#it has two chapters but please enjoy this

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part seven)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, pedro (srry he's a big part of this chapter)

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: hi everyone! I literally just posted saying idk when I would update again but I decided to look through what I had written for this part and give it to y'all. she's a short one but it's cute. somewhat proof read lol. enjoy <3

part seven: closing chapters

You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and you already missed the simplicity of being with Hugh. Los Angeles was reality and it was an ugly one. All of the responsibilities came tumbling down on you and you felt like you were stuck in an inescapable maze. As much as you wanted to stay hidden, tucked under Hugh’s protective arm forever, you had to be an adult about this. You needed to stop ignoring Ashley and talk things out with her. You also needed to talk to Pedro and close that chapter that had been left wide open. Your personal life couldn’t have picked a worse time to get interesting. Tour started in two weeks, leaving very little time to tie all loose ends before traveling the world.

When you landed this morning, you ate a quick breakfast from a small cafe and went straight to rehearsals. They ran longer today to make up for the few days you were gone but you didn’t mind. Being on stage and performing the music you worked so hard on always upped your mood, even if you were unbelievably tired at the end of the day. At the moment, you were laying in bed, trying your best to stay awake while you waited for Hugh to call. He texted you a few hours earlier saying he spent the day with his kids and talked to them about the relationship you two had built over the questionable short period of time. He didn’t go into any further detail but promised to call as soon as he got home and settled. It was a little past 10pm, making it 1am in New York. Just as you were beginning to lose hope in Hugh’s late night call, your phone lit up with Hugh’s contact. 

“Hi Hugh.” You say sweetly into the speaker, sleepiness evident in your voice. “Hi, baby. Were you sleeping?” The deep accent you adored so much rumbled through the phone. “No, I was just laying down. How are you? How was your day?” As you speak, you move to sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “My day was good. It was nice to spend some time with the kids and catch up. We did a puzzle and talked, it was a nice day. How was your day, baby?” 

“It was good, busy. Basically hopped off the plan straight into rehearsals.” You let out an airy laugh. “I’m sorry sweet girl, I should let you get some sleep.” His voice trails off at the end and you know he genuinely feels bad for calling so late. “No, no…it’s fine. I want to talk to you. I don’t start as early tomorrow so I have some time to sleep in.” You assure him. “Are you sure baby? We can always talk tomorrow.” “I’m sure.” You let out a small yawn and Hugh chuckles.  “Hm, if you say so.” 

“Whatever..” You say playfully. The line goes quiet for a moment, neither of you speaking. “So uh…you told your kids about us?” 

You wanted to ease into asking but you were dying to know. Thay had been the number one reason you’d been so hesitant to take on a relationship with Hugh and you know their opinion means something to him too. If they didn’t approve or had any distaste towards your pairing, you weren’t sure if you could be with Hugh without having a heavy layer of guilt strapped to your heart. 

“Oh yea, I told them.” 

His response makes your heart skip a beat. Hugh was never one to beat around the bush but he was dragging this out and it scared you. 

“And what did they say?” 

Hugh takes a sharp breath in and your heart falls into your stomach. They don’t approve, you can sense the words about to tumble out of his mouth. 

“They’re fine with it.” 

His short answers are beginning to irritate you a little bit. You needed to know every detail of their conversation, you wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. 

“Hugh, can you please just tell me everything? Your lack of words is driving me insane.” You draw out the end of the last word, showing him just how frustrated you are. 

“I’m sorry baby, there's not much to tell. My daughter is a fan and begged me to introduce you two and um…well my son…he uh..this is so fucking awkward…” He huffs. “What did he say? I’m sure it can’t be that bad if they’re fine with everything right? Just spit it out, I can take it.” He sighs. “My son has a crush on you.” 

“Oh!” You can feel your body heat up underneath your duvet. “That uh…that is kinda awkward. What did he say about us being together then?” 

“He said something about how he doesn't understand how I was able to ‘bag a baddie’ like you, whatever that means.” You laugh at that. “He’s not mad, just jealous I guess. I’m really gonna have to keep an eye out for him when you meet them. I trust him, he’s my son, but I’m not gonna stand for his eyes wandering on my girl.”

You laugh again, partially because of his words and partially because of how wild this entire conversation is. 

“Well I’d love to meet your daughter and she’s free to come to any show she wants, I'll get her in. Same goes for your son as well, if that’s okay with you. I don’t want you to get too jealous and cause a fight between you two.” You giggle through the last few words. 

“Yea yea, we’ll see.” 

The line goes quiet again, a comfortable silence. 

“Hugh, I have a question.” “Shoot baby.” You can hear the sleepiness starting to appear in his voice. “I was wondering if you’d be okay with me going to talk to Pedro soon?” You hear rustling on his end before he speaks again. “Why do you want to do that?” There’s a slight hint of anger in his tone but you know it’s not towards you but towards how Pedro treated you. “I really need to talk things out with him. As much as I'm over him, there’s still a little part of me that needs closure, that needs to ask questions. I want this part of my life to be done but I need to have it properly sealed off.” “Could you wait until I’m back in town? I trust you but I don’t trust him one bit.” You smile at his protectiveness. “I really want to fix everything before the tour starts. I need to talk to Ashley too and the sooner I can get over this, the sooner I can put all my focus on the tour and you. So unless you’re planning on being back in town in a week, I need to do this alone. Is that okay?” He sighs and takes a moment. “Of course that’s fine baby. Just keep me updated on everything that happens.” “I will.” The two of you talk for 20 more minutes before you both call it a night, ending the call with “I love you”. 

The next morning, you immediately texted Hugh before rolling out of bed and starting your day. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. You opted for a lazy breakfast, too tired to do anything else. You popped a bagel into the toaster and fried an egg, laying a slice of cheese on top to melt. You made your little bagel breakfast sandwich and washed a few berries to go with it. 

While you ate, you scrolled through your phone. Hugh hasn't texted you back yet but it didn't surprise you. He was up late and with his age, he needed his sleep. You smiled to yourself as you thought about how peaceful he looks while he’s deep in sleep. While scrolling through instagram, you get an ad for Gladiator II. Your ex’s stupid hot face was plastered on your phone. You sighed and pulled up his contact. You were grateful you deleted the text thread you once had, you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing all of the previous sweet words he used to send you. 

You: hey p, it’s y/n. I was wondering if we could meet up soon and talk? no pressure :) 

Once you hit send, you locked your phone and slid it across your kitchen table. Your phone buzzed a few seconds later and your heart started beating faster…there’s no way he could have already responded. You reached for your phone, having to lift out of your chair slightly. When your phone unlocks, your heart slows down, it’s just Hugh. 

You texted back and forth with Hugh all morning until you pulled up to the Kia Forum. Tour was officially a week away from starting which meant you got to rehearse in the venue that would be starting the tour off. You’d been in the Forum a few times for various concerts but being here for your own performance was a different animal. Knowing that this place was sold out for you was wild. You caught up with all of your dancers, them sharing the same excitement. The energy in the building was electric. The crew was excited to get their creations in full and everyone was just happy to finally be starting. 

With being in a new space, the start of rehearsal was a bit slow. Lights, sounds, and various other things had to be adjusted now that everything was in full. You didn’t mind though. It gives you a chance to slow down and appreciate how far you’ve come. It was lunchtime and you decided to hide away in your dressing room to eat. A few people offered you to come with them but you really needed a moment to yourself. You were overwhelmed but in a good way. You grabbed some food from the catering someone had ordered, you made a note to yourself to find out who it was and thank them. 

Once you got to your dressing room, you pulled your phone out of your purse and scrolled through your notification log. Hugh’s messages were the first thing you saw. You were responding to everything he had sent when another message popped up at the top of your phone. 

pedro: hey y/n. I’m free today if you wanna swing by sometime? 

You pulled up to the familiar gates and typed in the code that was still etched in your brain. Once you parked your car in the semi circle driveway, you texted Pedro that you were here before taking a deep breath and stepping out of your car. It always looked out of place next to the large home, even more now that you didn’t belong here the way you once had. One of the brown French style doors open just as you're walking up the three concrete steps that lead to the entrance. You look up from your shoes. Locking eyes with Pedro, you feel your heart tense up. The pain of losing the man you had felt so deeply for re-entered your body involuntarily. He was wearing his typical casual attire: a pair of black cotton shorts, his beloved yellow lakers tee, and a pair of long black socks. The slight gray in his hair had begun to spread, the sides of his beard almost losing all color. He looked as handsome as ever. He held the door open with one arm, leaning slightly. A small smile rested on his face and his brown puppy dog eyes gave you the same feeling they had when you had first met him. 

“Hi y/n.” His voice sounded almost hesitant. “Hi P…Thanks for having me.” He backs up to let you inside. You slip your shoes off, like you had many times before. “No problem. I’m kinda surprised you wanted to talk to me, thought you would’ve been done with me after…well you know.” You don’t answer, instead you walk towards his living room and plop yourself down in the spot you had claimed many months ago, Pedro taking his own claimed spot not too far from yours. “It’s weird seeing you there again…missed seeing you here.” You sigh. “Pedro…don’t say that.” “Why not?” “You don’t get to miss me when you’re the one that left me. You hurt me P. Not the other way around.” He scoffs. “Sure didn’t seem too hurt to me. You moved on just fine.” “Can you stop being an asshole for two fucking seconds?” 

You wanted to come into this with patience and maturity but Pedro was making that impossible. He was being completely insufferable and had been since the moment he broke up with you, like it was somehow your fault. You missed the kind Pedro, the one you had fallen for. 

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? It took a month before you fell into someone else's arms, no let me clarify, my friend’s arms.” You could tell he was trying to get under your skin and you didn’t know where he gained this hatred for you. His voice was sour, a scowl present on his face. 

“God Pedro…” You sigh in anger. “Yes I invited him to the album party but he was there for me when you sat there and yelled- no embarrassed me at my own event. You don’t get to play victim in this situation. We weren’t together and hadn’t been together for weeks by the time I met him.” You could tell you were beginning to lose control over your emotions. The anger and pain both battled reaching for your throat begging to take control over your next words. 

His eyes go soft as he starts to speak again. “Y/n…I’m sorry about that, I was drunk and I-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know what? Fuck you Pedro. Truly. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You broke up with me because the pressure was too hard on you. You come to my event and try to grab me, then you yell at me because Hugh came to check on me. Now you’re mad that I found someone that actually gives two shits about me, that isn’t afraid to deal with whatever comes with dating a younger girl? I’m over it.” You laugh again. “And now you want to apologize for that night when you’ve been nothing but rude since I sat on this couch? I came here for closure, nothing more. I liked you Pedro. I really really like you and you crushed my heart that night and every time I’ve seen you after. I don’t understand what I did to deserve this hatred that you’ve been throwing at me but it’s not fair.” 

Your anger had won the battle but your sadness would win the war. Your voice broke on your last words, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fucking fair P…” 

You tuck your face into your sweatshirt, allowing yourself to cry in peace. Pedro doesn’t speak and the silence lasts for what feels like forever. You could feel a slight movement on the couch, then two warm arms wrap around your shoulder, a chin resting atop your head. The two of you stay like that for a while. You let your tears flood your cheeks until there aren’t any left. 

“I’m so sorry babygirl. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.” 

You slowly pull your face out of the sweater. One of Pedro’s arms drops to rest on his leg, the other lay across your shoulders still. His water line was filled with his own tears, eyes red. 

“Then why did you?” He takes a moment to think and pulls you into his chest. Your head resting right above his heart, the beat a little faster than the one you had memorized. 

“Shit y/n…I know no matter how I say this, it’s gonna sound fucked up.” He squeezes his arms gently. “I was so scared, baby. When everyone started to form their opinions on us and kept pinning me to be some weirdo, I freaked out. I’m at the height of my career and I couldn’t imagine losing that…and you were right, I'm selfish. When I let you go, I immediately regretted it. I showed up to your party wanting to apologize. I had a few drinks, some liquid courage if you will, but damn baby, those fruity little drinks were a lot stronger than I thought they’d be.” You chuckle at the comment. “I was waisted by the time I saw you and when…Hu-...when he came to defend you, I lost my shit. I was so pissed off. Even in the state I was in, the look in his eyes was loud. He looked at you with so much adoration and I knew I’d already lost you.” 

He pauses. 

“I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, I just..I just want you to- no, I need you to know what happened. I’m sorry for being an ass today too. I guess I’m not over you and it hurts that you’re over me.” 

You look up at him. 

“I’m not trying to be mean when I say this P but it’s your fault. I could’ve loved you….I was falling in love with you. My time with you was special, so different than anything I’d ever felt before. I think we would’ve been good together. If you would have talked to me, maybe things would be different. You should have talked to me.” 

“We could’ve been the greatest?” He gives a lazy smile down to you and you look down in shame, wincing slightly. “You watched it?” You ask quietly. “Yea I did.” He pauses. “You sounded beautiful up there, you’re so talented y/n…even if it was so clearly targeted towards me.” The arm that's wrapped around your shoulder moves, his hand resting on your head now, moving in slow circles. 

“Would you ever give us another chance?” He asks, looking down at you. The hope in his eyes pains you. 

“I love him P…” You see the small glimmer of happiness drain from his face. You were feeling just as hurt, knowing that if Hugh hadn’t entered your life when he did or if you had talked to Pedro sooner, you’d give him another chance without a second thought. 

“Does he treat you good?” You almost scoff at the question, given who’s asking, but you don’t have the heart to be mean to him anymore. “Yea he does…” You smile at the thought of just how well Hugh does treat you. “Well, then I’m happy for you.” 

“Are you really or are you just trying to be nice?” You joke and he shrugs. “The latter but truthfully if you were going to be with anyone other than myself, I’m glad it’s him. He’s good.” He smiles down at you and it almost reaches his eyes. “Speaking of Hugh…you kinda owe him an apology, mister.” You poke at the side of his chest that you’re not leaning on. “For what? Stealing my girl?” His words make your tummy stir. “I wasn’t your girl anymore. You called him old and yelled at him. He’s your friend, so apologize.” 

“He is old.” You punch his arm and give him a look. “Ow..fuck. Fine, I’ll apologize but I’m not sure how buddy buddy I can be with him anymore.” “I don’t really care about that, as long as you’re nice to him.” 

He doesn’t respond. You spend a few minutes feeling the warmth of his embrace, it was something you were going to miss. As much as you loved Hugh, Pedro had been someone special to you and it hurt to let him go, even with what he put you through. 

“How much longer do my pictures have on your instagram before I’m replaced by Hugh?” He jokes and your eyes go wide. “Oh fuck me…” You had completely forgotten about the pictures that littered your page. “I will.” He smirks. “Shut the fuck up. I’m deleting them in front of your face just for saying that.” You whip out your phone. There are a few texts from Hugh on the homescreen asking how it’s going. “I’m surprised your guard dog let you come alone.” “Oh believe me, he didn’t want me to but he’s in New York and couldn’t stop me.” You open instagram. “And for that comment, I'm making you press delete on these. You can feel the finalization of us being over. Consider it punishment for being such a dick.”  He laughed and pressed delete on the first one. 

In the third picture, you started to regret this ‘punishment’. “We were a cute couple. You remember that one? That’s when you came over and we fucked like rabbits all week-” “Okay your done. Give me my phone.” You shove him away after and he lets out a deep belly laugh. The sound made you pause for a moment. This was the Pedro you had enjoyed being around. It was always so easy to joke around with him and be yourself. You would miss him. 

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[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 3

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, non-sexual nudity

series masterlist │my masterlist

logan sleeps in your bed now. night after night you found him on the hard floor, until you couldn’t deal with the thought of him being so uncomfortable just because he wanted to be near you. so you forced him into your bed, though you’re not sure if forced is the right word to use given how willingly he slipped in next to you - as if he’d done it a million times before, as if it was normal.

he’s a walking heater - you swear there’s a fire burning under his skin, working through his veins to spread throughout his body. you naturally run cold, you always have, so cuddling up to his warmth is a luxury. even in the beginning, when you didn’t want to fall asleep in his arms for fear of what it would mean for your relationship, you would wake bundled up in his arms, safe and protected and wanted in a way that made you never want to leave the bed.

it’s nice, really nice.

and it simultaneously sucks, because you’ve started having dreams of logan, of kissing him, calling him your husband, watching him rock a baby. and you’ve had other dreams too, the ones you’re sure logan can smell on you, with his advanced senses. he’s always awake watching you when you wake up from those dreams, his body still curled against yours, hard dick pressed against you. but he never does anything.

it’s horribly endearing. he’s obviously affected but won’t leave you, knows how much comfort you’ve found in his arms. so he grits his teeth and bears it. despite being half-animal, he’s more of a gentleman than most of the men you’ve met.

and you love knowing that you affect him, knowing that your feelings for him are not completely one-sided, even if you can only be sure of the physical component. when you leave the room to start on your morning routine, he stays behind.

you can’t be certain, but you imagine him taking his dick in his hand, stroking himself to completion, hard and desperate and quick, muffling the sound of his groans with a hand pressed to his mouth.

you’re not used to being woken up like this, however. logan hovers over you, face twisted into a snarl so full of hatred it brings tears to your eyes. his claws are out and have ripped holes in the sheets and the mattress, locking you in a makeshift cage.

his eyes are glazed over, like he’s not quite present in the moment. he’s somewhere else right now, lost somewhere in his mind where you can’t reach him.

this isn’t a slow awakening where you can take time to blink the sleep from your eyes, letting them flutter shut for two more minutes to enjoy the bliss of being not-quite awake. the adrenaline hits you hard and fast, your heartbeat pounding loud in your ears.

you’re trembling, can feel it with every breath you take, shaky exhales and sharp inhales. you’re careful not to make any sudden moves, worried about what logan may do to you.

you know him, know he wouldn’t hurt you. but he doesn’t see you right now, you don’t know who or what he’s seeing in your place. but he’s never looked at you with these eyes, with this level of anger - in fact, you can’t remember a time when he’s truly been angry at you. scared, cautious, tense, maybe. but not fury like this.

“logan,” you whisper.

the sound has barely left your throat when he pulls one clawed hand away from the mattress, tearing more of it in the process, before punching his claws towards your chest. you cry out, instinctually, and that snaps him out of it.

you feel the sharp sting of his metal claws dragging over your skin as he pulls away. it’s only a scratch, and not a terribly deep one at that. you’re used to small injuries, pricking yourself in the garden or accidentally cutting your thumb while cooking or any other stupid way to draw blood to the surface of your skin.

but it’s not the pain that matters, it’s the thought that if it took him a second longer to break out of his nightmare he could have pierced your heart, killed you. 

“logan,” you ask, shaky, “are you okay?”

he’s staring at you, eyes wide and frightened, but the hatred that was there is gone. his claws retract back into his skin. he nods, slow, never breaking eye contact with you.

and then you burst into tears.

you can’t stop, your cries hysterical. logan sits on the bed, moving away from you with every cry that rakes your body, but you grab at his arms desperately, needing him. somehow, despite logan being the reason for your fear, he’s the only thing you want, your mind calling out his name like a prayer.

he hesitates to touch you at first, but you beg him with a broken “please”, and then he’s all over you, pulling you into his lap, nuzzling his face into your neck. he kisses you softly on the skin there, a habit he’s taken up that you don’t mind. you probably should mind, but you’re unable to care about that when it feels so right.

you fall asleep crying in his arms, the exhaustion pulling you under. you wake up again with the sun, logan looking haggard and pale, still holding you. it seems he didn’t fall back asleep when you had.

your throat feels raw from crying, and you can feel the tear tracks where they dried on your skin.

“what was the nightmare about?” you try to ask him.

he shakes his head, every line around his face pulled taunt, “no.”

you’d expected such an answer, something short and succinct where he refuses to lay his problems on you. still, you’d hoped he might share some information, even a sliver of his story that could help you help him.

you’re still worried about logan, but there’s not much you can do if he won’t speak to you, so you leave the bed to wash the dried tears from your face. you go on with your routine as usual, keeping a closer eye on logan, waiting for possible signs to help you uncover the mystery of whatever the fuck is happening with him.

there are none, of course - he’s very difficult to read when he wants to be.

he doesn’t touch you as much, a step further behind you than usual. but otherwise his behaviour doesn’t change too greatly. he’s still sweet and grumpy and lovely.

you teach him how to cook your favourite breakfast foods, and to your surprise, it comes naturally to him. he works by your side like he’s always been there, listening to your instructions perfectly every time. the cuts on your chest still burn slightly, but simply feeling his presence by your side makes everything better.

you’re reading a book on the couch when logan returns from hunting. he never brings anything from his hunt into the house, for which you’re grateful, but he does drag in a lot of dirt. 

you have a routine by now, or at least the bones of one. he likes it when you help him clean up after a hunt or a run in the forest, and so do you. it’s the kind of moment you imagine you’d find in a book, with a couple so deeply in love that they can hardly stand to be apart for a second.

you’re still not completely comfortable with the idea of stripping naked in front of him, but logan has no such qualms. in the bathroom, he pushes his pants and boxers down in one motion.

you blush as he steps into the shower, so unashamed of his body. there’s a wild edge to him that you notice more in moments like these, where you realise the impact of not having those human memories, the socialisation that teaches you to dislike yourself, teaches you that confidence is a negative thing, makes you vain and egotistical.

the water soaks him in an instant, flattening his cute hair tufts against his scalp and you giggle at the way he looks like a wet kitten, though less disgruntled.

he tilts his head expectantly, waiting for you. his gaze is dark and heady, intense as you pull off your shirt, leaving you in only a bra. your face warms as you take off your skirt next, watching logan’s face the entire time, the way his eyes linger on your panties for a long, long moment.

it’s not the first time you’ve undressed in front of him, but every time the effect is the same. warmth pools in your stomach, a mix of arousal and nerves. he’s intoxicating, and that’s terrifying to you.

you don’t take off your bra and panties. they feel like armour, protecting you from being fully defenceless in front of him. it’s not like he couldn’t see the full shape of you, every curve of your body, the parts that you love about yourself, that make you smile at the mirror, and those you hate. 

still, it makes you feel like the one in control - he’s completely naked and you’re not - though you know that he’s larger and stronger than you, that really he’s letting you be in control of the situation, not moving too much as you wash the blood and grime from his body. 

he cares so much about your comfort. sometimes it makes you want to cry. 

“you, now,” he grunts.

“what?”

you’re taken aback at the break in the quiet. it always shocks you a little when he speaks, his voice rough from disuse. 

“i will clean you, now,” he gestures at you and you laugh nervously, taking a step back, as far as you can until you hit the tiled wall. it’s not a very large shower, there’s not really anywhere to go.

“logan,” you whisper, heart in your throat, “no. not right now, okay? finish up your shower, i think- yeah i’m going to go now.”

you practically run out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling like you’re going to collapse at any second. the thought of him stripping you out of your remaining clothes, unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them aside, his hands running over your body, even for something as innocent as washing you, something you’ve done with him a dozen or so times.

you’re having enough sex fantasies about him as it is, you don’t need to add more fuel to the fire. and the thing is, you want it. you want him. you want those fantasies to come to life. but you can’t help but fear that logan’s only clinging to you because you’re the one who found him when he was at his most vulnerable.

when he goes out into the world, whether that’s sometime soon or if it takes years, will he start to resent you? will he find someone better? will the soft intimacy that’s been growing between you collapse like a house of cards?

you’re in your bedroom, laying on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling when logan enters.

“you’re upset?” he asks, and at the tone of his voice, the pain that you hear reflected in each syllable, your head turns his way. he looks devastated, like the idea that you might be upset at him is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him in his life. you’re very certain that’s incorrect.

he looks so innocent like this, not a wild animal with claws that rip through flesh like butter, but a man, anxious and unsure and pleading. you can’t help the smile that rises to your lips. you shake your head as much as you can against the mattress and reach your arms out towards him, a wordless beckoning.

“never,” you say.

within moments he’s in your arms, hugging you tight, his face pressed into your chest. it’s nice, the solid weight of him, like a very heavy weighted blanket. minutes pass, and then logan shifts his body just enough to look up at you.

he makes eye contact with you, and in his eyes you see a raging storm. his face is blank as it often is, a mask that you can’t read, but you can feel his muscles tense as if preparing for a fight, can catch a glimpse of several different emotions in the hazel staring back at you.

he leans up, until his face is barely a centimetre away from yours, and your breath catches. you’re scared to hope, terrified, even if all signs point in one direction, so you don’t move closer but you don’t move away, eyes fluttering shut as if it’ll all become easier, as if the butterflies in your stomach will recede, if you’re not looking directly at him.

he closes the distance between you, mouth meeting yours in a chaste, soft kiss. it’s nothing like you expected from logan, feral and intense in everything he does. but he’s waiting for a response from you, scared in the way you’ve only ever seen him once, when you’d first found him in the barn.

he pulls away and you grab onto him desperately, forcing him to crash back into you. you share open-mouthed kisses, hot and urgent yet so loving. it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed about, perfect in the way little else can be, and you feel tears prickling in your eyes, a sob catching in your throat.

you’re absolutely fucked, your heart stolen by him, and you can only hope logan meets you where you are and doesn’t hurt you.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist

if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty four

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women

*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”

For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”

No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.

Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.

Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”

Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”

Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.

Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”

“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”

Mine

There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.

He wants her.

Loves her.

For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark. 

Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.

“R–Ro?”

He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”

“I—I need a favor.”

He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”

His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”

It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”

Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?” 

She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”

“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”

He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”

At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”

“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”

He remains confused. “Okay…..”

“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you—did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”

“Okay.”

She frowns. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.

Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.

“But, you don’t even know how much—”

“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”

It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.

Because it’s important to her.

Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him. 

The same way she’s certain their child will. 

“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”

Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.

Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”

Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.

“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”

He hesitates. “Italy.”

Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”

He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”

Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”

It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”

Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing. 

But for his.

Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad. 

Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.

“So who—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”

He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”

She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”

“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”

Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back. 

Not like Jimmy and Jey.

Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.

Like brothers.

“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse. 

More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”

The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach. 

When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”

Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it. 

“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.” 

And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.

“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”

“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”

She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown. 

If not worse.

Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.

“You alright?”

She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband. 

Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”

“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.

But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.

And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?

Damn.

————

“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”

Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons. 

“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”

“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”

Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”

“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.

Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.

Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.” 

Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away. 

She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.

Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”

“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”

Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”

At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”

“He was there, Big Dog.”

‘“I–I was there, sir.”

Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”

Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”

Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all. 

“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over. 

“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”

“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”

Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.

He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”

“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer. 

“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”

Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”

He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”

“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.

“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. “Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”

Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person. 

Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”

“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”

Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.

Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.

Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell. 

Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.

“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.

Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”

“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.

“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”

There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”

“What if I need to spear a man?”

His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”

Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.

It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.

She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here. 

Then again….maybe he does.

She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf. 

Not in the slightest.

And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi. 

However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing. 

Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”

She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.

However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.

Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.

She’s so damn drained. 

In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”

“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”

He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”

“Roman—”

“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”

“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”

And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”

It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.

Just why she’s so fatigued.

And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”

————

“So why exactly are you fighting again?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time. 

A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.

Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.

So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.

Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.

Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.

Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.

Or worse.

Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.

She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything. 

Even his fine ass wife.

Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.

“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”

He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.

She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”

A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”

That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”

That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”

“Ever?”

“Naw.”

She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”

“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”

She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.

And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.

He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”

She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.

If only.

————

Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.

Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.

It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them. 

A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms. 

Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?

In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.

It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it. 

And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.

Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.

“You alright?”

Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her. 

Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”

He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”

She has to believe that. 

Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’

Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her. 

“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”

Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast. 

“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana. 

Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”

“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic. 

“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry. 

“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.” 

Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”

“Nia?” 

To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”

“You talk to Roman about it?”

Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan. 

“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”

“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”

“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been. 

As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline. 

So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.

The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.

She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.

Her husband, however, is unbothered.

As he is with most things in life.

Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.

So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.

But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.

The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.

If only she could relate. 

For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.

Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point. 

And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase. 

It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort. 

Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.

The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling. 

He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.

No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.

Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating. 

Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.

Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost. 

And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?

————

Roman doesn’t say much to her.

It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.

It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.

She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her. 

She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together. 

However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep. 

But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm. 

Another……symptom?

Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.

But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.

Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.

It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.

Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.

Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.

Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”

“Where the hell were you?”

Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been? 

Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”

This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”

This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”

“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”

“But—”

“You heard what I said!”

His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.

She needs to be direct.

“Ro….what happened tonight?” 

She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”

In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity. 

She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.

But.

 But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul. 

And that….that is what scared her. 

His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”

“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”

“Does it matter now?” 

“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.

And it confuses the mess out of her. 

What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”

Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre. 

“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”

“Ro…”

And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.

Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”

“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”

“It’s fine, Ro. I��” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”

“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”

And not for their child growing inside of her.

“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”

“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell. 

“We’ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.

It seems like a perfect plan to her. 

Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his. 

His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.

“I’ve gotta….save…them.”

Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”

Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.

Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him. 

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.

Least of all, Roman. 

And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.

“Roman! Wake u—”

“No!” 

It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face. 

It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband. 

A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters. 

“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”

Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”

“I hit you….”

Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”

“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing. 

“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”

Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him. 

“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”

He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”

“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”

Because she is.

Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.

She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response. 

“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching. 

“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”

It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category. 

Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—” 

Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.

It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night. 

Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.

If only she could tell her husband that.

Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.

He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.

Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body. 

She knows that she’s pregnant.

But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child. 

This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this. 

He deserves better.

The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time. 

Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing. 

“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him. 

The way she'll always hold onto him.

————

It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber. 

But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.

“Jesus Christ….”

Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.

Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her. 

He fucking hit her. 

It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.

Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.

Because that’s exactly what he’s done.

He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.

And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.

Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.

Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face. 

Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it. 

She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.

What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.

A line was completely crossed.

And it can’t happen again.

Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.

She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”

She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Solana.”

“I can make—”

“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”

His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”

Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”

“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach. 

Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.

And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him. 

Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.

“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”

She closes her eyes. “Roman—”

“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

He won’t let it happen again.

“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”

“Solana—”

“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”

“Sol—”

“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do. 

Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her. 

He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.

That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.

Because he swore he’d always protect her. 

And he always will.

Even if that danger is himself.

Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her. 

Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her. 

Whether they’re together or not.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: This chapter has been long awaited for me ever since I thought of this series, hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. The song that inspired it was this one. <3

Word count: 4,3k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was bustling with people; Princes, Princesses, Lords, Ladies, and all nobility in between. All gathered for the feast in celebration of Queen Rhaenyra's new rule. The hall's great oak-and-bronze doors remained open, as did the curtains of the high windows, allowing the hazy moonlight to shine through.

Hundreds of guests sat at the long tables on each side of the Hall, and the Targaryens had their seats on their own table—adorned with a banquet of meals for the night—in front of the Iron Throne. A group of musicians entertained the feast, and the center of the Hall remained free for the dance yet to happen.

After exchanging pleasantries with many boring nobles, and having a glass or two of wine to take you through it, you had taken a step aside to breathe. You leaned back against one of the walls of the Great Hall, watching from a safe and secluded distance as the guests relished in their time within the Red Keep. Plenty of them seemed to teeter on the edge of drunkness already—speaking about their lands and affairs a little louder than they should.

An amused smirk came to you, never having been fond of the royal court, but the drama that came with it would always be mildly entertaining. Alas, the corset of your gown had started constricting your breathing about an hour ago and the expensive fabric of the skirt began itching on your skin. Truthfully, this feast couldn't end soon enough.

"And what's a fine lady such as yourself-" A familiar voice caught your attention quite suddenly, and you watched with narrowed eyes as Aegon approached you with a sly smile and a golden chalice in his hand. "-Doing here all by herself?" The first Prince finished slowly.

Aegon eyed you up and down, causing you to straighten your posture. Aegon's cheeks were flushed, his silver curls were messy, pupils blown, and smile all too loose—unsurprisingly, he was drunk. He stumbled up to you, resting his shoulder on the stone wall close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

"Shouldn't you have a certain one-eyed someone keeping you company?" Aegon traced the rim of his chalice with his thumb, half-lidded eyes gleaming under the torch lights. "If you were mine, I would never let you out of my sight," he whispered.

With the side of your eye, you glanced in the direction you knew Aemond to be; still seated beside his mother at the table, with a vacant seat beside him—yours. As you looked at him, you caught a glimpse of him quickly turning his head forward again, averting his gaze.

You took a long and steadying breath, holding it in your lungs for a beat before allowing it to fall from your lips. This was no place to cause a scene—the many voices blending with one another around you and the musicians' tune reminded you as much—even if Prince Aegon seemed eager to taunt you for it.

"Hello to you too, Aegon," you tried a smile, leaning your head to the side as you looked at him, "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

"Oh much," he raised his eyebrows, never losing the smirk. "Though I understand if you aren't, we both know my poor brother is hardly the most entertaining to have as one's company." The Prince threw a quick glance Aemond's way as well. He walked closer to you, boldness born from the wine in his system; "I don't blame you… For going away."

You leveled him with a glare when he invaded your space, eyes turning as sharp as a dragon's. "Aemond is one of the few people here worth having around." And you weren't daft, you knew he'd hinted at the years you'd spent away, at Dragonstone. You leaned closer to him, voice low and steady; "And I haven't left, nor do I plan to."

"I was hoping you wouldn't." Aegon expressed in the same breath, one corner of his lips still raised, yet his gaze drifted lower on your face for a moment. "That was quite a show you pulled with my brother at the training yard," he held a pause, eyeing you with amusement, "The day before last."

You hummed, raising a brow.

"Bold," Aegon hushed, twirling the wine on his chalice.

"You were there, then?" You didn't remember seeing Aegon during the rainy day of your sparring with Aemond. But you weren't necessarily paying attention.

"For a bit." The first Prince shrugged. He took a long sip of his wine. "But even if I weren't, all the gossip about it would've been enough."

You refrained from rolling your eyes, glancing aside with pursed lips. No wonder some of the lesser nobles at court had been giving you poorly concealed stares lately, more than you were already used to; you could almost feel their whispers bouncing off your skin at times, another reason for you to prefer the company of your dragon on most days. "People talk too much, unnecessarily so." You focused back to Aegon, only to notice he'd come closer.

"Congratulations on the betrothal, by the way." He spoke only for you, as if it was still a secret, "I was most pleased to hear you'll be joining the family."

You scoffed. The only thing between you and him was the chalice of wine Aegon still had in his hand, and you were lucky most people had diverted their attention to the dance that had just begun in the center of the Great Hall. "I thank you, my Prince," you spoke pointedly, more in jest than anything else.

A low chuckle came from Aegon, he had his lips parted, tongue between his teeth; "Know that, if you ever grow bored of my dear brother… My door is always unlocked for you." It was all sultry and suggestive, like he knew he went over the line and was enjoying every minute of it, almost as if instigating a reaction; "Gods know you're too good for-"

And Aegon earned his prize when you cut him off by taking a fistful of his robes and forcefully turning him around, slamming his back onto the stone wall. A grunt escaped the Prince, the wine of his chalice spilling onto his fingers in a deep burgundy stain.

"Have a care on how you speak of my betrothed, Aegon." You all but growled at him, nearly ripping the fabric of his clothes with how tight you bunched it in your hands. "Or, may the gods help me, I ought to turn this feast into a funeral."

"Ah, so fierce." The first Prince's words were something breathless and bordering on needy, coming with a smirk and an eager chuckle from the back of his throat.

You shook your head at him, berating yourself for allowing him to get under your skin, and the look on your face only invited Aegon to lean closer, despite your hold on him. And if he leans closer still, his nose might touch yours. You wondered if that's what he wanted all along. He kept his hands to himself, but there was something all too telling about how he didn't try to get you off him.

"I have-" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze trailing down on your face, "Missed that fire of yours."

You raised a brow at Aegon. And amidst the music, the smell of scented candles, and the loud voices of the nobles; you leaned closer, innocent tilt to your lips while you held his gaze until you couldn't anymore, until those same lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "Go out, Aegon," you whispered to him, feeling a tingle of satisfaction when you heard him groan, "To the balconies." Pulling back, you took hold of both his cheeks with one hand. A harsh grip that made him wince.

"You're too far gone on your cups. Go and get some fresh air, before you force me to ruin everyone's night," You hissed between your teeth, pushing the first Prince aside as he pouted on your hold.

Aegon lingered only for a moment longer, from the corner of your eyes you could notice him bringing one hand to his face. "Yes ma'am." He downed the last of his drink, and with a clumsy curtsy to you, he was finally walking away.

The last thing you needed was to give the ladies at court more reasons to gossip about you, but Aegon had been a rock in your shoe ever since the days you'd run after him with a sword whenever he pranked his younger brother when you were children. He'd been insufferable then and you were less than pleased to know he'd apparently grown bolder. But then, so had you.

You turned back to look at Aemond and a long sigh of relief left your lungs when you saw him enthralled in a conversation with his mother, still seated at the table—good, there was no need for him to trouble himself with his brother tonight. You smoothed down the fabric of your gown and made your way back to your seat beside your betrothed.

Daemon caught your eye as you sat back down, he gave you a small smile, which you returned. The rogue Prince then extended a hand to his wife, the Queen. And you watched as she took it with a bashful smile before being led to the center of the Great Hall—they fell into a rhythm easily, following the melody as they danced.

It didn't take long for Aemond's attention to divert back to you when he felt your presence return to his side. He had a strong grip on his chalice of wine, knuckles white, but it loosened when you met his stare with a tight-lipped smile.

The Prince had been incessantly tapping his fingers on the table for the past fifteen minutes. Partly because he'd seen you with Aegon, partly because he was all too aware of the couples dancing in front of him.

The musicians' song was a slow one, dominated by a soft violin tune. The dance being shared looked nothing short of intimate, every Lord within the Keep had taken his Lady's hand when the melody began.

Distant telltales of the pain behind Aemond's eyepatch lingered. He worried that the headache might return at any point in the night. A few loud voices here and there had already made him wince and grit his teeth. He'd refrained from eating too much; the pain had been bothering him all day, making him less than inclined to put food in his stomach. But there was a nagging in his chest, like longing mixed with something bitter that wouldn't go away, and it grew stronger when the Prince spotted you with his brother.

You were his, after all—the one thing he couldn't allow Aegon to take from him.

Aemond cleared his throat, turning to face you. He was not meant to be a husband, for how could he ever be a good one? There was no gentleness in his life, the only love he'd ever known had been conditional; he didn't know how to do it. Aemond extended his hand to you, anyway.

"My lady," Aemond's voice was timid and hushed. He only looked up at you after a beat of hesitation. "Would you do me the honor?”

Within the most vulnerable parts of his heart, the Prince still hoped to win your affections, even if sometimes he thought himself a fool for it—you and he were stuck in a betrothal born out of duty, after all. With seven years cutting through what you once were. During these very moments with you that Aemond treasured so much, he couldn't help but feel a chill in his stomach.

The question caught you off guard even if it shouldn't have. Every Lord and their Lady-wife participated in the dance, so it would only be proper for you and your betrothed to join, as well. Aemond was performing his duty, that's all. But your mouth turned dry, and you struggled to find words. "The- the honor would be mine, my Prince."

You placed your hand upon Aemond's, his fingers closing around yours all too carefully, and he led you to the center of the Great Hall. "Was my brother bothering you, my Lady?" He couldn't keep himself from asking.

Aemond was more than capable of guiding you through this dance with his eye closed, and yet he faltered, only placing his other hand at your waist when you gently took hold of his arm and secured it there. Once he felt the curves of your body under his hand, however, his hold became steady and strong—nigh possessive. It sent goosebumps down your spine that you tried to mask.

"I'm afraid I'm well used to your brother's antics." You analyzed your surroundings, feeling oddly exposed even if you were amidst many other nobles. You kept your hold on one of Aemond's hands, placing your other hand on his shoulder. With your chest close to his, your breath ran shallow. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before, luckily he remains easy." With a shrug, you shifted your gaze forward, meeting the eye of your betrothed.

Aemond's attention on you shifted, he peered around as well. Maids whispered in each other's ears, noble ladies looked upon his hand holding you with a look akin to scandal, and Lords followed the sway of your hair hungrily. Everyone was looking. Everyone whispering about the second Prince's new betrothed.

"Hey." You stole back his attention, and he felt his destructive thoughts quieting down. The smile you wore was soft and kind, and it was for him.

"Focus on me," you breathed. And Aemond gladly would.

There was a small curl of your hair that had caught on one of your earrings. Aemond's eye slowly traveled your face until he saw it. The Prince raised his hand for a moment, only so he could delicately pull it free—his touch so careful you barely felt it when the tip of his fingers grazed your cheek—and then his hand settled back on your waist. You held your breath the entire time.

"I remember well." Aemond had the ghost of a smile that he tried to hide. "Aegon has always been intimidated by you." The Prince twirled you then, a steady motion that got your gown dancing around your frame, and then brought you right back into his arms.

The two of you fell into a rhythm together, as easy as breathing. Your bodies moved in synch with each other, as if you knew the movement the other would make before it even happened. At one point your fingers intertwined with Aemond's, fitting between one another as if they belonged. Your swaying along the expanse of the Great Hall slowed down to something more intimate, even more so than the soft melody of the musicians.

A trembled breath left Aemond's lips, his eye searched your face for something—and he must've found it, because you felt his hand at your waist close more firmly around you, the tips of his fingers traced your spine and he pulled you closer to himself. You in turn moved your hold on his shoulder to the back of his neck, hand disappearing beneath his long hair.

Aemond seemed caught in a trance, the color of his iris barely visible, only a small ring around the blown pupil. His lips were parted, something a little unsure, nervous. But he was close, so close. You could count each faded freckle, each twist and turn of the scar on his cheek.

There was something entirely too magical about Aemond. Too princely, as cliche as that may be. His pin-straight silver hair framed his face, you couldn't help but notice how wisps of it escaped over the strap of his eyepatch as well—once again you stopped yourself from reaching over, from tucking it behind his ear and allowing your touch to wander. He belonged in a castle, he belonged in royalty, you decided. For seeing Aemond under the fire of the chandelier as his careful hands guided you through a slow dance—bodies close, all intimate and tender—was bewitching.

You couldn't know who did it. Perhaps you met together in the middle. But you and Aemond swayed to a soft melody, hands interlocked, as your foreheads came to rest against one another. His nose bumped yours and you could see through your lashes how he closed his eye and leaned closer still.

And Aemond breathed you in, inebriated in the feeling of you. Your perfume was all-encompassing, your touch as warm as dragonfire, your breath fanning over his lips; he wanted you in his arms forevermore. The feeling all too foreign to him, yet he couldn't have enough of it.

Could duty ever evoke such a moment?

Was the question you distantly asked yourself. Right now, hands shaking for being a breath away from touching his lips with yours; you couldn't know the answer.

What felt like hours, lasted maybe a minute or two. Aemond pulled away, ever so slowly, almost as if it pained him to do so, and so you did the same. The look on your Prince's face was nearly unreadable, but not for the lack of emotion, rather for the overflowing of it. Aemond's eye glinted under the firelight. He looked very pale and very nervous, and a little… hopeful.

You were sure your face mirrored his.

"Why-" Your voice stumbled, a little breathless "Why is that, do you think?" You squeezed Aemond's hand out of instinct.

Your words gave him pause. Aemond opened and closed his mouth as he willed his hazy mind to catch up and remember what it was you were speaking about. A difficult task, all he could focus on was you—your perfume, your closeness, the outlines of your face highlighted in golden hues—you. "I uh-" He gulped, glancing away for a beat and two, to allow himself some respite, "You have an effect on people."

Blinking at his response, you were about to ask what he meant by it when Aemond ducked his head with a sharp intake of air. His brows scrunched and he let go of your waist to bring his hand to his face, over his eyepatch.

Aemond gave an involuntary grunt when his eye socket started throbbing, instantly bringing back the heavy headache surrounding his scar. it came suddenly, the once dull pain he'd managed to keep on the back of his mind now had each of his nerve endings burning. At the same time that the pain kept him from opening his one good eye, the skin around his scar felt numb and warm to the touch. It was the last thing the Prince wanted, his heart bled in his chest at the thought of ruining your night with his burden.

"Aemond?" Your gentle voice came almost like a soothing kiss over his pain. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?" You worried.

"Yes," Aemond forced out, heavy blinks getting his eye open again even if his sight blurred at the edges and blended with the warm lighting of the Hall. The Prince felt nauseous at the nearly unbearable pain, he could feel his face twitching and turned his head aside and away from your increasingly concerned gaze. "All is… well."

Only a fool would believe him. Aemond had turned tense, his face constricted in a weird way while he nearly crushed your fingers with his grip. "Are you… certain?" Yet you knew better than to call him out blatantly. If Aemond wanted to keep something to himself, he would, no matter what you did.

A breath stumbled past his lips, and Aemond cleared his throat, stalling his answer.

"Why don't we-" You paused, regarding him with unbridled worry and a heavy heart, "Why don't we step aside for a while? I can grab us something to drink."

Aemond nodded. "Okay." His voice was quieter than he'd wanted it to be.

You didn't let go of his hand as you dragged him aside, away from the commotion. You were not sure of what he was feeling, but you were almost certain that it was the same thing that had bothered him during the coronation ceremony. It wasn't your place to demand answers, not yet, but you wished he'd be truthful with you. You wished he'd allow himself to be helped.

Aemond's hold of your hand was a tight one, you weren't sure he even realized he did it. You held his hand between both of yours when you stopped just beside the long wooden table you'd been seated before. Running your thumb over his knuckles, hoping to calm him. It didn't do much.

"Forgive me, I-" The Prince refrained from looking you in the eyes, shame weighed heavy in his stomach. His lower lip wobbled with each of the heavy breaths he took. Clouded by pain, Aemond's mind conjured up punishing questions; what if this makes you leave his side again? What if you decide that someone as imperfect as he is not deserving of you?

"Don't fret," you spoke in the same beat, bringing him back to you—always bringing him back. "I was already going to suggest we stop for a glass of wine."

Pursing his lips, Aemond gulped. He mourned the wish of dancing with you until the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon. Aemond's nostrils flared with anger—if he weren't so weak, if he hadn't had his eye cut out, if he wasn't so damaged; he wouldn't have to end your night so suddenly.

"I'll be back in just a minute, alright?" You tried finding his gaze, leaning slightly closer, but couldn't.

Aemond grew restless at the idea of letting go of your hand, like it was a lifeline keeping him afloat—the thought of you leaving him again scared him more than he'd ever want to admit, it made his heart jump into his mouth, and turned his insides as cold as the north's winter. The past seven years might've left a deeper scar than the one on his face. But he did so anyway. It wasn't your burden to bear. He managed a crooked smile for you, the silver strands of his hair bouncing gently as he nodded.

The Prince watched your retreating figure, his eye following you as you reached the long table amidst the crowd and filled one chalice with wine and the other with water. There was something alluring about the way the light of the candles bounced off the embellishments of your dress, how it made your skin glow. Aemond wanted to keep that image of you with him forever, sewn neatly on the tapestries of his mind. He wished to remember this night like this; dancing with you under the golden lights, your hand in his, your eyes on him, your smile for him. And not by the pain that now left a nauseating twist to his barely filled stomach, that blurred his sight at the edges and tarnished the image of you.

Aemond wanted to keep the precious memory for what it was. And so he turned around, and left.

You held the two chalices in your hands. One with wine for you, and the other with water for Aemond. He seemed distressed, that much was clear, you'd noticed the skin around his scar spasming at the same time he'd wince—you'd figured wine wouldn't help with that.

However, a Lord with a fat belly that you didn't know the name of, thought now would be the perfect time to tell you about his lands and fortunes back home. You remained polite as his annoying voice rang into your ears, smiling rather awkwardly while slowly taking a few steps away.

"That is delightful, my Lord. Surely your vineyards are a sight to behold. But I really must-"

"Do fly to our land sometime, my lady. I have all the means necessary to build a formidable Dragonpit." The old Lord gloated, stuffing his chest where his brown beard lay.

"I uh-" Something between a chuckle and a groan escaped you, "I will… keep that in mind. But now I really should be going back to my husband." The word left your mouth before you could think better of it. And you surprised yourself by liking the shape of it on your tongue, when the person behind the title was Aemond.

The Lord, however, deflated in his pride after you spoke. He grumbled something under his breath before saying, "Be well, fair lady."

You didn't waste another second before turning on your heels and sped walking to the other side of the Great Hall, a huff of relief falling past your lips. You stopped at the same spot you'd left your Prince, but there was no sign of him. Turning your head left, and then right, and then back and again. You couldn't spot him.

There was a deep frown crinkling your features and a strange sense of emptiness inside your chest. You spotted Jace then, popping an olive into his mouth as he took a break from his dance with Baela.

"Jace," you called, stepping up to him. The young Prince turned to you with his mouth full but still sporting a smile. "Hey, have you seen Aemond? I lost sight of him." You looked over the bustling Hall again for good measure, but to no avail.

"Oh yeah, I did actually," Jace spoke after he'd swallowed his food, he gestured to the main oak-and-bronze doors, "He left."

You blinked, mouth agape as you looked from Jace, to the doors, and back to Jace. "What- what do you mean?" No—you tried believing—Aemond wouldn't simply leave your side without any regard, he was your partner for the night, your betrothed.

The Velaryon boy shrugged. His features were sympathetic, if a little lost. "He just left."

You nodded hesitantly, pointer finger tapping the rim of one of the chalices.

He just left.

What if duty was all there was, after all?

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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[jillsandwhichs]

RE Character x Reader Smutshot Collection , Chap 9 , Tip

Masterlist

Pairing: F!Reader x Leon Kennedy

Summary: You are a waitress at a local diner in the city. Sure, you've had your fair share of flirty, pervy customers but none have ever been as enticing as this one

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Strangers/Hookup

WC: 4.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Reader is in early adult years, Leon is late 20s, Flirting, Leon is cocky and rich, BJ, Slight cum kink, Spanking, Hair pulling, Cums in your mouth, Protected P in V, Riding, Dry humping and Dirty talk

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

It has just been another casual day at the diner. Cleaning tables and dishes, attending to customers and sweeping the floors, it's just another Monday. Waiting tables is what you do for a living, for now. It isn't ideal but you don't mind it too much. You always get decent tips and an alright pay. You live alone so you don't have to worry too much about how big your paycheck is or how much you make in tips daily. As long as you're rolling in dough, you're set.

This day particularly has been slow. Mondays are one of the slowest days of the week because it's the first work day which means less business. It's mainly older people and church groups who eat during the day on Mondays but towards the later hours of the day, families and sports teams come in. The diner you work for is the hot spot in the city. Everyone who lives in the city or nearby comes often.

Your shift is getting closer to being done. You only have two hours left. It ends at 4:00 PM and you started work today at 8:00 AM. It's been so slow that it feels as if you've been here since yesterday. You can't wait to get back to your homey apartment. You have an essay due today in your Art History class so you'll have to get that done but after that, the rest of the day is yours!

Wiping down a table, you heard the main door open. There is a bell attached to the top of it to tell workers anytime someone walks in or not. The two customers that were just at this booth made sure to clean up their space and it put you in an even better mood. You sprayed hygienic water onto the table one last time and wiped it down before setting out new napkins and silverware for when the next group comes in.

You were about to amble off to the back but you were stopped by a man's voice. His voice was deep and husky. It startled you a bit, admittedly. You turned around to face and you were left stunned by how tall he was. You're short, yes, but this man is a giant! Your eyes went up to meet with his. His are a bright blue. They are oceanic. He has a broad stature too, he clearly works out often. He's wearing a casual outfit but it still appears a bit more fancy for where he's currently at.

"Excuse me, could I get a table for one? Just looking to have some lunch." He said in that deep voice. You looked him up and down and as you did, he said another thing. "My eyes are up here." He teased, his blue eyes locking with yours. You felt embarrassment wash over you. How could you not admire this man? He looks like a model. "Um, sorry... Just follow me." You murmured, heading towards a clean circle table near the center of the diner.

The man followed behind you and once you presented the table to him, he took his seat. "I'll be back shortly. Figure out what you'd like to drink until then." "Wait, what's your name? Isn't it courtesy that the waitress tells her waiters her name?" You told him his name with a scoff. He seems slightly cocky. "Pretty name. I'm Leon." Leon stated. "Cool name. I'll be back shortly." You said a bit more sternly. You walked off and pushed the back door open to enter the kitchen.

You checked to see if all of the drink machines are still working. Your manager let you know yesterday that they've been a bit janky. You tested each one and they all seemingly worked. Only three other people are working with you today. Leah, Maverick and Dean. Leah is a waitress and Mav & Dean are cooks. Mondays truly are so easy to work.

You exited the kitchen and went to wait another table before Leon's. This table just wanted one plate of Alfredo and a plate of beef stew. "I'll have those out to you two in a bit." You said with your customer service voice. You've gotten very good at it. Strolling over to the kitchen, you stuck your ticket up on the metal bar. "Order for table four, be quick guys." You said to both of the men working. You trust they'll get it done quickly.

Leah was waiting her own section of tables. Hers seem to be going by a lot faster which irritates you. You want more tables for more money. You don't necessarily need it, but of course it's nice to have.

Making your way back over to Leon, you saw his face weirdly light up when he saw you. Is this guy a creeper? You stood in front of his table with a notepad before asking what he'd like to drink and eat. "I'll just take a coke and to eat, I'll have your creamy ravioli. I have a question for you now." He stated. "Uh, okay, go ahead and ask." You replied softly as you wrote his order down. "When is your shift over?" "That is none of your concern."

Assumption confirmed, this guy is a weirdo. Why would some elegant looking man be asking you of all people that odd question? Does he want to kidnap you or something? You were always taught to not give out info like that. It's vital.

"I'm not some pervert or anything." He chuckled. "Can a man not be curious?" "Why are you curious about when I get off of work?" "Because I think you're a pretty girl and I'd like to take you out." Leon smirked at you. "I bet you say that to all the ladies." You rolled your eyes. "I'll be back with your food in a bit." You scoffed and went to walk off but this arrogant man stopped you once again.

"When does your shift end?" This guy's persistence is appalling. Can't he take a hint? "None of your business." "Three? Four? Tell me." He said softly, his tone a lot less deep down. You sighed deeply. It won't kill for him to know. You're going straight home anyways. "Four. You aren't taking me out." "We'll see about that." You gave him an irritated look and trailed off. You're just going to give the paper to the chefs so that this man can leave ASAP.

Stepping up to the kitchen area again, you handed them a new ticket. You want this Leon guy in and out of here. You've had one to many men hitting on you, do these men realize how young you are? Leon appears to be in his late twenties, possibly early thirties and you're a College student! Men are so desperate nowadays. Sure, drabbling in older men isn't a bad thing, but not these kind of older men.

You grabbed a tray of refill drinks to take to one of your other tables. You almost forgot about them.

Exiting the kitchen, you went over to their table and set their drinks down. "A water for the lady and a coke for the gentleman. Enjoy." Leah will most likely take this section over soon, she tends to. Your eyes went to Leon's table and unsurprisingly, his eyes were on you. "What a loser." You mumbled beneath your breath. He's a handsome man, most definitely, but why would he want anything to do with you? He's probably just trying to get a quick fuck in.

If he wasn't so forward and weird about it, you would probably give in. That pretty much sums up how you are as a girl. You aren't a virgin, you like sex and you've never had it with an older man. You bet it's quite the experience.

After waiting almost eight minutes, you got the couples food to them and set it down. "Here you two go. Enjoy." You said with a friendly tone. Leon's was done as well. Time to journey back to the table of doom.

With the bowl and drink in hand, you went to Leon's table and set both down. "There you go. Enjoy your beverage and meal." "I sure will. Thank you." Leon replied, looking you up and down. His look is rather enticing. He's an enticing man. "Don't look at me like that." You said with a shy tone. It made you rather nervous, shy even. No man has made you feel that way in some time. "Like what?" "Like that."

He knows what he is doing. He does. "What is your problem?" You put your hands on your hips. This is completely against protocol. Even when a customer is an ass, you should remain calm and collected but God, this guy is insufferable. "I'll answer anything you'd like... If you agree to come with me after my shift." Has this man ever learned about stranger danger. "No, you could be a murderer." "I could be, but I'm not. I'm just a blind dog looking for a bone." He is cheesy.

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your temple.

"What is it you want?" "You." "Why?" "I can see you're different. Plus, you're stunning." The compliment made your stomach heat up. "Different? You've spoken to me only a little." "What's your point?" "You know nothing about me." "I'd like to know everything about you." God, can he not take a hint? You giggled. "We can just sit in my car after your shift and talk. We'll even stay in the parking lot, if that makes you feel safer." He smirked at you.

Why is he so fucking convincing???

Your eyes scanned the clock above one of the tables and you heaved softly. "Come back at four. We'll talk then." You smiled softly but tried to hide it. Leon bit his lip and nodded. "See you then."

-

Four PM.

You're in the locker room. It's a small but useful room. Your removed your apron and released your hair from its ponytail. You shook your hair and brushed it slightly. For a moment, you completely forgot about the whole Leon situation, but it's suddenly hit you. Before he left his table, he left you a $50 tip. That's insane. You were grateful and expressed that. You suppose its only respectful if you go with him.

He promised to even let you hold onto his car keys if it makes you feel better. You know what it'll most likely turn into and you're down, even though you didn't want to admit it at first.

You left the room and pushed open the entry door back into the restaurant and you saw Leon's car out in the parking lot. You sighed deeply and looked over to Dean who was also about to clock out. "See you Wednesday." "See you then." Dean waved goodbye to you. You returned the gesture and made your way out of the diner.

Leon's eyes met with yours. Those blue orbs, they are intoxicating. You rolled your eyes and walked up to his vehicle. He has a Cadillac. You can tell by its shape and symbol. He nudged his head for you to get in, and you did. You opened up the passenger door and sat down and immediately put your hand out. "Keys." "Right here." He placed them in your hand. They are the right keys. This eased you a lot more.

"What do you want with me? Do you do this with other women?" "I mean, I have. I won't lie to you. It has been a long time though, little over a year." Leon tittered. "I just think you're very pretty." "You've established that." "Isn't it rather obvious what I'd like to do with and to you?" That made your heart skip beats. "Not really." You have an idea. You'll play dumb though. You want to hear it from his own mouth.

Leon laughed and grinned. He leaned a bit closer to you. "I entered that diner and immediately saw a pretty girl with a pretty mouth. I'd like to see it around my dick." You lost your breath at his words. It's been a long time since you've hooked up with anyone and this is quite the way for it to happen after all this time. "What?" You said breathlessly. "I also want to show you how a real man fucks. Not none of that College boy bullshit." He adjusted himself. So he is aware that you are in College. Great guess.

Running your fingers through your hair, you felt your entire body heating up. You were most definitely blushing. You could feel the gush between your folds beginning to form. "If you want to just hookup with girls, why not use Tinder?" "I find doing it through person more real and authentic." You couldn't tell if that was sarcasm or not. "You are a total creep." "I'm a man with needs and you'd fulfill them well." You scoffed at his sentence. "Bite me." You went to open the car door but he grabbed your wrist.

"Hey, no, no, please." Leon said softly. "If you really want to go, then okay, have at it but I promise I'll give you such a good time." Leon pleaded with you. His tone was desperate. Why was that attractive to you? Your eyes went to his bulge. He was clearly rock hard. You are wet, you can feel it. Why do you feel so odd for doing this? It's just a hookup.

You bit your lip and analyzed the outside area before handing him his keys. "There's an alleyway about three block from here. Take us and I'll hookup with you." Confidence filled your voice. He laughed. "Smart girl." He turned his car on and began the drive to the alleyway, which only took maybe a minute or two.

-

The second he parked, your hands went to his belt and he snickered. "More eager and horny than I am now, huh?" "No. I just want to get this over with." "Right." He snorted. You removed his leather belt and tossed it in the back. You undid the singular button that was sown onto his pants and that was when his huge cock sprung out. Bigger than any you've ever seen or had. You already can foreshadow how this'll feel down your throat.

He already had precum as well. To you, cum is so hot. You have an intense kink for it. You rubbed the semen on your thumb and sucked it off of it. Leon chuckled. "That's a good sign." He hummed. You brushed your hair to the side and smiled at him. "Make sure my hair stays out of my face." "Will do." That was the last thing you said before you wrapped your lips around the base of his cock.

This isn't anything you haven't done before. You'd even call yourself a pro. At a slow pace, you moved your head up and down. He was big, so you wanted to take it at a decent pace. Leon's hand stayed on your back for the time being. You felt his hand rubbing it softly. He was being gentle with you. His tip kept hitting the roof of your mouth. You couldn't believe it but you could already sense you'd be gagging a whole lot.

With your tongue, you slurped around the head of his dick. You felt his hole twitch when you did that. "You're a fucking goddess at sucking dick." He said bluntly whilst his head went backwards. You wanted to laugh but you physically couldn't. You continued to lick and suck. It's weird but you want him to feel as though you're the best he's had. This is like a challenge for you, a game even.

You began to bob your head faster now. Your head moved up and down at a quick pace. Leon's hand tangled in your hair. His fingers tips lightly scratched your head and it made your pussy tingle. You haven't felt this way in such a long time. Leon wrapped your hair around his hand, his grip was firm. You knew he was this type. He seems like a kinky man overall.

The little whimpers you made caused Leon to moan himself. He found you very sexy and your noises only added to that. "You look beautiful like this." He huffed out. His throat felt like it was going to close. His muscles were tightening. His member was twitching in your mouth. The man is close.

"How many hummers have you had to give to be so good?" He grunted. Now he was basically pushing your head and pulling it back up. You didn't even have to do the work anymore. His hand pulled your hair and God, it felt good. You moaned around his dick. You swiped your tongue from the lower base and back up to the tip and that must've been his undoing.

Leon kept your head in place. His tip was deep throating you. That familiar taste filled your mouth and entered your taste buds. All cum has tasted similar to you with minor differences. Whats different about Leon's is the fact is more of a thick texture rather than the usual more liquidy version. It was fine though. You swallowed it all.

The man was panting heavily as you popped his cock out. Your licked your lips and wiped them with your sweater. "Jesus..." He laughed. "That was good." He praised you. "Unfuckingbelievable." He smirked at you. "I've had practice." "Clearly." He squeezed your hip and gazed at you. "Get in the back so I can fuck you." He chuckled. You giggled to and looked behind you.

You crawled over the center console and squealed as you felt a hard smack to your ass as you did. You briskly sat down and adjusted your skirt. You are wearing a beige sweater with a printed skirt. It was the change of clothes you brought to work since it's Fall. The weather is breezy & chilly but also warm and cozy. Leon just held his pants up as he got out of the car and got into the back. There was no way he was going to climb over as you did.

He sat down and spread his legs to a degree. He pulled his pants back down too. You gawked at him momentarily and he noticed. "Like what you see?" "Mhm." You nodded moderately. He laughed. "Sit on my lap." You listened. You straddled him. Hands on his shoulders and thighs on either side of his. His hands went to your waist. "Feel that?" He was referring to his tip rubbing against your panties.

"You need it inside of you, hm?" He began to slowly pull your hips forward. The slight grind he was forcing you to do made you even more soaked. "I do." You whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. "I know you do doll." You felt a surge of lust course through you. You want this man to destroy you.

One hand left your hip and went to his cock instead. He rubbed his tip against your cunt through your panties. "I can feel how wet you are." He sighed softly, kissing the side of your head. "I wanna feel how tight you are." He murmured against your ear before biting the lobe of it. You moaned and felt your stomach twist. How is he making you feel all these ways all at once? He's a master at this. It's such a turn on.

Pulling your panties to the side, he stroked his cock through your bare folds now, picking your wetness up. "How does this feel?" He said in a low tone. "Good. Really good." You hummed in reply, kissing his neck gently. "Mmm, good." He kissed your cheek. He let go of his cock and reached into his pocket. "Gotta wrap it." "Yeah." You snickered. You lifted your body up so he could put the rubber on. Once he did, he pulled you back down.

"Now princess, tell me, how does this feel?" And as he hummed that to you, he stuck his dick inside of you. You moaned softly and gripped his shirt. "Mmm, you just gave me the exact answer I was searching for." You moaned again and pressed your lips against his. You don't think Leon was expecting that, but he liked it. His hands went to your face as you began to both kiss him and ride him.

You rode him at an unrushed pace. He kissed you passionately. Almost right as you two started to make out, you both opened your mouths and tongued one another. You bounced on his cock as you stuck your tongue deep in his mouth. Leon caressed your face and slowly brought his hands down to your ass cheeks. He held onto them tightly and ever so often slapped them.

"You're so fucking tight." He grunted, licking your lip and kissing you again. "You feel so deep inside of me." You whimpered. It was true. He's so long and girthy. He's rubbing against your wet & gushy walls in the most pleasurable way. "You can take it. You're a slut, I know you can." You laughed at his words and bit his lower lip. "I'm not a whore." "You sure fuck like one. Look at how you're riding me." In all fairness, you are skillfully riding him and bouncing on him. Your movements are of expertise.

You rolled your eyes at his snotty words. "Guess me getting around has really paid off." "Yeah, sure, but I promise I'll be your best." He slapped your ass hard, making you speechless. Only noises of pleasure and need came from you. He felt so good. Your cunt was tightening around him, you could feel it and so could he.

Your head autonomously tilted backwards. Your mouth was agape as little whimpers emitted from him. Leon's hands continued to grip your ass. He occasionally spreaded your cheeks and stuck his finger on your anus, making your body shake. He must have a thing for that, you suppose. "Pretty girl." He reached his free hand up and taped it around your neck lightly. "Gonna make you have the best fucking orgasm." He whispered to you before he began to thrust up.

You quit moving your hips entirely and just sat there as he fucked you messily. His hip thrusts were sloppy but they were getting the job down. "Taking is so fucking well. I need you again sometime." You couldn't tell if there was truth in that or if it was pure lust and desire. You simply rested your head against his shoulder as he pumped up into you. "I'm gonna cum." You whispered, your tone soft and shaky. "Cum for me babygirl." Leon kissed your forehead.

That'll do it.

Your body shook as your orgasm blew over you. You felt waves and waves of pleasure crash into you out of no where. Your walls clenched around his member and that was what finished him off. "Fuuuck." His words dragged out as he came. Your arms encased around his neck and you just sat there as you came down from your high. He hugged you back. His cum squirted into the condom. You wish it could've been inside of you. Such a waste.

After a minute or so, you sat up and got off of him. You were breathless and at a loss for words. Your eyes glanced down at the condom; Pure white liquid filled it. "That was... God." You giggled, closing your legs and staring at him. He nodded and removed the condom, tossing it in a baggy. "Sure was." He caught his breath.

Leon looked at you and took your hand in his. "Was that the best orgasm you've had?" "I don't mean to bruise your ego but..." Leon snickered and playfully nudged you. "Shut up." You snorted and smiled at him. "Yeah, it was really good." You nodded. "I'm glad." He blew out a big breath of air.

"For the record, I wasn't just saying that." "Saying what?" "That I need you again sometime. I meant it." "Oh." You said with tranquility. "I'll give you my number then...?" "Yeah, I'll take it." Leon replied.

He handed you his phone and you began to jot the digits in.

This definitely won't be the last time you see Mr. Kennedy.

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 2

chapter 2. before the storm

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 4k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and share xo this chapter is slower than chapter 1 but crucial nonetheless! ;)

14th September 2003

“This is my friend, Jihoon, and his son, Jimin.”

At first you felt nervous, looking between your dad and the big stern looking man beside him. Glancing at your grandma, you eased up when she nudged you and smiled. 

“Why don’t you say hello, Y/N?” she said.

Your dad kneeled down as you looked up at the man. “You can say hello if you want, sweetie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N,” the man said, his lips curving into what must’ve meant to have been a smile — you thought it made him look scarier. “I’m your uncle Jihoon.” He extended his hand. 

Timidly, you shook it. Then your gaze fell to the boy standing behind him.

“Jimin.” Jihoon’s voice was suddenly sharp as he summoned his son to come forward. 

Looking up at his father in what you could only interpret as fear, he took a few steps forward and stopped in front of you. “Hello, I’m Jimin,” he said quietly, putting his hand forward just like his father did. 

“Hi, Jimin,” you said, reaching for his hand and shaking it once. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, why don’t you show Jimin some of your books while I talk to his dad for a bit, hm?” your dad asked, looking at you and smiling as he rubbed your back reassuringly. 

“Okay,” you nodded. 

Feeling braver, you stepped forward and took Jimin’s hand to lead him out of the room and upstairs to your bedroom. You could hear your parents and Jimin’s dad chuckling at your little action. Jimin and you walked in silence to your room, and when you got there, you turned to him and smiled. 

He smiled back, nervously. 

“Do you like reading?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do you want to read with me?” 

“Um, okay.”

Satisfied, you led Jimin over to the reading corner in your room. “I have lots of books,” you boasted, pulling him down onto the rug and pulling out your biggest books to try to impress him. “These are my favourite. We can read them if you want.” 

Jimin smiled, taking the book from you. “I’ve read this one already.”

“How?” you questioned, frowning in disappointment. “My teacher told me this is a third grade book.”

“I am in third grade,” Jimin said, putting the book down. “I’m eight.”

“Oh, I’m six,” you said, slightly downcast as you realised that Jimin was older than you. “Have you read this one?” you asked, picking up another one of the longer books. 

Jimin nodded.

“Oh…” you sighed, looking down. You weren’t sure how else to impress your new friend. 

Then Jimin spoke up nervously. “C—can I read these ones?” 

You frowned when you saw the books he was pointing at. You read those when you were four; they’re all very short, but beautiful picture books. 

“They’re kiddy books,” you stated, picking one up. 

“I like the pictures,” Jimin said, smiling as he looked at it. But this slowly disappeared as he muttered, “My dad doesn’t let me read them but I like them.” 

Even as a six year old, you could tell something was upsetting Jimin and you didn’t like seeing the little boy in front of you look so sad.  So you pulled the rest of them out and smiled. 

“Okay. Here, this is my favourite one” — you placed the book in his hand. Two animated bears gracing the cover, a father and son. Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear? 

Jimin’s eyes lit up as he stared at the cover. It made you happy to see. 

“Shall we read it together?” he asked, looking up at you. 

“Okay,” you grinned, moving on your knees to sit beside him.

You picked up two of your stuffed animal toys from the corner and gave one to him while you cuddled one to your chest — something you always used to do when reading. Jimin took it with a shy smile, copying you and bringing the stuffed puppy toy to his chest before holding the book out in between you.

He would read one page, and you would read the next, with both of you taking time to admire the pictures on every page. 

After the first one, you read another, and another the same way with both of you alternating pages. However, half an hour passed with different books and you both got bored, so you decided to take advantage of the fact that no one had come to put you to bed yet considering it was nearly 9pm and your usual bedtime was 8pm. 

“Shall we play tag?” you asked Jimin. 

He chewed on his bottom lip, looking at you in worry. “My dad will tell me off.”

“But it’s my house,” you said confidently, taking his hand and walking with him towards your bedroom door. “We can tell him it was my idea, I know my dad won’t tell me off.”

You pulled open the door and stepped out into the wide hallway. “Pretty please,” you pouted, still holding his hand.

A smile found its way to Jimin’s lips, a big one. It made his eyes transform into little crescents and you decided then that you liked this new friend of yours. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Your arms flung around his neck for a brief hug before you moved back and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Tag, you’re it!” you yelled, running down the hall away from Jimin who followed right on your heel with the biggest smile on his face. 

You played together freely, running in and out of the many rooms of your mansion home, winding around the furniture and crawling under beds. Then, after what felt like an hour, you heard your housemaid calling your name as she looked for you and you immediately grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him into one of the guest bedrooms. 

“I think you’re gonna go home now,” you breathed, heart beating hard in your chest. 

“I don’t wanna go,” Jimin frowned, breathing just as hard.

“We can hide in here,” you said, pulling on his hand to hide under the bed. 

Both of you shuffled in, listening to the footsteps of your housemaid getting closer as she still called your name, and Jimin’s too. You giggled together, thrilled to be hiding from a grown-up, until the housemaid called again… 

“Jimin, your dad is waiting for you.”

Jimin’s face dropped and the same fear you saw in him earlier returned. “I should go,” he said quietly, not even waiting for your answer as he belly crawled out from under the bed. 

You followed him, frowning as he walked with drooped shoulders out into the hall. 

“Ah, Jimin, there you are, sweetheart, your dad is ready to go now, have you got all your things?”

“Yes,” he said, turning around to face you. “Thank you for reading and playing with me, Y/N, I had lots of fun.”

“Me too,” you smiled, hoping he would too. And he did.

“Come on, kids,” your housemaid said, leading you back down the hall together. 

As you passed your bedroom, the door had been left open and you could see your reading corner from here with the books laid out. “Wait,” you blurted, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him into the room. “Which one was your favourite?” you asked, pointing at the picture books you’d read together. 

“The same as yours,” Jimin smiled, pointing at Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear? 

You picked it up and held it out with a smile. “You can keep it.”

Jimin looked puzzled. “But it’s your favourite?”

“I know, but my mommy said it’s nice to give people things they like, so I want to give it to you.” 

“Are you sure?” Jimin asked tentatively, fingers fiddling. 

“Yes, you’re my friend now,” you said, grinning and pushing the book forward again. 

Jimin smiled shyly, taking it from you. “You’re my friend too.”

“Kids, your parents are waiting,” your housemaid reminded you again from the door. 

Jimin and you listened this time, following her downstairs with smiles on your faces. Although you noticed how Jimin’s faded as he approached both of your dads in the main entryway. 

“There you are,” your dad grinned, ruffling your hair and Jimin’s as you stood next to him. 

Jihoon frowns. “We were looking for you, Jimin, why did you not come?”

“We were playing,” you answered boldly, remembering your promise earlier to say it was your idea, which it was. “I told Jimin to hide with me.”

“That’s cheeky, Y/N,” your dad says, raising a brow sternly. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just wanted to play with Jimin because you said I can’t invite my school friends to the house, and now I’m friends with Jimin.”

“Alright,” your dad sighs. “But next time, at least come and ask us for more play time, hm? You know I get worried when you don’t answer, anything could’ve happened, Y/N.”

“I know,” you pouted, “I’m sorry, dad.” 

“It’s okay, kid, just don’t do it again.” 

You nodded, smiling as your dad took your hand. He always expressed his concern over you being careful even in the house. All you knew is what he had told you — there’s some bad people in the world and they might try to come into the house. You were awfully scared when he had told you that, but he cuddled you and reminded you of all the security he has in place for your home. He also told you that’s why it’s so important you listened to him, so you understood why he was stern with you just now. 

As you held your dad’s hand, you looked towards Jimin and noticed how he stood stiffly next to his dad, cuddling the book you’d given him to his chest. 

“Jimin, what is that you’re holding?” Jihoon asked, frowning at Jimin. 

“Oh, um, it—it’s a book,” he stuttered. “Y/N gave it to me, she said I can keep it.”

Jihoon still didn’t seem pleased. “You don’t take things from people, Jimin, that’s rude, give it back.”

Again, Jimin’s face dropped as he held the book out towards you to take.

But you stepped forward and gently moved it back to his chest. “Uncle Jihoon, I want Jimin to have it. My mommy told me you should give your friends presents and I gave it to Jimin. He has to keep it because we’re friends now.” You looked up at Jimin’s dad with a big smile. 

“Very well, Y/N,” he nodded, still seeming displeased. “If you insist.” 

You nodded and he turned to your dad to say goodbye, while you looked at Jimin again and smiled. 

This time, he barely returned the smile. 

You didn’t see Jimin again until two months later. 

“I won’t be long,” your father said, pulling away from the hug. “Your mother will be back tomorrow evening and until then, Jiyoung will be here to look after you.”

Shyly, you smiled at the older girl and she smiled back reassuringly. You’d only met her a few times before, but you knew her as Uncle Han-jae’s step daughter and since he’s a friend of your dad’s, you automatically considered her a friend to you too.

“Okay,” you nodded, trying your best to be brave in front of your father despite feeling anxious at the thought of him leaving. The last time he had to go away for a few days, your mom was with you the whole time, but like he said, she’ll be here soon.

“Good girl.” Your dad kissed your head once more before rising. 

At the same time, a few familiar faces entered the room. You recognised Uncle Han-jae whose house you were in, and behind him came Uncle Jihoon – he looked different from when you last saw him, his face a little scarier to you as his features were more gaunt and hollowed. 

Then, Jimin appeared. He looked miserable is what you first noticed, no brightness in his eyes which he kept downcast.

“Are we ready?” Jihoon asked.

“Yes,” your father answered. “Ah, Jimin, you’re here too, Y/N and you can spend some time together.” 

Jimin, however, only looked up with his eyes rounding in apprehension as he glanced between your father and you.

“He’ll be coming with us,” Jihoon said curtly, patting Jimin’s shoulder to motion him to walk towards the door. 

“Excuse me?” You looked up to see your father looking at Jihoon, astounded. “Jimin is coming with us?”

“Yes.” Jihoon seemed unaffected by your father’s tone. “He is getting old enough and the younger he starts, the better. I’ve already suggested Taemin accompany us as well, but he’s still in the States.”

Sehun looked at Han-jae who nodded to acknowledge the statement. “Perhaps next time.”

Taking another look at Jimin, Sehun frowned. He stepped forward, muttering something quietly. Then, he and Jihoon were walking out of the room and you caught the irritated expression on Jihoon’s face. 

You don’t know what they said in those few moments of privacy, but when they returned to the room, Jihoon appeared even more annoyed, yet it seemed your father successfully convinced him to not bring Jimin along.

“You’ll stay here with Y/N,” Jihoon said abruptly, barely even sparing a glance at Jimin. “Do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble.”

Jimin looked up, nodding quickly. “Yes, father.”

Even as the young girl you were, you could recognise the relief that flooded through him then.

Perhaps that’s why you spent the rest of the evening trying to cheer him up, letting him choose whatever activities Jiyoung offered to do and having him choose dinner and dessert. With your efforts, it didn’t take long for Jimin to be running around the halls with you, laughing and playing excitedly as Jiyoung chased you both down for bed.

24th August 2006

“Can we help, mom?”

Jimin held your hand as you stood together on the grass, messy hair, messy clothes but big grins on your faces from having spent the last hour playing freely in the expanse of the Park estate. 

Jimin’s mom beamed, a smile you likened to the flowers she was planting for she had rosy cheeks and kind eyes, the same features you’d noticed in Jimin. 

“Of course you can.”

She handed you a spade, and Jimin a fork. With simple instructions, she helped Jimin and you place the small flowers into the ground, guiding you as you used the tools to surround them in soil. 

“What flowers are these called?” you asked, admiring the pretty petals. 

“These are hydrangeas,” Jimin answered, looking just as delighted as you.

“That’s right,” Jimin’s mom nodded, taking off her gardening gloves and smoothing down Jimin’s hair. She looked at him with such fondness and it reminded you of your own mother. 

Every time you saw moments between Jimin and his mom like this, it made you feel sad for him. You saw your own mom often, but for some reason, Mrs Park wasn’t always around despite her having such a good relationship with Jimin. You could see how different he was with her, especially when his dad was away on business, and after having seen Jimin downcast so many times before, this was something you wanted to see more of. 

Jimin stood up, dusting off his knees. “Can we water the other plants too?”

“Yes, let’s do it.”

Together, Jimin and you helped Mrs Park tend to her garden. You didn’t get to come in here often as it was often locked, so on these rare occasions, you were happy to be able to help. 

There were a lot of plants, small trees and flowers, spanning across the square and even growing all over the walls that secluded this beautiful space from the rest of the estate. In the centre was a beautiful fountain with a statue at the top. It was a woman sitting, draped in loose cloth and she looked down, a hand on her heart and a mournful expression on her face. She reminded you of Jimin’s mom. 

“Y/N, honey, do you want to help Jimin dig out these weeds?”

You nodded, smiling as you walked over. Jimin looked up at you and grinned, shifting over to make space for you in front of the soil that needed clearing. 

It took a while but eventually, Jimin and you managed to dig out all the weeds while his mom pruned some of the taller trees. 

As the last of the weeds were pulled, Jimin’s mom came over and knelt beside him. She smiled, brushing a little dirt off his cheek.

“Ma’am.” The soft voice of their housekeeper, Ara, interrupted them. “The car is ready.”

Jimin’s mom went still and a shadow flickered across her face, though she quickly masked it with a gentle smile. 

Jimin’s smile faded and he sat a little straighter. “Do you have to go?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She rested her hand softly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her eyes soft but distant, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she stood up. With one smile and nod your way, she walked towards the house.

As Jimin watched her go, his shoulders drooped and he clenched his small hands to keep his composure. You wondered why he didn’t at least hug her goodbye, but something about his stiff expression told you he was used to this, almost like it was his duty to not feel sad. 

You nudged him and smiled. “Hey, we still have some flowers to water. She’ll want to see them all done when she’s back, right?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he picked up the watering can again. “Yeah… let’s make them look perfect for her.”

Together, you set back to work in the garden, his laugh returning, filling the quiet space she'd left behind. Through a trace of sadness lingered, your playful banter slowly brought the light back to his face.

3rd September 2008 

The last time you saw Jimin was when you were 11. 

Despite having only seen him a handful of times over the past few years from when you first met him, you always had fun as the young kid you were, and every time, it seemed you had a subconscious mission of making Jimin smile and laugh as much as you could. You always succeeded.

However, the last time you saw him, you were struggling to get him to laugh as much. He had just turned thirteen two weeks earlier, and yet it felt as though he’d aged six years instead of one. You supposed that had something to do with the private conversation you’d accidentally heard earlier on in the evening.

While you were supposed to be helping your grandma and the house staff prepare dinner for the Lee’s and Park’s, you were too excited about giving Jimin the birthday gift you had prepared for him. As you finished tying the bow around the carefully wrapped gift, you felt as though something was missing and skipped downstairs, out of sight of any adults to sneak into the gardens and find a few flowers to decorate it with. After gathering a few (by recklessly breaking the stems – much to the dismay of the gardener and your grandmother), you snuck around the front of the house to avoid some of the family guards on their shift as they patrolled the house. 

It was the sound of a sharp slap, followed by a harsh tone that had you pausing, instinctively treading lighter as you approached the source of the sound. You didn’t recognise it was Park Jihoon’s voice until you were met with the sight of him standing in front of Jimin just outside their car. 

Your heart dropped when you saw Jimin standing with his head lowered, nodding with everything Jihoon said. You couldn’t make out what was being said yourself, but by now you had learned that Jimin’s father wasn’t like yours, so you could only imagine the conversation was one to scold or berate Jimin for something – not that it was deserved.

After a short moment, Jihoon turned to walk towards the house and Jimin followed wordlessly. Knowing you weren’t meant to be seeing it, let alone even being out, you ran back towards the back of the house, managing to avoid the guards as you dashed back to your room. 

When Jimin and his father finally entered the house, you got yourself and Jimin excused as fast as you could, rushing upstairs to your room. He seemed wary as he entered, but you quickly pounced on him in a long hug.

“Happy late birthday, Jimin!” you beamed.

“Thank you,” he muttered in response, almost shyly. 

As you pulled back, you saw the small smile on his lips. “Come on, I got you a present.”

Jimin followed you as you walked over to your bed, watching as you pulled the gift out from underneath it. You leapt on the bed, bringing Jimin down with you and motioning for him to open it. He smiled at the flowers you had stuck behind the bow, pulling them out first to admire them.

“Geraniums.”

“Huh?”

“Geraniums,” he repeated, lifting the flowers in his hand to look at you. He laughed softly when he saw your puzzled expression. “These flowers are called geraniums. My mom grows them in her garden.”

“Oh…” you paused. Jimin never spoke about his mom often when she wasn’t here, but you knew one of the ways they bonded was through her love of botany. 

Jimin’s smile softened and he shifted, moving the gift out of the way from between you. Delicately, he pushed your hair out of the way and slid one of the stems behind your ear. “There, you look even prettier.” 

You felt yourself growing shy but had no time to even dwell on it as Jimin picked up the present and placed it on his lap. A few seconds later, he had unwrapped the gift, revealing a board game which you loved so much, you wanted him to have one too.

As his hand slid down the edge of the box, Jimin’s smile faltered.

“You don’t like it?” you asked immediately, lips pouting in a frown – you weren’t offended that he didn’t like it, only upset that he wouldn’t be able to have fun with the only gift you’d prepared for him. Just as you began to wonder what else you could ask your dad to buy him instead, Jimin shook his head.

“No, it’s not that..” he hesitated, still looking down at the game.

“Oh,” you realised he just turned thirteen – maybe some teenagers don’t like to play board games anymore. “You’re too big for games now?”

“No,” Jimin shook his head again, sighing. “I do.” He looked up and you could see the apprehension in his expression again. “It’s just that my father doesn’t like me playing games.”

You didn’t understand it, and it only added to the dislike you already felt towards the man, but you knew not to question it. So instead, you proposed an idea.” Well, if you still want it, we can keep it here and play when you come?”

The corners of his mouth turned up again, and he nodded.

That was enough to satisfy you, and you smiled back even brighter, wanting to see him do the same.

He did, enough that his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. “Thank you.”

note. thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and if you have any questions, let me know! <3

[aquapede]

happily ever after, among other things, is an exploration of the path in the woods/reset ending, and player experience.

real quick i'm going to get this out of the way: yes, seeing it as a dying relationship is the most obvious reading, considering the themes of the chapter. i realize that, and i think that idea coexists with this one. this isn't dismissing that aspect of it. it's merely another facet of it.

okay now buckle in. this is a bit of a long one.

so, first off, the chapter is described as an epilogue. this chapter is unique in that regard.

but clearly it's not an actual epilogue. for many reasons. and it could be argued that this is because smitten wants this to last forever, but i think there's more to it. it's an epilogue because you've been here before, haven't you? you've finished things. and now you're back for more. well here it is.

once you ascend to the princess, she is sitting at a long table--a titanic distance between you and she that you cannot cross. depictions of you and her together cover the walls, untold stories that will never come to pass.

she's been expecting you to get here. to come 'home'. there is an implication that this has happened before. this is a tired song and dance. and god are you tired.

your shadow looms on the wall. holding you as much as it holds her, keeping you locked together just as much as it is keeping you apart. this only continues because you will it so; you don't want this to end. you can't let it end.

'but...we would have to stay here forever.'

the torches burn on the wall. they're what's keeping you happy. i find it interesting that, if you count the princess here, you have the same number as how many vessels the shifting mound wants, and that refusing to engage with her makes torches go out--denying her a vessel.

but let's not think about that. you and her enjoy something new and exciting together. it is the best experience like this that you have ever had. it is fresh, it is deep and invigorating. the two of you enjoy this. wasn't that perfect? wouldn't it be better if you do it again? can't we enjoy this again? you both want more.

and so you do it again. and it is enjoyable. you see new aspects of the experience; facets you never thought of before. it's exciting to stumble across these things. but then it ends. again. and you still want more.

so you do it again. there is less to see now, and what there is that is left doesn't invigorate you as much as it once did. it is the small things; simple moments between broad strokes. you've seen this before. you see them anyway.

no, no, you need to do it again. your set the stage again. you perform your play again. you used to love this one.

...then why doesn't it make you feel anything anymore? if you want this so much, why don't you enjoy it?

and that's it. you don't enjoy it anymore. neither of you do, and that guilt ways heavy over you. you've exhausted that whole experience, what are you meant to do now? you're scared of what will happen once you leave this comfortable familiarity you're in--this cage you've grown fond of.

you find something else to do. she sets the stage. what if we try and do something we've never done before? just...try something? anything.

and it is fun. you enjoy yourself again. you try so many things together. you try warmth and comfort. you try betrayal and cruelty. you do well, you do poorly. but all of these are new experiences. you're detached from the reality of these situations. it's just pretend.

you win. the board resets. she wins. the board resets. you go through more complicated paths. you see things you never saw before. it's all so exciting. the rush of testing your will on hers. you enjoy this.

but you're happy, right? you're still enjoying this?

what if you just spend time together? it doesn't even have to be a new activity. you don't have to do anything. just experience this moment together, go through the tired halls of all that we've exhausted. we can make this work. please. we don't have to leave. maybe it's your desperation bleeding into her, or maybe she fears that unknown as much as you do.

but...wouldn't it be nice to leave? to finally start your dance together, even if it's scary? she smiles sadly as she thinks about it. but that terror hasn't left you. you want her to stay. you want to stay with her. you dig your heels in. but...

'i'm not happy here. i don't think i ever was.'

that's what breaks you.

and for the first time in a long, long time, you find yourself sitting in the dark. there is no familiarity to this pain. only the knowledge that you have so utterly failed her.

'i feel empty.'

'me too.'

she's the one that crosses the gap between you. she meets you where the door to your freedom awaits, where you stand and stall as always.

'do you...still care about me?'

you've lived so many lives together. you've done so much. do you still care? did you ever? you...think you do care. even if it has been misguided and painful, hasn't that always been the two of you? that's a spark of familiarity. you see it in her too.

you've outgrown this place. you've seen what it holds. you know now; it's time to go. she leads you out of here, you trailing behind her. it...feels real. more real than the recursive lives you've lead.

and finally, she gets her wish. out in the night, you begin to dance. and it's invigorating. it's new, yes, but it's also...right, in ways you can't explain. there is no path for you to walk. there are no doubts holding you in the past. there is only you, and there is only her. this is where you're meant to be.

and finally, you are.

...but there are other endings to this. you don't always leave with her. sometimes that terror grips tighter. it doesn't have to end. we can just start over again. we don't ever have to admit how much it hurts. there is fondness to this monotony.

so you keep the flame lit. you keep the cycle going. we can be on this path in the woods forever.

or...perhaps you realize now that what was once love has gone putrid in your hands. what began as an exploration of each other's souls has only bred resentment. maybe she's been a monster all along. maybe you were just waiting for an opportunity. but you've made your decision.

you expect her to be mad. furious, even. but she's not. just...resigned. what is different about death compared to this eternity of the same words, repeated over and over? it's always been cold here.

but at least it's over.

[avianyuh]

Boring | Min Yoongi

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four} {Chapter Five} Chapter Six

Summary: You decide it's time for your friends to officially sit down and meet Yoongi out of the office. However, things don't go as planned and it's not for the reasons you'd normally suspect.

After that lunch with your friends two months ago, things had remained the same at work. You hadn’t moved in with Yoongi yet, so Mondays through Thursdays, you slept at your own apartment. Fridays and weekends you spent with Yoongi at his place since you didn’t have to come up with some elaborate plan to sneak into work together without making people at the office suspicious. You hadn’t worked on any other projects with Yoongi for the fear of your relationship being outed and your work being diminished as a ‘task’ the boss had given to his girlfriend.

But unlike work, your actual relationship has done nothing but change over the last five months of your relationship. You weren’t living together, but the suggestion of it was brought up to you at least once a week. Out at dinner? “You know Y/N, if we loved together this could be our designated takeout place…” Watching a movie? “What if we repainted the bedroom to be that shade of green like they have in the movie? Moving in would be a great excuse to remodel…” And of course, trying to leave Yoongi’s apartment on Sunday night. “I can’t stand not seeing you here for four days. I hate this.” He’d whine, holding you close as your bodies stood in the entryway to his apartment. Yoongi had gradually gone from a closed off, quiet man into an energetic, passionate and honest partner. He was everything you needed in your life. He said the right things, he made you feel special. He was starting to really convince you that maybe moving in would be a good idea. After all, having to split your clothes into two dresses was starting to take its tole on you. The other night, the temperature plummeted outside and you were freezing. So, you started rummaging through dresser drawers, looking for your favorite hoodie. After ten minutes of tearing your room apart, you realized that your warm, cozy hoodie was in fact, folded neatly in your boyfriends dresser fifteen minutes away. And it was only a Tuesday, so you, your hoodie and your boyfriend had two more days to go before you could all be properly reunited.

You had also finally gotten around to getting Yoongi, Gina and Hana in the same room outside of work. You had pleaded with Yoongi for over a week. “But I can tell they don’t like me, baby it’s a waste of time.” Yoongi groaned as he watched you from the couch search through the cabinets in the kitchen. You sighed as you darted your eyes around the inner workings of the cabinet, looking for something to snack on since your dinner reservation wasn’t for another few hours.

“Yoongi come on, they don’t hate you at all. You’re still hung up on that one time Gina got mad at you because she thought you were overworking me. Which, as we all know, was not the case and she gets that now. They’re always asking about you and when exactly I can get everyone informally introduced. Please, please, please say yes!” You begged as you snatched some crackers off a shelf and headed back towards Yoongi on the couch. He silently stared at you, shaking his head in disapproval. Then he let out a deep, dramatic sigh. Your lips curled into a smile, already knowing his response. Over the course of your relationship, you’ve learned a lot of about your boyfriend. What you’ve really enjoyed learning about are those little habits about him that no one else would really pick up on but you. This particular habit was your favorite. When you were winning your case against Yoongi, when he was about to admit defat and cave to your demands, he always let out a really long, dramatic sigh before finally agreeing. And just as you suspected, you had again just won your case.

“Fine, call them and set something up whenever they’re free. We can go out or we can host them here or at your place if you want.” Yoongi murmured as he flipped through the channels on TV. You clapped your hands excitedly as you climbed on top of him, decorating his face with kisses. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he was trying to conceal his smile.

So that next weekend, you decided to host your friends over to your apartment. You thought that it would be best to have them over to your apartment, since it’s well, not a rich CEO’s residence, which would have completely shocked them. Your apartment was pretty small, only had one bathroom that had almost no room to move around in, the kitchen had no storage, no counter space, and your bedroom had no windows. Overall, your apartment was the furthest thing from flashy and since you really wanted everyone to solely focus on getting to know each other, you thought you had picked the best location for that to happen since they wouldn’t be able to get sidetracked by Yoongi’s huge apartment.

Yoongi was tucked away in the kitchen, chopping something for a dish you were making as you walked towards the door after hearing the buzzer go off. It’s Gina, called the intercom. “Okay, remember Yoongi, Gina is really sarcastic, so remember to not take anything too literally or personally. She likes to get under people's skin.” You explained to him, praying in your head that everything goes well. Yoongi massaged his temples in frustration. He had been tense since the minute you woke up and you found it heartwarming that he was so nervous to meet your friends. But to be completely honest, you were also nervous deep down. Not so much with your friend Hana, but with Gina. Though you had told your friends two months ago about your relationship and they had seemed supportive, you had left out a tiny detail. After a night in with Gina at her apartment, and after knocking back quite a few drinks as you watched reruns of some show from twenty years ago, Gina had a drunk words, sober thoughts moment.

“Y/N, I really hope you realize how much of a douche your boyfriend is. I just saw him yelling at Mark from accounting the other day in the middle of the hallway. Like, he was really mad. People were looking and everything. I just don’t think someone that can get so aggressive is the right guy for you…Plus, Yoongi and his secretary are way too friendly. everything he says, she's always giggling like an idiot. ” Though you yourself could fall into the category of drunk, you were sober enough to remember what she said, especially the part about the secretary. To be clear, you always knew Yoongi’s secretary didn’t like you. And you were also aware of the fact that there was a good chance the secretary knew that Yoongi and you were dating, mainly because Yoongi was constantly ‘calling you in’ to his office, yet you never worked on anything with him. And you were always conveniently 'summoned' right before lunch started. Every time you’d walk past her desk to get to Yoongi’s office, you could almost feel her eyes burning into the back of your head. But at the end of the day, Yoongi was your boyfriend and not hers and you were secretly happy knowing someone knew of your relationship because deep down, all you wanted to do was be able to interact with Yoongi publicly without the paranoia that came along with seeing him at work.

You were taken out of your thoughts when you a knock at the door. You ran to swing it open and there stood your best friend. You both yelled excitedly as you hugged Gina tightly. You tried to navigate your way around the box of cookies in her hands that she had brought as a gift. “Come in!” You exclaimed as you pulled her inside. “Where’s Hana?” you asked as you took her box of cookies and her coat from her.

“Oh, you didn’t see the messages in the group chat? She’s stuck in traffic. You know…I told her she should’ve moved to the city when she had the chance. Now she’s so far away from everything and it takes forever to get here.” Gina explained as she closed the door and took off her shoes.

“Ugh, well I’ll try to not eat too much until she gets here, I don’t want her to feel left out.” You said as you walked towards the kitchen, Gina following close behind.

“Hi Gina.” Yoongi greeted her awkwardly as he motioned his head back down, going back to chopping vegetables.

“Hey Yoongi, thanks for making time for something like this.” Gina complimented him. “I know you’re busy…” You nudged Gina with your elbow, giving her a look that screamed behave yourself, as you started to set up the table before Hana arrived.

“Yoongi actually canceled something to do this.” You nonchalantly lied as you spread out the cookies Gina brought on a plate. You could see from the corner of your eye that Yoongi was giving you a confused look, which you couldn’t blame him for. You weren’t sure why Gina was so seemingly against your relationship. You knew she was coming from a good place, but you were really happy with Yoongi and you wanted her to see that he was just as serious about you as you were for him.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Gina teased as she cracked a smile. Perfect, you thought to yourself. By the time Hana got to your apartment, the food was ready and everyone was sitting at the table. Yoongi went around refilling everyone's wine glasses, and Hana gave you a subtle look of approval upon him filling up her glass. It was going really well. He was asking them questions, getting to know them and even making them laugh. “Wait a minute…Yoongi, you paint!” Hana exclaimed as Yoongi shyly nodded.

“Oh you should see some of his paintings, I thought he bought them from a gallery, they look really professional.” You said, squeezing Yoongi’s shoulder. “I actually have one here.” You stood up from your seat, running to hallway to get the painting.

“When’d you get into painting?” Gina asked curiously, taking a sip of her wine. Yoongi relaxed in his seat, squinting his eyes, seemingly thinking back to something.

“I think High School…I took a few art classes and really enjoyed them. I would’ve studied art in college but my parents would’ve been angry.” Both of your friends nodded understandingly as you reentered the room.

“Here it is!” You held up the dark colored canvas. It was a painting of a night sky, one Yoongi had painted while staying over at your apartment. He sat in front of the window for hours. He had been jumpy all day because he had a meeting the next morning, so he decided to paint to take his mind off of his schedule. That was when you learned that he had a creative side to himself. Your friends stood up, getting a closer look at the painting. You could hear a lot of wows and ooo’s as you peered past them, back at your boyfriend. You gave him a wink and he smiled at you.

When your friends settled back down, you could tell that the atmosphere had changed. From earlier in the day where things were quite tense with Gina, to the tipsy laughter of the midafternoon, to now, where it seemed like everyone was truly comfortable. “Okay Yoongi I just have to say, I apologize for doubting you.” Gina blurted out. You looked over at her, confused by the sudden outburst. “I’ve seen how happy you’ve made Y/N over the past few months, but I thought it seemed too good to be true. Plus, she kept the fact that she was seeing you from us for three months and I thought that was a bad sign…But, now I get it. It is a tricky situation considering where we all work.” Hana took a sip of her wine, humming in agreement with Gina.

“I just have to ask though, what really would happen if anyone found out? I mean, you are the CEO, you can’t get fired right?”Hana spoke up, a concerned look on her face.

“No. That wouldn't happen. I’m actually in the middle of negotiating a deal, one where I would be promoted. I’d be overseeing multiple offices if we buy out these other companies. I wouldn’t be at the regular office as much, so I’m thinking our relationship wouldn’t be of much concern since I wouldn’t be at the office as much.” Yoongi explained. You listened closely, because this was all new information to you. However, you stayed silent, not wanting your friends to find out that you had no idea about any of this. “We’re keeping it really quiet right now, no one really knows.”

“Well, that’s great! I hope it all works out.” Gina cheered as she raised her glass to make a toast, she gave you warm smile, before noticing the hesitation behind your expression to return it. You ignored the confusing look from Gina and followed suit, clinking your glass with everyone else’s, but deep down, you were a bit angry with your boyfriend. How could he keep you in the dark on something as big as this.

After a few more hours, you said your goodbyes to your friends and closed the door. You turned around to find Yoongi standing behind you. “It went great right? I think I impressed them.” Yoongi said proudly as he tried to pull you into his embrace.

“Yep, great.” You responded sarcastically as you pushed past him, starting the process of cleaning up the mess from dinner. Yoongi followed behind you, asking what was wrong.

“What happened? Everything went really well…unless I missed something?” He questioned. You let out a frustrated sigh as you placed the dishes in the sink.

“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. You’re working on buying out other companies, something that could potentially take you to other cities and you just neglected to tell me. And you’ve been working on this for a while? This wasn’t even something that just happened. My friends found out before I did. Do you know how embarrassing it was to have to sit there and pray that you didn’t blurt out that I had no idea about this?” You yelled as you watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, formulating his response.

“I thought it would have been a nice surprise.” Yoongi murmured as he looked at you.

“Well it wasn’t. It makes me think that you have no trust in me. LIke you couldn’t trust me with important information.” You explained to him as you turned on the faucet, starting to scrub the plates.

“So what now? Are you mad at me? Y/N I’m sorry, it’s just been hectic with all the talks of these mergers, I really didn’t think it through.” To that, you didn’t even respond. You weren’t sure why this got you so mad. After all, other than that slip up, the day went well and technically the ultimate goal was to get your friends to bond with your boyfriend. “I don’t care if you stay or leave, I’m just angry that you didn’t at least give me a heads up.” Is all you said as he leaned against the counter.

He did end up staying over that night and by the next morning, you decided to just not bring it up again, but you couldn’t help the doubts that started to reappear in the back of your mind. You wondered if his secretary knew about the mergers. You thought about whether he'd need to move for work. If he would start to travel even more often than he already did. But most importantly you wondered if your relationship was as secure as you had previously thought it was. Does he not trust me?

[kiss4noo]

𝓓ating 𝓡oulette ! . ˚ ౨ৎ ⊹ 

꒰ 🎀 ꒱ 𝒩ishimura ℛiki [니키] : ​​𝒞h 1. – you want… me? to be ur wingman?

𝓰enre. smau (social media au), comedy, fluff, angst, romance, best friends to lovers. .˚⊹ 𝓹airing. non-idol,,best friend riki x fem reader. ໒꒱ 𝔀arning(s). profanity, kys/kms jokes, poor attempt at humor. <//3

𝓼ynopsis .ᐟ you have horrendous luck with men… and your best friend knows this. so, when you ask him to set you up with a guy, he immediately agrees– except, he secretly likes you. in attempts to do what you’ve asked of him, he sets you up with his friends, sabotaging every date you go on: until you finally agree to go out with him.

𝓼tatus. ongoing! 𝓊pdates. every 2 to 3 days. (attempting) 𝓼tart. 11/04/24.

꒰ 💌 ꒱ 𝓉aglist. open! comment / send an ask to be added!

@nshmuras @wonsdoll @pshbites @greentulip @roarr-ki @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @sol3chu @rikidaze @lelestarmy @17ericas (bold cannot be tagged)

꒰ 💬 ꒱ 𝓶i 𝓷ote. FIRST CHAPTER LETS GO!!! welcome to my first smau :P

if you enjoyed this fic, please like and reblog! it's always appreciated :)

enjoy, my lovely readers. xoxo, mi. ‹𝟹

𝒞h 1. – you want… me? to be ur wingman? . . . masterlist / previous / next !

nishimura riki has been your best friend since the beginning of time.. well, since you were about four years old. the two of you have been inseparable since stepping onto the wooden floor of your shared dance studio, infatuated with each other from the get-go. 

growing alongside the boy was special, if anything. there was rarely a time where you felt invisible or unheard with him, riki always finding a way to brighten the mood. from his energetic personality, witty humor, and the way he always listened– your friendship was unbreakable.

the two of you shared a bond so immense that it led you to attend the same university, both majoring in the realm of dance– your passion lingering as time blurred from the small figures you were all those years ago. 

as per usual, sat beside the boy, you took a bite of your steaming ramen, contemplating the next steps of your uneventful college life. between coursework, spending time with your best friends, and dancing– there was barely any time for the one thing you’d been thinking about for years; dating.

you’d wished that a special someone would come sweep you off of your feet as described in romance novels– except that reality wasn’t for you. it was true that your love life was comparable to the custodian’s dusty, dark, cobweb filled closet.

it wasn’t that you weren’t admired through the male gaze, it was simply the fact that nishimura riki seemed to be an obstacle to each boy who wanted to shoot their shot. except, who could blame them? your best friend was always attached to your hip, and you to his. he’s immensely tall, protective, and affectionate to the point it seemed as though he was your boyfriend.

except he isn’t.

“bubba.” riki’s husky voice called, breaking you out of the trance of deep thought you’d been in.

peering up at him with your adorable, curious eyes, he melts at the sight, a small smile tugging at his lips. “what’s on your mind, hm?” he questions softly, reaching a hand forward to rake his fingers through the soft ends of your hair.

“well.. it‘s just that i want to try going on a date, i think.” you admit in response, causing the boy to pause.

“you… you want to go on a date?” he asks, his protectiveness appearing at the forefront of his expression– masking his slight disappointment. “with who?” he proceeds to question, sounding skeptical.

it was no secret that the boy admired you, adored you with every ounce of his heart. he refused to treat any other female the way he does you. from an outsider’s viewpoint, anyone could tell that he loves you.

“that’s what i was getting to… could you– possibly set me up?” you ask ever so innocently, causing riki’s heart to crack inside of his chest.

“you want… me?” he begins, pointing to himself with his index finger, “to be your wingman?” the boy blinks, staring at you with a blank stare and parted lips.

“yes!” you agree with a cheeky grin, nodding your head in addition to the verbal response.

with a heavy sigh, the boy nods, flashing a small, tight-lipped smile toward you. “alright, baby. i’ll set you up on a date this weekend.”

ⓘ all content posted to kiss4noo is not to be plagiarized, translated or reposted.

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 41: Picture in a Frame

HEY SO YEAH sorry it's a lil late I got writer's block out the ass

love u mean it

pls enjoy

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 41: Picture in a Frame

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 41/? WC: 109,583 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mature (sexual) content Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

You spend most of the rest of the morning nursing your single cup of coffee and begging Gaz to make you something heavily salted and carbohydrate-dense. He obliges, but not without some good-natured ribbing, eventually setting a plate full of steaming potato wedges down in front of you. 

"Some chips should help, you lush" he coos, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. 

You're so grateful, you don't even bother sticking your tongue out in answer, you just shovel a handful in your mouth and release an appreciative moan. He chuckles and ruffles your hair before turning to wipe down the counter behind him. 

Maybe it's psychological, but you instantly feel better, and your headache is almost gone now, thanks to the aspirin. Gaz is such a good little den mother. You tell him as much and he replies with an unappreciative gesture, eliciting a few huffs of laughter from either side of you -- Soap and Simon.

Most everyone else has left, off to make arrangements for the company's departure. Pull transportable resources, contact folks on the ground in and around Boston, find someone to fly the whole group over there...Cap had a whole list of to-dos. 

 Soap reaches across you and takes a fry, holding it between his index finger and thumb as though it might sting him, delicately nibbling at one end. He looks a little better after hurling a few times, but he's still pretty green. 

"I'm surprised at you, Soapy," you tease. 

He glances at you, chewing his little bite slowly. He doesn't open his eyes fully, like the light is still hurting him. You know Gaz slipped him some drugs too, so his headache must be worlds worse than yours. "Why's that, love?"

You tilt your head.

"I'd've thought a man with such expensive taste in whisky would have a better tolerance."

He scowls. Gestures at you with a tiny wand of potato. "Oi -- vodka is a different beast altogether, lass. 'Specially whatever shite you fed us last night." He pales a little at the memory and takes another, even smaller bite.

You nod somewhat grimly and pop another fry into your mouth. "It was shite, I'll give you that."

"You two are pathetic," Simon murmurs, lifting his mask just enough to slurp his coffee. You don't miss the slight upturned curve of his lips.

One of your elbows reflexively finds its way into his ribs, but he catches it before you can do any real damage. You squeak in protest, snatching your arm back, not missing how his eyes twinkle with mischief. Your belly flutters lightly -- not unpleasant or liquor-driven. Delicate. Happy. You give him a little wink.

Gaz turns halfway from the sink, brows raised. "You got these two to drink vodka?"

You shrug and brush salt off your fingertips. "What can I say? Putty in my hands."

Simon and Soap make synchronized noises of incredulity. 

Gaz turns on the faucet and shakes his head, chortling to himself. 

You glance from side to side, grabbing another fry. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Careful, darling," Simon murmurs, sending a bolt of lightning through your core. 

Soap lets out a strangled groan and leans over his lap, panting like a dog. 

"Not on the floor, Soap, please," Gaz whines. 

"How the hell are you not hungover?" you ask, turning to face Simon more directly, only partly because you really, really don't want to see Soap yack. 

"Who says I'm not?"

You frown, a protest on your lips, when Cap swoops back into the room.

"What are you lot complaining about now?" he asks, rubbing his hands together like he's plotting something. His gaze snags on Soap, but he doesn't slow down as he walks straight up to the other side of Simon, eyeing the four of you. He plucks his hat off his head and grips it in one hand, bracing the other against the island.

"Nothing, Cap."

He snorts and snags a fry. "Somehow I doubt that. Good as always, Gaz."

"Thank you, sir," Gaz replies, holding a small bucket out at arm's length, offering it to Soap, who snatches it without looking up. 

"What's the progress so far?" Simon asks.

Cap makes a disgruntled noise. "Waiting on some call backs. Keller's got some people on the ground in Pennsylvania. I've got some friends in New York. Otherwise it's quiet out there. No comms from major orgs, not since Kate and Sunny were taken."

Your heart sinks a little. You hadn't expected much, but...you'd hoped. 

Maybe you should stop doing that. Hoping.

No, you chide yourself. Don't be silly. You have an entire crew here willing to travel across the ocean with you. If nothing else, that's remarkable on its own.

You just had to get there...if Cap could just get you there...you could figure out the rest. You could. You would.

"Just so you know," Cap says, eyes landing on you. "This is going to be a hell of an operation."

You lift your chin a little. "I know."

"I don't want you to worry. We'll manage."

"Can I help?" you ask. Your voice sounds kind of small.

"No, no," he shakes his head. "I don't think there's anything for you to do, love. Just -- try not to worry."

"You keep saying that."

"Yes, well, I mean it."

"No offense, Cap, but it's sort of having the opposite of your intended effect."

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Right. Well. In that case, since I've sufficiently bungled this conversation, maybe I'll just go. Calls to make, what have you."

"But...you just walked in."

"And now I'm walking out."

And he does, taking his hat with him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The four of you exchange a look. Soap's nausea must've subsided because he's upright again, bucket in his lap.

"That was weird," he mutters. 

"Yeah...it was," you agree. 

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[moeblob]

I unfortunately picked up Bravely Default 2 again (I bought it back when it released) and then started over since I last played it in June 2021. And. You know what. I like these silly beans. And then I saw concept art for Dag's expressions and I am not the same. Why did they decide to give him huge fangs in it.

(also I'm trying so hard to avoid spoilers less for plot but more for characters so if you know anything that happens to characters shhhhh. also the expression concept is below the read more so you can see what I mean.)

[griddlegold]

i finished nona and i wanna talk about it but none of my thoughts are actually words so ig i'd actually like to be in a room of other people talking abt it so i can occasionally nod or argue a point

[lustlovehart]

[ Monsters List ] - Sensitive info with targets abilities

A/n: Not my usual writing at all! these details are relationship stuff each character has with the reader that isn’t shown in the main story. (Some details are omitted to avoid spoilers). Now that this is done, I’ll be going back to the main story line now ^^. If i’m missing any warnings, please say so.

Pairing: [Monster!Twst x Reader] Featuring, Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Cater, Trey, Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Epel, Idia, Malleus, Lilia, Sebek, Silver, Rollo, & Neige.

Summary: Dear, [Name], Crowley just informed me he did not give the courtesy of listing all the beasts and their abilities into your possession, please allow me to be the one to aid you. Here are bullets of their names and prowesses, as well as species. Please, do stay safe and out of trouble, and remember to eat and sleep well. Love, From, Rollo.

“Did it send?” “I… I’m sorry Sir Rollo, it seems we were unable to reach [Name] in time…” “…What.”

Warnings: Some fuffy and some aren’t, Stalking, Mentions of Nsfw (Vil). Zombies (Ace, Deuce), Biting (Ace, Deuce, and Jamil), Squeezing? (Jamil, Floyd), Hints of possession in each section, Blood Drinking (Epel, Jade, Lilia), They’re all monsters that are evil so… Murder, Kisses (Kalim, Floyd, Malleus), Blood,

Prologue Chapter

Riddle Rosehearts [ Ghost ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic. [ Magic is a mystery in the field, all that is known is it’s abilities monsters have that aren’t typically in their species skillset, as well as being especially powerful to utilize it ]

- He posses the abilities of, phasing, possession, kinesis (many different kinds), invisibility, telepathy, and short moments of time where he can have a physical body. He tends to forget he’s a ghost leading to numerous times where you’ve accidentally injuried yourself and he rushes to your side to give aid, only for his to hand phase through you instead of truly helping. He feels guilty not being able to help you.

There’s a secret part of him that feels less guilty and more angry, about being incapable of touching you all the time. Sometimes, he wishes he was Ace just so he could wrap some part of him around you, but alas, he can only do so in short intervals, which just… isn’t enough.

- Has a habit of just, watching. You’ve caught him at your window at night. He insists coming in without permission is unlawful, to which you tell him looking at you through glass is just plain creepy. You now invite him for tea parties, yet that still doesn’t stop him from longingly gazing through the glass that separates you two. (freak)

- Glows a bright red when he’s either angry or extremely flustered. You walked in one time when the former was happening and were temporarily blinded, in your own temporary home no less…

With the latter… he was helping you figure out a crossword puzzle from a lost book you had found during the night. When he helped you figure it out, he swears your smile was so bright he was blinded. In your case, at least you didn’t need a lantern to see the page anymore.

- He has numerous stitches on his body, his mouth, his neck, and his heart, or at least, where it would’ve been had he still had it. In the short times when he decides to take on a physical form, he enjoys letting your hands trace over the numerous threads through his skin… He won’t admit it, but it’s a comfort.

- When he’s working, his exposition completely changes. You get scared of him, you forget just how determined he is to being the pinnacle of perfection, even as a monster.

- Survival: Fear and Grievances, prays on victims through Possesion and death.

Ace Trappola & Deuce Spade [ Zombies ]

- Infectious Bites. There have been many close calls where the two almost bit you, secretly hoping to turn you into them in their delusions of being with you forever, it never works though cause when they try, you turn and give them a smile that haunts them so bad they can’t bear the thought of you hating them. The idea always rears its ugly head back to them, but then you treat the two like a regular human and, unknowingly, save yourself just a little longer.

- Anatomy Control (Disassembling limbs and still having control). Deuce has a very common occurring tendency, that leads him to lose his limbs on occasion. He can still feel what they feel, but when they separate from him, they tend to have a mind of their own. There have been several times where you’ve been the one to return a limb, typically his hand, and he’s all fidgety cause it just refuses to let go of you.

“I… I promise this doesn’t usually happen…! I have no idea why it won’t let go of you” with how lovingly it was stroking your hand earlier (which you won’t mention to Deuce)… You’re not too sure either… Does it like the feeling of warmth? “Next time this happens, just… Feel free to stab it” he looks dejected, but you accept his offer nonetheless.

- Ace has asked to sleep with you in your bed because his grave is so cold and lonely. You wouldn’t want him dying alone a second time right? That’s too cruel. He was surprised when you accepted, even more so when you said there weren’t rules like “You have to stay on this side of the bed!” or “Don’t touch me!”, he asked you if you had a thing for him, to which you only quirk up your eyebrow at his question.

“Hm…? I’ve slept with someone before, I don’t think it’s that serious.” … What. Who’s this someone?! He doesn’t end up sleeping as he’s left wondering who you’ve been with before him, little does he know this someone was just a reserved monster hunter who was watching over you with a fever.

- They’re the most attached to you, in a physical sense. Considering at least one, or even more, of the limbs on the duo is just bones, along with Deuce missing an eye and Ace missing part of his face, it’s a bit hard for them to go out without giving people a heart attack. So… They break into wherever you’re temporarily staying, which is typically an abandoned house, and accompany you in every location they possibly can. One very worrying thing they do, is stick their limbs in your bag. They won’t admit it but, it’s cause they miss you. You need to tell them sticking Ace’s eye in there to keep watch is NOT okay.

- Survival: Eating Humans

Cater Diamond [ Ghost…? ]

- Phasing, possession, invisibility, telepathy. Though you don’t see him use any of these capabilities very much. You wonder why but never go through with asking him, how could you when he looks so happy to be in your presence? At least, you think he’s happy. You can never tell if it’s genuine or not… His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes like everyone else…

- Whenever he decides to spend his time with you, his face is never close enough in view for you to decipher any real features of his. What color are his eyes? What does his nose look like? Is the diamond you remember on him even there? The basics of a face are in your memory, but you can never remember the more eunique traits of his. You… Don’t know why that is at all. It feels like you’re forgetting something from the first meeting you had with Cater, but your suspicions tell you it had something to do with his face.

- Even though he’s a ghost, it feels like he forgets something about that sometimes… It’s different from Riddle, who simply forgets he no longer has a physical body, it’s like he doesn’t remember he even died in the first place. You’ve seen him all alone, the sunny disposition he proposes to everyone is gone, a hollow feeling in his vicinity. You couldn’t hear it clearly, the only word heard at all being sisters.

- The moment he sees you it’s like he’s scrambling to change his disposition, walking up to you casually as he mentions how cute you look today, ahh you should take him shopping! He’ll be discreet don’t worry—

“Cater, how did you die?”

“Wha—? W-who cares about that, come on just take me to town kay’?” you do end up bringing him as he points at things he’ll never be able to use, commenting on how cute they would be to have and show off, even attempting to wrap his arm around your shoulder before laughing off at his arm phasing through your body and making your spine shiver.

You don’t miss the way his laugh is more forced than usual, and obvious distress at what happened. Why is he so upset he can’t touch you? Is there a reason he wants to so bad? For once, you wanna know.

“Cater, lets go on a date again.”

“I didn’t know you were so up-front…! But, if you’re asking then I just can’t say no can I?”

- Survival: Fear and Grievances, prays on victims through Possesion and death(?)

Trey Clover [ Frankenstein ]

- The sight of a giant, buff, green, adult man, hovering over you like a doting boyfriend as you bake is certainly a domestic sight to behold. Though it becomes less heartwarming when you remember this scientifically resurrected man is 8 feet tall, he can basically reach the top shelf when he’s kneeling.

- Just like the zombies of Heartslaybul, Trey can disassemble his limbs, but he has more control over it than the other two… You’ve had a fair share of moments where you’re trying to eat and a stitched up hand crawls towards you with a piece of cake., it’s sweet, but horrifying in the dark.

- He’s a glorified brick wall, if brick walls could also fight back at insane speeds. You watched him unintentionally scare off another Monster Hunter once, they weren't intimidated by his size at all, even attempting to throw a punch at him to show off. Their try immediately backfired as Trey stood unfazed, watching them run away cradling their hand. Before you can blink, Trey’s already towering over you asking if there was a pastry he should try making for you. Honestly… You need to tell Crowley to hire better employees.

- Trey has electrocuted you once. Totally unintentional on his part, but if someone asked him what he thought when he did it, he would tell them with a soft smile you look cute. Meanwhile, you’re on the other side of the room trying to make sure Trey doesn’t increase the voltage next time he tries holding you. Everytime he attempts to do just that, you’re quick to jump out the way. He’ll smile softly but he can’t deny he’s a little disheartened... Seems he’ll just have to rebuild that trust.

- Despite all the stitches on his body, unlike Riddle, there aren’t open wounds on his body, so he’s technically the only one who can accompany you without drawing too much attention. It’s a secret kept between the two of you, but whenever you head into the square, you both walk to as many bakeries as possible, tasting whatever you can afford. Whenever he put something in his mouth, he’d make an offhand comment about his family. You wonder… How did Trey even resurrect like this?

- Survival: Undocumented

Leona Kingscholar [ Beastman Mummy ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- His skin is wrapped in so many bandages, all of them he can bend at his will. You’re curious as to what he looks like under the fabric, but one glare and the feeling of binds grappling around your body is enough for you to reconsider. That’s only if you attempt to look underneath, if not, he’ll sit in silence as you admire each carefully placed bind, cracking an eye open to watch you close in on him in curiosity.

- Watching him manipulate sand just to make places to sleep is entertaining, but being dragged into his timeframe of napping is surely not. The grip he has on you is ironclad as the two of you lay on the grainy bed, if you complain about sand getting into your clothes he’ll make a sly suggestion of “Just take off your clothes” before retreating into a slumber that you can’t shake him from. Even if you did decide to do that, how would you even take them off…? He won’t let go of you…!

- Despite being a former corpse, if he was still mortal, he’d essentially be an ultimate being. He’s super strong, fast, he’s quick at recovering, and even if you did cut off a limb of his he’d regrow in just half the time it took to get it off him. To make it worse he’s handsome, has an air of nonchalance, and a prince. You can just imagine the sound of Crewel and Rollo nagging at you for thinking such heinous things about a beast you’re meant to be killing.

- Whenever Leona controls the dead, you hide behind him. Not because you’re scared of his army, but because they remind you of Ace and Deuce, and you’d rather not see versions of themselves not heed danger whatsoever. You were half awake one time when he summoned corpses, your blurry eyes mistaking two of them for Deuce and Ace, wrapping your arms around their shoulders and pulling them into you. You only realize it’s not them when Leona grabs your from behind and hoists your body onto his shoulder like a sack.

“Wrong Zombies.” he makes an effort to have you sleep more before you accidentally kill yourself for such a small error.

- That little pain inducement ability he has? It sucks. It’s funny when he uses it to telepathically pinch Ruggie when he’s away. But, being reduced to a puddle of pure hurt and strain is the worst. Just watching Leona use it makes you remember… nevermind. Seeing his victims fall to their knees as he drains them of their life force is depressing, the burden of your defeat rearing its shame when he just knocks back and naps as their bodies turn to sand.

- Even when his tail wraps around your leg in a form of adoration, you can’t help but feel disdain for yourself remembering all those who are now dust on the ground because of him.

- Survival: Feeding off vitality

Ruggie Bucchi [ Werehyena ]

- Please tell Ruggie to stop tracking you with his senses and your stolen possessions, you’ve been scared too many times by him popping up out of nowhere. It’s even more horrifying in the night since his face looks so scary (His happy face looks the same as his hunting face. Don’t tell him though, he’ll rob you of your belongings in pettiness.)

- His eyes are so hypnotizing, both poetically and realistically. You’ve seen him mesmerize loving couples into handing over their belongings in his human form, only to revisit them later in the night to consume the rest of his steal. You asked him once what the point is in getting their stuff in the day only to kill them in the night, and he just smiles before softly placing a piece of bread on your lips.

You never take the bread from his hands, allowing him to feed you himself all the time, feeding you with the same hands stained with a bloody ending to a romance story. Maybe… it’ll get his pension for praying on lovers to soften, the thought of having his own might put his thoughts to bay… Who are you lying to that won’t happen, it’s how he lives, and how he will continue to live.

You know it won’t change when he’s desperately trying to hide the red stains under his nails.

- He’s very keen on being in your vicinity. No reason, you think, but he’s just always there, talking to you like normal. Which is weird, why does it feel so normal? The more you ponder it, maybe he’s more natural in your life cause of how equalized he is. He’s laidback yet cunning at the same time, not too good, but not too heinous (if you ignore his murders.) It’s a nice change of pace from people who see, to be heavily relent on one trait. Even though with a kinder personality feel weird… So, talking to Ruggie is a nice escape—

“Ruggie, did you take my wallet again?”

“How’d you think I paid for that bread? Shihihi— Augh! Ow okay I'm sorry—!” he makes it up to you by giving you his portion of food. You pretend to take it out of pettiness, but late at night when he’s sleep, you wrap it up and leave it on his bedside for when he goes hungry in the night.

When he does wake up, he knows who left the meal by his side, including the extras that lay next to it.

- Survival: Eating anything he can get his hands on

Jack Howl [ Human…? ]

- You always wondered how Jack got so built. Of course, if it’s from training, you would never undermine his efforts. But, his strength is so hardcore you doubt it’s even humanly possible. There had been a speech from Crowley in town you attended with both Jack and Rollo, all three of you booted to the very back. When you commented on how you couldn’t see, Rollo told you “We could always move forward—” But he’s cut off with shock when he watches Jack effortlessly carry you onto his shoulder, keeping you rested there for an hour straight without complaint, even shifting the way he holds you depending on what you wanted at the moment.

“We could’ve just gone up there, Jack… Now put them down…!”

“I don’t mind, They seem comfortable here anyway.” You can’t help but laugh at Rollo's overbearing nature, patting his head as you hold onto Jack.

- Hes never answered you before on when or how he joined the hunting organization, literally. He’s so silent when you ask, but the moment you switch to a different topic he’s chiming in his opinion like he didn’t just give you the silent treatment for 15 minutes. He told you he’d never lie to you, so, you guess he was telling the truth about that statement.

- Whenever Rollo is unavailable to you, Jack essentially works as his “replacement” according to Sam. You wouldn’t call him that though, Jack cares for you the same way Rollo does, but he’s a lot less… Restricted towards you. You can go out at midnight with him as long as you let him walk you back home, You can eat more junk food, and you can even go into the forest with him outside of a job! Rollo is oblivious to it, but there are moments where you might, just a tinsy weensy bit, prefer having Jack watch over you compared to him. You still love Rollo though! (Never say that to him directly, he will dissect what kinda of love it is you’re implying for him.)

- Overall, you can’t wait to see him again when you go to Savanaclaw! You’re curious as to why he hasn’t reached back to you after the 2 months he's been there though…

Azul Ashengrotto [ Slime Kraken ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- His true form is huge, being bigger than the size of 5 pirate ships combined. When he shrinks himself though, he’s only 7 feet long and huge, rather than 50 feet long and huge! Less scary right? (it’s not, you’re just trying to delude yourself.)

- It’s more dangerous when considering the substance he’s made out of is multi-purpose, making him invisible, essentially unkillable, and extremely capable in offense. You’ve seen it first hand considering you’ve been on the receiving end of his malice once. If you have to admit it though, it’s a lot scarier watching him use his skills on unknowing sailors. You collect what remains of them, and set them to rest far away from the sea.

- During the night, you’re divided on whether or not he can be considered horrifying, or beautiful. The twins glow, but they're limited to their one-color pallets. Azuls body, channels the light from his surroundings, making him more than one color sometimes. It’s a bit saddening when you notice how insecure he is about the material of his body, even using magic to appear more human-like in his state. If you tell him he’s handsome in his regular slime state, he’ll flush in embarrassment. (If you go a step further and hug him as such a gross substance, goodness, he’s already looking through books at the bottom of the ocean about human courting. Never mind you’re still trying to kill him, he’ll slay your heart if he has to!)

- If he uses Magic, he, can turn himself into a human for a little. He never really had a reason to go on land, he’s powerful in the sea, even ranked as one of the 7 most wanted monsters. But, now that you’re in his life, he wants to follow you and see what it would be like to live with you as a person. He doesn’t call it a date, but he thinks of it as one, even imagines himself telling Jade and Floyd (Little does he know they already beat him to the punch on that one…). You take him by the hand and the urge to stay on land with you becomes even stronger. But, so does the need to have you in the ocean with him.

- His tentacles along with his crazy strength, just make him an even harder foe to fight. Truly… What are you meant to do when you’re sitting down and in his sleep, he just clings onto you with a tentacle, and now you just, can’t leave? Besides he’s asleep, how are they latching onto you so hard… They don't have a mind of their own— You remember seeing an article that wrote about such a phenomenon. Okay, so maybe they do act of their own volition… why do they cling so desperately to you?

- Survival: Eating as much of whatever is available

Jade Leech & Floyd Leech [ Skeleton Sea Serpents ]

- During your stay in their abode, you’d wake up to Floyd squeezing you so hard you swear one of the bones on his tail were gonna puncture you. He’s too strong, horrifically strong to the point you fear getting squeezed more than twice a day could genuinely kill you. If you don’t voice this concern, you might risk your death, but if you do, he’ll restrain himself a bit (he couldn’t bear the thought of killing his shrimpy! You’re too fun to play with, let him kiss those sore places better yeah? Besides, just a little biting doesn’t hurt)

- Their senses are so enhanced, it’s just as scary as their strength. You had sliced your hand once, a medium amount of blood pouring out, and before you could even do anything, Jade had swam up to you and latched onto your wrist, pulling you down, almost tugging you into the water, and began licking the wound clean, his eyes empty and his sharp teeth dragging across your skin. You thought he was miles away…?! How did he know you were bleeding…? When he’s done, he pats your hand and smiles before engaging in a casual conversation about your day, uncharacteristically gentlemanly after such a scary display. If you ask him what that was about, he’ll innocently tilt his head and ask you “whatever are you talking about?”

- Just like Azul, their true forms are giant, not as big as his, but still equally as terrifying, the sharp bones that poke out their body further proving this fact.

- Extremely Fast, You’ve seen this first hand when Floyd jumped out of the water and dragged you through the sea to transport you to a “beach date” in the middle of the ocean, in only 3 minutes…He heard of these dates from Azul, “Said he was gonna take you on one, thought it’d be funny if I took yah instead.” You’re unable to inquire what he means by “Azul trying to take you out”, as he’s brightly smiling when he places a sailor's cap on you. The small sight of blood in his canines is all you need to know about where this hat came from.

- Their teeth are sharp that’s for sure, you watched Jade sink his teeth into unsuspecting marine life. The thought of him doing the same to ships 7 times the size of such animals, makes you worried for future sailors, and… For yourself. He flaunts those ivories at you so much, you’re worried he’s trying to hint at his insatiable hunger. (He’s doesn’t bite like Floyd does, but honestly, you’d prefer if he bit you instead of grazing his teeth on your skin so sensually)

- They like to drag you into the water with them. You’re sure it’s how they have fun, the only exposure to the human world other than you is Azul and artifacts they collect from ships they were responsible for destroying. So of course, they wouldn’t know the first thing of human play, yet… you have the underlying feeling they have a reason for doing such a thing that isn’t just entertainment.

- Survival: Anything they can fit in their mouths (Whether it be marine life or ships. Though, these two have a specific craving for human)

Kalim Al-Asim [ Genie ]

- Extremely strong, every time he hugs you he completely forgets his strength. In the moments where he does realize it, he’s quick to apologize. If you tell him where you hurt, he’ll insist “kissing” it will make it better! It’s what worked on his siblings, so it must work for you! If you don’t tell him… he’ll cry, so it’s better to just tell him.

- Wishmaking. He insists on letting him give you a wish, after all, you did save him from being lonely! (You’re not sure if you could call it “saving” considering you were trying to kill him… and still are… ). You never accept his offer, with the knowledge that everything has a price, (Thank you Azul for such a good lesson learned) which makes him sad, but in your awkward ways of comfort, you tell him the only wish you want, is a hug. He is ecstatic and wraps his arms around you, tight. You’re regretting your wish now. Though, the glare from two pairs of slit eyes tells you you’re not the only one who doesn’t like the wish.

- Too many riches too count… You wake up, gifted in gold and jewels, you’re halfway through the day, more diamonds and rubies, going to sleep… Gold and emeralds. You told Kalim no more. He found a loophole and just replaced the cheaper items with more expensive ones. It’s technically not more so… You make a reminder to dump it all on Rollo, he’ll surely enjoy having money to tend to his garden. (He won’t. You already know he’ll refuse anything from a monster. But, if you bat your eyelashes enough he might accept it.)

“Kalim, I don’t need any more rubies.” You’re sat on his golden throne, the optimistic wish granter between your legs with his arms wrapped around your waist as he sits on the floor, a beaming smile making you hesitant on his next words.

“Then I’ll just give you more diamonds!” … Truly, you thought genies could only give out three wishes, why does it feel like this one wants to give you more than that… It’s gotten to the point where you think he wants only you to be the one he grants anything to, going so far as finding a way to bypass the rules. He even gave you his lamp, which you gave back to Jamil upon receiving it.

- You do wonder… Where are the rest of the people Kalims granted desires to? Even more so, the rest of the genies, as far as you’re concerned, Crowley said there was only one left (that he wanted to get his greedy hands on). If you had just searched Kalim and Jamils shared space, surely you would’ve found the corner filled with broken lamps in it.

Survival: Not sure, Either immortal or some secret to survival.

Jamil Viper [ Snake ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- Half snake half man, his lithe body is enough to give you pause no matter how many times you see it, even after seeing the leeches who have a similar body. You think the reason might be more cause of his intimidating eyes rather than his actual body however, 2 sharp slits are enough to make anyone rethink their judgment.

- When he sleeps, he unknowingly wraps around you, his human half bunching you in his arms as if he isn’t squeezing your legs. You think it’s just his instincts using use as warmth considering he’s cold-blooded, so you let him (Little do you know he’s perfectly warm enough, his body is just drawn to you for some reason). When he wakes up, he considers poisoning himself from embarrassment.

- Venomus, the long pointed fangs could tell you that much. When he sheds a tooth after meeting you, he doesn’t toss it away like he used to, he finds a piece of string and slides it through the solid, letting you watch him in skepticism as he slithers towards you, gently placing the newly formed necklace in your palm as his forked tongue sticks out. (He also left a little venom trapped inside, in case anyone gets a little too close than wanted.)

- Don’t stare into his eyes to long, or else you’ll find yourself entranced by the slits in his pupils, and completely hypnotized without even his knowledge. It’s like he’s so enchanted by you that he forgets he can do something like that. When he realizes what he’s done, an hour goes by before you come to. You don’t feel any different, but one looks at your wrist adorned with a snake bracelet that wasn’t there before tells you something happened…

You can’t move it from its place, but you honestly don’t want to, it’s pretty. Works perfectly well in Jamil's favor, if you had, you definitely would’ve noticed the two holes punctured into your skin by a familiar set of fangs—

“Jamil, Kalim gave me his lamp again.”

“… Really?” He’s quick to take it off your hands. If only he could wish instead… it would make his life so much easier.

- Survival: Undocumented

Vil Schoenheit [ Incubus ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- You’re human. You’re not immune to charm and flirtation. It’s disappointing that Vil is so good at what he does. You haven’t given into temptation, at least, not yet.

- Shapeshifting, he’s told you before if you have someone in mind you’d ever want to do such things with, he can transform into them if you hope to practice your confession, when you tell him nobody comes to mind, you fail to notice the devious smile that perches on his lips in victory. It seems the only face that will appear in your brain in such moments of vulnerability will be his, and that’s enough for him.

“Though, Since I used to see Neige almost every day maybe his? He has seen me in moments even Rollo hasn’t…”

What?

- Feasting on the vitality of humans is something commonly known for incubi, you’ve asked Vil before if you’re going to die soon from him touching you… You already know he’s an amazing actor so when he answers you, you can’t tell if he’s lying or if it’s the truth, especially when he takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips like a prince, perfectly playing off the suspicion in his answer.

- You think it’s unfair he’s so attractive, if he had only half his looks it would at least be easier to not stare at his pretty features— what are you thinking…?! You can already hear the scolding of everyone else telling you how heinous it is to think such thoughts, but once again, you're distracted by the feeling of Vil dipping into the couch next to you, offering a drink as if you two were just ordinary people. To be fair, his whole survival depends on how well he can interact with humans… He only smiles when you take the drink.

- Making Hallucinations is just common practice for Vil, Rook praising him for all the people who gave into his temptations from his feats. You were once sure he had never used it on you, you could never fall for such a puny delusion, but now, your confidence has faded. Things in your memory are blurry, unclear.

Has… Vil has been using it on you…?

- Survival: Corruption of humans through desire, feeding off vitality

Rook Hunt [ Boogeyman ]

- You make an extreme effort to avoid all manners of shadows since you’ve met him. Lurking in the dark is his forte, and it doesn't bode well for you because almost all your work is done in the dark. Even then… your efforts are in vain because you still feel the sensation of eyes burning into you at all times of the day. In these cases, you retreat to Vil in hopes he can rein him in a bit.

- Shapeshifting is a rare and dangerous ability. Unfortunately, Rook of all monsters has it. Even in places with no signs of shadows, it feels like he’s still there. It doesn’t make it any better that he hints towards that being the truth.

“Ah trickster, you looked magnifique in that bathing suit!”

“You were the waiter who kept offering me drinks weren’t you.”

“The way I observe my muse shall not be disclosed!”

- Watching Rook feast on fear isn’t scary, but rather… unsettling…? He places his mouth near his victim as what you can only assume to be their fear twists up into his throat, the horrified human trembling in terror. Such a scary expression quickly disappears when he turns to you with the happiest smile and gushes to the poor human about how wonderful you are, rubbing his cheek to yours like a sappy couple.

“Ah! Trickster…! You are quite sweaty! Shall I dry you off—” you shut him up by throwing the same towel he was about to clean you up with, in his face.

- His skill set is already horrifying, but adding in the basic ability of enhanced strength just makes it worse. You can’t even begin to count how many walls Rook has torn through for you… A simple ow, and what you originally thought to be a brick wall, is now a giant hole with the boogeyman at your call. It’s harder to be nice to him when he’s insistent that you train your capabilities on him. The amount of times Rook has turned a stab into a firm held waltz is just too many.

“Non non, You must hide your hand better trickster.”

“I would do that if you weren't cradling me into a dip right now Rook— Stop dancing with me already!”

- Survival: Fear and Grief

Epel Felimer [ Newbie Vampire ]

- He's asked you before if he could suck you dry. He honestly expected you to say no, but when you reached your arm out and told him to just not turn you, he was sure you must be some sort of blessing in disguise. When he’s done, he begs you not to tell Vil, as the incubus banned him from feeding. You’ll come to regret it at some point though, as now he continuously comes back to you in times of hunger.

- He runs at such fast speeds, it’s incredible to you, you’ve clapped for him a couple times, but, every-time you did… he got distracted and would trip. He wishes the sun would come up and kill him in those moments.

- Compulsion is a dangerous thing, you shouldn’t be shocked, but luckily for you, he… doesn’t seem to know how to use it the way it should be utilized. The moment he does finally master such an ability, you’ll have to find someway to get past that. He did try using it on you once, a simple command asking you to tell him how “manly” he is, somehow, someway, the command turned into something much more… embarrassing. He stands in bewilderment at the way your hands are cupping your face, endlessly praising Epel about how amazing he is, and how you wish to stay with him forever.

Vil and Rook stepped in to save you. He was sat in the corner as a punishment.

- His hunger is, insatiable. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen such a monster so bloodthirsty. It’s like he has some goal to just, feast on as many people as he can… He mistook you as a stranger he could freely feast on, jumping on you, ready to sink his fangs into your neck. He’s only narrowly stopped when the moon shines on your face and he knows it’s you. If it wasn’t, whoever took your place would not doubt be dead.

- Survival: Blood

Idia Shroud [ Reaper ]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- With how moody Idia is, you forget what his occupation is until he shows up at your door with the scythe he uses to escort the dead.

- Reapers aren’t necessarily evil or good, which is why you’re always conflicted about how to feel about Idia. Should you… Make your decisions based off his personality rather than what he is to slay him—? Why is he whispering about how all the other monsters should drop dead— Ah, he thinks they’re cooler than him.

- You essentially work as a discounted vent session as Idia talks about how everyone else is so much worthier than him to be slain by hunters. They all have cool abilities and cool looks, what is he stuck with? An edgy cloak and a tool farmers use to cut hay—

- His rant is cut short at the sound of a cheap board game slamming on the table, his eyes looking up to you placing a game piece on the spot, signaling him to take his turn as you tell him how he’s “the only one you find playing games with fun”. Truly, you must be one of the kindest souls he’s had the fortune of meeting, he should know, half of the spirits he escorts are huge douches.

- It just makes him all the more worried about bringing you to the after life.

- Even though Idia doesn’t have a reason to actively hurt humans, it’s still worrying when he describes to you in detail of his After life Capabilities. He once told you a story about how a guy was acting so high and mighty he trapped him in the space between life and death, only coming back to laugh at him when the man was practically broken. He only stops his retelling when he looks up and sees the most hurt expression on your face.

- After that, he sits up before you can even say anything, leaving immediately as he buries his head in his hands. The next day, he’s at your door as you silently stare at him, his form of retribution for your hurt being whatever you mentioned wanting during the week. You accept his gift, but that still doesn’t stop the fear of what Idia does to the souls he guides with a lack of fondness.

- Survival: Unable to Die. (Speculation)

Malleus Draconia [Dragon Gargoyle… And… something else?]

- Warning: Capable of Magic.

- Heavy durability, as he is pure stone. in times of desperation, you watch as green sparkles fly around the man as stone turns soft. His spell doesn’t last long but in his desire he chooses to pepper you in kisses with smooth lips. The first time he attempted to romantically place a peck on your arm, you cringed at the feeling of rough stone on your skin. It hurt his feelings so he opted to just spell himself instead.

- Heavy. He didn’t wanna move away from a doorway you had to exit through to leave. You tried lifting him out of the way, you don’t think you’ve ever tried so hard to move something before. He thought it was an attempt at a hug, so you ended up being smooshed in his arms for an hour before Lilia saved you.

- Camaflouge, the stone he’s made of, and moss that grows on his body can be manipulated in any way he wishes, even his size, it’s scary watching him go from his regular 6 feet to an astonishing 10. This trait of his has served numerous moments where you’re surveying his castle only to feel arms pulling you back into a stone exterior. Your reflexes are swift to throw a punch, only to have the cruel reminder of rock busting your hand.

“Ah forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you Child of hunters”

“My hand is broken Malleus.”

“We can just get you a new hand can we not?” That night serves as the first of having to tell Malleus he can’t always spell you when you’re injured. To this, he tells you that’s nonsense and he’ll expend all his reserves for you.

- Considering he’s also a Dragon, flight, and fire breathing really shouldn’t surprise you. What does surprise you is when he looked more dragon than gargoyle sometimes, his eyes becoming more lively, scales being more obvious, and his wings and horn being truer than they’ve ever been. You have a sneaking suspicion his instincts change forms too, his already heavy clinginess increasing tenfold. You’re either held by his clawed fingers or wrapped in his wing.

- Despite Malleus being marked as one of the most dangerous kills possible, you find it extremely easy to… ask him to do something. In fits of anger, he’ll cling impossibly close to you, trying desperately to attempt to cease the ugly feeling festering inside him. He’ll tell you he never wants you to leave his side. If you’re not feeling like being trapped inside, all you need to do is wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his ear with a low whisper, asking him to let you go. For a moment, his grip will tighten, but slowly he relents, his stone eyes watching you wave goodbye.

- Though, truthfully, You don’t feel like you’re free… Sometimes, you notice gargoyles in places where there shouldn’t be any. Sooner or later, his resolve might break, asking him for such freedoms might not be as easy.

- Not only that but… There’s definitely a side to him that isn’t just some Dragon Gargoyle. Whenever you have the chance to dig deeper into it, you’re met with a wall that separates you from the truth. Just what is Malleus?

- Survival: ???, Unable to Die. Do not attempt.

Lilia Vanrouge [ ??? ]

- Caution: Possibly capable of Magic.

- Certainly the most mysterious of the bunch… To be fair, everyone in the Diasmonia space is filled with anonymity. He doesn’t have any specific qualities that warrant a decisive conclusion, but you’re confident that he’s not a human. Sometimes he has wings, sometimes fangs, sometimes spider legs, just what is he?! (He has used this capability to scare you on numerous occasions, taking the form of a giant wasp and chasing you once. When he gets bored though, he clings onto you endlessly, not as bad as Malleus but still very often. You woke up to him in your bed once, and now he occasionally appears there to “wake you up” by sliding his arms around your waist. Please tell him you’ll only let him do this if he stops turning into freaky stuff…)

- You have no doubt he’s one of the monsters that eat humans. You took a sniff of his red juice once, it’s definitely blood, and considering why you’re here, it’s for sure not animal blood. Out of guilt for failing whatever human is his current meal, you offered up yourself as a blood bag, and he happily indulged, pining you to the table and nipping that delicious spot on your neck. Out of courtesy for everyone else in the castle... You lock the door.

But it doesn’t matter, you’re quite sure he didn’t honor the agreement anyway, as he’s happily feasting on a mystery meat you know isn’t any creature near this castle.

- He always keeps you on your toes, one of the moments being when he used his flight to carry you all over the sky, laughing at you and your body clinging onto him in fear of dropping to your death. It makes it worse that he doesn’t do it slow, he flies so fast you can hear the wind slicing through the air, your arms only wrapping around his neck trying to get even closer than you already are.

“Lilia…! Lilia! Put us down—! I’m gonna die…!” you can feel his hand pat your head as he tightens his grip on your body.

“Aww…don’t worry, as long as I’m here you won’t fall!” you believe him, but that doesn’t make you feel any safer at all…

- Despite how decrepit the Diasmonia castle is, there are still photos of its rein on the wall. In an attempt to know your targets better, you look at some of them, immediately recognizing Lilia in one of the frames… But, his aura seemed different, more cold, more cruel… He was bloodied, and you’re sure that body he’s holding is what you think it is, but, he doesn't have that usual crazy happy look he has when he catches his next meal.

-Just how did Lilia end up like this?

- Survival: Undocumented

Sebek Zigvolt [ Swamp Monster ]

- He says you’re pathetic. (He continues to leave flowers specific from his swamp at your door) You’re not… You’re not very sure what he thinks of you…? He says you’re a coward, yet continues to gift you plants after you offhandedly mentioned how you think they’re pretty. So… What does that mean…?

- Maybe they’re poisonous… Heh… Maybe you can use them on Crowley—

- Your plan of attack is interrupted as a booming voice bursts your ear drums, the source of distress being the green being covered in moss, water, and vines. You follow the trail of plants leading from the swamp to the creature behind you, a bear, wrapped in controlled swamp foliage by the monster of the water. Sebek huffs and chastises you for such carelessness, but the feeling of you scooping his hands into yours and thanking him with a smile makes the words on his tongue go numb. Not for too long though, as he tells you obviously a beast like him can handle such lowly creatures, no wonder you didn’t notice.

- Before you came along, according to Silver, the water he resides in used to be a mess, as he said “Lilia believes it to fit my role of Swamp Monster, so I shall keep it!” so he kept it the way it is and let it out control. But, apparently, after you, it subtly became neater, flowers adorning the ridges of where once was messed moss, his water adorned with petals of your favorite color, the place even smelling like your favorite scent. He tells you it’s just a change of scenery for Malleus, not anyone else, you only smile at him, not replying. Malleus doesn’t have the same favorite scent.

- Like his fondness for nature, his power of water is equally as tantalizing to watch. He didn’t know you were there, but you were watching him train, your eyes becoming more entranced in his movements when you saw him become sidetracked from his patience for a moment. A book was laid in front of him, one that he delved deeper and deeper into with interest. It seems he has a fondness for literature, so after that, you would leave books you had at his residence, watching with amusement at how fascinated he was. Unfortunately, you walked up to him once when he was meant to be training, and in attempt to hide his hobby, he flicked his hands and let the water swallow every page in aqua.

“I have been training this whole time human…!”

“Ah, I got you all those. Now they’re wet…” He acts like he doesn’t care, but he secretly feels bad, so discreetly, he attempts to piece every page lost in the water together before presenting you with a new book.

- Survival: Swamp

Silver [ ??? ]

- Honestly, his abilities are lighthearted when not used to a heavy extent. He can eat dreams of those who sleep, typically, nightmares. There have been rumors spreading of a night creature who creeps into rooms, sucking the ambitions and hopes of its victims… They’re not wrong, if he’s called upon too often he’ll strip the person of all their wants and, dreams. Go a step further, and he might as well suck the life out of a human.

- But… You know he doesn’t mean to… At least you hope not.

- Sometimes your judgment feels misplaced when you watch him go overboard in his hunger, his trance only capable of being broken when you grab him by the shoulder, maybe even point a blade at him in desperation.

- He can travel into dreams. You’ve caught him lurking in your conscious one too many times to count. It’s not like he’s devouring your fantasy, but you can’t help and wonder why he’s almost always there. He doesn’t change what’s happening in it, he doesn’t destroy it so… Why is he there so often?

- it’s ironic, a creature who lives off the manifestation of people’s conscious, sleeps so much. You remember sorting through flowers Sebek had “gifted” you, (You’re not sure if it counts as gifted considering he threw them at you saying “they’re frail, just like a weak human.”) and Silver had sat right next to you, begining a sentence before dropping his head into your lap, a deep slumber commencing on your thighs.

- He wakes up ready to apologize, but the feeling of your hands gently playing with his hair, is enough for him to fall back asleep immediately.

- He’s a lot more welcoming to stay with compared to the rest of the monstrous residents of Diasmonia. If you’re free from Malleus and Lilias's grasp, you’re quick to run over to him. He’s typically sleeping, so, when he’s nodding off you sit down next to him, slowly placing your head on his shoulder as you fall asleep. If you’re to be trapped here for a bit, it wouldn't hurt to have some form of comfort in this run-down place.

As you fall into slumber, you secretly wish to meet Silver in a dream again.

It’s coincidental that he wakes up the moment you place your head on him, it’s a pretty sight to him. He hopes… you’ll stay here, he enjoys your company too much. As soft snores leave you, his hands move on their own, grasping onto your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours.

It’s selfish, he was raised to do what he must to survive as a monster by his father. So he knows, what he feels is natural, but there’s a lingering thought he shouldn’t feel this heavy about a human… He doesn’t wanna let you go.

- Survival: Dream Feasting

Neige Leblanche [ Angel ]

- It’s… a bit unnerving how kind he is… You understand he’s a supposed Guardian Angel specially dedicated to your well but goodness, he was not very good at his job.

- He essentially watches you go about your day, occasionally blessing you to see your eyes light up with happiness.

- Despite how much he grooms the feathers on his back, he never lets you get too close to them, folding them back up when you’re near enough to see them more intricately or graze your fingers on them. It never bothered you, truly, he’s so nice to to you you could never be suspicious of him.

- He had to attend to personal matters once when you were eating together, his wings fluttering before he ascended. A pair of feathers had fallen in place of where he once was, One plumage was as white as snow, and the other…

- Was as dark as ebony.

- Survival: Being Good

Rollo Flamme [ Human ]

- He’s always been by your side.

- He would never be one of those wretched filthy beasts. He’s always cared for you when you couldn’t care for yourself.

- Don’t look at him like that. Why… Why is there scorn in your eyes…? He’d never hurt you, never.

- You’re the only sanctuary of purity in his life, he wants to embrace you. He always has, your happiness has always been his.

- He has always wanted to save you from the hellish life mother nature had dealt you.

So please…

- Let him hug the one thing he cares for one more time. And…

Forget the white lie he gave you.

- Survival: You

The day is today. The date you left Rollo without saying even the slightest hint of a farewell. It has been 364 days, without you.

It’s a sorrowing sight for coworkers of his who know how close you are. But, if they had just looked closer, the looming feeling of festering jealousy would no doubt impede their senses.

Rollo knows he can feel it. He will find a way to drag whatever wretched beasts are ruining you with their filth, down to hell.

“Ah! Mr.Flamme, Hello Hello—!” ringed fingers slam mercilessly into the wood of a desk, any harder and he might’ve broken it. “Be careful…! This desk is expensive…!”

“It’s been a year since [Name] left for these jobs… Why aren’t they back?” Rollos on the verge of bursting a vein, the only composure he has left is strung together by the thin thread of hope he has of you coming back, coming back to him.

“Well, My little Birdie is—”

“There is no My, and there is no Birdie, don’t call them that.”

“Possesive much…”

“It’s not posseviness.” Crowley only nods at him, obviously, he doesn’t believe the man, but he’ll pretend if it means moving this conversation along.

“I will answer your question in due time, now would you please… remind yourself why it is you’re here in the first place?”

———

A/n Did I do a shit ton of research about monsters and their abilities for this, a post that was meant to be a shitpost? No, who would do that? (I would). Anyways, I hope this can satisfy Monster!Twst enjoyers while I work on the heartslaybul chapter, I promise I’m working on it to make it the best possible! (Blame the economy for my lack of activity on it)

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

taglist:

@laurenmckiernan-blog @mooneyswife @meyaareads @buffkittenmuscles @emielry @amora-lilly @maximumride1 @sarcastic-nerd @chanyeolsbeloved @pinkb4t @betty13augustine @toadweed-twinklegaze-silverpuff @bella-rose29 @grimm1992 @mortallytenaciousmoon @alanalanalanalanalanna @amane-enama @sosasi521-blog @head-in-the-clouds222 @she-went-that-way @joeybelle @mahidahi @malenk @lillyys-reposts @m626 @rain-echos @meidl @arwn-yng @hotchberry1245 @avatar-lovergirl011 @silverblur @aphroditesanem0ne @angstywaifu @2-blind-2-see @alanatheblogger @ebklsbxgdsworld @gwnwrites @skskskye @girlqrush @cas-planet @thycia-flowers @badonkadork @malachitecorgi-spicy-account @carter-knight @angelic-destiny25 @nyxm0on @saltistic-dumbass @maddsunn @margflower @curlyblaze @ardrhys8 @carolga @my-beloved-fandoms @leaawrites @ilovelilies @ahead-fullofdreams @perciver4ever @amaliarosewood @iamthejam

[httpsserene]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫, 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩 | 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏

summary: an unplanned hard launch reveals more than a relationship. it exposes the biggest simp of the century.

content warning: requested by @animeandf1lover. fluff. crack adjacent (in the beginning). profanity. bestfriend!logan sargeant. boyfriend!max verstappen. humor. max yap-stappen. jimmy and sassy verstappen. my personal hc of max using cat emojis unironically. no part two requests, please!

pairing: max verstappen x hijabi fem!poc!reader (fc: shahdbatal)

genre: smau.

from, serene: other titles i thought of; simp, i love my gf, down bad, lord of the simps, or president of the simp club. haven't written for max alone in a while, i missed him !!! pls ignore the typos on the interview clips otherwise i will cry. enjoy, lovely’s xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

instagram • jimmyandsassy 🔒 • monte carlo ⚑

liked by yninsta, maxverstappen1, logansargeant, and 123 others

jimmyandsassy love life

view comments

maxverstappen1: how are you going to caption this "love life" when there's not a single photo of me in it 😕

➥ maxverstappen1: you called me the love of your life this morning on ft 😔 ➥ maxverstappen1: omg are you breaking up with me and taking the cats with you 😭😭😭 ➥ yninsta: max the cats chose the caption not me!!! ➥ yninsta: you're still the loml baby, i'm not going anywhere 😚💙 ➥ danielricciardo: u guys are perfectly made for each other :)

maxverstappen1: my babies 😻 why did you put mommy on the last slide? she's too pretty to be there!

➥ jimmyandsassy: m prettier than mommy - sassy ➥ maxverstappen1: hey! you get your looks from your mother be nice 😠 ➥ charlesleclerc: max mate 😟 with every comment you make on this account i hope you know i think less of you with each one 🙏🏻 ➥ alexandrasaintmleux: he's only saying this because i told him it would be cute to make a priv acct with leo that's like this! ➥ yninsta: you should! the kitties love it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: you're all mentally disturbed. electric chair⚡️🪑

logansargeant: i have post notifications on and i have no clue how max gets here faster than me.

➥ logansargeant: jimmy? sassy? do you tell him when you're about to post 🧐 ➥ maxverstappen1: logan the cats can't speak english or use a phone be serious. ➥ logansargeant: THEY DON'T HAVE OPPOSABLE THUMBS EITHER BUT THEY STILL POST AND REPLY TO COMMENTS ➥ jimmyandsassy: don't yell at daddy! 's mean - jimmy ➥ maxverstappen1: yeah logan don't yell at daddy 😌 ➥ logansargeant: can't believe there was a time i thought you were a respectable man smh

roscoelovecoco: cool cats 🐈

➥ jimmyandsassy: big dawg 🐶

landonorris: they're so pretty i just wanna pet them

➥ landonorris: i wished cats liked me,,, ➥ jimmyandsassy: nobody likes you! hope this helps - sassy ➥ landonorris: STOP HIDING BEHIND YOUR CATS AND COME FIGHT ME SIS 🤬🤺

alexalbon: please don't kill me :)

➥ jimmyandsassy: why would we kill you? we like alex - jimmy ➥ oscarpiastri: oh they're so going to claw your eyes out mate 😂 ➥ georgerussell63: it's been nice knowing you alex 🙂 ➥ charlesleclerc: fly high alexander 🕊️🙏🏻 ➥ schecoperez: gone too soon 🙂‍↔️ ➥ jensonbutton: if she kills you, logan will have a car to race this weekend. she's so going to get rid of you 😈 ➥ yninsta: what. logan has his own williams? are u guys okay???

twitter • yn's spam twt

igstory • yninsta uploaded to close friends story!

[caption1; guess i'm bringing jimmy with me][caption2; target confirmed. bravo six going dark.]

logansargeant: please don't make my team principal disappear ⤷yninsta: i will make him suffer inshallah 🙏🏽 ⤷logansargeant: think about jimmy and sassy! they'll miss you 😢 ⤷yninsta: ,,,i will subject him to a painful lecture about his mishandling of the race weekend ⤷yninsta: instead of death 🙃

alexalbon: are we chill? ⤷yninsta: i have no quarrel with you 👍🏽 ⤷alexalbon: oh thank god. i was going crazy in my room hiding from you 😮‍💨

maxverstappen1: come to me when you're done with james 😽 ⤷maxverstappen1: you're surrounded by the wrong shade of blue :( ⤷maxverstappen1: how's logan doing? ⤷yninsta: he's okay considering they gave his car away. ⤷maxverstappen1: bring him with you, i will tell him exactly what i think about wiliams treating him that way

f1 twitter

FIA press conference: pre-race australia • max, charles, logan, zhou, yuki

post-race interview clips • max verstappen

twitter • the internet reacts

instagram • logansargeant • melbourne ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, yninsta, redbullracing and 546,789 others

logansargeant me and you, and you and me, just us, and your boyfriend max.

tagged: yninsta, maxverstappen1, betterhelp

view comments

maxverstappen1: you have me saved as “yn’s boyfriend - INGORE 🛑❌🙈”

➥ maxverstappen1: that’s not very nice ☹️ ➥ yninsta: logan! change it before you make him sad ➥ logansargeant: fine 🙄 ➥ logansargeant: i’m going to mute him instead.

➥ yninsta: logan and max get along great guys i promise!

➥ yninsta: max asked him if he was okay with asking me out before our first date and logan said “mate you don’t have to ask, i know you’ll treat her right” 😇 ➥ logansargeant: that is NOT public info‼️ delete pls ➥ maxverstappen1: you didn’t have to say any of this schatje 😅 ➥ user1: max asked logan for permission to date her? what in the wattpad fanfic is happening rn ➥ georgerussell63: this is great blackmail- i mean info 😉

oscarpiastri: acting like you hate max but you called me screaming in joy about playing padel with him 💀

➥ logansargeant: oscar please. my reputation is at stake here 😀 ➥ oscarpiastri: hey instagram comments- i misspoke. logan sargeant HATES max verstappen! that’s all, thanks. ➥ user2: dis guy 🤦🏻‍♀️ ➥ user3: osc sarcasm check: ✅

user4: if max verstappen offered to fly me out to hang out with his gf i would not leave his messages on read ijs 🤷🏼

alexalbon: DAMN he even said please 😶

➥ yninsta: not too much now alex 🤫 ➥ alexalbon: 🤐😳 ➥ user5: alex were u silent or sileNCED ➥ user6: i could feel the threat through the screen

jensonbutton: but did you take him up on his offer? that’s what we need to know!

➥ maxverstappen1: he did. left me on read for 6 minutes before he broke 😹 ➥ logansargeant: it was on his private jet, paid for, and i got to see my best friend- ofc i said yes! i’m not stupid.

user7: tagging betterhelp on the sc of max’s desperate ass texts is NASTY work logan 💀💀💀

➥ user8: nothing wrong with sending the homies links to therapy sites ➥ user9: there’s definitely something wrong with how down bad max is for his girl. i know that much 🥴 ➥ user10: are u srs? bc that’s a man who doesn’t play about his woman! i can tell 😵‍💫🫦

instagram • maxverstappen1

liked by yninsta, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 2,126,989 others

maxverstappen1 championships are worth winning because i take the trophies back to her.

tagged: yninsta

view comments

yninsta: championships are worth winning because YOU drove like crazy for them.

➥ maxverstappen1: two things can be true at the same time 💙 ➥ maxverstappen1: i don’t know if they would matter as much if i didn’t have anyone to praise me for it. ➥ yninsta: i’ll convince you that they are more than that one day 💙🔒 (good thing i’m never leaving you x)

yninsta: حب حياتي (the love of my life)

➥ maxverstappen1: no you are mine ☺️🤭

user11: no the fuck he didn’t.

➥ user12: GIRL HE FUCKING DID

user13: nahhhh he got it. he got it all.

➥ user13: championships, monaco living, the finest woman, expensive cats and cars—LIKE LEAVE SOMETHING FOR THE COMMON FOLK MAX ➥ maxverstappen1: my bad 🙂‍↕️ ➥ user14: he don’t even mean ts ➥ user15: oh i’m bout to crash out 🤪🤬👹

charlesleclerc: okay. that’s a good caption 🙂

➥ maxverstappen1: take a deep breath charlie, no need to be angy about it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: i knew you’d ruin it. i’ll be seeing you max 🤫 ➥ user16: yo what tf 🤣 ➥ user17: did charles leclerc just ominously imply his plot for max’s demise?! ➥ user18: bro what 😒 @/user17 ➥ user19: what are you gonna say next? “they’re going to participate in a duel of arms 🤓” ➥ user16: “a battle of fisticuffs, more likely it seems 🤓🤓🤓”

user20: oh my days— she’s beautiful 😦

➥ maxverstappen1: she’s the prettiest woman i’ve ever set my eyes on 😊 ➥ user21: don’t worry max, we believe you! ➥ user22: you truly are blessed to be dating her.

danielricciardo: boys what are you’re wagers? max yaps more/less about his gf to us now that they’re public?

➥ landonorris: more +£500 ➥ lewishamilton: more +£1000 ➥ logansargeant: more +(i’ll match lewis in american) ➥ schecoperez: have faith in max! ➥ schecoperez: +5 grand take it or leave it.

user23: she’s majestic! in that first photo, she’s giving padme from star wars 🤩 beautiful!!!!

➥ yninsta: tysm ☺️ this might be the best compliment i’ve ever received !!!

instagram • ynspamacct

liked by maxverstappen, lilymhe, charlesleclerc and 893,430 others

ynspamacct i won't unprivate my main, but here's the bf max content i know you all want :)

tagged: maxverstappen1

view comments

user24: max said: princess treatment only 👏🏻

➥ maxverstappen1: ***queen treatment 👸🏽 ➥ user25: oh. the simp allegations are true. ➥ maxverstappen1: you doubted how much i love my gf? crazy. ➥ user25: i won't do it again, i promise.

logansargeant: why do you wear heels if you know they’re going to make your feet hurt?

➥ maxverstappen1: bc she’s knows i’m going to hold them for her and carry her home 😌 ➥ ynspamacct: bc i feel tall 🥺 and max doesn’t mind carrying me home !!! ➥ ynspamacct: oops ☺️ we must’ve replied at the same time hahaaa user26: i’m going to slam my head into the nearest wall, viciously. ➥ ynspamacct: don’t do that! life is worth living i promise 😰

user26: first photo made my tummy flip for some reason 🫦🥴🤤

➥ ynspamacct: you should see a doctor! that doesn’t sound healthy :) ➥ user27: u better stop thirsting over her man like that 😳

lilymhe: boundaries 🧘🏻‍♀️💆🏻‍♀️

ynspamacct: exactly 😌

user27: breakfast in bed…what did he want from you 🤔

➥ ynspamacct: …nothing? or, just quality time i guess! he’s sweet like that 🥰 user27: ,,,i didn’t know that was an option. ➥ ynspamacct: being treated like a queen comes with accepting that’s how you deserve to be treated, and that it’s the *only* way you’re going to be treated 😚 ➥ user28: SPEAK ON IT MY GOOD SIS 😫

user29: this relationship is dear to me 😪

user30: m-men aren’t shit? who knew that was possible.

➥ user31: i thought all we had was tom holland 💀 ➥ maxverstappen1: i’m honored to be added to the roster ➥ user32: i cannot take this man seriously now. ➥ user33: why bc he loves his gf and you can’t even seem to find the way to a shower or a therapy session 😀 ➥ user34: WOAH VIOLATION

yninsta: max, maxie-max, maxie !!!

➥ maxverstappen1: i love you most, schatje 💛🔒 ➥ yninsta: aw you beat me to it 😞 ➥ yninsta: i love you foreverrrr #1 💙🔒 ➥ user35: oh i’m gonna cry :)

© httpsserene 2024 - most photos from pinterest and edited by me. fc is shahdbatal.