she has been to enough to know. But she doesn’t want to waste time and think about the confrontation now. The cowgirl would much rather focus on her wrangler boyfriend who is wowing the judges.

     Dean’s run with Ringo Starr is another great one, and with him being the last contestant of the class, the rankings are decided the moment the score comes in. With 215.5 points, he secures the third place, behind another rider and Bon Jovi, who has held on to the lead. An impressive result, one that he knows his uncle is going to be very pleased with.

     When the Dean exits the arena, he is met by his girlfriend, who is smiling widely.      “You nailed it!” she chirps with enthusiasm.      “They did good,” Dean says, rustling Ringo’s black mane, more than satisfied with the performance of both young horses, but not taking the compliment upon himself.

     The cowboy gets down from the saddle, noticing that the gelding is tired from all the first impressions and new sensories that come with the first show. Ringo’s coat is damp, a shade darker because of the perspiration; he gave it his all. Intending to hand-walk the horse back to the stables to shower the animal and give him his hay, he strolls to exit the warm-up area, but Bobby stops him.      “Dean?” his uncle calls out, beckoning him to come over.      Y/N glances up, following Mr. Singer’s voice. Noticing that Fergus MacLeod has found who he claims to be his ‘old friend’, her face falls slightly. She wonders what the Englishman would want, and why Dean has been invited into the conversation.      Questionly, she looks back at her boyfriend and takes over Ringo from him, reckoning she should leave since it’s none of her business what will be discussed, but the man in black has different ideas.      “Y/N, do join us, and bring the horse as well, love.”      The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rises; what did he just call her? Unable to prevent his jaw from clenching, he steps towards the two ranch owners, trying to keep his cool. Who the hell is this dickhead?      “That’s Fergus MacLeod,” Y/N whispers, as if she just read his mind. “He’s the founder of some of the largest stud farms in the country and even has stables in Europe. Owns at least two dozen licenced stallions.”      The wrangler nods in acknowledgement. Great, some snobby bigshot. Very much aware that this new face might have something to offer Bobby, he keeps his mouth shut.

     “Ah, the one and only Dean Winchester,” Fergus’ grins mischievously. “Nice work there in the ring. Your uncle here told me it’s the first time those two horses are competing.”      “That’s right,” the cowboy confirms.      “Macleod is the name. Pleasure to meet ya.”      The Brit extends his hand, which Dean shakes a little firmer than normal. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish with the display of his own physical strength.

     “Fergus here is interested in buying the four year olds,” Bobby explains, apparently noticing his head wrangler’s suppressed hostility, shooting it down with a piercing stare, warningly.      Dean’s demeanor changes instantly as he raises his eyebrows. If this horse trader is going to bring the big bucks, he knows he needs to  keep himself in check for the sake of the ranch.      “Mind if I have a peek?” Macleod asks, gesturing at the horse.      “Go ahead.” Dean steps back, making room for him to inspect the horse.

     Fergus circles the horse, taking the bay gelding in from several angles. He feels the hindlegs for any swelling or abnormalities and does the same with the front legs, after Y/N has removed the bandages Ringo wore in the ring to prevent any injuries. The horse trader then proceeds to look Ringo in the face and check his teeth. After a satisfied nod the man turns around, straightens his impeccable suit. He then takes a tissue from his breast pocket and wipes his hands.      “It’s a fine looking animal you’ve got here, Singer,” he compliments. “You may take the horse away, my dear.”      Even though she isn’t fond of the degrading way he is talking to her, Y/N obliges. Taking care of the horses when she’s not riding herself is her job after all.      “Oh, and Miss Y/L/N…”      She halts the horse next to her and turns around. The Englishman has his hands in his pocket now, twinkling hazel-colored eyes looking her up and down.      “Bobby here tells me that you’re a well-educated woman. A master degree in Business & Economics? Impressive. Someone as smart as yourself has to acknowledge that it’s a good deal. I assume you will consider my offer on your horse,” he pauses, more intrigued with every detail he learns about the woman before him. “I would like to point out there’s room for six figures on that cheque. What numbers to fill in, is your choice.”

     Dean wants to snap his head at his girlfriend, but keeps his posture. Did this man just offer her several hundred thousand dollars for Meadow? Eyes wide in astonishment, he exchanges a look with his uncle, both trying to keep a straight face.      “She’s not for sale,” Y/N makes clear one more time, pronouncing the words slow to prove a point.      Amused with her stubbornness, the corner of MacLeod’s mouth twitches upward. Cocky, he holds her gaze, but eventually yields. “Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind. The offer stands.”

     Without responding to Fergus’ tenacious reply, she turns away, nudging Ringo to follow her. The three men watch her leave, Dean knows her well enough to be able to tell that MacLeod has her blood boiling. He’s not surprised Y/N didn’t think twice about shooting the bid down. Meadow means the world to her, more than any amount of money could ever buy. But holy shit. Six figures! Realisation hits him; it would be enough money to save the Ranch.

     The Brit who made the generous offer pulls him from his thoughts. “Alright, lads. Let’s talk business, shall we?”      The three walk away from the few people that are lining around the warm-up area. A little further down, on a crossing of two paths, they stop. The little square is still quiet at this hour. Safe from lurking eyes and eavesdropping ears, they gather around one high table near a drink stand. Even though it’s a non-serve area, the influential man calls the bartender to take their order. The young guy comes back with a coke for the rider - who still has a run later this afternoon - and two bourbons. Dean didn’t even know they served whiskey at this event, let alone this early.

     MacLeod cuts right to the chase. “I will offer you thirty grand for the four year old Quarters, and I will take them off your hands right away.”      Dean doesn’t flinch, being in these kinds of conversations before. He can maintain his poker face, no matter how amble the offer. It is a negotiation after all.      The owner of the two horses thinks about it for a second, but then comes with a counter. “Forty.”      “C’mon, Bobby. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Fergus clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly after which he takes a sip from his drink. “Now, I know times are tough and that you’re experiencing difficulty staying afloat, but do realize I am already doing you a favor here. Thirty thousand dollars is more than fair.”

     The head wrangler is taken aback by the Englishman’s comment. How would he know the ranch is struggling? Did people in their close circle spill the beans?      Apparently MacLeod spots the unpleasant surprise on the faces of the men opposite of him, because he comments on it without missing a beat. “It’s a small world, lads. People talk. You should know that by now, Singer.”      Bobby moves past the comment rather quickly and ponders about the sum. Fergus isn’t wrong; it’s not just a decent offer. It’s a generous one, one he isn’t going to decline. The Englishman across the table knows it too; the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch is desperate for money.      “Cash,” he demands, accepting the original offer.      The dark haired man strokes his neatly trimmed beard. “I can arrange that.”

     The head wrangler might not like the horse trader, but he did just make this weekend ten times better. He gulps down the last of his coke, crumpling the can before he dunks it in the trash on the side of the crossroads. The cowboy figures the deal will be sealed with a handshake before they go separate ways, but MacLeod has a second matter to settle.      “I have another proposition for you.”      Having their attention, the middle aged Brit observes their reaction, his eyes full of mischief. The two members of the ranch near Phoenix share a look.      “We’re listening.” Bobby says.

     Fergus swirls his whiskey, studying the amber liquid in his glass.      “I own a stallion,” he starts off, putting the drink to his mouth in the short pause. “I bought him at the Derby Quarterhorse Auction for over a million dollars. He’s licensed, one of the best pedigrees I’ve ever seen, not to mention his conformation and movements. He already covered four hundred mares this year. I expect great things from this horse, he is supposed to bring in the money. There is one slight issue, however.”      Dean listens, intently, wondering where he is going with this. “And what would that be?”

     “The horse has some… behavioral issues,” the stud farm owner claims, careful in his choice of words. “It has quite the temperament, one his former trainers haven’t been able to use in their advantage, my advantage.”      Slowly the head wrangler begins to realize why the price MacLeod is willing to pay for the two Quarters is so steep; he is playing a game of give and take. The way the owner of this stallion is talking about money and business, calling the animal ‘it’, doesn’t sit well with him either. Where is the horse’s well-being in all of this?

     “What’s his name?” Dean likes to know.      Fergus frowns at that, clearly not understanding why it would matter, but he answers anyway. “You might have heard of this horse; his name is Cain.”      Dean has heard of the horse. The whopping 1.2 million that was paid for the talented Quarter made headlines in the industry.

     “What are these behavioral issues?” he needs to know, not taking the bait just yet.      “Typical stallion behavior; dominance is the main problem. The horse has character, what can I say?” MacLeod laughs it off. “Anyway, I am looking for a capable horseman. Someone who can actually break him in.”      The owner of the horse in question shifts his penetrating gaze from Bobby to Dean. The cowboy realizes they are at a verge of a possibly very important business deal, but he cannot stop himself from commenting on the peculiar choice of words.      “I don’t ‘break in’ horses. I teach them to trust and to cooperate,” he states firmly.      “Potato, potahto,” Fergus dismisses. “Are you up for the job, or not?”

     Dean exchanges a glance with his uncle, a silent conversation happening between them, only possible by years and years of working together.      When Bobby rights himself, he has a crucial question. “What’s in it for us?”      Again that small smile on the Englishman’s face; he knows he’s close to persuading them.

     “A thousand dollars each month, paid in advance, and a fifty grand bonus when Cain successfully completes the stallion performance tests in April. Plus, five percent of his earnings in coverage for the coming year. After he passes the exams, we can set up a contract in order for you to remain his permanent rider,” MacLeod sums up.

     Bobby analyzes the offer. It’s tempting in many aspects. Fergus just mentioned that the stallion already covered four hundred mares this year. With his stud-fee being at least a thousand dollars, they are looking at twenty grand cut already. Then there’s the regular income, not to mention the bonus. This deal might be the lifeline his family business was frantically fishing for. It’s up to Dean, though. He is the one who is going to work with this horse, and the only one who can make an educated guess if it’s achievable in five months' time.

     “We would like to see Cain first,” Bobby decides, wanting to offer his head wrangler a moment to evaluate the animal.      “I’m afraid that will not be possible at this time, but I tell you what.” The Brit finishes his bourbon, setting the glass down on the high table. “The horse will be delivered to your property and you will have a week to decide if you want to take on this job. If not, no hard feelings.”

     Dean glances aside, spotting the slight nod of his uncle. Seems like they can’t go wrong here; if Cain turns out to be more difficult than Fergus leads on, they can always send him back.      “You got yourself a deal,” Bobby concludes, extending his hand to the man in black.      “Splendid.” The horse trader smirks, delighted with the arrangement they agreed on, shaking their hands. When he grips Dean’s hand tight, he looks him deep in the eye, as if he recognizes something in the handsome cowboy.

     “You’re John’s boy, aren’t ya?” he realizes. “I bought a couple of horses from that Winchester back in the day. How is he?”      Tension grips Dean’s body, the sound of his father’s name on Macleod’s tongue sending a shiver down his limbs. He tries to breathe in without it being too obvious, finding it difficult to keep his mask on.      “I wouldn’t know,” he answers curtly.

     Fergus furrows his brow at that, clearly curious as of why the two aren’t in touch anymore. He allows a silence to linger between them, their handshake holding on to the apprehensiveness.      “Hmm,” he responds at the peculiar answer. “Well, you are just like your father. I could’ve sworn it was him when I saw you in the arena earlier; spitting image. You have his ways.”

     It’s like MacLeod is deliberately trying to get under his skin, and no matter how hard the young cowboy fights it, the man he’s making a deal with is succeeding. The words spoken with that distinct English accent ring in his head, much louder than they were pronounced, cracking like a whip on his back. You are just like your father. You have his ways.

     Dean releases the stallion owner’s hand, quickly slipping his into the back pockets of his jeans, drying his clammy palms on the denim. He hopes neither of the men in his company notice him shaking. He inhales through his nose, squares his shoulders and stands tall, pushing down the anxiousness that is stirring in his stomach. Disappointed in himself, he chews on the inside of his cheek in search for distraction. He can’t let a simple comment get to him like this.

     Now that he has shut down the attitude the ranch hand was giving him, the Englishman looks down on Dean with a sinister smile on his lips. He keeps a hold of the Winchester’s gaze, until he averts his green eyes. Only then MacLeod steps away.      “We’ll stay in touch. I’ll have my men pick up the two Quarters this afternoon,” Fergus announces, his long, dark overcoat swaying slightly as he turns around once more. “A pleasure doing business with ya.”

     With those words, MacLeod walks away and leaves the two men in the middle of the square. The sun is suddenly uncomfortably warm to Dean. He sniffs and takes a few steps from his uncle, as if the two or three strides would actually be enough to walk it off. He places his hands in his side and dips his hat forward when he faces Bobby again, making sure the older man can’t sense how unsettled he is. But Bobby is no fool. He knows his nephew better than the boy’s own father did, and that’s exactly what’s bothering Dean.

     “You alright?” he checks.      “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dean returns just a little too rapidly, shrugging it off.      “Just…” His uncle is careful not to address the subject directly, yet at the same time he needs to offer the opportunity for the wrangler to vent. “With what he said about John--”      “Don’t.”

     The simple word comes out harsher than he meant it to leave his lips, the darkness in his eyes when he shoots his father-figure a glare soon replaced by regret. Dean knows Bobby is trying, like he and Ellen have for the past fifteen years. But no matter how much time passes, he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the past.

     His uncle isn’t mad, nor is he disappointed in his surrogate son. He just nods slowly at the dismissal, before he begins to make his way to the stables. Dean remains in the middle of the crossing, his hands still firm on his hips, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathes out. The deal they just made should bring much needed relief, but the meeting leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He gathers himself and follows after his Bobby. They have more showings to prepare for, but nothing can cast out the words spoken by Fergus MacLeod. Not the rhythmic thumping of hooves in the dirt, not the chatter and laughs produced by the growing crowd, nor the music that comes from the main arena. All he can register is the painful message, which reopens the deep scars on his heart every time they bounce off the walls inside his head.

I am just like my father.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty two here

[angst-fairygodmother]

May I send in a request if it’s not too much trouble? Maybe some mutual pining/yearning with Diego, and it’s just really fluffy? I know it’s not a lot plait wise, sorry, so you can kinda do whatever, as long as it’s fluffy(I love your angst but i am in desperate need of some fluffy with my #1 stubby husband) 💚💚💚💚

A/N: Hello darling! This is a fantastic trope! Thank you so much for your request. Hope it’s everything you were looking for 😊 Word Count: 1861

You had known Diego Hargreeves for years, shared laughs and tears and secrets with him and he had shared them with you. You had met his mother. You were confident in calling him your closest friend. So of course, like a romance movie cliché, somewhere between bickering over the last slice of pizza and trying to stay up long enough to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting, you’d fallen in love with him. But, like any good protagonist, you were too stubborn to admit it, too sure that he was still in love with Eudora Patch and would never see you in that way and it would only ruin your friendship.

So you tried to move on, kissed frog after frog, hoping for one of them to be Prince Charming, even though you knew he was standing right beside you, ready to throw knives if any of them treated you wrong.

He also did things like warn you that it was dangerous being friends with him or try convince you that he wasn’t worth it, whatever ‘it’ was. Eventually you convinced him to stop that nonsense by agreeing to take some sort of self-defense class, which turned into him teaching you self-defense, and then basic self-defense and boxing.

And then you found yourself rearranging your entire schedule so that you could go down to the Fighting Lion and get your first lesson, and then maybe hang around to watch Diego’s match. But you definitely weren’t in love with him and had totally moved on. Absolutely.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” Diego asked, trying hard to play the question as an off-hand curiosity as he gave you a greeting hug. And if he held you a little tighter or for a few seconds longer than he had in the past, who would know.

“I, um. I cancelled,” you replied, not meeting his eye.

“Oh?” his brows shot up in surprise. You had been talking about this date for weeks, and sounded really into the guy.

“Yeah. I just, wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Two days ago you wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“Well, things change, alright?” you snapped. “Now are we going to sit around gossiping like old hens or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. Go change and I’ll get set up.”

When you walked back out of the locker-room in your tight-fitted workout clothes a few minutes later, pausing to use the wall to help you stretch your limbs, Diego couldn’t help trailing his eyes over your form especially lingering on your ass and the way it filled out your shorts. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn away before you noticed.

“Alright, Hargreeves,” you said, and he looked over at you, trying his best to pretend he had just noticed your return. “I’m all dressed up. What’s next?”

You flashed him a smile, the kind that he wished he could believe was specially reserved for him, but in fact was the same bright and enthusiastic one you gave the whole world.

“Wrap your hands and wrists for support,” he said, tossing you a roll of tape.

Fumbling a bit, you caught the tossed object and stared at it as if it was a snake threatening to bite.

Diego chuckled. “Do you need me to show you what to do?”

Biting your lip, Diego’s eyes flicking down to them at the motion, you shrugged. “That would probably be for the best.”

Almost immediately, you regretted agreeing to that as he walked over, taking one of your hands in both of his. You knew that it was just to keep you steady and still while he wrapped, but still it made your heart race and you could only hope that he didn’t notice. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching the intense focus on his face, hearing him speak but not the words he said as he explained how to do it so you could for yourself in the future. In your head, he was saying sweet nothings and holding your hand just to hold it, and you felt frustrated with how much you wanted that thought to be real.

“There,” he said, securing the end of the tape on your second hand with a pat and shaking you out of your dream-state. “You’re good.”

“Huh?” you frowned, mind slow to catch up to reality. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

From there, you did all you could stay focused, especially when he decided the best teaching method after the most basic information to keep you from hurting yourself was to just throw you into a fight against him and tell you to do your best. You were impressed with how you held your own, dodging more than striking sure, but he was meant to be a superhero and you had the reflexes to avoid his blows. (It at no point occurred to you that he might be going easy on you.)

��Come on, Y/N. You can’t win a fight if you don’t hit me,” he scolded, laughing.

“But I can’t lose it if I don’t get hit either,” you panted, struggling not to let your guard drop as you grew tired.

“Yes you can,” Diego stopped, dropping his hands and shifting into lecture mode. “Exhausting yourself is just as dangerous. If you’re trying to avoid a fight, which you should, get one good swing in to stun the other person and then run. Don’t just dodge and duck like you’re toying with them. Because you will screw up.”

You huffed. “Fine, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “Any other tips?”

“Every time you dodge, you drop your left side, leaving yourself vulnerable.”

“Noted. Back to the fight now?”

“Are you actually going to fight or just keep dancing?” his eyes crinkled in a smile and your heart skipped a beat, again.

“If you want to see dancing, I can dance,” you suggested with a smirk. “But yes, I promise I’ll take your suggestions and use them to beat you, and actually do it this time.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and raised his hands back up, stance shifting. “Bring it then.”

“Sure you can handle that babe?” you taunted, darting in on a feint.

Only he froze at your teasing nickname, and your fist connected with a solid ‘crack!’ Diego stumbled backwards on the mats, hands coming up to cup his now bleeding nose.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Shit! Oh god Diego, I’m so sorry!” you yelled, panicked, rushing over to him and placing your hands over his, trying to guide them down so you could inspect the damage you caused. “Is it broken? Do you need tissues? A doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” he assured you, shrugging you off, voice muffled and distorted by his hands and the rapid swelling of his face.

“What happened?” you snapped, voice still high with fear. “That was an easy shot to block!”

“I…I don’t know,” he muttered.

His eyes locked with yours and you stood there, staring at each other.

“I just…you called me babe…”

Your stomach lurched. You had, without thinking anything of it. It had been a joke, or maybe a subconscious slip of the tongue. Had it upset him? Or did you dare to hope…?

“That was an excellent hit,” he continued, finally bringing his hands down, checking to see if his nose was still bleeding and sniffing dramatically to clear the airway. “If you do that any time someone gives you a hard time, no one’s ever going to dare mess with you.”

You smiled weakly. “I don’t think most of my enemies would be so in love with me I could distract them so easily…”

“I wasn’t…I’m not…what are you talking about?” he scoffed.

“Relax, Di,” you sighed. “It was a joke.”

You both lapsed into a momentary silence.

“What if…I was?” he asked hesitantly a moment later, just as you were about to ask if the training session was over.

“What if you were what?” you countered, frowning and puzzled.

“…in love with you…” the confession was so low and mumbled that you wouldn’t have caught it at all if you hadn’t been so familiar with Diego and all of his moods.

You laughed nervously. “I must have hit you harder than I thought, cus you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“You…what?” You blinked at him, dumb-founded. “You can’t be.”

You thought you must be dreaming, there was no way this conversation could possibly happening, so you settled firmly on denial, not wanting to fall for his prank or whatever this was. Because if he were telling the truth, then you had denied yourself and hurt yourself for years for no actual reason, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“Why can’t I be?” he asked, stepping closer, frowning.

“Well…because…” you cast about for any good reason why your best friend that you were in love with shouldn’t or couldn’t be in love with you right back.

“Y/N, you don’t have to make up excuses. I won’t be upset if you don’t feel the same, and I won’t let it ruin our friendship. It hasn’t so far.”

“How…how long?” you choked out, now fighting back tears.

He shrugged. “A year or two at least. I can’t really say when it happened.”

“Oh, Diego…why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, unable to meet your eye. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like the right time? And then you were dating other people.”

“Because I was trying to get over you!” you shouted, your frustration at the ridiculousness of it all spilling over. “I thought you were still in love with Patch or some dumb shit so I was dating other people. I thought if I found someone good enough, someone fine, I could make myself feel for them what I feel about you, you asshole!”

He stared at you, mouth agape. The horror of everything you just admitted hit you like a brick to the face and you felt the intense blush flood over your face and neck and like you were going to be sick; you wanted to actually vomit.

"W-what?"

The tears that had been stinging spilled down your cheeks. Rough, calloused fingers and tape wrapped palms reached up to brush away their wet tracks.

"Y/N…?"

"I've been in love with you for years, dammit. I just...never had the guts to tell you'" you admitted at a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours and it was...actually kind of awkward, wet with tears and tangy with the lingering salt-metallic taste of his blood and both your sweat. Pulling back to rest your forehead against his, you smiled softly.

"Not that I didn't appreciate it, because I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time now, but maybe we should clean up a little first?" You suggested.

He laughed. "Yeah, probably. And I have a fight later to drop out of."

"What? Drop out of? Why?"

"I've waited too long to take you on a date. I'm not waiting another minute."

[cibeewastaken]

May you write some trans draco and supportive boyfriend harry fluff??😄💙💙

thank you for the prompt! I’ve never written trans characters before, and although I did research beforehand, if there is anything I got wrong or if I have written anything disrespectful, let me know and I will change it. Thank you to Shahar and Solana from the Drarry Discord that did a sensitivity read over this, and @pineau-noir for the beta!! thank you all!

2680 words. Professor drarry, coming out, getting together & established relationship, smitten Harry

Also: brief misgendering (not maliciously, toward the beginning), off-screen transphobic comment (toward the end, it is not explicitly written out), discussion of pregnancy. 

Read on Ao3

****

Draco decided to come out because he dreamt of his mother. 

It was on his thirty-fifth birthday, when he had gone out to Hogsmeade with Harry, Pansy, Greg and Granger the night before and drank themself silly. Weasley had moaned and cried about wanting to come but it was his turn to babysit. Draco had gotten so pissed that Harry had to carry him all the way back to Hogwarts and shushed him constantly when they got to the professor’s quarters because Draco had really wanted sing All About That Bass. Harry had to help him to bed and Draco had begged Harry to make him a cup of hot chocolate

That night he dreamt, as he was wont to do after drinking bottle after bottle of whiskey and falling asleep in that too warm state of being under layers of blankets and a belly full of hot drinks. He dreamt of the memory of sitting beside her bed moments before she died, trying to work up the courage to tell her; almost ran out the door to where Harry was waiting, and asked him for tips on how to be a brave person. But before he could come to any decision, his mother sighed, “I love you, my sweet, brave girl.” And the next moment, Draco had lost his chance. 

He woke up, ten years later, wishing desperately again he could have told his mother. 

Draco told Harry his decision the same day of the dream. Harry sat in the plush armchair in Draco’s room, watched Draco pace about with a cup of piping hot tea cradled in his hands. He listened intently to Draco going on and on, “I just woke up this morning, and I knew I was ready. I mean—okay, even if I am, how will I go about it? Write a public letter? An announcement during breakfast in the Great Hall? No, no, that’s the showman in me talking. Ah—should I ask for the Headmistress’s permission? I—”

Harry only cut him off then. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said. “You can just inform her, if you want.”

Draco softened. Blushed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you’re right.” He went and sat down on the other armchair, Harry’s eyes followed him with a fond smile.

“How about in class?” Draco asked.

“That certainly is when you are the most confident.” Harry smiled at him. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“I would never do that,” Harry said. “But can I ask why now?”

“‘May I ask’,” Draco corrected. 

Harry gave him a look. Draco laughed before talking. “I’m ready. I want to stop hiding. I want to talk about my experience. I want to come out on my own terms, and I don’t want to leave any regret. Merlin, do you remember after the war, the amount of therapy we all did? It wasn’t until years later did I feel like I was healed enough from the war to talk about my gender identity with a professional. We had talked about coming out, or transitioning, and I had said I would like to come out when I’m happy again.”

Harry listened with a happy smile on his face. “You’re happy now,” he said.

Draco reached over and tucked a stray hair behind Harry’s ear. “I was scared of coming out when I told her that, that’s why I said I would only do it when I’m happy again. I had thought I would never be happy again.” He left his hand on Harry’s face. “I’ve been happy for a while now. I’ve been so comfortable with happy, that I needed my mother’s death to remind me at one point, I wasn’t.”

“It sucks that it took so long.”

“It took longer for you,” Draco murmured. Harry just smiled and pressed a kiss to Draco’s palm. 

They allowed the comfortable silence to go on for a bit, but soon Draco started to fidget. “I know I’m hiding it incredibly well, but I am a bit frightened.”

Harry didn’t say, “You don’t have to do it right now if you’re not ready.” Because of course that went without saying. Though he did say, “I’ll be with you through it all.”

Ah, but that was stupid too, because that also went without saying in Draco’s opinion. Harry had always been there for him, throughout the years of teaching apprenticeship in Hogwarts and through studying for their Magical Academic Skills for Educators and through their first classes as professors. Harry was the first person he came out to after his friends in Eighth Year. So, Harry needn’t say he would be with Draco through everything! It was a given—Draco wanted to accuse Harry of saying it just to see Draco blush.

In the end, Draco just muttered a lame, “Thank you.” 

Then all too soon, Harry had to leave for his first class, and he lingered by Draco’s door. “Do you want to take dinner with me in my room? Or your room? Or just, somewhere without a whole school worth of children?” 

Draco knew he was wearing a dopey and besotted grin on his face, but this relationship was new, and he had daydreamed about it for years. As suave and gentlemanly as he had imagined himself in his head, sweeping Harry off his feet with charm, he really couldn’t bring himself to pretend he wasn’t stupidly happy.

“That sounds lovely,” he said. And a grin broke out on Harry’s flushed face too. Draco couldn’t help but press a kiss to Harry’s cheek before sending him on his way.

Draco loved how shy and eager Harry was about this. With sixteen years of friendship under their belt, when Harry asked Draco out a month ago. Harry had been tripping over every word, and it had taken Draco nearly five minutes to figure out Harry was asking him out. 

“Oh,” Draco had said. He had been standing by his door, seeing Harry off like they do almost every night. “Oh!”

Harry had flushed down to his neck. 

“Yes,” Draco had replied in a hurry. “Oh my god—yes.”

“Yeah?”

Draco had nodded, willing his face to stay calm.

“Cool,” Harry had said. Another word choice he picked up from the students. “I’ll—er, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven, then?” 

“Okay.”

Draco had decided he would stay and watch Harry go, and it was rewarded with Harry stopping every two steps to turn around and look at Draco until he reached the staircase. Draco had listened to Harry’s footsteps fading down the stairs and grinned at nothing. And he had laughed when he heard Harry’s jubilant shout from afar. 

Draco also remembered how later that night, as he finally stumbled back to bed, how he lay there for hours, indulging himself on playing out being Harry’s boyfriend—and berated himself for acting like a teenager. Not that it stopped Draco from doing it. 

When Draco’s daydream entered the “Marriage” chapter, he remembered how Harry always wanted children, and that was like falling into a pit of icy water. Draco tried to shake himself off the tightness, tried to stop himself from imagining his body becoming a reminder of a gender he long left in the past. Draco tried to stifle the nausea.

He could very well just forget about it. They hadn’t even been on their first date yet. Children seemed so far into the future. But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave Draco alone. What if it was a deal-breaker for Harry? Draco had loved Harry for so long, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go through a heartbreak Draco knew could be potentially ruining. 

At half-past one, Draco climbed out of his cocoon of blankets and trekked to Harry’s room a few floors below. Harry opened the door in his pajamas and messy hair. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Draco said, and wanted to jump off the castle right after the words left his mouth.

The incredulous look on Harry’s face was deserving, Draco supposed. “Is something wrong?” Harry asked, pulling Draco into his warm room.

Draco swallowed. “Do you expect me to carry your child, if this goes somewhere?”

A few seconds went by and Harry remained gaping at Draco. 

“I know some people do it,” Draco continued on. “I know they’re okay with it. But not—not me. I don’t know if I’ll ever go through a transition. Oh, you know that, yes, I forgot I told you that before. I’m happy with myself, but if that means you’ll expect me to carry our children—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“What is going on?” Harry seemed to be talking to himself. “You do not need to apologize for that! And I—Jesus, are we talking about children? I mean, I’ve thought about it, because I’ve been in lo—ngk, I mean, I always wanted kids—Yes, I know you know! But I never thought about that, Draco. I know you don’t want to. I would never ask that of you!” He sounded distressed. 

They were both panting. “Good,” Draco said. “I just want us to be on the same page.”

“I always wanted to adopt,” Harry said.

“Oh.” Draco looked to the floor. “You never said.”

“I would’ve told you someday.”

“Is today someday?”

“It can be.” Harry smiled softly at Draco, who was now feeling very flustered from being reckless and Gryffindor-like and barging in to demand answers in the middle of the night. 

“I guess it makes sense,” Draco said. “That you would want to love a child that needs it. Ah, is that insensitive of me to say?”

Harry dragged him into a crushing hug. 

***

It took Draco a few days to gather up enough courage. In the end he chose the second-year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class as his first step. While everyone had finished setting up their cauldrons and tools, Draco cleared his throat.

“I need to tell you all something.”

***

The second-years took the news with wide-eyed exhilaration, shouting encouragement and cheers to the point Draco couldn’t hear his own voice anymore. “That’s why I picked them to go first,” Draco told Harry after class, when he came over to ask how it went. “They’re a bunch of sweethearts and I need the ego-boost.” Harry laughed and kissed him.

The seventh-year Slytherin/Gryffindor class was rougher. Some students recoiled, and some of those students looked shamefaced at their own reactions, which made Draco feel better (however slight.) He was more solemn during his speech. When some Gryffindor boys started murmuring, a few Slytherin students glared at them hard enough to shut them up. Draco had to smile a bit at that.

“May we ask some questions, sir?” A Slytherin student asked. 

“Go ahead, Miss Jeffers.”

“Do you see yourself as gay, then?”

“I’ve always been attracted to men,” Draco answered calmly. “And as a man, I identify myself as gay.”

Another student raised their hand. “Was your name always Draco?”

“Yes. My mother picked it, and she had always intended to use it on a boy or a girl.”

“Did you dress differently when you were young, before—er, you know.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the student and he blushed sheepishly. 

“A good thing about wizarding fashion is that robes all generally looked the same for both male and female. I was lucky enough to not experience the hardship Muggle transgender community might face growing up.”

When no more hands were left up in the air, Draco could see it wasn’t the end of confusion for some students. But there was no use to push. Draco smiled at his class, “I’m not any more different than I was before today. You just know more about who I am now. You’ll find that, despite this new knowledge, I am still exactly the same. For example,” Draco tapped his wand and papers appeared in front of each student. “I still like to surprise you with a pop quiz.”

The groans were music to Draco’s ears.

***

The news spread to the whole school by the next day, and breakfast was an anxious ordeal. Draco had made the decision to eat in the Great Hall. Harry’s continuous presence was warm and steady next to him. Harry knew how to deal with being in the spotlight of gossip, and he pulled out all stops to distract Draco from it (i.e., some very heavy making out in the hallway outside of Draco’s room, certainly far too inappropriate at seven o’clock in the morning on a school day). Draco had been preparing for it to happen, but he was still caught off guard when it came.

When it came, Draco had been walking by himself to his next class. He turned around slowly to see who had made the remark. The student didn’t try to hide. He was standing right behind Draco. Everyone around stopped in their tracks, from what the boy had said or to see what would happen, Draco didn’t know. 

The boy sneered at Draco. His friend looked very surprised and appalled. “10 points from Gryffindor,” Draco said. He focused on the disappointment he felt, and not all the other awful feelings that were churning at the base of his throat. 

“100 points from Gryffindor,” someone said from behind. McGonagall strode past Draco and glared down at him. “Plus one-week detention with me, for your ignorance and malice, Mr. Anderson. You should know better. There are transgender students here, and I will not allow this kind of behavior in my school.”

Out of nowhere, Harry appeared next to Draco. “And Mr. Anderson will see me after class today,” he said. “As head of house, I apologize for my student’s behavior, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, throat thick. Students were gathering around them, but they were looking at Anderson, whose face took on a sickly tinge at the prospect of detention with both the Headmistress and the Boy Who Lived.

“Go to your class, now,” McGonagall said tersely. Anderson scampered off, his friend following. McGonagall turned her gaze onto the students mulling around, who all jumped and started to move.

“I am sorry, Draco,” McGonagall said when all students cleared out. 

“I’m alright, Headmistress.”

“I’ll walk with him,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand. And McGonagall’s smile showed that she would let this PDA slide just this once.

“I don’t nee—” Draco started.

“I’m not walking you to your classroom because I think you need a bodyguard,” Harry said. “I’m walking with you to your classroom because I missed you.”

Draco hated how easily his mood was improved by that.

Just before parting, Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “Harry,” Draco said, throat thick and heavy. Harry turned to him inquiringly.

“Educate him,” Draco said. He looked at Harry’s eyes. So honest and good. “Don’t punish him and let him walk away as ignorant before, Harry. Don’t do what our teachers did to us. Teach him.”

Harry cupped Draco’s face. “That was always the plan.”

Draco nodded. He blinked slowly, finally letting the tears fall. Letting them out. It didn’t take more than a few. Harry kissed away each drop, and Draco smiled through it.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Draco asked.

“Yes.” Harry looked delighted, as though they didn’t see each other every other night already. 

Draco gave an amused chuckle. Harry’s gaze lingered on him until the classroom door closed.

***

Draco was just grading his last pile of homework when someone knocked on his office door. “Sir?”

Draco looked up from his grading. It was a third-year Gryffindor. Michael Genson, standing nervously by the door, eyes very wide. An expression so familiar, so mixed with trepidation and hope that for a second Draco thought he was looking at his 13-year-old self. “May I ask you some questions?” Michael said.

Draco put down his quill and moved his grading aside. “Of course,” he smiled. “Tea?”

Michael nodded, sitting down gingerly. Draco gave him a comforting smile and Summoned his best tea leaves.

Hopefully by the end of the chat, Draco could be fortunate enough to find out who Michael truly was. 

[jungstruly]

Stupid Cupid || 01

< Previous || Next >

You’ve ought to believe that you have a curse when it comes to love after a handful of disastrous dates, but when a certain baseball captain Lucas Wong finally looked your way, you were done with having that curse. The little love God can fuck himself anyways.

Or where in,

Best friend Haechan’s playing cupid and doing cupid’s dirty work behind your back to drive away your potential lovers all because of a pinky promise the both of you shared during high school. It’s only a matter of time until he blows his cover off. Until then, the stupid little cupid’s crazy plan to stop you from falling in love will be his top priority.

Genre || Rom-com, fuff, crack, slice of life, angst in the future, Uni!AU, Baseball!AU, Band!AU

Pairings || Business student /bassist!Donghyuck x Architecture student!Reader x Engineering student/baseball captain!Lucas (A side of Nursing student!Jeno, Business student!Renjun and Engineering student!Hendery)

Word Count || 3.6k

Taglist || @lelenoir​, @nzeeten​, @emvrd​, @badwithten​, @4-sun, @bl--ankhaeji​, @sunhyuck​, @hyuckiesoftie​, @hoshitaro​, @in-my-neofeelings, @chenleschurros, @deuxvous, @renjunluvr119, @neostains, @lovelyvitamin, @melxmay, @cherry-jaemin, @eyypeach, @shotoshortcake, @apollohyucks, @flirtyhyuck, @moonmystv, @princessaecha, @theprincessofuwus, @seungminh0, @dogghawaii3, @shyshybabyy, @jaeveil, @immasoftiee, can’t tag @dlndreamie & @mimika-28 for some odd reason :<

@scissorhands1617 & @neowrld thank you so much for being the best beta reader I could ask for!

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist!

PART ONE

   “I think we need to call an ambulance.” 

Jeno was quick to his feet. He even pushed Renjun off of his seat just so he could get out of the cafe’s booth. Within a few seconds, the nursing student was beside Haechan, trying to get his pulse. You and Renjun shared a nervous look as he tried to look for his phone, only to be startled by a loud laugh.

“Hyuck,” you gasped when Jeno gave the unconscious boy in your arms a loud forehead flick. “You’re not tricking anyone here buddy.”

All three pairs of eyes were on Donghyuck before his shoulder shook with laughter. Huffing in annoyance, you inched your face closer to his to get a better look. His eyes finally fluttered open. A huge grin was plastered on his lips. 

Donghyuck’s laughter died down the moment he saw how close you were to him. He finally smiled softly, admiring your features up close. You were friends with him for too long, far too long to the point of memorizing each other’s curves, bumps and scratches. Donghyuck couldn’t help but to crane his head up just to get a better view of your face. He finds it amazing how he still gets mesmerized by your beauty each passing day. 

“Gotcha,” You felt his fingers pinched your nose. Rolling your eyes, you pushed him off of you before scooting away from him.

“You’re an asshole. You know that?” You scowled, completely annoyed by his crazy antics. 

He leaned back on his seat, looking at you with a playful grin. “That I am aware of. Thank you for reminding me.”

Donghyuck’s remark only made you groan in irritation. You gave him a final glare as you leaned on the window away from him. Renjun only chuckled in amusement the moment he saw him leaned his head on your shoulder, standing up to let Jeno back to his seat.

“Whipped nation rise.”

“Shut up or I won’t recheck your homework.”

Jeno shook his head. His heart rate went back to normal. He removed his glasses to wipe the dirt off, staring outside the window to let his eyes rest. It was quite hard to recognize people without his prescription glasses but he was a hundred percent sure that someone waved at him outside. Jeno quickly wore his glasses again. He waved excitedly to the boy outside, obviously forgetting about your previous conversation.

“Hey Hyuck, isn’t that Lucas Wong who beat your ass last training?” The boy outside was still waving with such enthusiasm as if he saw an old friend. 

Your head whipped to your side, only to widen your eyes as you do a double take. It was indeed a small world. What are the odds of your happy crush being acquaintances with one of your best friends? Too little but the universe seemed to be on your side. You tried to sit back straightly, hands flying to your hair in an attempt to brush it back to look presentable. You can’t help but to let your eyes linger on the tall and handsome guy. His smile was charming and infectious that it made you unconsciously mirror him. Your eyes caught the dark blue polo that he was wearing, acknowledging him as a part of the Engineering department.

You froze right there and then when his eyes met yours. You felt like you were about to explode because of the unexpected turn of events. Not wanting to be awkward, you gave him a shy smile. 

Oh dear, you felt like you were going to pass out when you saw him grin at you. His friends beside him saw what was happening so they playfully pushed him, teasing him as they walked towards the gate which was located beside Mama Lee’s cafe. You were right. Your happy crush was hella cute now that you’ve seen him just a few feet away from you. His large eyes and ears along with his charming smile and his well defined built burned at the back of your brain.

“I think he just waved hi to,” Jeno’s friendly smile didn’t falter just one bit as he turned back to all of you, only to be greeted by Donghyuck’s wide eyes that were shooting daggers at him. “Me.” 

Jeno giggled nervously, finally realizing the gravity of his actions. Renjun’s lips turned into a thin line, fighting his smile but he eventually gave up as he realized that his friend’s genuine friendliness can be a flaw. 

Jeno’s eyes caught a glimpse of your flustered state before making eye contact again with Donghyuck. “Oops.”

Donghyuck knew that his plan failed the moment Jeno mentioned Lucas’ name. Not wanting to waste his energy on his friend’s carelessness, he decided to roll with it. He hadn’t that much of a choice now, had he? Just like that, cupid Hyuck was back in action.

“Lucas Wong huh,” you whispered with a smile before facing Hyuck and punching his shoulder which earned a yelp from him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew him?”

“You didn’t ask?” He rubbed his shoulder.  “Besides, I’m not that quite fond of him. I heard a bunch of rumors and-”

You punched his arm again before you reached out and gave Jeno the same punch.

His hand immediately went to his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“Liars! You told me that the two of you aren’t going to be part of the baseball team this year!” Your eyes squinted at Renjun, pointing at him accusingly who was bringing his papers out from his bag. “Don’t tell me you know about this Injun?”

If there was something that Renjun acquired from being a part of the university’s debate team, it’ll be his quick thinking skill and his impeccable power of persuasion. Without batting an eyelash as he gets busy with his paperworks, he answered. “No clue. Don’t know this Lucas guy and I don’t really care.”

He was lying. Of course he knew about Lucas because Donghyuck was always ranting about him almost everyday. Renjun found it hilarious how Donghyuck managed to find something to nitpick on Lucas. The guy was actually decent if you were to ask him. He used to train with Lucas in debate workshops during the summer break before he decided to quit. He joined the baseball varsity team, only to be the captain a year after. 

“Good,” whipping your phone out, you decided to search for Lucas on instagram. “You guys will die if I find out that you’ve been lying to my face.”

Renjun shook his head in disbelief, sliding his homework to Donghyuck. “When did we ever lie to you Y.N?”

“Just now. “You deadpanned.” 

Donghyuck peered to your phone as he slid back Renjun’s paper after he corrected some numbers. Just what he expected, you were already scrolling through Lucas’ instagram profile with a smile on your lips. He cleared his throat before snatching your phone.

“I heard a lot of things about this guy.” He tried to start again, stretching his arm to push the phone away from your reach, “I heard he’s a player.”

Throughout the past three years, Donghyuck has devised three easy steps. This was the foolproof plan which drove away the boys who tried to make a move on you. Tested and proven to be successful, he believed he mastered this art. 

Step one: I heard a rumor...

Of course Donghyuck went around to do a small background check on this guy the moment you told him. He was prepared.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up to grab your phone from him. “You always say that to every guy I like. I know what you’re doing.”

“I do?” Donghyuck chuckled in disbelief as he hid your phone behind his back. The apron was still tied to his waist.

“You do,” Jeno and Renjun answered in monotone, now preoccupied with their homeworks and review notes for their next class this afternoon to actually watch both of you play around. The boy beside you mumbled profanities under his breath before he held a finger in front of you, making you stop.

“He doesn’t do relationships. He’s down for a fling but once he feels that you’re starting to fall in love for real. Oh boy, he’ll leave you right away.” Donghyuck’s words didn’t faze your small crush on Lucas. Besides, what are rumors but baseless allegations, right? But there’s something in the way your best friend told you that made you doubt your image of Lucas.

Donghyuck’s eyes glinted in mischief the moment he saw you in deep thought, urging him to continue the first step of his plan. “Trust me, he used to date my classmate from international business agreements class. Poor her, bawling her eyes as we take the exam. They lasted for a month Y.N, a month!”

He was telling the truth though. Lucas used to date some of your batchmates. Donghyuck was just telling you the rumors that he heard circulating the university. That’s not being an asshole right? Besides, he just wanted to warn his best friend— at least that’s what he thought.

You slumped on your seat, glancing at the clock before mumbling under your breath. “Just give me back my phone please. It’s almost time for class.”

Donghyuck smiled in triumph as he returned your phone, ruffling your hair. “It’s near our building. Renjun and I will walk you there. Hm?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.” You chuckled the moment Donghyuck’s apron caught your eye. “Do you really plan to go to class with an apron Hyuckie? C’mere,” 

He happily obliged as he showed you his back. His hand tightened his maroon necktie before wearing his black suit jacket once the apron was off. Renjun fixed his maroon necktie as well. His brows knitted in confusion as he tried to redo his answer on the paper. He finally huffed, standing up as he grabbed his black suit jacket. He stretched for a while. 

Jeno on the other hand neatly packed his study materials back to his Herschel backpack, straightening his white uniform as he finally got out of his seat.

You checked your reflection in the mirror as the four of you went to the counter to bid Mama Lee goodbye. Renjun was too fixated with his homework to actually notice his rolled up sleeve. You decided to fix it for him.

Donghyuck repetitively rang the counter bell. “Ma, we’re going already.”

Mama Lee wiped her hands on a hand towel as she got out of the kitchen. She groaned at his son who was playing around. “Oh stop it, will you?”

Her son walked beside her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Mama Lee couldn’t help but grin as Donghyuck gave her a big fat kiss on the cheek. If there’s one thing that you love about Donghyuck despite being a stubborn jerk, it was his loving and caring ass. He became someone you can lean on, a shoulder for you to cry on and a hand that holds your hand wherever you go. Donghyuck felt like home to you.

“Anyways,” Mama Lee hugged her son back. They both share the same eyes and smile, warm like the sun. “I’ll be going home early this Friday. I know you have the usual baseball practice ‘till 9pm just don’t stay out too late okay?”

Your hand let go of Renjun’s white sleeves as you stare at them in disbelief. “You have baseball practice every Friday?”

“No,” Donghyuck shook his head in panic, looking at his mother’s eyes.  “Ma, I think you’re confused. Renjun is the one who has a 9pm debate practice every Friday. Not me,”

“Oh dear, really?” The old lady looked taken aback. “But you and Jeno-”

“Coach has cancelled all our practices. Dunno when we’ll start training again.” Jeno decided to come up with an alibi just to make it up to Donghyuck. His heartbeat quickened but only to breathe a sigh of relief once Mama Lee chuckled.

“I must be getting old. Now,” she patted Donghyuck’s cheek before she pushed him out of the counter, “off to your class little rascal.”

You giggled at the nickname, shooting her a flying kiss as the four of you walked out of the door. “Thank you for the food Mama Lee!” 

“A pleasure dearie! Say hello to your mom for me!” 

A content smile was plastered on your lips, walking to your next class. Jeno waved goodbye before he crossed the street since the nursing building was on the other side of the campus, leaving you in the middle of the two business students. 

“Race to that tree. Loser buys everyone ice cream later!” You were about to open your mouth to scold Renjun and his childish antics but he went running away already. You saw Donghyuck shook his head beside you.

“What are we, kids?” He snickered in disgust before he bolted, in an attempt to catch up with Renjun. “Foul! You lil shit, that’s a head start!”    

You sprinted towards the tree while laughing. For that moment, you forgot about Lucas and how something was fishy about Jeno and Donghyuck’s baseball training schedule. You wanted to ask them about their training just to, you know, get a glimpse of Lucas Wong. Come on, it’s just a stupid little crush. It’s not like you’re going to catch his eye or something.

* * *

The whole week was already over before you knew it. Your tired heavy legs managed to get you to Mama Lee’s cafe alone. Renjun had his usual debate training while Jeno said that he would be studying with his classmates in the nearby McDonalds. Donghyuck on the other hand, told you that he would be on duty right now so he couldn’t hang out at your house tonight. He said that he would be working because he promised his mom that he would take over. So it was a surprise when you saw Mama Lee’s familiar back closing the store with no trace of Donghyuck.

“Mama Lee?” 

Her head turned to you, greeting you with a smile before she pulled you into an embrace. You curiously looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Hyuckie? He told me that he’ll be working tonight’s shift.”     

She waved her hand in front of you whilst laughing. “Donghyuck, that little rascal really is something else. It turns out, I was right all along.”

“Right about what?”

“Him and Jeno having baseball training!” Mama Lee squealed as she put the store keys inside her bag. “He texted me that he was joking before. That boy really made me question my memory. Jeno even played along. What are they up…”

The fact that they have been lying to your face that entire time made you annoyed. You hated it. The fact that they hid and didn’t even tell you that they got in the baseball team made you more pissed. With a tight smile, you waved goodbye to Mama Lee.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you stopped in your tracks as she handed you Donghyuck’s neon green sports bottle. “Be a dear and give this to Hyuck. He always seems to forget his bottle every training.”  

Your fatigue wore off the moment you started marching angrily towards the baseball field. It was quite a walk but you could care less. Your fist tightly clenched on the bottle. The sun was starting to set. The large LED lights started to illuminate the wide baseball field, making it easier to find your two friends.

You were very much on time. The whole baseball team was hanging out on the bleachers. Donghyuck’s last name printed behind his back in dark bold letters along with his jersey number 66. The white striped baseball uniform made his lean legs more elongated. His body shook in laughter as he laughed along with his teammates. Jeno was nowhere to be found as you stormed towards them.

“Hey sixty-six!” You shouted at the top of your lungs, just a few feet away from them. Donghyuck has never whipped his head that fast. He gulped before chuckling nervously  as you came face to face with him. “Your mom told me to give this to you.” 

Out of anger, you shove his water bottle to his chest. Donghyuck staggered backwards, smiling sheepishly. The whole baseball team wolf whistled, obviously enjoying the whole drama unfolding right before their eyes. 

“Hello Y.N!” Mark Lee, who you often see in Donghyuck’s band practice because he plays the electric guitar waved at you excitedly. Not knowing what was happening since he just got there, Mark tried to walk towards you only to be dragged by his teammate to the bleachers who shot the both of you an apologetic look.

“Look I’m sorry, okay?” Donghyuck tried to reach out to you but you avoided his hands as if they were the plague. He pouted, trying to hug you. 

“Sorry your ass,” you swatted his hands away. “You and Jeno have been keeping a lot of things from me. The fact that I get to know the truth through other people makes me so mad. You know how pathetic that feels?” 

“I know, I know and I’m really sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.” Donghyuck gave you a sincere look as he stood in front of you. You crossed your arms. He found you really cute, especially when you’re angry. Donghyuck gave you a charming smile only to last for a while before you rolled your eyes at him, walking towards the bleachers where his teammates are eagerly watching the both of you. 

Donghyuck tugged your canvas bag, making you turn to him. “What can I do to make it up to you then?” 

You slowly smiled. “No more lying and,”

“And?” He urged you to continue. “Say it and I’ll do it Y.N. You have my word.”

“I get to watch your training and official matches!” You squealed, anger subsiding as you finally have the upper hand.

A groan left his mouth as he followed you to the bleachers. “Anything but that!”

Your eyes stared directly at him from where you were seated. Donghyuck squirmed in front of you. You leaned closer to him. His familiar cologne filled your senses. “Does Mark Lee know?”

“Know what?” He whispered, completely intrigued.

“That you were the one who broke the strings of his precious electric guitar last band prac-”

“Okay! Geez, okay!” Donghyuck’s sudden outburst gathered the whole team’s attention. Even Mark, who made eye contact with him. He gave everyone a sheepish smile before facing your smirking face. “You won this time Y.N”

“It’s called a hustle sweetie. I learned it from you.” You gave him a teasing kissy face in which he playfully rolled his eyes at. “Wait, where’s Jeno?”

Donghyuck jogged towards his teammates inside the field, leaving you with his sports bottle. “He went with uh, the captain to grab the baseball bats and gloves from the sports room. Gotta go!”

You nodded, making yourself comfortable in your seat. It was night time already. If it wasn’t for the field’s LED lights, you won’t be able to figure out who’s who inside the field. They were starting their usual warm up routine when you felt a warm hand tapping your shoulder.

“Excuse me,” you looked up, smiling at the stranger. He was wearing a dark blue polo from the engineering department. He ran his hand through his black hair before grinning at you. You must admit, this guy has a cute smile. 

“Is this seat taken?” His hand pointed to the seat beside you. “Are you taken? ‘Cause my friend is not taken yet.”

“By you,” The guy mumbled under his breath quietly. 

You chuckled in amusement, only getting the first part because he was talking so fast. His sudden request made you stare at him in fascination. There was no people sitting in the bleachers except you. Why would he even want to sit right beside you? Not wanting to be rude, you answered him with a smile. “You can sit beside me if you want. I’m watching my friends’ training.”

“Me too!” The raven haired boy sat beside you. “I’m Hendery by the way.”

“Y.N” You answered as your eyes watched Jeno jogging back to his teammates. “So Hendery, who are you with?”

He squinted his eyes, searching for his friend. “I don’t think he’s there yet but he’s jersey number one. How about you?”

“Number sixty-six and twenty-three.” You beamed proudly at him. 

Hendery pointed at someone in front with a grin. “Oh here he is!”    

Your mouth turned dry as you came face to face with the one and only, Lucas fucking Wong. You knew that you were bound to meet again just not this sooner. He was busy tucking his shirt in his white baseball trousers to actually notice that his friend had company.

“Can you hold on to my watch for awhile?” Lucas looked up, throwing his Rolex to Hendery beside you. He shyly smiled as he saw you. “Hi.”

You breathed out, cursing yourself for not dressing up more nicely. “Hi.”

Hendery caught his friend’s watch. Lucas chuckled to himself, scratching his nape in a shy manner. “I remember you. You’re...” 

Everything happened so fast. You didn’t get to hear what Lucas was saying when the ball went flying to your face. Out of reflex, you ducked but that didn’t save you from catastrophe. Your whole body lost balance as you slid down the metal bleachers. It all happened so fast that Hendery was too late to grab you from falling down. 

The next thing you knew, the whole baseball team hovered above you as your eyes slowly fluttered opened. The fall didn’t make your head spin. It was Lucas’ intoxicating cologne along with his large hands shaking your shoulders lightly. His face was just inches away from you as he called out your name. Whoever threw that ball was both a blessing and a curse.

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@nct-writers​

[jamilelucato]

1.Beautiful [hog. heathers]

Summary: This story is based on Heathers, the musical. It’s set in Hogwarts, back in the last year Tom Riddle studied there. Y/N is a Ravenclaw student.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x reader (later on)

Heathers Series || Musical Hogwarts List A/N: first chapter! Here you get a vision of this world I built but soon Tom will make an appearance. Hope you enjoy it! If you wanna be tagged, ask!

Tag List: @just-an-outstanding-auror​ @starcrossedyanderes​ @doctorriddle​ @cchris-a​

---

September 1st, 1943:

Dear diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I think that there’s good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I’ve known all my life, and I ask myself—what happened?

Another year back at Hogwarts. Your parents were excited — you, not so much. Not that the school wasn’t great, but you just couldn’t take the other students anymore.

Your family was pureblood and that generally meant some sort of status. Not anymore — the most popular kids in Hogwarts were either half-bloods or muggle-borns, so you and some fellow friends that were also purebloods were generally bullied. They saw you as potential threats, and you couldn’t understand why. It was not like purebloods wanted to see muggle-borns dead; most of you just didn’t want to mix the blood. 

One step inside the train and the gossip started:

“Freak!”

“Slut!” 

“Burnout!” 

“Bug-eyes!” 

You sighed on your way to finding an empty space to sit. You were so tiny, happy and shiny; playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping; baking cookies, eating paste.

You looked inside one compartment and weren’t welcomed.

“Bull-dyke, get out!” screamed a large boy at you.

Well, diary, you continued later when you finally found a place to sit, then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome.

“Oh, sorry!” you said the boy before leaving his cabin.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon. A job will be paradise if I���m not dead by June!

You were almost reaching the end of the train, and you still couldn’t find an empty place.

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful; I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again.

We can be beautiful...

There were fewer students as you were walking, but still, none seemed so happy with the idea of sitting with you.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from the Charms Specialization Center in France. Wake from this coma, take my diploma, then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés...

“Watch it!” shouted a tall blonde boy that had bumped into you. You didn’t even notice, but he was angry, and, as a revenge, he made you drop your diary. “Ooooops,” he laughed.

You looked at the boy. It was Ram Sweeney. Third-year as Gryffindor’s beater and seventh year of smacking kids, and being a huge... “Dick,” you whispered, suddenly angry for having to get the diary from the floor.

“What did you say to me, skank?”

Shit, he listened. “Aah, nothing!” you quickly got out of the way.

You know, diary, we were kind before; we can be kind once more. We can be beautiful...

An empty cabin at last! You sat down as fast as you could, scared it could disappear. A girl walked in just after you, and, for a moment, you were frightened.

“Hey, Myrtle!”

Myrtle was the only one you could call your friend at that place. Both of you were from Ravenclaw and had a lot of fun together, even though you two had some different perspectives on life.

“Hey,” she smiled, sitting next to you.

The train trip wasn’t much fun, but after Myrtle and you found a place to sit — and nobody tried to take you two out —, things were more peaceful.

School, on the other hand, was the same nightmare as always.

Professor Dippet said a couple of nice words before the start of the first feast, kind words about how to treat each other. For a second, it seemed as if everybody listened and were committed to obeying. But as said, it didn’t last the whole second. When the Headmaster finished his speech, people were back at their normal mean behaviour.

Days passed like a blur, or at least, you pretend that was how it went. You tried not to focus on the offensive words the students called you and Myrtle, but sometimes it was just too much.

“We on for book night?” asked Myrtle while leaving the Great Hall and walking towards the dorms.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to be with them,” you replied, smiling slightly. Myrtle had a way to trick the librarian that you never managed to have.

“Got us the ‘The Princess Bride’,” she smirked, making you giggle.

“Ho-ho-ho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending” Myrtle crossed her arms and squeezed herself as if she had been hugged by a prince.

So different from you, but yet, the only friend you had.

“Myrtle Crybaby! Hoow!” Kurt Kelly screamed, knocking Myrtle to the ground.

Kurt Kelly was the famous Chaser from Slytherin. The smartest guy on the team, in your opinion, but that was like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! How dare you?!” you barked at him, helping Myrtle to get up. She was lived red, ashamed of the situation.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Kurt smirked in a mean way, challenging you.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future human house-elf,” you hoped your face was as severe and furious as you were inside.

Kurt waited for you to end your speech before confidently pointing something on your face. “You have a zit right there,” he said and laughed, followed by all the other kids around you.

November 13rd, 1943:

Dear diary, why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do they act like such creeps?

Why…

You looked around the room, making sure everybody was already asleep. Myrtle was even snoring, which made you giggle in the dark.

Writing a diary was a private thing for you, but there weren’t many ways to be in private in Hogwarts.

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!

***

The next day promised to be as tedious as the day before, but something was different. At first, you thought it was just the change of seasons — the cold air of Winter. But it wasn’t all that.

Classes were nice. You liked your Professors, at least when they were teaching, they were neat.

You ate lunch at the Great Hall at the Ravenclaw table, just like all the days before. But that feeling in your stomach of something unusual was still there.

“Going to the toilet, okay?” you told Myrtle before leaving. In fact, there was nothing you wanted to do there except splash water in your face and see if things went back to normal.

That was when the Heathers walked in, and you hurried to close yourself behind a door, too terrified to face them.

The Heathers was a group of girls that floated above it all.

Heather McNamara was the hot witch form Hufflepuff. Her dad is loaded— one of the wizards with more money, but he was a muggle-born, so your family usually didn’t talk about him.

Heather Duke was the head girl from Slytherin, with no discernible personality, but blessed with an incredible body.

And Heather Chandler, the Almighty. She was a mythic bitch from Gryffindor and had everyone at her feet.

They’re solid Teflon—never bothered, never harassed.

I would give anything to be like that, you thought, lamenting in the toilet.

You sit in quiet, listening to their conversation. One of the girls rushed to the toilet, and you heard her vomit.

“Grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so ‘37,” said one of the Heathers, and based on her tone — such leaderlike— you guessed that was Chandler.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather,” the other Heather suggested.

The one vomiting exhaled loudly before answering. “Yeah, Heather. Maybe I should.”

“Ah, Heather and Heather” oh shit, you gasped, recognizing that voice immediately, “...and Heather. Perhaps you didn’t notice the time with all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

That bossy voice belonged to Ms Fleming, the second in command when the Headmaster wasn’t around, and also identified as the Herbology Professor. And knowing her, she was about to punish the girls.

Noticing you kept your diary in hands, you took a piece of paper out and scribbled on it.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her,” H. Chandler told the Professor.

“Not without a hall pass, you’re not,” you could feel Ms Fleming was smiling even though you couldn’t see her. “Week’s detention.”

Done!, you thought before rushing out of the toilet.

“Um, actually, Professor Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass. Christmas committee,” you informed, getting out of the toilet, keeping a straight face and handing her the paper.

Professor Fleming took her time to analyze the piece of paper, and you held your breath until she finally returned it to you.

“I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

Heather Chandler was staring at you like you were an abnormal animal she had just discovered, but you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”

“Uh... y/N y/L/N,” you fastly replied. “I crave a boon.”

H. Chandler raised a brow at you as if you made no sense. “What boon?”

“Um, let me sit at your table at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary,” Heather remained silent, so you continued, “if people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone...”

The first Heather to laugh was Chandler, of course, but it didn’t take more than a second for the other two to follow. It was as if they needed Chandler’s permission to laugh.

“Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes,” you added, hoping this would change their view.

Heather Duke widened her eyes, raising her eyebrows at an abnormal height. “How about prescriptions?”

“Shut up, Heather,” H. Chandler’s reprehension came quickly.

“Sorry, Heather,” H. Duke ducked, almost embarrassed.

The three Heathers exchanged a look, planning something. You shivered — your destiny was in their hands, but, unfortunately, that rarely meant a promising one.

Chandler stepped forward, looking you up and down.

“For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure.”

“And you have a symmetrical face,” added Heather McNamara, holding your face with one hand. “If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I’d have matching halves. That’s very important.”

Heather Duke frowned her brow.

“Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds,” she was one to talk — always vomiting what she ate.

Heather Chandler pulled the other Heathers away, pulling you by the hand. “And ya know? This could be beautiful,” she seemed to investigate what was lacking on your face. “Mascara, maybe some lip gloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

McNamara agreed with a smile, but Duke was pretending not to care. She never liked it when Chandler played the helper.

“Okay?” the Gryffindor asked before using the brush on you.

“Okay!” you agreed, a bit too loud.

Heather Chandler took you by the hand out of the bathroom and towards the Gryffindor Tower, with McNamara and Duke following behind. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop. It was one of your biggest dreams to be with the Heathers, and there you were, walking into Chandler’s room, unable to stop smiling.

She took a long time with your hair — which you didn’t even know needed a makeover. McNamara had the job of applying makeup, and she did it happily.

Heather Duke, however, wasn’t so thrilled to have to get you new uniforms.

“Oh, come on, Heather, just ask the boys — they’ll steal it for you,” said Chandler, rolling her eyes at her best friend.

“Fine,” she sighed before leaving.

According to them, there were more than just the traditional style of uniform, and they’d have lent theirs to you, but since you were a Ravenclaw, they had nothing in your house colour.

Heather Duke appeared half an hour later with the new uniform — all in blue, but so much more fashionable than the one you always used.

You didn’t bother asking from who she stole because that wasn’t the first wrong thing you were doing that day. The first thing was skipping the rest of the classes just to get the proper look.

***

“I reckon we’re ready,” said Heather Chandler, but she didn’t let you look yourself in the mirror. She said it would jinks it. “Now, let’s go. People need to know the new you.”

The new you. They didn’t even know the old you.

As soon as you stepped in the corridors, the whispered started, and this time, they weren’t making fun of you.

“Who’s that with Heather?” you heard someone ask.

The feeling of leaving everyone speechless was something you had never felt before and yet, so good. You and the Heathers stopped at the Courtyard — part of Chandler’s plan of introducing you.

“Y/N?!” you heard from behind and turned only to see Myrtle, holding her book with both hands and her mouth wide open.

She didn’t dare come closer to the Heathers so you could only wave at your friend. She didn’t look bothered, however. She knew once at the dorms, you’d tell her everything.

“You know, we should have found a Ravenclaw before,” said Heather Chandler. “It was the house missing from our group.”

“We were waiting for a girl named Heather though,” remembered the Slytherin Heather.

“Well, yes, but now we’re in our last year. Nobody new is ever coming, Heather,” said Chandler, practically ending the discussion so Duke could say nothing else.

You had never been so close to the Heathers before, so you had no way of knowing, but even though the three of them were at the top of the pyramid, it was H. Chandler who stood at the very top. You’d have to be careful if you wanted to be amongst them more often.

After all, you were a Heather now.

November 14th, 1943:

Dear diary, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels lookin’ like hell on wheels... My God, it’s beautiful! I might be beautiful...

Oh, diary... It’s a beautiful frickin’ day!