#otherwise he's going to be mad when i get bored at family christmas and start ranting about karl marx and animal farm

[eve-will-perceive]

when i'm joking around with my dad about something to do with the government and he starts blaming it on socialism and i can't tell if he's joking anymore

[bearboiferer69]

Fishing fanatic

My father is a fishing fanatic. Half of the flat is littered with fucking fishing rods, it's horrible. Roughly once a month someone steps in a hook lying on the ground and have to go to the hospital cuz they're barbed at the end. In my 22 years of life I had this procedure done 10 times. A week ago I went to get some random checkup done and when the receptionist saw me she immediately told me to take my shoe off cuz she tought that it's the hook again.

The second half of the flat is fucking packed with Polish Fisherman, World of the Fisherman, Super Carp etc (polish fishing newspapers). Every week my father drives to every kiosk in the town to get every single weekly fishing paper. I was foolish enough to teach him how to use the internet cuz I tought that we would save some money on these papers, but now not only he buys them, he sits on old fishing forums and spins shitstorms with other fishermen over the best bait etc. He can scream into the monitor or throw the fucking keyboard out the window. One time he made me mad so I made an account on that forum and I started trolling him writing in his threads some random bullshit like "Carps eat shit". Mom wasn't cooking hunter's stew fast enough for him to calm down. Oh, and on that forum he has the CATFISH rank, for making 10k fucking posts.

When it's warm he fucks off to fish every weekend. For 5 years, every fucking sunday, I eat fish for dinner and my father yaps about how beneficial eating these watery fucks is. When I got into college my father kept saying that it's because of these fucking fish, cuz they have phosphorus in them and my brain works better.

Every week he and his friend Mirek wake up the whole family at 4 AM cuz they make a ruckus packing fishing rods, making sandwiches etc.

While eating he always talks about motherfucking fish and everytime the topic eventually comes to the Polish Fishing Association, dad keeps getting more and more mad and gets unreasonably angry "hurr durr they don't put enough fish they only steal hurr durr", he gets all mad with all of this and gets up from the table cursing, and goes to read the Big Encyclopedia of River Fish to calm himself down.

This year on Christmas he bought himself a pontoon. Of course he couldn't last until the 24th so he unpacked it yesterday and inflated it in the living room. He dressed up in that whole fishing outfit and sat in it the whole day, in the middle of the flat. He ate dinner (carp) in it too.

If they let me near every fish in Poland at the length of an arm I would fucking kill them all.

Some time ago, in primary or middle school, on my birthday, my father, as a present, took me fishing. Great fucking gift.

We went somewhere way off, far away from the city, we get closer do the lake and my dads eyes are already glistening and he licks his lips in excitement. He unpacked all the gear and we sit at the water and look at the bobbers. After five minutes I got bored so I turned on my discman and my dad fucking bashed me on the head with a fishing rod, because "the fish can hear the music from my headphones and are scared". When I wanted to scratch my ass he started screaming in whispers for me to stop moving cuz the fish can see me move from the water and are running away. I had to sit in complete silence and no movement for 6 fucking hours and look at the water like in some fucking Guantanamo. My birthday's in November so on top of all of that it was cold like a motherfucker. At some point dad got up, walked a couple meters into the forest and farted. He explained to me that you need to fart in the forest cuz otherwise the fish can hear and smell.

I mentioned that my dad has his friend, Mirek, whom he goes fishing with. Some time ago his fishing buddy was Zbyszek. A man the shape of a ball with a mustache, wearing a BOMBER vest 365 days of the year. They were like brothers, him and dad, he would come with his wife Betty to us on Christmas etc. One time on my dad's birthday Zbyszek came over to hehe "drink". They got piss drunk and, of course, talked about fishing all the time. I was sitting in my room. At some point they started fucking screaming over which is better, catfish or pike.

-DON'T FUCKING PISS ME OFF ZBYCHU, HAVE YOU SEEN THE TEETH OF A PIKE?! CHOMP, ARM GONE!

-FUCK OFF TED, CATFISH IN POLAND WEIGHT 80 KILO, YOUR PIKE CAN SUCK THEIR DICK.

-WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, TALKING ABOUT CATFISH, WHEN YOU CAN BARELY PULL A BLEAK OUT OF THE WATER. THE PIKE IS THE KING OF THE WATER, LIKE THE LION IS KING OF THE JUNGLE!

And it ended with them wrestling on the living room carpet and me and mom had to separate them. From that point onward they lost contact. Last year Betty called to let us know he passed away and that she's inviting us to the funeral. Mom picked up, said her condolences, put the phone down and tells about it to dad, and he replies:

-That's fucking fantastic

That's how much he hated him over that catfish.

I also mentioned my father's archnemesis, that being the Polish Fishing Association. It became his utter obsession and when, for example, they talk about some earthquake on tv, he always says how they should say something about those motherfuckers from the PFA. He stopped reading non-fishing newspapers too because he got mad that they're not writing about polish fishing or any PFA affairs.

The head of the local PFA branch is mr. Adam. For my dad, he's the epitome of evil done to all polish bodies of water by the Association and father had a war with him for several years. One time he went on some fishermen meeting where mr. Adam was and father came back home with a ripped shirt cuz they had to remove him with force, that's how much of a problem he was causing.

After loosing in hand-to-hand combat with the private militia of the PFA dad started a partisan movement online by insulting the PFA and Adam on the forums of local newspapers. He was spewing some bullshit like how Adam was a secret UB agent (communist group, kinda like the FBI), or how he saw him scratching someone's car with a nail on the street etc. I didn't teach my father how to use TOR so cops were called and father had to pay Adam 2000PLN.

When he was paying that he was unbearable for a week, father kept insulting the corrupted courts, the PFA, Adam and the whole world in general. I could deduce from his ramblings that the PFA are some kind of fucking masonry that rules the whole country, pulls the strings and has their people everywhere. He counted that 2000 in fishing rods, hooks or boats and got an absolute headache over , for example, how much vanilla bait he count buy for those 2k (a couple hundred kilo).

Last year father said that we absolutely need to have a fishing boat because apparently renting is too expensive and everyone wants to scam him.

"sonny, on the water is where the real ones fish! That's where the element's at! (it makes no sense in original text either)"

But he couldn't afford it nor did he have a place to store it and he wasn't some hehe loser, so he wasn't gonna pay someone for keeping it, and so he met some local fishermen, they bought a boat together, it's gonna stay at some dude's place, because he has a house and not a flat like us, on the driveway on this guy's trailer and they were to share the boat or fish together.

At first this cooperation went well but one weekend father got sick and couldn't go with them and had a temper tantrum over this. To top it all off, his friends called him to say that fish are catching like crazy so my dad was just lying there, crimson red from anger on the couch and kept panting like an animal. The worst part was that he had no one to blame, like he usually does. Finally he came to the conclusion that it's unfair that they're fishing without him because they bough the boat together and saturday evening, when these dudes came back from their trip, he suddenly left the home.

He comes back an hour later and tells me to help him with something in front of the block. I go outside and I see our car with the trailer and boat. I asked him where did he get it from and he replied that he fucking stole it from that dude's house because they scammed him and told me to grab the boat and bring it into the flat. My explanations that it's gonna take all the space in the living room were fruitless. Luckily the boat couldn't even fit through the door to the staircase so dad decided to just leave it in front of the house.

Using some chains that he found on the boat and my bike lock he chained it to a lamp post and satisfied with his work he wants to go back to the flat when suddenly 2 cars roll up, with co-owners of the boat inside, because they put 2 and 2 together and realized where their property might've gone. An unreal fight started, co-owners are screaming why did he steal the boat and to give it back, father's screaming that they scammed him and he payed 500 PLN and didn't even swim this weekend. I tried to calm them down so that dad wouldn't get beat up because it was really close.

After several minutes the situation was as follows:

-My father lying on the ground, clutching the trailer and screaming that he won't give it back

-Co-owners screaming that he has to give it back

-One co-owner has a broken nose because he tried to pull father away from the boat by the leg, and he got kicked with the other

-Two officers are pulling father by the legs and saying that he's going to the station cuz he beat someone

-Neighbors are watching from every single window around

-My mom is crying and begging father to leave the boat and the policemen not to arrest him

-Me sadfrog.psd

Finally cops ripped dad away from the boat. I gave the co-owners the bike lock code and they took the boat, throwing 500PLN at dad and saying that he no longer has any right to the boat and it's better for him not to meet them on any fishing trip. Mom managed to convince the cops not to arrest dad. The dude with the broken nose said that he's not wasting his fucking time walking to police stations and that he doesn't care, he just doesn't want to see father ever again.

Dad to this day is spinning shitstorms on fishing forums because they made a thread there where they warned everyone about making any deals with my father. I was following that thread and watched as my father ineptly made troll accounts.

Steven54

Posts made: 1

This thread was made by morons! I know user anons_dad for a long time and he's a great dude and an incredible fisherman! They want to slander him because they're jealous of his catches!

Later he would use these troll accounts to stalk his old boat buddies. When one of them made a thread he would fucking burst in on that account and say that he catches shit fish and everyone can see that he can't fish.

From the same accounts he would post replies to his own posts

"well catch! I see you're an experienced hunter!"

and then he would get all happy and force me and mom watch how they cherish his presence on these forums.

[siriuslydimwitted]

If you love me, let me go

a/n: it’s for @mrzweasley’s writing challenge and i’m so sorry because i got a huge writer’s block

warnings: sexual tension, kissing, injury

word count: 1.2k

summary: draco decided to let you go from an arranged marriage

draco malfoy x pureblood!slytherin!reader

~~~~~

No one wants to marry a Malfoy- at least none of your family does, right? but your financial problems are telling otherwise. When you were a kid, your family and the Malfoys had a deal to restore your family’s fortune. If you and Draco come of age, you’re going to marry each other

That ‘age’ is certainly near from now that you both are by now fifteen, You have to put a smile on your face every time you’re having dinner with them even if your blood is boiling. You couldn’t imagine marrying a pureblood supremacist like him and you don’t want them to hold the future of your soon-to-be family

“why can’t you just accept that I’m going to be your husband,” Draco said, his cold ring is sending shivers through your spine while he grips tightly on your waist and his other hand is rested on your cheeks. You’re standing in a dim-lit deserted corridor with him

“never,” you spat angrily, containing your serious face so he can’t hear the loud thumping of your heart. He scoffed cockily as he tightens his hold

“We all know you can’t escape,” he muttered eagerly as he slowly leans his face towards yours, his hot breath is fanning your lips. You pushed him aggressively, he lost his tight grip on you and started to chuckle

“in your dreams, Malfoy,” your voice echoed, you ran away from him leaving him empty. He’s not going to lie, he kinda likes the way you’re playing hard to get but his feeling are only growing deep inside and he couldn’t accept that his presence is always making you mad

Christmas is one of the holidays you hate, not because it’s boring or unhappy but because of the fact that it’s either you’re going to spend it at Malfoy Manor or Draco’s going to spend it at your house

“Are you two doing well with each other?” here you are again, in the Malfoy Manor and all you can hear is the clanking of fork and knife when no one is speaking

“yes father,” Draco said maniacally as he roughly holds your free hand and shove them on the table “and she wanted a beach wedding,” how did he know that you like a beach wedding? You’re not telling that to anyone

You widened your eyes in shock as you shifted your gaze from your food to him

“Please can you just let me go?” you plead with him, you’re standing beside your bed while he’s looking at you standing leaning his back on the door frame. He just laughs a bit

“and why would I?” he asked furrowing his eyebrows

“I don’t love you!” you spat hardly making him jolt a bit but didn’t show it. Although he’s hurt, he tried to act threatening and dominate you. He walked forward to your bedside and hold your arms a bit rough

“oh yeah?” he spoke, his hot breath hitch whiffing over your ears “I know you do,” his lips started to travel from your ear to your bare neck, his other hand is holding the small of your back and the other is still holding your arm

His deep mysterious thick voice spoke again “and you will do. Forever” you let out a small whimper and instantly regret it because he heard it, he smirked. You’ll be lying if you said that you’re not enjoying every second of it

“let me go!” you whisper playing hard to get, but his lips landed on your unclothed neck and suck it harshly to make sure he would leave a mark. Tears flooded from your eyes, not from dread but from pleasure

You used that tears to beseech him “please stop it, Draco” his gaze soften and started to loosen his grip from you

“I’m sorry I-” he stated as if the demon inside him got out “if you wanted to cancel the wedding I will tell mum,” he said softly, so different from the blond Malfoy boy a minute ago

“thank you,” you don’t know if you’re thankful that he’s not going to be your husband or you regret it a bit because you have to admit it, you already developed some affection for the boy and you just don’t want it to be huge

After Christmas, your father disappointedly said that his partnership with Malfoys was cut off and the marriage is canceled. Now you’re starting to regret it, your father’s face caused you to pity him because his business is everything for him. Lucius is too cold-hearted to let Narcissa meet your mother even for one dinner together

Going back to Hogwarts was too hard for you, Draco is ignoring you every time you tried to talk to him

You never imagined that you’re going to be jealous every time Draco talks to other girls, but what’s your authority to get jealous when you’re not his fiancé anymore? Is it wrong for you to envy your own friend, Daphne every time he’s with him?

“You’re going to watch Quidditch?” Daphne asked happily after bidding goodbye to Draco and the rest of the Quidditch team

“why would I? I have no one to support anyway,” you said bluntly rolling your eyes at her

“yes you have,” she said, smile not leaving her lips as she holds your left hand and starts walking outside the pitch. Your face frowned in confusion “Draco,”

“for Salazar’s sake Daphne, how many times do I have to tell you that our marriage is canceled?” you said rapidly defending yourself guiltily

“oh yeah? That’s why you’re glaring at us when we were talking?” Daphne teased, still holding your hand and sitting on the chosen bench

“I’m not!” before Daphne could answer you, Lee Jordan spoke loudly from the commentator’s box indicating that the game is already starting

You saw the Slytherin and Ravenclaw team flew above the field, your eyes are constantly landing on a certain blond Slytherin boy who seems to gander around the pitch to find the tiny golden round object

“110-170 Slytherin on the lead,” Lee Jordan announced after saying jokes after joke which pisses Professor McGonagall off

All you can hear is the voice of all the students cheering for their house “Malfoy caught the snitch,” said Lee Jordan but before your eyes land on the boy, you heard some students’ gasp. You saw Draco was falling from above the pitch

He landed with a loud thud, you can’t think straight, and started running down from your sit

“what the hell, Malfoy” tears spilling from your eyes whilst hugging the boy “you could’ve killed yourself,” you continued, his eyes slowly dripping close but he still manages to laugh

They brought him to the Hospital Wing and all day you stayed beside him “what are you doing here?” he asked softly

“waiting for you to wake up, and tell you something,” you replied irritably but with a hint of a smile

“tell me that you love me?” he teasingly said

“I do, but I’m here to tell you that don’t ever put yourself in danger again,”

“you really love me?” he asked ignoring the last paragraph you said instead he focused on the words ‘I do���

“I said what I said and I’m not going to repeat it,” instead of replying, he grabs your hand and pulls you closer to him, and smashed his lips to yours. The pleasure, the love, and the butterflies you’re eager to feel is already happening but this time, no arrangements and pretending, your lips danced together as if you’re in a cloud 9, he pulled away and rested his head to yours began smiling

“I love you too, dumbass”

[yandere-mha]

yandere dabi with an s/o who likes to be touched (i loved the last one so much, i just want more please) p.s. you’re an amazing writer. literally my favorite mha blog.

So I’m gonna do a combination of these two for your Christmas gifts! You guys won second place in the vote so congrats and merry Christmas!! Thank you so much for your kind words!

TW: ABUSE, BLOOD MENTION, BODY HORROR, NON-CON MENTION, R*PE MENTION, MENTAL ILLNESS, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Dabi never touched you anymore. When he’d first taken you away from the comfort of your family, he always seemed to invade every crevice on your being with a wicked and toothy grin plastered on across his scarred lips as his face fell apart at the seams, wiping his blood on you like finger paint. You screamed, cried, and begged him to stop, causing him to shriek as loud as his lungs would allow, so close to your face that you thought he may bite you.

“You scared? You fucking scared of me? Good! Tell me how horrible I am and cry harder!”

But now... he never smiled. Whenever he was in the same room as you, he’d stare at you with a tired, withdrawn expression yet he never said a word. He just sat there and looked at you as if he were waiting for something to happen. This put you on edge and made you feel very isolated. At the beginning, you would have given anything just to make him stop but now you wished he would just touch you again to give you some kind of human interaction other than a never ending staring contest. You hadn’t had a conversation with another soul in ages and you missed your friends. You wondered what must have changed to make him be so cold to you so abruptly. Was it something you did? Was he mad at you? Did he get bored with you?

Unexpected hurt bubbled up in your chest as you considered the latter explanation and your loneliness began to constrict around your throat. You turned a shy, panicked face towards the direction where Dabi was leaning his body against the counter, scoping you out from across the room with his arms folded over his chest. When your eyes met each other, he squinted his. You wondered if he was suspicious of you or if he was trying to focus in on you. Either way, the tension that always seemed to fill the room was unbearable. You decided to be courageous and break that tension “Uh..”

He quirked an eyebrow in interest and waited for you to continue. 

“Um... Can I hug you?” You inquired, your voice trembling as you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

You could sense him immediately start to scrutinize each and every one of your words as his otherwise static expression became more tense and his eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. He stayed motionless for a few seconds before his wide eyes narrowed and a frown pulled at his staples around his mouth. His voice croaked from lack of use “...You gone nuts or something?” His tone was harsh and it stung.

“No...” you almost whimpered. You cringed at your own tone that almost sounded akin to a whining child.

Dabi scoffed as he looked away from you for the first time in weeks, pointing his icy glare to the floor. He looked almost... bashful? How odd. 

The tension in the room resurfaced as neither of you moved but it was a different kind of tension from before: A kind of feeling you never thought you’d ever feel in emanating from him. You thought he hated you. 

Your face flushed from fear and your legs felt weak as you slowly picked yourself up from your seat and crossed the room to where Dabi was resting his hips against the kitchen countertop. His head snapped up in panic the second he saw you shifted your body. He looked like an angry and frightened animal. You wondered if this was a good idea as you planted yourself next to him to prop yourself against the bar.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just miss you.” 

His saucer-shaped eyes twitched at this as he furrowed his brows “Don’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it, y/n.” His jaw clenched in fury and he seemed to bare his teeth at you. Every instinct told you to drop the subject but you couldn’t hold yourself back as tears escaped your eyeline.

Your words seemed to pour from your mouth before you could stop them. “I do mean it. I’m so lonely and I love you but you won’t even talk to me anymore and I don’t even know why you hate me. I don’t know what I did wrong!” you blubbered like a child. How pitiful.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat and it looked as if he couldn’t breathe until he started to hyperventilate. You’d never seen him panic like this before.

“Don’t say that!” he shrieked. “I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I lo-”

He ceased breathing all together when your arms wrapped tightly around his chest. He stayed frozen in place as you gently pressed your lips to his face. 

Dabi clutched to the back of your shirt so tightly you feared it would tear as he gradually let his knees buckle to the ground to settle in a sitting position, making you stumble and landing directly in his lap.

For hours, the two of you held each other on the tiled floor with you in his lap, paying special attention to each and every inch of his beautiful discolored skin. He couldn’t let go of you as he gipped your body close to him and burrowed his face into your hair, breathing your scent in.

[suchalonelysunflower]

Merry Crisis (a.i)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin (ft.5SOS) X Fem!reader (Dad!Ash)

Summary: Shopping is always stressful, but when you have a baby on the way... it can become a chaos, especially when you have 3 crazy best friends with you.

Warnings: Language. Fluff and some crackhead moments. Reader uses she/her pronouns. Mentions of Birth. Some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word count: 4.5 k

Author’s note: Hello! This is my first Holiday fic with 5SOS and it’s Ashton’s turn to shine (even tho each boy gets their moment) This was so fun to write, I did it on my sociology class (so maybe it’s not that perfect) and I love it very much and I hope you do too! Reblogs, feedback and comments are always welcome and encouraged! Support your writers! ❤️ Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋❤️

My materialist // wanna be on my tag list?

Twas the evening before Christmas, the streets were filled with Christmas lights and the chill air of Los Angeles made everything cozier as families gathered around the fireplace and enjoyed the most peaceful of times…

This statement does not apply to our favorite band, tho.

Our four Australians were not enjoying a cup of hot cocoa with their families as they were supposed to, oh no. They were doing the most dreadful thing a person could think of doing the night before dear Santa came to visit: They were Christmas shopping.

In their defense - or at least Calum’s, Michael’s and Luke’s defense, this was all Ashton’s fault for he was the one that dragged them to the crowded mall in the middle of one of the busiest days of the year. And, in Ashton’s defense, it was not his fault that the store had called him in the middle of a recording session to tell him that they finally had the only thing he wanted for Christmas: A music box.

He just had to get it before everyone else.

“Why did we come all over here for a little music box?” Asked Michael as they stood at the end of the line for the register. How could they only have one register open? It’s Christmas for fucks sake! but then again, it’s Christmas for fucks sake, so they know that people should be with their families instead of working a poorly paid job.

“It was the last one!” Ashton claimed, admiring the little circular box in his hand “It’s a limited edition and I just had to get it for Y/N and for the baby”

His eyes lit up when your name escaped his lips. Not even a year ago did he officially make you his wife, but now you were carrying his child! People might think it was rushed, but for Ashton it was the complete opposite. He had his life made when he met you, knowing that he will marry you as soon as he could… he had to wait a few more years to do that, but he was extremely happy, more so now that your little family was expanding. He loved you and your child with all his heart, and the boys all knew that so they can't even be mad about it, even if he kidnapped them to the mall with the promise of some cinnabuns later.

“She had one of these when she was little” Ashton continued as he admired the little hand painted details of the box “It always played a little lullaby to help her sleep. But it broke a few years ago and she always complained about not having one like this for her kids one day… But now she will!” The black haired man smiled.

“Shit, that’s actually pretty sweet” Michael commented “Okay, you’re forgiven”

“I don’t know if I want to hug you for being the perfect husband, or to kick you in the balls for being the perfect husband and making the rest of us feel bad” Luke chuckled.

The four boys laughed at the comment and started talking about their plans for the Holidays as they waited for the line to move. The problem was, it has been fifteen minutes and the line has only moved once.

“How long is this line anyway?” Calum said, peeking over the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he noticed at least thirty more people waiting in front of them “Shit, this is going to take a while. That man has at least twenty plushies and eleven race cars”

“I don’t know how people could leave this kind of stuff for the last minute” Ashton huffed, earning a death glare from each of his friends “This one is different, tho! It was the last one!”

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for that!” Someone said behind Luke, making him jump at the sudden surprise.

“What the-” Luke said, placing a hand over his heart.

It was a short man in a trench coat who pointed to the music box in Ashton’s hand.

Ashton furrowed his eyebrows and said to the man “Uh, not a chance mate”

“Two hundred?”

“Nope”

“Five hundred?” The man would just not cave and Ashton was getting fed up with it, luckily Calum noticed and hurried to say something before his friend started a scene.

“Hey, mr. Devito wannabe. He said no, so just go bother someone else. Okay?”

The man scoffed and turned his face to the side, stating that he was offended. The four Australians rolled their eyes and turned their backs to him once again.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the line barely moved. The guys were not talking anymore, running out of things to say past the twenty minute mark. Each of them were bored out of their minds, well all but Ashton at least, he was still gleaming with pride as he looked at the music box and created scenarios in his head and thought about the joy that would be mirrored in your eyes once you open it tomorrow morning.

After a few more minutes of silence, Luke was the first one to break it “I think I’m just gonna get a coffee and wait in the car. These boots are killing me today” He looked at Ashton as if to ask permission, but the dark haired man just shrugged and nodded, asking him to buy one for him as well and to leave it in the car.

Michael then added “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go and check the electronics this store has. I think I saw a new camera that would be perfect for my streams”

And that only left Calum and Ashton waiting in line. But about five seconds later, Calum opened his mouth.

“Yes, you can go explore, too” Ashton said with a sigh before Calum even got a chance to ask.

“Cool” The curly man said, patting Ashton on the back before muttering a ‘I’ll be right back’ Leaving him alone with the music box.

Ashton didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of enjoyed this time alone. It gave him plenty of opportunities to imagine a new future for the both of you next to your little baby boy or girl. He catched a glimpse of families walking around the mall, buying gifts or eating a snack as they smiled at each other. He couldn’t wait for that to be his new normal.

He remembered the time when you told him you were pregnant. You gifted him a special baby bodysuit that said “My daddy is the best drummer in the world and there is nothing you can do about it” next to your positive pregnancy test. Ashton always wanted to start a family, especially if it was with you, but he never expected it to be so soon. Yet, once he held the test in his trembling hands, he knew that this was the best thing it could’ve happened to him. He remembers how tearful he got the second his brain processes the information, quickly running up to you and pressing an earth shattering kiss to your lips, promising you and your baby that he would be the best father in the world.

And, as he held the little object in his hand, he already thought he was doing a pretty good job. He smiled to himself and thought about calling you. Not only did he want to hear your voice at this moment, but also because he wanted to check up on you. You were having tea with your best friend at the moment, but the pregnancy hormones were hitting pretty hard lately and he wanted to make sure you were doing alright.

But as soon as he got his phone out of his pocket, your name started glowing on the screen.

“Baby! I was just about to call you” Ashton said with a smile, loving this little coincidence.

“Ashton, is coming!” You said in an alarming tone. Ashton, however, did not understand what you meant.

“Yeah? I’m coming home soon, why are-?”

“No!” You cut him off “The baby, Ash! The baby is coming!”

Ashton laughed “Ha, ha very funny Y/N. But the baby isn’t due until three weeks from now”

“ASHTON FLETCHER IRWIN” You yelled through the phone, making Ashton pull away from the phone for a second “MY WATER BROKE AND THE BABY IS COMING NOW. SO GET YOUR ASS TO THE HOSPITAL BEFORE I-” A sharp pain ran through you as you were experiencing the contractions. Ashton could hear your distant groan and immediately went pale.

The baby was coming and he wasn’t ready.

“Ash, hello?” Your friend’s calm voice came from the other end “I’m gonna take Y/N to the hospital right now. I need you to meet us there, okay?”

“Fuck, okay. I’m on my way” He rushed to say before he ended the call.

“Hey, dude. What’s going-?” Michael said as he approached the black haired man who looked like he might throw up.

“The baby’s coming!” He said, trying to concentrate on his breathing before he hyperventilates.

“What?!”

“Hey, Mike, is everything-?” Calum came next, worried about his friends’ weird behavior.

“THE BABY IS COMING”

Michael.

The guitarist started wandering the electronics and new technologies hall. He was secretly glad he got away from waiting in line for what it looked like another hour, but at the same time he was glad he decided to accompany Ashton in his little quest.

The moment he knew you were pregnant he set himself to be the best uncle that little kid will have. He already knew that you and Ashton were going to be great parents, with the way in which you love each other it was hard to think otherwise. Michael was always up for anything you guys wanted to do for each other, from secret dates or help you sneak out after a concert, or even to plan gifts! He always took pride to know that he was part of your epic love story, even if it was with just a little favor.

Michael stepped into the videogame aisle like he usually does, but this time he went directly to the kid’s section, knowing that eventually your baby will want to play videogames with uncle Mikey and he will have to be ready with the most family friendly games he could find.

He started grabbing a few of them and reading the little summaries they had on the back, eventually deciding that he did not understand anything about children’s games and that he might have to ask around in order to find the best ones.

He went back to the electronics aisle and something caught his attention.

“Is that a real megaphone?” He asked one of the workers there “I haven’t seen one since 2014” He said, remembering the last time the boys ever let him play with one of those in the Good Girls video.

“Yeah! It’s the new model” Said the teenage boy that was in charge of that seccion that day “Wanna try it out?”

“Before that, can I go and show it to my mates? I won’t be gone for long, they are just down the checkout line”

“Sure!” The young man smiled and gave him the megaphone.

Michael had a big smile on his face as he started walking towards Ashton to show him what he found. But his smile dropped the minute he saw Ashton’s face grew a thousand times paler.

He carefully walked up to him and asked “Hey, dude. What 's going-?”

“The baby’s coming!” Ashton said, trying to catch his breath.

“What?!”

Calum.

He hated the mall. He really did. There were always too many people, too much noise and the prices were always exaggerated. But he knew that he was here today for a good cause. Calum was not going to let his best mate down.

Ever since you came into Ashton’s life - and the boys’ life for that matter - he could tell that you were special. Not only because of the way Ashton talked about you all the damn time, but because of your energy, your passion, your kindness and obviously your undenying love for the drummer.

Calum was always the protective friend, always keeping his guard up for any new companion they boys might have. But with you it was different. The first time you two met was the day you instantly became best friends. He knew he could trust you to keep Ashton’s heart safe, and he knew that if Ashton ever broke your heart that he was going to have to kick his ass for being that stupid. Luckily, he wasn’t.

He was the first person (after Ashton, of course) to know about your pregnancy. He swore to himself that he would not let anything happen to his future godson/goddaughter. That baby was going to be the perfect mixture of his best friends, there was nothing in the world that could stop him from loving them just as much as he loves all of you. He even got them toys so they could play with Duke when they’re older! Needless to say that he was very, very excited.

As he wandered through the halls of the store he noticed a commotion next to the toys section.

A line of kids accompanied by their parents awaited in front of a huge chair decorated with fake snow and candy canes. Santa Claus was going to be there.

“Oh my god” A female voice said behind him “You are Calum Hood!”

Calum turned around and was faced with a young girl dressed as an elf looking at him like he hung the moon or something.

“That I am” He said with a smile “Hello, nice to meet you!”

“M-my name’s Lizza” The girl blushed “I’m a huge fan! Is it okay if- I mean, could I get a picture? Please?”

Calum smiled “Sure!”

Lizza squealed “Omg, okay. But, can we do it over there? The kids aren’t supposed to see me yet” She said, pointing to a corner with a curtain and some costumes, presumably Santa’s and his elves'.

Calum nodded and followed the girl, catching a glimpse of the Santa Claus outfit “Do you think I can wear that for the picture?” He asked. Honestly, he just wanted to know how it would feel like to dress up as Santa, knowing he would one day have to do it for your child.

“Of course!” The girl said, taking her phone from her purse and giving it to another elf so he could take the picture.

Once the picture was done, he started to strip off the big red coat, the white beard and the hat when suddenly he had an idea “Is it okay if I borrow this for a while? Maybe five minutes? I wanna prank some friends that are at the check out”

“Uhh”

“I’ll give it back, I promise,” He said with a smile.

Lizza sighed “Sure! We have another one for emergencies”

“Cool, thanks Lizza”

Calum walked away with the fake beard, the warm coat and the hat, feeling cheeky as he approached the line.

“What?!” He heard Michael yell. And although Michael always yells, this one seemed important as his voice sounded concerned.

“Hey, Mike, is everything-?” Calum said, approaching his friends with a very confused face. But before he could even finish the question, Ashton looked at him with fear in his eyes.

“THE BABY IS COMING”

Ashton.

This was not good. Not good at all. His wife is at the hospital about to give birth and he is still in the line of the fucking mall.

“Oh shit!” Calum said, looking frantically over the line that was still too long “OH SHIT”

“Okay calm dow- Is that a Santa costume?” Michael asked.

“Calm down?!” Calum said, panicking “My best friend is having a baby and you tell me to CALM DOWN?!”

“I’m having a baby…” Ashton said in a whisper, not really paying attention to what was going on around him “I’m having a baby”

“Not you!” Said Calum “Well... also you but I meant Y/N! She’s the one pushing it mate” But Ashton did not listen.

His whole world paused in that moment. Too many thoughts were running through his head as he tried to formulate a plan, any plan that would get him the quickest to you.

He thought he was doing a good job, he thought that he was going to be the best dad ever and now he was going to miss the birth of his first child because the line wasn’t fucking moving.

“Ash?” Michael called, but he wasn’t listening.

How could he screw this up so early in the game? Your baby wasn’t even born yet but he swore he could already feel their disappointment.

“Ash..”

And you! How could you ever forgive him?! You will surely file for divorce once the baby is born.

“Ashton!”

“What?!” He yelled, looking at Michael who was shaking him by the shoulders.

“Fucking breathe man! You almost turn purple there”

Michael started breathing at an even pace, motioning Ashton to breathe with him and so he did “It’s going to be okay, don’t worry about it”

“How can you say that?!” Ashton almost cried “I’m not even a dad yet and I’m already screwing up! Who doesn’t show up to the birth of his child?”

Michael rolled his eyes, knowing his friend was just talking out of fear than out of reason, and shook him by the shoulders again “Listen to me, you are already a great dad! You were a dad even before Y/N got pregnant and you are not going to miss the birth of my nephew or niece. I won’t allow it. But first I need you to calm the fuck down!”

Ashton looked at Michael and swallowed the lump in his throat “What if I’m not ready? What if we’re not ready?”

Michael chuckled “You asked me the same question when you were about to walk down the aisle a year ago. You were ready even before you knew you were and this is not different”

But before Ashton could say something, Calum walked up to them again.

“There are fourteen people ahead of us” Said Calum, who had just run up to the start of the line “If we asked them to move, we might get there in time”

“Or maybe you could leave the music box to me…” The man with the weird vibe intervened.

“Fuck off DeVito!” The three Australians yelled.

Suddenly, a lightbulb got turned on on Michael’s head “I got an idea!”

A panicked Calum dressed as Santa and a very panicked Ashton watched as Michael ran out of the store for a second, only to come back pushing a Target cart “Get in!” He said jumping in the cart and motioning to Ashton to follow him.

Ashton jumped inside without asking any questions, not even when Calum started pushing the car or when Michael turned on his… was that a megaphone?!

“Attention ladies and gentlemen” Michael said through the megaphone, making every single person turn their heads towards them, as if two large Australians standing inside of a shopping cart being pushed by a very tattooed Santa Claus wasn’t stiking enough “We have a man that’s going to become a father at any moment now while his wife is in the hospital! Please let us through!”

Ashton does not know if it was the weird scene they caused, his desperate face or Christmas magic that made everyone on the line take a step back as Calum pushed them through the checkout.

Once they got there, the cashier took his money, too shocked to say anything else as Ashton yelled “Keep the change!” As they rushed through the doors and towards the parking lot with Calum pushing the cart at a great speed with all of his energy as all the other customers looked at them and wondered what the hell was going on.

“Mommy?” A confused random kid asked “Why was Santa pushing those men on the cart?”

Luke.

His favorite Christmas playlist was playing in the car. He loved the holidays, but he hated Christmas shopping with his life. So he was very thankful that Ashton could understand this and let him wait in the car.

As he hummed through the song “His Favorite Christmas Story” he thought about the gift he got to your little unborn baby. As soon as he found out you were pregnant, he knew he had to spoil that kid rotten. Well, not that he knew he had to, but he wanted to. You and Ashton were the best people he has ever met, and he knew your little baby was not going to be different, so what’s wrong with giving that child the world they deserve?

A few months ago he talked to a friend of his that made customized presents made of crochet, so he asked if they could make a baby mobile to put over the crib. He also made sure to ask that the animals that were to adorn the mobile were your’s and Ashton’s favorites, and also throwing a little kangaroo in honor of their father’s homeland and a little penguin in honor of their future favorite uncle.

He smiled to himself as he thought he couldn’t wait to meet the little pal and how he couldn’t wait to start a family of his own. But his daydreaming got cut short when he heard a commotion coming from the mall’s doors.

Sirens were ringing and a lot of people stood and watched at whatever was causing the disturbance. He even had to take a double look because he thought he just saw Calum dressed as Santa Claus pushing a shopping cart with Ashton and Michael inside, the latter speaking with a megaphone in his hand. And indeed that is what he saw.

“LUKE START THE CAR” Michael yelled from his megaphone. And Luke, being the smart man that he is, did not ask questions as he did just that.

Soon enough, Calum Santa Claus was jumping inside of the car, followed by Michael and Ashton, who just sat in the front seat.

“What is-?” Luke tried to ask, but his three friends were quicker as they all said at the same time:

“The baby is coming!” “We needed to get the music box” “The line was too fucking long”

“Hurry up, dude!” Calum said, giving Luke a pat on his shoulder as he stared at them, very confused.

“Why didn’t you just leave the music box with one of them?” He said, motioning to his friends in the back “I could’ve come back for them after I dropped you off…”

The three Australians all looked at eachother like they were the most stupid people on the planet. Until Micahel turned on the megaphone again and said with a defeated voice: “Just drive”

The ride to the hospital was silent as Luke drove through the streets of LA at full speed. Michael even turned on the siren of the megaphone to make way across the traffic jam. How the hell they didn’t end up in jail? A Christmas miracle if you ask me.

Once they got there, Ashton was the first one to jump off the car, followed by his best friends as they ran through the hospital’s floors.

“Irwin!” He said, once they got to the maternity wing “Y/N Irwin! My Wife-”

Luke followed, almost knocking down Ashton as his boots slipped on the floor “His wife!” He said, almost out of breath.

“His baby!” Calum added, almost falling to the floor as he tripped over his foot.

And last but not least came a small “Help?” From Michael who was completely out of breath as he sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room.

The nurse, apparently not taken aback at the sudden outburst of three grown man and a Santa Claus in her waiting room, just smiled at Ashton and said: “Over here, Mr. Irwin. You are just in time, she just started dilating…”

But Ashton didn’t hear much as he walked behind her, anxious to see you and see your baby. Breathing heavily as he tried to calm his nerves before he got to your room. He gave one last look to his friends and smiled at them.

“You can do it man!” Michael said, giving him the thumbs up.

“You go Poppa!” Luke cheered.

“We will be here!” Calum said, feeling tears of pride gather up in his eyes as he watched Ashton turn into another hallway, ready to become the dad he always knew he could be.

“Did you actually steal a Santa costume?” Michael said as the other two sat down next to him.

“And you stole a cart and a megaphone so shut up”

A new family.

You watched with tired eyes as your husband held your baby girl in his arms.

“She is so tiny…” He said with fresh happy tears falling rolling down his cheeks. Ashton started crying as soon as he saw her little face and heard his heart shattering cry.

You almost thought that he wasn’t going to make it in time, afraid that you were going to have to get through the birth of your child all alone. But he came through the doors just in time and he did not let go of your hand for a second, even when you knew you were crushing it as you pushed.

“I love you so much” He said, just as he’s been saying for the past hours since he got here “I love you so much and I love her so much I- Thank you”

“Why are you thanking me, love?”

“For giving me the best gift of all” Ashton said as he laid next to you with your daughter curled up on his chest “You gave me the family I always dreamed of. I could never thank you enough for it”

He slowly lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours, showing you all the love that he could in only one simple kiss.

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t help on making this, you know?” You teased, making him chuckle “I should be thanking you, Ash.You and her are the best thing that has ever happened to me, I love you”

“I love you” He said, capturing your lips in another kiss as you let the music box play in the background, filling the room with the notes of your favorite lullaby.

“Should I let the boys in?” He asked as he passed your daughter back to you. You just nodded, not wanting to let your friends wait a second longer to meet your baby. “Oh, and just a heads up, Calum is dressed as Santa Claus and we might never be allowed on the mall again”

You laughed “I can’t wait to hear that story”

Ashton smiled as he got out of the room and walked towards where the boys were sitting. Once they saw him walk up to them, they immediately got up, all of them smiling proudly at the new - official, father of the band.

“Boys, come and meet our baby girl: Jane Elizabeth Irwin”

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @talksoprettyjjx @mystic-232

[wondernimbus]

a drop in the ocean — sirius black

pairing: sirius black x female!reader

summary: sirius teaches reader that love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

warnings: cheating, swearing

a/n: this was inspired by the song “a drop in the ocean” by ron pope! this is a little different from what i'm used to since the overall theme is a lot more ??? mature ?? i guess ?? i kind of stepped out of my comfort zone with this but i hope you guys like it :')

It's bizarre how much pain can change you.

You become this entirely different person. You look the same on the surface, but somewhere deep inside you, you're someone else. You're stronger. Everything that has happened to you—all the tears you've shed, the people who have hurt you, the pain you've endured—all of them shapes you into something more. Something better.

And one day, you will wake up, look back at everything that you have endured, and you will smile. And it will feel like the puzzle pieces of the world have fallen back into place again—and maybe it's been that way for a long time. Maybe you've come so far in terms of healing and you're only just now starting to notice.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N] wakes up one summer morning, when the sun is warm and promise of a new day looms above her head. She swings her legs over her bed, pads over to the window in the corner of the room where sunshine filters through, draws the curtains open. Here she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and just—

Remembers.

And this time, it doesn't hurt anymore.

—

Sirius Black was a charmer.

He wasn't just handsome; he was attractive. He knew exactly how to get people to swoon over him without laying it on too thick. He'd send a quick glance over anyone's way—one that made them feel as though they were the only person on earth he could see—and that person would fall.

They'd want him, fooling themselves into the belief that they were different. That they were special in a way that none of Sirius Black's previous flings were.

They'd end up with their hearts broken, of course. Shattered to bits and left at their feet for them to clean up on their own, because Sirius just couldn't bother.

It would happen within a month or two. Some much less.

But [Y/N] lasted the longest.

She was in Ravenclaw, and had caught Sirius's eye in her sixth year. She wishes she could say that she was different—that she hadn't fallen for him the moment he'd gone up to her in the Great Hall and steered her away from her friends, asking for her name—but she wasn't. She'd taken one look at Sirius's eyes, seen what seemed like genuine sincerity in them, and felt her sixteen-year-old heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest against her will.

Sirius Black liked her.

It took a month before he asked her out. Made it, as some would say, "official". A part of [Y/N] knew that it wouldn't last long, but she would enjoy this—enjoy him—while she still had him. She'd never felt this way for anyone before, and despite her brain telling her that Sirius Black was trouble, her heart said otherwise.

A month together turned into two. And three, and then four, five, and suddenly the rest of Hogwarts was wondering when Sirius planned to break things off with her.

[Y/N] wondered it, too. But Sirius still looked at her the same way he had done all those months ago when he'd asked for her name, like she was everything in the world he'd been hoping for—like she was different. Like he actually held real feelings for her and not just the kind you try out one second and then get bored of the next.

She wanted to believe that look in his eyes, but she'd heard the rumors. and on top of that there were her friends' warnings, telling her that Sirius was no good for her and that he would break her heart one way or the other.

One day, while they sat at the balcony of Ravenclaw tower during one of the many times she'd snuck Sirius into the common room, she glanced at him.

They were sitting on the floor facing each other, legs crossed underneath them. Sirius's hands were in her own; her fingers played with the rings decorating his, turning them over and over.

"I like this one," she murmured, her touch lingering on the silver one on his middle finger. It was elegant, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin, simple and with what looked like a crest emblazoned on the middle. She looked up at him and found him looking at her—gaze intense and yet somehow also gentle, like he was memorizing every last detail of her face and committing them to memory. Softly, she asked, "Does it mean anything?"

Sirius made a small sound of confirmation, eyes leaving hers to look down at the ring, watching as her fingers grazed over it. "Yeah," he said quietly, blinking, lashes dusting pale cheeks before he was looking up at her again. It took a while for the rest of his words to get out of his mouth; he looked as though he was in deep thought, watching her with something unreadable dancing just behind his eyes.

And then Sirius was clearing his throat, shifting on where he sat. When he spoke next, his voice was oddly soft. Sincere. (And again [Y/N] found herself wondering: are you pretending?)

Because it was during moments like these that made her think that what Sirius felt for her was real.

"It's from, uh," he cleared his throat again, and [Y/N] didn't fail to notice the sudden rigidness of his shoulders. His gaze was skittering away, looking instead at the scenery below them instead of at her. "It's from James's family. The Potters. I.. ran away from my family, see, about a year ago."

As [Y/N] listened to him speak, watched as his eyes grew hard and he swallowed with difficulty, she realized—this was something important to him. He wouldn't lie about this just to get closer to her; he was laying part of himself bare to her that very few people had ever seen.

"They took me in," Sirius said quietly, still not quite looking at her. "When I had nowhere else to go, they let me stay over at their place. And that same Christmas, they gave me this ring to.. welcome me to their family, I guess." Emotion tugged his lips upwards at the corners. "I'm grateful for them," he told her, nodding a little to himself, and then he was looking up at her, meeting her eyes.

He was relieved to see that there wasn't any sympathy in them. just—and Sirius found it suddenly very hard to breathe—love. Pure, unadulterated love.

"You deserve to be happy," she told him, tone just as soft as the gentle smile on her lips. She pressed her palm into his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his own and squeezing. He squeezed back, still staring at her, and wondered if his lungs had forgotten to stop breathing.

[Y/N] leaned in, lips feather-light in how they ghosted over his cheek, and then she was pulling away, and Sirius's heart was doing something weird inside his chest. "I'm happy you're in a better place now."

Sirius couldn't breathe.

He surged forward, capturing his lips in her own, and at that moment both of them knew this was different; it felt different, more than just a press of the lips, more than just a kiss. Sirius pried her lips apart with his own, taking his sweet, gentle time, and it shot sparks across his body like he'd never felt before. They kissed slow like melted honey, tender and thorough and just a little overwhelming, and Sirius was dizzy with it—he felt like he was drowning.

He was drowning, but he loved every second of it.

—

A few months turned into a year, then two, and before anyone knew it, they were graduating. And still, as they left the gates of Hogwarts to venture out into the world waiting for them, Sirius and [Y/N] were still together. It went against everyone's expectations—and truthfully, [Y/N]'s own—but it made her happy, being with him. and she could only hope that she made him just as happy as he did to her.

They moved into a flat of their own in the outskirts of London. It wasn't anything grand, but it was cozy and clean and it only took a few months for the building to become something of a home to both of them.

[Y/N] loved every moment she spent with Sirius. All their shared smiles, their little, subtle moments of intimacy, the fleeting kisses, waking up in the morning with him by her side—everything.

She loved him so much that it hurt.

Three years into their relationship, as she lay in bed with Sirius, their entire bedroom dark and quiet save for both of their rhythmic breathing, she told him.

"I love you," she whispered into the skin of his shoulder. His arm was draped lazily around her, and she was curled up at his side—and everything about it was painfully familiar. The way his chest rose and fell. The way he stroked at her hair. How he shifted down just the tiniest bit to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

She loved Sirius so much that she didn't even realize—or maybe didn't care—that he never said it back.

—

Maybe it was something that was just ingrained into him. There could have been a million other reasons that all pointed to it not being her fault, but still, for the longest time, she believed that it was.

Sirius was seeing someone else, and he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding it.

One of her friends had told her that they'd seen Sirius in Diagon Alley with another woman at his side. [Y/N] had been angry, but not at Sirius—no, she'd lashed out at her friend, calling her a liar, saying that Sirius would never do something like that.

It's bizarre, the things you do for love. how much you hurt yourself in the process.

Only a week later, she found a letter tucked into the pocket of one of Sirius's coats. It was addressed to a name she did not recognize, and written underneath it were sweet, sweet words that [Y/N] could remember Sirius telling her once or twice before.

you make it hard for me to breathe

everything about you drives me absolutely mad

meet me tomorrow night at the leaky cauldron and

[Y/N] stopped reading. Her hands were shaking too badly; the letter fell from her hands and onto the floor. There was bile rising in the back of her throat.

Her knees went weak underneath her. She leaned on the bed for support—the same bed they'd laid in just this morning, the same bed he'd murmured the very same things written in that blasted letter—

"Oh, God." She let out a ragged, broken sound, hands clutching at her own chest as though it would help ease the pain. She couldn't breathe. "Fuck. Fuck."

[Y/N]  didn't know why, but when Sirius came back home that night, claiming that he'd gone over to James and Lily to say hi, she didn't bring up the letter right away.

"How's Lily?" she asked, not looking up from where she sat on the couch, instead pretending that she was invested in a copy of the Witch Weekly magazine in her hands.

"She's doing fabulous," grinned Sirius, shrugging off his coat as he made his way over to her. "Her belly bump's getting a lot more noticeable. James is seconds away from absolutely losing it. He's always frantic—I swear he thinks the baby's going to pop out out of bloody nowhere."

[Y/N]'s senses weren't working properly. She hummed something inaudible in response. A single, painful thought was wafting around her head—a question that she now knew the answer to perfectly well.

Sirius strode over to her, draping his coat over the arm of the couch before moving around the coffee table to sit next to her. He was smiling. "But how was your day, love?" he said, and then he was leaning over, reaching out with one hand to tilt the side of her head towards him—

You're pretending. Always pretending. As soon as he made contact with her skin, she was flinching away, and Sirius knew that something was wrong.

"Is everything alright, doll?" he asked, brows furrowing into a frown of concern. His hand hovered somewhere next to her face, still, fingertips just barely ghosting her cheek.

Before Sirius knew it, [Y/N] was standing up and flinging the daily prophet onto the coffee table. There was something swimming in her eyes that he couldn't quite pinpoint, but he felt something stirring in his gut—something like realization.

Something like guilt.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "Doll," he said softly, and to him, it sounded like damnation.

And then [Y/N] said something that made his intestines feel like they were twisting into knots—"I know," [Y/N] said, without looking at Sirius. "I know everything."

Sirius blinked.

His grip on her wrist faltered, hand falling into his lap. There was a moment of thick, heavy silence. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by several degrees; Sirius felt cold sweat trickle down the side of temple. The space around him suddenly didn't seem to have enough oxygen.

And yet he let out a choked laugh, if only to quell the storm within his heart. "I don't," he began. His voice was unstable. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She was making her way to the door, but her movements were hesitant, like she didn't quite want to go—or rather, she was unsure where to go. She paused halfway to it, hands curling into fists at her sides.

"Just stop," she said. Resignation etched her voice. She leaned a hand on the wall, back still turned to him as she muttered to herself, sounding as though she'd lived entire countless lifetimes and had had enough, "Stop with the lies, Sirius. I'm done."

Sirius's limbs were getting up of their own accord, approaching her where she stood. But even he knew that he wasn't allowed to have her anymore, not at this moment—not at any moment, not ever—so he halted a few feet away from her, hand reaching out as though he wanted to touch her, gather into his arms and pretend like none of this had ever happened.

That he hadn't done anything wrong. But he did, and now he was paying for it.

When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion and there was undeniable pain in her eyes; “I'm only going to say this once,” she said, the lump in her throat audible. She turned around, meeting his gaze, anyone could tell that she was trying to sound strong—trying to sound like all of this didn't hurt her as much as it really did—but all of her walls were crumbling down on her, and it didn't sound like she'd be able to pick herself back up.

She swallowed with difficulty, blinking rapidly as though to fend off tears. “This is the last time you will ever lie to me again."

She looked up at him. Sirius's breath hitched in his throat. “I’m done,” she spat. “I’m done pretending like I’m okay with all of your crap. I’m fucking done.”

Sirius opened his mouth. There were a hundred explanations resting on the tip of his tongue, but all of them sounded like excuses, and he knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

And Sirius was the last person she wants to see.

He watched, with gut-wrenching guilt swimming in the pit of his stomach, as she wiped aggressively at her tears with the back of her hand and sent him a look of the utmost loathing—but Sirius saw right through it. He saw her pain.

Pain he had caused. Pain he knows he still caused.

“I hope you’re fucking happy,” she choked out, meaning to sound angry, but all Sirius heard was pain.

As she slammed the door shut on her way out, Sirius wondered to himself, as his knees buckled and he leaned on the couch for support, if [Y/N] would ever be the same again.

He'd made a mistake; a terrible one. And there was no going back from it now.

—

She did.

That is—she healed. It took her time, of course. Quite a lot of it.

Years passed by in a hazy blur. There were people who grew close to her, people who promised her the same things that she believed in so long ago. That she would be loved by them unconditionally if she just let her walls down and gave herself a chance to try and trust someone again.

It was difficult. She'd loved Sirius as though he were everything in the world that mattered—she had offered him all of her despite knowing that every moment he spent with her was a lie. every kiss, every promise; lies. All of them.

And yet she'd loved him, and when you love someone, you don't care about anything else but them. You don't listen when all of your friends tell you that he isn't good for you, and you don't care when he climbs out of bed in the morning, not quite meeting your gaze when he tells you he's going to visit a friend.

If you love someone, you don't care about all of that.

Or at least you tell yourself that, until you realize that you do. You do care.

[Y/N] realized it far later.

It was that that gave her the strength to walk away from him, despite her heart telling him that it's okay—why should it matter if he doesn't love you back? As long as you love him, it's okay.

It wasn't.

God, it really, really wasn't.

So [Y/N] lived on, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. And it's funny, how pain changes you. At first you think you're never going to be the same again—that you will be heartbroken forever, wallowing in your own self-pity—but the more time passes, the stronger you get. You don't feel it right away.

But one day, many, many years later, when her heart has healed, and she wakes up and realizes that she is loved by people around her and by herself, the way Sirius Black had never done—she realizes:

She is strong. So much stronger than the person she was before.

For the first time in a very long time, when his name wafts back into her head again, she doesn't feel pain.

Instead, the corners of her lips tug up into a small smile.

Here, in front of the window, with the warm sunlight painted across her face, her lashes flutter open.

I'm done pretending.

And now, there is no more pain in her eyes. 

There hasn't been for a long time now.

general taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt @lumielikesbooks​ @teheharrypotter​

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

Mistletoe and Pining

@hrmdream Ho Ho Ho, it is I your Secret Santa! The Barden elves and I have been hard at work in the workshop to bring you your Christmas gift and we’re very excited for you to read it! Have the best holiday period, and I hope you enjoy your present!

Mistletoe and Pining

Rating: G

Words: 6.6k

Pairings: Bechloe

Summary: When Chloe panics and tells her mother that she's dating Beca so that she doesn't set her up on yet another disastrous Christmas date, both women have to try and navigate the holiday whilst harbouring their own feelings.

Read on AO3!

Chloe paced the floor of the studio apartment, running her hand through her hair, biting her lip. Why had she done this? This was perhaps the single most stupid thing she had ever done. There was no way Beca would agree to this. Oh god. What the hell was she going to do?

“Yo, dude, I got the groceries we needed on the way home!” Beca called as she let herself into the apartment, “Although they were out of that yoghurt you like-” She stopped as she saw the look on Chloe’s face, brow furrowing in concern, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Chloe forced a smile, trying to adopt her normally breezy demeanor as she looked at Beca.

“Nice try Beale.” Beca raised an eyebrow, “How long have we know each other now? I know when there’s something wrong.” Beca went and set the bags of groceries on the table before turning back to Chloe, “C’mon. What is it?”

“I- I told mom we were dating so she wouldn’t invite someone over for Christmas dinner to set me up and now she’s insisting I bring you for Christmas…” Chloe knew there was no point dancing around the issue. Better to rip the band aid off now.

Beca’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered, shaking her head a little as she tried to keep the idea of dating Chloe out of it. Now wasn’t the time for that, “You… told her we were dating?” The brunette asked slowly, an amused smirk on her face.

“It’s not funny!” Chloe exclaimed as she saw the look on her friend’s face, “I panicked okay? She always picks the most boring people to set me up with, and I just didn’t want another Christmas of awkward flirting and trying to let them down easily…”

Beca could see that Chloe was starting to spiral a little, and she reached out and put her hands on her shoulders, “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Of course you’d pretend to be dating me, I’m delightful!” She grinned as Chloe giggled a little, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to come, I know you were gonna go and see your dad, and Atlanta is way warmer than Portland at this time of year.” Chloe smiled reassuringly, “I can make an excuse for you.”

“Are you kidding? A chance to see where Chloe Beale grew up? I’m there!” Beca was still grinning, her mind racing with possibilities, but the one that stuck out most was that this was probably her only chance to date Chloe. Even if it was all pretend.

“Beca, you don’t have to change your Christmas plans just for me.” Chloe shook her head. It’s not that she didn’t want Beca to come for Christmas, it’s just that something felt… wrong about lying that Beca was her girlfriend, especially when she wanted it to be the truth.

“I know. But otherwise it’s dad and the step-monster trying to turn us into some perfect sitcom family, and that feels more painful than this.” Beca let her hands drop from Chloe’s shoulders as she started to unpack the groceries she’d brought home.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asked, heart beating a little faster as she thought about the prospect of having Beca there on Christmas morning.

“Certain.” Beca flashed her a grin, “So when do we leave for Portland?”

“Day after tomorrow.” Chloe smiled. Maybe Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-----

AUBREY: YOU’RE DOING WHAT????

CHLOE: It’s fine Bree, it’ll be fun!

AUBREY: Fun??? Fun??? You’re taking Beca, a woman I once saw eat spaghetti with her hands, to meet your family, who use more knives and forks than even my parents do, and you’re lying to them that the two of you are dating WHILE hiding the fact that you have a raging toner for Beca. You’re right that does sound fun!

CHLOE: It’ll be fine.

AUBREY: Who are you convincing here Chloe, me or you?

AUBREY: Honestly you’d have been better off saying you were dating me, at least I know how to mingle with that crowd!

CHLOE: Oh, so you’d have left your pregnant girlfriend to come spend Christmas pretending to date me?

AUBREY: I typed yes but Stacie smacked my arm…

AUBREY: Just be careful Chloe… I don’t want you getting hurt

CHLOE: I know. It’s gonna be fine, Beca knows it’s not real, it’s just to get my parents off my back

AUBREY: Is it?

CHLOE: Yes.

So now Chloe was lying to her parents and to Aubrey. Brilliant. Chloe set her phone down as she carried on with her packing. Beca was finishing up her shift at the record label, and Amy had already left to spend Christmas with her mom in Australia. She sighed as her phone pinged again, picking it up to see another message from Aubrey.

AUBREY: Does Beca know who your parents are?

Chloe didn’t reply to that. Aubrey knew the answer. None of the Bellas knew that Chloe’s parents owned the biggest digital processing unit company in Oregon, a family business that, once her brother took over, had four generations of Beale men running it. Her family were basically royalty in Portland, but Chloe had never told anyone, except Aubrey of course, but that was only because she’d come to stay with them over the summer their freshman year at Barden.

Chloe had always been determined to be her own woman, and her family had respected that for the most part. Given that she was the youngest of her three siblings, her father had paid relatively little attention to her compared to the others and had opted instead to just throw money at her. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, Chloe never doubted that for a moment, it was just that he focused on her older brothers more, the heir apparent and the doctor. She didn’t mind, not really, but as she got older, she found herself never wanting to have to rely on her parents for anything, including money. Although they had insisted on paying her tuition fees for every year she was at Barden, and Chloe was never going to argue against not having a student loan.

She was worried that once Beca found out about her trust fund and the money that her family had, she’d be mad at Chloe for not getting them a nicer place to live in New York, or for not getting her a nicer birthday present. Three people in a studio apartment was difficult at the best of times and knowing that Chloe could have changed that might make Beca mad, especially as it would have meant that she had got her own bed. The redhead sighed again as she sunk onto the end of the bed, head in her hands. Why had she made this all so complicated?

-----

It was Christmas Eve and Chloe was pacing again, this time outside the airport in Portland. Beca watched her with a mildly bemused look on her face, but inside her heart was pounding. She hated Chloe being stressed out, the redhead usually the more optimistic of the two of them but watching her like this you’d think the world was ending.

“Dude, it’s gonna be okay. It’s just three days, and then we’ll be back in New York.” Beca tried to reassure Chloe.

“Yeah…” Chloe mumbled, pausing her pacing as she looked at Beca. Their eyes met, and Chloe felt that connection that she had felt ever since their eyes had first met at the activities fair all those years ago. The connection that convinced her, on occasion, that Beca might feel the same way about her, but she was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Chloe opened her mouth, intending to tell Beca about her parents whilst they waited, but at that moment a town car pulled up, the brunette’s jaw dropping not for the first time that Christmas period.

“Um…” Beca started, “Is that… is that for us?” She frowned slightly.

Chloe could feel her cheeks blush as an older man got out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a suit, a warm smile on his face.

“Miss Beale, I’m so glad you came for Christmas. May I help you with your bags?” He had a light English accent, every bit the stereotype.

Beca stood with her mouth agape as Chloe returned the warm smile, picking up her bag herself.

“Me too Arthur. I’ve got them, thank you though. Arthur this is Beca Mitchell, Beca this is Arthur Wallace he works for my family.” Chloe introduced them to each other with a grin. As bad as she felt about not telling Beca about her family before now, she was enjoying the lock of shock on her face.

“It’s nice to meet you Miss Mitchell.” Arthur nodded politely in Beca’s direction as the brunette just stood there, gob smacked, “Miss Beale perhaps I am overstepping a little here, but surely you should tell your friends about your family’s business before you bring them here?”

Chloe giggled a little as she loaded her bag and then Beca’s into the trunk of the car. She turned to Beca who was still trying to figure out what was going on.

“Dude…” Beca started, finally finding her words again as she looked to Chloe, “Are you loaded?!”

“My dad is Portland’s leading data processing unit producer. It’s a family business, he does really well from it.” Chloe shrugged, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck.

“Woah...” Beca managed to squeak as Arthur opened the rear door for Chloe and Beca to get in.

Chloe thanked him, Beca nodding as she clambered in next to the redhead, still trying to figure out just what was going on. She was thankful that the dividing window between them and Arthur was up when they got in the back of the town, swallowing hard as she turned to Chloe.

“Exactly how posh are your folks?” She asked nervously.

Chloe smiled softly, taking Beca’s hand in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. It was a familiar action that seemed far more intimate than ‘just friends’ but that fact seemed to pass both of them by.

“They’re gonna love you Beca. And they’re not that posh, it’s going to be fine.” Chloe could see the gears in Beca’s brain working overtime as she tried to take in all this information, “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you about my family before we came.”

“Why didn’t you?” Beca asked, a soft frown on her face. She thought Chloe trusted her with everything.

“I didn’t want you to be mad…” Chloe’s voice was barely more than a whisper, “I didn’t want you to think I was hiding money from you or something, because I’m not. My family has money, but I don’t use it unless I have to. Sure there’s my trust fund, but I don’t touch that, I’m saving it for the future.”

Chloe was starting to ramble the way she always did when she was nervous and it caused a smile to form on Beca’s lips in spite of everything, “Chloe.” She interrupted, “It’s okay. I’m not mad, why would I be? It’s your money and your family, whatever you need to do with it, it’s your business.”

Chloe just smiled gratefully, not taking her hand from Beca’s as the car headed for her parent’s house. Deep down, she supposed she knew that Beca would understand, complicated family wasn’t exactly a new concept to the short brunette.

“So how are we doing this?” Beca asked, “Do you just want me to follow your lead with it?”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t involve anything too intimate so don’t worry about that.” Chloe was conscious of Beca’s issues with people in her personal space, so she was trying to accommodate for that, “And my parents are insisting we sleep in different rooms, despite the fact that I’m nearly thirty. But it’ll be fine, it’s been a while since I had a bed that I didn’t share with a starfish!”

Chloe giggled at the look of mock outrage on Beca’s face as the brunette raised an eyebrow, “Well at least I won’t have to wrestle someone for the blankets anymore!”

Chloe just rolled her eyes, already feeling more at ease than she had when the plane had landed. It wasn’t long before they pulled onto her family’s estate, Beca’s eyes widening as she looked out of the window.

“You guys have a whole forest?! That’s so cool!” Beca’s eyes were wide with excitement as she watched the winding road take them up to the Beale’s house.

“It’s not a forest…” Chloe laughed, “It’s just a few trees. In a group. Okay so maybe it is a forest…” She conceded with a thoughtful frown.

“Whoa…” Beca exclaimed as they pulled up in front of the house.

House might be the understatement of the century. It was easily twice the size of any house Beca had ever lived in, more akin to a mansion or a small castle to the short brunette. Waiting on the front steps of the house were two people, red hair like flames against the white walls, older than Chloe or Beca, but as the car pulled to a stop in front of them, Beca could see the family resemblance and knew they had to be Chloe’s parents. She put her hand on the handle of the car door to open it but was stopped as Chloe placed her hand quickly on top of hers.

“It’s dumb, but you have to wait for Arthur to open it.” She smiled softly, “First impressions and all that.”

“Oh.” Beca pulled her hand away from the handle, turning to look at Chloe again, “Sorry. They’re gonna hate me aren’t they?”

“No…” Chloe took her hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze, “No they’re not. They’re gonna love you.” She smiled warmly, ‘Just like I do.’ Chloe added silently in her head.

Beca bit her lip as she looked down at herself, at the flannel shirt and pants that she had travelled in, and suddenly feeling like she was incredibly under dressed. She wished she could believe her, but her heart was pounding a mile a minute.

“It’s going to be fine Beca.” Chloe reassured her as she saw Arthur’s shadow fall upon the door, “Just take my lead.”

Chloe stepped out of the car first, Beca’s hand in hers as she let Arthur shut the door behind them, warm smile on her face as she led the brunette to meet her parents. Beca was trying hard not to think about the fact that she felt so out of place here, or that her hand in Chloe’s felt like the most normal thing in the world, but honestly what else was there to focus on? None of this was a situation that Beca was used to.

“Hey mom.” Chloe grinned as the older women quickly and easily wrapped her in her arms, Chloe’s hand dropping from Beca’s as she hugged her back, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas sweetie, I’m glad you came!” Chloe’s mum hugged her tightly, her daughter the spitting image of her mother and definitely every bit the hugger she was, “We’re so happy you could make it, we really missed you.”

Chloe pulled back from the hug with a wide grin, turning to her dad and giving his hand a firm shake, “Hi dad.”

“Hi Chloe. Merry Christmas.” His smile was wide and warm, and his eyes had the same twinkle that Chloe’s always had, “Are you going to introduce us to your guest?”

“Of course!” Chloe grinned, taking Beca’s hand again, the brunette shuffling her feet awkwardly, “Mom, dad, this is Beca Mitchell, my girlfriend.” The word girlfriend rolled off her tongue with surprising ease, her heart leaping a little even though it was a bald-faced lie.

“Hi.” Beca forced a smile, anxiety making her chest pound as Chloe’s mom pulled her into a hug, “It’s really nice to meet you both.”

“It’s really nice to meet you too! Chloe’s told us so much about you, it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Chloe told us that you two were dating.” Chloe’s mom grinned broadly as her daughter blushed furiously, Beca’s grin genuine when she pulled back and looked at Chloe.

“Really?” Beca asked, mischief written in every line of her face as she looked at Chloe. She turned to Chloe’s dad, shaking his hand as it was offered to her, “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

Beca hadn’t meant to call him ‘sir’ but her brain was in overdrive as she tried desperately to adjust to the unusual situation she found herself in. It seemed to be the right call though as a smile of approval crossed his lips, returning the firm handshake. Beca mentally thanked god for her experience with meeting new clients at the label as the experience seemed to be paying off.

“It’s nice to meet you too Beca. Our daughter speaks very highly of you. Arthur, bring their bags up to their rooms please.” Chloe’s father’s tone was warm but still commanding as the older man nodded.

“Of course, sir.” Arthur smiled as he went to get the bags from the trunk.

“Dad, Beca and I can manage our bags.” Chloe frowned a little at her father as she moved to go and help.

“Chloe, whilst you are here you get the same luxuries as everyone else. And I’m sure your friend would like to experience them as well.” The look from Chloe’s father was a little condescending and Beca bristled slightly but said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene.

Chloe opened her mouth to argue but seeing the look on her father’s face she new it was futile. Instead, she followed him and her mother inside, her hand slipping into Beca’s once more. It took all of Beca’s self-control not to let her mouth hang open again as the short brunette stepped inside, the interior of the house looking like something out of a fairytale. The large staircase in the hallway (if you could call the cavernous room they were in a hallway) had green and gold tinsel twisted around the banisters, and a huge tree stood pride of place next to it. It was the biggest Christmas tree Beca had ever seen, dwarfing her as she gazed up at the gold and silver decorations in wonder, feeling a little like a child again.

“Chloe! You made it!” A cheerful voice echoed through the hallways as a young man, perhaps two or three years older than Chloe came into view.

Beca was still in a trance looking at the Christmas decorations as Chloe let go of her hand, allowing herself to be swept into her brother’s arms, laughing as he spun, hugging him tightly.

“Hey Ben! Of course I did, wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see my favourite niece was I?” Chloe grinned as he put her down, their matching blue eyes both sparkling with excitement.

“She’s so excited to see you, Jenny took her to do a little bit of last-minute Christmas shopping, they should be back soon.” Ben beamed as he looked over his sister’s shoulder at Beca who was still looking at the decorations in wonder, “Do I get to meet your girlfriend then or…”

“Oh, of course!” Chloe beamed, a soft laugh on her lips as she tapped Beca’s shoulder to pull her out of the trance she seemed to have fallen into, “Becs?”

“Hm? What?” Beca shook her head a little as she came back into the moment, a light blush on her cheeks, “Sorry.” She mumbled with a sheepish grin.

“This is my brother Ben; I think you guys met actually a few years ago? After the ICCA finals in your first year?” Chloe grinned.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t recognise you without all the eye makeup and the earrings!” Ben teased, sporting the same infectious grin his sister always did.

“Yeah, the earrings make security at the airport a nightmare.” Beca shrugged, grinning in spite of herself, “It’s nice to see you again.” Beca couldn’t remember him for the life of her, but in all fairness most of that night was a blur thanks to the adrenaline of winning and the less than legal drinking after their performance.

“There she is my baby sis!” Another male voice made both Beca and Chloe turn their heads as the oldest of the Beale children joined them, grinning broadly as he gave Chloe a tight hug.

“Rob, I missed you!” Chloe grinned, hugging him back just as tight. Once they broke apart, Chloe turned to Beca again, “Beca this Rob my oldest brother, Rob this is Beca.”

“Hi.” Beca grinned as she shook his hand, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Where’s Laura?” Chloe asked, looking around for her sister-in-law.

“Right here!” A woman, about five years older than Beca and Chloe walked into the room, a wide grin on her face, blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Chloe gasped in delight as her eyes fell upon the unmistakable bump of a pregnancy.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant?” Chloe grinned, going to hug Laura as she laughed.

“Yep! We figured it would be a nice Christmas present for you all if we just didn’t say anything.” Laura giggled, hugging Chloe back.

“This is so exciting! I’m gonna be an aunty again!” Chloe was beaming from ear to ear as Beca watched fondly.

Watching the redhead surrounded by her family, all of them so happy to see each other gave Beca a warm comfort that she hadn’t really experienced before. Being an only child of divorced parents meant that she had never really experienced a Christmas like this. She might be there under false pretenses, but Beca was glad that she had decided to come.

“Laura this is Beca.” Chloe introducing her pulled Beca from her thoughts, “Beca this is Rob’s wife Laura.”

“Hi.” Beca grinned, “Congratulations on your pregnancy!”

“Thanks!” Laura beamed as Rob wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, “We’ve been waiting a long for this.”

“AUNTY CHLOE!” A loud voice rang through the hall as a small bundle of winter wear barreled its way over to Chloe, the young redhead beaming as she bent down to scoop her in her arms.

“Monkey!” Chloe grinned, spinning her niece in her arms as the young girl giggled gleefully, “Ooo I’ve missed you! You’ve gotten so tall!”

“Mummy says if I keep growing like this, someday I’ll be as tall as Uncle Rob!” The little girl grinned.

“Woah, that’s so tall!” Chloe gasped in amazement as the young girl’s mother joined them, dark hair a little windswept as she set a few shopping bags down, “Hey Jenny, merry Christmas!” Chloe beamed at her other sister-in-law; arms currently wrapped around the young girl.

“Hi Chloe, merry Christmas.” Jenny’s smile was easy as she moved her hair back from her face, “Did you guys have an okay flight?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Chloe set her niece down and turned to Beca, “You guys haven’t met Beca before right?”

“Hi.” Beca gave an awkward wave as she smiled.

“Hi! I’m Ellie!” The young girl beamed, sticking out her hand as Beca squatted down so they were the same height, shaking her hand.

“Hi Ellie, it’s really nice to meet you.” Beca smiled warmly, the young girl reminding her of her aunt a little.

“You’re aunty Chloe’s girlfriend?” Ellie asked, eyes wide, “But you’re nearly as small as I am!”

Chloe laughed as Beca blushed furiously, Jenny shaking her head, a little mortified with her daughter.

“Ellie, grown ups don’t have to be really tall!” Jenny gently chided her daughter, “I’m sorry, it really is nice to meet you.” She smiled apologetically as she turned to Beca who had stood up, still sporting a smile.

“It’s fine.” Beca shook her head, “If I wasn’t used to short jokes by now there’d be something wrong with me.”

“What’s that saying? All the best things come in small packages?” Chloe grinned, arm easily and naturally slipping around Beca’s waist as she chuckled, the brunette feeling her heart pound, ready to leap out of her chest at how natural this felt for two people that weren’t actually dating.

“Alright, how about you two go and unpack and freshen up, we’re having lunch in an hour.” Chloe’s mother beamed at her children, happy to have a house full of them again.

“Okay.” Chloe grinned, “Which room’s Beca’s?” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice at the idea that (even though they weren’t actually dating – Chloe had to keep reminding herself of that -) her mother didn’t trust her with a partner in her room.

“The one opposite yours.” Chloe’s mother smiled warmly, “I know you’re both grownups, but still you know the rules of this house Chloe. No guys OR girls in your room overnight unless you’re married to them.”

“I know, I know.” Chloe mumbled, taking Beca’s hand and leading her up the stairs.

In the back of her mind she was cursing herself for wrapping an arm around Beca’s waist like she had, it had simply been a spontaneous moment, the redhead caught up in the charade and how easily Beca fit into their family dynamic. Once they were upstairs and had reached the room that Beca would be staying in, Chloe quietly shut the door, turning to Beca with a guilty look on her face.

“I’m sorry. About the arm around your waist thing, I got in the moment and-” Chloe started, the beginnings of a nervous ramble starting to talk form before Beca cut her off.

“It’s fine Chloe.” Beca grinned, giving her a reassuring smile, “You told me to follow your lead, so I am doing.”

“I know… I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, I know how you feel about people in your personal space.” Chloe gave her a small smile.

“It’s really fine.” Beca reassured, “Besides, when it’s you I don’t really mind…” The words were out of Beca’s mouth before she could stop them and she blushed deeply, red with embarrassment as looked at her feet, at the bed that her bags had carefully been placed on, at anything but Chloe.

“Oh.” Was all the redhead could think to say, “W-well that’s good! Um, the bathroom is the second door on the left as you head back down the hall, if you want to shower or something, and I’m just across the hall. I’m gonna go unpack.” Chloe hurriedly left the room, heart pounding as Beca’s words bounced around her head. She couldn’t have meant them in the way that Chloe had heard them right? That wasn’t what she meant.

‘Cool it Beale. This is all pretend remember?’ She thought as she stepped into her room with a sigh. Maybe asking Beca to do this had been a mistake. Maybe Aubrey was right, this was going to be too painful. But it was too late now.

Beca sank onto the edge of the bed, head in her hands. Why the hell had she said that? How much of a dumbass was she? She had been so swept up in the warmth of Chloe’s family, of the residual feeling that had been caused by the arm around her waist that had placed there without a second thought, that she hadn’t thought before she’d opened her mouth.

“Dammit Mitchell.” She whispered, shaking her head, “Just be cool for once in your life. This is just a temporary thing, a favour you’re doing for a friend.”

‘A friend you’re in love with!’ Her brain unhelpfully responded as Beca groaned softly. Why the hell had she agreed to this? Chloe was her friend, that’s all she was, and here Beca was letting her ridiculous unrequited feelings get the better of her.

-----

Christmas Eve with Chloe’s family was far easier than Beca had thought it would be after what she said in the guest room. The way Beca slotted in the Beale’s family dynamic was effortless, almost as if she were meant to be there all along. It was a weird feeling for Beca, to be waited on rather than helping with the food and serving it, and there had been a couple of awkward exchanges that Chloe had quickly helped her figure her way around, but that aside it had gone off without a hitch.

They had bid the family good night and walked to their rooms, hand in hand as if it were the most normal thing in the world (although that didn’t stop a tingle in Beca’s hand every time she felt Chloe’s hand pressed against it), stopping only as they reached their doors.

“I’m really glad I came Chloe.” Beca said as she turned to her with a smile, “I know that I’m a little awkward with all the posh stuff, but I’m having a great time.” They were stood usually close, even for them, but neither of them seemed to notice.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Chloe grinned, “Like really glad. Even if it were just to pretend I was dating someone, I’m glad the person I picked was you.” Chloe had imbibed three glasses of mulled wine, and Beca was starting to have flashbacks to the hood night party of her freshman year as the redhead pulled her close, “I’d always pick you Beca.”

“Thanks Chlo…” Beca whispered, a little tipsy herself but having drunk less to make sure that she made a good impression on Chloe’s parents (which seemed ridiculous considering they weren’t actually dating, but nonetheless she preserved with making a good impression).

“G’night Beca. I think Santa’s gonna leave you some really cool presents tonight.” Chloe winked, her face mere inches from Beca as the brunette giggled softly. In a daring move that caught Beca completely off guard, Chloe closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to the brunette’s.

Beca forgot how to breath, how to move, how to do anything but stand there as Chloe kissed her. She knew that Chloe was a little drunk, that this probably didn’t mean anything other than to steer her clear of the mulled wine tomorrow, but god this was Chloe Beale kissing her and it was all she had ever wanted since she’d started college.

Chloe pulled away, smiling warmly as she waved her fingers at Beca and disappeared into her room, sighing happily as she flopped down onto her bed. That was the best Christmas Eve ever. Having Beca here only made everything better, Aubrey had been wrong. Stupid Aubrey, how could anything that had happened hurt her friendship with Beca?

It was 5am when Chloe’s eyes snapped open, her chest clenching as she sat bolt upright with the answer to the question that had been on her mind as she fell asleep rang around her head. She kissed Beca. She kissed Beca. She kissed Beca. Oh god. Scrambling out from the sheets and blankets that she’d tangled herself in, she immediately went to Beca’s room. Sure it was 5am and the brunette would almost definitely be asleep, but everyone else would be up at 7am and this conversation couldn’t wait.

Opening the door to the guest room, a small smile crossed Chloe’s lips as she saw the brunette splayed out across her bed, starfishing, her mouth hanging open a little. Tiptoeing, Chloe walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, gently shaking Beca’s shoulder.

“Beca? Beca I need to talk to you.” Chloe whispered, her tone soft but urgent.

“Huh, wha… what time is it?” Beca grumbled as she stirred, frowning a little as she rubbed at her eyes.

“Five am. I’m sorry.” Chloe winced a little as Beca groaned, flopping backwards into her pillows dramatically, “It’s just we need to talk about what happened last night.”

Beca’s eyes snapped open, heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to hear Chloe call it a mistake. But here they were, and this was a conversation they had to have.

“I uh, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. It was the mulled wine, I guess I just got caught in the moment.” Chloe blushed as she rambled a bit. She wanted more than anything to tell Beca that, yes she hadn’t meant to kiss her, but god was it the best thing she’d ever done.

“It’s fine.” Beca forced a smile onto her face as she sat up, “Really. You’ve always been a little handsy when you’re drunk.”

Chloe couldn’t help but giggle a little as Beca teased her even as she felt her heart break inside as Beca blew it off so off handedly. Part of her wanted Beca to tell her it wasn’t nothing, that it was something she had wanted all along, but here was the definitive answer: Beca didn’t feel the same.

Beca thought she saw a flash of disappointment in Chloe’s eyes and took a deep breath. She’d been thinking about this all night, she’d been thinking about how Chloe’s lips felt against hers, how it felt like electric coursing through her every nerve, how she hadn’t kissed her back. Seeing the look of resignation on Chloe’s face made her wonder if the redhead felt the same way. All too quickly the moment was gone, as Chloe got off the edge of the bed.

“Right, I’ll leave you to get some more sleep then.” Chloe smiled breezily, trying to hide her heavy heart as she left Beca alone again.

Beca could’ve cried as she laid back in her bed, hands on her forehead. Why was this so complicated? God, the look on Chloe’s face… it was playing in her mind over and over. Right. That’s it. Beca sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail before quietly tiptoeing down the hall. She frowned as she entered the kitchen, trying to figure out where things were so she could do this properly. A big gesture. That’s what she needed.

“Can I help you Miss Mitchell?” Arthur’s voice made Beca leap three foot in the air, spinning around as she spun round to see him stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Jeez dude!” She exclaimed, getting control of her breathing again as she shook her head.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Arthur had a bemused smile on his face.

“It’s fine. I really could use some help though, I- I’m trying to do a big gesture, but I suck at this sort of thing.” Beca smiled sheepishly.

“For Miss Beale I assume?” Arthur entered the kitchen, taking a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, “To show her you don’t want to play pretend anymore?”

“How did you?” Beca gasped, mortified at the idea that they hadn’t be as convincing as she thought they had.

“The barrier between the passengers and I in the car is not soundproof… it’s a very common mistake.” Arthur smiled again as Beca blushed.

“Ah. Yeah that makes sense…” Beca grinned sheepishly, “Alright, so big gesture, how do I do this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Arthur started, “There are mini marshmallows in the pantry and whipped cream in the fridge.”

Beca quickly rushed to get them as Arthur heated the milk, ready to melt the chocolate into at as she returned. There was a quite pause before Beca asked him the question that was on her mind:

“Why are you helping me?” Beca didn’t look up from her hands as she asked the question, “I know you work for Chloe’s family, but you have no reason to help me…”

“I have known Miss Beale since the day she was born.” Arthur was dedicated to his task as he gave Beca the answer, “She is like a daughter to me. And I have never seen her look at anyone like she looks at you, or anyone look at her in the way you do. I want her to be happy, and I believe you would make her happy.”

Beca sniffed slightly as she grinned at him, “I’m really going to try…” She promised.

-----

Chloe lay back on her bed, frustrated and sad at the way that this had panned out. God she should have listened to Aubrey, because this really hurt. She was sad, and her heart felt heavy, and Beca hadn’t kissed her back. And now? Now she was stuck spending Christmas pretending to be in a relationship with someone who wasn’t in love with her, which would’ve been fine if she wasn’t so desperately, pathetically in love with them.

A light knock at the door paused Chloe’s spiral as the redhead got up, a soft frown on her face before she opened the door. Stood in a Santa hat that she had purloined from god only knew where, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand and a soft smile on her lips stood Beca. Chloe stood there for a moment in shock, not understanding what was happening.

“Here. Take these.” Beca grinned broadly, waiting patiently as the redhead took the mugs from her and set them down on a table, “It’s the proper stuff, hot milk, melted chocolate, cream and marshmallows. Y’know the kind you drink when you’re sad because it reminds you of being a kid at Christmas.”

“How did you-” Chloe started, trying to figure out what had happened in the half an hour since she had left Beca’s room that had got them to this point.

“You told me once. You were drunk, you’d failed your Russian Lit midterm in our senior year, and I asked what I could do to cheer you up, and you said proper hot chocolate with all the trimmings, because it reminded you of the happiest times in your life.” Beca grinned broadly as Chloe just opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

“Beca, what’s-” Chloe was struggling to find her words as she looked at the big grin on Beca’s face, her heart pounding as her brain worked overtime.

“Look up.” Beca said softly, biting her bottom lip a little, nerves making her heart pound right out of her chest.

Chloe looked up, gasping softly as she what was fixed (a little haphazardly admittedly) above her head. A tear slipped down her cheek as she lowered her head again, a soft smile of disbelief on her lips, “Mistletoe…” She whispered.

Beca nodded, saying nothing more as she leaned in, closing the gap between them as she pulled her close, pressing her lips to Chloe’s, one hand on her hip the other on the back of her neck. Chloe closed her eyes as their lips connected and lost herself in the feeling on Beca kissing her like this as the short woman’s tongue slid across her bottom lip, the kiss deepening far quicker than either of them could’ve imagined it would. The redhead wrapped her arms around Beca’s waist and lifted her upwards, the brunette’s feet not touching the floor as she just grinned against Chloe’s lips, taking advantage of the new angle to press her tongue against Chloe’s in a way that made her let out a soft groan.

Eventually, the need to breathe broke them apart, a little breathless as Beca stood in Chloe’s arms both of her arms now draped around Chloe’s neck.

“That’s what I should have done last night.” Beca whispered, forehead resting against Chloe’s as she grinned.

“Yeah, you really should’ve.” Chloe teased gently.

“Merry Christmas Chloe.” Beca grinned as she kissed her again, chaste and soft.

“Merry Christmas Becs.” Chloe mumbled, grinning from ear to ear.

This really was the best Christmas ever.

[celosiaa]

let me be your shelter

CHRISTMAS FIC CHRISTMAS FIC!! Chapter one is here--many many days after I intended it to be up. It’s not exactly what I want it to be. But I hope you’ll find it enjoyable all the same. Chapter two is coming, I promise :)

“Come on, dads!!”

Calling from far ahead of them, Emma races through the snow, braids flying behind her in the bitter cold wind. Not that she seems to mind—according to the past week of dancing around the kitchen, marking the days off with big red x’s on their wall calendar, and reminding her dads over and over again that this Friday is the day—this was set to be the best day of her twelve-year-old life yet.

“Come on!”

“Just slow down a moment, Em!” Jon calls with a laugh, brushing a wayward curl out of his eyes. “You’re missing a lot of good ones!”

It’s true—she had, in fact, been flying so quickly past the rows and rows of Christmas trees, ripe for the cutting, barely brushing past on her search to find just the right one. That of course, Martin had to remind her could only be so tall, could only be so wide if it were to fit in their flat. And naturally, it didn’t seem she was going to listen.

“I want to find the biggest one!”

“I know, habibti,” Jon calls back. “But remember what Dad said, right? Martin?”

At the sound of his name, his eyes snap to Jon’s, brows lifted as if slightly alarmed.

“What I—said?”

“About the tree, darling,” Jon mutters, slipping his double-gloved hand around Martin’s bare one, grounding him.

This time of year was always difficult for him—the darkening of the sky casting long shadows over his thoughts, which already fill with fog far more often than makes Jon comfortable. Even if he does have a sun lamp at home, something to drive it away for a bit—it has been abundantly clear that the past week especially has been a struggle. Today, however, things had seemed a bit lighter—or at least, so Jon had thought.

“Oh—right. Right, darling, we’ve got to get just a medium-sized one, yeah? Otherwise it won’t stand up straight!” he says, a ghost of a smile playing across his wind-flushed face.

“Ugghh, fine,” she laments, rolling her eyes as far as they will go and widening the gap between them in frustration.

“Is it storming up there, love?” Jon asks quietly, squeezing his hand and trying to catch his gaze with his own.

At the familiar metaphor, Martin obliges—smile drawn up so his cheeks just touch the edges of his glasses, hiding the deep bags that had only just begun to fade from the depressive episode of the past weeks.

“Just overcast, is all. I’m fine,” he assures, squeezing back—and Jon raises an eyebrow in question, doubtful of Martin’s definition of “fine.”

“No, really, I am,” he laughs, bending down to press a quick kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “Promise. Thank you for checking.”

Supposing that would have to do for now, Jon decides to let the matter go—looping his arm through Martin’s as they keep walking down the snow-dusted path.

“Alright,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Martin’s shoulder. “Let me know if the weather turns.”

“I will. Don’t worry, love.”

Of course I will. Always.

“Here! I’ve got one!”

Shouting excitedly from up ahead, Emma waves her gloved hands around in the air, before diving right into the branches to hug the trunk of the tree that was, objectively, the best of the lot. This pulls a true, gorgeous bit of laughter from Martin—the first time Jon has heard it in weeks.

To Jon, there could not be a single thing more lovely.

“That’s a good one, Em,” Jon praises as they reach her, trying very hard not to think about all the sap likely to stick in her newly-plaited hair. “What do you think, Dad?”

“Hmm…”

Feigning a moment of deep consideration earns him an intense doe-eyed, pleading look from his daughter, silently begging. As if he could truly refuse her.

“Well, by my calculations,” he says, winking a bit at his husband, who rolls his eyes fondly. “That should do just wonderfully.”

“YES!!!” Emma shouts, immediately releasing her hold on the tree and wrapping her sap-laden arms around them both. “Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

It’s the first time the fog has truly cleared from Martin’s eyes in month, and Jon smiles—choosing to cherish it dearly.

—

“Little bit to the left, habibi.”

“Aw, Boss, I didn’t know we were on that level!” Tim grins, helping Martin to straighten out the tree in the corner of their flat. “Should have said something sooner, habibi.”

“Shut it, Tim.”

The winning smile he flashes Jon at his coveted prize—a bit of exasperation from him—sends a pang of warmth spreading through Jon’s chest. Even if it’s been so many years now since…everything, he still feels so lucky to be on the receiving end of Tim’s smiles again. And a bit undeserving, if he’s honest. They’ve talked about it, of course—many times, in fact—but Jon has long since been forced to accept that things will never be quite like they were before.

Though that does mean that things have the potential to be better, and for that…for that, Jon is grateful.

“Could we focus please?” Martin pants a bit irritably, as he bears the brunt of the tree’s weight. “I’d rather not be squashed by this thing.”

“Sorry, Marto! Left it is then, habibi.”

“Stop it.”

“Never.”

—

A few hours later finds them settled around a lovely fire, steaming cups of tea in their hands, courtesy of Martin. Sasha has joined them now as well, curled up with Tim on an armchair with Emma sitting at their feet. Beside him on the sofa sits Martin, his arm wrapped lightly around his shoulders—and as he’s done every holiday since the rebirth of the world, Jon finds himself pondering the fact that he never would have thought this possible. Certainly not for him, for any of them, really. They should, all of them, be dead. Or worse. And yet—and yet. Here they are, making amends. Making their home together.

A family.

“Em, you would not believe the kinds of things your Baba and I used to get up to,” Tim grins, the bit of wine he’s had over the course of the evening painting his cheeks rosy. “Before he became my boring boss, that is. He’s absolutely mad.”

“Tim—“

“You hush,” he bellows, still laughing. “Emma deserves to know about the time we got trapped in that apartment complex, do you remember?”

“You’ve just told me to hush.”

“Hush, Jon, I’m telling a story!”

Rolling his eyes, Jon picks up his own glass again, taking the opportunity to sneak a glance at Martin in the meantime—pleased to see the bit of ruddiness masking the lightest of his freckles, a whisper of a smile planted on his face as he listens to the conversation. Nothing cloudy in his eyes, no fog—just Martin, his Martin. And in Jon’s opinion, that more than warrants the small kiss he presses into the line of his jaw, just beneath his ear.

“Hmm, what’s that for, darling?” Martin asks, turning towards him.

“Oh, nothing,” Jon hums against him,  “Just you. Just this.”

“Well, you won’t hear me complain.”

“Eww, dads!!”

Alas, they’d been caught—a disapproving Emma wrinkles her nose at them from her spot on the floor, Tim and Sasha muffling their giggles behind her.

“Sorry Em, sorry,” Martin laughs, untangling himself a bit from Jon and reaching for his own glass of wine. “Have to forgive us old and gross people.”

“You don’t have to be gross just because you’re old!” she insists, pointing a finger back at her aunt and uncle behind her. “Uncle Tim and Auntie Sasha are old too, but they’re not gross!”

“Hey!!”

Sasha’s look of incredulousness is enough to set Jon into fits—but something seems to catch a bit in his chest as he does, a vise clamping down over his ribcage.

Damn it damn it

His next inhale brings him no relief, merely tightening the grip, everything in his chest folding in on itself as he finds himself in the throes of once again gasping for air. Distantly, he rather thinks the wheezing sound of his breath to be embarrassing—but there is little on which he can focus other than keeping his vision from narrowing, narrowing.

“Jon?”

“M-Mar—”

“Are you panicking, love?”

Air air need air

“Can’t—”

He’s cut off by the closeness of his own airways sending out his breath with a fit of coughing, harsh and painful and—well, there goes his vision again.

“Here, Jon, your inhaler’s right here—”

Air air need air

Can’t breathe

Wrapping a shaking hand around Martin’s, Jon takes as deep of an inhale of the medicine as he can, holding holding holding his breath until it hurts, before letting it out—begging everything not to close again before he can get something up to his starving brain.

“Take it again, Jon. One more, come on.”

It comes just a bit easier this time, the gasping just a bit deepened, letting him pull it deeper into his lungs, opening everything enough to start his vision returning to him again. Even so, it takes a few minutes of just breathing, the room around him uncomfortably silent, save for the fading whistle of his chest, before he can even think about picking up his head again from where he’s braced it against his arms.

“—alright? You with us?”

“Sor—sorry,” he pants, still a bit breathless, shaky, heart racing uncomfortably as it always does. “Dunno—what happened.”

“Alright, Baba?”

Emma rests her hand gently atop his knee, looking quickly between himself and Martin. Lord knows he’s scared them enough times; caused them enough anxiety over his health that the guilt weighs so unbearably heavy on him in moments like this. When his daughter has to be his comfort. When he knows it ought to be the other way around.

Burden burden terrible father burden burden—

“Sorry—ha—Em,” he gasps, offering her a tight smile and a nod. The best he can do for now. “Fine—m’fine.”

“Was it something I did?” an unusually quiet Tim asks from across the room, hesitant to even draw his attention.

Damn it damn it

Of course I’ve got to screw things up again.

When Tim had first reentered their lives, they had found it difficult to process on both sides—the grief and anger and distrust layered up with trauma had proven to be a difficult thing to break down. Unhelped by the panic rising unbidden in Jon’s throat every time Tim had raised his voice, even with friendly teasing at first. Though he would never say, Jon knows how deeply this had wounded his friend—and Jon could certainly understand how upsetting it is for your own voice to become another’s nightmare.

They’d worked on it, just like everything else. Nothing of the kind of panic Jon once felt upon hearing an increase in volume has happened in years at this point, but still—still, Tim is afraid. Afraid of how fragile, how stupid, how unforgiving—

“N-no, no. Promise—not you,” he is quick to assure, snapping his head up to meet Tim’s eyes at once, desperate for his trust in this. “Not you.”

The quiet grief in the darkness of Tim’s eyes betrays his doubt.

“Why don’t you stay here and recover while I finish up with the cooking, love?” Martin offers, already rising to do just that.

“Oh—no, Martin—“

He’s tired he’s tired he’s already tired and spent and still recovering

You make everything worse

“It’s alright,” he smiles down at him, still lined with well-hidden exhaustion. “I’ve got it. Just take a minute, okay?”

“I’ll help,” Tim offers at once, following him into the kitchen. To get out of his sight, just in case he was making things worse after all. Just in case Jon was lying.

Damn it damn it

“Incoming!!”

From behind him, Emma’s voice rings out—and the cat is dropped unceremoniously into his lap, giving a soft mrrow of indignation at such treatment. As soon as Jon gives a small smile and a laugh, however, the Duquessa (for she must be properly titled) begins to purr at once, kneading his thigh a bit before draping herself across his lap.

“There you are, Jon—you’re healed!” chuckles Sasha as she stands, coming to sit beside him on the sofa.

“Quite.”

—

“Alright, love?”

Words a bit muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth, Martin gazes down at him with furrowed brows where Jon sits on their bed, lost as usual in the thickest, driest biography Martin has ever seen.

“Mmm.”

“Jon.”

“Hmm?”

His attention is caught at last, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the hungrily-devoured words and toward his husband—hair a mess, in just boxers and a t-shirt, a bit of toothpaste splodged around the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry—sorry, what did you say?” he asks, unable to hide a fond smile as Martin rolls his eyes, turning around to rinse out his mouth and set down his toothbrush. When he’s finished, he meets Jon’s questioning look with a smiling shake of the head—before pulling Jon in to melt into his side, pressing a kiss against his hairline.

“I asked if you were alright,” he repeats, letting his lips linger longer atop Jon’s forehead this time. “You’ve been sniffly.”

“Have I?”

“You hadn’t noticed?”

“Not particularly.”

It is the truth, although a bit masked—if he is, indeed, sniffly, it seems likely to have contributed to his lingering shortness of breath that evening. Not that he had found it especially necessary to mention this to Martin. No reason to worry him needlessly, after all.

When Martin fetches him the box of tissues from the living room, however, he finds himself grateful. Something certainly seems to have built up in his sinuses, and though eased a bit by his ministrations, it seems to be something of which he cannot entirely rid himself.

“Aw, darling,” Martin tuts with concern, pressing the back of his hand against Jon’s forehead, just to check again. “Are you getting ill?”

No no no no

Can’t be ill

Can’t worry him

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assures, offering Martin a bit of a puffy-eyed smile. “Probably just from being out in the cold.”

“Hmm.” Worrying at his lower lip, Martin sweeps his eyes briefly over the rest of Jon’s body. “What about your joints? Are you alright?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon chuckles, rolling his eyes and fondly pressing a kiss against his husbands’ cheek. “No need to fuss, love. You need to get some rest.”

“Fussing is my specialty, though.”

“Don’t I know it.”

A small, lopsided smile spreads across his face—and Jon finds himself flushing at the gentleness of it.

Gorgeous.

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, tenderly tilting Jon’s chin upwards and into a kiss. “I’ll quit fussing, then. If I must.”

“You absolutely must. Or we’ll never get to sleep.”

“I’ll do my best, habibi.”

—

Click.

At the soft noise, Jon bolts awake, heart already pounding—from the shock of being startled awake, or POTS, he could not be sure. Perhaps both.

All he knows is that his heart is racing, and Martin is gone, and he can’t breathe.

Fuck fuck fuck

His lungs are at once too full and desperately empty—useless, vision tunneling as he pants into the darkness, reaching out blindly for his inhaler on the nightstand. Shaky, he nearly loses his hold on it twice before bringing it to his lips, forcing as much air out as he can before drawing a shallow breath of the medicine. But he cannot hold it, cannot keep it in long enough for it to work.

Help. He needs help.

He needs Martin.

“M—ha—Mar—“

He cannot choke out the words, not around the closing up of his throat, forcing him to cough without air. Without the ability to breathe back in. Dizzy, dizzy, can’t breathe, breathe breathe help Martin—

“Jon—oh, shit shit shit!”

Distantly, he hears the sound of running feet retreating from the bedroom and back down the hall—but his vision is starting to grey out, heart pounding out of his chest, and all he can focus on is don’t pass out don’t pass out don’t pass out.

“Alright, here, here—I got the nebulizer, shit. Christ, Jon.”

He loses time for a few minutes. Nothing remains in his memory but a swirling, spinning picture of the room around him, the feeling of something being placed over his mouth and nose. And when he comes fully back around, it’s to the feeling of Martin’s strong arms bracing him forward, keeping his airways as open as possible while the medicine has been allowed to work. To Martin’s shadowed face, bruises ever-deepening beneath his eyes.

Jon does not need the full powers of the Beholding anymore to know that Martin has once again gone without sleep.

“M—sorry—“

“Hush, Jon, just hush,” Martin reassures, rubbing his back when the coughing starts up again, nearly hard enough to vomit.

He won’t be trying to speak again any time soon.

“You’re alright, I’m here.”

As the minutes pass, the breaths come more easily, returning Jon’s awareness more fully. Now that his vision is no longer swirling, he takes stock of the pulse ox clipped on his finger, Martin’s eyes anxiously watching it, the mobile grasped tightly in one shaking hand, ready to call 999 at any moment.

“Martin—“

“Hush, Jon.”

“M’sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, love.”

But there is, isn’t there? Worry, worry, always worry over him. Deepening his husband’s exhaustion, burden, anxiety.

It seems to be his lot in life to make things worse.

“Doing any better?” Martin asks as the wheezing fades from his exhales, though he wouldn’t dare remove the mask for a few more minutes at least.

“Better,” Jon whispers. “Dunno—what happened.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve woken up like this,” Martin worries, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Jon’s eyes and tucking it behind his ear. “Thought we were managing a little better lately.”

“So did—I.”

With a long, concerned sigh, Martin shifts to sit just slightly behind him, pulling him back to lean against his chest. For once—for once—the warmth and comfort of it all outweighs the guilt of its necessity.

“We’ll figure it out,” Martin assures, the slight tremor of his voice belying his uncertainty. “We’ll get it sorted, love.”

“M’sorry.”

“Shh. Just be still, Jon. Just be still.”

Though neither of them may be able to sleep that night— there is a certain rest to be found in just holding each other. And for now—for now, that is enough.

[jckelly]

updated intro / jack 101

Is that JACK KELLY? Wow, they do look a lot like VAN MCCANN. I hear HE is an NINETEEN year old FRESHMEN who are studying AEROSPACE ENGINEERING  at Luxor University. Word is they are an ARISTOCRAT student. You should watch out because they can be PHILOPHOBIC and INSINCERE, but on the bright side they can also be WITTY and IMAGINATIVE. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself. [YUNI, 21, GMT, SHE/HER]

 the other two got updated intros n rat man felt left out

basics

full name: jackson noel kelly 

nicknames: jack (does not answer to jackson)

date of birth: december 25, 2001

zodiac: capricorn sun, leo ascendant, sagittarius moon

nationality: dual uk and us citizenship

sexual orientation: straight but will try anything once

course: aerospace engineering

appearance

faceclaim: van mccann 

voiceclaim: van mccann

ethnicity: white (english, irish)

height: 5′8 / 173cm

weight: 58kg / 127lbs

eye colour: blue

hair colour: brown

distinctive features: freckles (many), left ear pierced, scars on his wrists usually covered by long sleeves, northern english accent

clothing preferences: jack prefers to only wear black, or at a push grey, although he’s slowly improving and will Occasionally mix it up with ... navy. his style is pretty basic, usually just a sweater, jeans, and beat up black converse or doc martens depending on how emo he’s feeling. the sheffield united hoodie makes an appearance every time someone forgets precisely which uk city jack is from. 

personality

overview

positive traits: witty, imaginative, perseverant, passionate

negative traits: philophobic, disloyal, insincere, callous

mbti: entp

religious beliefs: atheist

description

the first side most people see of jack is the side he wants you to see. a total asshole. it’s not an exaggeration - he’s pretty much infamous for flirting with everyone, dating anyone and as a serial cheater. he’ll actively try to worm his way into your life, and then just when you start to care, he does something to hurt you. he’s strangely persistent, probably helping him to push people even further, until they snap. there is nothing which satisfies him more than managing to wind people up to the extreme, get them to the point where they give up. adopted parents, friends, nobody is immune to this side - he even tries it on the people he genuinely cares about, as if just to see if he’ll still be able to push them away.

the second side, which most people don’t see, is that at heart jack is a kid. he’s the type of person to ask if owls have ears at 3am, or get some childlike joy out of dumb jokes. of course, this is the side nobody but a very small number of people see. and even if you do see it, it never lasts long. he keeps his true personality under wraps even amongst those he does like, and it only slips out if he’s extremely comfortable with you. otherwise, he’ll go straight back to being a sarcastic, flirty piece of shit.

biography

jackson noel kelly was born in hell on ironically christmas day to his father satan......

jk

jack and his older half brother finn were born in sheffield, united kingdom, to a single mother. a drug addict, she was notorious among social workers for neglecting her children and as a result jack shuffled between foster homes and his mother’s home during his first ten years of life, with finn, less than four years older than him, being his primary carer even when he was back with his birth family. this cycle finally ended when jack was ten and he was permanently removed from his mother’s care, and placed in the first of a series of foster homes which didn’t last particularly long.

the thing was, jack’s remarkably good at pushing people away when he wants to, and as he got older his talents only increased. running away, wreaking havoc, insulting anyone who tried to get close and anything else he could possibly think of meant that for three years he lasted no longer than eight months in any one place. in fact, he frequently took himself back to live with his birth family until social services came to drag him out again. this lifestyle continued until he was fostered by his now adopted parents, claire and george, at thirteen.

much to jack’s dismay, no matter of hell raising would push these newest set of parents away. in fact, they seemed absolutely set on raising him as Their Son, even as his attempts to get them off his back got more and more extravagant. they removed him from his previous school, transferred him to a fancy private school, put him in therapy and tried their best to help him get through all of the issues developed through his slightly fucked up childhood.

the thing was, jack loves his mother. he still refuses to see her as being in the wrong, no matter what people tell him or what he himself recalls, in his mind he has one mother and that’s his birth mother. so he did not take kindly to attempts by his foster parents to become his “new” family, because in jack’s mind? he already had a family. and even though they were actively encouraging him to continue contact with his brother, he couldn’t help but see them as trying to replace his birth family.

jack’s fifteenth year pretty much became the year when all of these issues finally came to a head. he was adopted legally by his foster parents, who had now been fostering him for two years - which should have been a happy occasion, but for jack represented the final loss, the final betrayal to his birth mother and brother. then shortly after his fifteenth birthday his brother went to prison at eighteen for grievous bodily harm, having glassed another boy after an argument.

of course, it would later be revealed that in actuality the assault had been committed by jack. and that finn was simply covering for him. (they looked alike enough that questions were not raised, it had happened so fast.) but in the eyes of jack’s adopted parents, finn was now a dangerous offender and jack had to be protected from him. so he was then isolated from his brother, his mother had relapsed and his continuous guilt over being adopted played on his mind, culminating in a suicide attempt in march 2017. 

of course, he wasn’t successful, but this was the final straw in the minds of his adopted parents. they felt jack needed a fresh start, away from the people who had defined his life prior to that point. so by his sixteenth birthday, jack had been moved to the united states to be near the family of his adopted mother, and subsequently enrolled in luxor academy. 

where he continued to be a menace :))

although it did appear, for some time, that jack was showing signs of improvement. sure, he was still wreaking havoc at luxor. but at home, he had calmed, even showing signs of affection to his adopted family. until his mother overdosed suddenly and died when jack was eighteen and things started to immediately go straight downhill again.

he can’t help but blame himself, for allowing himself to be moved. for the move being his fault, if he’s being honest. and if the honesty continues, jack’s got a whole lot of other stuff to blame on himself. (see: ruining his brother’s life.) so now he’s just taking shit out on everyone to try and make them a fraction as miserable as him. 

npc connections

birth fam

finn kelly / fc: jake bugg / b. may 10 1998 / taurus sun, gemini ascendant, pisces moon

finley, who also refuses to use his full name, is jack’s older brother - same mother, different father.  jack thinks he’s boring because he doesn’t raise hell with every opportunity. finn calls this “being a sane person.” went to prison for jack and regrets it. pastimes include crying over murakami books and trying to look shocked when jack tells him about the newest crisis he’s having. 

lauren kelly / fc: elena tonra / b. february 20 1983 - d. april 1 2020 / pisces sun, aries ascendant, leo moon

jack’s birth mother, who was still a teenager when he and finn were born. she was an on again, off again drug addict and had jack removed from her care when he was ten due to continued neglect. instilled in him a love for oasis and a hefty number of mental health issues. looked pretty much exactly like jack. 

jordan taylor / fc: alex turner / b. october 12 1984 / libra sun, leo ascendant, virgo moon

jack’s birth father, who he knows little about. not for lack of trying on his father’s part, who was prevented from seeing jack as a child by his birth mother and blocked from trying to make contact by jack’s refusal to interact. he keeps trying to message jack and jack is running out of daddy issues memes to respond with. finn thinks jack should give him a chance to redeem himself. jack thinks finn should fuck off. 

adopted fam

claire fielding / fc: julia roberts / b. may 12 1964 / taurus sun, cancer ascendant, leo moon

jack’s adopted mother. loves him very much and is convinced he is a sweet boy who just needs love and help. has written a memoir about adopting jack. jack is mad at her constantly. when he is not mad at her, he is embarrassed by her existence. honestly deserves better.

george fielding / fc: timothy olyphant / b. november 6, 1963 / scorpio sun, capricorn ascendant, virgo moon

is proud of jack, but very deep down underneath a strong layer of calling jack out on his bullshit. has some loud ass shouting matches with jack. also really wishes jack would sort his hair out and maybe not look like a cheap liam gallagher. jack honestly just winds him up constantly and he knows jack is doing it but goddamnit it’s so hard to not be mad at the little rat. 

other

maisie adeyemi / fc: yewande biala / b. january 6, 1997 / capricorn sun, sagittarius ascendant, aries moon

finn’s fiancee. her goal in life is to try to get jack to ruin finn’s life at least 70% less often. she has yet to achieve this goal. her love language is setting finn’s phone to silent when he goes to bed to stop jack from phoning in with some sort of random crisis at four in the morning because the little shit forgot timezones exist. finn will never find out. maisie is grateful that men have no brains. 

[rainythefox]

Nightfall (CH.16)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her  brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of  cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling  upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she  can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (There’s Wesker & William Bromance too lol). Rated M for smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 16: Mine

Warning: this chapter contains lots of smut. You’ve been warned, okay? Okay! :P Because of this, only the first section of the chapter is available on Tumblr. Please follow the link to AO3 to read the rest. Thank you! :)

Okay, she knew her luck had taken a big dump recently, but this was ridiculous! If she thought the university job was difficult, she promptly changed her mind. That was a walk in the park compared to this. Claire stared at all the people. The exquisite party was happening at the ritzy Orient Restaurant on the second floor of the most luxurious hotel in the city, Central Hotel.

There had to be close to a hundred people here! The whole restaurant was closed to cater for the invitation-only event. Why did she even assume this “Christmas Party” was going to be just a group of rich, old dudes bragging all night? With how her luck has been, she should've known better!

Claire gaped at the man beside her who was unfortunately the closest thing she had to a friend at the moment. She recalled William’s little “briefing” on the drive over here.

“The party’s not gonna be that big. Just a simple “get in, get out”. You’ll be home in no time! Actually, you’ll probably be at Al’s home in no time!”

He was still rubbing his arm where she decked him.

“This is nothing like how you explained it!” she hissed.

But the mad scientist only half-heard her, his eyes lit up as though he was a kid about to enter his very first amusement park. Something in here was on his kill list because Claire overheard he wasn’t a stranger to parties, at least not to parties like this that could get him something he wanted. 

William was actually quite handsome all cleaned up in his suit. Claire had grown accustomed to his usual disheveled appearance that made him attractive in his own way.

He grinned slyly. “Oh relax, sweetheart. You’ll be fine. Most of these people are total bores…losers just out trying to feel important. They got nothing on you!” He winked at her. “You know what to do, who to find. Ada’s on your earpiece and Al and I are here to watch your back. Don’t worry. Al _definitely _won’t let you out of his sight. Just…don’t distract him too much. I need him focused tonight.”

“Are you fu-”

“Erica!” William nearly squealed, waving both arms and abruptly abandoning her. “Is that gown designed by Broca’s aphasia? Because I’m speechless!” 

Claire glared at the fickle bastard as he ditched her to join some other people standing around talking and drinking. She was on her own for now.

“Forget about him, Claire. Just focus on getting to Bennett. Best not drag this out longer than we have to and risk exposing ourselves,” Ada said on her earpiece.

“Okay,” she mumbled, and got into character, her natural Redfield bravado and assurance making it easy to stroll through the party like she owned the place.

It was a beautiful Asian restaurant. Most of the dark tables were accented with candles and glasses. The lounge-like chairs were colorful and comfy, and the tall ceilings gave way to soft LED string lights, oriental paintings and sectioned lattices. In warmer seasons, the same kind of setup could be seen on the massive balcony, but it was currently closed off.

She felt many eyes on her as she started her objective. But she only cared about one set of eyes as she discreetly scanned the place for them.

This many people here was both a blessing and a curse for her mission, and it could go either way real quick at any time. More people meant no room for mistakes, too many eyes. But on the other hand, this many people distracted amongst themselves could make it easy to get away with nearly anything.

Claire soon found the eyes she had been seeking, felt the familiar, pleasing burn on her skin they always caused. She traced them to an area with more people, where a grand, gold statue of Lord Yama sat. Directly in front of the god of death, Wesker was encircled by a small group, mostly beautiful women, and he charmed them effortlessly.

The younger Redfield had to keep herself from staring, also charmed by his chameleon smile, good looks, and striking black suit. Her nerves tingled from simmering blood. She couldn’t believe it. She was actually jealous?! Claire was angry with herself. How could she possibly feel anything of the sort over the man that was blackmailing her?

Besides...she knew Wesker well enough by now to know that it was all pretense. She was sickened and enthralled by how easily he could deceive and influence people. Ada was right. His calculating mind, his clever tongue, those were his deadliest weapons; not his hands, not his gun.

The statue of Yama was simply a backdrop to the true god of death in the room. His admirers probably had no clue and listened intently. The women batted their eyes, pushed out their chests, even the ones who had dates. And those men did nothing about it, perhaps too enthralled themselves or maybe it was the fact that Wesker had an uncanny ability to make most men around him submissive.

He may have looked like he was paying attention to them, his eyes concealed behind black shades, but Claire knew he was watching her. All of her. Every breath, every step, he was in complete tune. Something about that lit a fire in her belly so fierce, she trembled.

The jealousy she felt instantly crumbled. It didn’t matter if those women were rich or prettier or dressed in nicer dresses. They meant nothing to him. Not like she did.

And why was that, exactly?

Claire frowned, faltering mid-step, eyes still locked on Wesker across the room when she should've been moving on. She had some suspicions, if her gut and Ada and William were anything to go by. 

More importantly, why do you care?

“Claire?! Earth to Claire, hello?”

“Huh?”

“You aren’t exactly being inconspicuous staying in one spot drooling over Albert.”

Claire’s face flushed and she briskly walked away with a huff. “I’m not drooling!”

The first place she needed to check for her target would be the bar. Typical. It was in the back of the restaurant, low-lit, a massive, semi-circled bar with a marble countertop up against an airbrushed wall depicting a dragon floating through the clouds.

“Whatever you say, hun.”

Claire bit her tongue, taking a deep breath. “I was just happy to see him chatting up other women. Less problems for me.”

Ada sighed. “Claire, fishing is beneath you. First, they aren’t his type. More importantly, Albert detests easy women.”

That wasn’t her intention. “I wasn’t-”

“Unfortunately and fortunately for you, you are his type and are as difficult as they come. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but you’re as close to obsession as he’s going to get romantically.”

The only fortune she could come up with was that it was unlikely Wesker would kill her. But obsession through people with sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies like Wesker were never a good thing. Her life might be spared at the end of all this...but at what cost?

Claire briskly pushed that thought aside, something cold and heavy dropping in the pit of her stomach. She needed to focus on finding Bennett and getting this over with. That was her excuse. After all, she wasn’t ready to acknowledge that her own growing infatuation would likely veer her into her captor’s arms for good.

She looked around the bar area. There were all kinds of high-status people attending Bard’s Christmas party. Doctors, politicians, city officials, even Mayor Warren and Chief Irons were here.

She recognized Mueller from Raccoon University having a casual conversation with the man that had to be her target. A picture was never granted, but a detailed description allowed her to quickly analyze him. It had to be him. Tall, average build, auburn hair and an anchor beard. He chatted with Mueller with a drink in his hand.

Just as Claire stepped their way, a strong grip snatched her wrist. She was spun around, coming face-to-face with Nathaniel Bard. He looked fine since the anaphylaxis she put him through with the shrimp, but the creep wasn't happy one bit with her, still keeping a painful grip on her arm.

"I knew I'd see your face again, girl. What happened at the university is all your fault."

Claire glared at him. "You're gonna be hurting more if you don't let me go right now."

The music and all the guests chatting around them helped conceal her threat from eavesdropping ears but the Spencer Memorial doctor heard her clearly.

He considered challenging her, lips pursing, but soon let her go after his eyes scanned the numerous faces within the party. "I know you're working with those two bastards. You have no idea how much harm you’ve caused me and several of my colleagues. Lowery was a good man, understand? He had a family. And now I’m trapped doing those two psychos’ bidding.”

“Maybe you aren’t the only one who is trapped.”

“Well then there’s more to your pretty face, isn’t there? They wouldn’t risk it otherwise.”

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Claire clenched a fist, as it took all of her willpower not to break his damn nose. She had a job to do here. If she caused a scene in the middle of this party, especially with the man hosting it, then she could kiss her freedom and potentially Chris’s life goodbye.

She did let him in on what he was narrowly missing out on by grabbing his hand and twisting it slightly, squeezing hard on a pressure point. Just enough to make it really hurt, just enough to get her point across while looking like she was just holding his hand to nearly everyone else. “If my life didn’t hinge on fulfilling this job, you’d be on the floor with a broken fucking face, do you understand me?”

“Damn, Claire. I like your style,” Ada chimed in.

The younger Redfield ignored her and smiled, showing the guests they were having a pleasant conversation. Bard hissed in pain, quickly nodding. Claire released him and he jerked his hand away, shaking it off with a grimace.

“Listen, I’ll make the job easy for you. Just...do what you need to do and get out of here. Take those assholes with you. And never show your face at one of my social events ever again.”

“I’d love to, but it’s not my call. But...I have a feeling you know exactly who you can talk to about that.”

Bard scowled, rubbing his injured hand. He muttered something under his breath and motioned her to follow him, heading towards Bennett and Mueller in the back of the bar. “C’mon, and follow my lead.”

“Ugh, he better not screw this up.”

Bard put on a welcoming smile once they reached Mueller and Bennett’s table. Mueller recognized her, but didn’t say anything. She barely got a moment’s glare from him before he flashed Bard a guarded look, as if asking “what are you up to now?” The two men stood and the doctor shook their hands.

“Mr. Bennett! I trust you are enjoying the party? What kind of host would I be if I was neglecting my honored guest?”

He looked to be in his thirties maybe. His smile was warm as he nodded. He noticed Claire nearly right away, and there was a definite reaction of some kind. Attraction, she guessed, immediate infatuation. Great…

“Oh yes,” he said in a European accent. “I am grateful to you and Greg’s hospitality. You’ve made being so far from home much more bearable.”

“Good, good! It’s a shame your business partner couldn’t join us this evening. But I’m sure he had his reasons. You two are busy men, after all!”

Bennett nodded, composed yet amiable. “That we are. I’m sorry, but I have to ask, who is this beautiful young lady you have with you?”

Bard didn’t skip a beat in his front, presenting her with a grin like she was a piece of treasure up for auction.

“I know, stunning right? This is Elza. She’s one of my...assistants.”

The European man held out his hand with a handsome, friendly smile. It could’ve fooled anyone, and it almost fooled her. But her gut constricted at the last moment, her first indication something wasn’t right about this guy.

He took her hand and kissed it softly. “It is my utmost pleasure, Miss Elza. I’m Stephan Bennett. Please, just call me Stephan.”

Claire put on the sweetest smile she could muster, batting her lashes. “The pleasure’s all mine, Stephan.”

He looked her over, and although he was an attractive man, it made her skin crawl.

“Has Greg taken you up to your suite yet?” Bard asked cordially. “I’ve left you a little treat as a thank you for choosing to stay the night in Raccoon City’s famous Central Hotel!” 

Bennett ripped his eyes from Claire and shook his head at the host. “No, sir. I got the keycard to the room earlier, but wanted to check out the party before retreating for the night.” He presented a friendly, almost sheepish smile. “Honestly, I’m still a little messed up with the time zone changes. I didn’t think it would affect me this much.”

“That’s not a problem. My assistant and I will escort you up there. There’s a little bit of business I’d like to discuss with you anyway,” Bard replied.

“What about your party?”

“Eh, they’ll entertain themselves! Greg will take care of things while I’m gone. It won’t be but a few minutes.” Bennett glanced at Claire, expression unreadable, and Bard quickly added. “My assistant is completely trustworthy, don’t worry. She knows about our research.”

Bennett nodded, relieved. “Alright, lead the way, Nathaniel.”

Claire was uncertain what to do as Mueller shook hands with Bennett and bid them good night before heading for the bar. Her job was to stick a bug on the European businessman, probably so Wesker and William could track him straight to Aaron Roth. Leaving the party just tossed her whole plan into the garbage. This just got way riskier.

Nothing like winging a mission where my life’s literally at stake. What’s the worst that can happen?

“Great,” Ada whispered in her ear, not helping Claire’s gut feeling. “Wesker’s watching and listening through your piece. He says it’s fine. Just get that bug on Bennett without him knowing.”

Was that supposed to make her feel better that Wesker said it was fine? And how exactly was he able to do that anyway? That just made her earlier conversation with Ada a lot more awkward...

With a slight tick of her jaw, Claire composed herself with a friendly smile and followed the two men out of the restaurant and into the fancy, historical hotel.

They went to the lobby, a grand room with high ceilings, bright lights, and expensive carpet and decor. The elevator ride to the fifth floor seemed extra crowded, even though there were just three of them. Bard and Bennett chatted normally about their lives and careers. Claire didn’t like the frequent glances Bennett gave her. She waited for an opportunity, stayed vigilant with that inkling sprouting in her gut.

It got worse when Ada told her she lost visual on her from their location.

Wesker’s making you do this alone because he wants to see how you do, said a small voice in the back of her head. She didn’t have proof, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

She gave vague answers when Bennett asked her something, either curious and flirting or digging and deceiving. She wasn’t exactly sure.

Bennett scanned his card and held the door open to the big, two-bedroom suite. Bard strolled right on in but Claire hesitated, not wanting to put her back to these men. When she did, she felt his eyes all over her, and when he closed the door, he purposely brushed her to get by.

They stepped into the spacious living room first, accented with a bar and impressive kitchen. There was a home theater set up in the den, opposite a wall of glass that displayed downtown Raccoon City. Dark buildings silhouetted within soft glows of lights of all colors. Speckles of white rained down softly outside.

“You meant it when you said this suite had a view,” Bennett stated, drawn to the panorama.

Bard gave her a look, dipped his head in the direction of his “guest”, as if urging her to get her business done. Claire glared at him as he turned off to the bar instead.

“Yes, I did! And over here, something just for you, Mr. Bennett. Your favorite wine. All the way from home!”

“I don’t like this. Are you okay? Cough if you are.”

“How thoughtful of you, Dr. Bard. Thank you. You’ve gone out of your way to make me feel at home here.”

Claire didn’t like it either. She looked around, keeping up her appearance as she joined the men at the bar. She didn’t see any danger, but something like it was lurking about. Whatever it was, she was fine for now.

She coughed. “Oh, excuse me.”

Bennett watched her more than Bard, but she still couldn’t read his expression. Bard took the fancy bottle out of the container of ice. “Shall we have a glass while we talk?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

That clicked an idea in her brain. Claire put a hand on Bard’s arm, mustering up the realest fake friendly smile she could handle, looking between the two men under thick lashes. “How about you gentlemen take a seat, get comfortable? Let me serve you.”

Bennett’s smile held something darker, but it was gone in a flash. Bard looked at her funny, but composed himself and slowly put the wine down on the counter. “Of course, Elza! You’re always the sweetest thing! Come, Stephan, over here.”

“What do you have planned, exactly?” Ada asked. “Ugh, I hate going by sound alone.”

Her cohorts had lied to her, she realized. William promised Wesker wouldn’t let her out of his sight and Ada said she would watch over her. Wesker didn’t say much to her before the party, but disclosed if she did what she was told, she would be fine. She was alone here and certainly felt something other than “fine” was coming her way.

The doctor and his guest went to the lounge chairs nearby, sitting across from each other. It was the perfect way for Claire to bug Bennett without him knowing. She opened the white wine and poured their glasses, giving them time to get settled in their seats and start talking. The more distracted they were, the better. It also gave her a moment to get the tiny tracking device ready.

The younger Redfield served Bennett first. She caressed her fingers up his arm, across his shoulder, stopped at the back of his neck, squeezing his collar gently. Her flirtatious smile was enough to distract him from Bard when she handed him his drink. She didn’t remain long, crossing to Bard and giving him his drink with the same smile, the same caress that made her skin crawl. She left them and returned to the bar, gathering up the wine bottle and ice bucket and placing them on the table in between the two men.

Claire eavesdropped on their conversation, but a lot of it made no sense to her. Big research, Sheena and Rockfort Island, Roth, Ashfords, prototypes, T-series. All similar topics that Wesker and William discussed and were involved with.

“You know, it’s strange how all of our business associates keep coming up dead or missing since we’ve been in town,” Bennett said after a long sip of his wine.

Bard grew quiet, confused, his fingers clenching around his wine glass. “What…do you mean?”

The European man looked at Claire, like he knew all of her secrets, not near as charming now. “You know what happened to them...don’t you, Miss Walker? Or should I call you Miss Redfield?”

Claire stiffened, nails digging into the chair arms. She dared not blink, glaring at him, keeping calm, but reeling underneath on how to react. He knew her name. Her _real _name.

Shit!

“Shit!” Ada echoed in her ear. “Claire, don’t do anything rash. Hang in there.”

It wasn’t as though she had much of a choice. She was on her own. Bard’s alarmed face told her everything. He was just as surprised as her, but would be too much of a coward to help her.

Claire took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened to them.”

“I think Dr. Lowery would say otherwise.”

“How do you know my real name?��

The European businessman crossed one leg casually, swishing the wine in his glass, sharp eyes on her. “All it took was a little digging. You really shouldn’t use your mother’s maiden name as an alias, darling. Especially one as unique as hers.”

Cold steel bumped the back of her head. A gun.

Wesker had told her the same thing. Warned her.

She was careless to use it after not being prepared at the university. Now she was in real danger. The other wolves that Wesker claimed he was protecting her from had stalked her right into a corner. Then again, maybe he wasn’t expecting _this _pack. Or maybe he had and was ready to give her up as tribute for his own motives…

“Uh, Stephan, what’s going on, is t-this necessary?” Bard asked.

“Quiet, or you’ll have one to your head also.” Bennett motioned for Claire to stand. “My business partner, Aaron, would like to speak to you one-on-one, Miss Redfield. You have the time, right? You can help fill the gaps on what’s been happening to our dealings. We’re getting warm, but it seems as though everyone is too afraid to give us answers. Whoever you’re working for, we’ll cut you a nice deal if you expose them.”

Claire kept his gaze, defiant, silent. She had no choice but to comply. She had no weapons on her, no way to hide one in this dress. She slowly moved her hands down to her sides, preparing to push herself up, and felt it. The cold, metal coil of a corkscrew. She forgot she had brought it with her while serving the drinks.

Snatching it up between her fingers, she stood. The man who had the gun to her head pulled her out away from the chair. Bennett rose from his seat, finishing his drink and setting the empty glass down.

Bard shot up as well, looking between Claire and his guest, panicking. “Wh-What are you doing?”

There were two other men in suits now. They must’ve been hiding in the suite this whole time. Although they didn’t have weapons drawn, they were probably packing like the one behind her.

“Nathaniel, lying to me that she is your assistant? After what happened to Simon, I’m shocked. Someone’s got you cowering and afraid, just like Greg. Just like our friend the Police Chief.”

“I-It’s n-not what you think.”

Bennett nodded to the other men. They grabbed Bard by the arms, containing him. The European man pulled a gun equipped with a silencer from his suit jacket.

The doctor fought his captors. “Wait! No!”

Claire stabbed the man behind her in the groin with the corkscrew. He cried out as she spun, disarming him and shoving him away where he tumbled to the floor. She grabbed the bottle of wine and threw it at Bennett’s head just as he switched his gun on her. The bottle shattered on his face.

She didn’t get far with running. Not in that dress, not in those heels, before she was snatched by his men. A bash above her temple instantly made the world spin. Still, she fought, as weak as she suddenly felt.

Bennett was soaked, his face earning a few gashes from broken glass, blood mixing with golden-colored wine. He cursed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He grabbed her neck, squeezing hard.

“You little bitch! You’re lucky Aaron wants to speak with you, or you’d be dead!”

That’s when his arm snapped. Like a twig. He screamed. Claire, her vision still hazy from the blow to her head, realized he was attacked. His men were attacked; she was let go. A few blinks and she saw Wesker using some sort of martial arts to swiftly dispose of them. Not Bennett though. He raced away to his escape while holding his limp arm that flopped uselessly as he ran.

The STARS Captain had killed the other three. In seconds. With his hands. He paused, looking to the door where Bennett had fled, as if deciding whether to pursue him. He was over it in seconds though, grabbing her and pulling her to him. Not as rough as she had expected, but gentle wasn’t really in his nature.

“Hold still,” he commanded. She felt his hand on her head. He must’ve been examining the clout she had received. “Are you alright?”

There was some blood on his hand when he withdrew it, and she felt it trickling in her hair. It must’ve been just a small cut, otherwise it would’ve been all over her face by now.

“Yeah,” she said. And she was. It had only made her light-headed for a minute or so.

The nearby chair squeaked as it scooted on the carpet, and a muffled curse came from the other side. Wesker finally looked away from her, jaw clenching. He marched over to the furniture and kicked it. The chair crashed and skidded several feet away. Wesker seized Bard by the collar and picked him up, slamming him into the nearby bar counter. The sound his body made hitting the granite countertop made her flinch, and Bard’s yelp confirmed it.

“Wesker, wait, please! I d-didn’t know! I didn’t! I swear! He was gonna kill me too!”

“He was,” Claire confirmed. 

She had no idea why she defended the asshole, especially when he didn’t offer her any help before. But she could tell he was telling the truth. Wesker paused, but didn’t look at her, probably contemplating what to do with the doctor as he shuddered in his hands.

“Consider your...contract extended indefinitely,” Wesker growled, and shoved him over the other side of the bar. He put a couple fingers up to his ear, the same hidden piece she had. “Ada, William, we’re finished here. Ada, track Bennett. William, tell Irons he has a mess to clean up with Bard and Mueller.”

Bard got to his feet, shaken, his surprised eyes finding hers. The younger Redfield glared at him, a silent message he understood. She had spared him a cruel fate from the Devil. But she wouldn’t do it again.

She returned her gaze to the three bodies around her feet. The one she stabbed with the corkscrew had a snapped neck. The other two looked as though they had suddenly dropped dead, nothing to attribute to the hands of the STARS Captain. But she had seen it with her own eyes. And although it shouldn’t have, it lit a fierce fire in her lower belly, spreading when his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her towards the door.

The flames were fanned when he whispered in her ear, his hand squeezing her hip. “You did exceptionally well, dear heart. You make me proud.”

When Ada told her Wesker would want to take her home after seeing her in her dress, she had denied wanting him to, denied she wanted to go home with him willingly. But after what she saw, how he held her close to him like she was his, and his alone, how his breath upon her ear titillated her, made her receptive to him only, she could no longer deny it.

Claire wouldn’t be able to stand the drive there. She wanted him. Wanted him to take her. She was a liar; it wasn’t just a one-time fling or a mistake. It was going to happen again. And she wanted it to, and would do nothing to stop it.

[theasstour]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

 Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?�� He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry​

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

[frogs-spawn]

it’s true lads, i have actually written something

(this was a prologue of a long canon fic that i’m writing/on hiatus on (oops) but i was thinking of changing the pov of it, so this doesn’t fit in it anymore) i may end up finishing the canon one, but it is long, so it probably won’t see the light of day, but we’ll see

anyway, here’s the ao3 link if you would like to read it on there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31116254

a tragic twist of fate:

summary: the lupin family are enjoying a quiet evening, when an unwelcome visitor shows up, changing all of their lives forever.

word count: 1.6k

The sun was setting, casting a burning haze across the sea, and subsequently over the unsuspecting cul-de-sac in the Gower. The pebble-dashed bungalows that hugged the road were quaint and uniform, with a meagre patch of grass out the front that barely constituted as a garden. All things considered; it was a very normal street. There were the Jones', with their tiny Yorkshire terrier, which was small in size but easily compensated with its tremendous bark. The Thomas', who were always out the front regardless of the weather, observing the street's comings and goings. The Liu's, whose windows were constantly filled with an assortment of different lights, illuminating the street, making it feel like Christmas every day. Opposite them, were the Lupin's. There was Lyall, who has a mysterious job that no one is quite able to figure out exactly what it entails; his wife, Hope, who made sure that the whole street was well and truly fed; finally, their 5-year-old son, Remus, who's usually found playing out on the empty street.

Remus, as expected, was having a game of tag with Julia from across the road when his mother called out from the front door. She had thick blonde hair, slightly greying at the crown of her head, which was tied up into a loose bun, the fly-always whipping the side of her face, which was covered slightly with gravy.

"Remus, it's time to come in now. Your father has just gotten home, and dinner's almost ready."

"But Mammy! I'm not even tired," Remus pleaded, shouting back, a little breathless. "Can we have a few more minutes? Please?"

"It's okay, Mrs Lupin." Julia panted, brushing her dark fringe from out of her eyes, it was a miracle she could even see. She was a few years older than Remus but was still somehow shorter than the boy (who was only slightly tall for his age). "I think my parents want me back soon anyway." She turned to Remus and smiled, "We're going to go out and play again tomorrow, aren’t we Re?”

"Yeah, okay then. I'll see you tomorrow! Bye!" Remus chirped back, with some newfound energy. He then proceeded to hurtle up the driveway and stumble through the front door.

“Not even going to give your old mammy a cwtch?” Hope laughed, following her son through the door, shoving her hands into her pockets.

He clambered onto his chair at the kitchen table and watched eagerly as his mother took a roast lamb out of the oven and began to dish it out on to mismatched plates. There were roast potatoes, which were crispy on the outside, but still fluffy and buttery on the inside, peas, carrots, and parsnips - that were roasted to perfection, and it was all smothered with thick gravy that was laden with salt and had the potential to clog up your arteries – but if it’s bad for you then that meant it would probably delicious. Remus’ mouth was practically watering.

"Now, as you've been running around all afternoon, I'll give you the extra roastie, how about that?" Hope smiled down at Remus, scooping a roast potato onto the plate.

Lyall stooped into the kitchen at that moment, placing his tattered briefcase down onto the splintered wooden counter and bent over to kiss his wife on the head. He was tall and lanky with brown curly hair that was just starting to thin. He wore deep navy robes over the top of a well-fitted suit, looking as if he had just walked out of a very important meeting. He could have been a very intimidating man if it weren't for the way his eyes lit up and his mouth formed a crooked grin when he looked adoringly across his small family, with an immense sense of pride.

"This looks wonderful, darling. What did I ever do to deserve you?" he laughed as went over to his son and ruffled his hair. "According to Mrs Thomas, you've been charging up and down the road all day! No wonder you look knackered." He fell into the chair next to him, as Hope brought the dinner over.

The family ate with easy conversation. Hope explained how she had heard from Mrs Thomas that Mrs Jones was apparently putting empty wine bottles into her recycling bin and Lyall explained his new case at work, but it seemed boring, so Remus didn't pay it much attention. He wolfed his food down so quickly, barely stopping for a breath, his poor mother thought he might end up with indigestion.

"Stay in your own lane, Lyall, that's what they said," Lyall explained in between mouthfuls, gesturing at no one in particular with his fork. "They won't believe me though, and that Greyback has been released again, the man makes my skin crawl." He used air quotes when describing him and huffed, as he took another bite out of his roast. "It's madness, I told them that. Did they listen? No. Cases of lycanthropy are going up and it's because of creatures like them. String 'em all up for all I care. Bloody werewolves.”

"Not at the table Lyall," Hope piped in, sensing that her husband was about to go on another one of his world-renowned rants. "I understand it's a pain, especially if no one listens to you at work, but let's keep dinner time a happy affair, don't you think?"

"Yeah, no, sorry love" he gave her a sweet smile, which she returned. "Anyway. Did you have you had fun today, Re?"

The boy looked up and nodded quickly. "Yeah, me and Julia played lots of games. We had a race to see who was faster. And I won!" he exclaimed, talking at the speed of a hundred miles per hour, he spread his arms for dramatic effect and sat up higher in his chair. "She said I was cheating, but I wasn't, I promise!"

"No, of course, you weren't." Lyall laughed and looked down at his son like he was the most precious thing in the world.

After dinner, the family were positioned around the small-rickety fire pit that was positioned in the corner of the patio, made up of broken slabs of concrete with weeds emerging like great vines through the gaps. The fire crackled and spat, specks of charred wood and the burning flame releasing swirling smoke into the atmosphere. They sat on wobbly wooden chairs, that they had gotten from the charity shop, which were starting to rot and covered in splinters. However, Hope had made some colourful and slightly garish cushions, so it was incredibly comfortable, despite the small risk of the chairs collapsing from underneath them. Hope was sat with a pair of knitting needles in hand, focusing on the burgundy jumper that Remus would undoubtedly get for Christmas in a couple of months time. Remus sat opposite and was looking eagerly at his father, who was making the little old wooden figurines of soldiers that Hope collected do an Irish jig across the uneven stone.

Then, there was a rustling in the undergrowth at the far end of the garden. The birds that had nested and settled in for the evening took flight, flying off into the rising moon, bright and beautiful.

"What on earth could that be?" Hope wondered out loud, staring out into the distance, squinting her eyes.

'I'll go check it out.” Lyall chuckled as he pushed himself out of the chair. "Probably just a fox, I shall go shoo it away."

He wandered to the end of the garden, managing to avoid the snail hotel Remus had built a year ago. He lit up his wand so that he could see at least three steps ahead of himself.

It was a surprise that it remained standing, despite the howling gales and torrential rain it had to endure, it stayed. For as long as he could remember, Remus looked after the snails in the hotel, gave them any leftover lettuce. They were his favourite magical creatures. It fascinated him, the way they could stick to the walls and go upside down, the only way that was possible, Remus decided, was magic. Lyall didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

"Ah, Lyall Lupin. Just the man I wanted to see." An unfamiliar voice snarled. The voice was deep and ragged as if it had been strained from screaming too loud "Fancy seeing you here."

“Fenrir.” Lyall cut back, voice curt but contained a small tremble. "Leave me and my family alone and take your unpleasant business somewhere else." He straightened his jacket and stood rigidly, making himself taller. But the figure, Fenrir, stood a head above him, despite his hunched posture.

"I don't think that would be necessary." He countered, his voice becoming more and more menacing. "How is your family? I'd love to meet them." He shoved Lyall out of the way, causing him to lose balance and he stumbled into the hedge.

“Hope! Remus! Get into the house and lock the door!” Lyall shouted, desperately, unable to keep up with Greyback, who was striding across the garden.

Hope quickly grabbed her things and ran, pushing open the back door with a creak.

“Remus, come on lamb, into the house.” Hope coaxed from the door, trying to sound as calm as possible.

But Remus stayed rooted to the spot, unmoving, fixed and waiting, staring into the monster before him.

Fenrir Greyback was a giant of a man, towering easily over 6 feet tall. He was unkempt and greasy, covered in black matted hair. His deceitful yellowing eyes emitting nothing venom. Remus scrambled off of the chair and edged slowly towards his mother. It was too late.

Their eyes locked. A deal had been struck.

Under the silver moon, Greyback's manic grin turned pointed and wider. Bones cracked, twisted, and popped. Hair became thicker, wired, and coarse. Tortured hands and feet transformed into gnarly claws. His previously crooked nose became a leathery, wet, snout.

Barring his teeth, Fenrir Greyback took a couple of paces forward, crushing the hotel under a monstrous paw, towards a terrified Remus Lupin.

And pounced.

[featherymalignancy]

This is totally up to you if you want to answer this ask: What were Nesta's parents like? Their names, personalities, jobs, where they came from etc. Also curious about Nesta's aunt and uncle too :)

Okay, I SWEAR, I was gonna try and keep this brief. I literally whisper-screamed said to myself, “Keep it brief, Cara.”

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre’s Parents: Tim and Ines (neé Afonso) Archeron. Tim was a third-generation native Californian, Ines was, as we know, from Portugal 🇵🇹

Archeron Grandparents:

Tim’s dad Rick was an attorney (and an antisemtic prick, see Nesta’s mention of him in Fucking Lawyers for an example).

His mom Marie was a housewife.

Rick was a functional alcoholic “big drinker” and died when Nesta was 14, Marie died while she was in college.

Afonso Grandparents:

Ines’s father Sebastião was a professor of Antiquities at The Univeristy of Coimbra

Her mother Heloísa worked in her father’s butcher shop until she had Ines (she a dope cook, y’all).

Sebastião died two years before In Vino Veritas starts. Heloísa is the only of the four grandparents still alive.

(SIDENOTE: can we fucking TALK about what she’s gonna say when she meets tall dark and gorgeous Portuguese-speaking wine expert Cassian??)

Heloísa: *in Portuguese* Amorzinho, why have you not married this man yet?

Nesta: Avó, stop!

Heloísa: *still in Portuguese and well within earshot of Cash* If I was forty years younger I would marry him myself!

Tim & Ines (background):

They were both lawyers, they met in law school at Stanford (high achieving runs in the family).

Tim was worked as an M&A (mergers and acquisitions) attorney (can be boring shit but a lotta moneyyy). Ines was a special prosecutor trying drug companies for malpractice and fraud (social justice warrior FTW)

They both worked a LOT, especially when the girls were really little, so the girls were raised by a nanny named Benigna (Beni). Ines had insisted on a nanny who spoke Portuguese, and Beni was from Brazil.

Beni got unexpectedly sick when Nesta was 10, and she died after a too-brief battle with breast cancer.

It was Nesta’s first real experience with loss and she was inconsolably heartbroken, making Tim and Ines realize that they’d allowed their children to be almost completely raised by someone else, and that the girls had basically just suffered the loss of a parent.

At that point Ines decided to cut back to working half time to spend time with the girls, who were 10, 6, and 4.

Between losing Beni and her parents having been gone so much when she was little, Nesta was incredibly anxious to please her parents and make them proud. She was involved in a lot of activities and was very hard on herself, especially for a child. She was serious and dedicated, and though Ines tried to calm the best of Nesta’s outward fretting, she didn’t know how to cope with the more deeply-routed issues of Nesta’s compulsion to be the best. Instead she wrote it off as Nesta being incredibly bright and kept signing Nesta up for activities and paying for any private lessons, competitions, workshops etc. that Nesta expressed interest in. (Look, Nesta had to have something to tell her therapist about)

Starting the year Beni died, they began to take trips to Portugal every summer to see Nesta’s avô and avozinha.

before that, they’d only gone a handful of times, and Sebastiâo and Heloísa were thrilled.

Tim wasn’t close to his parents because of his dad was verbally abusive and his mother was permissive and enabling, so Nesta and the girls were much closer to her avô and avozinha.

Her grandfather spoke English but her grandmother didn’t really, so they spoke almost exclusively Portuguese when they were there (Tim was just sorta...j chilling with his incredibly mediocre Portuguese—he only usually stayed a week anyways, and he worked the whole time).

At home they spoke a mixture, Ines often spoke to the girls in Portuguese and they replied in English unless she insisted otherwise.

Family Ties...

Tim’s closest friend from law school (and the best man at his f*cking wedding) was Beron Vanserra.

Ines was not really a fan but she just sort of tolerated Beron for Tim’s sake, and Beron was clever enough to mostly behave when she was around, though he was definitely the friend who was always trying to coax Tim on a coke-filled bender to Vegas every time her back was turned

Whereas Tim and Ines had children later in life (Ines had Nesta at 35, Elain at 39, and Feyre at 41), Beron married his college sweetheart right out of law school, popped out two boys—August and Adrian—and fucked off for a younger wife. They got divorced without kids after like...a year

His third wife, Flavia, became good friends with Ines. She had her first boy, Eris, three years before Ines had Nesta. They were both pregnant around the same time with their seconds, Lucien and Elain.

The two couples were close and they took vacations together etc. AKA...the kids played together a lot as kids.

Tween/teen Nesta had an ENORMOUS crush on Eris. A senior in HS when she was a freshman, he...did not give a shit. When they ran into each other three years later (Nesta: 18 and two years into raising her two tween sisters and Eris: 21 and a swaggering senior prick at USC) and he hit on her that she was decided she hated him, lol

When Nesta was 14 (Eris: 17, Elain/Lucien: 10, Feyre: 8), it came out that Flavia had been having a longgggg term on-again, off-again affair with her college sweetheart. Screaming matches and paternity tests ensued...and it came out that Lucien was not Beron’s

Ines supported Flavia when Beron filed for divorce and came after Flavia with a VENGEANCE. Ines got Flavia a sick-ass divorce attorney, and sis cleaned up in the divorce 🧹 🧼 🧽 💵 . She and Beron had a very strained custody agreement, where Lucien mostly lived with his mom and saw his “dad” (Beron) only occasionally. Eris, who was about to go to college and was mad at his mom for this embarrassing secret, lived with Beron.

Tim, put off by how Beron handled Lucien’s paternity, distanced himself from Beron, and they were never close after that.

When Tim and Ines died, Flavia was one of the people who stepped up the most to help. Nesta was fiercely independent about the whole thing, but Flavia did babysit for Nesta when she had her own activities, and sometimes she would fill the Archeron fridge with groceries or do the mountain of laundry or take the younger girls back-to-school clothes shopping. Still, she was quiet about it knowing that Nesta considered herself a failure for any little thing she couldn’t do for her sisters.

Tim and Ines (personalities):

Tim

Tim was easy-going and fairly mild.

Of the three girls, Elain is most like him in temperament.

Like his dad, Tim was a total workaholic. He loved his daughters a lot, always bragging about them to colleagues and friends, but he wasn’t really around enough to really show them.

As a result, his main role as a parent was spoiling them with things.

Tim’s dad had been the diciplinarian, so Tim hated “being the bad guy” and was thus incredibly permissive. On the rare occasions that he was in charge of the girls alone for a weekend, there were...literally no rules.

Had he been alive, Tim would have strongly encouraged Nesta’s decision to pursue law school. He likely would have been more skeptical of Feyre’s choice to pursue fine art.

Ines

Ines was more type-A in her personality

Of the three, Nesta is most like her

As the daughter of a classics professor, she had a great love of classical art and music. She would have been pleased that Elain planned to be an academic like her Avô. She also highly encouraged Nesta’s pursuit of opera even though HS Nesta secretly would have rather done musical theatr (like literally any other teenager?)

Ines had been very close to her parents growing up and had planned to return to Portugal when she graduated law school; even though she loved Tim, she was sad when that didn’t happen

She was very nurturing with her girls, but less tolerant of them acting out. Appearances were important to her, and she expected her girls to be well-behaved.

Nesta, always desperate to please, was praised by every adult who ever met her for being perfectly well-behaved

Elain, easy-going and somewhat shy, was quiet and complaint by nature. She never caused problems and rarely even cried

Feyre, a fiercely independent spirit from day one, did not give a FUCK about making a scene if the need arose. Oh, it’s Christmas and Mamã bought Feyre a pretty dress to wear in the Christmas photos? Who cares; not Feyre! She wants to wear her Jasmine costume from Halloween, and if Mamã says she can’t, Feyre is PERFECTLY happy to make a good huge scene in the middle of the bougee photography studio...

OKAY FUCK THIS IS WAY TOO LONG BUT REAL QUICK THE AUNT AND UNCLE

Ines was an only child, Tim just had the one younger brother named Mike. Mike was the “disappointment” according to Rick, because he chose to major in communications and had no interest in law school.

Mike is incredibly unassuming and lived in Tim’s popular, affable shadow. Not lame but definitely unremarkable

The Archerons grew up in the affluent Beach town of Santa Barbara, but Mike was so vexed by his parents he move 385 miles away to Sacramento (if you know California, WEIRD flex on Sacramento of all places, but you do you Mikey)

He married a very sweet middle class girl named Linda and got a job in Insurance

They never had kids of their own, and though he and Tim were friendly, they didn’t really get together much because they just had vastly different lives/lifestyles

Mike and Linda were shocked and sort of bewildered when Tim and Ines died and they were awarded custody of the girls (literally do you not really know what it is to agree to be someone’s legal guardian, Michael ???) and they sort of started haphazardly making plans to move the girls up to Sacramento, even though every time Nesta called they weren’t much farther on arrangements.

Elain and Feyre FREAKED out when they were told they’d be leaving home and their friends and moving to Sacramento with Uncle Mike and Aunt Linda (10 yo Feyre: I HATE Sacramento, it’s a shithole!) and when Mike and Linda still didn’t really have any helpful insights on schools, etc (the Archeron girls all attended private school) Nesta decided the move made no sense.

She basically announced that they weren’t gonna move and that she was just going to handle the girls. Mike and LInda sort of (vaguely) protested before being like “yeah you right, we suck at this”. They still controlled Tim and Ines’s estate and helped Nesta deal with all that, but she took it over the MINUTE she turned 18 and they didn’t really have any part after that besides sheepishly calling like “so...hows everything going? Are you liking school okay?” 🤦‍♀️

Nesta tried to make an effort to be closer with them when they were all younger but like...as adults the Archeron girls have sort of tacitly agreed that Mike and Linda are sweet and they’re family but like...they aren’t that much fun to be around. They’d much rather go to sushi and get drunk on Christmas Eve rather than go to Sacramento and force polite conversation with their aunt and uncle

Okay so yeah! There is a far too detailed thing about her parents, hope you enjoy!

[acioo]

( PART THREE HERE ) & ( PART ONE HERE ) here are NINE MORE CHARACTER BASES ( label & background & personality ), all of whom i have played out in the past. they expand beyond ‘ the fuck boy ‘ and ‘ the arrogant rich kid ‘ because i think as a community we’re all tired of the cliche bull, so have some of my most fun & most subversive times. these are for inspiration purposes as well as admin purposes. if you are going to use these in an rph setting, i request credit, but otherwise, it’s not necessary. ( all details viable to change ; pinterest board links available for all of them - if you are interested in my characters, see my muse page )  TW : violence, alc, drugs, ( parental ) emotional neglect, death, blood, homelessness, police

001.   THE WITCH — you are in the second generation of witchy women in your family. you’re not meant to misuse, you’re meant to give back, your mother tells you. nature loves you but nature holds grudges, your mother tells you. you are not you but we, your mother tells you. you will not heed her advice. age six, you learn how to make the tea boil in seconds just by whistling, even if you know that it’s not necessary. age ten, you make the kids who say bad words to you trip on their way up the stairs, leaving them with bloody noses and mouthfuls of curses. age sixteen, you fall in love with a girl who loves you like she’s going to lose you, who makes you forget why your parents crossed continents and why your blood sings a song of violence and why you stand unflinching in the eye of loss. you and your friends get into bad things when you start to get old enough for people to notice you. their eyes always go to you first. you and your dark eyes. you and the furrow in your brow. you and your lesson in awakening. you adopt another stray emotionally compromised teenager into your friend group and she tells you breathlessly, reverently that you’re the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. and it makes you mad, but maybe not at her, because you can recognize the good and bad people like a lie detector that’s seen too much and knows in details what a long night is because they’re all you have. you’re powerful in a way that they don’t seem to understand and maybe, you will take a lesson your mother. you’re powerful and you won’t let them see.

002.    THE PROM QUEEN — the oldest by eleven minutes, you grow up trying to be everything your little siblings need. your parents are twisted but you learn to see them through rose-colored glasses instead of living in pain. when your siblings fall, you feel it, too, and when they cry, you cry too. it’s too much responsibility. your parents feed and clothe them, but you hold their mental health in your hands and the truth is you’re no better. you just got so good at hiding behind your mask that you can’t seem to tell the difference between you and party favor anymore, and the fact of the matter is that while they’re quiet and just so different in a way that your parents feared they would be, you blend in like a chameleon. you’re class president and prom royal. that’s the way it’s always been. but all the makeup in the world can’t hide the fact that you’re no better. the older you get, the more they can see. your grandmother, first. then your little sister’s best friend. your first love. everything you try to hide sits in your lap and you try to wrestle it into submission and sometimes it wins. they know you but you don’t. your eyes flash golden sometimes when you’re mad enough that you remember that you’re the one who put the burn stains on the wood floors of your family’s old penthouse, but you’re more human than anyone can ever even imagine.

003.    THE UNAPOLOGETIC SLOTH — you’re the small-town preacher’s child who comes out with a slam when you turn ten years old. you’re burning your clothes in the basement when your mother comes home from book club. you’re looking for a way out, but all she wants to know is if you want to do it in the expensive fire pit outside instead. they call you their golden child but no one else shares the sentiment. you’re lucky that your group of friends ( they don’t look like you exactly or act like you exactly, but you all know what it’s like to feel like you’re alone in the world, or you did until you met them ) likes the way you bite back even if your grandmother doesn’t and neither does she come over for christmas dinner anymore and it tears you up inside until you bleed an angry and violent storm and trail curses ( against anyone, against god, if there is a god at all, if you even believe in a god at all ) down the creaky wood stairs from your room all the way into you mom’s lexus. you’ll come back but for now, you are a tempest and you are only beautiful when you’re burning. you’re not the type to bend yourself out of shape for people who won’t look back at you. you’re happy with yourself in a way that most people wish they could be, most people who spend nights drinking or turning in bed or smiling. you’re happy because you couldn’t care less.

004.    THE PYROMANIAC — the child of two famous superheroes, you’re the picturesque image of your mother. you only have your father’s mutant blue eyes and you think that you’ll curse your mother with unhappiness for it until she gives up on you like you want her to. you hate her for her giving you everything you have. your powers, your hair, your two good hands. you love your father more than you love anything. it starts when you’re still little. lying about your powers, saying you have your fathers. your parents can’t stop it. the therapists certainly can’t stop it. not even your classmates' jeers can. the fires start in your teens around the time you start sneaking out at night. your mother with her kind eyes ( not yours, which are an icy and violent storm that everyone needs to seek cover from ) and tired crinkle in her forehead, who loves you even if the only time she gets your affection is at the request of your father, asks you about it and you don’t answer, look at her with contempt and a scoff. she knows the answer anyway. you’re the angriest kid she knows and they all wonder where you got it from as you project the worst pieces of your parents. your father's arrogance. your mother’s envy. by the time you turn eighteen, you’ve been arrested six times ( your party stories are to die for ; arson & assault & arson & underage drinking & arson & disorderly conduct ). you’re so hilarious, so famous, that they like to forget that you are also lethal.

005.    THE PRINCELY POLYMATH — you don’t grow up as a person. the only child of one of the richest men the world may yet see, you come out of nowhere. bright hair and brighter eyes, you look and act nothing like your father. it takes you many years to find out that the only reason you’re surrounded by people is that they want something from you. the anxiety develops around the same time. coils into you and holds you tight. you cover it up poorly with anger and insult. it’s a bad look on you and it makes you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood but it’s better than the alternative. you’re still going to get followed around. you’re still going to have callers. because you’re attractive and you’re devastating and you’re one of the brightest minds they’ve ever seen. you try not to let your father find out that under that mop of blonde curls lies a brain that can’t be matched, but he does when the maid returns from your room with empty vodka bottles and books on aeronautics and too-tiny baggies and sketches of architecture. your iq test makes the news, but you just wanted something of your own. your new school is just as fancy, but now you don’t have to hide the fact that you’re bored and unchallenged. when you’re fourteen, your starlet mother, who your father never forgave you for resembling, will overdose on pills in a bathroom in ibiza as you take the sats. you’re not allowed to be sad. you haven’t seen her since your fifth birthday. there’s nothing for you here. you wonder when there will be. 

006.    THE BEST OF THEM ALL — for as long as you can remember, you’ve been the nicest kid anyone has ever known. a candy-sweet smile and you really mean it, too. people marvel at the way you carry yourself and the hpw you can speak to people, but they’re always looking over your shoulder for your brighter, more reckless friends. you’re in the instagram posts but you’re no one’s first choice, and it’s okay because you’re used to it. you’re still going to be there when they fall down and cut themselves on the sharp edges of others that you told them with a wavering voice to watch out for. you keep a shovel in your trunk and your ringer on. because you’re that good. you won’t survive this kind of disregard but you think you’ve known this from the start. you’re not the protagonist in this story, but maybe you should be. people like to hear about warzones and long nights with longer bottles but the fact of the matter is that you’re not the kind of kid. you’re warm hands and a down looked smile. you won’t stand on the edge of the mountain but you’re happy to use your first aid kit to patch up anyone who does.

007.    THE ACTIVIST — your mother never wants to be a mother and your father isn’t the kind of man she’d trust with her heart, let alone you with your chubby hands and big eyes. giving you up is the right thing to do. you run away from foster homes left and right. eventually, they stop looking for you, and you move from state to state, a rolling stone of your own. you find a person of your own. you call them your twin, but the facts don’t line up in a way you won’t realize for a very long time. eventually, you find your place with a microphone in hand and a shoebox under your feet. you care about everyone but yourself and you’re pretty okay with that. you’re a survivor, you always have been. when you’re fifteen, the peaceful protest you organized gets interrupted by local police who ask for a permit that’s not there. the noise ruptures your eardrum ; the crowd, the riot guns, the yelling. you never get back all your hearing but it won’t stop you. you’d never let that happen. you keep going, just different and with the help of friends. when you’re sixteen, you’re moving through a crowd, doc martens ahead of you when you stumble into a strong chest. an older man with a kind smile. when he offers to walk you home, asks if you’re parents know where you are this time of day, you laugh, but he’s serious. ( you’ve never met someone kind over the age of twenty. ) he adopts you in the spring and your platform is larger now, but you’re still the same old kid with fire in their heart and no chip on your straight shoulders. that’s the year you track down your biological mother. she’s apologetic and kind, but honest with you and you forgive her. she thought she was doing what was best for you and you think, despite the grim, and the scares, and the bad parts, that she did. you grow up, move from smartphones to tv screens to podcasts. you make a difference. 

008.    THE PSYCHIC’S DAUGHTER — you’re never going to be your sister, and eventually, you’ll be able to live with this fact. she’ll know of a father, a man who has dark hair and dark eyes and a dark heart, but you left him breathless and unhappy because he, like you, is a fighter. the worst person you know has your last name and your lips. your mother. she is what someone would call a powerful woman. she opens up a business of psychic women, trademarked under your last name, and you know it’s going to haunt you until the day you die. you know they have no power. you know they’re a trick of the light or a flick of a card or a bag of sequins. they teach you one thing. if you say anything with enough confidence, someone will believe you. you don’t know why you never say anything, but you don’t. you won’t. you will never reveal their secret. it’s not yours to tell. when you’re sixteen, following after your sister with big puppy dog eyes as she speaks gold and weaves silk with her steps, she will beat a girl half to death on the football field. she never tells you why and it seals the fate between you, but the truth is that you’d never be able to forgive yourself if she told you. ( she did it for you. the unloved child people whisper about under the bleachers. the psychic's youngest. you’ll curse them, they say. ) you are not your sister and you’re certainly not your mother. you’re dramatic, earnestly so, not with an outreached hand but with an open heart. and you may never recover from spending your days in the dark house at the end of the block, but it won’t hurt to try.

009.    THE BACKGROUND CHARACTER — your small town chokes you from a young age. you grow up as one of the cool ones in that big squad of pretty, rich kids that everyone wants to be apart of, but you never asked for entry. your mother’s a bird who breathes down your neck, pecks at you for answers that she will never get because you’re too stunted, too angry to really be the child she’d always dreamed of having, and you find that kind of funny because you’re a lab baby that cost more than her car. you’ll try for her, but not for anyone else. they know that your ‘we’ll see‘s and your ‘maybe‘s are really just your fun way of saying you don’t want to hang out. you’ll try for her because she gave you everything you have ever had, but all they give you is migraines. too loud and too inconsiderate, you think. you’re a harsh judge on people, but they know what they bought into when they invested your sour apple self. you watch from the windows and that’s how you’ve always liked it. you’re safe there. they can’t hurt you. you’ll sleep with one every other month, or attend a party or two, but you’re too fast and too much of a whim for them to even know you before you’re gone.

[aominesshi]

Of Drinking and Being Drunk

Summary : It only takes Christmas Eve, Denmark, and alcohol to strip Alice bare.

"Ugh, I miss Denmaark!" Alice suddenly whined on one cold December night, flipping the magazine randomly in front of the fireplace.

Ryo, whose thigh becoming her pillow, looked slightly at his missy, already used to her sudden remarks. "Hmm."

"What? You don't wanna come with me?" Alice glanced up, paying attention to her aide's expression.

"I do. But as much as I want to, I have nothing left there. The old man whose pub I used to work at had died. I have no family, relatives, whatsoever. I have no reason to go back. " He answered nonchalantly, still focused on reading some articles.  

"You have me." Alice cut him short.

Ryo sighed, his eyes met hers. "And you're here."

"Mou, I mean, go with me Ryo-kun! I don't wanna go alone. That'd be sooo boring! What if some thugs appeared and laid their hands on me?" Alice pouted.

Ryo shrugged off his shoulders. "I have no other option, ain't I?"

                                                            ***

Denmark, December 24.

"Milady, it's Christmas eve but here you are stucked with me. Don't you have any family dinner or such?" Ryo asked Alice who was busy playing his video game.

They were now in Ryo's apartment, not far from Nakiri Mansion. Despite having his own room in the residence, Ryo thought having an individual unit was necessary. Other than he could have some quiet time alone, it's also a good property investment, since the location was far from being remote and cannot be said at disadvantage. Though by far, Alice never let him be alone more than 3 hours long.

"It's blizzard outside, if you forgot. I'll excuse my self to warm up here. Christmas dinner is tomorrow, you should come along!" She chimed in, not even looking at the dark-haired boy. "Argh, I almost win!" She yelled.

"I'd better stay here. You rarely get chance to be alone with your family." He answered her remark.

Alice looked up from her game. "There's no way I left you here alone. Christmas is supposed to be celebrated together."

"It's alright. I'm gonna be okay."

"Okay, let's do a shokugeki. If I win-" Alice stopped in the middle of her words. "Right, we agreed to that."

Alice and Ryo had come to agreement of no shokugeki during their time in Denmark. Alice persistently said they're going for a break, though wherever they went, it's almost impossible to do that. This time, she pushed the boy to agree by winning a shokugeki before they went off. Therefore, his bandana was hers to hide until they're back to Japan.

Ryo brought a plate full of grilled crayfish with spicy garlic butter he made before, along with a bottle of akvavit. Without his bandana, Ryo was still a good cook, only less vigorous and fiery.

"Since I don't have my bandana, I couldn't think of anything to cook." He shoved the plate to her.

Alice beamed at the sight. "Whoaa Ryo-kun! This is more than enough! You sure know what to cook here! The Danish we are!"

Ryo's lips slightly curved upward. He poured the akvavit to both her glass and his own.

Alice lift her glass up, eyes twinkling with joy. "It's been so long since I have a glass of this. Skål!"

Ryo mimicked his missy. "Skål!"

They enjoyed the food and drink cheerfully. Alice couldn't stop talking about their old days. How they first met, how Ryo ignored her, their first shokugeki, the difference between having Christmas here and Japan, and so on. She kept on going, and on and on. Ryo, on the other side, was listening to her attentively. He always loved hearing her talk, without a reason. No matter how noisy and repetitive the story was, he always found himself as a good listener.

More than half bottle of akvavit later, the white-haired girl started to ramble on. Her alcohol tolerance was definitely lower than Ryo's, though she always insisted otherwise.

"Milady, c'mon we need to get you home." Ryo tried to get Alice stand, but the latter refused to do so. "It's cold outside, Ryo-kun. I'm staying here tonight."

"You're drunk. Besides, I only have one bed here."

"It's okay, I can sleep with you. And I'm not drunk." Her voice was hoarse and her head already leaned on her aide's shoulder.

"You could even barely hold your head up, and you said you're not drunk?" Ryo chuckled.

"I'm not~ Try to listen, I still can remember the face you make when you lose to me. You looked soo upset but couldn't find a way to run from your words. A man of words, I see." Alice flashed a little smile, even with her eyes closed. "I was very happy to have a friend back then, you know? I always wanted to meet Erina, yeah you know the story. And then you came with me, though involuntarily at first. But as time goes by, I really hope you stayed because you want to, not because I forced you to. I'm alwaays thankful to have you here, Ryo-kun." Hik! She hiccuped before she continued. "Do you remember the day when the old man death news came? For the first time in years, I saw you got more upset than ever before. I don't know if it's because the old man could no longer see your cultivated cooking skill, or because you couldn't show me that you're sad and you held them in, or other reason. But the only thing you should know is, I'm your friend too, Ryo-kun. You could get upset, sad, and happy in front of me. So please, in the future, do tell me all of your feeling. Not as my aid, but as the real Kurokiba Ryo. You know, I always prefer you not wearing the bandana."

"Why?" Ryo asked faintly.

"I don't know. I just think.....you looked more like you."

Ryo swore this girl could be the death of him. He was at a loss of words upon hearing Alice's rambling. He couldn't believe she could get this honest when she's drunk. There's no way in hell she would talk like this when she was sober. Her pride was on cloud nine. 

"C'mon, time to sleep." He lift Alice up in bridal style, bringing her to his room. He put off her shoes and covered her in blanket. He wanted to lay on the sofa but Alice's hand clenched tightly at his tshirt, didn't let him go.

"Milady, I'm going to sleep over there." He tried to shake it off, but she didn't budge. Ryo sighed in defeat. "Alright, I'll sleep here."

They used to sleep together, when Alice stubbornly wanted to camp outside but had no heart to do it alone. Or when she trembled in fear after reading volumes of Goosebumps series. Ryo was there, witnessing all of her fake courage acts. Alice was never like Erina, unless her stubbornness. She was more expressive and pompous, yet a big crybaby. She was insecure and felt inferior to her cousin, though she never blatantly showed it. Ryo knew, he always knew. But to think his missy observed him as much?

"Ryo, thank you." He heard Alice whispered. "For being here and there. For everything."

Ryo stared at the beauty before his eyes. He leaned closer, for a split second doubting something he was about to do, but then he pressed his lips on hers. Just a chaste kiss, yet it sent shivers down his spine. He didn't even know why.

"I'm the one who should thank you. Thank you for persistently coming back to challenge me back then, Alice."

                                                        ***

Alice woke up with a light headache. She spotted Ryo lying next to her, trying to remember what happened last night. She could only remember talking about the old days. Did she get wasted last night?

"Totally." A hoarse voice cracked beside her. She must have voiced her question out.

"What are you doing here?! Did I do something weird?" Alice stared at the black-haired boy whose hair was disheveled after sleeping.

Ryo rolled his eyes a little. "This is my apartment milady, if you didn't remember. Also, you didn't let go of me at all last night. I was basically forced to sleep here, in my own bedroom."

"Okay.....I'm sorry. Anything else?" She asked again, as if not sure she only did as much.

"Yes. You kissed me. Hard."

".......Holy crap. I'm sorry, Ryo-kun! Don't get mad at me, okay? I'm sorry!" Alice put her hands together and shut her eyes closed. Her face turned to a total crimson. 

Ryo stifled a laugh that sounded like a grunt. "I'm joking."

"What?! You could throwing jokes now?" Alice hit his arm hard. "It's no fun!"

It's me who did, though. But it would be a secret until.....later. Ryo thought to himself.

                                                          ***

A/n: Hi, it’s me again. The jobless me is jobless and somehow I came up with a random story and (seemingly) ooc Alice and Ryo. Well, I do take civil criticism, so please let me know your thoughts! And since I don’t celebrate christmas, happy holiday to you all! ❄️

[somekind0fmagic]

Chapter 1. The Bringing of The Line

I do not own Harry Potter or the characters made by J.K. Rowling

I also added Anneliese's siblings names, ages, how old they’ll be turning next & when (plus a little bit about them if they’re older)

(Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 )

Chapter 1. The Bringing of the Line

Albus looked out of the window of the moving train, the words his dad spoke to him before echoing in his head. He had to get away from his family, they were being overbearing as usual. The door of the compartment opened, he looked over and saw a boy with messy dirty blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. "Oh, s-sorry! I didn't realize it was occupied, I'll go somewhere else." The boy spoke in surprise.

Albus smiled, "It's fine, you can sit in here. I don't really care." There was something about him that seemed familiar to Albus.

"Oh, okay, thanks." He sat down in front of Albus and said, "I'm Scorpius, of course you already know that."

That was why he looked familiar! He's Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy's son. "I'm Albus and don't worry, took me till you said your name to figure out why you looked familiar."

Scorpius looked surprised, "You-you don't care? I mean, you're a Potter and you don't care, I'm a Malfoy?"

Albus shook his head, "I know we aren't like our parents, besides your dad has changed for the good. No matter what the Prophet says."

Scorpius was about to say something, but the door opened again and a girl with short black hair and purple glasses looked in. "There you are Scor! Valerie and I were getting worried. But like, I don't blame you for getting out." She looked over at Albus and smiled, "Hi! Sorry, I was just looking for him, but um...do you mind if I stay here? The good ole Potter-Weasley clan are being pains." She studied Albus for a second before gasping, "Oh my god! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were Albus Potter."

Albus shrugged, "I don't mind and it's okay. My family can be overbearing at times. That's why I'm in here."

She nodded, "Makes since," She sat down next to Scorpius and held her hand out to Albus, "I'm Anneliese Green."

Albus shook her hand, "Nice to meet you Anneliese."

"So, you excited for Hogwarts, Albus?" She asked softly.

"I don't know really. I'm just gonna miss my little sister, Lily." He replied, he really was gonna miss Lils, they were the two biggest troublemakers ever.

"She was the one that was standing next to your parents and was upset because she couldn't go, right?" Albus gave her a surprised look since she has gotten all correct, "I'm observant. I think I'm gonna get into Ravenclaw, but then again, all my family is in Slytherin. So, the likelihood of me being a Slytherin is high. Well, besides my mum, she went to Durmstrang instead."

Scorpius laughed lightly, “You’re rambling again. But still, if I'm not in Slytherin I think my grandfather would disown me." Scorpius replied.

“Scorp, your grandfather is Lucius Malfoy, the man who thinks if you’re not a Slytherin then you’re a disgrace to the wizarding world. It’s not think he would, it’s just that he just would. No thinking, just knowing.” Anneliese told him with a bored look.

"Oh, wow, I think the only house, even though my dad says otherwise, that I would be disowned if I was put in would be Slytherin. But honestly, him and my mother don’t care." Albus replied.

The conversation just went from there. They only stopped when the trolly came around and they got some sweets. It was dark and the train was finally slowing down until it came to a full stop. They stood up and walked out of the compartment and off of the train. "Promise to be friends even if we're Slytherins and you're a Gryffindor?" Scorpius asked.

"Promise." Albus replied. He went to find Rose while Anneliese and Scorpius went to find Robyn, Rohyn, Holly and others.

----------------------------------------

The doors to the great hall opened and everyone walked in. Scorpius and Anneliese overheard Rose Granger-Weasley talking about the ceiling and rolled their eyes, but still looked around in wonder. Albus noticed Anneliese give a tiny wave towards the Slytherin table. They stopped and looked at Professor Longbottom, "Before we start Professor McGonagall would like to say a few words."

Everyone looked over at the lady standing in the middle of the table, "I would like to note for the first years that the Dark Forest is forbidden to go to unless it is for Care of Magical Creatures. That is a class you can choose to take in your third year. Thank you." She sat back down and motioned for Professor Longbottom to begin.

"Now, when I call your name please come up to the sorting hat to be sorted into your house." He looked at the list and said, "Avery, Holly!"

The hat was put on top of his head and yelled, "Slytherin!" Quickly. The Slytherin table was yelling loudly and someone said, "Another Avery! Hell yes!"

More names were yelled, including Robyn and Rohyn Goyle (who were in Slytherin). “Malfoy, Scorpius!” The room went almost dead silent. People began to whisper. ‘Malfoy?’ ‘I’m surprised they’re allowing someone like him in.’ ‘His father was a death eater. He comes from a family of deatheaters’ As well as other much harsher things being said. Of course it was known what house Scorpius was going to be in according to stereotypes. And of course stereotypes didn’t disappoint. He got Slytherin, and of course, the house screamed for him.

More names were called and people went to their houses. And, just like when Scorpius’s name was called, the room went almost dead silent when Albus’s. Most of them were praises, ‘He looks just like his father!’ ‘Omg, he’s real.’ ‘Surprised that he’s allowed to come, the Potters shield him and his sister all the time.’ Of course there were some bad ones, but they were few and far between, mostly just from the Slytherin table. But Albus ignored them and walked up to the hat. 

“Ah, a Potter,” Albus jumped slightly, the voice echoing through his head, “Much like your father, but you have much more ambition. Want to be separated from being known as just Harry Potter’s son. Willing to risk anything to be something. Better be, SLYTHERIN!” The hat was taken off of his head and the whispers picked up again. ‘A Potter in Slytherin?’ ‘Wonder what dear ole James is gonna take of that.’ 

“Take that Potter! We got your younger brother!” A tall, dark skinned girl with short and curly bright purple hair, her eyes greatly contrasting against her skin as they were being an icy blue.

There were yells coming from the Gryffindor table. They didn’t stop until McGonagall yelled for silence. Many had a look of fear, well, only about 50 didn’t. Those 20 belonged to the Either a Weasley, Potter, or a Slytherin. 

Albus was sitting next to Scorpius. Nothing was said. Rose got into Gryffindor, but of course that was no surprise. “Let the feast, begin.” McGonagall lifted her arms and the food appeared. Everyone began to grab as much as they could. 

“Congrats sis, you got in. I’m surprised. Figured you’d be in Ravenclaw.”

“Yeah, at least father and grandfather won’t try and disown you.”

Anneliese rolled her eyes, “Oh shut the heck up you two! Besides, father wouldn’t disown me. You know that. We don’t even talk about what grandfather would do.”

“Awe, c’mon-”

“You know you love us.”

“Dom! Antonio and Derek are being mean to me!”

Albus looked over to where she was, he was looking at an older guy, who he assumed was probably a 7th year with unruly dirty blonde hair and deep emerald green eyes,  looked over at her. “Anneliese, don’t make me write to mum about you being a little brat.”

“I hate you.” She muttered slamming her fork onto the plate.

“Love you too sis.”

Albus looked over when he heard a girl laugh, “Stop being a git Dominick. You wouldn’t dare write to mum because she’s still mad at you for your incident.”

“Shut the hell up Genevieve. She’s still mad at you for trying to cover it up.” 

“Would you both shut up? My god, never in my life did I think I would be happy that this is my last year.”

“Fuck off Aidan.” The two siblings grumbled.

“Sorry ‘bout them, they’re my siblings.” Anneliese sighed and ran a hand through her short hair.

He looked over at her, “It’s alright. Since I have like, fifty family members it just reminds me of Christmas.”

She smiled softly, “Good.”

“You should see them at Christmas, it’s horrible. Them, plus the seven younger ones, plus all of the other Slytherin families.” Scorpius added with a laugh.

Anneliese picked at her potatoes, “Albus I have 14 siblings. 7 older and 7 younger. 7 sisters and 7 brothers. 6 older brothers, 1 younger. 6 younger sisters and 1 older. Aidan, the one with short light brown hair and dark ass blue eyes, is the oldest. He’s 17, 18 in like 8 days, and Headboy.  Then there’s Antonio and Derek they’re 16, they’ll be 17 in May. Derek, the one with long black hair and hazel eyes, is always in detention while Antonio, the one with short dirty blonde hair and dark green eyes is usually studying and is usually fairly quiet. He’s probably only being a dick tonight because he hasn’t eaten since breakfast at 7 am. Dominick is the next in line, he’s 15, will be 16 in April and he always brags about something stupid, thinks his shit doesn’t stink and that he was the best seeker ever, he also got prefect and hasn’t stopped bragging since he got the letter,”

Genevieve laughed, “Mum and dad were proud of him, until he broke the urn that our great-great grandmother was in.”

Anneliese laughed too, “Mum threatened to write to McGonagall to make someone else the 5th year Slytherin Prefect.” 

Albus laughed too, “That sounds like how my Uncle Percy apparently was when he got Gryffindor Prefect, as well as Headboy. According to mum, Uncle Ron, Uncle George, and Uncle Percy himself, he didn’t shut up about it and brought it up all the time.”

“That amazing, but anyways, next is the second set of twins, Liam and Randolph, they’re 13 and will be 14 in October, basically a modern day Fred and George Weasley, always playing pranks and rarely getting caught. We can barely tell them apart, well, I can because Liam is two inches taller at 5’8, plus he talks a bit faster. Then there was Genevieve who is only a year older-”

“10 months sis, 10 months.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine, 10 months older than me. She’ll be 13 in December.” 

“If I didn’t know that I could easily assume she was the same age as my little sister, Lily, she’s only 9.”

“Ha! You just got compared to a 9 year old!” One of the twins said, “I’m Randolph by the way.” He reached his hand out to Albus, “Pleasure to meet you Albus Potter. A bunch of us are surprised that you were even allowed to go to Hogwarts. Your parents keep you out of the spotlight so much. Even more than your brother.”

Albus shook his hand, “Yeah, mum and dad wanted all of us out of the spotlight as much as possible. Lily and I are faster at running and better at hiding than James. He loves the attention.” It was too obvious that Albus was trying to hide his eye roll.

“Can tell. We all got a kick out of him getting knocked out at his first game last year.” Albus looked at the other twin, “I’m Liam by the way.”

“Oh wow, you’re not wrong Anneliese, Liam does speak faster.” Liam and Randolph laughed.

“Told ya so. But I still have 7 people to tell you about, if you want?”

“Just give me the ages and when they’ll be starting.”

She laughed, “Alright. So Alexa and Liana are 10, 11 in November, they start next year. Clara is 8, 9 in October, she starts in 2020. Odette is 7, 8 in like 14 days, she starts in 2021. Elina is 5, 6 next July, she starts in 2023. Eden is 3, 4 in 10 days, she starts in 2025, and Nicholas is 1, 2 in October, he starts in 2027.”

“Wow, I could never imagine that many siblings.”

“Try being in the middle of it all. It gets annoying how often I’m overlooked.” She rolled her eyes, “Of course you’re technically in the middle of your siblings.” Albus nodded.

----------------------------------------

“5th year Prefects, show the 1st years to your common room. Everyone head up to your common room, classes start on Monday, but I still expect to see you all tomorrow. Goodnight.” Everyone stood up when McGonagall spoke. 1st years unsure of where to go they just followed where the 5th years were telling to go.

“I am Dominick Green, I am your 5th year Prefect.”

“I am Elizabeth Boles, your other 5th year Prefect. The Headboy is Aidan Green, he is also the 7th year Slytherin Prefect. Castanova Way is the other 7th year Prefect, and she is Headgirl. Lorene Pansy and Jerimiah Ecerson are your 6th year Prefects for Slytherin house.”

They followed as the two of them gave random facts and rules until they stopped at the end of a corridor in the dungeons. “Here is our common room. Yes, it is in the dungeons. If you ever get lost you may find one of us, another Slytherin, or go to our head of house, Professor Slughorn, he is the potions professor as well. Now, it is protected by a password and that password is prone to change, if it does, it will be posted on the bulletin board. But for now the password is Alchemy.” As Dominick spoke the words the wall moved to the side and they walked in.

“Here is the common room, we can hang out, do our homework, or just relax in here. Now, to the left is the girls dormitory and to the right is the guys. Girls can go into the guys but the guys cannot go into the girls. You all have a curfew of 6. So don’t be out that late.” Elizabeth smirked before continuing, “Or just don’t get caught.”

Dominick sent her an obvious glare, “Or just don't be out. But that is it. Do whatever you feel comfortable. Goodnight.”

They left and the crowd dispersed. But Scorpius, Albus, and Anneliese stayed together. “Well, I’m going to bed you two. Goodnight.” She walked up the stairs and to the 1st year girls dorm.

Albus and Scorpius looked at each other, “You tired?”

Albus shook his head, “Not really, but let’s just head up and hang up there.” Scorpius nodded and they went up. Neither went to sleep until 1 am.