#maybe MAYBE i could let this pass as a joke if he showed instant remorse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fukurodanni · 4 years

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everything stays (but it still changes)

part 1 || part 2 || PART 3

pairing: tsukishima kei x photographer!reader summary: so the same man (that broke your heart 3 years ago) accidentally gets drunk with you at a work event. how bad could it be? word count: 2.5k note: includes cursing, drunken actions. this whole thing reads a bit like a rom-com, if u haven’t gotten that by now lol

The only thing left to do after it all is to push it all into the back of your mind because you have a job to do tomorrow and you need to be well rested, so you pull the covers over yourself and hope to every deity out there that he isn’t in your dreams, too.

And funnily enough, he isn’t. You stop by for tea before the photoshoot - it’s the Thursday afterwards and Tsukishima isn’t there but you don’t have the time to question it, so you stuff your phone into your back pocket and head off. It’s in a big studio building, and the set is gorgeous, based in off-white and decked with pale yellows and citrus colors. The models seem to have been there for a while, already in makeup, but the stylist is still hanging around so maybe they haven’t been there for very long after all. They straighten a little when you greet them, easy smiles coloring their faces.

Off to business, then.

The work distracts from your wandering thoughts - the flex of Tsukishima’s hands across the table, eyes like swirling honey. It’s easy to lose yourself in the routine of it all, the ridges of a camera lens under your fingertips and the gentle click of the shutter.

Sometime after lunch and before wrapping up, you’re talking with one of the models, Mika, about how her brother is a photography major. She’s been his guinea pig for about two weeks now - you laugh gently as she jokes about how refreshing it is to be in a set that isn’t the corner of a college dorm. Incidentally, you manage not to hear the heavy click of the door behind you.

Mika’s gaze drifts behind you and you don’t think much of it until you notice it drift back to you. That’s when you hear the rest of the production crew and glance over at them, confused. They’re all standing in a little huddle.

“They’re looking for the photographer,” Mika explains, having heard a bit of the conversation.

You get up quickly and stand a little straighter. “I’m the photographer,” you announce, and immediately regret it.

Their heads all turn at once to look at you and it’s only a little unnerving but one of the heads turns out to be Kei Tsukishima and you think your jaw might have decided to glue itself to the floor in response. You realize, now, that perhaps you should have asked him to elaborate about his career. You allow yourself a split second of shock before wiping the expression and walking up to them.

You ask, very politely and not at all like you have weird tension with one of these men, what the issue is. It’s Tsukishima that addresses you, in a short, clipped tone.

“They want the color scheme changed.”

And you gape. “What, why?” you ask, completely forgetting your resolve to ignore him. “We’re finished shooting, they would have told us this beforehand - the whole thing?”

Tsukishima looks unbothered, mostly. “Didn’t reach in time, I guess.”

Part of you wants to strangle him, another part wants to strangle the client, but it’s all fine and well. The photographer’s assistant (who you haven’t talked with, in favor of doing most of the work yourself - you aren’t even sure why he was hired) cracks a joke about checking your schedule and it only serves to piss you off even more. It seems to show on your face though, and - Jun, you think - looks a little sheepish at having joked about it in the first place.

He comes up to you a moment later, after you’ve wandered back towards the set.

“I haven’t done much,” he starts in a low, nervous tone, “I feel sorta bad.” You’re unsure about where the hell he’s going with this but he only grows more nervous and it looks like it’s taking physical exertion from him:

“We could go out for drinks after. On me.”

A little voice in you wants to ask, shamelessly, if he means a date. You’re co-workers, though, and that would cross the line of professionalism, just a bit, but he keeps talking and you realize your chance to ask has probably passed.

The models, besides Mika, have long gone - and it’ll only be four or five people including yourself. It doesn’t sound so bad. And he’s offering to pay. The messenger bag is barely over your shoulder before you reply, “Okay.”

The bar is about as well lit as an 8pm bar should be, lights in pale yellows that, for a moment, remind you of the set. You drink, bitterly.

Everyone is loose with the alcohol and atmosphere, movements and dialogue easy. Jun, funnily enough, is the first to go - absolutely plastered and claiming otherwise. One of the production managers calls him an Uber and excuses himself as well.

Mika leaves after accidentally oversharing. The most your brain could comprehend from that spiel, drunken or not, came in the form of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s. She makes an excuse for herself too, clearly not having expected to divulge so much.

You’re tipsy at most, having been careful with your drinks and generally reserved to keeping polite conversation. That, or it hasn’t hit you yet. (At least your tolerance is higher than Jun’s.)

Eventually, it dawns on you that you and Tsukishima are the only ones left. You haven’t noticed how much he’d drank, having spent half the night trying not to look at him. You talk to him with a warbled sort of exhaustion. Conversation seems filmy and vague and you’re not bothered by that weird date-thing anymore. You’re sure it’ll come back to you at some point, just not now.

“God, starlight,” he says, and it isn’t as much of a slur as it is a slant, because as soon as it leaves his mouth he seems to realize it. “Out of all the people who could’ve been working that set….”

He chuckles mirthlessly, but you’re frozen in your seat because the nickname falls from his lips with such ease. It is, at once, unerring and much more sobering than it has any right to be.

The rest of the bar is suddenly oceans away. “What gives you any right to call me that again?” you ask, except it comes out in a mangled, jarring breath. The familiarity of it all hits you again just thinking about it, like constellations traced across your shoulder and the warmth of a bed that isn’t yours. “M’not taking any of this starlight bullshit after the stunt you pulled.”

Tsukishima furrows his eyebrows in a semblance of anger. It comes off more like dazed confusion, but it gets the point across. “That I pulled? That was a mutual… pulling. You left me on a bench after giving me mixed signals for two hours.”

“You’re hot, okay? What the hell was I supposed to do?” You’re not thinking very hard about these responses - you’re mostly on autopilot, watching the way his fist tightens and loosens, the way he crosses his arms. Arms that spent hours snaked around you, swaying along to music so low it made it seem like you were the only two in the world who could hear.

“Thanks,” he replies bluntly.

You think about replying for a second, think about the way he’d flick your forehead, enough to calm your skin but never your heart. And then, eloquently: “Fuck off.”

You sit in silence.

It’s in the instant that you’re coming up with an excuse to leave that you hear him, quiet and somber as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all. “I still…” Tsukishima glances at the table in front of him, fingertips gliding over glossy wood.

“Loved you,” he finishes, lamely. “Love you. Past tense. I don’t know.”

You’re watching him unravel like this, face flushed and pointedly avoiding your gaze. Except suddenly it’s like the crack of lightning, breakneck and furious and long overdue. “Fucking what?”

“Huh?” Tsukishima raises his head.

“The hell did you dump me for, then?” Your voice comes out a little more shrill than you’d meant, a little louder and a little more brash. So be it. He looks lost for words, foggy with drink and unresolved emotion, probably.

He isn’t answering, so you prod again. “Why did you dump me if you still fucking loved me? Why is this coming out now? Motherfucker, I still loved you!”

He stares numbly, hazily. “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

You want to smack the glasses off his face.

“So what, you dealt with me for 3 years and got tired of it?”

“You know that’s not what happened.”

“You could’ve fucking talked to me. Could’ve lied to my face instead of just walking out that fucking door without an explanation. Kei.”

The look on his face is desperate, disdainful. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but goddamn are you going to force it out of him.

He glances at the other bar patrons. “Can we talk about this? Outside?”

Which is how you find yourself in Kei Tsukishima’s passenger seat at 11pm on a weekday, screaming enough profanities to scare your grandmother into an early grave.

When it’s all out of your system, the only dredges left are of simmering regret. There is no anger left to give and only the hollow, mournful feeling that you’d spent so long trying to internalize. You remember contentedness and routine being ripped out from under your feet, kicking and thrashing as it was overtaken by shame. Shame and distress and the sharpest edges of remorse - of thinking that maybe - maybe Tsuki wouldn’t have left if you had been a little more careful. That somehow, despite everything, maybe you could have convinced him to stay.

His eyes are a miserable amber under parking lot lights and maybe yours are a little watery, but he takes the silence as a cue to talk.

And god, does he talk - staring holes into his hands as he does, never once meeting your eyes - about his fears, about letting you slip through his fingers and watching you go. “Because I saw forever with you,” he says, quiet and prayerful. “I thought I saw forever and I wanted it so badly, I ran when I thought it wouldn’t come.”

Like sand in an hourglass, watching grain by grain slip past the point of return and thinking that maybe there wasn’t going to be a forever - and if it ended, it would be on his own terms, running to put effort into everything that wasn’t you, shameful and laden with guilt. His hand is barely shaking in his lap and against it all, you want to take it in yours. It takes a special, sobering kind of talking down to restrain the urge.

And then, wonder of wonders, he apologizes.

Tsuki apologizes, only just managing to meet your eyes, nervous and different and new. For the misunderstandings and the endless fear and the regret of not having realized it sooner. You laugh, a wet and broken thing, and apologize too. It’s barely midnight and you’re still in the parking lot but the buoyant, hopeful feeling in your chest tells you that there are only two people in the world right now; only two that matter.

You wake up in a hotel bed.

It takes you about two seconds to absolutely lose your shit before realizing you’re still dressed and by that fact, nothing eventful happened. Kei sits next to you, scrolling idly on his phone and it hits you all at once - how content you feel, sitting quietly with him - keeping watch as the sun kisses his hair into shining ivory, glasses glinting in the light.

You feel as if heavy wires of tension have been removed from your limbs. They aren’t so leaden anymore but lighter and easier. Kei glances at you.

“Morning.”

You blink at him. “How the fuck did we get here?” and then, belatedly, “G’morning.”

He chuckles lightly and you consider, momentarily, that this is all a dream. Much too idyllic for your taste, but he explains that it was the most convenient option after a long crying session because you were in no state to drive and it was right there, anyway, and he had the money. He sounds a little sheepish by the end, but it’s all the more endearing. None of this makes sense, anyway.

You order room service - not breakfast, he has a habit of saying ‘good morning’ during odd hours of the afternoon. (A part of you wants to ask where he picked it up, and the other already knows the answer.) And talk all the while, same as before. You feel very grown up sitting with him like this, talking over bagels and tea having hashed everything out in a half-drunken therapy session the night before.

Part of it is so, so familiar. The way he doesn’t quite grin when he’s trying to hide it - the corners of his mouth turn up in an almost-smile and his eyes light with mirth. Another is new - two adults who happen to know each other, talking about everything and nothing at all. It feels a bit like a first date and it fills you with something rare and electric.

He has to drop you off at the bar again, walking you to your car and cracking a joke about the absurdity of it all. It’s about as awkward as it sounds on paper, but it’s perfect and good and you look up at him with new eyes. You’re opening the car door when Kei calls for you in a rushed, harried tone.

“Go out with me,” he says, halfway across the parking lot. “It doesn’t have to be with forever in mind but I’d like a second chance. If you’re willing to take a second chance.”

“Not forever?” you ask, and it’s supposed to come out joking. You take a few steps closer and watch as he does, too.

“Focus on what’s happening now. No running away from what I think the future holds.”

“Sounds good. Sounds solid.”

“Yeah. Good.”

A beat of silence. You’re closer than you were a second ago; you can see the smudge on the edge of his lens where you jokingly smacked him earlier. Your heart does a funny, acrobatic sort of thing.

His mouth opens, a sentence starts and ends. He tries again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What? Ye- mmph.”

He tastes like 2pm breakfast food and black tea with too much lemon in and you melt like sugar in the rain. He kisses like home, warm and comfortable and easy. It makes you think that no matter how much has changed - how much you’ve grown - there’s a distinctness in Kei Tsukishima that will always feel familiar. Home after a lifetime away, coming up for air after hours underwater. Maybe it’ll always be like that with him, no matter how much time goes by.

You can’t wait to find out.

#thank u for sticking all the way thru if u did!#big smooches #tsukishima kei #tsukishima imagine #tsukki #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu one shot #tsukishima fic #emu writes #my writing

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that-good-trash · 4 years

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Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy.

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You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

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After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

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Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.

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It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

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A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”

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fandomsyoulove · 4 years

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All the events that lead to Sirius running away from his family.

Sirius Black x reader, Sirius Black x Potter reader, Regulus Black x reader.

Summary: A ball in Grimauld Place doesnt end as expected either for Sirius Black or Lena Potter, James´s sister.

Author´s note: Okay, this is a part of a story Ive been writting lately. I never post what I write, but I just felt like sharing it. If someone wants it I can upload more parts. Thank you xx. PD: Enlgish is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes.

Words: 3200.

Lena breathed deeply standing in the mirror. Regulus had invited her to their family yearly ball and she was mortified. She was so done with that family, they were ruinous, bad people. Her mind drifted to the two brothers. Regulus would be glad she was going, and she also felt that Sirius would appreciate it. After their rendevouz in the Room of Requirements their friendship was as strong as ever. She would spend more time with the Marauders since then, distancing herself from her Slytherin boys, to the Gryffindors joy. She knew how bad the two boys had it and wished time and time again that she had any power over them and she could just bring them home, away from those irresponsible parents.

It was not only Walburga and Orion that she had to worry about, it was also Bellatrix, and Narcisa's boyfriend, Lucius. Pureblood supremacy talk was the usual take in these events and she really dreaded to go. How in their right mind would want to spend hours in the same room as all of those racist supremacists? It was tiresome, to say the least. Still, as always, she couldn't help to want their approval. So she had bought a green dress with some straps on the back. It was silky, and she hoped to blend in. Obviously, she had Reg in mind. She wanted to make an impression on him. They had been together for the whole year and she felt the need to constantly live up to his standards. Of course he had the same pressure, they both shared it, that's why the two had to be perfect.

Ever since the room of requirements incident, in which Lena and Sirius had almost kissed each other, on multiple occasions, she had tried not to think about his words. That confession she was not supposed to have heard. Well if it had been for Sirius, he would have woken her up and told her. But she knew he had his brother to think of. And so did she. Thats why she concentrated hard in being his friend now more than ever. She figured that if she was to keep on with these confusing feelings, she would have to maintain their friendship, not talking would just make her want to see him even more.

All of these thoughts clouded her mind as she was putting on her make up. Her lips a bright red, his eye shadow dark. Just in that instant, his brother made an appearance.

- My, my, sis you look stuning.- he complimented her as he turned her and the dress lightly swayed.

- Thanks, James.- she smiled and soon James turned serious.

- I need to ask you something. - he pleaded, the girl just nodded asking him to continue. - Can you please have an eye on Padfoot?- he asked preocupied for his friend.

- I will, dont you worry. He is my friend as well.- she responded taking his hand.

- I know, I know. Its just, I wish I could be there with him. He never talks about it, just curses his mother over and over again. - the girl nodded.

- I know, dont worry about that. You are a good friend. - she was quick to reply.

- I try.- he smiled once again, hugging his sister before they made their way out to where their parents were hanging out.

- You look absolutely gorgeous.- Euphemia Potter took her in.

- Thank Merlin Regulus is a chivalrous kid.- Fleamont raised his brows.- You really are stunning, Lena. - he complimented. She smiled once again, lightly caressing her curly short hair so it would fall into place.

- I better get going.- she finally spoke making her way to the fireplace.

- Grimlaud place 12.- she shouted, careful not to get ashes on her dress.

When she arrived, the room was abandoned, except for Sirius Black.

- Lena!- he greated smirking as always. He quickly hugged her, not really taking in her appeareance until they backed from the other. His hand grabbed hers.

- You look so amazing! That dress fits you in every place.- he spoke bewilded with the girl who had a large smile on her face.- I wish it were red but hey, at least it has a slit on the leg. - his eyes roamed over her, who was already red from all the blushing.

- You look great as well, Siri. I mean you usually look good, more than good. But that tunic is working miracles.- she began talking, not knowing what had come over her.

- Be careful now. One would think that you wanted some of this.- he gestured to himself. The girl laughed loudly, and suddenly, Regulus was at the door. The two quickly separated.

- Reg!- she screamed, hugging him tightly, not noticing Sirius threatening expression.

- I thought you couldn't be prettier, guess I was wrong.- he looked at her adoringly, just as Sirius had a few moments ago.

- Well I thought the same, none of us was right.- both laughed before kissing. The older brother gagged behind them before making his way to the ball on the living room.

- I missed you.- she spoke while she caressed his face. He smiled at this, finally in comfort in her hands.

- I did too, more than you know.- he replied grabbing her hands and linking them over his chest.

- Well, we shouldn't keep the others waiting should we?- she smiled, trying to cheer him up.

- We will leave them breathless, even Cissy and that Malfoy.- he replied and both laughing made their way to the ball.

The black hall was decorated with plenty of silver and green decorations. Lena stared at the room in awe, and also a little bit disgusted. It was dark, with the black walls and all, the only light coming from the gigantic lights.

The two tried to walk with confidence. Her hand on his, holding it tightly, reasuringly.

Soon everybody's atention was on them. Some compliments from Walburga, Orion being proud of the Slytherin colours, Narcissa loving the hair. All viewed by a lurking Sirius that already had a glass of wine in his hand.

- You love her, dont you?- his favourite cousin stood next to him, in a gorgeous black dress.

- I dont know what your talking about.- he tried to play it cool, drinking some more wine.

- Cmon, Sirius. It is quite obvious. You cannot keep your eyes from her. - she replied, trying to get him to confess.

- Maybe I do. But I cant do anything about it.- he said lowly, dwoning yet another cup, this time champagne.

- It is a terrible situation you find yourself in. Both options ahead of you, you can try to be the good brother, or go for the girl. - she reasoned.

- Where is Ted?- Sirius tried to change the topic but his tone was harsh.

- Shhh, keep quiet will you?- she pleaded hoping that no one had heard.

-Ah, but that is a terrible situation.- Sirius spoke bitterly. To which his cousin just replied.

- I dont care that you are heartbroken, dont mention him here. That is a very sensible topic.- she spoke, serious all of a sudden.

- Im sorry. Alcohol and anger are not a good mix.- he tried to sound remorseful. The older Black understood and just left him.

Over and over again Sirius cursed himself. He should've told her over the moments he had this past year. Why hadnt him? How could he let this happen? Lena was dancing gracefully with Regulus, both laughing at something she had said. His hateful parents stared at the couple grinning. Lena and Reg were the perfect couple and everybody knew it. How could he have allowed this to happen. It should be him, dancing with her. It should be him making her laugh. It should be him, who his parents would gaze at with pride.

But there he was, already having a few too many drinks. Making a show of himself, perpetuating the view his family had of him. It was crazy how much he despised every single one of them. He wanted to take the girl, runaway with her and never turn back.

A few hours passed and nothing seemed to change. Every once in a while his parents would scold him for drinking too much or asking him to stop sulking around. But what else could he do? When the girl he adored didnt leave his brotherss side.

Even Andromeda was dancing with the couple, seeming to be very close with the Potter. Slytherin budies, Sirius thought. He felt betrayed, miserable, this was unberable. He needed to leave, he could only hope that the night would end soon. But oh how wrong he was.

- It seems like you are having a great time.- the only moment he had taken his eyes off her, she had made her way towards him.

- Haha, youre funny. - he resorted.

- Cmon, Siri. Ive seen you all night only moving to grab more drinks. You are the life of the party.- she continued to joke.

- Well this is hell. - he added staring at her with anger.

- I know, right?- she replied laughing to which he raised his brows. - What?- she asked taking his cup and drinking from it.

- You dont seem too bad with Reggie and my lovely parents.- he said bitterly.

- How have you sneaked firewhiskey in here?- she wondered taking another big gulp from it, without ackonwledging him.

- shhh. - he tried shutting her up, but her laugh was contagious.

- Oh Cmon. - she laughed again grabbing his arm.

- Lena, Ive had way too much to drink and I see that you are served as well so maybe try to lay off the booze. - his attempt at being responsible was cut off by the girl.

- Im not that bad, you aren't either. Now, we should dance.- she reached for his hand.

The boy just stared at the gorgeous girl, this was his dream, wasn't it?

- Cmon, Reg is dancing with your mum and I really dont want to dance with your father. So please.- she pleaded with puppy eyes. Sirius felt like he couldnt move, not saying a word, his eyes fixed on her. - Sirius, are you with us?- she asked when she didnt get a response. Finally, breaking from his trance, the boy took her hand and smiled.

- Ive been waiting the whole night for you to ask me to dance.- he whispered in her ear once they linked arms at the dance floor. She just smiled, squeezing his hand tighter. He, in response, gripped her waist. She found it hard to breathe, not daring to look at him. Soon they were waltzing around the room. Neither could say a word, only the music could be heard. Their eyes fixed on the others. They moved gracefully, without paying much atention to the rest. They didnt notice the stranged look on Sirius parents, or Regs anoyed look.

- Im sorry. Ive tried to come to you a few times, but Reg wouldnt allow me to leave his side. - she finally spoke as a slower song played and they continued moving through the hall.

- Dont worry, the wait was worth it.- he replied, and another smile crept into her face. His grey eyes on her hazels. Suddenly, Sirius turned her around, and when they were back face to face, she noticed his stern look, she mimicked him, not knowing if she had done something wrong. - I dont like Regulus treating you like that. - he stated, his eyes everywhere but on her.

- He needs me, Siri. - she quickly replied as they tilted to the side. - Besides, I knew I would be able to see you after some time. - she added. - If I really had wanted to, trust me, I would have come. - Sirius frown became wider.

- I knew the wait would make this more worth a while.- she whispered in his ear, her lips barely centimeters away. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, smelling her perfume, she was so close to him.

The song ended abruptly and they separated to applaud, still gazing at the other.

Andromeda made her way towards them looking stunning.

- Im sorry darling. - she referred to the girl. - I havent danced with my cousin for the whole night. Would you mind?- she pleaded, looking at the younger Black that still hadnt processed what had happened.

- Of course, Drome.- she said lovingly to her friend. - Ill leave you to it.- she added smiling, her hand reaching for his arm for a few seconds.

The boy turned quickly when she walked past him, but soon, his cousin moved his head with her hands to fix his gaze on her.

- You are so in love.- she smiled, her dark eyes filled with love for him.

- I cannot help it. - he turned them around so he could stare at her once again. - She is perfect.- he added, lovestruck. His lips parted, adoration clear in his eyes.

- I dont know how this will turn out, but either way Im invested.- Andromeda joked, messing with Sirius hair, making him turn towards her annoyed, but smiling deep down.

A few more hours passed, without much trouble. Sirius had some laughs with Andromeda, Lena was able to dance with him for another long while. He supposed this was the best he could have expected for the night. Of course some of the firewhiskey he had drowned in helped too.

Everything seemed to have turned out fine in the end. That was until he heard Malfoy speak. He had tried to avoid listening to them, staying as far away as he could from them. But he was next to his cousin that was tying her shoe when he heard a name too familiar to him.

- Take Lilly Evans, she is a mud-blood, but she tries to seem smarter.- Sirius was used to them boasting about blood superiority, he could pass that, knowing that if he reacted, only Andromeda and Lena would help him.

- She is a know-it-all. But when we put them into place, theyll know what is good. All of that intelligence wont be worth much.- Bellatrix added, disgusted.

The boy balled his hands into fists, his breathing erratic. If James were here, he wouldnt allow any of this. How could he? He was no better than any of them. He was sick and tired of this. Next to him, Lena appeared grabbing his hand.

- I cant wait for the day those people dont atend Hogwarts. The school would be just as it should be, without mudbloods. Just as Salazar Slytherin would have wanted. - Lucius agreed with the Black sister. Narcissa keeping quiet.

Andromeda stood next to the couple, also trying to think what to do. Sirius parents were on the other side of the hall, with Regulus, talking with some ministry people. The boy felt the anger boiling in him, his heartbeat racing.

- Malfoy, the school wont be perfect until you are gone.- he quickly made his way towards him, the two girls following him.

- Ah, blood traitor, you are the next, after the clensing of the mudbloods. - Bellatrix hissed at him, Rodolphus joining them.

- Im so ashamed to share your last name.- Sirius resorted, going towards her, wand in hand. But Rabastan stepped in front of her and Lena grabbed his arm.

- Sirius, its not worth it.- Lena tried to reason with him, pleading him with her soft gaze and calm voice. The boy began calming his breathing before turning around.

- A blood traitor and a coward, you have it all, dear cousin. Why Orion and Walburga put up with you scapes my knowledge. - Bellatrix lunged for him, ending in Rodolphuss arms, holding her.

- Shut up you crazy bitch!- Sirius didnt have time to think about what he was doing, before grabbing his wand again.

-Sirius!- Lena shouted but he was already gone.

- You dare talk to me like that? Gryffindor.- his cousin kept trying to get him angrier.

Soon Sirius and her were face to face, wand at the other. Everyone had turned to them, including Sirius parents. Their son had his back towards them, one look from his wife and Orion knew what to do.

- Expeliermus!- Sirius ended up on the floor, his wand on the other side of the room. Bellatrix and Lucius laughed while Walburga began shouting at his son.

- What the hell?- Lena screamed, having too much of this family, quickly reaching Sirius.

- Are you okay?- she asked taking his head on her hands, supporting him on her knees.

- My head hurts.- he exclaimed, his hand reaching hers.

- Leave with me. - she pleaded, tears on her eyes. Both stayed like that while the party ended.

The people from the ministry left, and soon only the closest Black family members stayed. Regulus made his way towards the two, after being scolded by his mother on how Lena had acted.

- Lena, you have to go. - he tried grabbing her arm standing, but she yanked him away.

- You should leave. Both of you, come with me, now.- she begged time and time again, her vision now blurry.

Both Black brothers saw her in distress, not knowing what to do. While Walburga cursed his son, and Bellatrix accompanied her, Sirius took her hands and moved them from his face.

- Its okay, Lena. You dont want to be on the other end of her rage. - he said lowly. Regulus just stared, not knowing how to feel.

- I can´t leave you here.- she said between sobs.

- Ill be fine, I always am, arent I?- he tried to smile to the girl that held his heart. She nodded before helping him up.

- I love you.- she whispered in his ear as she hugged him goodbye.

- I love you too.- he responded, before she kissed his cheek.

Then, drying her tears, she made her way to Regulus that was still in shock. When she reached him, he reacted, leading her to the living room. None could speak, both feeling too many things all at once. Rage, horror, impotence, love. They didnt even share a single touch on the way.

- Bye, Regulus.- she said bluntly before turning for the chimney.

#Sirius Black x reader #Sirius Black x Potter reader #regulus x reader

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- THE BEGINNING

James sat there for a long time just staring at those stupid pages. He knew the sooner he got started the sooner he'd have his chapter over with, there really couldn't be that much left, it was just so hard to force anymore out. Because even with the end in sight, Harry being forced back to the Dursleys again somehow felt worse every single time!

Harry wasn't looking any more eager to hear anymore. Those feelings were still washing through him, the guilt and memories still filling his every space of mind, yet himself now trying to force an understanding this wasn't truly his fault. All he could think to do, was just keep looking for something else to think about, and cope with this in his own time slowly like he'd been doing. So it was Harry who gave his dad a gentle nudge and asked him to get on with it, least they had Sirius' crappy sense of humor to distract them.

James actually gave a genuine laugh as Sirius pouted at the pair of them for his expense in the joke while James got started.

When he looked back, even a month later, Harry only had scattered memories of the next few days.

Harry could feel himself grimacing already of thinking of his summer, but even a cursory look at what he could be in store for felt heavy hearted.

It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more.

Lily squeezed her eyes tight shut to force herself not to lean over Harry, to check for the millionth time that he was still okay right now.

The worst, was the meeting with the Diggory's.

"Oh crap," Sirius muttered to himself, knowing there wasn't anything he could say to make this more bearable before it even started. Harry was already getting that absent look back about him, his way so far of trying not to react to the worse things from his past.

They didn't blame him for what happened, the opposite, both thanked him for returning Cedric's body to them.

Lily couldn't stop herself absently brushing at his hair in thanks as well, she felt that went without saying, but Harry seemed surprised by the reaction.

Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs. Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears.

James hated having to read that, to even think for an instant what that pain had to feel like. Of everything Peter had done to him, and his family, and still he just kept doing it without a trace of remorse...

She was the one to point out that he suffered nothing because of the curse that was used, and he'd died just after he won, so at least he was happy.

Remus knew he couldn't begin to imagine the pain the Diggory's were in, but if that made them feel even the smallest bit better, he wasn't going to correct that.

When they made to leave, Harry tried to shove his winnings at them, but they refused.

Harry really was just trying to give that money away to anyone, James sighed in full agreement, he really hoped Harry still found some way to give it to someone who needed it, just to help ease his sons conscious a bit.

Harry went back to the rest of the school finding himself being stared at now more than ever. No one badgered him with questions upon Dumbledore's request,

While they'd all firmly believed Harry's friends wouldn't do that until he spoke about it first, they were honestly relieved Dumbledore had thought to do that. They didn't trust the student body to have the same restrain, but hopefully with Dumbledore's warning they'd hold back at least a bit.

but instead they skirted corridors and whispered as he passed.

That wasn't what they were hoping for though, as Sirius curled his lip in disdain at that place again treating Harry like some sideshow to be gawked at.

He supposed they all still had Skeeter's stories of him in the brain, and were all guessing their own ideas of what happened, but Harry didn't care. He knew the truth, and he instead spent his time with Ron and Hermione, often in silence.

Remus hummed in agreement, he'd never needed proof their guess was right, and Ron and Hermione for all of their loud mouthed opinions and arguments, truly were the type to recognize when their friend needed his silence.

They hadn't spoken about it yet either, but all seemed to be waiting for something to get started, it was useless to speculate until then.

"Wonder how long that one lasts," Sirius rolled his eyes. He knew they used to spend hours trying to guess what was going on in the war, often greatly exaggerated and glorified in their youth, but once the shock of what had happened wore off, those teenagers would surely start doing the same.

The only time they had spoken of their future was when Ron told Harry Mrs. Weasley had tried to convince Dumbledore to come straight to their house over the summer.

Before Lily could even begin to let the hope seep in, James forced himself to keep going past his own to find out the response.

He'd said no, Harry had to stay there at least at first.

James could not get that out properly, it was too frustrating this continued to happen! He despised the meager explanation Harry had used for why that place should even still be referred to as Harry's home, because the fact that he dreaded going there more than any other place really should negate that stupid technicality!

Harry had an ugly look in place as well. He'd never liked the thought of going back to the Dursleys, but for some reason he was confident this coming summer in particular was going to be an extra layer of unpleasant, and he hadn't previously thought that possible.

Harry asked why, and all Dumbledore had said was that he had his reasons and they just had to trust him.

"No, no we do not," Sirius sneered. "I can't believe I'm standing letting you go back, where the hell was I when this stupid decision was made!"

Harry chose not to respond for the simple fact that he knew he'd never told his godfather a single thing about his living with the Dursleys. Only a few vague comments here and there, so really Sirius wouldn't have had a reason to complain in his time even if he had been there to say anything.

They all knew that answer, hiding out at Remus' and still not having any say in the matter, but that was still managing to make this whole situation even worse.

The only person apart from Ron and Hermione that Harry felt able to talk to was Hagrid.

"I still want to strangle him for those bleeding skrewts of his," James shook his head affectionately.

"Hopefully he's learned his lesson," the smile Sirius used showed quite clearly how much he believed that.

There was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they had those lessons free,

"Why is that a recurring thing?" Lily rolled her eyes.

"Because apparently even the Curse Breakers can be stumped," Remus shrugged, regretting his response at once as it only served to cause the others to give him an obvious look, they all knew he could have broken it if he wanted to.

and they used the available time to go visiting him. The first time started pleasantly enough, the weather as beautiful as ever for this time of year and Hagrid greeting them just as sunnily.

When they entered they found two cups already in waiting, and Hagrid explained he'd been having a drink with Olympe, she'd only just left.

"Did we miss something?" Sirius asked with just a bit too much gusto, but here was finally something hours later that wasn't life threatening or horrible to hear about! Just hearing any normal conversation with Hagrid was putting Sirius in the best mood he'd had since the World Cup.

They all had an idea of who it could be, but as they had no clue why Hagrid would be talking to her again, they waited for an answer.

When Ron asked who, Hagrid told that was Maxime's first name.

"Oooh, on a first name basis now are they?" James had a smile peaking on his face at once.

"Why though?" Lily felt a protective surge poses her at Hagrid having to deal with all the drama that woman had caused again. "We clearly missed a conversation where they made up, and until we hear Hermione's theory otherwise, the only way Skeeter could have known about Hagrid was if Maxime told her. Surely Hagrid knows that."

"Hopefully Ron will ask," Harry shrugged, he certainly hoped so as he was sure he found out how Skeeter knew all of this stuff before he met back up with the Dursleys, and he didn't feel Maxime was anywhere close to the answer mostly because he didn't have any bad feelings for her, and he was sure he would if she had.

Ron pointed out the two had made up then, and Hagrid ignored the comment,

"The master of subtlety as always," Sirius smirked.

and instead made them some more tea and doughy cookies.

"Doughy's better than burnt," Remus snorted, "maybe Hagrid's learning."

"So long as there isn't a talon in that to," Lily muttered.

When they'd all sat down, his kind eyes lingered on Harry and asked if he was alright?

Harry just said yeah.

"Why do you do that?" James grumped, "you can talk to Hagrid." Ignoring the painful stab still lingering that Harry was probably more likely to talk to Hagrid than him.

"Didn't really know what to say," Harry whispered, and that was still true enough. He didn't want to relive what had happened to him yet, and he certainly didn't want to accept comfort and understanding that none of it was his fault because he still hadn't agreed. That simple answer was the best way for him to get around all of that.

The four of them still gave him an obvious look, making it clear they believed that as much as Hagrid most likely did, but they weren't going to force an answer out of him either.

Hagrid stated back at once no he wasn't, but he would be.

Sirius laughed softly to himself, he could perfectly believe that. He'd get it through his pup's head, he was sure of it.

Harry could not think up an answer for that.

Hagrid said he wasn't even surprised, he'd always known he'd come back while the kids stared at him in shock.

"I'm not," Remus shrugged, "I'm sure this actually won't come as a shock to most of the people of our generation. Fudge just had his head buried to far up his arse, but surely anyone who lived through it the first time couldn't really be convinced he's gone without a body for proof."

"Apparently they're all ready to believe it," Sirius reminded with a smirk. "Remember all the way back to Harry's first year, and when the Stone was nearly stolen, everyone thought that was Voldemort trying to make a return."

Harry felt a funny bubbling in him, an echo he was sure he wasn't going to enjoy when it fully resurfaced, and it wasn't a pleasant start to how his next few years were going to go.

Hagrid insisted he'd known it for years, he was just out there biding his time. Well now he was back, and they'd just have to make due and fight.

James sighed deeply as he forced himself to read that. He didn't want to hear of another war through his son when he was already well too aware how the first one had ended, and they hadn't even gotten to that yet. He hadn't exactly had a lot of time to revel in the fact that Harry was living in a war free environment while he was at school, but now he wouldn't even get that on top of whatever other mayhem he'd be getting up to.

They were going to try and stop him getting there first, that was Dumbledore's plan.

"Here's hoping for Dumbledore's plan," Sirius mock cheered.

Dumbledore was the best man to be doing it of course, so long as they had him there was nothing to worry about.

Harry felt a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth even as he watched those around him grudgingly nod agreement. They'd all had their doubts and annoyances with Dumbledore's meddling in Harry's life, but no one would deny that one. So why was Harry getting a bad feeling about it?

Hagrid continued watching their disbelieving faces, laughing and saying there was no point in worrying about it. What would come, would come, and they'd meet it when it did.

"Hagrid gives the best advice," Remus smiled pleasantly enough, though he knew better than to even pretend to hope anymore that storm wouldn't come raging in far sooner than they'd ever hope for, like never.

Hagrid explained Dumbledore had told him everything Harry had done, and Hagrid said that's as much as James Potter would've, and that was the best praise that could be offered.

Harry blushed deeply around a pleased smile and tried to utter something, maybe a thanks, maybe a denial, but James wouldn't hear either. He caught his sons eye and gave him a wink, stating, "I can back that up."

Harry's face somehow managed to turn even more red as he returned the smile in thanks.

Harry gave his first smile in days as he asked what Dumbledore had Hagrid planning?

Hagrid simply said he had a job to do over the summer,

"Oh," they all muttered. They hadn't at all forgotten this, and it was reassuring that Hagrid had only said it was to be over the summer, but it still sounded odd to their ears. Hogwarts without Hagrid was unthinkable. If the job was anything like the Order members were thinking though, it could be infinitely useful.

but it was a secret he wasn't supposed to share, not even with them.

"And why not?" Harry grumbled. "He tells us all sorts of other things." He'd meant it more as a joke, it just hadn't come out that way. He could already feel the beginnings of true annoyance at not being told something he had every confidence was an effort to stop Voldemort at whatever he was doing.

He'd convinced Olympe to come along.

"Really wishing I could have sat in on that conversation," Sirius rolled his eyes.

They asked if it had anything to do with Voldemort?

"Most likely," Remus said with a mysterious little smile that didn't fool Harry one bit.

"Well do you know?" He demanded, still sounding pretty huffy over the matter.

Lily didn't take long to think over her answer before saying, "well yes, we've certainly got an idea, but no actual evidence."

When Harry just kept looking at her, she rolled her eyes at him and said, "come on Harry, you know the answer as well as I do. Dumbledore's following the advice he tried to give Fudge, he's sending envoys to the giants."

"Yes, I got that," Harry agreed, "I was just wondering if you guys knew anything more."

"Not really," Sirius shrugged, "if Dumbledore had tried that this time around, we don't know anything about it, he likes to keep all his eggs in separate baskets if you know what I mean. Not everyone in the Order really knows what everyone else gets up to, and Dumbledore insists we keep it that way. So if Hagrid is doing something involving them now, we're really not sure."

Harry was certainly disappointed in this, but stopped his pestering for now.

Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name,

"I guess yelling that name at him didn't get him over it," James muttered to himself.

but only gave a vague answer and switched topics to asking if they wanted to go see the last skrewt?

"Gah," James leaned back in his seat at the very thought. "Talk about a poor subject change, I'd rather discuss Voldemort!"

He quickly promised he'd only been joking at the looks on their faces.

"Please Harry, please tell me he didn't release that into the Forest too!" Sirius begged him.

Harry simply shrugged, he actually wasn't sure what Hagrid had done with it, and he hadn't asked, but he certainly wouldn't put it past him leaving no one in a good mood at the thought.

Scene flip to Harry having to pack away his trunk and head down to the Leaving Feast. So far he'd been avoiding the Great Hall altogether, only coming down at the very latest for when the last bits of food were being served.

James felt his somber mood returning at once, Hagrid's visit really had perfectly distracted them all, but now they were right back to just how hard this was to hear listening to Harry going through all of this with no bright side in sight. The last chapter was always the worst for them in realizing he'd be forced back to those useless relatives, and it somehow felt worse every time.

Normally the place was decked out for the Inter-House Championship winners,

"Did they even do that this year?" Remus asked randomly as he fidgeted with his sleeve, he wasn't looking forward to hearing the rest of this one little bit.

"They certainly took away and added points," Harry shrugged, "I'm sure normally they actually would have had a celebration just to show off to the other schools one more time, but this year it wasn't declared at all, so." He finished with an absent shrug, the weight of what he could sense was coming already pressing down on him heavier by the moment.

but tonight all the drapes were done in black. He knew at once it was a mark of respect for Cedric.

Lily felt her throat vibrate, with anger at the world for what it had done, for sympathy, for a million other things she couldn't put into words as she held her son tighter.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now,

"And I thought I couldn't look at him the same way again before," James scowled at the idea. "Now I'll never be able to meet this guy without taking his flask away for an hour."

"I'll help," Sirius promised.

He was a new kind of twitchy, and jumped every time someone spoke to him.

"If he was paranoid before, I honestly think he shouldn't even be allowed near people now," Lily shivered. She couldn't imagine what state she'd be in after something like this.

Harry couldn't blame him, his imprisonment in his own trunk could only have increased his paranoia.

"You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you," Sirius forced a smirk he knew he'd never use with Moody actually around. This wasn't something he'd make light of in the presence of the man, but right now he'd do anything to get that look off of Harry's face.

Karkaroff's seat was empty, and as Harry took his he wondered just how far he'd run, and how long it would take Voldemort to catch up to him.

"Most likely," James rolled his eyes, "even only having been back for a few minutes, I'm sure tracking him down and exacting his revenge is up there on his to do list."

"I like that better than Harry's name being there," Lily grumbled.

Maxime was sitting next to Hagrid, they were talking quietly together.

"Well there you go, I think that at least implies they've made friends again," Remus smiled genuinely for the pair.

"Hope it lasts this time," Sirius huffed.

Snape sat in his usual spot, and Harry's eyes lingered on him curiously.

Lily really couldn't smother this time everything she felt at the mention of him. She so desperately hoped that somehow, whatever he was out there doing, was for the good side. That he really had realized the errors of his ways and at least in some small part been the man she'd once known again. Whatever that involved. Maybe then, at least he'd have something else to focus on rather than torturing her son.

What was it that Snape had done on Dumbledore's orders, the night that Voldemort returned?

"I've some ideas," Sirius muttered snidely. He was a Death Eater after all, and it would be some irony indeed if Dumbledore really was trying to use Snape's influence in those ranks for his side, but that really explained nothing important, like why Dumbledore thought he could trust one grease slicked word out of his fanged mouth.

Why did Dumbledore trust him to do anything? He concluded the job Snape must be doing was infiltrating the Death Eaters.

"Well you put all that together fast enough," Remus smiled at him.

Harry just shrugged, thinking just the same as his godfather, it didn't answer the important question, why Dumbledore trusted him to do this.

Harry's inner mind was cut off by Dumbledore taking to his feat, and the already subdued Great Hall went completely silent.

"Oh dear," Lily murmured as she watched the lines that shouldn't even be there tighten all the more around James's mouth as he realized what Dumbledore was about to make his speech about by those decorations.

He began by saying this was the end to another year, his eyes lingering on the Hufflepuffs who'd been most silent of all. Dumbledore had a few things he had to say, but first was that he would like them all to raise their glasses with him for a drink to Cedric Diggory.

Remus felt a sharp stinging in his eyes as he watched James read this with far too much familiarity. It was never so personalized, but Dumbledore had given them this speech at the end of all their years in remembrance of all the lives lost during this war. Now it was starting all over again. He hadn't even known Cedric, hadn't liked his father at all, but still to be forced to remember even a small bit of those feelings again while listening to Harry's life...he never would have imagined something like this when they'd first started.

Every bench in the Hall scraped the ground as they all made the toast. Harry spotted Cho's face through the crowd running with tears.

Lily felt herself swallow hard for that poor thing as well as Harry. His first crush was somehow going more disastrously than James's had, and she really hoped that girl had some good friends to help her through this troubling time. She felt bad she hadn't thought of Cho sooner in all this mess, even not knowing much about her, this had to be especially hard on her as well.

Only when they'd sat back down did Dumbledore continue, saying they all had a right to know what had happened, why Cedric wasn't here with them.

"He hadn't told them this already?" Sirius asked in surprise, he thought the headmaster had gone over all of this while Harry'd been in the hospital wing.

"No, Ron and Hermione just said he'd asked everyone not to ask me about it yet. I guess he was waiting for this moment to tell everyone." Harry honestly wished he could tell otherwise, that he wouldn't have to be there for this goodbye speech of Cedric's, but he also knew he'd feel all the worse if he hadn't been able to give even some small goodbye to a man he'd hardly known, but had still been his friend there at the end.

He bluntly stated Cedric had been murdered by Voldemort.

A whispered panic began sweeping the hall at once, and Dumbledore waited for them to mutter themselves into silence before continuing the Ministry did not wish this to be spoken of,

James felt himself tensing in disgust all over again at the thought of how Fudge had reacted to that news. He couldn't imagine anyone so successfully burying their head in the sand, and to be having the whole entire government acting in the exact same way was beyond shameful and just stupid. They had no idea the damage they were causing themselves all because of some arrogant, childish leader.

nor would many parents, as they did not believe in Voldemort's return or thought them too young to know these things.

While Lily could see the fairness in that, there were eleven year olds in there, she honestly couldn't bring herself to begrudge this of Dumbledore. They had as much a right to know as those of age how a fellow student had died even if they couldn't fully grasp it yet.

Dumbledore would not lie to them of this truth though, and felt it would be a insult to Cedric's memory if they weren't told this fact.

Harry rubbed furiously at his eyes behind his glasses again, trying to hide the movement by slightly adjusting them no matter how much he agreed.

Every face in the hall was wrapped with attention at Dumbledore, except Malfoy and his friends. He was having a whispered conversation with Crabbe and Goyle, his goblet untouched.

They all felt a white hot pain strike them at that moment. Of all the hateful, hurtful, disrespectful things Malfoy had done of late, this was by far the worst! No amount of cursing the kid would make the act better, so James forced himself to read past the moment, unbelievably hating him more than he had before.

Harry forced himself to look away, and not react as he continued watching Dumbledore. He was still addressing them, saying there was one more person to be thanked, Harry Potter.

As one, the students seemed to look at him and away again.

"Did he have to?" Harry muttered loud enough they all still heard.

"What you did is as worthy of mentioning as Cedric," Lily quietly reminded.

Harry did not agree, at all, but to argue would be to bring up something he really did not want to speak of at all, so he just gave a quick nod and hoped Dumbledore was brief.

Harry Potter had escaped Voldemort and taken great personal risk to ensure Cedric's body had been returned where it belonged. He had faced Voldemort, and for that he was to be honored.

Dumbledore again raised his glass, and to Harry's shock, as did everyone in the Hall once more as they murmured his name.

No matter how much Harry felt he didn't deserve it, that didn't stop him flushing at such praise any less. Never in his young cupboard living life could he even begin to imagine such a gratitude moment for himself, one that he still didn't feel he'd ever deserved.

To try and avoid a staring eye, he looked again to three particular Slytherins, who still remained unmoving.

Sirius watched his hands twisting into fists. He'd hated Malfoy a lot in this time without having met him, but to continually hear him act like this at every opportunity really had him wanting for Harry to snap already and beat this brat senseless.

Dumbledore, who after all possessed no magical eye, did not see them.

"What could he have done even if he had?" Remus scowled hatefully. "You can't force someone to be a decent person."

Once their seats had been taken again, Dumbledore began addressing why this had even happened. Stating the Triwizard Tournament had been invented to create ties between the schools which were now more important than ever. His eyes lingered over the foreign wizards, and Krum could be seen looking almost fearful in his seat.

"I can see that fear," Remus sighed, "every student there would be afraid the rest of the world would turn on them, having a Death Eater as a Headmaster. If Durmstrang had a bad reputation before, that kind of news won't be helping it."

"Least it's good to know Krum hadn't actually done anything," Sirius sighed. Still feeling bad for his part he'd unknowingly played.

Dumbledore continued somberly though, promising every person in this hall was welcome back any time with open arms. Now was the time where they must stand united, for Voldemort's gift of spreading discord would only strengthen him if they let it. They must find ways to make friendships even in the unlikeliest of places.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment to linger on the warmth he felt beating through at those words, at his dad saying them. He knew he had a long journey to go before this was over, but somehow the end results had landed with him being here, and if that meant he'd made ties with people he'd never dreamed of before, he knew he'd be valuing Dumbledore's advice all the more.

He concluded his speech by saying they would all do well to remember Cedric Diggory, the boy who strayed across Voldemort's path.

Harry's trunk was packed away, Hedwig safely in her cage,

Even realizing that the speech had ended, they all still felt something of it linger in them. They were still bound and determined to never let this happen to Harry, not again, and not to Cedric. Yet Dumbledore had never given a more profound speech, one that everyone of those students as well as them needed to hear.

The trio were waiting on the school grounds for the horseless carriages to arrive, and Harry reflected how different this beautiful lawn was to the dry flower beds he'd be expecting on Private Drive. The thought gave him no pleasure.

"I'd be more worried for your mental sanity if it did," Sirius snapped to get rid of the tightness in his throat.

Fleur found them as he spotted Hagrid helping Maxime into the carriage. She gave them a farewell, telling that she hoped to see them again as she was coming here to get a job helping her English.

"Well that could be interesting," James snorted lightly.

"I'm sure Ron's hoping to see more of her," Remus agreed, having much more fun laughingly thinking if Ron would ever realize if he had even the slightest feelings for Hermione with Fleur hanging around.

Ron quickly told her it was already so good, while Fleur smiled and Hermione scowled.

"Why do I feel like that's going to be a recurring thing?" Lily rolled her eyes, she wasn't looking forward to what that real love triangle could look like.

She gave them all a wave goodbye, and Harry felt his spirits rise as he watched Fleur walk back across the lawn.

All three boys snorted with mirth at that as they pictured much the same thing, but Harry couldn't even be bothered to blush with embarrassment this time, he knew he liked Fleur, and not in the way they were thinking.

Ron was asking how the Durmstrangs would be getting back, what with Karkaroff not being there to steer their ship.

From behind, they were told that Karkaroff hadn't done a thing, he'd stayed in his cabin the whole time.

"That timing," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Why am I not surprised though," James rolled his eyes at the exact same time as his wife.

Krum had come over to say goodbye to Hermione, who followed him slightly away.

Ron shouted after her to hurry, the carriages would be here any minute, but Ron didn't look back towards the gates once while they were gone, instead staying on his toes to see where they'd went.

"So I'm guessing he wasn't watching Fleur get in her carriage and fly away," Sirius raised a brow.

"It's really hard to put a finger on which of these girls Ron likes," Remus mock rubbed his jaw.

They returned soon enough, and Ron didn't get a chance to demand any answers from them as Krum turned to Harry and told that he'd liked Cedric, he'd always been decent to the Durmstrang.

Harry asked if they had a new headmaster yet?

Krum shrugged without care, and offered his hand to shake, then Ron as well. Ron seemed to be under some internal struggle as he shook.

"I can imagine he's fighting the impulse not to break fingers," James snickered.

Finally he burst out if he could have Krum's autograph?

Sirius let out one sharp bark of laughter while the others all dissolved into giggling at such an unexpected response. It had taken Ron a whole year to work himself up to that question after everything!

Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive,

Harry blinked spastically at such a description, wondering why he was more sure than ever he should know something about that...*

as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

"I'm sure he's going to be lording that over whoever he can," Remus chuckled.

"Or burn it while chanting for a quick death, you never know," Sirius smirked.

The three friends got a compartment to themselves, the scene so familiar and yet the complete opposite of the way there. The weather was cloudless, Pig was still hidden under Ron's dress robes, Hedwig was dozing away, and Crookshanks was curled up in a seat like a ginger cushion.

"I'm sure Neville wouldn't recommend using him for that though," James smiled absently, the longer he kept going, the more he forced down every swear word he knew at what was waiting at the end of that train.

Now they talked, as Dumbledore's speech seemed to have caused some kind of release in them. They discussed what Dumbledore's plans could be for the future, how it was all being used to stop Voldemort.

"Called it," Sirius nodded to himself.

"Yes, yes, you're as magical as Trelawney, predicting the actions of teenagers," Lily rolled her eyes at him, "I'm sure you draw from your own current mind set."

Sirius did the mature thing and stuck his tongue out at her.

At one point while Hermione was going through her stuff, an issue of the Daily Prophet fell out. She caught Harry eying it wearily and told him it was safe to look, there wasn't anything in there.

"If there was, I'm sure they'd be very subtly trying to eat it or something," James smirked.

"I think I am going to burn something when I hear Skeeter's spin on this," Remus curled his lip in disgust.

Hermione had been keeping an eye on it, and the only mention of anything was a small piece saying Harry had won. They hadn't even mentioned Cedric.

Harry felt like his own throat was on fire hearing that. It had been rude before not to even acknowledge Cedric in the Tournament in light of Harry's stupid fame, now they didn't even have the guts to admit to what really happened! Harry had half a mind right now to march up to the person in charge of the Prophet and jam his wand in their face until they realized how wrong this was.

Fudge was most likely keeping it all quiet.

"Can he really do that?" Harry spat in disgust.

"Unfortunately," Lily scowled. "There are some ways in which the Ministry has directory over what the Prophet can post, but this is very extreme, and certainly being overused on Fudge's part."

"Wish I was more surprised," Sirius snarled, "but at this rate I'm more shocked he doesn't have them writing pieces about how he's the most brilliant person ever to help his own ego."

Harry pointed out no one could keep Skeeter quiet, and Hermione had an odd smile on her face as she said Skeeter hadn't written anything since the third task.

"Do we finally get to hear what her epiphany was about?" Remus sighed, wishing he was more interested in this than he was. At this rate he was so exhausted by hearing about all this he'd gladly sleep a week straight.

"Sounds like it was right, and she's already using it to keep Skeeter quiet if there hasn't been anything out already." James cocked his head to the side in thought, he at least was enjoying this more because it kept words about Dursleys just that little farther away.

She continued saying Skeeter wouldn't be writing anything for a while lest Hermione spill the beans on her.

The boys demanded to know what she was talking about, and Harry watched her bubble with excitement. It was clear she'd wanted to speak of this for a while, but in light of everything that had happened she'd restrained herself.

"I wish she'd told sooner," Lily sighed as she ran her hand through her hair. "It's about time we heard of some justice for the proper people."

Harry agreed, but he still thought he understood why Hermione hadn't. She'd been watching him so carefully that past week, he knew she'd thought any mention of Skeeter would only make it worse, and Hermione wasn't going to risk that.

Hermione at first explained it was Harry who'd given her the idea, bugging.**

"Well yes, that's when she ran away babbling her head off," Remus narrowed his eyes, "but I still can't imagine where in that she came up with her brilliant plan."

"She's Hermione," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I've long since stopped questioning her Moony."

Harry began to say the electrical ones didn't work, but Hermione quickly said while she dove back into her trunk that it wasn't an electronic bug. No, Skeeter could turn into a real bug, an unregistered Animagus.

"She's a what now?" Lily was absolutely convinced she'd heard that one wrong, but James had only gone slack jawed long enough for his two friends to register his words before reading at high speed.

Finally dislodging a glass jar from her trunk, she showed them a beetle.

"She can't have," Remus whispered to himself, watching James any moment like he was going to start tap dancing. "She absolutely can not have-" He just knew James was going to keep going, and somehow Hermione was wrong about this, there was no way that was the answer!

Ron couldn't believe that was really her in there.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Sirius looked like he was going to be faint any moment now, he was even swaying a bit from so much happiness slamming him at once.

"I-she-just-" Lily stuttered herself into silence, before she cracked and began laughing, hard. Shock, and finally something good happening like Skeeter getting the ultimate comeuppance of Hermione catching her at this, as well as the absolutely gobsmacked look on these boys faces had Lily in near hysterics she was laughing so hard. Harry was very quick to join in, he'd been needing an excuse to full blown let loose like this for some time now, and the raw happiness of thinking about Skeeter in a jar for the past week was a very nice beginning to all the horrid things she'd put him and his friends through.

"I think I'm insulted," James couldn't even pretend to get himself into that emotion, he was still looking down at the pages like his face was going to slip right off. "She used our shtick, and Hermione figured it out!"

"It fits though doesn't it," Remus was looking on ruefully, "a beetle! Couldn't name a more perfect thing for her to be using to get around, she could have been at every one one of those locations and no one would know. Most likely does it all the time, follows people around like that until she gets what she wants."

Sirius still wasn't convinced he was hearing this right, of all the purely ironic ways Skeeter was going around finding all of these secrets out about people and she was using something illegal to do it! He came too and tried to shush Lily and Harry for all the good it would do, and though they hadn't quite settled down when James found his tongue to move on, Sirius still caught every magnificent word.

Hermione insisted that was indeed, she'd caught her on the hospital wing windowsill.

"Bloody hell, that's what that was!" Lily yelped, she was about to run out of air she was laughing so hard. "I honestly thought she'd knocked something over or jumped, or..." she shook her head in disbelief she hadn't more fully registered Hermione's movements at that moment, but she'd been so engrossed in her feelings about Harry and Molly that had barely made a dent on her consciousness.

Harry sat there staring at it, as suddenly he recalled he'd seen a beetle on that statue the night Hagrid had been talking to Maxime.

"Ooh," Lily couldn't help but coo. She honestly felt bad for blaming all of that on Maxime now. She'd never been so happy to be wrong before.

Hermione agreed she'd been buzzing around all year for her stories like this.

James could not stop reading without numb lips from shock! Hermione had put all of this together right under their nose and they hadn't even noticed! Not to mention just what Skeeter had done...this was just a whole new level of scheming he never would have thought she was capable of, and yet the worst part was he would have been grudgingly admirable of it if she hadn't been using it on his son as well as his friends. Now he was fighting the impulse to go grab a jar himself and catch that stupid beetle while she was still practicing at it.

Ron recalled seeing Malfoy under the tree, and Hermione agreed he'd been talking to her in his hand.

"Jeez, he knew about this, for perhaps the whole time, and why am I not even surprised he didn't care," Lily wrinkled up her nose with distaste.

He hadn't cared she was illegal, so long as he got to give her all that dirt.

Hermione took the jar back and and tapped at the glass.

"What's she going to do to her?" Sirius asked slowly, and far too eagerly.

"Nothing that you would," Remus said, and would deny any regret in his voice.

Hermione said she'd let her out in London,

"That's it? Just keep her in a jar for a week? That really is tame," James huffed at Hermione.

"Well she can hardly keep her kidnapped forever," Lily rolled her eyes at these boys, "and most likely she'll keep this blackmail hung above her head for as long as it takes her to learn her lesson about the kind of stories she should and shouldn't be writing about."

"That's still tame," Sirius sighed.

"But I'll take it," Remus smirked.

"What's to stop her from just registering herself though, and continuing to do it?" Harry asked.

"It takes years to become an animagus," James reminded. "You're supposed to be doing it under heavy supervision, honestly it's a bit of a problem for us as well. We're going to have to be really careful and not make it seem like we can already do it when we show up to 'learn' to do it. I sincerely doubt Skeeter will put up with that nonsense."

she'd put an unbreakable Charm on the glass so Skeeter couldn't do anything until then,

"Well that went without saying," Sirius rolled his eyes, a bit bitterly he'd never had the chance to use this on another certain animagus.

and she'd make Skeeter swear not to write any more nasty stories until she learned not to write lies about people, or her secret would be the one to come out.

Smiling to herself, Hermione tucked the jar back away.

"Hermione scares me sometimes," Harry chuckled with the most happiness he'd felt in ages.

"Be happy she's on your side," James gave an exaggerated shiver. "Can you imagine if you'd never made friends with her."

"My school life would be far different, and more difficult," he agreed.

The compartment door opened just then, Malfoy mockingly congratulating Hermione on figuring this out.

"That timing!" This time Remus threw his hands up in exasperation at Harry's conversations always seeming to have someone listening in on them.

"Bet he's real proud of himself," Sirius' eyes gleamed nastily, "popping his head in there to gloat while there aren't any teachers around."

"I'm sure Malfoy would be remiss not to use this opportunity," James agreed wistfully, long since wishing his son was more like him in at least this regard, Malfoy deserved it, but at this rate it seemed more likely he'd be holding Ron back from whatever curses were playing in his head.

He laughed about the reporter being put out and Potter being Dumbledore's favorite again,

"Again? Was there a point where that had really changed?" Remus rolled his eyes.

everything was back to normal. His cold eyes held theirs as he really asked if they were in here thinking about it, trying to pretend none of it had happened?

"I wish you never happened," Lily whispered in a deadly soft voice. How dare this little cretin make fun of her son being in that cemetery!

Harry stood abruptly and told him to get out. He hadn't been in striking distance of Malfoy since he'd been so disrespectful at Dumbledore's speech.

James could feel a rhythmic thumping pumping through him, adrenaline trying to kick start a fight even if he wasn't there, but now he suddenly realized Harry had hit his breaking point with Malfoy, this blond ferret had finally gone one step too far in front of his son, and Harry may well be helping out Ron this time.

Malfoy snapped at him Potter had picked the losing side, Malfoy had warned him that very first train ride.

"I remember a lot about that day," Harry nodded to himself, "meeting my two best friends and finding my first real home. Malfoy acting like an arrogant prat all started blending together over the years though."

The boys laughed softly in agreement while Lily nodded and said, "good of you to keep your priorities straight then."

It was too late now, the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers were going to be the first to go!

James still couldn't say that foul word without having the urge to bite his own tongue off for having to say it at all, especially with his wife in the room. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and curse the first blighter who dared invent it, but if it hadn't been that than it would have been something else just as derogatory. He just wished Lily wouldn't flinch every time as she was forced to remember someone else calling her that.

Well second, Diggory had been the f-

Harry saw red as he felt that surge of magic beat through him. However angry those around him sounded as they snapped in protest of that being said, it still wasn't comparable to how Harry felt, having to live that.

a box of firework seemed to have gone off in their compartment, and when the fizzle died down, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were on the ground from the assortment of hexs Harry, Ron, and Hermione had used.

"You have the best friends in the world," Sirius beamed, bouncing happily in his seat once more. He still wished more than anything he could have been there, to use his own curse on that waste of breath, but hearing that made it bearable.

They weren't the only ones to have done so.

"Eh?" Remus demanded, the smile on his face only growing wider as he hoped to hear maybe Neville had come along and helped out.

Fred popped his face around the corner, stepping onto Goyle as he entered saying how they'd spotted them walking past their compartment.

"Oh this is brilliant," James crowed, somehow these twins just kept getting better every time they heard about them!

"I hope Ron confronts them again about what they've been up to," Sirius perked up with even more excitement. "It's going to drive me crazy if we have to keep waiting to hear it all."

"They might never tell Ron," Lily reminded with a shrug, "I doubt they really think it's his business."

"Stop being a killjoy dear," James told her pleasantly as he turned back to the book with his first real smile in a long time.

His wand was held loosely at his side as well as George's, who made sure to step on Malfoy's fingers as he followed inside.

"A proper entrance then," Remus smiled.

George was inspecting all of their handiwork, and asked who'd used the Furnunculus?

Harry said that had been him, and George noted that shouldn't be mixed with Jelly-Legs, it seemed to have given Malfoy little tentacles on his face.

"I'm taking notes," Sirius beamed.

"So long as I'm not the test dummy for whatever new experiments you're thinking of," Remus chuckled.

They decided to push them out into the hallway, those three definitely didn't go with the décor.

The twins stayed inside and decided to play a game of Exploding Snap, but were only at it for a few hands before they were asked who they'd been blackmailing again.

Fred sighed it didn't matter anymore.

"Course it matters!" James yelped.

"They can't honestly think this wouldn't have some long term effects no matter what's going on," Remus agreed.

George tried to shrug it off, saying they'd given up.

"Something really bad must have happened," Sirius frowned in concern, "that doesn't sound like them at all."

Lily had to resist the impulse to remind this was a good thing, as she agreed, she really did want to hear what on earth they'd been up to.

When they kept pestering though, finally Fred admitted it had been Bagman.

James really did keep expecting the surprises to be over already. "Huh," was all he was able to mutter as they seemed to have actually guessed something right for once, and it didn't feel good.

"He what!" Sirius yelped at once. "For what?!" He hadn't wanted to be right! The twins were really squeezing Bagman for money?

"The, the only thing they've had to do with him was their bet," Remus had his eyes narrowed, "but Harry, you said you saw him pay them back, so I can't even imagine it."

Harry nodded his agreement, as dumbfounded as them, and yet there wasn't a grain of him left leaving him unsure this was true.

Harry was shocked he'd been involved in all that stuff this year.

"Well that was a jump," Sirius frowned, "I just can't figure out what he did do."

"Can you blame him?" Lily defended at once, "he's been acting shifty all year, clearly going out of his way to try and help Harry along, and now he knows the end goal was for him to win-"

"Alright woman, keep your hair on!" Sirius leaned slightly behind Remus to get those sharp eyes off of him for a moment.

George quickly said he hadn't the brains for that, no this had to do with their bet at the World Cup.

"So this is about that bet," Remus muttered, this still wasn't making much sense to him.

He'd paid them back their winnings in leprechaun gold.

"He did what!" Sirius roared in outrage at once.

"That absolute git!" James snapped. "Did he really think he could get away with that just because they were minors? How dare he pull that stunt."

"Maybe it was just an accident," Harry tried wistfully even if he could already feel it not to be true.

"Tch," Lily tisked, "a common person wouldn't just make a stupid mistake like that. What I don't understand is why they tried blackmailing him about it, or what they even had over him and why. Why not just tell their dad, he'd have found a way to sort it out."

"Let me keep going," James groused, "hopefully we get a bit more of what all's been going on."

Ron asked so?

"Oh come on Ron, you just learned your lesson about that earlier this year," James snapped, his voice coming out more testy than he'd meant to because he was still so agitated about this.

Fred impatiently reminded it had vanished hadn't it!

Hermione tried to say it must have been some sort of mistake, and at first the twins had agreed. They'd written to him to try and get it sorted out, but he began avoiding them at all costs.

George sighed that in the end he'd tried to dodge out altogether, saying they were too young to be gambling to begin with.

They hadn't been the only ones, Lee Jordan's dad had also run into some trouble about this.

"So it wasn't just them," Remus' frown deepened, had Bagman really thought he could get away with tricking so many people? Surely he couldn't be so stupid, he was a prominent member of the society being the head of department, not just a Quidditch star.

It turned out Bagman was in a huge debt to some goblins, he'd borrowed a ton of gold from them.

"What an idiot!" Lily said faintly at the very idea of someone getting themselves into that kind of corner.

"Did they ever get more details," James tried digging, "like what kind of trouble this was?"

"Can't imagine it was worth ripping so many people off," Sirius huffed.

"No," James agreed, "just curious is all."

"The poor twins though," Remus kept wincing every time he added a new layer of bad for this situation in his head. "That was all their savings, and with how many must know about this, I can't believe this hasn't been taken public already. It'll take them ages to get their proper winnings back."

"If they even can," Lily agreed pitifully, this hadn't exactly been official at the Cup after all.

They'd cornered him at the World Cup to take away what he'd earned, but that hadn't been enough.

Sirius let out a low, throaty whistle in surprise as he vaguely recalled thinking someone had mugged him back during that, and he'd been sort of right but no where near close.

So they'd started following him around Hogwarts.

Remus almost wanted to laugh as he recalled that odd moment in the Three Broomsticks, how apparently the answer had been hovering just behind him the whole time and they'd had no clue. The world sure worked in a strange way.

Bagman had tried to settle by placing a bet on Harry, that he would win the Tournament.

"That's why he was trying to help you win," James rubbed at his forehead, "though somehow I hate him more for this than our own idea."

"But Harry did win," Sirius perked up, "so at least now Bagman can at least make a start on putting this right."

Remus didn't quite agree, he felt like he could spot a loophole in that bet, but hopefully he was wrong.

Harry said that should be good then, he'd won and they could get their money back.

George shook his head hopelessly, pointing out the goblins had pulled a loophole, technically he'd tied with Cedric. Bagman's bet had been Harry would win outright.

"Ouch," they all winced in horror. This just wasn't right what had been done to the twins.

Still Harry tried, "can't they, I don't know, I hate the Ministry too much right now to want to ask them for anything, but I'm sure they can make this right somehow." He was absolutely convinced now the twins had to get their start up somehow...

"I don't see it," James groaned, "it's really not in their place to fix this, that was a private thing going on, not really their problem if all bets aren't held."

So Bagman had made a run for it, no one had seen him since the third task.

Fred sighed deeply and began dishing out the cards again.

"This is so wrong," Sirius groaned as he started fidgeting in place, his mind still racing for a way to make this better. "There's got to be another way for them to earn all that back, I'll really tear into someone if they can't start their shop because of this mess."

"They'll have to start at the bottom now," Remus tried to pacify, "it'll be harder to work their way up, but with luck they'll get in at Zonko's and go from there."

The rest of the journey felt pleasant enough to Harry, and he wished it would simply go on all summer. Sadly as he'd learned this year, time would not stop just because he was dreading something, and the train pulled in as ever.

James groaned like he'd been punched in the gut. The final blow of learning what had been done to the twins really was that extra kick he didn't need to make this situation worse! Everyone looked the same, like at any moment they were just going to snap the book closed on James's fingers so they could pretend just for one time Harry wouldn't have to deal with them.

Ron and Hermione squeezed out first, but Harry called the twins back before they could leave.

James perked up with interest just for the simple fact he got to put this off for a moment more, but one glance at Harry and he really was eager to keep going. Harry had a smile in place, that same impish look James had learned meant he was going to be proud of his son!

The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out his Triwizard winnings.

"Oh you aren't," Sirius began grinning so widely already his teeth were already starting to flash.

He thrust it into George's hands at once.

"But he is!" Lily squealed as she began clapping her hands with excitement.

Both James and Sirius were laughing boyishly with excitement, they couldn't have been more proud of Harry thinking up this, but Remus caught Harry's eye with pity. "What on earth makes you think they'll take that more than any other Weasley?"

Harry's face was set, he was not taking no for an answer. "Because I'll dump it down their pants if they don't. I don't want it, or need it, and they'll have some use for it that I never will. I'm sure I get them to take it, and they'll be brilliant about it."

"Of that we've no doubts," James giggled, forcing his laughter to cut off so he could see how this played out.

Fred told Harry he was being mental, and Harry insisted he knew what he was doing, he wanted them to have it to start their joke shop.

George now knew Harry was mental.

"In the best way possible!" Sirius beamed.

Harry snapped if they didn't take it, he'd toss it down the drain.

"Now that's just a waste," Lily rolled her eyes even if he didn't mean it. He could at least give it to some sort of charity, even if she did find this just as worthy a cause.

He didn't want it, or need it, but everyone needed some good laughs. Everyone would be needing that soon.

Most of their laughter was dried up as they really got a feeling for what Harry meant, but it only flamed their enthusiasm for the idea all the more. They were sure Fred and George would cave to that, they had already proven how true they felt that was with how they went about their school life.

George insisted this was a thousand Galleons!

"Wasn't this the reason they wanted to win in the first place," James sighed wistfully, "now they get the best parts all to themselves."

"This is brilliant," Sirius agreed, he couldn't have come up with a better idea!

Harry smiled as he pointed out how many Canary Creams that was.

"A lifetime's supply honestly," Remus snickered.

The twins just kept gaping at him as Harry only asked they not tell their mother where it had come from.

"Harry," Lily couldn't help but chide.

Harry gave a small shrug and a smaller smile. "After everything she'd done for me, I really didn't want to do anything to make her hate me, but they deserved it." His throat felt funny there at the end, but he still knew he was right.

Lily huffed softly as she brushed his hair down for a moment, but spoke with utter conviction, "she'd never hate you love. She may not be keen on what her boys are doing, but I can promise you she'd never hate you for it." She felt strange, defending Molly to Harry, when she'd still much rather be seeing Molly as a threat...but she just couldn't do it. Not to the woman who cared so much for her baby when she'd never had a reason to.

Harry wasn't sure he agreed, but he also smiled with pure happiness as he hoped she was right.

Though at this point she shouldn't be wanting them to join the Ministry anyways.

"Well that I'll give her," Remus laughed outright.

Fred tried one last time to protest, but Harry pulled his wand.

"Now you really mean business," Sirius outright cackled.

Telling them to take it or he'd hex them! Then he asked for one more thing, to buy Ron some new dress robes and say it was from them.

"That's even better," James's smile broadened, "giving them a stipulation. It's more like saying go do this favor for me and keep the change!"

"That's a lot of change," Remus rolled his eyes at his idiotic friends.

He left the compartment before they could say another word, leaving the Slytherin trio in the hallway still unconscious.

"Wonder what would happen if someone was left on the train like that," Harry said a little wistfully. In truth he was honestly thinking if he'd be carried back to school, but then they'd probably find some other way to force him back and he'd be in even more trouble for causing the Dursleys to make a visit needlessly. In reality he really was having some sort of memory connected to getting left on the train...

"Never tried," Sirius said with honest regret. "My friends usually got me off with a combination of threats and promises, but now I'm wishing I had stood my ground at least once and see if I couldn't just live it rough a few months."

"Sleeping on a cushioned seat and eating off the trolley for a whole summer is living it rough to you?" Remus looked at him with a smirk. "I'm terrified to see how you really do camping."

"No camping!" Harry said quickly, trying to wave his dad on before this could spiral further.

Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier.

Whatever good mood the twins and his own friends had caused him vanished the moment James was forced to read this final bit. If he couldn't change Voldemort's return, the one thing he knew he'd give his life for again was for Harry to not have to go back with those abusive people!

Mrs. Weasley was hovering right beside him, and hugged him at once at his arrival, promising in his ear he should be coming along to their place very soon.

Lily could feel copper slick on her tongue she was biting it so hard not to rage about Dumbledore making decisions like that for Harry! He should never be forced back into their company!

Ron gave him an enthusiastic goodbye, as did Hermione as she reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which was new.

Sirius was in such a nasty mood picturing that stupid walrus within arms reach of his godson again he didn't bother to make a sarcastic comment about that.

Fred and George gave one last whispered thanks to Harry as he followed his Uncle outside. He decided there was no point in worrying himself yet as he loaded his stuff up and went into the back seat. Hagrid had spoken the truth, whatever happened, would happen, and he'd just have to be ready when it did.

"This book's over." James whispered as he closed this book for the final time. He never would have believed a book could hurt him so bad, but this one had found every pain, every insecurity, every bad feeling he'd ever felt and quantified it plus adding on a few more. He really was astounded Harry had lived through it all without losing his mind.

"About bleeding time," Sirius scowled as he got to his feet at once, he was sick and tired of sitting around for so long, being so forcibly inactive with nothing to do. "I'm going into the backyard to plot murder, anyone want to come?" He didn't wait for a response, but Remus followed him out curiously enough to see what he was really going to be getting up to out there. Lily followed them to the back door with a few mutters about starting an early dinner, really she just had the need for something to do as well, leaving Harry and James in a peaceful enough silence.

Harry struggled for a moment, looking for the right words to say something to him. He tried to string together how much James had meant to him even before he'd met him, the idea of his father had gotten him through most of his childhood even when he hadn't a name and face to put together. James couldn't stop the swell of happiness it caused him to hear that, and finally the taint of bitterness had really left him as he promised, "I know Harry. I wish more than anything you hadn't had to wait so long to meet me, but I really couldn't have picked anyone better than Sirius to be there for you. He acts like an idiot, but you'll never have a better man on your side."

Harry forcefully ignored the tightness in his chest as he nodded his agreement, saying, "I'm sure I get to enjoy that to this very day. He's probably losing his mind right now when I came from."

James found a laugh somewhere in him for the odd idea alone, but then he really turned on Harry and said, "Hey, just in case Sirius didn't get this through your thick head that summer, you do know nothing that happened was your fault, right?"

Harry leaned back and away from him, trying to ignore the sudden shakes and shivers. Around a trembling jaw he managed, "I guess, in theory. It's much harder to convince myself in practice. Especially because I know no one's ever convinced me of it before now."

James felt his own mounting concern, truly wondering just how much Harry could take before he snapped. First he blamed himself for what happened to Sirius, then Peter's escape, now everything Peter had done since then. How had no one ever sat him down and really got it through to him these things were outside of his control? At least he could now, as he began promising no matter what at least Harry had them now, when he heard his infant begin crying upstairs.

James hung his head and cursed his own sons timing.

HPHPHPHP

* Don't worry, I'll have that brought up and explained in the next book of why Harry saw them at the beginning of next year and not here.

**I didn't bring this up yet because this is the best example, but it actually kind of annoys me how Hermione's used as a plot point of convenience device to get this kind of information a lot. She just so happened to have that book on Flamel, the Basilisk I slightly give Hermione was the only one who knew Harry was a Parselmouth and so put that together, but the Time-Turner she just happened to have that year, and now this? Where the ever loving did she get unregistered animagus from? Beetles are so common it really blows my mind how she put that together. I heard about how this book went through a lot of rewrites, and Skeeter was actually added much later in drafts, so this particular plot point could have been a little better handled in my opinion, I don't know, maybe Harry should have been grumbling about becoming an animagus more than that one time on top of the magical bugging, instead this feels more like it came out of nowhere because Hermione needed to figure something out this year.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #GoF #Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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sergeanttpoliteness · 5 years

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➹one love confession, please➹(peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who’s become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn’t something new; you can’t count with both of your hands the times you’ve heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn’t experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART I)

word count: 12.3k (oof)

warnings: cursing, alcohol, and mentions of sex (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: it’s five am where i live and this is already awfully long so i’m gonna make it as brief as i can. first, i’m sorry it took eight months, but at last, it’s here, and i’m so happy and proud of it ! thank you a million times for the amazing support this story got, seriously. second, this was also for @connorshero 1.6k followers writing challenge, and i can’t express enough how ashamed i am that it took so long lmao, i’m a clown. it’s here, tho, and i hope i hear your thoughts and that y’all enjoy it (:

taglist: @fanbase-jumper

Never in a million years would you have deemed possible a human could undergo through such a crushing feeling of dread, yet, sadly, you found yourself to be wrong, for there you were, a pressure smothering your lungs and an iciness washing over you. You never would have imagined yourself hiding in the bathroom from a certain Peter B. Parker, either; but then again, contrary to your previous thinking, there you sat on the closed toilet seat, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as a frostbite in your heart eclipsed any other thoughts in your head.

For the last few days, you had tried to repress a memory which physically pained you as you worked at the bar, almost as if it were nothing more than a bizarre dream you had one night, or a movie you watched as a little kid and couldn’t figure out as a grown-up whether it was real or not. It didn’t take long before in your restless little brain, that date did not exist in the calendar. So… strange, how all of sudden you couldn't remember anything from that night. Yeah, nothing happened. There’s no reason or possible explanation as to why you nearly dropped dead to the ground every time the entrance opened, or why your lower stomach erupted like a geyser refusing to rest whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror of the bruises on your neck and, just maybe, somewhere in the back of your head, recalled how they came to be in the first place; how the small vessels burst, why they’re there. Your self-induced amnesia surprisingly worked. Yeah, like a charm. Until you looked up for the billionth time and it wasn’t another false alarm. The fortress of protection you constructed collapsed as if it took no effort to build it, because there he was— there stood Peter, just a few feet away from you.

Of course, you panicked; hysterically searched your surroundings for an excuse to leave, but no one wanted to bother you when you most needed it. Terrible luck, indeed. You only had two choices (although, really, you most likely had more): you could be, you know, smart and face your problems, or, Peter, to be more concise, or you could run away to hide and wait it out in the bathroom. So, after analyzing it thoroughly for approximately two seconds, what did you do?

Get the fuck out of there, obviously; you threw your towel, sped out of the bar, and instantly headed to have the meltdown of the century in the bathroom.

You screamed into your hands as you relived everything in your head, stomping your foot on the floor tiles. Remorse didn’t suffice anymore to explain the sharp pain in your stomach. You’d sabotaged yourself— you got a nip that night, a morsel of something greater, a catalyst for ‘what if’s and a total loss of self-control, because once the temporary high didn’t satiate you any longer, you’d seek it again. Regardless of your constant imbecility, you weren’t oblivious: it was nothing more than a distraction for Peter’s troubles and conflicting emotions over a woman he’d married, and it would never mean anything to him. It never would, despite how much it meant to you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out, narrowed eyes reading the recent message while your heart went ballistic.

‘You can’t stay there forever, he’s starting to get suspicious.’

You breathed out, partially relieved. It was your friend. You texted him earlier as you lost it in the bathroom stall, as one does. You were close to getting on your knees and start praying to any superior entity that he was simply imagining stuff like most of the time, attempting to read in between the lines when, in reality, all Peter did was drink his whiskey served over ice, totally unconcerned. Yes, perhaps, you running away didn’t signify ‘subtle’, and the fact that you two hadn’t shared a word or texted ever since you fled his apartment a week prior didn’t brighten the situation at all. Why should it matter if you chose to continue escaping your issues? You could stay there forever, and it was no one’s business. The bar’s urine-scented bathroom could be your new home.

Your phone rang again. ‘Dude, c’mon.’

Goddammit.

Your friend shouldn’t have the power to knock some sense into you with just two messages, but he did anyway. You required an abundance of courage you did not carry to hesitantly walk out of the stall, and then the bathroom. You were sure your heart could hop out of your chest, as gruesome as it may have been, at any moment as Peter’s figure came closer and closer to you with each dreadful step you took. It wasn’t as dramatic in real life, most likely (most definitely). But as if you finally understood your situation, the charisma awakened from its sleep and, in an instant, you let out a disappointed ‘aw!’, replacing your terrified features with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, man! Somebody else already took your order? Unbelievable.”

He reacted as though he overheard the most unbelievable noise— a call from God itself or extraterrestrial life, because he could’ve gotten some whiplash by the way in which his head jerked up.

Peter cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands as he showed you a tight-lipped smile. “Uh, hey! Hey…” He exclaimed and you winked at him. “I thought you weren’t here, or something.”

You thought for a moment. For real this time. You couldn’t say ‘I was just having a breakdown in the bathroom’. “Nah, my boss just needed my help… with stuff,” You waved your hand, aware that your boss had left an hour ago. He hummed and nodded, downing his shot. Wait. Your eyes returned to his glass when you fully took it in. It wasn’t whiskey served over ice.

You pointed at the empty drink in his grasp. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at it, raising a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a shot of vodka?”

“No, no, I mean— yeah, but what the hell happened to your whiskey?”

Peter pressed his lips together, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, guess I just… got tired of it?”

The corner of your lips tugged down momentarily. “Ah, I see…” You distracted yourself with a glass, cleaning it despite its already pristine look. You just needed anything to focus on other than Peter. “This is so tragic, your whiskey days have come to an end.” You joked, laughing quietly and disguising the aching in your chest.

He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a confused smile. “What’s wrong with vodka?”

“It’s just… so boring.”

An incredulous grin stretched across his face. “More boring than whiskey?”

Your smile faded, a frown taking its place. “I… I’m guessing I had just grown used to it— I don’t know.”

For the first time in a whole year of weekly meetings and ongoing chatter, an uncomfortable silence sat amongst you two. And for the first time, too, you did not know what to say. “Y/N?” You looked up at him attentively, although you did not want to hear what he had to say at all.

Peter avoided your gaze, instead focusing on his lap, and opened his mouth, closing it when you couldn’t think up any words. “I think, uh… we gotta talk, right? About… y’know.” Your face heated up as red as a field of roses.

You laughed nervously, your hands on the bar as you slanted forward. “...About what?”

“Just, about what happened, and that thing you said the morning after—”

“Did I say anything the morning after?” You cut him off, wishing you’d stuck with your plan of moving into the bathroom.

To your horror, your biggest fear unfolded as Peter let out air through his nose, chuckling without humor.

“Are you gonna try to convince me it was a dream again?” You nearly passed out as Peter cited the words you so vividly remembered uttering. “‘You’re just dreaming?’” It all came back to you, everything— your forced memory loss received a fatal blow as memories bombarded your brain: Peter’s face twisted with puzzlement and sleep after you blurted out your utter nonsense and— how could you forget, oh God, how could you— the cherry on top, your uncomfortably intense five-second staring contest as you headed for the door and dashed out of his apartment.

“‘Wake up?’” He continued and you merely blinked back at him. He didn’t need to fucking quote you and remind you what a joke you were— who does that? But also, who tells the guy you just hooked up with that he’s dreaming after he caught you in the midst of trying to sneak out? B-B-Bingo! Of course, of course it had to be you out of all people.

You stood frozen, like you did that embarrassing morning, begging your head to stop it with the callbacks and breathing out. “What if it was a dream? You never know.” You said, unwilling to give up your idiocy. Peter stared at you, his lack of amusement terrifying you further.

“A dream.”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N—”

“What?”

“Stop acting like an idiot, please.”

“Peter, you literally could’ve brought up anything else other than this.” You hissed, exasperated. “Any other fucking thing.”

“I can’t not bring this up.”

“Well, why not? I surely can.”

“‘Cause it was weird.”

You grimaced and covered your face with your hands, muffling your words, “Oh my God, I know, I fucking know. What did you want me to do—”

“I don’t know, maybe just talk, you know!” He suggested with raised hands, the harsh sarcasm in his voice deepening your pained expression. “Wh-why did you even say that?! Like—”

“I didn’t want to be there! I just wanted to leave, okay?!” You admitted loudly, uncaring of your blatancy. When you didn’t hear him, your shaking hands slowly unveiled your face. A man two seats away eyed you two as he drank, while Peter stared at the counter with knitted brows, digesting what you said.

“Do you wish it had been a dream?” He asked quietly. You began to tap your finger, your lips shaping the words you wanted to speak, but didn’t exactly know how to.

“No. That’s not it, I…” You croaked out. You couldn’t continue when you noticed what you thought was a flourishing desire in his eyes which you saw that same night back at his place. Just say it. Your fingertips thudded the wood faster, your feet shifting, voice stuttering. Say you’d do it again.

“It was just a one-time thing, right?” You whispered. Then, you doubted if that lust had simply been a delusion your brain fabricated. That, perhaps, you yearned for something bigger so badly you’d projected your own silly cravings onto the man, for all trace of that weakening glimmer was now nothing more than the familiar amity the always held.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Right.” You breathed out.

“It was just a one-time thing.” He repeated as if it were obvious.

“Yes.” You both nodded, unable to look at each other straight in the eye without squirming. As soon as some clients called for you, you shared a last glance before you left. When you returned, all you found were some crumpled dollar bills and no sign of Peter.

You didn’t buy him a gift. And neither did he, but he did send you a message saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’, and there exists a possibility that you broke down crying whilst drunk because of the smiley face he wrote along with it, but that’s something you wouldn’t ever disclose— even if it happened one more time during New Year’s Eve as your head pounded with the people around you religiously blowing their party horns. That was it, though. You didn’t see him at the bar, which a part of you could only be thankful for, but the remaining kicked itself for not fixing things when you had the chance to. For not being honest when you could have.

Your friend yet again with his wisdom from the gods told you to stop wasting time and move on with your life, albeit not as kindly, as if saying it in such a way wasn’t hurtful enough. However, after being too sensitive for two seconds, you sucked it up and knew that he was right.

You managed to keep Peter out of your thoughts most of the time, focusing on your job and getting additional money with your paintings to treat yourself. You could go out more with your friends, buy a new TV, maybe save for the vacation you’d been dreaming of for the past years. For some time, as there was no Peter in your head nor at the bar, it was just like before the man nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose sat down in front of you.

You could only maintain him out of your orbit for so long, though.

You sat at another bar two blocks down your place, hunched over and your eyes glued on your cell phone’s screen, anticipation pulling imaginary strings connected to your fingers which fidgeted, tossed the device from hand to hand. Your friend was the fourth person you texted in the last thirty minutes, an act born from desperation, perhaps; created upon an urgency for an anchor, a quick fix that would momentarily patch up the heaviness in your chest that made an unwanted visit too many times to your liking and dissipate all the thoughts in your head. You needed something, a distraction, anything— hell, you’d even texted your boss, a known shopaholic, asking if she wanted to go shopping. But everyone appeared to be doing something that night, too engaged in their own affairs to remember you. It was selfish, you understood, to think that way; they had lives, after all. Nevertheless, that selfishness was a blemish you couldn’t vanish as the three dots emerged, followed by the exact same message you dreaded: ‘Can’t tonight, I’m with dad. What about tomorrow?’ There was no tomorrow, though. No, you ached for it right now, in that instant, something.

Peter.

No. You couldn’t. Another decline was a final blow you couldn’t withstand, anyway, especially from him. However, you weren’t the one making the decisions anymore. Your heart manipulated your limbs, and in a blur, you’d searched his contact. Too soon to your liking, you heard that tedious beeping, your heartbeat then the sole noise in your ears once it halted. All of a sudden, you couldn’t talk, your words lodged in your throat, because it was strange to hear that voice again and it was too much for you right now.

“Y/N? Are you there?” Peter said after you didn’t make the slightest sound, hesitance evident in his tone, for he wondered whether it’d been an accidental butt dial. You took in a big breath and pressed your phone closer to your ear, your elbows aching from the hard counter they rested upon.

“...Hi.” You scrunched up your nose, shaking your head at yourself.

“What… what’s up?” It was odd, you both knew, because when did you ever call each other, and when was the last time you two talked? But turning a blind eye to your friend’s advice, you itched to fulfill your own cravings that night— it didn’t really matter what kind, but just a friend was all you needed, just someone.

You stuttered for a while, internally grateful he remained silent and waited for you to clear your mind. “Nothing. That’s why I’m calling, I guess. Just wanted to talk.”

“To talk?” You could hear the engines of driving vehicles in the background and you frowned, scratching the back of your head.

“Sorry, are you busy? I didn’t mean to bother you. I can call another time—”

“No, no!” He stopped you, your heart growing wings, fluttering and capable of flying out of your chest with how gentle he sounded. “I just got done with something and I’m going back home, you don’t have to hang up.”

You hit the tip of your shoes against the bar, tense brows still not relaxing. “Oh, okay…”

“Are you at work?

“No, my shift ends at a normal time on Friday’s, thankfully.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I see— so you’re home alone and bored?”

You observed the place around you, focusing on the bartender and then on your drink. “Eh, not exactly.” You closed your hand into a fist, struggling to not dissect the skin around your nails like an animal in a biology class. “I know this is unusual, we never really talk outside of the bar and we haven’t seen each other in a while, but…”

“It’s kinda our first phone call, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your lip trembling. “Y-Yeah. Our first phone call.” You almost cursed when your voice wavered.

“Hey, you alright?”

You sighed, scratching your head. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t know. It’s a Friday night— everyone’s out having a good time, and I’m just… here, in a bar and on my own.” You shrugged, your nails carving the timber.

“It’s not stupid.” He murmured and you snorted, unconvinced. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I’m not exactly out partying and having a good time, either.”

“Do you even still party, grandpa?”

“Just ‘cause I’m old, it doesn’t mean I still haven’t got the moves.”

“It definitely sounds like you don’t.”

“Don’t sound so sure, you haven’t seen me at my best.” Seeing him wasn’t necessary, you could easily imagine his teasing grin.

“Hm, yeah, I’d immediately take off my clothes if you pretended to lasso me at the club.” You both giggled and you hugged yourself, glancing at the empty stool beside you, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you maybe want to come and have a drink with me?” You shot your shot, to your thumping heart’s dismay. Guessing by the click you distinguished, he probably just got back home.

“...Have a drink with you?”

“J-Just to hangout, you know.” You quickly explained. “Chat for a while. I can pay, if you want.”

You waited for a response, a rejection. But it didn’t come.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least, that after he agreed and you hung up, you almost dropped your phone with how the fright weakened your arms as you tried to send him the bar’s address. You eagerly waited, too, like a damn puppy anticipating its owner’s return at the end of the day. Using your phone’s selfie camera, you checked your appearance, tidying up all just to make yourself look way more put together than you actually were, even if you were in a bar, alone, and, well, drinking. Despite your awaiting, though, you were taken off guard when a man chose to settle down beside you and cleared his throat.

“I gotta say, it’s weird to see you on the other side of the bar,” Peter smiled as a greeting. Your eyes scanned him, taking in his presence, struggling to process it as if he were a ghost. In your defense, it did feel as if he hadn’t been part of your world for the last two months.

You chuckled, shyly moving your view to your beverage. “Sorry, I won’t be playing bartender tonight.”

“Too bad, I like it when you give me free drinks.”

“Technically, you still are getting free drinks from me tonight.”

He huffed, a crooked smile lingering on his face. You called for the bartender and side-glanced at Peter, quietly asking what he wanted and biting back a disappointed grunt when it wasn’t whiskey served over ice. Whatever. It was just a drink. You two didn’t share a look after that small interaction, though, your face flustered, redder than the bartender’s awful and painful-to-look-at-from-how-bright-it-was shirt. You preferred to believe it was the alcohol, regardless of the truth that you hadn’t drunk that much yet. But your skin burned since he was there, and suddenly, the last disastrous meeting you two experienced replayed way too loudly in your head, the scorching sensation only spreading further and gaining more vigor with the possibility that it did the same in his, too. The unspoken and evident discomfort was enough to make you assume that it definitely was on his mind.

You made the effort to spark up a conversation with the dreaded small talk. ‘How have you been?’, ‘Anything new?’, ‘The weather’s been pretty cold lately, huh?’— blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, neither of you had more to say other than short, boring responses. It became so unbearable, you knew the only way you could get through this night— seeing as you couldn’t leave after he’d just gotten there— depended on your current and whoever many you could afford future drinks. Quite an alcoholic mindset, perhaps, but there was no way you were the only one or that Peter didn’t have the same wish as you.

Holding your third drink, tispy thoughts pressed you to climb out of the hell you were in. You turned your body to face him, nudging his leg with your foot. He’d been paying attention to a wildlife documentary and an animal hiding from its predator before he lifted an eyebrow and nodded at you. “What?”

“Where have you been?”

A crease formed between his brows as he found it hard to differentiate this question from the one you asked earlier. “I told you, I haven’t really been up to much—”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked. Where have you been?” Peter pursed his lips, contemplating.

“New York.”

You hummed, bringing your drink up to your lips. “Okay. So if you were here, how come I haven’t seen you since, uh—” You pretended to count in your head, tongue poking out of your mouth as you summed with your fingers. “—December?”

“I was busy.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hadn’t been up to much?”

“I… haven’t,” Peter said slowly, too far in to escape the contradiction. You bit your lip before finishing your half-empty drink all in one go, head spinning, the weight in your stomach drawing you down to the Earth’s core.

It’s difficult to perceive the line between overthinking and legitimacy. It’s so fine and faint, like a message written with chalk in the middle of the neighborhood’s road that can only be deciphered if you stare at it long and closely enough after the days have passed by and the rain showered upon it. On one side, the message was nothing more than scrawls and nonsensical letters, an unnecessary distraction on the road disrupting you from reaching your destination on time. But then, there was the other side: the truth. A truth that, funnily enough, you reached by overthinking in the first place. Which was what occurred when you suspected the reasoning behind the lack of Peter in your life could be pinpointed to the man purposefully avoiding you; and, right now, grasped that, after all, it wasn’t just another case of irrational overanalyzing.

“Do you hate me?” You blurted out, your eyes going round with the disappearance of your filter. Confusion overflowed Peter’s head and spilled into his expression, adorning his face.

“Huh?”

“Do you hate me—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Where the hell did that come from, though?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You stated the obvious, visibly hurt. Peter denied with his head the misconception, sighing.

“It wasn’t intentional.” He assured you not just with his words but his gaze, too. You pressed your lips together, not fully convinced.

“Was it not?” You asked with a small quirk of your mouth. He stared at you, embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“Alright, maybe it was.” He admitted sheepishly. You let out air through your nose, turning on your seat.

“So you do hate me.”

“Y/N,” Peter called for your attention, although he knew it was half-joke. You returned your attention to him. “If I hated you, would I be here, sitting next to you?” He questioned, motioning around him. You shrugged one shoulder, a grin growing on your face.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just being nice.” You said and he groaned jokingly, sporting his very own lopsided grin.

“I’m being nice because I like you.”

Your smile fell for an instant, but you put the expression back up, reminding yourself that, once more, it didn’t go further than platonic. “Good. But you were mad, then.”

“No, not exactly.”

“You left without saying goodbye last time.”

Peter frowned, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did. Sorry.” He apologized, the sincerity interlaced in his voice worsening your state. You wanted to place your hand on your chest, as you diagnosed with your zero quantity of medical knowledge that you had a high chance of having a heart attack before the night came to an end.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Well,” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand, moving your eyes elsewhere. “First, for being a dumbass back when we hoo—”

“You know what? You’re fine.” He interrupted you. “Save yourself some time.”

Your brows snapped together. “But—”

“You were right. Let’s just not talk about it and move on, alright?” He waved his hand, grabbing his drink. “If you do talk about it, I think I’m actually gonna get up and leave.”

You laughed, nodding. “Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, then?”

His actions halted in the midst of taking a sip. “Maybe.” He answered vaguely.

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just run away from your problems, Peter.” You pointed out like the hypocrite you were, particularly after that was exactly what you were doing not too long ago. Peter, unaware of this, however, had to admit you spoke the truth as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles, grumbling.

“You see, you say that, but I’m still gonna continue doing it.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re going to discuss this like adults—”

“As an adult, I’m telling you that all is good and I’m over it.” He finished with a warning tone you couldn’t take seriously and you giggled. “Next topic.”

“Okay, grandpa. Sure thing. All is good.” You grinned, the ice in your heart melting off as he copied your countenance.

“For real this time.”

“Yeah. For real this time. Can I be honest with you, though?” Peter waited for you to go on, paying close attention, his gaze soft. You stared at him for a moment too long ‘till your eyes moved to your hand now feebly holding your empty drink. “I missed you. Kind of. Is that dumb?” You mumbled, your voice small.

You couldn’t properly see him, but through your peripheral vision, you didn’t catch any movement. That’s when you prepared to scream ‘sike!’ to his face— a real-life undo button to delete the emotions you couldn’t take back and shove down your system anymore. However, it felt… good. For once, it wasn’t spilling your guts out and regretting everything as you attempted to cram your organs back into you; you had plucked out a thorn that’d been hanging inside the palm of your hand for far too long. It was liberating. And you peered up at him, expecting that relief to be temporary, but his tender features didn’t let that happen.

“...No. I missed you, too.”

You both smiled.

The conversation began to flow. Words started to spill, and although you weren’t at the bar, you enjoyed that exact same security and blissful buzz. You realized then— a revelation that did not help your case— the location didn’t play an important role, and perhaps it never did; bar or not, if Peter was there, you’d still feel stupidly and overly content. Your worries faded away as you two caught up with no drop of MJ’s name, but some lingered anyway, because change was inevitable, looming over you. Laughter left your lips, his hand rested close to yours on the counter. You noticed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, to walk away from the euphoria tainting your body. More liquor entered his, over time you stared at his mouth one, two, three, four seconds too long as you became intoxicated along with him, and so did he with yours.

“C’mon, tell me.” You pouted for an instant, interchanging it for a drunk smile. “Your secret dies with me.”

Peter slammed his fifth drink down, cheeks tinted pink. It was wrong, indeed, to take advantage of his condition and try to get out of him something you’d wanted to know for the longest time, and that he kept to himself as if it were government classified information. In your drunken brain, it did not seem too far off. Perhaps he went on outrageous underground missions. You laughed at yourself. Peter didn’t seem like a spy-type of guy. Unless…

“Do you, like, work for the government?” Peter screwed up his face at your absurdity.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth, a giggle escaping. “I can’t.” You dragged your stool closer to him, as you weren’t close enough already. Actually, when did you get so close? It didn’t matter. You analyzed his face, hoping that somehow, if you looked at him long enough, you’d gain the ability to read minds and crack into his. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, studying you like you were the most interesting being. You didn’t know why, but you felt tempted to move that strand of hair that always hung in front of his forehead away from his face. As any rational person wouldn’t, you did, your thumb brushing against the barely visible scratch that started the conversation in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” You questioned, brimming with interest. He went crossed-eyed as he tried to follow your hand.

“About stuff. Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked back, his view traveling down to your lips. You bit your lip.

The closeness, your full-blown pupils, the actuality that you could lean closer to him and you’d meet his lips. It all seemed too familiar. And so you wondered, if you did move and kiss him, if you stopped resisting and glanced down at his lips, too, what would happen?

“I don’t know. What does it look like I’m thinking?” You asked, lowering your voice. The stench of alcohol should have been enough to stop you both from advancing any further, but Peter licked his lips, smirking.

“It seems to me like you wanna fuck me.”

You gasped, hiccuping. “Oh, my! I didn’t know this part of yours, Peter B. Parker. Is it just the alcohol speaking?”

“Maybe. But is it true?”

“What?”

“What I said.”

Your upper body swayed closer to him, tired, dizzy, and wishing to lie down. You gripped his shoulder and helped yourself add some distance, your other hand landing on his knee. “Maybe.” You simply said. Your eyes remained interlocked into one another, your hand running up his shoulder to his neck, and then all the way up to the back of his head, sensing his goosebumps. “Maybe…” You repeated as your touch on his knee traveled up his thigh. Peter took in a sharp breath, his hand unconsciously wrapping around your wrist.

You couldn’t help it anymore. You leaned in and captured his mouth in a rough kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pull away, a voice said in your head as you felt his tongue momentarily slide against your bottom lip. Pull away, the nagging voice went on and you did, shaking your head.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again.” You whispered, yet your mouth came back into a messy kiss, even messier hands craving touch. Breaking glass startled you two apart and you looked down, sighing when you saw your drink’s contents all over the ground. “You owe me a drink.” You panted, your lips swollen.

Peter scoffed, his half-smile blurring your vision as he tilted his head towards your ear. “Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.” He said, mouth ghosting near your cheek despite his words, yearning to continue. You pecked his jaw, lips resting against his hot skin, careless about the other customers in the bar.

“I do want something to happen, though.”

You both ignored the conversation your sober selves had. ‘It was just a one-time thing, right?’. Peter slammed your apartment’s door closed whilst your lips were still connected, your hands clumsily coming down to try to unbuckle his belt. ‘Yeah’. His own hands aided yours, the clinking of his belt buckle speeding up your heartbeat as if it weren’t already dangerously fast. ‘It was just a one-time thing’. Peter groaned into your mouth, tasting like liquor, like something you’d both regret the next morning but did not care about the consequences, even if it was a lesson you’d already learned. Not at the moment.

But nothing happened.

You couldn’t recall much the next morning. The first proof that it didn’t go further from a make-out session was that you woke up in your bed, alone, and wearing the same clothes as the previous night. The second evidence you gathered when you barged into your living room and there slept Peter on your couch, his appearance also identical to the one in your hazy memories. He didn’t remember anything. As you struggled to cease your trembling legs, he simply laughed and asked if he got so wasted he had to crash at your place. You shrugged and smiled, still capable of tasting his lips and vividly feel his hot breath.

From then on, you avoided drinking or being too exhausted to have any common sense when you were around Peter. One day he invited you to go out and have a few drinks again, to ‘repay’ you, and to which you responded as calmly as you could that you had other ‘plans’; other plans that, truthfully, were faker than the disappointed expression of yours that followed. Then, as if you couldn’t ever reach a state of peace, he asked again a month later, and you had no other choice than to invent a faulty reason for why you didn’t feel like drinking that night, the next night, or the one after, even if, according to all the drunk stories you’d recounted to him in the past, you never really turned down a drink or the opportunity to get inebriated. Guilt poisoned you when he never brought up the idea after that, fingers crossed that he didn’t get the impression you didn’t want to meet him in other circumstances other than the bar; regardless that that’s exactly what was going on. Every other night after he helped you with closing the bar, you’d also nod goodbye at him and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting until he turned around the corner so your feet could dreadfully carry you to the subway station, your now-unfixable car present in your head like an aggravating piece of gum that stuck to your shoe.

Nothing could be more vexing than this, though.

Eventually, you began to wonder. Perhaps, yet again, you were as weary as that time you slept with Peter, seeing as you couldn’t think straight, almost as if you’d suffered from a concussion and all your neurons died, to your utmost dismay. But there was a dissimilarity: the unfortunate detail that, unlike physical fatigue, mental exhaustion wouldn’t pack its bags and wave farewell after a night-long sleep. Not when immediately after you woke up, the same worries still found their home within your head. So your imagination took it as an initiative to force feelings and schemes onto you, ones which involved the stomach-churning plausibility that maybe, just maybe, Peter liked you back and you could happily come clean. You had to laugh. But then you really started to wonder.

You needed at least six reasons to follow through with it. First. He was the one who made a move months ago. Second. He wasn’t drunk. Third, you listed in your head, you kissed. Again. And, fourth, this time he might have been drunk, but if he did it both as a sober man and a drunk one, it had to mean something, right?

You were struggling to distinguish the line between overthinking and legitimacy again.

You went to work that day, decided, the fifth reason simply being that you couldn’t get him out of your head, but the sixth reason missing. A truck landing on you would probably do the job, you thought. You didn’t mean it whole-heartedly, of course. But, apparently, the universe didn’t know about sarcasm and how it worked since, an hour after the thought passed through your head, it sent you a nice little gift and Spider-Man just so happened to get in a fight near the bar and an actual truck broke through the walls of the pub.

“I can’t fucking believe a truck landed right here. This is why I hate living in this city so much,” You scoffed, holding a towel wrapped around ice up to your bruised forehead as you observed the gigantic hole where the truck happily invited itself into. Peter barely reacted to your comment, too focused on disinfecting the wound in your arm. You pulled the makeshift ice bag away from your head, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m starting to get a headache from how cold this is, can I—”

Peter grabbed your hand and forced it back up to your forehead, shaking his head and focusing again on your arm. “No, trust me, it will reduce the swelling.”

“Should I be worried that you know so much about injuries?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “I know. Thanks.” You smiled, recalling the urgency in his voice after he called you, saying he’d seen what’d happened on the news. He moved on to the gauze and began to bandage your arm, making sure his movements were delicate lest he hurt you more. “I met Spider-Man, though. I think I can finally die in peace.” You caught the way the corner of his mouth lifted upward.

“Really? Did he apologize for almost killing you?” Peter grumbled, accepting the scissors you offered him to cut the cotton fabric. You released a huff of air, admittedly offended and immediately going to defend the masked superhero.

“He didn’t almost kill me, it was the other guy. Bad guys, you know? They’re everywhere.” He huffed. “He checked up on me and offered to take me to the hospital, though. Pretty cool guy.”

“And why didn’t you say yes?”

You contemplated his question. “Stranger danger.” You shrugged. Peter laughed softly, muttering ‘fair enough’. “It also wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to interfere with his, uh… superhero duties…”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t making sure you’re okay part of his duties?”

“I guess, but I’m fine, it’s no biggie.”

“Y/N, you could have died.”

“But look at me,” You patted your torso, then holding your arms wide open. “I didn’t. You’re making it sound much worse than it actually was.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly.

“Whatever,” He said, hesitance showing through his eyes. “I just think the guy should be more careful. His job is to protect the people, not to… hurt them.”

You scowled playfully, kicking him lightly. “Dude, fuck off, don’t talk shit about him like that. He’s Spider-Man. Give the poor guy a break.” He didn’t say anything, though, stirring your concern as you realized he seemed off since he first arrived. “Are you okay?” You inquired, frowning.

Peter glanced up at you before rubbing his face. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

“Every day is a long day when it comes to you, isn’t it?” You joked lightly, nudging him a second time. “You helped me, now let me help you. What’s up?”

He moved his head from one side to another. “You’re always helping me.” He said almost as an apology, smiling sadly. You smirked back, standing up from your seat next to him to jump over the bar. You grasped an empty shot glass, checking no small debris had made its way into for the sake of Peter’s health (now, that’d be a hell of a lawsuit) before you slid it towards him.

“It’s my job as your bartender.”

He peered down at the glass and then up at you. Chuckling defeatedly, he took ahold of it, and you read it as ‘ah, the hell with it’ as you reached for the bottle of vodka. “I fucked up.” He whispered while you poured the liquid.

You screwed the cap closed, your eyebrows lifting high. “How come?”

Peter placed his head in his hands, nose crinkling. “I, um… talked to MJ?” And just like that, your mood took a fall as well, an inaudible ‘oh’ fleeting past your lips. “It’s the first time we talked in a long time.”

“...And?” You asked anxiously, folding your arms across your chest. Peter clutched onto the shot of vodka, watching the liquid dangerously reach for the edge of the glass after he slowly tipped it.

“Well, she’s trying to move on.” Surprise crossed your face. “And I was so distraught by it for the rest of the day that I really fucked up at work.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“That maybe I should move on, too.”

Your arms fell down to your sides. Maybe you really did hit your head too harshly, you thought, as your body started to feel heavy and you had to support yourself on the bar, for all this information you were hearing at once was colliding against you more vigorously than the pieces of wood which fled towards you earlier. Swallowing to bring moisture to your throat, you continued with the million-dollar question pestering you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You regretted uttering the words, something you seemed to be doing too much to suit your taste as of lately. However, Peter, although the question troubled him the same way it did you, clasped his hands together and you studied him whilst he went through every thought in his head and through every feeling, seeking an explanation he himself needed to know as well.

“I’m not sure if I want to. But I know that I have to.” He finally breathed out. You leaned forward, not satisfied, needing to hear more and more even if it’d hurt, because nothing was more vexing than this feeling.

“But you love her,” You said matter-of-factly. Silence. Your heart pounded rapidly enough you could sense it in your head. “Right?” You asked, embarrassed by the apparent desperation in your tone.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out his thoughts, blinking up at you.

“You love Mary Jane?”

He bit his lip as he went back inside the isolated room of his brain after only just sneaking his head out, evidently growing stressed. “It’s okay,” You brought him back out, sacrificing your curiosity as you gently smiled at him. “You don’t have to answer.”

Peter exhaled thankfully, downing his shot. “What’d you wanna tell me earlier, anyway?” He asked expectantly, his voice scratchy from the liquor. Oh. Yeah, right. Plans might have changed an hour ago, yet for some reason, you still wanted to come clean to Peter. However, right now, after hearing about Mary Jane, you forgot about the sixth reason and remembered why you never did in the first place after all this time.

“Do you… want to go get a drink?” You cursed your imagination for not working when it was necessary. Peter’s forehead creased with astonishment as if he never thought he’d hear that sentence again (in his defense, though, it’s exactly what you were planning to do).

“You finally wanna go and get a drink?”

“Hey, just be glad I’m feeling like it.”

It was an understatement to express you were feeling like it.

You continued searching for that sixth reason for the next weeks, even if the entire world knew that after you found it, you’d keep your lips sealed. Your friend put your friendship at risk when, during your September lunch with your boss, he couldn’t resist but telling her about your ‘secret crush’, saying he simply did it for a third opinion, but neither of you gained no new eye-opening advice for your boss dragged on about how Peter could be ‘the one’, which honestly worked in scaring you away from the topic. One day after, as you couldn’t fall asleep, you deliberated the reasons why you should forget about Peter.

One. He’s your friend. Your really good friend. You liked him being your friend. He’s funny, a nerd, and you could talk to him forever, even if it was merely absolute nonsense. Two. He’s a lot older than you. Not that eight years mattered that much, but it could. You were just entering your thirties whilst he was nearing his forties. Even if he’d made it clear kids weren’t his cup of tea, he could change his mind. You weren’t ready to settle down yet, despite most people reminding you the clock was ticking and you should start considering it.

Three. The iconic Mary Jane Watson. Peter’s ex-wife whom he loved dearly. He might have not talked about her since he mentioned the idea of moving on, but you knew it was easier said than done. If you opened up, he could shut you down and reveal he’s still in love with MJ. Or worse, if you two did wind up dating, he could decide to leave you for her. Four. Your friend helped you with the fourth one. He had yet to tell you about why he’s bruised most of the time. It admittedly awakened the cynicism in you, for it could be something which had the potential of putting you at risk, or get you killed. Plus, if he did not want to give you an explanation, it meant he didn’t trust you enough.

Five. You couldn’t lose him. You already almost did. Your absurd crush could be the last straw and get rid of him for good. If that was the case, then you’d do anything to muffle your heart singing its love songs when he crossed your mind or simply stood in front of you. You’d do it, even if it’d hurt.

Again, you couldn’t come up with a sixth reason. You established, then, that whichever reason you uncovered first, would be the final word. Your friend knew both a sixth reason for why you shouldn’t forget about Peter and why you should that, trying not to influence you any further, he kept to himself; it being clear in his head which one he hoped you’d find first.

It was another Friday night. You’d just returned home after wasting your money on some restaurant that definitely was not worth the price (goddamn New York) when your phone blared its ringtone in your pocket. Your heart clenched as you read the name and were about to answer immediately, until you stopped yourself. Counting eight seconds in your head, your thumb slid across the screen after you got to the last number and picked up the call. “Peter?” You were audibly and justifiably perplexed— why has he calling you at… you checked the time— ten P.M,? It may have not been the first one anymore, but phone calls were still a rare occurrence between you two.

“Hey! Are you busy?” His breathing was heavy, which made you wonder what he possibly could’ve been up to before he called you.

You opened your apartment’s door and blindly searched for the light switch. “No, I just got back home, actually.” You muttered, and then voiced a victorious exclamation when the room lit up in front of your eyes. “Why?”

He inhaled profoundly. “Cool. Great. Yeah.”

You guessed the barely distinguishable quiver in his voice could be defined as uneasiness as you sat down on your couch’s armrest, squinting.

“Is everything okay?”

“...Yeah. Yeah!” He repeated, firstly too quietly but now with faux confidence. “I needed to talk to you.”

Ah, hell. You had one important question and one only: when would you get a break from confrontation and those words? The last time you and Peter ‘needed to talk’ didn’t exactly go as smoothly. That in mind, your organs plummeted down into an expanding black hole in your stomach as you brought your fingers up to your lips. “I’m all ears, as always.” No, not really, but you didn’t exactly have any other choice.

“Okay, okay. Um, I, uh… what am I doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I wanna say sorry in advance.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

You could solely hear what sounded like wind. “You’re not gonna believe me, so just, just look outside your window.”

The black hole having devoured the contents in your system, you raised to your feet and sped to the window, not capable of painting in your head a single picture of what in the heavens the man could be planning. You unlatched the lock and glided the window upward, your head gradually peering out. Your eyes went as big and round as the full moon glowing above you when you saw it.

You stared dumbfounded, close to pinching yourself to do a reality check. It had to be a dream. A strange dream. There was just no way. No fucking way, it was absolutely impossible. It was beyond the innumerable existing possibilities that Spider-Man looked back at you, stuck against the wall. Similar to someone’s lack of subtlety, it couldn’t have been any more evident. You didn’t even need a big brain or to think, to analyze deeply as if it were a riddle in a newspaper. Because it was just right there in front of you, plainly obvious and transforming your blood into ice: the phone he held up to his face.

“Hi…” Said the masked hero. And so did Peter through the phone call.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, yet you didn’t glance down at it. You continued to gawk at the man as he flicked his wrist and saved not only your phone, but simultaneously also your bank account from having to spend hundreds of dollars on a new one. You did not mutter a thanks, let out no relieved sigh when he gave it back to you. You just stared.

“I know I’m pretty cool to look at, but can you please say something?” He laughed nervously. Ignoring him, you took a step back and retreated your head, eyes close to falling out of their sockets. The phone in your shaky hands rang a second time and you answered without needing to look at the contact.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Peter, what the fuck.”

“I’ve done this so many times but I still don’t know what to say.” He groaned to himself. You put your hand on top of your head, disbelieving.

“Get in.” You abruptly ended the call and plopped down on your couch, clutching your stomach, blinking furiously after black dots uncontrollably twirled in your vision. You heard a thump, the floor shaking slightly; however, you didn’t turn around to look at your guest, instead focusing on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t until the cushion beside you sank with the man’s weight that you blew up. “Holy shit.” You cupped your face with your hands, laughing out of pure shock. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

“Don’t freak out.”

“How am I not supposed to freak out?!”

Peter— Spider-Man shrugged, his white lenses wide. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He admitted.

You scanned his mask, the mask you’d become familiar with after seeing it so many times on TV and pictures. Somehow, however, regardless if you knew that mask and the person behind it, you couldn’t believe its authenticity. “Take off the mask.” He didn’t move or respond. “Please.” You begged.

You first saw the stubble. Then his lips. Then his crooked nose, and soon, those eyes. The whiskey eyes. Peter’s whiskey eyes. Your hands wound up on his broad shoulders, and for some reason you yourself couldn’t work out, it just dawned upon you how muscular they were. Your eyes came back to his face. Yeah, that’s Peter. That’s Peter B. Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. All the revelations crashed against you quick, glass shattering in your head, everything suddenly making sense. The bruises. His constant fatigue. Everything.

“Peter… oh my God.”

“I know I-I kept this from you for a really long time, and I know it’s hard to fully digest it, but I did promise I was gonna tell you one day.” He said, the corner of his lips twitching. But you weren’t smiling— all the terrible fights you’d watched on the news throughout the years flashed in your head, going all the way back in time to when you first discovered Queens’ brand-new superhero as a seven-year-old.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “You’re telling me you’ve been at this since you were a fucking kid?”

Peter let his mask drop to the carpeted ground, his back sliding down the sofa’s backrest. “Since I was fifteen, yeah.”

“Peter…”

He grimaced at your concern. “I know it sounds sad, but it’s not… it’s not that bad.” He promised you, but you couldn’t take him seriously. You picked up your legs, sitting cross-legged and playing with your fingers as you continued to go through your racing questions.

“I used to look up to you when I was little.” You revealed quietly. Peter scoffed, grinning playfully.

“What, you don’t anymore?”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do. Shit, I still do. I never thought I’d meet my childhood hero the way I did, though.”

“Sorry I’m just a sad, old man.”

You rolled your eyes, prodding him with your elbow. “You’re so much more than that.” All humor fled his expression and he shut his eyes, throwing his head back.

“Am I? I constantly feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He huffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. There it was, of course; he couldn’t talk about Spider-Man in a non-degrading way.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man!” You exclaimed, not accepting his utter bullshit, but he was willing to accept it as he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“I know, you always say that.”

You gave up in trying to change his mind and shifted closer to him, copying his position, unable to focus on your view of the boring, mundane ceiling; so you turned your head to see Peter getting lost in the white square. “You really didn’t have to tell me. This is a big secret.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.” You were glad he kept staring up as you felt the blood rush to your face.

“You do?” You asked, your chest warm, illuminated with glee. Peter glanced at you, nodding nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah. I really do.”

You turned your face away from him, your muscles close to tearing from how big and proudly you grinned. “Spider-Man trusts me.” You hushed to yourself.

Peter breathed out, exasperated, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Stop.” He pleaded, laughing himself nonetheless. You bit your smile back, moving to sit straight in what your friend liked to call your ‘parent worried about their kid’ sitting position.

“I guess I was right for worrying, huh?” You smiled sadly, taking in the severity of the situation. He poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He sighed. You snorted.

“That’s dumb. You’re saying you’re always putting your life on the line? Of course I’m gonna worry.”

“Well, I worry about you, too.”

“How come?”

“If you’re close to me, then you’re putting your life on the line as well.”

You frowned, squeezing his arm to comfort him. “No, don’t say that.”

“Y/N, it’s the truth, though.” He fully sat up to turn toward you, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the worst thing about this. How many times have the people I care about gotten hurt? All ‘cause of me?”

You remained speechless. Moments later, he placed his hands flat against the sofa, preparing to stand up. “Y’know, I get it if you want to keep your distance from now on. I actually think it’d be a good—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You warned him, expression stern. “It’s stupid.”

“I almost got you killed that other time—”

“You didn’t almost get me fucking killed, for Christ’s sake!”

Peter’s jaw tightened and he ran his hands through his hair, that strand of hair falling back in front of his forehead. “Whatever. You can’t be so sure, anyway.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing that he was right. You nervously placed your hand on top of his. “Can I hug you?” You asked like a child, giving him a half-smile. Peter looked down at your hand before his eyes moved to you.

“Sure. Y-Yeah.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him hard, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt him slowly embrace your waist, scared of underestimating his strength. “I’m glad you told me. It must have been really hard.” You murmured against his chest. He chuckled humorlessly, his cheek on top of your head.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, okay? Whether it’s to vent or for some weird spider shit. I…” Love you. “You’re my friend, dude.”

After he left that night, you’d never been more conflicted about your feelings. It was a conundrum; a whole headache-inducing brain-teaser. You’d striked out the fourth reason why you should forget about Peter, the original five down to only four, but you still searched for that sixth— now fifth reason. As if it didn’t scramble your brain enough that it left you dazed and your thoughts impossible untangle, Peter unknowingly joined the game with the objective of rattling you up more.

You noticed he didn’t disappear without notice ever again, and if he did, he didn’t leave you hanging, rather he sent you a text the day after with an entire clarification. Then, you caught onto the increasing meter of his touchiness: new and unexpected hugs, holding your damn hand— although that only happened twice, but still. Your overdramatic friend didn’t even need to point it out.

One Saturday, he sat down in front of you, and before you could greet him, he surprised you. “One whiskey served over ice, please.” He smirked. You gaped at him, laughing, face astonished.

“What’s up with that?” He shrugged, grin never disappearing.

“I dunno, I guess I missed it.”

You never thought you’d continue hearing ‘one whiskey served over ice, please’ ever again. But you did.

This year, you did give him a present for Hanukkah and Christmas. A painting of one of your favorite photos of his that he showed you one day; a day you so vividly recalled, for he asked you to come with him to take pictures of an exhibition at a museum, and you accidentally broke a statue after you leaned against it in the attempt of doing an extravagant pose. To your surprise, he gave you one, too: a photo album with pictures from that day, and a message that read, ‘Merry Christmas!’, accompanied by a smiley face. In the blink of an eye, it was New Year’s Eve again, except that this time, you and Peter were talking.

You came out of the party’s bathroom, unable to tear your gaze away for the fourth time from Peter’s New Year’s Eve message, until you bumped into someone and had to force yourself to pocket your phone. You lazily swayed to the music, your vision blurring out, turning it harder to find your friend amidst the people. While your body was there, all your five senses working perfectly, feeling the heat from the enclosed space, the music vibrating in your chest, the smell of alcohol and smoke fixed in your nostrils, your mind lived in December 20th. December 20th being last Monday: a date that continued to echo in your head, the entirety of the day playing from the beginning until the pitch-black hour of midnight. It played, played, played relentlessly, exhaustingly. December 20th, it continued, a stupid date that your drunk self could not let go of.

You distinguished your friend in the crowd, comfort kissing your body and your tired legs guiding you to him, until you moved a person aside and saw the full view of his lower body grinding against a girl all over him. “Ah, fucking gross,” You groaned, pushing the unlucky same guy as you took a turn and headed for the glass door leading out to the balcony.

You firstly bumped into the door thinking it was open, but successfully slid it open and made it out into the winter weather, the city more awake than ever twenty minutes before the New Year. But you weren’t focusing on the future. No, you held onto last Monday, gripping it so tightly it hurt, hanging onto it as if you’d be nothing once it left. You stumbled towards the bench to your left, falling defeated on it. December 20th. You turned on your phone, squinting down at the screen, eyes struggling to focus through the brightness. Last week. You opened your contacts and without hesitation called a number, bringing your phone up to your ear, humming along to the beeping whilst you awaited for the person to pick up.

“Hello?” Peter said. You hung up, eyes wide. What the fuck were you doing? You didn’t answer your own question, though; you pressed the button to call again.

“...Hi?”

You ended the call a second time, growing frustrated with yourself. Having finally made up your mind, you called him one last time, jumping when he answered in what appeared a worldwide record-time. “Y/N, what the fuck—”

“Peter! You answered.”

There was a short silence. “I did.” He agreed, undeniably puzzled. You slumped against the wall, muffling your dopey laughter with the palm of your hand. You could hear… ah, wait. You could see, not hear, his face in your head with no problem: his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“How are you?” You wanted to hear about his day. What had he eaten that day? What had crossed his mind? Hopefully you’d made an appearance at least once. That’d be nice.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.” You hummed happily. “How drunk are you?”

You shook your head, failing at rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. “Just a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“How much exactly is ‘a bit tipsy’ for you?”

“How many phone calls have we had?”

A question out of the blue, you knew, and you were expecting yet again the quietness as he processed your sudden need to quiz him about such insignificant rubbish. Well… did he think it was insignificant? So many questions bouncing off your skull all at once, worsening that awful migraine you could already feel coming… or was it the booze? No, who cares. All you cared about at the moment was his response, because knowing how many fucking phone calls you’ve had wasn’t that hard unless you didn’t care.

“What?” Really? He was going to make you repeat yourself? You dug the heel of the palm into your closed eye, white fireworks blowing up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Like, for these past two years. How many phone calls?”

“I… don’t know, maybe like three?”

Your face fell ever so slightly. “It’s six, actually.” You heard an unenthusiastic gasp.

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Do you remember the sixth one?”

“Isn’t this the sixth one?”

“This is the seventh one.”

“Okay, and why are you giving me a class about how many phone calls we’ve had?”

“Because you don’t remember the sixth one. I’m sure you don’t even remember the fifth one that well.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “It’s a blur.” Peter murmured.

“You were drunk…” You shut both eyes now, trying to dig through the fog to recall. “It was after you came to the bar…” Peter’s embarrassed stutters, similar to his inebriated ones, helped to uncover the memory further.

“I-I was drunk, yeah,” He admitted, “just like you are right now.”

“And what did you say?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I think you remember better than I do.”

You grinned. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, Y/N.”

“Well, what about the sixth time you called me?”

“I seriously can’t remember a sixth time.”

“It wasn’t a failed booty call.”

He breathed in harshly. “Ah, I’m glad, I guess.”

A frown took over your features. “You really can’t remember?” You needed him to. He had to. Or else... or else…

“I swear on my aunt.”

Your heart shattered, the sharp pieces prodding and hurting your chest. “So… so I guess you didn’t mean what you said?” You mumbled to yourself, realization sobering you more than you wanted it to.

Peter couldn’t help but begin to panic a bit at the mention of expressing something without his knowledge, or at least without his not drunk self’s knowledge. You immediately grew conscious of it for this time, the silence was different. “...What did I say?” He questioned, somewhat afraid. You didn’t speak. “Y/N? What did I say?” He pushed more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter,” You changed your mind. Calling was just another bad idea. You took your phone away from your ear for a second, jumping off from your seat, but your foot accidentally knocked over your drink. You stared down at the growing pool of alcohol staining the floor, seeping underneath your shoe. Blinking, you looked at your phone, at Peter’s name, and the numbers of the counter below it rising, marking each of your thumping heartbeat.

The sixth reason. You needed it to stop you right now; an instruction to back out, the reassurance that it was still an option and it didn’t stop being one long ago. But as your finger came down to end the call for the better, your head screamed, freezing you.

Sixth. You were in love with Peter Parker.

You dropped back down on the bench, eyes glazed over. That was it. The sixth reason. Peter. The man nearing his forties and with the loveliest messed up nose. The customer you met last year and that continued to come to bar you worked at just to talk to you, his bartender. The guy you laughed with, sang with, slept with, became too close with, fell in love with. You put the phone back up to its right place, anxiously licking your lips. “Look, I’m gonna regret this. I know I am. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past, so why should it now, right?” You chuckled, your eyes wide.

“I’m really concerned about that phone call, though.”

“Peter,” You glanced up at the sky, gulping. “I’m so glad I met you. I really am.”

“I-I’m glad I met you, too.”

You smiled momentarily. “Good. Working at the bar had become such a pain in the ass, and it still kinda is, but then you came that first time, and you called me ‘kid’ which annoyed me, but I was still hoping that maybe you’d stay, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because…” Your free hand came up to aid the other which trembled too much, grasping it tightly. “I don’t know, it was weird, I just couldn’t… I-I really wanted to get to know you. And it took some time but eventually we did talk— you said that stupid pick-up line and somehow it worked. I really need to higher my standards.”

“Hey, it was a great pick-up line.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You gave me your number, didn’t you?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward, and you laughed softly at yourself. “I did, I did. And I’m glad I did, even if you were just trying to get your mind off of MJ.” The truth stung as it glided out of your mouth.

Peter thought for a moment before continuing, “Maybe I just wanted a friend.” But it lacked sincerity, and you both could recognize that.

“But, Pete,” You bit your lip, looking down at the mess you’d left on the ground, the sole of your shoe now sticky. “Am I really just a friend?”

More silence. You breathed in, your chest moving up. “Be honest with me, please.” You begged, your voice hushed.

“Okay.”

Your stomach began to cramp up. “That time we hooked up,” You paused, the eerie shortage of noise on the other side of the line pushing you to go on. “Did it mean anything to you? Was it anything more than just a distraction?”

“I…”

“Or what about that other time at my place? Why did nothing happen?”

“We were too wasted. It was wrong.”

“So you do remember.”

“I do.”

You placed your hand on top of the other, beginning to pace around. “Are you lying about that phone call, too?”

“What is it with this phone call you say? What happened?” He repeated, desperate and with a hint of irritation. You approached the railing, placing your elbows on the metal.

“Just… be honest with me.”

“I am, Y/N.”

You kneaded your forehead with your knuckles, shaking your head. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s been too long, and it’s so confusing. You’re so confusing. Or maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know. There’s… there’s this thing, I know you can feel it as well, and sometimes it’s as if there’s a chance that you might feel the same way I do, but then the next minute it’s as if not, a-and it’s so confusing.”

“Feel the same way you do? What do you mean?” He clearly knew what you meant. Your eyes traveled around the city, the cold and strong breeze nearly knocking your body backward. If he knew, why couldn’t he simply outright admit it? Why, all of a sudden, was it taking him so long?

“The phone call…”

He groaned. “Y/N, just please tell me why you’re so hung up on that phone call?”

“It was last week. You said you liked me.”

You said it. He heard it. He finally heard it, and you waited for anything like an idiot, yet it never came. You checked if you had accidentally hung up the call, but when you saw that it was still going, you sighed and decided to end it for once and for all. “We can be anything. Anything, okay? I can just be your bartender, you can be my client, we can be friends, w-we can be more. If it’s not supposed to be, then just as long as you’re there, I really won’t mind. Just, please… I’m begging you…” You whispered, not capable of discerning whether your body quivered from the winter or the fear brutally gnawing on you.

“Be honest.”

Peter held his breath. “Y/N…” You waited, shoulders shaking, the stupid fucking silence clutching you by the neck as you waited. Just say it. Just say it—

“I’m still in love with MJ. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You said aloud, voice cracking. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Pete, no, I’m…Thank you. It’s just kinda hard to take it in, but I...” You tightened your jaw, your throat aching, swallowing back your pity. “I will. Thank you for being honest, though.”

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin things,” You could barely hear him: your brain too loud compared to his voice. You shook your head frantically, scrunching up your nose to hold back a sniffle.

“Never. I love you.” It wasn’t the way you wanted to say it. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going anywhere because you said I was stuck with you, remember?”

He laughed, a beam of light that almost mended your fractured heart. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that.” You smiled brightly, wiping the tears you’d tried so hard to stop from running down your cheeks. You stood straight, but it was only for a mere second, for your arms plopped back down onto the railing from the lightheadedness which threatened to bring you down.

“Okay,” You slurred, the bile rising up and burning your throat. “I’m gonna leave you. My friend will hate me if I miss the countdown…”

“Sure. Happy new year… be safe.”

You giggled, waving your hand at no one, really. “Don’t worry about me grandpa, I do this every year.” You doubted the idea that popped in your head, but voiced it anyway, “And if you need any help with MJ, I’m here. I can give you a discount at the bar for a date night!” The excitement you forced onto yourself was salt on the wound.

“I’m not sure if that’s a romantic idea, but thanks, I’ll think about it.” You both hesitated, waiting for something once again. But when you realized that it’d never arrive no matter how much time passed, you nodded quietly and unwrapped your arms from yourself, preparing to let go of that feeling you’d clutched onto for the longest time as well.

“I’ll see you around.” You finally said and hung up. You stared at your phone, grief by your side, holding your hand. Yet, to your surprise, a weak smile started to creep on you, relief slowly sewing your heart together. You told yourself that the heaviness in your heart didn’t matter, because at least you had Peter. At least he would still be there, at the bar, with his whiskey served over ice.

As you stumbled to your feet, ready to join your friend and drink away your bittersweet ache, your phone began to vibrate. Your brows twisted together and you looked down, sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Peter?”

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n #sm:itsv #spider man into the spider verse #peter b parker one shot #peter b parker imagine #one make out session #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral #sadies1.6kwc

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jay-and-dean · 5 years

Text

Lipstick 2 : Neck

(Dean x Reader)

Summary : Reader wears lipstick. That’s it.

Note : those were supposed to be drabbles. Lol. Thank you to @roonyxx for being part of this project.

***WANT TO READ MORE ? => MASTERLIST***

___________________________

***Chapter One : Lips (Reader Pov, fluff)

Words : 1.6K

***Chapter Two : Neck (Sam Pov, angst)

Words : 1.6k

***Chapter three : Cock (Dean Pov, smut)

___________________________

2. Neck

Dean is hiding something.

My brother lies to me and I hate it. I hate it because last time he did that, he had planned to lock himself on a coffin and throw himself in the bottom of an ocean. Now he’s acting weird again. And it makes me anxious.

He wakes up after me, as usual. His face is the same and he wears the same clothes, but everything is different.

He doesn’t rush to coffee, he doesn’t stay silent only until his third mug, but most of the day. He rubs his neck, like he was super tired. Maybe insomnias again.

“I found a case” I say, looking from my laptop to him.

And something even weirder happens : he seems jaded or indifferent, I don’t know. He turns his back on me, obviously knowing that he can’t hide his reaction.

“Oh… Already ?” he shrugs, trying to act casual.

“Dean… We didn’t go on a hunt for almost two weeks, you usually become crazy after three days” I raise my eyebrows.

“Two weeks ?” he thinks out loud. “Two weeks…”

I get up and walk toward Y/n’s room. The girl lives at night, and never gets up before noon, except when we have a hunt, so I’m going to wake her up. I knock at her door and she opens it slowly, her eyes are tired, her face a little pale, a sad smile on her lips. She’s already fully clothes.

“Are you okay ?” I ask a little concerned.

Y/n seems elsewhere lately, a forced smile on her usually sweet face. She nods, putting a reassuring hand on my chest while she passes by me, but it’s shaking a little.

Before she closes the door, I notice her trashcan is full of wet tissues… She has been crying a lot. My heart sinks thinking of my best friend crying herself to sleep. I need to make her talk to me, open up ; but Y/n isn’t easy to reach, she built walls around her along the years. When something happens to her, she locks herself up, clenches her jaw and smiles.

I’m her best friend, and yet she still barely lets me in. I’ve seen through her anyway, putting pieces together along the way, seeing what hurts her and what doesn’t, hearing what she says between the lines, listening carefully. Y/n is convinced that she is disappointing. She hides her heart, because she’s ashamed of it, like it was monstrous or pathetic. Like she hides behind dark lipstick and badass attitudes. Acting like she is fierce and independent because that way, she doesn’t have to admit she’s terrified and lonely.

People who don’t really know her think she’s unbreakable, so they expect a lot, picking on her, being harsh or asking too much… And she gives even more, because she can’t stand not to be perfect. The truth is she’s really fragile, she just knows how to handle pain.

“Y/n…” I catch her arm. “You seem sad” I try.

For an instant, her eyes search mine, a spit second, she doesn’t deny, and it’s like she was silently begging for help. Then everything disappears.

“I’m okay Sammy” she smiles.

The witness cries, her brother went missing for days. But my best friend doesn’t seem moved by this scene, like she was already swamped of sorrow. I’m so worried.

When I offer her to come with me to cabin in the wood where the witness says her brother exploded, she absent-mindedly tells me she just wants to spend time in the motel room. She never wants to stay back…

“I’ll come with you” Dean states and she just looks down.

What is happening ?

Their bond is strange, I never really understood it. He doesn’t act like he was a friend as close as me, but I always felt like they were something else ; I even asked her once if she had a crush on him, she said no, but the way she looks at him… Now she just avoids his eyes. I just hope they didn’t fight. They need each other.

I’m sore but really happy that the ghost attacked me right away in the cabin. The case is already solved. We just have to make sure we get the wedding ring from the widow; it won’t be long.

After that, I’m going to focus on Y/n, try to know what is wrong with her, beg her to let me take care of her for once, really hoping she’ll let me.

The impala parks near the widow’s house, and Dean gets out of it in his FBI suit… Alone.

“Where is Y/n ?” I frown.

“She stayed in the hotel room…” he shrugs and I want to punch him for being so oblivious to her pain.

“Did you notice something weird about her lately ?” I try.

“Like what ?” he raises his eyebrows, his head slightly down, dimples showing… Lie face.

“Like she’s depressed and hides her pain” I say coldly.

But the lady opens her door and my brother enters right away, greeting her kindly, avoiding to look at me.

He sits on the couch, talking to the nice old lady warmly, trying to get the ring without scaring her or hurting her. She loved “her Edmond”, she won’t give us the ring so easily. I struggle to focus, thinking about Dean and Y/n at the motel room earlier, about how he could not have notice she was in pain, or about what he knows and don’t tell me…

Then I see it.

Lipstick on his collar. Bright dark red. Y/n’s lipstick. Then on his neck. Someone tried to erase the red on his skin but there is still a mark. She’s been kissing my brother, kissing his throat and nuzzling on his neck. He’s the one making her miserable. Why ?

“Right, agent Waters ?” he turns toward me.

I have no idea what he’s saying but I nod politely, and the lady gets up to take a box out of a drawer.

“This is all I have left of my Emond, besides this house” she says handing the box to Dean…

He enters the Impala with a cocky grin on his stupid face. But all I can see is that stain on his white shirt.

“Good ol’ Edmond is gone” he smiles pointing at the burning jewelry on the low wall, putting the keys in the ignition.

I suddenly take the keys to stop him and he seems shocked.

“Wait” I say sternly.

He looks at me, knowing I noticed his lies. He sighs.

“You’ve got lipstick on your shirt…” I state.

He tries to look down but he can’t see it, so he checks the rear-view mirror.

“Shit !”

“Dean…” I sigh deeply. “What did you do to her ?”

“What, you want details ?” he jokes but I stare at him coldly, so he clears his voice. “We had sex, and ?” he sounds almost angry all of sudden.

“Why is she crying herself to sleep ?”

“She’s not.”

“She is” I frown.

He looks down and nervously bites his lip, opening his palm like he could find some kind of courage in it.

“I got carried away, Sam…” he talks low, like it was really painful to admit it. “I… acted on my feelings…”

I raise my eyebrows, I never heard Dean talk about feelings like that… Is he in love with her ?

“I kissed her and… I… made love to her…” he seems devastated now, like a shadow spread on his face, I know that shadow… guilt and remorse. “Then she told me she loved me…” he swallows hard.

“Tell me you didn’t break her heart…” I shake my head.

“I had to Sammy… She can’t fall in love with me… I’m…” he starts but I know this shit by heart.

“Poison ? Dangerous ? A curse ? Unworthy ?... Shut the crap Dean ! She is not falling in love with you, she already is, for so long. Now I never saw her so broken, and you know with her it never usually shows… Why the lipstick today ?”

“I kissed her again… I… had to touch her but… I keep kissing her…” he whispers with shame in his voice.

“So you’re using her.”

“No !”

“Did you tell her you didn’t want her just after you two had sex ?”

“No !”

“When ?”

He shakes his head, and rubs his face.

“I don’t… The morning after when she…”

“Classy.”

“Sam… It’s…”

“Complicated ?” I groan, trying not to punch him.

“YES IT IS !” the veins on his neck are showing, but I’m not impressed, I get closer and clench my jaw.

“You. Are. A coward” I grunt.

“SHUT UP !”

“You love her ! Why would you use her ?”

“I DON’T !”

“You do…”

“I’M NOT USING HER ! I LOVE HER !”

He stops, taken aback by his own words. The shadow disappears. His pupils become huge.

“I love her” he repeats looking through me. “I love…”

He grabs his phone with shaking hands.

“She thinks I don’t… she’s miserable…” tears fill up his eyes, as he was realizing something.

He takes the keys from my hands and put it back in the ignition, making the engine roar fiercely. He makes the wheels skid violently and the car moves abruptly, I have to put my hand on the dashboard to stay stable.

“Y/n baby ?” he says when she answers, accelerating like crazy. “I love you. I’m sorry… I’m coming home.”

______________________________

***FEEDBACK IS GOLD***

Forever Tags : @parinarain @animegirlgeeky @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma@roonyxx@animegirlgeeky @paradoxical–intentions @thefaithfulwriter@parinarain@vicariouslythruspn@emeow1496@daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld @cocklesbelli@sandlee44@mogaruke@masterof-agony @mogaruke@donnaintx @screechingartisancashbailiff

Lipstick Tags : @voltage-my2dlove @mere-mortifer

Tags are open, tell me if yours doesn’t work

#spn #supernatural #fanfic #smut #fluff #angst #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester

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writingmilo · 5 years

Text

Maya: Chapter 5

Part 3 of Flipped AU

TRIGGER WARNINGS: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, MANIPULATION LET ME KNOW IF THERE’S ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT WARNED ABOUT

The footsteps raced towards the Maya, but she couldn’t tell how many people were coming; they all echoed together. She was sure that somebody was shouting, the woman that had her hand over her eyes, and others were trying to placate her. Despite her attempts, she still couldn’t move. The commotion continued, but Maya felt detached from it, as if it were happening through a glass wall, or she was underwater whilst it happened above her.

In reality, Louise had screamed at the condition of her daughter, who was bleeding profusely from several wounds, and wanted to get the attention of the others. They rushed to her aid, thinking that Maya had somehow managed to attack her, only to be greeted by a worried mother who didn’t want the blood of her daughter on her conscience.

The hand over Maya’s eyes was taken away, but now, instead of blackness, she saw a person, dressed in a pressed shirt underneath a blood splattered lab coat, leaning towards her. Having been attacked by Henrik and the others before, Maya flinched, but couldn’t move away from him, meaning that she was soon enough scooped up into his arms, and being lifted from the floor. Every muscle twitched and spasmed in pain, but she tried to stay calm, scared of the consequences that would come if she glitched again.

The bobbing motion of walking didn’t help the pain, but it was better than lying on the cold hard ground where she had been left. The soft bed where she was put down was even better, but everything still hurt. Luckily, she thought, she had been able to feel the doctor’s arm under her knees, meaning that she could still feel her legs, even if they were unusable from the moment’s pain. She hadn’t noticed him leaving, but he returned into the bright room with a tall pole, as well as Jameson.

Jameson sat on a stool next to her, watching her lie still as she felt Henrik move around the bed, taking the pole with him. Soon she felt a needle poking into the crook of her elbow, and she realised that the pole had been to hang a drip from. Hopefully it contained painkillers, or something that would knock her out for long enough for her to get better.

That didn’t come.

Hours passed and as the drip bag slowly emptied into her system, the pain only became more intense. Jameson never left, but he didn’t do anything about the pain; he wasn’t a qualified doctor after all. Sometimes he would smirk at her as she writhed and squirmed in pain, but he made sure she never saw these moments.

Eventually, Henrik came back to change the drip bag, and as he saw Maya’s pain, he tutted under his breath.

“No no, this will never do.” He turned to Maya. “You are in more pain?” She nodded through a tight grimace.

“I will fix this, give me some time.” He walked out of the room again, leaving the drip still in her arm, to fill a new IV bag. During the time Henrik was away, Marvin came in, swapping places with Jameson. Were they on shifts?

“So little duck, how are you feeling?” His smile seemed so genuine, but everything that had happened to bring her here proved he was anything but friendly.

“Not great.” The words weren’t all that clear, but Marvin got the message.

“About what happened earlier,” he started, having thought of an excuse with the others to try and convince her that what they did was good for her, “I know we went too far, the atmosphere got too much for us, we should have backed off earlier.”

“What?” Maya was confused, he wasn’t apologising, there was no remorse in his voice.

“We, all of us, are too competitive, we all wanted to outdo each other back there.”

Before Maya could respond, Henrik came back, holding a new IV bag. He swapped them before stopping and looking at Maya’s poisoned form.

“I shall be back in half hour for checking up on you.” He tapped the side of her face in what could be viewed as a gesture of kindness, but under the circumstances Maya viewed it as one of dominance. She was at the doctor’s mercy.

A shiver of fear ran down her spine, and her aura flared slightly.

“I need...” Marvin looked at her, a quizzical expression, daring her to continue, “Can I have my medication? Please?”

“But Maya, what would you need medication for? Are you trying to say that you’re scared of us?” His quizzical expression morphed to a smirk; she hadn’t taken his warning.

“No, no but I need it, my doctor says I need it.”

“Oh honey,” he leaned forward, giving Maya a hug even though she couldn’t return it, his head resting next to her ear, “You don’t need anything but us.” He let her go, smiling broadly at her.

“Oh little duck,” a tear sauntered down her cheek, “Don’t be afraid, we’ll protect you from everything that has ever hurt you.” He leaned back in his chair, sitting in silence with her until Henrik came back in.

“How is the pain, little duck?” Truthfully, Maya had almost forgotten about it with the new IV, and the strange conversation with Marvin.

“Better, a lot better.”

“Good. Didn’t we tell you that we would look after you, that we could protect you from the things that want to hurt you?”

“You said that, but how can you protect me from yourselves?” Maya was unsure where the sharp remark had come from, but it was too late. She couldn’t unsay it.

“Well, if that is how you feel,” Henrik pulled the needle out of Maya’s arm, and wheeled the IV stand to the far side of the room, “We’ll see how you feel in a couple of hours after the morphine has worn off.” He walked out of the room.

For almost an hour Maya felt no difference, but as time ticked onwards, the pain started to come back, starting as small tingling sensations, before growing and blooming into spots of acute agony and an overwhelming sense of death.

“Please,” She hissed at the movement, “Marvin, please, help me.”

Before Marvin could answer though, Chase walked in. “Sorry, no can do little duck, I can’t go against the doc’s orders. You’ll learn that one pretty quickly.” He stood up and smiled at Chase before leaving. Chase sat in the chair where Marvin had been, and stared at Maya, as if studying every aspect of her.

He stayed like that for some time, Maya now losing consciousness from the pain.

“Are you scared?” The question was unexpected, yet so nonchalant.

“A bit.” It was somewhat truthful, if she had been less preoccupied by the pain, she was certain she would be much more terrified.

“Are you in pain?”

“So much.”

“Okay.” He stood up and left, returning a few minutes later with Henrik and another IV bag. The stand still in the corner, Henrik swapped the bags before moving it back to Maya’s bedside and hooking it into her arm. The relief was small, but almost instant, lifting enough of the pain from her to let her vision stop blackening.

“Back to questions then,” Chase flashed a grin at her, and Maya imagined that was how he would smile at the camera, “Are you happy?” Maya scoffed slightly.

“No. I miss papa.”

“Oh little duck, soon enough you will be happy again, we will all be happy together as a family.” Another grin. “But, if you’re really not doing well, Henrik can prescribe you something to help you feel better.” She thought for a while: maybe it could replace her anxiety medication.

“I think that would be good.” She swallowed, her mouth dry from not drinking. “Can I ask something?”

“Sure thing little duck, ask away!”

“Why did papa never talk about you? Why did he never tell me mum died?” She needed to know the answers. How could her papa have hidden such huge things from her?

“Well, your papa never liked us, he couldn’t wait to leave the house as soon as he was old enough. And as for your mum, well, he never knew. Nobody did, not even her.”

“What do you—” Before she could ask, Chase sprung out of his chair and left, coming back with a woman on his arm.

“Little duck, your mum.” Chase smirked as he watched Maya’s face shift from confusion to shock to hurt back to confusion.

“May, baby, I missed you so much! You’re so big now, and look how pretty you are!”

“No… she’s dead. She’s dead, right? This is a joke? A sick, twisted joke?” She waited for one of them to confirm, but neither did.

“No May, this is real. I gave birth to you on the 19th June. When I held you, you cried, but when I gave you to your father, you smiled and laughed. How would anyone else know that?”

“No.... my mother is dead. I don’t have a mother anymore, even if you’re here, you’re nothing to me anymore.”

“Why you little bitch!” Louise lunged forwards, slapping Maya across the face, only to be pulled backwards by Chase.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you with that no good father of yours, look what he’s done to you!”

“At least he didn’t abandon me, so go and fuck off, I don’t want you.” This time, it was Chase who hit her, square in the jaw.

“You don’t talk to your mother like that. We welcome you into our home and this is how you thank us, making us do these things to you. You’re an ungrateful little brat.”

“Then finish me off and bury me with papa. I’d rather be there than with you here!” The other’s must have heard Maya shouting, because they rushed into the doorway, hanging around to watch the show.

“I swear Maya, if you say another word, I will have to fix you tongue.” Chase was almost shaking with rage, and Louise had run off to the others in the doorway.

“Fucking do it.”

Chase grabbed Maya’s chin, holding her so she couldn’t escape his stare.

“My children won’t disrespect me like this.” He dragged her off the bed, walking through the halls with her stumbling behind him on her injured legs.

Soon, they came to a door, and he pulled a key from around his neck to unlock it. He pushed her through into the dark room, following so he loomed over her collapsed body on the floor. Now he pulled something out of his pocket, a silver choker set with five stones. Clamping it around her neck, it sent a pulse of energy through her, causing her seizing muscles to spasm with shots of pain.

“We’ll see how long this attitude lasts little duck.” Chase walked back to the door, slamming it behind him. Just as Maya was going to try and stand so she could open it, she heard the click of the lock. She was trapped.

So, after posting this, I’m going on a social media break for a few days. Just in case I miss Sunday’s update or I’m not replying to comments. 💚💚💚

@honestlyitsjustkenna @thelunarmasquerade @goldenoceanaart @kate807 @unsuredoodles @bloodygoldensam @the-yandere-kitsune @septicuniverse @innocent-angel3 @simsepticfan @friezzzboiii @atomicsepticeye @jessiitjiia @maybekatie @theluckoftheclaws

#flipped #flipped au #writingaspen #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #jse septic egos #flipped part 3 #writers of jack #jacksepticeyefanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #au #trigger warning violence #tw violence #trigger warning manipulation #tw manipulation #violence #manipulation

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aceofstars16 · 6 years

Photo

Stanuary Week 2 - Travel

I gave y’all fluff last week so...this week you get some angst...

Art c) @aceofstars16/ @aces-creative-corner

@stanuary

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Below is a fanfic that kind of goes along with each picture, except the last bit of it, I added it on just for pain...

Now Leaving New Jersey.

Stan barely saw the sign, it was just a glimpse from the corner of his eye, and yet it hit him in the chest. It wasn’t like he had never left the state before, it wasn’t that big after all. But the times he had left were few and far in between and now…he could never go back.

He was leaving for good.

Part of him wanted to be happy. But he couldn’t…not really. Even after leaving Glass Shard beach, he still drove through the town. Sometimes he even drove past the pawn shop. Once or twice he had almost stopped, almost gone to the door, but he had always stopped himself before he hit the brakes. He couldn’t go back, not until he proved himself, till he showed his worth.

And now he could never go back, no matter how much he might want to.

The heaviness that was growing in his chest expanded as Stan realized the true reality of it all. There was no going home. If he even tried the police would send him away, not even mentioning his Pa, who probably would just throw him out again. His entire life had been pulled away and now he was well and truly alone. And it was terrifying.

Shaking his head, Stan tried to clear it away. His family has deserted him, he had to accept that and move on. It’s what he had been telling himself for months – he could only rely on himself. But that didn’t mean he wanted to.

With a hard blink and a wipe across his eyes, Stan focused on the road again. He was alone, that’s just the way it was going to be. The sooner he accepted that, the better...no matter how much it hurt.

The moon shone in the sky, lighting up the dim stretch of road Stan was currently parked on. Maybe it wasn’t the safest place to stay the night, but he didn’t have the money for anything else. Well, he did have enough money to make a phone call, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually speak when he heard his brother’s voice on the other end.

Stan wished he could simply turn of his feelings, or joke them away, or talk himself out of them. But every time he tried to, they only grew. Like a monster trying to pull him even further into the hopeless muck of his mind.

If only he could restart his life. If only he could change the past, just one little mistake, that’s all he needed to fix. Then maybe, just maybe, things would be better, or at least he’d have Ford by his side through it all. But time travel wasn’t an option. The only option he had was this – traveling on the road, going from state to state, sometimes trailing into Mexico, scamming whatever people he could before he got caught.

Some people might think it was a life of adventure. But the reality of it was far less thrilling. Countless nights sleeping in his car, sometimes without food, and any food he could afford was hardly healthy. Not that he minded but it sure drained his energy…man growing up sucked.

Eyes flicking to the picture tapped to the sun blocker of his car, Stan felt the same remorse pierce his heart every time he saw his brother.

“Sure hope you are doing better than me, Sixer…” he whispered before reaching up and pushing the picture out of view, knowing that if he kept looking at it, the sorrow would swallow him completely.

Squeezing his eyes tight, Stan fought back against the loneliness, against the wetness in his eyes. This was his life, he just had to keep going. He told himself that every night. But tonight it didn’t to anything, it only hurt more. And he knew exactly why.

Pulling down the sun blocker again, Stan reached up and grabbed the picture, studying it for a moment before holding it to his chest.

“Happy Birthday, Ford…”

The hollowness in his chest only grew and Stan curled up as much as he could in the car seat as tears fell silently down his face.

Hope. Stan hadn’t felt it in so long he barely knew what to make of it. Oh sure, there was the occasional hopefulness that came when he got a good hand in poker, or when he was about to make a big score. But this…this was totally different.

Eyes flicking to the postcard sitting next to him, emotions fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t make sense of most of them, and worry continued to come to the surface as he tried to figure out what had prompted Ford to contact him. Especially after ten years of no communication. But that didn’t matter, Ford had asked him to come, and there was no way Stan was going to let this opportunity pass him by.

Sure, it was a little terrifying. There would be a lot to talk about, and Stan knew it wouldn’t be fun, especially not facing up to the guilt that had been eating away at him for years. But it would be worth it, because it would mean getting his brother back. They could work things out, Stan could apologize, they could catch up, they could make things right. They could be brothers again.

The hope building up in his chest was almost overwhelming, but Stan accepted it. After years of depression, of isolation, of brokenness, hope was more than welcome. Because things were about to change, he could feel it in his soul. This was a new start. For the first time in ten years he wasn’t going to be alone.

The wind howled outside, ramming against the side of the shack as loud as the winter storms of Glass Shard Beach. But Stan barely heard it. His entire body was numb, he could barely think as the events of the day kept replaying over and over again in his mind. All of the mistakes, all of the hurtful words. Everything he would take back in an instant, if only to bring Ford back. But no. Once again, he had ruined everything. Ford was gone. And this time there was no phone number that could reach him, nothing Stan could do to try and contact him again. Just a gaping hole in the middle of a broken machine he didn’t understand one bit of.

“Stanley, do something! Stanley!”

Ford’s last words rang around in Stan’s mind, pressing in on him until he felt like a child again. When his father yelled at him, when other kids mocked him for being the stupid one, when Ford closed the curtains of their room, leaving him to face the world alone. The weight of it all was too much and he couldn’t fight it. Just one sob. Then another. And then he was shaking and shivering and crumbling, breaking in a way that could never be fixed. Because he had caused it all, and he would never be able to fix it.

Time was irrelevant, only sorrow and pain existed. Stan couldn’t feel, and yet he was feeling too much. He was drowning there was no one to save him.

Then something sharp jabbed into his back and he could barely move his arm to grab the source of the problem. Ford’s journal.

For a moment, Stan just looked at it – the six fingers on the front, his haggard reflection in the reflective logo. But a spark of…something flared in his chest as he remembered Ford’s words. This journal…it held the key to turning on the portal again.

“I’m not smart enough to fix it though…” Stan muttered to himself, and he knew it was true. Ford was the smart twin, he was just the brawn. But then Ford’s desperate cries echoed through his head once again and in desperation he grasped a hold of the idea, of that minuscule determination.

Yes, it might be foolish, it might run him more ragged than before. But God help him if he didn’t at least try.

No matter what, he wasn’t going to stop trying. No more driving around with no direction. The days of traveling across the country were over. Stan was staying put until he brought Ford home…or until he died trying.

“I’ll get you back, Sixer…I…I promise.”

#stanuary #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #stanford pines #gravity falls fanart #ford pines #he's mentioned at least xD #gf fanart #aceo draws things #my writing #my fics #i finally got to draw mullet stan wohooo

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shurisneakers · 6 years

Text

espresso [4]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, dating, anger issues

A/N: this is my entry for the beautiful @bithors writing challenge!

hey hey big shoutout to @samingtonwilson because every time she betas this and sends me the revised copy im like!!!! a QUEEN!!!! holy shit!!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 3 || Espresso Masterlist

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Yes fucking way! Ain’t she beautiful?” Bucky beamed, running his hands gingerly over the door of his new ride. An old muscle car, a sleek black with a few scratches and dents, but proudly glinting in the moonlight.

You let out a low whistle, glancing up at Bucky as you crouched beside the car for a better look. “Gorgeous. She got a name?”

“I was debatin’ Grace, but now I’m thinkin’ she’s more of an April. What do you think?”

You would have teased him, but this was genuinely the happiest you’d seen him in a long time. Alight eyes were crinkled at the corners and his grin was one of the largest you’d ever seen, and heck, you wondered why he couldn’t be like this more often.

“Shits, that’s perfect.”

You sent him a pair of finger-guns when he opened the door for you and he rolled his eyes in feigned exasperation, smile still stretched over his lips.

In an empty threat, he replied, “Say shit one more time in plural and you’re walking there on your own.”

“Well, God forbid a girl has funs,” you joked only to be met with a groan of annoyance. “Oh, calm down.”

Once in the car, you immediately went to set your feet on the dashboard, legs crossed at the ankle, but received a deadly glare. You slowly lowered your feet, never breaking eye contact with him even as your features twisted in playful fear.

As you tugged your seatbelt on, you asked, “When’d you get her?”

“Two days ago. Couldn’t afford the payments on the other one. Sold it to some frat guys ages ago and took whatever was left after payin’ off the bank to get this one.” He sighed contentedly as he turned the key in the ignition so the engine roared to life. “DMV shit got delayed. She’s probably, like, a third-hand vehicle and needs the upholstery totally ripped up and replaced– but I think she’s pretty great.”

With a soft sound of disagreement, you shook your head. “She’s a ten out of ten, no need for anything. I’m happy for you.”

You tucked your hands behind your head, leaning back into the worn out leather seats which had turned soft over years of use, and a soft sigh of comfort left your lips to prove your point.

“How are your classes going?” he asked after a moment, still smiling softly at your previous statement.

“Getting fingered by Wolverine would be less painful,” you replied casually so Bucky choked and coughed on an inhale. You laughed quietly. “How’s engineering going?”

The indicator made a clicking noise you thought must have sounded less out of tune years ago as he took a left turn. “Shitty. Fuckin’ hate it.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you tilted your head with an agape mouth. “Shitty? Two days ago it was the shit, you said you loved it, that you elected to major in it.”

He gave you a tight-lipped smile and half a shrug and, immediately, you knew something was wrong. While you and Bucky didn’t often discuss your respective career choices and plans for the future, each time you did manage a conversation adjacent, he’d mentioned it was something he’d wanted to do– hell, had he not mentioned it, the number of shitty jokes and puns he made in its reference would have convinced you alone.

“Didn’t want to at first. But Becca advertised wanting to go into journalism all throughout high school and it’s not– it’s not a traditionally lucrative job, at least for the first few years.” He shrugged again, this time in a bit of insecurity, nervousness, but his eyes remained trained on the road. “Figured one of us should be able to embrace that nontraditional job so I picked up something more secure. Something secure because things at home are, you know…”

He had trailed off, but you knew what he meant. Money was a sensitive topic for both, Rebecca and Bucky and, although they could never be ashamed of their family, their pride kept them from asking for help from you despite your continued offering.

“Anyway, she ended up choosing poli-sci for law school for the same reason, so that was pretty ironic,” he grinned and you could see it didn’t reach his eyes, maybe hurting his cheeks as much as it hurt you just to see it.

You remained silent and your teeth wreaked havoc on your lower lip as he continued, “Can’t do anything about it now, though. But, if I could, I’d change my choices in an instant.”

Toying with your fingers in your lap, you asked, “What would you major in instead?”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of stupid really–“

“Didn’t you wanna write?” you added softly, eliciting a look of surprise from him.

He glanced at you quickly. “How’d you know?”

“You were always writing in high school. I saw you with your little notebook every lunch, Bucky,” you laughed, images of an acne-covered Bucky with shoulder-length hair bent over a tiny journal, scribbling for the life of him.

He groaned in embarrassment, a light pink dusting over his cheeks. “I can’t believe you noticed that, Christ. The emo phase was strong.”

“Well, if it helps, I think you’d be a kick-ass writer. I’d be first in line to buy your book. Wouldn’t even sell it on eBay after getting you to sign it.”

He fell silent at that, choosing to bite his lip in place of a response. You’d begun to wonder if you’d said something wrong when he whispered, “Thanks, Mario.”

You didn’t say much more, only turning to look out the window. It wasn’t too long before you heard him chuckle to himself but before you could ask him what he was laughing about, he spoke up, “This is so sad. Alexa, play Despacito.”

You snorted. Fuckin’ dork.

Bucky was leaned against the door of his car as he waited with you until your date for the evening arrived, keeping you engrossed in the utterly ridiculous nonsense you both spoke about.

“I’m just saying, if you made coffee with Gatorade and injected it into your bloodstream, you’re basically God. Like, who the fuck would need heroin then?” you tried explaining for the fifth time, unable to keep the smile off your face. You had your arms crossed over your chest in an effort to keep yourself warm whilst Bucky’s hands were shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Gatorade is for cowards, we use only Red Bull in this holy house– it actually does something. How about if you mixed vodka, ground espresso beans, and protein powder, then snorted it–”

You clicked your tongue. “Intravenous is more effective–”

“Didn’t realize the offer of a date included you, James.”

In a bit of a laborious task, you looked away from Bucky to the guy who came to a stop before you. Dark hair gelled back and darkness which wasn’t hidden by his glasses surrounding deep hazel eyes, he wore a simple black sweater over a pale blue t-shirt. “But I’m not complaining. Love me some three-way action.”

“Tony,” Bucky sighed, smiling nonetheless. “This is–“

“Mario? I figured.” Tony flashed a quick smile at you.

Immediately you could hear loud sniggering from beside you, making you spin to face him in annoyance. “You have got to stop doing that! What the fuck?” you exclaimed, punching a laughing Bucky on the shoulder as he feebly tried to defend himself.

“My name’s Y/N, not Mario,” you stated to clear the confusion, rolling your eyes at Bucky who burst out laughing again, clearly showing no remorse.

He looked from his watch to you, not fazed by your exchange with Bucky. “Ah, I see. Well, shall we get going? Game’s about to start.”

“See ya later, Mario. Have a good time, guys.” Bucky ruffled your hair as you tried to swat his hand away, taking a step towards Tony as he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “I’ll be on the other side of the court if you need me.”

“D’you want to get some food during halftime or before the first quarter?” Tony asked once Bucky waved a goodbye and jogged to join his friends.

“Halftime sounds good, I think the game’s about to start,” you answered, sending him a half smile.

He only nodded and adjusted his glasses, beckoning for you to join him.

You both made small talk and it turned out he wasn’t nearly half as bad as Peter. He rarely spoke of himself and only mentioned he would be looking for a sustainable source of energy in the future, something about wanting to lessen the environmental burden of current energy dependencies.

It started out well enough, the both of you commenting on the players who you knew. You waved at Sam from your place on the bleachers and he shot you a wink in response

“Sam’s starting tonight and it’s against the Gotham Jokers. S’why Bucky and everyone else is here,” you explained, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees.

“Wilson? Number seven? He’s your friend?” Tony asked, squinting at the ball as it was tossed into the air, soon taken by one of the Jokers.

You didn’t bother sparing him a glance as you watched Sam quickly steal the ball back and passing it to Rhodey. “Yeah. Why d’you sound so surprised?”

“Think he’s a bit overrated, that’s all,” Tony mumbled, making you reel back and stare at him disbelievingly. “Got the whole school worshipping the ground he walks on.”

“Captain of the team, MVP last season. He got scholarships to three different prestigious universities, too,” you recited, jumping to your feet as Sam made a shot from the three point line, the ball going in effortlessly with a swish. You looked over your shoulder to raise an eyebrow at Tony, “Still think he’s overrated?”

He only shrugged. “Guess not.”

The next few minutes flew by quickly, Tony progressively getting more invested in the game as it went on. He occasionally let out a cheer when you did, but other than that, he was more observant than anything.

But just as the Jokers were about to pass the ball, Tony jumped to his feet with a scowl, “Double dribble! Double fucking dribble! He stopped! What the fuck, why isn’t anyone calling that out?”

“Tony, he didn’t hold it. There was no double dribble,” you urged as the people surrounding you turned to glare at you both.

“Jesus fuck, this entire crowd is ignorant. Uneducated,” he stated angrily, sitting down in a huff.

You patted him on the back in attempted consolation, but he only ignored you, continuing to glower ahead.

Everything was fine and dandy until the Jokers’ defense pushed one of your team’s players when the referee wasn’t watching. In Tony’s defense, everybody reacted loudly to that. But no one had the passion Tony had when he leapt up like a fucking Jack in the Box, fists thrown in the air. “What the fuck!?” he screamed to no one in particular.

“Yeah, what the fuck!?” you echoed, cupping your hands around your mouth.

“You fucking blind ass, stupid piece of shit, punkass bitch!” he raged, pupils dilated and eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, never mind.” You promptly sat down, trying to pull Tony with you but he shook you off fervently. You thought he resembled the fucking Tasmanian Devil from Looney Toons.

“That was a foul! Why don’t you use your fucking whistle, you trick ass little bitch?! Try blowing something other than your own dick for once!” he screamed at the referee, shaking his arms around wildly.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, putting your head in your hands as he ranted on and on for another ten seconds before finally sitting down, cursing steadily to himself.

When your team made an effortless basket, you prayed it would calm Tony down. And to some extent it did work and he kept quiet until the first quarter was up, only rolling his eyes when people turned to look at him.

Ignoring them from that moment on, he tilted his head as he watched Sam send a wink to a girl who only rolled her eyes playfully in response. “Who’s that?”

“Sam.”

“I know that’s Sam, I’m asking who the girl is.”

“Sam’s girlfriend, Sam,” you replied as you laughed at his expression of confusion.

“Sam has a girlfriend… named Sam?” You nodded as he sighed, smiling despite himself. “Fuck, what would their couple name be?”

“Well, they’re Sam and Sam. Or as I like to call them,” you dropped your voice as he raised an amused eyebrow, “Sam.”

“That’s so fucking creative, how did you ever think of that name?” he asked, a smile on his face that made him look ten times less stressed than he’d been mere moments ago.

You actually didn’t mind Tony at that moment. You might have even considered him to be fun.

That was until the next quarter started and the referee called a foul on Sam for apparently no reason and Tony was back on his feet, face red like one of those ugly Angry Birds. He then started in a shrieking voice, “Oh, so now you want to blow that whistle, you piece of utter shi–“

Tony gave you a ride back to your apartment after the game which had ended much later than you thought it would. You knew Bucky had left after the third quarter when he sent you a text saying he needed to get up early for his shift, but he asked you to call him when you got home safe.

You wondered if he was still awake but, as you’d promised, you called him the moment you crossed the building threshold.

“Hello?” his rasped in an infinitely exhausted voice– you instantly regretted calling him.

“Hey, fuck, sorry. I didn’t think you’d be asleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, get some rest,” you said hurriedly, guilt seeping through your words.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he paused and you could hear him yawn despite the muffling over the line. “Is everything fine, baby?”

“Yeah everything’s– wait, what did you just call me?” you asked as you bit your tongue and your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

The silence you were met with was quickly followed by a string of curses, presumably since he perceived what he’d said. His voice was clearer as he replied, “Shit. Sorry, Mario. It just slipped out. I’m, like, half dead. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just called to talk about the king of anger paralysis, clone of Charlie Sheen, Tasmanian Devil embodiment–”

Bucky cut you off with a sigh. “Tony?”

“Oh, yes. Wanna hear all about my super great time with dear Squidward or should I save it for tomorrow?” you asked as you jogged up the stairs to your apartment.

You could hear rustling on the other end before he yawned once again, saying lightly, “I’m ready. Go on for as long as you want.”

“It all started when he called the referee a ‘fucking blind ass, stupid piece of shit, punkass bitch.’”

Bucky sighed. “Oh, shits.”

PART 5

TAGLISTS ARE CLOSED

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #college!bucky #college!au #college!bucky x reader #kumis5kchallenge

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