#me going to mass on christmas eve

[icaruspendragon]

[waspinators]

i feel um bad

[imthebadguyyy]

Arms

pairing : sirius black x reader

fandom : marauders/hp

synopsis : sirius realizes there's no place that feels more like home than your arms.

warnings : self depreciating thoughts, insecurity

a/n : felt like wandering into the realm of the marauders! do let me know if you want more :) inspired mildly by francesca by Hozier

sirius sat with james, while remus and peter sat across from them, both pouring liberal amounts of gravy onto their plates. james was also digging into an obnoxiously large amount of roast potatoes and chicken, barely pausing for a breath as he scarfed down the food.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the great hall was not buzzing with the sound of students chattering as it usually did, and the sound remained at the decibel of a small hive of bees, while the professors murmured softly at the grand table, the munch of the many treats laid on the table for the christmas eve dinner.

sirius himself didn't feel that hungry, fork half heartedly poking at the beans on his plate. his eyes roamed around the hall, taking in the tiny mass of people at the other tables, and at dumbledore pulling mice out of his purple witches hat - his christmas special.

that very morning, his owl had dropped off a rather nasty howler from his darling mother, once again choosing to call him a colourful variety of insults and ending with her usual "disgrace and traitor to the black boodline" bullshit, followed by a chorus of "mixing with mudbloods and muggles" that had him clenching his fists in frustration.

then, his father orion had also decided to grace him with a scathing letter he burned the moment he received, but not before catching the words "shame to my bloodline", which once again had him sighing and rubbing the sore spot on his temples.

he had ignored it initially, focusing instead on the beautiful hand knitted scarf, golden watch and basket of sweets and treats he had received from euphemia and fleamont, with a small engraved gryffindor lion at the back of the watch.

he had also received a leather jacket from you, and homemade strawberry pies that you had made with help from the elves in the kitchen, and a set of silver rings to go with his pre existing ones.

remus had gifted him a muggle record called rumors from a band called Fleetwood Mac, that you had freaked out over and told him you'd listen to together because they were your favourite band ever and you'd be damned if he discovered your favourites on the album without you.

james himself had bought him bundles full off tricks and games from hogsmeade, and a framed picture of the marauders, along with a small replica of his own quidditch jersey because, "everyone has to know you're my number one fan pads!"

even marlene had gifted him a bunch of chocolate frogs, and mary had got him a postcard from venezuela and chocolate because her parents were visiting. lily had sent him muggle posters of his favorite bands as well.

but despite the merriment, the niggling insecurity of not being enough played on his mind the whole time, creeping like a shadow, insecurity slithering through the corridors of his mind, casting doubts where there once was light.

his mind was spiralling, as he looked at his plate, gulping as a sudden lump appeared in his throat. james was reading a letter from his mum to remus and peter, telling him about their travels in egypt, and peters mum had sent sweets for them to share at dinner.

oh how he longed for a mom who would write him sweet letters and send him sugary treats instead of venom coated words and flame bursting letters, a father who would teach him how to tie his tie properly for class, or tell him tales of his childhood.

sirius longed for a family to love and hold him always. and the closest he had to that was you and james.

as his thoughts turned to you, he was distracted by a sudden crash as the doors were flung open, as you rushed in, followed by the two friends with whom you sang as part of the hogwarts band, your red robes flaring as you rushed to find your spot beside him at the table.

with a pant, you flung yourself down, taking heaving breaths to calm your racing heart.

"well hello little miss" james said through a mouthful of peas, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. "where were ya?" remus asked, piling on food onto your plate before it changed course.

"i was at band practice! we just lost track of time and then had to rush because we were so hungry!" you exclaimed, while your hands reached for sirius' under the table, taking his cold palm in yours, squeezing it tenderly to get the blood flow back in them, bringing it up for a quick peck to the knuckles before interlacing his fingers with yours.

sirius felt his heart physically slow down as he watched you, laughing a joke remus made, poking fun at james and messing around with peter. he watched as you cut the roasted potatoes into smaller chunks, dipping them in extra butter as you popped them into your mouth, and the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled.

he watched the way your hair fell, little strands framing your face as you brushed them off impatiently, all while leaning forward for a slice of a chocolate tart and icecream that had just appeared.

he watched as you put a slice of apple pie on his plate, topping it with a healthy dollop of cream, and passing it to him with a saccharine sweet smile and a murmur of "your favourite siri!" and he felt his heart flutter again.

what he didn't note was the crease in your eyebrow as you looked at your friend, the darl circles under his eyes, the slight stoop to his posture, the way his smile came out forced, lips pressed tight together with none of his gorgeous smile lines appearing around his eyes and lips.

he failed to note the way you drew a sharp breath when you felt the rough skin of his palms, coarse from all the times he dug his nails into the delicate skin to control the rage and hurt he felt at his family. the way your eyes softened as you looked at him, the way his lack of obnoxiously lewd jokes and quick wit made him look so vulnerable that it shattered your heart into a million pieces.

after the crackers were pulled and you had packed up a "grow your own warts" kit and many a butterbeer flavoured candy and a few white mice, he squeezed your hand again, gesturing towards the gryffindor common room, leaving the boys chatting with a few members of the ravenclaw quidditch team who had stayed back for christmas as well.

murmuring the password to the fat lady, you stumbled into the common room with sirius, who had his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. you sunk into your favourite armchair, and giggled when sirius fell into you with a muffled "thump"

even though you were 'just friends', you knew him better than anyone else and he knew it as well as you did.

the cozy red armchair with its plush cushioning looked as inviting as ever as he settled into it, legs haphazardly tossed over yours. affection was a major part of your relationship with sirius, having become fast friends since the first year at hogwarts.

ever since you were joint at the hip, bonding over a shared love of music, shared comfort in silence, shared trauma and a love for leather. you were as much a part of the marauders as any of the other boys, and sirius couldn't quite point to the time when you had become such fast friends.

he buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, absorbing the lilting notes of vanilla and shea, and fiddling with the loose strands of hair at the base of your neck. you hummed softly, some melody that had been playing on your mind, hands gently running through his dark locks, nails scratching softly at his scalp.

"you okay?" you asked, noting the tenseness of his shoulder muscles, and the still present frown between his eyebrows.

a non commital shrug was the only response.

worry began to seep into your mind, surprised at how your usually bubbly bestfriend was decidedly unbubbly.

"you don't seem okay babe" you stated, lifting his chin so he was looking at you.

his stormy gray eyes reflected doubt and insecurity dancing like lightning, casting shadows of uncertainty that loomed deep in his mind.

to your surprise, tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring raindrops, poignant with a tempest of emotions swirling within, creating a tumultuous scene of vulnerability and insecurity.

"oh sweetheart.." you cooed softly, shuffling so he was engulfed in your arms. you felt him bury his face deeper into your neck, clinging to you desperately as if he was worried you'd disappear into thin air.

"talk to me honey" you whispered, trying to coax him out of his hiding place.

just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the common room swung open and remus james and peter trooped in, followed by a few other gryffindors.

they stopped short, taking in the scene before them, their best mate in tears in the arms of the girl he loved who happened to be his best friend.

"mate are you-" james began, only to be cut off by a glare from remus.

"who don't you go up to our dorm y/n? I'll make sure no one goes up" remus said, staring at your pointedly, offering a soft smile to you when you nodded.

"i think we'll take you up on the offer, is that okay with you siri?" you asked, still softly stroking his hair.

he nodded against you, and followed you silently as you took his hand in yours and draped an arm around his torso, pressing a kiss to his temple as you led him up the winding staircase to the boys dormitory.

as soon as you were inside, you led him over to his bed, gently pushing him down so he was sitting, eyes looking unseeingly at the posters and polaroids that graced his headboard.

with worried eyes, you watched his gaze flicker back and forth, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"talk to me siri, im right here" you cooed, kneeling down in front of him, hands resting on his knees, drawing tiny circles with your pinky over the material of his robes.

"are you here with me love?" you asked, watching the black in his pupils darken as he spaced out. you watched as he jolted a little, looking at you almost alarmed, before the tears began to drip down his cheeks.

the first drop had you sprinting into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around him, kicking your shoes off as you squeezed him tight, knees resting in between his own, as he sobbed into your chest.

you'd seen him cry before, but never like this. broken sobs spilled from his salty lips, dampening the material of your robes, and small choked sounds escaped his lips, along with deep strangled breaths as he gripped your waist to keep himself grounded.

he cried for what seemed like hours while you whispered sweet reassurances to him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and his hands, placing his hand on your chest to feel the steady beating of your heart.

"m' right here darling, let it all go, I've got you, i promise, I'll be right here to hold you honey" you whispered to him, rocking him back and forth like a child.

sirius gripped you even tighter, clinging to you as if you were his lifeline.

eventually, his sobs slowed,and he pulled back, eyes red and swollen and face glistening with tears. even when his hair was messy and he looked like a wreck, he looked ethereal.

"oh my beautiful boy" you said, kissing the top of his head. "tell me what you need" you said, interlacing your hands.

"you, just need you" he said, and the way his broke on the word 'you' shattered your heart into a million pieces.

"just give me one second darling, okay?" you said, walking into their bathroom and taking out a clean handkerchief from your pocket. you soaked it in some water, bringing it back to him, gently wiping his eyes and then his face with it, leaving kisses on every spot you cleaned for him, before taking a comb from his nightstand and slowly untangling the mess that his hair was.

sirius watched as you combed his hair, eyebrows furrowed in attention, and he swore his heart fell even more for you.

"d'ya think you can tell me what's wrong sugar?" you asked, biting you lip when he flashed you a smile at the nickname.

"yeah" he nodded, tugging you down so you were cuddled into his side. "oh wait!" you exclaimed, fishing some chocolate out your pocket and offering a piece.

he took it with a smile, letting it melt on his tongue as he looked at you.

you were now snuggled into his shoulder, your ankle intertwined with his as you lay across from him, hand gently holding his, as his other hand traced patterns on your hip.

"darling mother of mine sent me a howler this morning for a christmas present" he said with a dry chuckle.

"did she now?" you said, anger simmering deep in your bones. "yeah, and then sperm donator sent me a lovely letter as well" he said, chuckling a little at his own nickname for his father.

"mmhmm" you said, tracing his thumb.

"yeah, jus' caught me off guard" he mumbled

"you do know that whatever they say is not true, right?" you asked, looking straight into his eyes.

"yeah but- fuck, darling, it gets hard sometimes. sometimes I feel like I am a traitor and failure. sometimes i feel like I'm not worthy of being a human, I'm not worthy of being a friend, I'm not worthy of being loved i-" he broke off, looking at the ceiling.

"you are more than just a name, sirius. you are worthy of being loved. you are worthy of being human, and you are worthy enough to have friends who care about you" you said firmly, forcing him to look back at you.

"it just hurts me sometimes" he admitted

"i know sweetheart" you cooed again. you felt like no words you said were enough when it came to this topic.

"am i really worthy of being loved?" he asked suddenly, turning his face to look at you.

"of course" you said. the silence got louder for a moment. "siri?" you asked, voice lighter than honeycomb.

"theres something Ive been wanting to tell you" he got out in a rush. "ever since we met on the train on our way here, from the tender age of eleven, my heart silently declared its allegiance to you. each passing day has been a testament to a love that started as a whisper and has grown into a resounding echo in my soul. darling, with every sunrise and every moonlit night, my affection for you deepens, as if there's an infinite well within me, filling with the boundless affection i hold for you. you are the constant melody in the symphony of my existence, and i fall harder for you with each beat of my heart" he said, turning to look at you.

you felt tears welling in your own eyes, and it only felt right when you leaned forward, pressing your soft lips to his slightly chapped ones.

to him, you tasted of strawberries and cocoa, warm and sweet and oh so extravagant, a taste so luxurious he couldn't get enough of it.

to you, he tasted of cigarette smoke, mint and cocoa, an intoxicating taste you couldn't get enough of

his lips pressed deeper against yours, hand grasping your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him, as he poured all his love and passion out for you.

time stopped, the world slowed and your heartbeat dropped to the lowest of lows. relaxed. calm. loved.

finally, when your lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, you drew away, chests heaving as you looked at each other.

a slight flush lay on his cheeks, tinges of red littering his cheekbones. you could feel a heat thrumming in your own cheeks, and your heart felt like it was racing a million miles an hour.

"i don't know how long I've waited to say that to you" he breathed out, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"since our shared days at eleven, my heart has been a clandestine haven for the enchantment you brought into my life. you don't know how happy you made me with this. in the quiet dance of our days, my affection for you has blossomed into a resplendent garden, and with every sunrise, I find myself immersed deeper in the captivating allure of our love. you are the symphony that resonates in my heart, and i cherish you always" you told him, pressing a kiss to the swell of his cheekbone.

sirius felt his cheeks burn a deep red, and he tilted your lips up to press a searing kiss to them again.

"i love you" he gasped against your lips, drawing you closer to him.

"i love you too" you murmured against his lips moulding your body to him.

and as sirius lay there in your arms, pressing kisses as sweer and delicate as spun sugar against every part of your body but especially your lips, he realised there was no other place that felt more like home than your arms.

you.

you were his home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : I've missed writing so much!! i really hope you enjoy this, and as always likes reblogs comments opinions etc are appreciated!! sending u all love and happiness and remember, my inbox is always open and i love making new friends!! marauders is a new field for me but if u have any reqs/ideas please do send in asks! happy reading ☺️♥️

TAGS

general : @roslastyles420 @hopeful in love @bluesongbird

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[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 44

part 1 | part 43 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking

“You’re just…” Robin looks at him sideways, her face doing something quivery and weird that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic concern but mostly looks like she stubbed her toe right after smelling microwaved fish. “You’re sure it’s not too soon?” 

It is. 

It definitely is too soon.

Steve’s pleasantly buzzed at a New Year’s Eve party — some random rich kid’s house, loitering in the space between the living room and kitchen so he and Robin can properly people watch (see also: be hugely judgmental bitches about the fashion sense of the girls on the dance floor and the sloppy form of the guys doing keg stands on the back deck) — and Steve just opened his fat, drunk mouth and casually admitted to being in love with Eddie. 

Eddie, the guy who hated him for years. The guy who tried to knife him the first time they interacted as neighbors. 

The guy whose silhouette has started to fill the passenger seat in Steve's Winnebago dreams. 

Eddie’s here, but he’s not here; probably posted up somewhere in the basement so he can deal to the stoners and the horny kids playing Spin the Bottle, and Steve— 

Steve knows he falls too fast. Always has, but especially now. Steve fell for Eddie like a gunshot going off: a deafening bang, gurgling fish sounds, blood all over the floor. He kinda thinks he couldn’t help it. Kinda thinks he’d do it again. 

And how could he not, when Eddie smiles at him like that? When he takes him apart so sweetly with his words, his lips, his tongue? When he dragged Steve by the hand into the back pew of a midnight mass on Christmas Eve, giggling about how he was shocked his satanic worship hadn’t set the bench aflame? 

Yeah. 

Steve totally understood why Jesus got up on that cross. 

“Oh, my god,” Robin rolls her eyes with a strangled huff. “Are you seriously just—? You’re fucking hopeless.” 

Yeah, he is, and yes, he is. “No,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like a defiant kid who got caught lying to his mother, because yeah, he totally is spacing out into lovesick La La Land while being actively accused of spending too much time there lately. “I’m not fucking hopeless, and it’s not too soon.”

Robin gapes at him like 'are you kidding me right now?' “Steve!”

“Robin!” he answers, mimicking her tone. Wow. Vodka makes him petulant. 

It makes Robin stubborn as hell. She juts her chin out and hollers over the music, gesturing so aggressively she almost spills her drink, “Admit that it’s too soon!”

“It isn’t!” Steve shouts back; digs his heels in and refuses to budge, never mind the fact that it’s only been, like, three weeks since Eddie fingered him for the first time oh, god, don’t think about Eddie’s fingers right now.

They stare at each other for a second, Robin’s nostrils flaring with the words she so clearly wants to yell at him, her breaths coming hot and harsh, and then, with a long sigh, her shoulders deflate. Her chin comes down. She bites her lip again, teeth turning the skin white as her eyes go big and sad. Worried. She's worried for him because she loved him first. 

Steve smiles at her, a quick, closed-lip thing that feels more like shrugging with his mouth, and he leans into her space; pats her cheek and thumbs her chin until she stomps chomping on her lip.

“You’re gonna get it all chapped,” he says in a hush, hoping her Steve translator is still intact after a couple drinks. Hopes she knows that he’s really saying ‘I hear you’ and ‘I love you, too; I love that you care’ because they're at a party and god does he not feel like saying sappy friendship shit out loud. 

Robin’s eyes get misty. Just for a second — message received; copy that — and she clears her throat and shakes it off. Points at something over Steve’s shoulder and drags him to the other side of the room.

—

part 45

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[anyarose011]

One More Reason to Control Myself {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Angus Tully knows she's hiding something. Why else would she lie about where she was the morning of Christmas Eve?

Part 5 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, and mention of exploitation of a minor.

We get an Angus POV chapter, motherfuckaas!! I had fun writing from his perspective while also giving him a little more backstory as well. Also, considering I want to try and eliminate the Y/N effect, anytime there's a she or her (italicized) it's you, dear reader. Shoutout to me forgetting there was a character named Danny in the movie, so I have to cover my ass for naming the creep "Daniel". Also, part 2 of an Angus/Reader coded song (what do you mean it breaks my heart? No it doesn't!)

Word Count: 7.1k

“So, why’d you miss supper last night, and why is little miss Jane Bennet missing breakfast now too?”

That was what Mary asked Angus and Paul Hunham at Christmas Eve breakfast. Mr. Hunham glanced around, trying not to show his nerves, but failed. “Oh, we went into town on some uh, school-related business. As for my daughter…I do not know; she wasn’t there when I woke up, have you seen her, Angus?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Mary hummed. The door opened, and in came Danny, the janitor who, even in the below freezing temperatures of winter, somehow almost had a smile on his face. Carrying in a mop and bucket, he greeted. “Good morning, everybody.”

“Good morning,” Mary pointed to the kitchen. “you can go on in and fix yourself a plate.”

He nodded. “I just saw something funny. I walked into the gym, and someone had vomited in there.”

Angus stilled as he drank his orange juice. Mary looked at him and Mr. Hunham, and the two of them looked at each other.

“You don’t say,” it was Paul who spoke first. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Angus answered loosely.

“No, uh, I’ll look into that right away. Thank you.”

Mary raised one of her brows. “I see how it is.”

Danny shook his head, walked over to Angus, and placed the bucket and mop by him before walking away. “You’re out your mind.”

Angus sighed, fiddling with the eggs on his plate. It had been a week of a frozen hell for him (perhaps not so bad…he made a friend. A friend who, despite there being billions of nerves in the body, she still managed to get on every single one of them; yet, he knows he does the same to her). Still, as Christmas Eve was supposed to be a time of excitement for the holidays, Angus Tully felt nothing of the sort.

He had no idea if it was because he was getting older, or because his father wouldn’t be there after Christmas mass, carrying him out of the car when he pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because he didn’t live in the same house anymore where the Christmases he used to love took place…

Fortunately, his moments of wintertime dread were gone once the doubles doors from the outside were opened. He watched as Mr. Hunham’s daughter entered, pulling off her gloves and unwrapping the scarf that was brought up over her hair and around her neck.

“And where were you?” Mary was the first to interrogate, sitting beside Angus, still smoking her cigarette.

She smiled, approaching the table. “Out.”

“Out where?” Her father then questioned.

Chuckling, the girl pulled out a chair by her father and sat down, taking an orange of the fruit basket, peeling it. “Just on a walk. I gotta clear my head from you people sometimes.”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, not necessarily shocked by her response, but still bewildered. “Clear your-? How long were you out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I woke up around seven-thirty, read for a bit, then went out. So…maybe eight? Not for long, that’s for sure.”

Angus knew she was lying. He didn’t mean to peek into her room when he woke up (genuinely he didn’t, no matter what anyone says). Even though Mr. Hunham decided not to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn since Angus was the only holdover, the boy’s internal clock wouldn’t let him sleep in. So, the first thing he needed to do was go to the bathroom, and as he passed by the doorway to her room, she wasn’t there.

He didn’t think anything of it until he was eating breakfast at eight-thirty, and he still didn’t see her.

“I see.” Her father furrowed his brow, but then shrugged, going back to lunch. “Well, please at least eat something other than fruit.”

She took the whole bowl. “But it’s the candy of the good ol’ days.”

“And what are the good ol’ days?” Mary huffed,

“Ancient Rome and Greece,” she popped a grape into her mouth. “also when women had less rights than they do now.”

Angus snorted, trying to then cover up his amusement with a cough. He didn’t find women not having rights funny (please believe him), it was just unexpected of her to say. Still, he felt all eyes on him, and refused to meet any of them as he picked up a piece of bacon.

He likes to think Mr. Hunham’s daughter was smiling at him when she stood up. “Fine, I’ll get real food.”

She went to the kitchen to grab a plate, and Mary hummed. “Never thought I’d see that girl ever be happy this early in the morning.”

Angus finally looked up. “She usually isn’t?”

Mary smirked, placing her cigarette between her lips. “I don’t think you’d last a day with her if you were both ten.”

There was nothing else to do after Mr. Hunham lectured Angus for an hour about the aqueducts in Rome. What was usually two and a half hours was only one, since the teacher claimed: “I’m feeling a little generous because of the season.”

Not because he wanted to drink alone in Dr. Woodrup’s office reading mystery novels (Don’t be ridiculous).

So, that brought Angus Tully back up to the infirmary, to do what, who fucking knows? He glanced into the other room and saw Mr. Hunham’s daughter laying on the middle bed, reading. When she looked up, sensing his presence, he instinctively hid behind the corner.

“You don’t have to be creepy anymore.” She spoke with the sarcasm he knew so well. “We’re friends, remember?”

Angus, playing it cool, entered the room, leaning against the wall. “Who says I was ever creepy to begin with?”

“I did.” She placed a bookmark in her book before setting it down and sitting up. “And you know, ordinary people just enter a room; they usually don’t bother checking.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “maybe you’ve convinced me there are ghosts here and I just want to be safe?”

Not because he was hoping she was in her room and had a reason to go talk to her (Don’t be ridiculous).

She rolled her eyes yet smiled anyway. “Took you long enough to figure out I’m always right.”

“I said ‘maybe’. What’re you reading?”

“Just now or in general?”

“Yes.”

She held up The Two Towers. “You ever read Tolkien?”

Angus sat on the spare bed across from her. “I read The Hobbit my freshman year; one of the only books I liked reading in school.”

His eyes fell to the stack of books on her nightstand. Little Women, Sense and Sensibility, Giovanni’s Room, andThe Count of Monte Cristo.  

“You’ve read all of these?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah.” She then pointed to The Count of Monte Cristo on the bottom. “Well, I actually tried to read this one when I was fourteen but got bored with it; I’m trying again.”

“Right after you reread everything else?”

“Shut up.”

She tried to sound serious, but he watched as she turned her head to try and hide her smile. He wasn’t ashamed to show her his. Angus’ eyes went back to the stack of books, and he took out Little Women, flipping to the first page.

“‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.’ Grumbled Jo.” He read aloud, then looked up from the book. “Now I know why Mr. Hunham calls you that.”

“Are you saying I’m selfish, Fitzwilliam?”

He shook his head, going back to reading. “No, you just complain a lot.”

She scoffed. “Just wait until you meet Amy. I love her, but I’m glad I don’t have sisters.”

Angus’ didn’t respond, his eyes trailing over the words on the pages. He didn’t truly know why he kept reading; whether it was out of boredom, or perhaps he was already hooked on the story, he would never tell.

“Wait,” he heard her. “are you still reading?”

“Damnit, you made me miss my spot.” He glared at her.

She already knew he didn’t mean it (that much). Still, the girl giggled, laying back down on the bed and opening The Two Towers, going back to her own reading. They were like that for ten minutes perhaps? It was a strange time that went by fast and slow. No, Angus Tully wasn’t even doing this to think of what to say to her, he was genuinely engrossed by Louisa May Alcott.

Then, it was when he was more than half-way done with the first chapter, that he asked. “Where were you this morning?”

She looked over at him. “I’m guessing you hate the book?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He sat up. “And no, it’s actually tolerable.”

“Tolerable for it being written by a woman?” She sat up as well. “And for your information, I just went to the woods. What, were you worried about me or something?”

“Maybe…I don’t know, maybe.” Were the only thoughts behind his eyes, but his mouth moved differently.

“No. Wait, you’re walking around the woods, and you’re calling me creepy?”

“What’s so creepy about walking around the woods by myself?” She questioned. “If there was someone following me, then they would be creepy, dumbass.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know anyone who spends their time frolicking through the woods for fun.”

“You didn’t really know anyone, but neither did I, so we’re even.” She stood up, going to the window to look out of it. “I also prefer frolicking through flower fields, but this isn’t the best season for that.”

Angus hummed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

He debated on asking her why she was out there for an hour and a half; if she was in the woods, or if she was even outside. Just as he was battling with himself and wondering how to ask her without her biting his head off, he saw her tremble.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked.

“Come over here.” She commanded without looking at him.

He stood up immediately, and as he was halfway to the window, she giggled; a sound he had heard before but…not like this, somehow. Angus stood beside her at the window and watched as Mr. Hunham walked on the sidewalk by the quad, stretching.

“Look at that sad, little man.” She tisked.

Angus asked without looking away. “You talk about your dad like that?”

“You would too if he was yours.”

“Point made.”

They watched as the teacher picked up a stray football on the ground, and with perhaps the worst technique ever, threw it. Both she and Angus, as if her father would see them in the window, backed away from it, laughing at the absurdity.

“I almost feel bad now.” She said through her enjoyment. “That’s a lie, I don’t.”

Her honesty only caused Angus to laugh even more, and he can’t remember when the last time it was he had ever laughed this much. Especially over something so stupid.

“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t play football in high school.” He said.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “he’d go on and on about being president of Latin and Chess club.”

That’s where Angus’ amusement ceased. Even if it was at his own expense, he didn’t mind it at all since he could see just how wide her smile could get.

“Angus Tully, don’t tell me-.”

“-What’s wrong with Chess club?”

“I knew it!” She pointed at him. “You nerd!”

“You’re the one that knows all of Roman history and mythology like the back of your hand, and you’re calling me a nerd?!” He teased.

The girl snorted, crossing her arms. “Not all of it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So why have I lost to you twice now?”

 “I just got lucky.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m serious!” He tried to brighten the strange air that settled in the room. “Your dad didn’t drill it into you for nothing.”

 “Yeah, you’re right about that.” She hummed, sitting back on the bed. “So, you’re good at chess?”

He shrugged, taking a risk and sitting next to her (with about two feet of space of course). “I guess so. My…my dad taught me how to play, and I never beat him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, nearly losing himself in the memory. “I was like nine when this snowstorm hit, I was out of school for almost a week, and my dad and I just played the whole time.”

“So, you played without bathroom breaks, and you still didn’t win?”

“Okay, smartass.”

She smiled. “My dad tried teaching me chess and he beat me every time too.”

“You still play?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“I always cussed at my him whenever I lost, so probably not a good idea to keep going.”

Angus snickered. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You were cussing at seven?”

“He was an asshole!”

“Yeah, I’ve met him.”

It was almost horrifying how her face dropped at his comment. One where it was like the words themselves shocked her. Then, before Angus could fully register what had just happened, she was laughing.

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I’m just imaging what you looked like as a kid.”

He tried to laugh it off with her, but that odd tension crept its way back in. “I was weird.”

“So was I. You should’ve seen me when I was twelve, my father drilling Roman knowledge into my head, proclaiming how, if I wanted to be better than all of the boys in my class, I had to work for it.” She grinned. “It’s like he tried to make me a small version of him, which was impossible from the start.”

Angus nodded, not exactly knowing how to respond. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t mean to, but I feel like he sometimes forgets I might want to wear ribbons in my hair, put on makeup, girly things like that that I almost called stupid, but they’re not. But could you imagine it? My father wearing makeup and…okay, he doesn’t have much hair for ribbons, but you get it.”

“I do.” He smiled.

She nodded, and they fell into another beat of silence. It was almost a competition as to who would speak first, and in the end, she surprisingly lost. She stood up from the bed.

“I uh…I promised Mary I’d help her in the kitchen.” She walked backwards. “You’re more than welcome to keep reading my ‘tolerable’ books written by women.”

Angus hummed, trying to shake off her abrupt exit. “Yeah, I got nothing else better to do. Maybe I’ll meet you downstairs and keep harassing you?”

“Yeah sure.”

With that, she turned on her heel and scurried out of the infirmary. Angus always found her to be strange; from the moment she stepped into Mr. Hunham’s classroom in September, to her just then. Still, it was a strangeness he couldn’t help but be intrigued by. Not the same as how a scientist would study a foreign species but…he had grown quite fond of her.

He already had a liking for her that first day he met her (despite her harsh and course attitude towards the others in class). Not a liking enough to have it be a crush per say (he was still annoyed with her). Then, the whole catastrophe of him being stuck with her over Christmas break only added fuel to a fire.

A fire that has both warmed and burned him all at once.

What kind of shit was he going on about? He read half of a chapter from Little Women, and now look at him!

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Angus slid The Count of Monte Cristo out from the bottom of the stack of books. It had been one of his favorites as a kid; ironic in both a sense that he read it as a child, but also his mother of all people recommended it to him. Before he could even flip it to the first page, he saw a small gap in the middle as if there was a bookmark. He opened it and found a letter; an already opened letter.

Angus’ blood ran cold at the sight of it, and as he took it onto his hands, he turned it over. It was addressed to her, and the stamp was a toy train. He had only gotten a glance at the first letter when Teddy stole it, and he recognized the stamp.

Sighing, it almost felt like the envelope was burning in his hand as he hunched over himself. He could’ve read it…it was right there, and it was already opened so it’s not like she would’ve ever known.

But he would’ve. And he knew there was no going back if he read whatever Daniel wrote to her, and even if it wasn’t bad (how could it not be), then he knew she’d be able to sniff him out like a rat that he’d read it.

Wait…Daniel…Danny…The janitor.

“Shit!” Angus hissed, almost falling off the bed, then sprinting out of the infirmary and running blindly though the school he has gone to for months.

He ran outside without a jacket on, looking around for Mr. Hunham. When he already saw his fingers beginning to turn white in a matter of a minute, he ran back into the school and navigated the halls as if he were a bat out of hell.

It took him quite literally running into Mr. Hunham for him to finally stop.

“God almighty, Mr. Tully!” He gasped. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Angus, trying to catch his breath, said. ��Mr. Hunham, I have to tell you something.”

Immediately upon noticing his distress, the teacher’s harsh demeanor and voice dropped. “Well…alright, what is it?”

“Can-.” He looked around, feeling suddenly exposed in the hallway. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Sure, sure.” Mr. Hunham nodded, looking around as well until his eyes landed on the first door he saw. “Let’s uh, is there fine?”

“Yeah.”

They both entered into a classroom that neither had been in before. It was smaller in size, more than likely meant for honor’s classes, but it looked like it hadn’t been dusted since the beginning of the year when parent’s would visit. When the door was shut, Mr. Hunham turned back to him.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Angus said her name. “Someone’s been sending her letters.”

“What kind of letters?” He asked, his face a mix of confusion and even a hint of denial.

“I…” Angus looked down at the one he had in hand and held it out to the teacher. Mr. Hunham took it, slipping his reading glasses out of his pocket. Angus continued. “Someone named Daniel sent her one days ago, Kountze stole it and read it aloud to everyone back in the woods. I think it’s Danny, the janitor.”

The moment he said ‘Daniel’, he’d already seen Mr. Hunham’s entire demeanor change. He saw him visibly tense, as he read the letter what must have been a million times. As time stood still in the dingy classroom, the teacher swallowed thickly.

“You said she got another letter a few days ago? Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Mr. Kountze read it aloud, what exactly did it say?”

“I…” Angus paused, trying to remember just what was written so he wouldn’t miss a thing, “He asked her to send a picture of herself to him, and wished her a Merry Christmas. He sent her thirty-five dollars too; did he send more?”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, obviously bewildered at the amount of money. “No, he didn’t. Mr. Tully, did you even read this?”

“No.” His response was instant.

“Why not?”

Angus’ eyes trailed to the side, somehow finding the blank chalkboard much more appealing than Mr. Hunham. To be honest, anything at the time was more-.

“Angus,” His voice was stern, but not mean. It was enough to catch the boy’s attention, but not enough to scare him. “I need to know what you know, so we can help her.”

He took a deep breath. “Teddy made a joke that she…she…has pictures of herself in a skin mag.” It was absolute hell to watch Mr. Hunham sigh, so Angus looked away as he continued. “She didn’t say that she did, but she didn’t deny it, and I didn’t want to know whatever creepy shit Danny sent-.”

“-First off,” Mr. Hunham interrupted, rubbing his face. “this isn’t Danny the janitor.”

“How do you know?”

“Daniel,” He tried to say the name like he was a historical figure and not someone who made his skin crawl away from his body. “was...a family friend of some sort. That is all you have to know about him.”

Angus nodded, but couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest, and how his stomach began to tie itself into knots as he asked. “Why did he stop being a family friend?”

“I said that’s all you have to know about him.” He said with more of a bite, then calmed himself. “I’ll speak to her about this the next time I see her, and rest assured, I won’t mention you.”

“She’ll know it’s me.” He shook his head. “I found it in one of her books when she left the infirmary after we talked.”

Mr. Hunham clutched the letter in one hand while removing his glasses with the other. “Regardless of details I cannot share with you, this little incident should not effect on how you view my daughter-.”

“-It doesn’t! I just-!” He lashed out unexpectedly at even the assumption of him finding any shred of blaming her for what was happening to her. “I just…I want her to be okay. That’s it.”

The teacher all but froze at his response, it is apparent that he was not expecting him to say that. Still, after regaining himself, he nodded. “You’re a good man for doing this, you know that, right?”

Angus scoffed, shrugging. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me ever again.”

“She may not,” he nodded. “but she also might. I won’t force her to do either. Again, thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure.”

The two of them walked out of the classroom in silence, and with Mr. Hunham’s “See you at dinner?” and his student’s nod, Angus Tully was left alone again in the grand halls of the school.

 A fate that has somehow always caught up with him ever since he got there.

Angus read the same Popular Mechanics magazine three times over since he found it the night he was the only one left behind at Barton, and he’d gotten sick of it after the second time.

So, with nothing else better to do, and with it starting to get dark, he went down into the kitchen, where apparently everyone but Danny was, helping Mary cook. Including her. She was washing vegetables in the sink while Mary was preparing a roast, both of them laughing at someone one of them said. Mr. Hunham was just at the table, peeling potatoes like his life depended on it.

“Mary.” Angus greeted, smiling at her. Mr. Hunham’s daughter immediately turned back to the sink upon seeing him.

Mary looked up. “Speaking of…”

Deciding to ignore the strange tension in the room (He has a knack for doing that, doesn’t he?), Angus’ eyes traveled around until they landed on a dish beside him. “Oh, brownies? God yes, I want all of these.”

“Ah, ah!” Mary scolded when he took one. “Just take one. The rest is for the Christmas party tonight.”

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He said her name. “Did you know there’s a Christmas party?”

She didn’t turn around, and only responded with. “Uh-.”

“-Yes, at Miss Crane’s house.” Mary interrupted her. “She and I are only going for a little bit, show our faces, and say we were there. Well, she might stick around since her little friend is there. You know, Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

Angus furrowed his brows, looking over at Mr. Hunham. “I want to go to the party.”

He stammered. “She-she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

Mary shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take him.”

“Mary can take me.” Angus reiterated.

“No, that’s not how it works.” Mr. Hunham raised his voice a hint. “You’re under my supervision.”

Angus frowned. “So, your own kid isn’t under your supervision, but I am?”

“Don’t even think about pulling me into this.” The ‘kid’ in question shook her head, not even turning around.

Still, he scoffed, bringing his eyes back to Mr. Hunham. “Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around here and read books all day,” he turned on his heel, beginning to walk out. “but I’m losing my goddamn mind, Jesus!”

“Hey!” Mary yelled at him once he threw the brownie across the room. “Watch your mouth, young man! Not on Christmas Eve.”

Angus ignored her, storming off back to the infirmary. He didn’t even make it to his room and a bed to dramatically throw himself on and scream into a pillow. He rested his back against the wall before sliding down it. Now sitting, his shoulders still tensed at what just happened. He’d been stuck in the school for a full week, only being able to go out when he dislocated his entire shoulder.

Who the fuck did that piece of shit think he was for holding him captive?!

Closing his eyes, he thought back to what Dr. Gertler told him. Sure, the guy was a quack, but once or twice he actually had a few things that helped him. Angus breathed in, counting to four, held it for three, then released it for another four.

He repeated that until he felt the tension (mostly) fall away from him, and there was even a hint of calmness in his head.

Which was then lost when he opened his eyes, and she was peeking from around the corner.

“Jesus!” He gasped, and she immediately hid. Once his heart stopped beating so damn fast, he said. “Okay, now who’s being creepy?”

“…Me.” She said after a moment’s silence, still hiding.

Sighing, rested his head against the wall. “I’m sorry I yelled earlier.”

She finally showed herself, standing in front of him now. “I don’t think I’m the one you should apologize to but thank you. My dad said you can go to the party with Mary and I.”

That got Angus to sit up taller. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but he’s going with us, so it won’t be that fun.” She joked.

He snickered along with her, before asking. “What about dinner?”

“We’ll probably just have it at Miss Crane’s. We’ll just have a nice lunch or something tomorrow instead of tonight.” She explained before walking into her room.

This was what caught Angus Tully off guard. She wasn’t exactly acting like her father had just confronted her about the letters, she was being too nice to him…so did she know it was him? She had to; or was he just overthinking it and getting in his own head (Something he did frequently)?

“When are we leaving?” He asked.

“In an hour!” She yelled, her voice somewhat muffled. “So, get on it, Fitzwilliam.”

“Anything you say, Amy!”

He ran off before she could storm after him (like he assumed she would), and went back into his room, which had darkened quite a bit. He went to his bag and took out the razor and shaving cream that he had only opened a few times since the beginning of the semester. He shook the can and applied the cream to his face before bringing the blades of the razor up to shave.

There was honestly no need to. It’s not like he even had “sawdust under his nose” as one would put it when talking about the mustache men would try to grow after watching Top Gun, which didn’t exist at this time, but that’s beside the point.

Even so, as he wat attempting to shave what was not there, he heard a knock, and her voice asked. “Are you decent?”

“Yep.” He answered, not even bothering to glance at the hall of lockets she had knocked from.

She came into his eyesight and stood so close to him in the mirror that he could feel the heat of her skin on his. “Move over.”

“Why?” He scoffed playfully, yet still did so.

It was only then he noticed the small makeup bag she had in her hand, and she placed it on the sink before opening it and taking out a sponge and small jar of liquid that matched her skin tone (it was foundation; he’d heard the word before but didn’t know it was that until perhaps a year later).

“The lighting’s better in here.” She answered, getting close to the mirror and dabbing the liquid on the sponge and upon her face.

Angus took a second (and only a second, if he took any longer she’d yell at him) to look at her entire self, and saw that she was wearing a dress. A dress that he would never have imagined on her. Her hair was almost the same as always...but there was something more to it he couldn't quite verbalize.

She was still herself, and it was silly to Angus Tully that it took a different dress and perhaps some makeup (something he’d hardly see her wear) to realize just how…just how…

“You look…” His mouth trailed off faster than his brain before he could stop himself.

After finishing her foundation, she took out a powder and brush. As she applied the powder, she glanced up at him through the mirror, a smirk on her face that was holding back a laugh. “Yeah?”

He couldn't call her ‘pretty’ (both because she’d never talk to him again, and that would be belittling her), and he couldn't call her ‘beautiful’ (she just wouldn’t talk to him again period; and he’d probably be scaring her off). So, apparently, the best thing he could think of in a limited amount of time was-.

“-Like a girl.”

Oh, how attractive it was to open one of the windows and jump out of it. If it wasn’t the fall that would kill him, it would certainly be freezing to death in a foot of snow.

Instead, to his surprise, while she momentarily scowled at him (as she should have), she giggled. Shaking her head, she said. “I would say you look like a man, but there’s nothing about you to prove that.”

As his heart began to beat again from her apparent lack of offense, he took the towel off the rack and wiped the residue cream off his face. “Oh yeah? What am I then?”

“A boy.” She set down the brush and took out a small tube of liquid, shaking it. “A tall, little boy.”

He snorted, walking away from the mirror when her gaze became just a little too much. “You said you were friends with Miss Crane’s niece?”

“Yes.” Her tone changed somewhat (or was he just overthinking it).

“Do you think I could-?”

“-Should I put on eyeshadow?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You know,” she turned over her shoulder. “the color that goes on the eyelids?”

“I know what eyeshadow is. I’m not that big into makeup, so I don’t know.”

“Really?” She teased. “You aren’t into makeup?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned back to the mirror, opening the tube. “Nothing.”

Angus’ eyes scrunched as he smiled at her playfulness. “Well-.”

“-Shut up.” She interrupted him.

He scowled. “Huh?”

She had the pen (it was eyeliner; he actually knew what that was) hovering over her right eye, and she was glancing at him again through the mirror. “I’m doing the most important part, and it’s the one I’m horrible at, so I need complete silence.”

Angus Tully merely nodded, looking away. He didn’t know how long she took, but she knew she was finished when he heard her gasp.

“I did it!” He looked back and saw that she turned to him with the biggest smile on her face, and blackened wings kissing the corner of her eyes. “I did it!”

He could only nod. “Yeah, it looks good.”

She grinned from ear to ear before turning back to the mirror, setting down her eyeliner and getting out an eyelash curler. “Could I ask you a question, even though you’ll feel stupid afterwards?”

“Do your worst.”

“Why ‘Amy’?”

Angus felt safe to smile at that. “Does that bother you?”

“Why, on God’s green earth, would you say I was like Amy?!”

“Well,” he shrugged. “it pisses you off, that’s the first reason. Second is…she grew on me.”

She scowled, turning to look at him. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“I mean…you made her out to be so annoying, and someone who complains a lot which, yes she does. But she’s funny, and she sticks to herself like Jo does, but…I don’t know, I just like her.”

Her face fell for the second time that day; but not like it did that afternoon when he made a joke about her father. No, this time, he knew it was because she truly didn’t think he would say anything like that.

And, for the first time since he’d known her, she almost looked shy.

Something he thought would be the thing that terrified him the most that entire Christmas break.

So, when she didn’t respond, and wanting to disrupt the awkward silence, he then asked. “Wait, why was your dad so against going, but now he’s fine with it?”

She looked back at the mirror, looking at him through it. “Besides the fact it wouldn’t be fair that you’d be stuck here while I’d go, he has a crush on Miss Crane.”

Angus snorted. “Figures.”

She shrugged. “I kind of always knew. I mean, she’s worked here for five years, but I think he only started liking her last year. I’m also not sure what he’s more afraid of; how I’d react to him liking someone after Mom died, or him just liking her period.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“My mother’s been in the ground for six years.” She decided to take the eyelash curler back in her hand, then brought it up to one of her eyes. “We still visit her of course. She wasn’t selfish either, and it’s been so long, so I don’t think she’d mind. Besides, I’m going to technically graduate next semester, and I don’t want to be stuck here, but I also don’t want him to be alone. Mary’s really his only friend so…yeah, I think I’d be okay if he was with Miss Crane.”

Angus nodded. At first, it felt almost invasive and even wrong for her to tell him all of that so effortlessly. But…he leaned into it the more she went on. She’d been vulnerable with him before (whether she thought it or not, she had been), but this time…it wasn’t a huge confession, it was just a simple conversation.

“I don’t…” He found himself saying.

He didn’t what? What was he going to say? Something about his father? His mother? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her something.

She took the curler away from herself and turned to look at him. Her eyes…her damn-no, they weren’t damned; they were kind, gentle…but still he felt damned just as she looked at him in a way he hadn’t ever seen her look at anyone before. She was waiting for him to say something.

Say something.

Say something.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t done anything but stare at him, but he was suddenly twelve again. Angus Tully, with his hair that was just beginning to have out of place curls, walking into his parent’s room at two in the morning. He woke his mother up, who gasped when he touched her. After she calmed down, she was appalled to see him crying.

It wasn’t a bad dream, it wasn’t because something had happened to him at school; he didn’t know what was making him weep, but he was doing it anyway.

He could barely say anything, he babbled like a baby learning to talk, and all he could get out was “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

His mother tried her best (he liked to himself that), but she could only say “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

Didn’t she hear him? He didn’t know.

Even now, at seventeen, he didn’t know what to say to her.

“I don’t know how you can use that.” He glanced at the eyelash curler.

She furrowed her brow upon the change in tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it looks like a torture device.”

Scoffing, she looked back to the mirror and curled the lashes of her other eyes. “You’ve just never tried it before.”

 “And I never will.”

She looked back at him once she was finished. “Are you scared?”

“No, I just don’t see the reason to.”

She shrugged. “I think you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Okay, then let me put mascara on you.”

He scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you’re not scared then you’ll let me stick something in your eye. You don’t have to wear it to the party, but I think it’d be fun.”

Angus was at a loss. She was a good actress, so how was he supposed to know she wasn’t messing with him? Well…he didn’t; he just had to trust her. To be fair, he had been weird around her this whole time, so…

“I’m not doing the torture device, just the makeup.”

Her face lit up, and she took the mascara out of her bag, setting everything else inside of it. “Get over here.”

He followed, leaning against the wall by the mirror. Suddenly, as he stood in front of her, he was nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was (whether that was because of her wit, her confidence, or even her meanness), it was because it was just her.

“How uh,” he stammered. “how are we doing this.”

“Lean down first of all, fuck why are you so tall?”

“Not one of my favorite qualities.” He joked, pressing his hand against the sink for support as he lowered himself slightly.

“Meh,” she shrugged, unscrewing the cap of her mascara. “girls usually like tall guys.”

His heart flipped. “Yeah?”

She froze momentarily before continuing. “I guess. Elise told me.”

“Right.”

“Okay, close your eyes. You’re going to want to open them when you feel something touch your eye, but I promise you, you don’t want to do that.”

“Sounds good.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling of discomfort. He could feel the heat of herself hover around him, but the pain from the mascara never came.

He heard her sigh. “This isn’t going to work.”

Angus opened his eyes when he felt her draw away, and he saw her sit on one of the beds. She titled her head. “Come here.”

He didn’t know if his heart was still or was going to beat itself out of his chest. Obviously, he sat by her before but…he had to be closer to her. Angus did his best not to make a big deal of it, but he felt like he was almost watching himself outside of his body as he sat beside her and closed his eyes.

“Do you want to know what my mom called me when I was younger?”

She was trying to distract him and he knew it. “Sure.”

“Ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He tensed but soon relax when she rested her hand on his cheek; it felt like she was burning him, but the way that he felt whenever he had a fever. Somehow…it was comforting.  Breathing shallowly, he answered. “Greek? Kind of.”

“Well,” he cowered away a little when he felt something brush his eyelashes but kept calm as she continued. “where my father loved Roman history and mythology, my mother was more into the Greeks. They’d go back and forth debating on which was more influential, and that was more so how they became friends. She…before I was born, she talked about naming me Eurydice because it was her favorite story. My dad was obviously against it, so that was a no. So, that’s when she’d just call me Eurydice at home a lot, just to piss him off which was funny.”

Angus hummed, paying attention to her words, but having to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded from losing himself within her touch. “What’s she like in the story?”

“Not much to her.” She moved onto his other eye. “Well, what it gives us anyway. I always had my mom tell me their story, and Eurydice kept changing. It was always who I was like growing up.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was shy around the other kids when she first told me-.”

“-You, shy?”

“Shut up, I’ll mess up your eye if you make me laugh. But yeah, so Eurydice was quiet and shyer. Then, when I’m like nine, I’m a bit more outspoken, angrier even, so she became that.”

He didn’t move his head, scared that he’d mess her up. It was then, after she stopped speaking, he could feel her breath on his face. Her hand was still warm against his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it more and more. He had not felt this sense of peace since…he couldn’t recall.

“Done.”

With one word from her, she took her hand away and he opened his eyes. She was still so close to him, and while he saw her smiling at what he assumed had been her work, it was him staring at her that made it drop. Still, she didn’t look frightened nor upset, she was just…looking at him.

The moment his eyes dropped to her lips for only a second, it was all over.

He’d thought about it, of course. He wanted to. But…like with everything about her, he froze.

She didn’t.

“You…” She stood up from the bed, straightening the skirt of her dress. “you should probably wash that off after taking a look.”

Angus didn’t have time to respond before she grabbed her makeup bag and ran off. He just sat there, trying to process if he was waiting to wake up from a dream, or if it had been in fact real.

When nothing happened, he sighed heavily, getting up and walking towards the mirror. His eyes looked different, and he felt weird. He could not tell if it was from the makeup, her, or both. Still, what he did know, was that he made a fool of himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

[thebearer]

thinking of carmen coming home to see you taking photos of a gummy smiled teddy in her easter dress and anchovy with bunny ears

this is so fuckin' cute.

i feel like easter and christmas eve are the two times carmen sucks it up and goes to mass with his family. really, it's because sugar begs him and he's like "fine whatever" and it's at sugar and pete's place. plus, when teddy comes around, they do a big easter egg hunt for the kids and she loves it so much. loves doing it with eva, nat's baby, all the other kids in the family.

carmen always gets kinda anxious because there's always a chance donna will show up. his mind's all over the place until he comes home one day. teddy is nearly three, and sooooo excited for the easter egg hunt. you'd been practicing, hiding little plastic eggs around the house, "a warm up, daddy, we're going to get the golden egg this year. aren't we teddy bear?" you'd cooed, bouncing teddy in your arms when he asked why.

he finds you in the living room, cooing and grinning while teddy smiled, in her poofy, cutesy little easter dress. "look at me, look at me! say cheeeeesseeeee!" you shook anchovy's toy in one hand, trying to snap a photo of both of them looking.

you're snapping rapidly until teddy sees carmen, face lighting up, letting go of anchovy and running towards carmen.

"you takin' easter pictures?" carmen grins.

"yeah," you nod. "i figured get them now before trying to get them on sunday. just easier."

carmen nods looking at anchovy, who is scattering around, trying to push the ears off himself. "how'd you get those on chovy?" carmen snorts.

you shrug. "he let me."

and carmen can barely believe it bc anchovy nearly mauls him if he looks at him the wrong way.

[cyber-night]

A very late chrimis smut. :3

Content Warnings: Dom Reader, sub character, Sub Fyodor, puppy play-ish, leash, collar, things nit to do in a church, this is surprisingly gentle for me, degradation, humiliation let me know if I missed something

You were sitting in church listening to the pastor drone on and on about the birth of christ and the miraculous conception and virgin Mary. While your lovely Fyodor tried to keep himself from trembling. Fyodor had made a slight miscalculation when trying to get you to attend Christmas Eve mass. That mistake being that he said he'd do "anything" to get you to come with him... anything turned out to be a vibrating plug pressed against his prostate and a thin collar and leash beneat his suit.

The leash went under his shirt and down his sleeve easily hidden and hard to notice when you held it you held his hand as well. Fyodor, for the most part, was very good at focusing on the preacher except when you changed the speed of the vibrator. Periodically, you'd raise and lower the speed to make him tense. After the sermon, they started on communion. The part you were most looking forward to and that he was most dreading. You both stand up the leash still in your hand, hidden from view as you held onto his. Just before you both took communion, you turned the vibrator off. When he went to take a sip of wine, you turned it to the highest setting and watched him choke you coo and pat his back as if comforting him. The priest looks at him worriedly, and Fyodor brushes it off his violet eyes, looking at you pathetically. You guide him back to the pew and then turn the vibrator off for the rest of mass.

Once you two were home, it was past midnight. The moment the door shuts, Fyodor looks at you, hopefully. He's so worked up and sensitive. His body is so easy to play with, and you had been tormenting him all throughout midnight mass. He didn't want to have to use his hand to try and pleasure himself tonight, not after he'd been so good for you. He wouldn't say any of that to you, though, his emotions far too private for him to lay bare. So, instead, he tries to say it with his eyes. You know him well enough to read him like a book. "Aww, is my poor puppy needy?" You tease him as you start unbuttoning his shirt. "Don't worry, I have gifts for you, and while I think most should be saved till tomorrow, I think I'll let you unwrap one tonight. How does that sound?" You ask sweetly as you push his shirt open and wrap the leash around your hand several times so you can pull him in for a kiss. His eyes are glazed over, his brain already shutting off after having to work overtime at church to make sure he doesn't make a fool of himself.

You grab a box from under the tree and then guide him up to your bedroom he follows obediently, not that he has a choice with you tugging his leash. Once you have him in your shared bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed watching him with loving eyes. "Puppy, why don't you strip for me?" you say thoughtfully gesturing to his open shirt and his pants. Fyodor nods, his hair falling in his face as he does so, and you watch as he takes the rest of his clothes off, then sinks to his knees between your legs. You then present him with a wrapped box. "For you, my sweet little mutt." He reaches up and takes it.

You can see he's been biting his nails worse than usual. The holidays are usually stressful for him to many people and events going on. You decide not to comment on it now. He holds it, looking up at you, waiting to be told he can open it. "Good boy. Yes, you can open it now." Carefully, Fyodor unwraps the box, choosing to peal the paper off at the seams rather than rip it off. He folds the paper up and sets it to the side before inspecting the box. "Go ahead and open it, Doll." He opens the box to reveal a photo album with a lock. The key rests beneath the book, and he gently unlocks the photo album. The photos in it were pictures of him... him tied up, him trembling, or with his back arched as he came, all of the photos were him in increasingly lewd positions. "All... all of them are of me?" He asks. He knew you took photos of him you had asked and still did before doing so, but he'd never seen them until now. He flips the page and pauses there nestled in-between photos of him in is a photo of you... a professionally done photo of you, a nude photo of you. He flips through the book, slowly looking at himself and pin-ups of you.

You can see his hips idly moving, shifting the plug that's still buried inside him. "Horny, are we?" He snaps his head up to glare at you. "Don't look at me like that. Or I won't fuck you senseless while you flip through that. Now come up here, hands and knees darling." You say as you tug on his leash. He moves up onto the bed, bringing the book and whining as the plug shifts. He gets into position and has the book set in front of him so he can still flip through it. You toy with the plug inside him before removing it and slowly and gently replacing it with your cock. "Ngh- s-so pretty..." He moans softly. "Which one? You or me?" The page he's on has a photo of him on his knees with a dildo in his ass and mouth this was back when you were training away his God awful gag reflux. Next to it though is a picture of you chest exposed and legs spread just enough a piece of silk cloth draped over you. "Personally? I think it's you. You cried so much when we did that." He whimpered as you gently fucked him. "Made such a mess too. Pity you don't gag like that anymore. It made you so pathetic, puppy."

Fyodor shudders his arms, giving out as he collapses beneath your slow and forceful thrusts. His eyes roll back as the angle forces you deeper into him. "Please..." He whines you use the leash to pull him up onto his knees, his back to your chest, so you can bite and suck on his neck. One of his hands reaches behind him to rest on your waist for an attempt at stability. "Such a good boy. Taking it so well for me, mutt." A soft kiss is placed on his jaw. "Is my puppy close?" He whines and leans his head back on your shoulder as his body trembles as he cums untouched. His cute little cock leaking spurts of cum onto the mattress. "Did you like your gifts?" You ask him softly as you lay him down. He looks up at you in confusion. "Gifts? Plural?"

"The book... and the sex." You tease him as you undo his collar so he can rest. He hums in understanding and smiles faintly as he nods. The book and his collar and leash are set aside as he pulls you into his embrace. You kiss him, then whisper. "Merry Christmas, Dove. Rest and I'll clean you up, yeah?" He nods and dozes off slightly, making you smile.

[misseviehyde]

PANIC GIFT

Cameron had forgotten to buy his housemate Matt a Christmas present for two years on the go and was determined to make it up to him this year with something special... until he forgot again of course.

It was now Christmas Eve and he had nothing to give his housemate, which was particularly embarrassing as Matt had already placed his present under the tree.

Cursing his terrible memory, he prowled through the house looking desperately for something he could wrap up and pass off as a present. He could always try to buy something better in the January sales to make it up Matt.

Seeing an old Christmas Angel decoration on a window ledge, he grabbed it in his panic. It was of a blonde Christmas angel in a white outfit with a fluffy halo. It was cute and Cameron even wondered if Matt had originally bought it. If he was lucky perhaps it had come with the house.

"Damn it - this will have to do, but I wish I had something better to give Matt, something he really wanted."

As he spoke there was a weird tingle and the angel seemed to shimmer in his hand. He passed it off as his tired eyes playing tricks on him.

Cameron threw some wrapping paper around the angel and going downstairs placed it under their Christmas tree. As he did so he heard a mocking voice behind him.

"Wow - so you actually got me something this year! I bet it's not what I really wanted though - but I guess we'll see in the morning. Hey... have you done something weird with your hair! Why is it so long?"

Cameron reached up to his head and gasped. Matt was right - his usually short hair was now thick, long and silky soft. He tugged at his brunette locks in confusion. It almost felt like it was... growing.

He turned to look in the mirror - then all hell broke loose.

Under the tree the Christmas angel blazed and the wrapping Cameron had casually thrown on burned to ashes. In the same instant Cameron gasped. His stomach burned and his skin itched.  "Ahhhhh what is happening?" 

Cameron's bones snapped and popped as his body contorted and his hips exploded out. His usual sickly pale skin took on a healthy glow and his stubble and body hair retracted to leave his body hairless except for his crotch and his head.

He shrunk, losing height and mass as his muscles reduced to leave him toned but significantly smaller. Cameron's face was a mask of pleasure, his Adam's apple retracting as his angular male features softened and smoothed.

"Ugggghhh ohhhhh wow, I feel so amazing all of a sudden... I'm oooooh transforming and I think I like it!"

Matt watched in stunned disbelief as his best mate moaned and groaned, his body transforming into a sexy girls dressed in slutty lingerie. 

Black stockings spread up Cameron's legs and his house slippers became shiny black high heels with the toes cut out. Matt could see through the thin stockings that Cameron had a perfect girly pedicure and a matching set of nails suddenly shot out of his fingers. They looked so hot on his tiny hands, each finger now ended in a glossy expensive nail.

His red t-shirt tightened and shrunk, white piping spreading as it became a sexy santa one piece, and a Christmas garter belt cinched round his waist - black lace leaping up to attach to it.

The one piece plunged, and Matt gasped as he watched his friends chest swell and push out... hard nipples poking through the thin material of his outfit as two perfect titties took their proud place on his now womanly chest.

Matt noticed that there was no bulge at his friends crotch. His genitals were as flat and smooth as any girls now. There was something about the way those hips were cocked that suggested the new girl knew how to use her tight new pussy.

The new slut shook out her sexy brunette hair and stroked her pert perfect breasts adoringly. She was all woman now and subtle adjusments to her face and hair now took place to complete the transformation. Long black lashes fluttered in pleasure as contouring and foundation worked out any blemishes on her face. Soft red lips parted in a teasing pout as her hair took on volume and depth. A sexy santa hat now sat atop that luscious hair, she looked stunning from pedicured toes to immaculate face.

"Ooooh that's better," giggled the transformed girl as she stretched happily with a last little groan and the angels light dimmed to nothing. Matt gaped at the giggily girl now standing in their living room. He could smell her perfume and hear her soft breathing. If this was a dream it was crazily realistic.

"Hiya Matty baby, I'm Carmel... your new fuck-buddy. That idiot Cameron wished to make you happy, so the Christmas Angel has made that dumb boy into me... and if you fuck me tonight I'll become your hot horny girlfriend forever and no one will ever remember Cameron."

Matt gasped as Carmel advanced and draped herself around him. She rubbed her stockinged legs against his legs enticingly and wrapping her arms around his neck pulled his head down to stare into her sexy brown eyes.

"Bu... but what about Cameron?"

"What about that loser? He never pays the rent on time, doesn't buy you presents and totally takes you for granted. Ohhh and he doesn't suck dick like I do baby."

"But... how will I... explain this?"

"I already told you baby. One hard fuck and I get to replace Cameron. I'm Carmel now. I l have my own girly friends, my own super feminine life and even my own job working in a nail-bar. And if you make this happen we won't be housemates anymore. I'll be your slutty girlfriend and you can fuck me whenever you like. I want it so bad baby."

Slowly sliding down Matt's body, Carmel giggled as her hands started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly.

"But Cameron is my friend... I..."

"You don't owe that fucking loser anything. He's the one who made this wish. I'm your perfect girl. Naughty, flirty, sexy, fun. You've always wanted a slutty bitch like me. I mean you might have to share me with other guys from time to time, but that must be part of your wish as well baby."

Cameron was already rock hard as his cock popped out into Carmel's slutty hands. She squealed excitedly and sank her mouth round his dick. Looking up at him with excited eyes she began to glug on his dick - effortlessly taking all five inches down her throat and sucking and licking it like a pornstar.

"Holllly fuck," he groaned unable to stop himself sliding his hands into his girlfriends hair and pushing her face deeper onto his cock just as he knew she liked.

Girlfriend?

Knew she liked?

What was happening? She wasn't his girlfriend. Was she?

"Mmmmh oh yessss it's happening babe. I can feel reality starting to change. Lock this wish in forever, you just have to fuck me."

Standing up Carmel pulled down the straps of her one piece and popped her perfect tits out. The nipples were hard and she spat on her tits - her saliva mixed with his precum sliding sexily over her breasts. Rubbing it into her cleavage she got back on her knees and began to pump his tits with her chest.

"Baby, I can make you cum in so many ways if you make me your girl. I'm a fucking nympho - and I know how to make you explode. I just need that dick inside my tight pussy and we can do this everynight. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Ohhh fuck, you little slut. This feels so good."

"Yeah Daddy, that's it. I'm your slut. I'm your bitch. You wanna make me all yours."

Releasing his cock Carmel crawled backwards to the sofa. She unhooked her stockings and with a *pop* released the clasp on her one piece.

Peeling it back she presented her tight, perfect pussy. It was pink and glistening, a tiny strip of waxed hair just above it. It was like an arrow pointing down saying 'fuck me.'

"Come on honey, stick that big dick in me and make both our Christmas wishes come true," giggled the hot slut as she lay back enticingly on the sofa and spread her perfect legs wide.

Adcancing towards her hungrily, Matt stepped out of his pants and threw his trousers to one side. Pumping his cock to keep it hard, he positioned the tip outside Carmel's pussy.

"Mmmmh, being a raunchy bitch is soooooo much fun.  You're gonna love being my boyfriend... hurry up and lets get this show on the road. Put it in me Daddy," she begged.

Matt felt a little bad about making Cameron into Carmel permanently... well until he pushed his dick into her tight pussy that was.

As he slid his cock inside, her felt her perfect pussy grip his cock in a way no girl ever had before. It was like she was tailored to be his perfect fuck-toy. Being inside Carmel felt amazing and as he began to pump her with deep hot strokes she purred contentedly and nodded happily.

"Ahhhhh that's it baby. I'm all yours now Matty and believe me this will make up for those missed presents.  Fuck me good and make me cum, I'm your naughty Christmas slut now."

Matt grunted and groaned as he felt Carmel slide her sexy legs around his waist. Her heels rested on his ass, her flexible legs pulling him in deeper to her tight cunt. The pleasure was amazing.

The new couple fucked in front of the Christmas tree, wet slaps and moaning gasps of pleasure filling the air as they banged all night.

Carmel moaned and screamed as Matt pumped load after load of Christmas cream into her body - sealing the wish and making her into his girlfriend forever.

Upstairs, Cameron's room vanished and the new couples bedroom expanded to fill the space. Sexy clothes and outfits now covered one side of the room with a huge double bed in the middle.

Carmel's girly touch extended through the house changing everything to make it... better.

As Matt's hot cum leaked out of her mouth and pussy, Carmel had never been happier. She had finally made her friend happy and she was so slutty and hot it felt wonderful. She loved being his slut.

Carmel was here to stay forever now, but she would never forget her first Christmas with her boyfriend. It was the best sex of her life... but definitely not the last.  All thanks to her lovely Christmas Angel.

As she begged Matt to fuck her in the ass next, she was already multi-tasking and wondering which of her friends she should gift the angel to next...

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 5 | F.W. x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary - Reader makes her way to the Quidditch World Cup using a map of confusing directions and a portkey, she finds out who will be at the games with her. After the games, she gets stuck in the midst of an attack, left injured and on her own.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, slowburn

Content Warnings - cursing, arguing, the quidditch world cup attack, depictions of torture? mentions of blood, mentions of fire, crying, injuries, trampling, mass chaos + fear, (tell me if i missed anything)

Word Count - 4.4k

A/N: not really sure what to say for this one! it's truly chaotic is the most i can say lmaoo, hopefully you enjoy it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navigation

You folded your pajamas in a neat stack and shoved them in your bag. 

You’d spent the past hour packing for tomorrow's events. The Quidditch World Cup games had already started, but you didn’t care all that much. 

You tend to claim you're not a huge fan of quidditch, but there has been one or two times you’ve lost your voice from screaming and cheering during a school match.

Anyways, you stood up, taking a billionth look around your bedroom, making sure there was nothing you needed laying around. 

Preparing for a single night away from home should not be this stressful.

As your eyes traveled around the room, they stopped once they saw the necklace sitting on your dresser.

The moonstone necklace the twins gave you. It sat there, untouched. It’s stayed in that exact same spot since you tossed it out of your suitcase from when you got home for summer break. It’s been like that all summer. 

Until, your mum saw it and fixed it with some simple spell. 

Even though it was fixed and in perfect condition, you still hadn’t worn it, nor touched it.

You walked up to it slowly, moving at a pace that made it seem like you were expecting the damn thing to jump and attack you somehow.

Picking it up, you wondered if you should set it along with the outfit you already had laid out for tomorrow. Or if you should shove it in your bag. Or just keep it in its previous spot.

You set it back down, turning away from it and walking to your bed. Only for you to change your mind. Turning back towards it quickly, snatching it up and shoving it into your bag.

You laid in bed, eyes unable to stay closed, and a grin on your face.

Though you knew that in the next week you’ll most likely be stuck with crowds of people in Diagon Alley, gathering school supplies. You had the same excitement as a kid on Christmas Eve, too eager to sleep.

There wasn’t much information given on what today’s plans were.  

You didn’t know how you’d get there, or if there would be anyone else going with, or how long the game would last. All you knew was that you were going to the Quidditch World Cup and staying at the campsite for one night.

And a strange list of directions. It had you take a few stops on different trolley cars to get to your spot. The last place you were dropped off was at another stop, so you decided to walk the rest of the way.

The handwriting on the paper with the directions looked familiar, it wasn't Cedric’s however, it was too messy. Maybe it was his fathers. Maybe he’d got it from a friend.

Thinking of it, the paper was never directly given to you by Cedric. Your father gave it to you when a stack of mail came in.

You let your thoughts wander around, imagining how today would go as you began to get closer to the designated spot the directions gave you. It was at “a hill with an old boot on it” according to the paper.

A tall, older man, with wired glasses, a scrubby beard and brown hair stood on top of the hill. Amos Diggory. Cedric’s dad.

As you got farther up, you could spot Cedric, laying down on the grass next to his father, using his bag as a pillow.

Both of their heads shot up and faces changed into a smile once they looked up, seeing you heading towards him.

“Y/N! Good to see you!” Mr.Diggory reached out to shake your hand.

“It’s good to see you too, Mr.Diggory.” You accepted his greeting, shaking his hand and giving him a warm smile back.

“It’s been quite awhile! How’s mum and dad? Doing well?” He asked while the boy behind him sat up. You gave a small “mhm” and nod in response. 

Cedric hopped up from his spot on the grass, giving you a tight hug, purposely ruffling up your hair once he pulled away.

“So how’s your summer been? I didn’t get many letters from you.” He jokingly gave you a dramatic pout.

“It’s been lovely. No work, no uniforms, no getting up at the crack of dawn, and no annoying twins.” You sighed happily, you didn’t catch how Cedric’s expression faltered when you mentioned the twins.

“So, shouldn’t we get going? What are we waiting on?” You tried your best to sound as patient as possible, ignoring the excitement running through your veins.

“My dad invited a work friend. We’re just waiting on him I suppose.”

“Should be any moment now!” Amos added in, smilingly nervously and rocking back and forth on his heels.

“He said that about an hour ago.” Cedric whispered to you, “Anyways, what's that?” He gestured at the paper in your hands. You gave him a blank stare, expecting him to know what it was, he was the one who sent you it, right?

“The directions?” You said hesitantly, holding the paper up. “That you sent me?” Cedric's brows knit together, tilting his head to get a straight look at what was written.

“I never sent any directions?” He copied your tone. “Plus, that is not my handwriting.” He scoffed, amused at the scribbles on the page.

“Then who-” Your thoughts were interrupted once chattering and footsteps were heard in the distance.

"Amos!" A voice shouted from a distance. The shout came from Mr. Weasley, who was grinning as he strode closer. A group followed behind him. 

All the excitement and joy in your veins was drained out once you saw who was part of that group. Those two dreadful boys. Your jaw tensed at the sight of them.

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t tell me those gits were coming along!” You hissed as you turned back towards Cedric.

“Don’t say that, y/n. The Weasleys are nice people.” Cedric scorned, you rolled your eyes. You were sick of people telling you that, of course they were nice people, they were the sweetest people you ever met, except for two of them.

“I know that! I’m not talking about the Weasley family Cedric, I'm talking about the Weasley twins!” You groaned, the bickering stopped between you two as Mr.Weasley began to speak.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the

Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures! And I believe you

know his son, Cedric?"

“Hi.” Cedric let out, his eyes darting around them all. Everyone greeted back, except the twins, who gave barely a nod, they looked as if they were already miserable.

“Oh, I’m sure everyone remembers Y/N!” Mr.Weasley gestured, you gave an uncomfortable smile and a small wave.

Mr.Weasley and Amos went back into their own separate conversation, as you and Cedric did into your bickering.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You kept your voice low and stern.

“I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t go! They didn’t have any idea you’d be here either, they don’t even know where we're going!” He scoffed. “Mr.Weasley and my father set this whole thing up! Can’t you push aside your hatred for one night? You won’t even be in the same tent as them, you’ll have your own bed…or you can share one with me.” He joked, giving you an exaggerated smolder.

“You wish.” You shoved him in the chest and let out a slight laugh, slowly forgetting about your bad mood.

The both of you turned your attention back to the older gentlemen. At this point, Amos was gawking at Harry’s presence, he began to unknowingly boast about Cedric and how he beat Harry at Quidditch last year.

The twins were scowling, you caught on quickly to that. It seemed as if they were still upset about losing to Hufflepuff and getting beaten by Cedric in the first Quidditch match of last year.

Cedric, obviously embarrassed, tried to explain it was due to Harry falling off his broom. His father only shrugged that off and continued to speak.

It looked like with every word Amos spoke about his son's win, the scowls on the twins' faces grew. You wanted to laugh, you wished you could laugh. You could only attempt to bite back your smirk.

You turned your attention back to Cedric. 

“They don't seem very joyous.” You mocked as you jerked your head in the twins direction.

“Oh come on, I’m sure it’s not personal.” The hufflepuff shrugged it off, you raised your brows at him in disbelief. “But, I would really like to get going now.” He said through gritted teeth, eyes pointed at the boot in his fathers hand.

“So, what is it?” You asked, relating to the shoe.

“It’s a boot.” Fred's voice appeared from beside you. He was standing right there, it scared you for a second. Causing you to whip your head around quickly, you were unsure how he got next to you so quickly and silently.

“Yeah I know that, dimwit.” You sneered at him, “How are we going to use a ruddy old boot to get there?”

“It’s a portkey, dimwit.” He shot back, using your insult. “I’m sure you remember learning about those.” The redhead raised his brows at you, unamused. 

“Well, I assume it’s time to get on our way!” Mr.Weasley spoke out, fortunately cutting off all the tension in the air. “Now, all you need to do is touch the portkey.” He said happily as he laid a hand onto the shoe, which was being held out by Amos.

“Glad to know you got here safely with the directions George and I wrote down for you.” He shot you a sarcastic smile as he walked up to the boot, nodding his head at the paper in your hand while passing you.

Your face went from confusion then dropped into irritation.

Everything made sense now. Of course those assholes sent you those puzzling directions.

The paper crumpled around your grasp once you tightened your hands into fists, you wadded up the parchment and shoved it in your pocket.

Once everyone was crowded around in a tight circle, a hand or finger touching the boot. Mr.Weasley stared at his watch and began to count down from three.

Suddenly, you felt your feet detach from the ground, you were flying through the air, it looked like you and everyone else was stuck in the middle of a tornado. You accidentally banged into others while being stuck in the swirl of wind.

Then, you were falling from the sky and heading towards the ground. You used your forearms as a shield for your head as you hit the rough grass.

However, Mr. Weasley, Cedric, and his father were literally walking on air. Their legs moving as if they were walking down an invisible staircase. They landed neatly onto the ground, standing, while everyone else was scattered around them.

You were just about to push yourself up before a body came flying towards you. Letting out a small yelp as you covered your head once again, feeling a weight hit your legs.

Once you removed your arms from your face, Fred was laid uncomfortably across the bottom half of your body.

His back pinning down your left leg while his head and arms were laid across your right.

“Ow! You landed on my legs!” You cried out.

“Whoops, sorry.” Fred smoothed back his hair. “They're not broken are they?” He smiled. You moved around your legs, they were sore, not broken.

“No.” You muttered as you waited for him to fully get off your limb and stand up. “Get off!”

“Right.” pushed himself up and dusted his clothes off from any grass.

 “M’lady,” He jokingly bowed and reached out a hand to you, waiting for you to grab it so he could help you up. You ignored his gesture, picking up your bag while getting up without his help, rolling your eyes and shoving past him.

“Everyone up! We still have some walking to do before we get to the campsite!” Mr Diggory called out, everyone else began to pick themselves and their belongings up as they muttered and sighed under their breaths.

Thank Merlin you had your own room in this tent. You would’ve gone mad if you weren’t able to get some amount of isolation to cool down. It was shocking how easily the smallest interaction with Fred could ruin your mood.

You had about an hour before you had to get going. That’d be more than enough time for your irritation to go away.

“I’ve got great news!” Cedric jokingly sang as he pushed open the flaps of the tent leading into your space, making his dramatic entrance.

“What now?” You sat up amused. You assumed from his sarcastic tone that maybe the match had been postponed to a later time or you’d somehow got moved to shitter seats.

“Mr.Weasley invited us to go over to his tent tonight, after the game ends.” He let out quickly, knowing that you are not going to be pleased.

“What?” Your expression dropped. “That means- no! I’m not gonna be stuck in a tent with Fred and George!” You exclaimed, you’d already had your interaction with one of them today, now you would not be dealing with both.

“Well, my dad already agreed. So…” He trailed off. You groaned and fell back on the bed, you were too tired to argue.

“Fine, whatever. Just let me have a moment to myself, please.” You ran your hands down your face.

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, take this also!” He threw a red and black scarf at you, “We’ve got to sport some pride, right?” He shrugged before disappearing behind the flaps of the tent.

Merlin knows how many stairs you had to climb to get up there, your legs began to hurt once you made it to your seats.

Cedric and you were the first to make it to your spot. The seats that were set at the highest point of the stadium. The Weasley party was not far behind you.

As Fred walked up, you let out a small laugh of disbelief due to his appearance. He had a large three-leafed clover painted on his face, a white and green scarf hung around his neck, and wore a cartoonishly large white and green top hat. 

While George only had stripes of white and green painted on his cheeks and Ginny wore a large Leprechaun hat.

Fred had truly outdone the others and himself.

Cedric noticed the laugh you let out and was not going to let you get away with that.

“Are you smiling at him?” Cedric looked at you with disbelief, but he sounded excited that you were smiling, almost like he was waiting for this to happen.

“I’m laughing at him.” You corrected him. “And it’s only because he looks like an idiot.” The small smile was still on your face. Cedric's eyes analyzed your expression.

“Sure.” He narrowed his eyes at you. You ignored him, looking around the large stadium.

A tall figure slid up next to you, and it sure as hell wasn’t Cedric.

"Aw, did you miss me?" Fred cooed, tilting his head.  

"Absolutely not." You spat out the last word, your smile dissolving and a grimace taking over your face instead.

Just before you could get another snarky response out, a string of players flew past your head. The strong wind from their brooms nearly made Fred’s hat fly off.

The stadium roared and boomed with cheers from excited fans as more players from the teams flew out. You felt like your eardrums would burst with how loud the twins were.

They only got louder once Viktor Krum flew out.

“Who’s that?” Ginny shouted to her brothers.

“That, sis, is the best seeker in the world!” George exclaimed as he pointed at the Bulgarian wizard excitedly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be cheering for Ireland?” You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed.

“Yeah, but who doesn’t love Krum!” Fred and George said in unison, George went back to screaming and cheering as players flew past on their brooms. Fred’s eyes averted to your neck, you noticed.

Do not let them ruin your night. Do not let them ruin your night. Do not let them ruin your-

“You know what I haven’t seen in a while, George?” Fred nudged his twin, getting him to look back over. “That necklace we made for her.” A smirk took over both of their faces as George decided to join in.

“Yeah, what happened to that? I reckon you wore it for a bit, then one day it just vanished.” George added in, peeking over Fred’s shoulder.

“I got rid of it. Could you two just watch the bloody game?” You turned your attention to the stadium, not wanting to be reminded of that embarrassing day in the library, the day you stopped wearing the stupid piece of jewelry they’d given you.

Not long after, Cedric returned, and this time, he stood between you and those red-headed boys. Freeing you from being pestered any more.

Despite the final game lasting over two hours, it went by fast. 

And despite being near the twins, you had a good time overall. 

The twins nearly fell out of their seats when Ireland won. They were screaming joyfully at each other. It was something about money and winning a bet. You could barely hear them over the rest of the stadium.

You secretly giggled as they jumped up and down like little girls.

Your time at the Weasleys tent wasn’t as bad as you expected. You talked with Hermione and Ginny some, while Ron preached about Krum to the entire tent. 

“There's no one like Krum!” Ron shouted as he stood up on the small ottoman next to a chair. 

“Krum? Dumb Krum?” Both Fred and George began to repeat this nickname to Ron, acting as if they weren’t cheering for him in the stands.

“He's like a bird the way he rides the wind!” He went on, sounding as if he was performing slam poetry.

“Dumb Krum!” The twins chanted as they ran around him, flapping their arms, mimicking the look that baby birds have when learning how to fly. Fred took the flag he had draped around him and threw it over Ron’s head.

“He's more than an athlete! He's an artist!” Ron cried out as he took the flag off.

“I think you're in love, Ron.” Ginny giggled, Ron only let out a muttered “Shut up.” in response.

“Viktor, I love you!” George began to sing loudly as he grabbed onto Ron’s hand, Fred grabbed onto his other.

“Oh Viktor, I do!” Fred sang mockingly while getting down on one knee. This led to Harry choosing to sing along.

“When we're apart my heart beats only for you!” The three sang to a frowning Ron, who was still standing on the ottoman, shoulders slouched.

Screams and blasts coming from outside interrupted their singing. 

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on.” Fred said amusedly as he stood up, not bothering to get a full look outside at what was happening.

He grabbed a cushion and was preparing to join in on a fight between Ron and George when his father came rushing in.

“Stop!” Mr.Weasley shouted at them, getting the attention of everyone in the tent.

“It’s not the Irish.” His voice was stern and there was panic filling up in his face. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now.” His tone of voice didn’t make it sound like a suggestion, everyone began to run out the tent.

Outside was pure chaos. 

Terror. 

Tents were crushed and lit on fire. People were running into the woods, screaming, apparating, trying to get away from something.

You stood frozen in fear at the sight not far from you. 

A group of hooded, masked wizards had their wands pointed upright, above them was a group of four floating in the air. Their figures being contorted and twisted into disturbing shapes. Something you’d see out of a horror movie.

“We’re going to help the Ministry.” Mr.Weasley's voice got your attention, he was standing next to Cedric’s father. “You lot, get back to the portkey and stick together!” He ordered as he took out his wand. Automatically you began to move towards Cedric.

“Fred and George, Ginny is your responsibility!” Mr.Weasley shouted before running off. Fred grabbed onto Ginny's hand and started heading towards the forest with George. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione grouped together and ran off with them.

“Here, I think I know a separate path!” Cedric shouted as grabbed onto your arm.

“You think? Or you know?” You questioned him, your feet stuck in place.

“Can you not do- Would you just trust me?” He bellowed out before he began to run, his hand still gripped around your arm, pulling you with him.

You ran for what felt like ages, constantly bumping into people and dodging fallen over remains of tents and trees.

You could see the forest in the distance when you heard a blast right next to you.

Suddenly, you were being knocked over by strong, hot, wind. It was strong enough to where Cedric lost his grip on your forearm. You hit the ground and your head hit something too.

Cedric tried to turn and run back to you, it seemed impossible due to the crowds pushing him, he could move with the crowd and not against, leaving you there. 

You brought your hand to the side of your head, feeling a warm liquid smudge onto your fingers and you put your hand in front of your eyes, blood.

You weren’t able to process the fact that your head had just been busted open for long once more crowds of people began to run through, many accidentally kicking or stepping on you while rushing to get out.

All you could do was just lay there, groaning and trying to stay conscious as you were repeatedly hit. Your weakened limbs weren’t much help when trying to pick yourself up.

Even if you could get up, you wouldn’t know where to go. Cedric was out of sight and people were running in different directions.

You don’t remember how long you were stuck on the ground for. Maybe it was only a minute, maybe five, maybe ten. Who knows. It felt like forever. 

Only remembering the horrible feeling of hundreds of scared and panicked feet running over you, on you, or accidentally kicking you, few people tripping over you, only to get back up and continue running. The wet tears sliding down the side of your face and the taste of metallic in your mouth, the smell of sweat and smoke filling your lungs.

You could see the dirt footprints from peoples shoes all over your legs, stomach, everywhere, some blood too. 

You couldn’t tell if it was others or your own.

You started to lose all hope of someone helping, you chose to close your eyes and depressedly wish your body would go numb or that you would fall unconscious so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain anymore.

“Hey! Help me get her up!” A voice shouted as you felt someone lift you up by the underneath of your armpits. You were being dragged away from your spot on the ground and through the fiery campsite, you couldn’t even hold up the weight of your own head.

Eventually you heard the same voice mutter the words  “Fuck it.” and you were no longer being dragged, you were being picked up and held bridal style. You were able to use enough of the little strength you had left to get a good look at who was holding you. 

You lifted up your head and saw the last person you’d expect to see.

“Fred?” You mumbled, your eyes squinted and your head dizzy.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re gonna get you help.” Fred said as he ran, his breathing heavy and panicked. 

The orange flames all around lit up his face, you scanned it with your eyes, taking in the details.

Has he always had so many freckles?

Has his hair always looked so soft?

Have his eyelashes always been so long?

It must've been the fumes of the smoke getting to you, causing these thoughts.

Fred would occasionally look down at you while running, making sure you were still conscious. You saw the look on his face, the look of shock, of worry, of panic, of fear.

Your eyesight began to get blurry, it was getting more and more difficult to keep your eyes open and your head up. Your body gave in, your head fell back, you went limp. Fred was cursing to himself.

“Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He uttered, breathing heavily as he caught up to his family.

You had small moments of consciousness, constantly fading in and out. It was a struggle to keep your eyes from going blurry, you were only able to get a clear look of the night sky, trees above you, and occasionally Fred's face. 

You remembered bits and pieces of conversation between the group once he had reached the rest of them.

“Where were- oh Merlin, what happened?” A similar voice to Fred’s called out, most likely George.

“She must’ve tripped or got knocked over, people were trampling her.”

“Fred, is that your blood?” Ginny pointed out, she noticed the fresh stains of blood covering the sleeve of his cardigan.

“No. It’s hers. Possibly. I think she hit her head somehow, she’s injured somewhere.”

Large running footsteps were heard coming towards you. 

“Dad!” You heard Ginny call out.

“Are you all- oh dear, is she-“ It was an older man's voice, most likely Mr.Weasley. You cut off his question with a groan of agony.

“Well, that shows she’s alive.” George quipped in with some poorly timed humor.

“Wait, where have Ron and Harry and Hermione gone?” Mr.Weasley stressed.

One of the loudest explosions shook the ground, you felt the vibration as your arms and legs dangled around when Fred ducked down.

“We’ll search for them, get the girls to the portkey, go!” Arthur commanded, Fred shook his head frantically, you felt him begin to run, stress filling his face.

“Don’t get her hurt anymore than she already is!” Arthur called out from a distance.

You couldn’t remember anything after that. You’d lost consciousness for the last time.

Fred kept his eyes on you the entire time you were both flying and falling through the portkey, focused only on you, he used his body as a shield when you both hit the ground, hoping neither of your bones broke.

tell me what you thought! :) or ask tba to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @five-seconds-flat @nal-leo-17 @rhunew @albertdabuttler @weak-aesthetic @whotfskai @m00nymarauder @miaandthediamonds @hpstuff244444 @tarzanathetumblingwarrior

[numinousmysteries]

@leiascully mentioned airports. JessM wrote the quintessential airport fic and this lives in that universe. I owe them everything, and they owe me nothing.

This has not been beta'd, edited, or put through any quality control whatsoever. Read at your own risk.

@today-in-fic @xffictober24

Paved Paradise

It's Bill Scully's turn to host Christmas. There is some sort of algorithm within the extended Scully clan that determines this. It factors in variables such as who's stationed abroad, who's too pregnant to travel, and who's just being so goddamn stubborn (Scully's words) this year. It's a complex calculation that starts as early as July if Scully's sighs and eye rolls during her phone calls with her mother are any indication. And despite all the time and care that allegedly goes into these deliberations, it seems that more often than not–in Mulder's mind at least—they end up flying to San Diego on the busiest travel day of the year.

Maggie headed out a week earlier to spend more time with Bill's kids, so it's just the three of them hunkered down at O'Hare for an extended layover. One that's becoming more and more extended as the snow piles up.

William has been characteristically well-behaved on the journey so far but even the most mature six-year-old's patience would be worn thin by now. Fuck, Mulder thinks, even this not-so-mature 46-year-old is getting antsy.

"I'm so bored!" He calls out, squirming in the vinyl seat at the gate. "Can I go walk around?"

"No," Scully says. She's not even looking up from her book. Mulder doesn't know how she can maintain her stoic calm in the boisterous chaos of an airport on Christmas Eve. "They could call us to board any minute now. And besides, it's too crowded, I'm worried you'll get lost."

Mulder doesn't want to remind her that they could have been called to board any minute in the past three hours now. "I'll go with him," he says, jolting up out of his seat. "We won't go far. And I'll have my phone on me, so just send a bat signal if we need to come back."

She looks up from her book to consider it. The two of them must look desperate because she just shakes her head and sighs. "Sure. Stay close."

Mulder grins down at William who smiles back conspiratorially.

"Yes! Thanks mom!" Full of pent-up energy, the kid grabs Mulder's hand and pulls him into the mire of human mass in the terminal. Will's red hair makes it easy to keep track of him in the crowd although, to Mulder's dismay, it's been getting darker recently. He'll always have Scully's bright blue eyes, though.

"Where to, kid?"

"I'm hungry," he says, excitedly. "And maybe they have a book store. I finished my book on the first flight and then I read the whole thing again. And look—there's a Pizza Hut. Can we get Pizza Hut?"

Mulder stops in his tracks in front of the restaurant. Still in motion in front of him, William stumbles a bit at the abrupt stop. He's been here before. In this exact spot in this terminal seven years ago. But there wasn't a Pizza Hut Express there before. It used to be a Chili's To Go. A very special Chili's To Go.

"What is this crap?" He gasps.

"Dad!" William glares up at him in surprised disapproval. A look that could come from his mother. "You can't say that."

"This didn't used to be a Pizza Hut, Will."

"Huh?" His son asks, confused.

"There was a Chili's here once. Before you were born. Your mom and I went there after a case once."

William is still staring at him skeptically. "Didn't you go to like a million airports?"

"Yeah," Mulder says, gazing in shock at the new restaurant as if its predecessor will suddenly appear before his eyes. "But this one was...memorable."

"Why? Was the food good?"

"I don't remember any food."

"You're so weird, dad," Will shakes his head. "Can we get pizza?"

"Um, sure," Mulder says. He's sadder than he should be by the replacement of one chain restaurant in an airport by another. But god, what had happened at that Chili's. It was the first time she let him touch her. The first time they fucked. In a red vinyl booth, no less. It was where their partnership finally became something more. William wasn't conceived there—and for that, he is thankful—but it set in motion the shift in their relationship that would ultimately lead to William's conception. That would ultimately lead them here. To this airport. On this holiday. As a family. And the Chili's wasn't even there to witness them.

Mulder goes through the motion of paying for William's personal pan pizza, bottled water, and a large diet Pepsi for him and William to share. He eyes the corner of the restaurant where there used to be a booth behind a retaining wall. The wall and the booth are gone. Probably ditched in a dumpster somewhere, trash compacted, or sold at auction. They should have been given a proper sendoff. A 21-gun salute. A hero's farewell at Arlington.

Eager to eat his pizza, Will skips his way back to the gate, his dazed father following a half-step behind.

As Will sinks back into his chair, Mulder turns to Scully any says, "It's official. They've paved paradise and put up a Pizza Hut."

"Blow on that, honey, it's hot," Scully says to William, not missing a beat. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

"The Chili's that was in this terminal. Our Chili's? It's gone. They replaced it with a Pizza Hut Express. Can you believe that shit?"

"Language, Mulder," she whispers, nodding toward William who's too absorbed in his cheese pizza to notice.

Mulder can tell she knows what he's talking about though. She's starting to blush. A light rouge rising to her cheek not unlike the fuzzy pink of the sweater she'd been wearing that day. One that, now that he thinks about, he'd never seen her wear before or since.

"Are you sure it was even this terminal? These all look the same," she says.

"How could I forget?" It comes out louder than he wanted, even startling William briefly before he turns back to his meal.

"It could have been this terminal. Or it could have been any of the other identical ones though."

He slaps his hands on his thighs in frustration. "No, Scully, you're wrong. It was this one. I know it was. And I know you know, too."

"Oh, Mulder." She shakes her head and turns back to her book.

Finally, their flight is called for boarding. They gather up their bags and herd William onto the jet bridge. Once they're settled into their row, William in between them distracted with a new book, Scully leans over him to whisper in Mulder's ear.

"We'll always have Chili's." She winks.

Her low purr makes his groin twitch and he makes a note that he'll have to do something about that later, even in Bill Scully's house. It'll be more comfortable than a booth at Chili's To Go at least.

[pandoraroid]

redacted filipino hcs & thoughts! lol

mostly about shaw pack + vamps + guy&honey

inpsired by @erial-c nahiya akong itag ka pero hiiii po

the trivia and translations are probably not accurate 🧍‍♀️please forgive my very scattered brain thoughts

darlin probably does arnis. it's why they fight like a menace 😈 sam has never known peace since he's seen em wield an ital

arnis - a ph martial art

itak - a bolo sword(?)

asher doesn't call milo "tol" bc he's not tall /j

"tol" is like the equivalent of "dude" as in a way of calling your friend

lovely & darlin would probably call vincent & sam their asawang (gets niyo ba asawa + aswang)

asawa means spouse or wife or husband

aswang is a ph mythological creature. different sources tell different things but what is mostly agreed upon is that (1) they're nocturnal (2) they usually pretend to be humans in the day time if not (3) they hide in the woods (4) they prey on children, pregnant women (specifically for their unborn child), and maybe new borns. they often get lumped with vampires though i'm not too sure how accurate that is.

aspins have a very special place in darlin's heart. sam's cabin in the woods usually have attract lots of them and they never had the heart to turn them away. in a way too, they know what it's like to being wild, dirty, street dog.

aspin - a dog breed in the ph that is sort of a mix of other breeds. they often get a bad rep for being street dogs and not having a particular breed.

vincent n his cars get featured a lot in those carspotting around manila tiktoks. whenever lovely finds em they make sure to send those to vincent lol

(this is me also hoping that vincent gets to keep at least few of them when they leave the house of solaire)

not entirely sure how the entire mate thing would translate into ph culture but even with all that david & asher would insist on doing things properly before marriage - they would mamanhikan to their partner's parents respectively hehehe

mamanhikan or pamamanhikan is a like a traditional practice of going to the fiancee's family's house and asking for their hand in marriage lol.

whenever they drive down shaw boulevard, the pack would turn to david and go "taga dito ka di ba?" or something to that effect HAHAHAHHA

"taga-dito ka 'di ba?" = "you're from (around) here, right?"

angel know it's general cleaning morning whenever david is blasting opm songs or old timey songs around their house.

asher would take panliligaw very seriously!!!!! magpapaalam sa magulang lagi ni baabe paglalabas sila!!! aabangan niya after work si baabe tapos "sabay na raw sila umuwi" galawan mo asher talbot !!!! dyan ka magaling !!!! and ofc it never stopped kahit naging sila na ni baabe :))) 

panliligaw or ligaw is a more traditional pre-dating courting stage in a relationship. lol

marie has definitely said to david & asher & milo & darlin at some point na "kakaselpon niyo yan". it doesn't matter that they're adults.

"kakaselpon niyo yan" = "it's because of that (damn) phone"

this one is a bit more in general: vampire houses have THE filipino family drama. territory/progeny disputes? grudges? backstabbing? been there done that.

speaking of vamps: pre-turning, sam was once an altar boy (darlin: hahaha samkristan)

speaking of sam (again): pre-turning, he has a picture in baguio, riding a horse & wearing a cowboy hat. when darlin found it they couldn't stop staring at it for a loong while. 

sweetheart LOVES singing. marie loves having them over for karaoke.

marie would drag milo's ahh every night for simbang gabi.

simbang gabi - mass service for the nine nights leading up to christmas eve.

guy's filipino nickname would be "totoy"

"totoy" is another way of refering to a younger male. addtionally, it's also often used as a euphism for a dick HAHAJAHA

guy definitely has a tiktok acct tapos don siya nagpaparinig kay honey HAHAHAHA lagi niyang kinakanta "crush" by tweens of pop

guy always does those cheesy, poetry pick up line jokes to honey like:

"cheese, cheese, cheese. gusto kita i-keese (read: kiss)"

"mga 6 out of 10. medyo pilit yung rhyme"

"honey naman 😭😓"

translation:

"cheese, cheese, cheese. i want to give you a k-eese."

"a 6 out of 10. the rhyming was a bit forced."

"honey, c'mon 😭😓."

guy and honey are definitely oa x nonchalant pairings but may i also suggest na they are jeje x pogi typings. they both definitely have kanal humor though HAHAHA

- after returning to the pack, darlin couldnt help but cry tear up after marie called them "anak" again

anak = child

[ragingbookdragon]

You're Feeling Ten For Ten

Task Force 141 x Reader (Actually Reader x Ghost if you look close enough) One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Hey I made a part two. Happy now? Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The little breakroom is cozy, she decides as she plants her ass on the couch and props her legs on the other side. Cozy enough that she can already imagine some of her things here and there. A bag of Black Ivory coffee beans beside a La Marzocco Strada Electronic Paddle, a seventeenth century Persian rug, a Parsifal Round Fendi couch complete with a Metropolis coffee table, the ideas are endless, and she can’t help but begin to call in orders from her high end clients. It’s the center of her focus until a ringtone echoes from the coffee table and, her being who she is, reaches over and takes the iPhone, carefully looking over the contact.

Nannie Moira? Must be the Scots granny, she thinks and answers the phone.

“Hello!” she chirps politely and the response she gets is not one she expects.

John?

“I’ve been called quite a few things in my life, but ‘John’ has never been one of them.” She’s already pulling up the 141’s files, sliding to “John MacTavish” before she enters “Moira MacTavish” into a search bar. Of course, she comes up within the first ten searches and she smiles.

Oh, Christ, I thought I’d rung my ogha.

“Oh, you did, Missus Moira,” she answers. “I’m afraid John is out right now, but he left his phone and you seemed quite important, so why not answer?” she smiles. “John talks quite a bit about you Missus Moira.” Her eyes scan the newspaper articles from Stirling, Family of Five Killed In Massive Car Pile-Up, Leaves Boy, Two, Orphaned. “Best woman he knows, yes?”

Aye, my ogha, John. Raised the lad myself.

“Missus Moira—”

Call me Nannie Moira, darling. Any friend of John’s is a child o’ mine.

“Of course, Nannie Moira,” she smiles. “So, tell me more of John. He’s so tight-lipped about himself.”

Oh, I can talk for hours of my ogha. Did you know—

***

It’s a good half hour before the door to the break room opens and in piles four men who stop like deer in headlights as they take in the woman—they do not know—sitting on their couch, laughing as she answers, “Nannie Moira! You did not say that to Johnny’s girlfriend!” Whatever response she gets, they can tell it makes her laugh because she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.

Soap’s already headed her way at the mention of his grandmother; she bats at his hand when he tries to take the phone from her. “Oh, Nannie, I think John just got back, would you like to talk to him?” she holds out the phone expectingly and chastises, “Nannie’s very upset you didn’t call her last night.”

He takes the phone, “Nannie, are you alright?...well, yes, I know I didn’t call, I was—yes, Nannie…yes ma’am…I promise I will call you tomorrow night…I love you, Nannie.” He hangs up and glares down at her. “Congratulations, you’re invited to midnight mass on Christmas Eve.”

“Can’t wait,” she replies with a smirk and turns her gaze to Ghost. “Hi, Simon.”

“How,” he starts darkly and stalks towards her in slow, warning steps. “Did you get in here?”

She blinks owlishly at him. “Let’s see, I forged a key card, showed it to the enlisted at the gate, and you might want to actually enlighten them on who they should and should not let it, and walked right in.” she sniffs and tips her head to the air vent that they now notice is missing a covering. “Air vent was a little snug too.”

“I’ve half a mind to arrest you.”

“Oh, I can agree you do have half a mind. It’s why you’ve never managed to beat me in any fight we have.” She raises her hands like she’s waiting cuffs. “Go ahead. But if you arrest me, you won’t have a way to blow up that Syrian power plant you all are planning without leaving someone behind to make sure it does.”

That stops all of them and they stare at her, Price especially when he walks over. “You’re the woman Soap mentioned.” They all ignore how Ghost absolutely glowers at Soap who has now found the ceiling much more interesting. “How much do you know?”

“About the power plant or the mission?”

“All of it.”

She taps a pointer to her chin. “Well, that’s no fun to tell and not get rewarded. I’m not a good girl unless I get a reward, Captain Price,” she purrs and gazes at him. “In return for this information, I’m going to give you my file and you will strongly consider my…introduction, into the 141.”

“No, absolutely not,” Ghost gripes. “I am not working with you.”

“Oh, don’t hurt my feelings, Simon. We both know you and I work so well.”

“You are a killer.”

“I’m a murderer of very bad people, the same as you. So, I’d be careful waving that hypocrisy stick around—might end up with it too far up your ass.”

Ghost turns to Price. “Her name is Spades, she’s an international assassin responsible for taking out targets with the biggest bounties.”

“So, by technicality, I’m a bounty hunter,” she adds. “He’s right though, I do take out quite a few bounties. But believe it or not, the most scandalous thing about me is that I am a morally good assassin. I don’t kill good people. Only very, very, very bad people. Like the Guestroom Butcher.” She ignores the shocked stares. “God, I had to spend months in London before I got that guy. I hate London.”

“You—you killed the Guestroom Butcher?” the fourth man asks, and she peers at him.

“You must be Gaz. And yes, I did. His name was Albert Franklin. A physics teacher at a local secondary school who was a janitor part time. Spent years traveling to different guestrooms all over London to murder tourists. Such an odd man. He talked a lot before I killed him. Kept muttering something about his late wife being killed by tourists decades prior. Sad, but understandable as to why he targeted tourists.”

“And how do we know you killed him?” Gaz inquires.

“Well, my name isn’t Spades for a reason, dear,” she explains and looks at Simon. “Have my card still?” He wordlessly pulls it out and hands it to Gaz, who looks over it. “That’s my calling card. I leave it on bodies so that police know I was there. Look up the case on the internet. There’s a photo of my card.”

“How do you know someone didn’t forge this?”

“All my cards are made by hand, with gold inlay. Signed too. No one can forge my card. And no one in the business is foolish enough to get on my radar for pretending to be me. I’m one of the best there is for a reason.”

Price looks at her. “How do you know about the mission?”

“Simon forgets that he shouldn’t carry around information on a phone.”

“It was locked,” is all he replies when Price glares at him.

“Oh, it was, I unlocked it with a hacker’s bypass.” She clears her throat. “As for the mission…I know the logistics of what you’re planning. I know someone is going to have to stay behind to make sure the pressure in the facility gets high enough that it blows. I also have a bypass for that in which we don’t have to hold a funeral for someone here.”

They stare at her, watching, waiting.

She lifts a small plug, no bigger than a thumb. “This, is a kill-switch made by one of the scientists who helped build the power plant. When the Syrian government found out he was gay, they had him executed. Before that, he made this as insurance and sold it to the black market the United States frequents. I paid quite a pretty penny for it.”

“What’s it do?” Soap asks.

“This little plug will directly overload the system in fifteen minutes. There is no way to stop the overload once it’s been activated by this. That’s why it’s the kill-switch.” She rolls it in her fingers. “You insert this into the mainframe and in exactly fifteen minutes, you blow everything in a ten mile radius to kingdom come.” She smiles. “Only takes five to get out of the facility and to the rescue chopper. Ten minutes to get outside the blast radius.”

They’re silent and she knows she’s found her entrance point as she rises from the couch; their eyes follow her.

“I’ll be in my quarters. Simon, I chose the room between you and Gaz since it was vacant. Oh, and Captain Price, there’s going to be quite a few boxes being delivered to the base in the next two hours. If you would, have someone bring them to my room so I can set them up.” she gathers her things. “Also, if one of you, I’m hoping it’ll be Soap, can help me move out all that ugly military furniture from my quarters, I would appreciate it.”

She walks past them without a care in the world.

“Can’t believe you plebians live like this. What ever happened to having good furniture and a supported spinal column when you sleep?”

The door closes behind her and Simon’s the first to break the silence. “You’re just going to let her stay?”

Price glares at him. “The fuck am I supposed to do? She looks more prepared for our mission than we are right now.”

Ghost growls, legitimately growls, and says, “I cannot believe I have to fucking work with her.”

This, doesn’t stop Soap from raising his hand and asking, “Wait, so fraternization only works on folks in the military right?”

“SOAP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 5 - This Was Never The Way I Planned

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Modern AU

Summary: A double date with an unexpected outcome...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: discussions of sex, swearing, public sexual acts.

Word Count: 3.0k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, Benedict and reader attempt to set each other up, but it does not go at all to plan. This chapter is dedicated to @musicismyoxygen84 and published today to commemorate the birthday of Mr Thompson, the man who plays this titan of a fictional character. Enjoy <3

18 months ago (3 months later)

“Your face is naked!!”

“Not quite the greeting I was expecting,” he laughs and leans in to give you a quick hug.

It’s New Year's Eve, and Benedict has shaved his beard off since you saw him a few days before Christmas. He looks younger and older at once, somehow, without it. Very handsome, though. His strong jawline is even more apparent now. Bastard.

You’re at some fancy rooftop party somewhere on Shoreditch High St., agreeing to be each other's plus ones, both of you not wanting to stay home and get maudlin about how your lives have changed since the last New Year celebrated with other halves.

“I like it,” you offer, “I can see more of your face.”

“This is indeed my face,” he laughs. “I figure new year, new me,” he shrugs, and you completely understand his reasoning. You briefly considered dying your hair for a similar reset.

A few hours later, you’re both quite a few drinks in, sitting at the bar. Most people, by this point, are dancing. The music has a hypnotic, heavy bass that makes you sway subconsciously on your bar stool.

“Come on, let’s dance then,” it’s almost a defeated sigh as he hauls you to your feet, two large hands landing on your hips as he walks you forward from behind. The touch surprises you, but it’s most definitely not unwelcome.

“You don’t dance,” you laugh over your shoulder as he propels you towards the dancefloor. Then gasp as he grabs your hand and expertly spins you away and back, your body curled into his—a warm solid mass.

“Don’t I?” It’s silky, murmured into your hair, and your mouth drops open in surprise. 

“Benedict Bridgerton!” You admonish as he starts to lead you expertly in a salsa-type dance. “How dare you keep this from me!”

He spins you away again with a devilish grin, then back into his arms, your bodies swaying together. Something in your tummy flutters as he leads you in a dance, his hold always respectful but the moves undeniably sensual. You can feel the latent power in his body as it flexes around you. It makes your thoughts scatter in directions they shouldn’t—like when you got a preview of his sexual prowess, although for comic effect, in the restaurant weeks ago. The way he growled ‘look at me’ has occasionally popped into your head at the most inopportune moments since, making you squeak self-consciously. Last week, you dropped the gravy at Christmas dinner when it happened.

“TEN SECONDS TO NEW YEARS!!” the DJ yells, cutting into your abstraction and turning down the music.

There is an awkward moment where you stop dancing but stay holding each other as if you are, as everyone around you starts counting down. Your gaze falls from his eyes to his lips unconsciously.

“Do you want to get some air?” he blurts out, and you nod, grateful. It suddenly feels too hot on the dancefloor.

He releases his tight hold and slots your hand into his, leading the way, weaving through the crowd until you are out on the terrace. It’s so cold and crisp that few other people brave it. You stand awkwardly, half facing each other as party poppers go off inside, people yelling, and couples kissing. 

His eyes cut to yours as you share a slightly awkward smile, uncertain, even tipsy, about what you should do.

“Happy New Year,” Benedict says softly.

“Happy New Year,” you reply, a flutter in your gut as he moves in for a hug and a friendly kiss.

It’s just a peck on the lips, but your stomach leaps regardless. His lips are warm and soft in the cold night air. You long to linger, grab his clothing and draw him in for more, bow your body into him, and let him plunder from you. The want for much more is electric. However, it’s over in a second, and when you pull apart, something in his expression looks thoughtful, almost puzzled. 

Just as you go to say something to cut the tension of the moment, someone very drunk stumbles out of the party and projectile vomits right next to you both, narrowly avoiding your shoes.

“Seems an apt metaphor for the year we’ve just had,” Benedict comments drolly. And just like that, the odd spell between you is broken as you share a laugh and quickly move away.

——

“I’m not sure about this,” Kate wavers as you drag her down the pavement with your arm looped in hers on a cold Thursday evening the following March.

“Ben is a great guy; I really think you’d like him. It’s just dinner; where’s the harm?” you cajole.

This is a plan you and Benedict had hatched over dinner last week. He softly admitted he thought he might be finally ready to start dating again and did you know of anyone single. Your first thought was, of course, Kate, wanting her to find a good man to pull her out of the toxic thing she has with that married man. The idea of your two closest friends potentially finding happiness together gives you such a warm glow. You suggested a double date, a safe way for you to introduce each other to people you know. That’s when he lit up and said he was confident you’d like his older brother Anthony.

So now you are marching towards the restaurant to meet Benedict and his brother. 

“I still don’t understand why you are trying to set me up with this guy if you have deemed him not good enough to date yourself,” she grouses.

“Kate, that's not it at all. He’s a fantastic guy. Definitely good enough to date. We are just friends, that’s all,” you insist.

She shoots you a side-eye.

“Listen, I’ll admit, this is going to be his first date since his marriage breakup,” you hold up a silencing hand when you see her go to protest, “but that’s a good thing. He has taken the time to heal and is finally ready to date again. He is a nice guy and available, unlike someone you know,” you conclude pointedly.

She sighs.

“He’s never going to leave his wife, Kate,” you add, knowing where her thoughts have run.

She slumps her shoulders. “You’re right; I know you’re right. Okay…” she concedes.

--

“Explain to me why you’re trying to set me up with the woman you are in love with,” Anthony drawls as their Uber crawls through Soho traffic.

Benedict splutters. “I’m not in love with her!”

“You talk about her ALL the time,” Anthony says pointedly, looking at him sceptically.

“She’s my best friend; of course I do,” Benedict frowns. “And you just said you wanted to meet someone who isn’t - I quote - so dumb you want to smack yourself. She’s smart, and I think you’d get on really well.”

“Fine,” Anthony capitulates, “but you’re paying for dinner, and if it goes tits up, remember, this was all your idea.”

“Guilty as charged,” Benedict concedes, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

--

Twenty minutes later, you are sat around a circular table, close to Anthony, opposite Benedict, who sits close to Kate. You wouldn’t deny that Anthony is a handsome man, and you can see the family resemblance, even though his eyes are brown to Benedict’s blue. He’s different in personality, though, no-nonsense, forthright and every inch the CEO he is. Very different to Benedict’s more laid-back temperament that you are so used to. It’s obvious Anthony runs on a schedule, whereas Benedict lives in the moment. 

How different they are preoccupies your mind, to the point it overshadows your listening to him as he speaks. Too caught up in your own analysis. The conversation is one-sided as he waxes lyrical about the things he loves - apparently mostly sailing and investments so far -  topics you struggle to contribute to.

“Kate,” you pipe up when there is an awkward lull after you have all placed your orders. “Benedict used to live in France, just like you,” you offer as a conversation starter for them.

“Oh, where did you live?” she asks him.

“Paris. You?”

“Grenoble.”

And they sort of both look at you askance, wondering what else you can do to assist. It’s obvious there is not much chemistry there, and they are struggling even to make small talk.

“Anthony,” Benedict leaps in, seeing it is quiet on your side too, “y/n here’s parents used to live in Twickenham, right by your beloved Harlequins,” hoping that will help you.

“Urghhh, Harlequins. Really?” Kate cuts in, unable to school her disgust. You forgot about her somewhat incongruous love for rugby—what started as something about wanting to see thick thighs morphing into a whole pastime for her.

Instantly you see Anthony bristle. “What's wrong with the Harlequins?”

“Umm, I think you mean, what’s right with them, don’t you?” Kate shoots back over the table, tapping a painted nail on the surface. “Your team has been shit this year,” she opines, forthright, tossing her hair.

“What do you know about rugby?” Anthony leans in, his whole demeanour changing, suddenly looking very engaged for the first time this evening.

“More than you ever will, probably,” Kate raises a challenging eyebrow and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

Before you know it, they have launched into a heated, complex debate about the sport, gesturing wildly and arguing back and forth. You’ve never seen Kate so animated. And while you don’t know Anthony, anyone could read from his body language how invested he is.

Your eyes drift across the table to Benedict and his to you. Realising what is happening, feeling guilty, the person you have brought for each other is not a good match for either of you. A little shocked at how instant Kate and Anthony’s connection, albeit antagonistic, is. 

As the meal is served and the wine bottle content diminishes, conversation flows easier between the four of you than your pairs. But it seems like, at every opportunity, Kate and Anthony find a reason to challenge each other on everything from what should be included in a full English breakfast to the state of politics. As your dinner plates are taken away, they are fighting about Netflix.

“You are saying people should be able to share accounts, ad infinitum? Do you have any idea how much that is abused?” Anthony decries, very much in businessman mode.

“Oh yeah, poor little rich boy Netflix. They are so impoverished they were only able to spend, what, $20 million per episode on the last series of Stranger Things? Positively bankrupt. Pass me a tiny violin,” Kate sneers rolling her eyes.

Benedict's gaze cuts to yours, concerned, but you just shrug. It seems like they are getting pleasure from riling each other up; you see how Kate’s eyes flash, and it's not in annoyance. She is stimulated by it, sparring with a handsome man who can actually keep up with her for once. It’s more than a rare thing; it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it.

So when Anthony’s phone rings and he insists he needs to take it, Kate uses the break in their bickering to head to the loos.

“Bloody hell,” Benedict blows out his cheeks as you are left alone together at the table.

“They either hate or adore each other, I think maybe both,” you opine, taking a gulp of wine.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” he confesses, shaking his head disbelieving.

“It's a long time since I've seen Kate be quite this animated, I’ll admit,” you shrug.

As dessert arrives in their continued absence, you and Benedict chat amiably, shifting your seats closer to sit next to each other. In fact, it's only as you put down the spoons after sharing a creme brûlée that you notice Kate and Anthony have been gone for quite a while now—fifteen minutes or more.

“Where are they?” you frown.

“Ant headed that way when he took his call,” Benedict states, nodding towards a corridor.

“I think that's where the loos are,” you hum, thoughtful.

You exchange looks.

“Do you think they bumped into each other and continued arguing outside? I think there’s an outdoor space back there,” his tone intrigued.

You shrug. “Maybe?”

“I need the gents anyway. Let me go check,” he smiles.

“Okay,” you nod, reaching for your phone to text Kate.

Y/N: Where are you?

You've barely scrolled through a few Insta posts when Benedict is back with what you can only describe as a haunted look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” your question is a reflex to his expression.

“Yeah, uh, they’re not fighting,” he stutters.

“What happened then?”

“Uhhh, they are umm…” you've never seen him look so awkward and embarrassed. 

Then the penny drops.

“Fucking hell!” 

“Yeah…” his eyebrows shoot up.

“I have to see!” you stand up.

He reaches out and grabs your elbow. “No… you really don't.”

“Are they actually fucking?” your ask is a whisper.

“Pretty much,” he exhales, “I walked away when I saw… movement.” 

“Wow,” you utter, then after a few minutes of silence. “Still sort of want to see,” you murmur, and Benedict looks at you with intrigue. “What?” you add, defensive.

“Never took you for a voyeur…” he comments, an element of gravelliness there.

“Oh, come on, our best friends are fucking on some outdoor dining tables. We should at least check they are okay,” you answer in a playful tone; you cant help.

“That's my brother,” he reminds deadpan.

“OK, fine, you stay here,” you stick your tongue out fractionally, feeling his incredulous gaze as you stalk down the corridor, shooting him a wink over your shoulder as you go.

At the far end of the hallway is a glass door, and as you pull up, you survey the outside space; over to the left, there is an outdoor deck filled with outdoor dining tables. The light is low, but there indeed is Kate, perched on a table edge, her shapely, beautiful legs wrapped around Anthony, her skirt pushed up around her hips as they kiss hard. If they aren't doing it, they are doing an excellent impression of it, him rocking against her slowly, everything concealed by the expensive dark wool coat he wears. 

Somehow you linger, almost hypnotised by how good they look together. Part of you is so very pleased for your friend, completely unsurprised she would just go for it like this; when she wants something, she grabs it with gusto. Apparently, that includes one Anthony Bridgerton. If you are being honest with yourself, an even more significant part of you is jealous. It’s been a while since you shared a passionate moment like that.

Taking a deep breath, realising there could well be CCTV of you peering at them, you turn around to return to your seat. At the other end of the corridor is Benedict, watching you. He looks mildly troubled, to the point you feel self-conscious as you walk towards him.

“You watched them for a while,” he comments with a slightly uneven tone, a little vein in his neck pulsing.

“They look good together, not going to lie,” you offer with a neural shrug as you pull up next to him, and something makes you look up into his eyes. His pupils are slightly dilated. It's a very beguiling look on him. You don’t seem able to look away.

“Do you often watch other people have sex?” It’s an odd cadence like he’s attempting nonchalance and failing.

“I don’t make a habit of it,” you respond truthfully, keeping your voice low, not only not to be overheard but also to ensure he has to stay close to hear it, enjoying the proximity when he seems so flustered. “I was trying to figure out if they were actually doing it or just something else.”

“Something else?”

“Maybe just hand stuff?” you suggest.

“Yeah…I shouldn’t have asked,” he admits, pulling a face. “I don’t want to think about my brother doing.. that. Or anything really.”

“Let’s get out of here then?” you offer, moving towards the table and picking up your coat from the chair back.

He glances back towards the glass door and then nods. “I already paid. We could,” he comments. “Do you think they’d be okay with it?”

“I doubt they even remember we were here tonight,” you comment dryly.

--

You and Benedict retire to a pub a few doors down, grabbing a drink and sitting in a quiet corner. Just as you go to take a sip, your phone pings.

Kate: Where did you go?

“Looks like they emerged,” you inform him as your fingers fly over the screen, composing a reply just as his phone pings too.

Y/N: We left. We saw you guys…

Kate: Oh… you dirty little pervs 😉

Y/N: Says the woman fucking on a public dining terrace

Kate: We weren’t fucking!! I gave him a handjob, and he fingered me at the same time.

Kate: I did it to shut him up, tbh. It worked. 😌

Kate: Such an arrogant twat.

Kate: Fuck, he has a nice cock, though.

Kate: Oh God… I really like him. 🫣

You chuckle as you watch your friend unravel in real-time. You glance up and see Benedict is head down in his phone, too, probably texting with Ant.

Kate: Fuck it. I’m going home with him. He just asked.

Kate: I can’t say no to a cock (all senses of the word) like that.

Kate: Ciao Bella xx

Kate: if you don’t hear from me in 3 days, send an SOS. I don’t want a pussy prolapse…

Y/N: Wow, the ✨romance✨

Kate: No joke, I think imma marry this one.

Y/N: 🤣🤣🤣

Kate: Bitch I’m serious. You’ll see…

“They are going home together,” you mutter to Benedict as he puts his phone down.

“So I hear,” he raises his eyebrows with a twisted lip.

“What does it say about us that we thought they would be a good match for you and me? When it seems they were a much better match for each other?” You ponder aloud, almost vulnerable in tone.

“Shut up and drink your wine,” he grumbles.

That is an entirely fair suggestion.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[pastafossa]

“And The Holly Cookies Too” (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)

Right I had to go out to shovel the furnace pipes again so while I’m waiting to warm up and go back to bed, I figured I’d finish editing and drop this little bit of TRT Christmas fluff, too, as a bonus! Summary: Matt is determined to support you in your experimental Christmas cookie bake-a-thon, even if it kills him. Warnings: none really, just Matt and his senses and cookies and humor. Wordcount: 1,481 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader. This is technically TRT’s reader again, but TRT is not required reading. 

“Right.” You put your hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes at the messy sea of ingredients on the counter and the containers stacked high on the kitchen table. “So we’ve done… cranberry shortbread—”

“Mhm,” Matt said behind you, his voice muffled.

“Gingerbread. Italian rainbow cookies. Ciro’s Christmas pizzelles. Your dad’s seven-layer cookies.”

“Mhm.”

“Christmas fudge. Snowball cookies.” You glanced back, then did a double take. “Matt.”

“Mmm?” he said, dusting his fingers off on his shirt.

 “Stop eating the snowballs.”

 “I wasn’t,” he said around a mouthful of snowball, blinking innocently at you.

“Then why is there powdered sugar on your face?”

“I can’t see them,” he said mournfully, abruptly shifting his argument. He tipped his head, licking the powdered sugar off his lips, and only Matt Murdock could manage a look so tragic after he’d just been caught red-handed… or sugar-handed, rather, with the evidence literally written across his face. “How was I supposed to know these were the snowballs?”

You snatched another snowball out of his hand, and he pulled a sad face until you leaned in and smacked a kiss against his lips. “Don’t eat them until after I pick the ones that we can give away. I want to make sure we have enough.”

 At that, he chuckled, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours. “Sweetheart, we’ve been baking all day. We’ve got hundreds of cookies.”

 “Some might be bad. I want to make sure I have good ones to give away,” you fretted, turning back around to stare at your latest project: a tray of sticky, marshmallow-y holly cookies. It had amazed you how much food coloring you’d needed to dump in to achieve the bright-green color, but damned if it hadn’t worked. Each little clump of cornflakes, held together by a sticky green mass of melted marshmallow, looked just like a holly leaf, complete with bright red cinnamon candies set in like berries. Or… or did they look like holly leaves? Were they too crooked? “Everyone else has gotten way more practice than me. I’m behind. I don’t want to be…”

“Be what?” He set his head over your shoulder as you morosely nudged at one of the holly cookies.

“Bad at Christmas,” you admitted.

“You can’t be bad at Christmas,” he told you gently. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart.”

“But what if I am!?” you howled, throwing your sticky hands up in the air. “Jesus—”

“Close,” Matt said with a straight face. “He’s on Christmas eve.”

“You know what I mean!” You turned, pulling away to pace wildly in the kitchen, baring your teeth at the holly cookies as if they were an enemy that needed defeating. “They look crooked.”

Matt closed his mouth, turning his head with a furrowed brow to consider the cookies.

“What are you doing?” you asked him curiously.

“They don’t…” He narrowed his eyes in focus. “They don’t… sound crooked? And even if they were, isn’t nature crooked? I’m sure they’re fine.”

You let out a huff, abruptly circling around, soothed a little by the sheer determination Matt had aimed towards your holly cookies. You let out a sigh as you stepped back up beside him, staring down at the cookies silently.

Maybe… maybe they didn’t look… all that bad.

“You think they’re ok?” you asked him nervously.

“I think they sound and feel amazing.” He leaned over to kiss your temple, and—you had a feeling—left some powdered sugar in your hair from the snowballs he’d been stealing. “For obvious reasons, I’m a poor judge of looks, and there’s a lot of sugar and cinnamon in the air from the last batch so I can’t quite separate the taste, but I’m sure they’re perfect.”

“I guess they look alright,” you mumbled, reaching forward to nudge one with another sigh. “Besides, it’s half taste anyway.”

“Let me try one, then.”

You threw him a baffled look. “What, these?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate green.”

He made a noise of protest. “I don’t hate green.”

“The last time you had something with green food coloring, you pulled a level ten stinky cat face. These have way more green food coloring than that.”

“It’s different when it’s a cookie,” he said stubbornly.

“Are you lying?”

“No,” he lied, licking his lips just once.

You narrowed your eyes. “You are lying! Matt—”

But it was too late. Before you could blink he’d snatched up one of the holly cookies and darted out of the kitchen. “They’re fine,” he told you, backing away. “I can smell the green. There’s not too much.”

You quickly came around the corner, pointing a finger as Matt boldly lifted the cookie. “Matt, don’t you dare.”

He got that look in his eye—the one that spelled trouble, the one that ended in gunshot wounds and legal cases best avoided, the one that meant he was about to do something absolutely ridiculous.

He took a confident, massive bite.

And froze.

Silence.

His lips and nose twitched, and you swore you could see the momentary flash of regret sweep through his eyes.

“You’re trying not to make the face, aren’t you?” You stepped in closer, mildly amused now. “The stinky cat face.”

“No,” he said, very, very carefully, his voice hoarse behind a mouthful of green food coloring and processed marshmallow. His nose and mouth wrinkled briefly before he forced it down, struggling with himself as he tried to chew. You swore his eye twitched. “These are… delicious.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said fondly, your lips curling up into a grin at just how determined he was to carry on the lie for your sake. “Please stop suffering for me.”

“I’m just… enjoying it,” he said roughly, and oh, this time his eyes did twitch as he swallowed with great reluctance. It looked like it went down like acid, his body shivering as if to punish him for what he’d just knowingly ingested. Even so, he twisted his face into an approximation of contentment. “That… was one of the best cookies you’ve ever made. I didn’t… taste the green at all. People will love it.”

You held out a hand for the rest of the cookie. “I appreciate your attempts to lie to me about my terrible holly cookies, but—”

He shot you a look, something like absolute fire in his dark eyes.

Shit.

You shouldn’t have said that.

“Matt, give me the cookie,” you said quickly. He tipped his head and took one slow step back.

“Matt—”

“...No,” he said hotly, clenching his jaw. “I want to eat it. It’s mine.”

You darted after him, and he took off, vaulting over the couch with one hand, your holly cookie in his other. You, unfortunately, had to go around and by the time you circled the couch, he’d already hit the first landing on the stairs, and goddamit, normally you loved his level of athleticism, but not when you were trying to take something back from him like he was a dog who’d run off with the remote.

 “Matt!” you shouted from the bottom of the stairs as he spun, now on the second level. “Don’t fucking eat that, I appreciate it, but you don’t—”

Which was when Matt—somehow managing the appearance of direct, aggressive eye contact—promptly shoved the entire goddamn cookie into his mouth.

“Are you serious?” you barked. “Matt—”

Matt stubbornly closed his mouth and chewed, once.

Then abruptly spun around, his back to you.

There was a choked noise, and you snorted as you came up the stairs. “Matt, spit it out.”

Another, more stubborn choked noise, and this time he shuddered. You were pretty sure he was just trying to get it down as fast as possible at this point, and you didn’t blame him.

“You goddamn masochist,” you said affectionately as you reached him, rubbing your hand softly down his shuddering back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I love you,” he said hoarsely, fervent determination lying beneath, and you managed to spin him just in time to watch him work his throat, forcing down the rest of the holly cookie. He groaned as he did, though he tried to make it sound more like a moan of delight. “It… was amazing, sweetheart.”

And now that you got a better look at him, you slapped a hand over your mouth, holding back your laughter. “Oh God, Matt.”

His lips and tongue were now a bright, vibrant shade of emerald green.

Something he seemed to notice the second you did.

He lurched, his mouth falling open, his hand rising for just a moment as if in instinct to scratch at his tongue. He made a strange, ragged noise, then, one somehow full of both regret and apology.

You caught his chin, leaning in to kiss his cheek in sympathy. “I love you. Thank you for trying. It was a wonderful Christmas gift.”

“I’m sorry,” he grit out, groaning and leaning in to bury his face against your neck, his words garbled as if he hated the taste of his own tongue. “I-I tried. God, I hate green.”

“I know you did.” You kissed his hair beneath the glow of the Christmas tree, and somehow the Christmas lights were even less green than his mouth. And, well, even if your cookies didn’t ever turn out perfect, you’d still come out ahead as long as you had Matt here to try them with you. The reminder made you... a lot less nervous about the whole thing, even if you were hoping to prevent something like this from happening again. “No more holly cookies for either of us.”

“No more holly cookies.”

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 35/?

Prev | Next

When Jason was young, there had been no Christmas tree or decorations. They had been too poor for that. As Willis used to say, would you rather be warm or have useless shit lying around? Funnily enough, he always had money for booze.

 His mom, Catherine, used to take him to midnight mass every Christmas Eve. He used to love to go, not because he believed in God, but because he could spend time with his mom in a warm building. Even though his mother had sounded off-key while she sang Christmas carols, Jason thought she had sounded like an angel. The church would always be decorated for Christmas, and, at least for a little while, he could pretend he was like every other family, spending a Merry Christmas.

Christmas days didn’t have gifts, but his mom would give him gingerbread cookies while Willis slept off his hangover.

Then Willis had been arrested, money had become tighter, and his beautiful mother had fallen hard for drugs. The last few Christmases with Catherine Todd had not been spent in a church but in a rundown apartment while Jason cared for her.

Bruce was ethnically Jewish but not a practicing one. He didn’t observe the Sabbath, go to a synagogue, or celebrate any Jewish holidays. The only thing he did was light up his mother’s menorah every year.

He also ate Chinese food on Christmas day while waiting for Alfred’s dinner.

Jason’s first Christmas with Bruce had been full of decorations, with a massive tree with mountains of presents stuffed beneath it. Jason had had fun decorating with Alfred. Even Bruce had helped. Dick hadn’t shown up to celebrate Christmas with them. That year, Jason had fallen in love with Christmas. Not because of the presents, but because he had spent it with people he loved and who loved him back.

The following year, it had been spent in front of Titans Tower. He had wanted to bring Dick back home as a present for Bruce. It hadn’t panned out. The last Christmas in Wayne Manor had been celebrated with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred. There had been tension between Bruce and Dick, but they had put their differences aside.

The following year, Jason had gotten himself blown up. He didn’t know if he had been alive for that Christmas or not.

After that, he was in Nanda Parbat or out learning how to kill. Then came his explosive return to Gotham.

The whole point was that Jason hadn’t thought about Christmas in years. It was just another day alone.

This year, it was different. He had Danny, his son. He had a younger sister and two nieces. An older brother and an older sister. He had been tentatively excited. Then Jazz had sat him down and told him how much Danny hated Christmas. There was a lot of trauma around the holiday because the Fenton parents used to fight over the existence of Santa Claus, of all things.  

So before decorating, he had asked his son if he wanted to do Christmas or not. His little boy had hummed and asked if there would be any fighting.

The question had broken Jason’s heart.

“No, chum, no fighting allowed.”

“Good, cuz ghosts have the annual truce during Christmas time.”

(Jason filed that tidbit of information for later and had asked Ghost Writer about it.)

“Okay, if there’s no fighting or turkeys coming to life to kill me, then yeah, why not?”

Jason had blinked at the turkey bit. The fuck?

So, for the first time in a long time, Jason celebrated Christmas again.

They hadn’t gone all out. Jason had bought a small tinsel tree and put some wrapped gifts under it. There wouldn’t be a big dinner (Alfred cooked a huge dinner for the family) or Christmas carols. The only decoration they put up was a wreath at the door.

They never once mentioned Santa Claus.

Neither Roy, Lian, nor Raven came over. They had other traditions and people to hang out with. Jason had understood. In a way, it had been a good thing. He didn’t want to overwhelm Danny.

On Christmas morning, the little family opened the presents in pajamas and then spent the day watching Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate. Instead of cooking, Jason ordered carry-out.

That night, while he tucked Danny into bed, Danny thanked him.

“For what, chum?”

“For giving me the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Jason kissed his little boy’s forehead and went to bed. It hadn’t been extravagant, but it had been a good Christmas.

Merry Christmas

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[fionajames]

Christmas with the Clones; Headcanons.

Hey guys! This is basically some headcanons about Christmas for the Clones in my fix-it au on and about Nay Mets!

Enjoy, and send some requests please!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!

Rex

He is obsessed with the lights. And the pretty decorations. Everything pretty about christmas basically.

Rex is obsessed with the pretty-ness of the snow. But only to look at! No touch. 

Gets everyone really nice gifts and makes pudding.

Obsessed with older Christmas films like Holiday Inn and stuff.

Idk why.

On Christmas Day he’s up at his normal time and makes a coffee and drinks it before doing anything.

Fives

An actual fucking child.

Bro’s fav part is the gifts, and we all know it.

He loves kind of comedy-Christmas films.

I think first Christmas was when he gave everyone their hoodies but from then on, he gets like food or sweets for everyone.

He’s the first up on Christmas.

Boi falls down the stairs trying to race down, but he does wait for the others to arrive before unwraps his gifts. Impatiently. He waits impatiently.

Gives out free hot chocolate for the day.

Echo

Although he doesn’t really like to admit it, he likes the subtly romantic-Christmas films.

He buys everyone books and writes a message on the front page for them.

He loves the peaceful and beautiful side of Christmas. He 100% goes to the Church and listens to the carols even though he’s so not religious. 

Gave cards to like, basically everyone. Like, those cheap ones you buy at the fuckin post office but then he writes like a beautiful paragraph for every person.

Jesse

Child number 2.

He likes all Christmas films, but particularly the cheesy and comedic ones.

Gives everyone small but well-chosen and meaningful things. 

Holds a snowball-fight that ended up including like 90% of the town.

Cried hearing carols the first time, and refuses to go back to church. 

Gave Tundra a Santa hat.

Kix

Kix still worked on Christmas Eve, but not on the day.

He gave all the kids at the hospitals gifts, and all the adults chocolate.

Work up super late on Christmas Day because he got home so late.

Sent Padme a gift.

He gave everyone sweet home-made things no one knows when he made.

Travelled around town with Fives to give everyone hot chocolate.

Cody

Similar to Kix, he gave all the kids at the daycare chocolates.

He got everyone accurate gifts. One of the few normal gift-givers.

Organised a huge dinner for all the close clones plus Jedi and what not.

Got his own Santa hat but in the 212th’s colour and wore it everywhere. 

Just loves Christmas films. Like, particularly the ones with meaning.

Wolffe

Bro reminds me of a wet, angry cat.

Real-fucking-Scrooge/Grinch.

Secretly he actually likes Christmas, but he’ll never admit it.

Got everyone something small, probs stationary.

Bought the fucking cheap post office cards too but just wrote ‘Merry Christmas’ in them.

Threw part of the turkey at Fives when he wouldn’t stop singing.

Hates Christmas films.

Got Plo a hoodie saying ‘Best Dad’. Only rea gift he got, basically.

Fox

Bro was chugging coffee the night before because he’d been putting off wrapping the presents.

He went to Midnight Mass though, even though he’s not religious, he thought it was interesting. 

He basically got everyone a mug. 

A special mug.

He doesn’t really mind Christmas films but isn’t the biggest fan.