#so also the first boss ever to apologize and he in the same breath said it wasnt his fault for the same reason everything else IS my fault

[aaxbbxx]

Jack saying these hurtful words to Joke, telling him to basically disappear from his life. Joke took the words to heart. Nevermind that these were said at the heat of the moment. Because, Joke had always believed that he is never good for Jack or for anyone—that he’s just a stain on everyone’s life bringing bad luck.

When Jack finally calmed—well as calm as he can be—Hope’s words gotten through to him just a tad. He cried for Joke, cried for the way they left things, cried for missing him, and maybe, cried for the hurtful things he said to Joke.

As we see the next day with the little gang, Jack’s reaction to Joke’s name when Hoy mentions him, is the kind who isn’t as mad as the first time. More like a mix of feelings. Annoyed that Joke is known to be the king of heist, annoyed he’s not there, annoyed that it’s most likely his fault. But maybe, part of him is relieved bc Joke won’t be in trouble anymore if he stayed away. Regardless, Jack truly underestimated Boss. Because as we can see, Boss knew to take Jack’s ultimate weakness. Because it’s not just grandma anymore, it’s Joke that has Jack’s whole heart.

We got a moment with Joke and grandma, he was so happy to see her only to remind them both that he’s not there to come back and stay. And catch his words, he asked for Ama to only tell Jack the words he wanted to say, only if Jack himself ever asks for him. He didn’t even try begging Ama to tell Jack and ask to reconcile, which he knew Ama would absolutely do. But rather, he’s giving the space Jack needs. Totally different when he first came out of prison asking for forgiveness. He’s giving Jack the space to breathe, to swallow what’s happening, all the while thanking him for everything—the things he wanted to tell Jack that from the beginning, Jack had Joke’s heart already. That he took Joke’s smile and made it for the world to see. That he was the reason Joke was ever truly happy. Joke’s only sorry that for being happy, he had to take away Jack’s smile many times.

Ama’s words “Fate is funny isn’t it? You gave Jack’s freedom in exchange of never seeing him again.” And she’s right.

Though, in Jack & Joke’s minds, this is the freedom that Jack wanted. But it’s not. Joke disappearing would not be Jack’s freedom. However, Joke doesn’t know that. Joke only ever believed he took it away. And in some parts, yes, but he was also the one to give it.

Joke didn’t know Jack would go to the ends of the earth to find him. That Jack didn’t even hesitate to believe Ama when she says he needs to save Joke.

Because if he truly felt that Joke was not worth his love, he wouldn’t be as upset and full of rage to go in a trap just to save him.

That Joke may believe disappearing for good would give everyone, Jack, a better life. But Jack would only dig the graves deeper for each body responsible to ever hurt Joke.

Jack may not have realized just how much his words affected Joke. He may have wanted to wait till they cool off, then come find Joke to talk but the world doesn’t ever give them the break. He may have said the words, but his heart still sees Joke as his boyfriend. Much said when he gives Carbon the kick he deserves for punching Joke right in front of Jack.

And at this, we may see Joke realizing that maybe they were both too haste in their actions trying to make each other feel better, apologizing & forgiving all the same. It was just one day, but it clearly felt like a lifetime to Joke, if he thought he should just say goodbye for good. But Jack proves him wrong as he came trying to save him. And even before that when he says he has to fix things at home. He has to fix what he broke with Joke.

It’s such a rollercoaster of emotions. One day Joke thought he had his future panned out, the next he has to leave his newfound family and disappear, and in another snap, his Jack is claiming him once again.

But isn’t that the beauty of this romance?

Reality isn’t as smooth sailing.

Joke & Jack’s love has been built with loops from fate trying to unravel for them to settle. They’ve yet to uncover what really makes them fated, and they have to work on that.

[cigar-aficionado]

clean me off, i'm so dirty babe ch. 1

oz cobb x reader / 1837 words / sfw (for now)

summary: you work at a dry cleaner that oz frequents. he's one of your favorite regulars.

tags: gn reader though oz does call them 'doll,' soooo fluffy -- next chapter will be a lil more nasty tho ;)

You’ve been working in the combination dry cleaner and laundromat in the Diamond District long enough to be able to suss out when someone’s a regular businessman and when someone’s…well, not. 

The regular who identified himself as Oz Cobb was, decidedly not. However, you could tell that he wasn’t like the others. 

The first and most obvious sign that threw you initially was that he handled this business himself. Other people whose money came from underground had lackeys, or more typically, lackeys of lackeys to drop off and pick up their clothes. You couldn’t count the amount of times a twenty-something in thrifted boots came in with a stack of $4000 suits. It wasn’t subtle. 

Oz was different, though. His suits were expensive, but it was usually the same set of four or five paired with maybe seven or eight shirts – occasionally there would be a new suit in there, though no more often than a regular-person banker or lawyer or, you supposed, club owner.

He was kind. That was something else that set him apart from most of the other businessmen who came through. Probably most importantly, Oz always tipped you and often it was very well. But his kindness extended beyond that – he smiled when he came in, chatted when you were matching his order slip (which he always remembered to bring) to his clothes, and never rushed you through the scanning and checkout process. 

When he dropped off his clothes, he always pointed out stains he needed work on, apologizing for them (and you, of course, pretended not to know that the stains on his crisp white shirts were definitely blood. You also pointedly ignored how often he came in with shirts splattered with something that was definitely blood.) 

And, unlike a lot of these messy not-businesspeople, his pockets were always empty. You had a habit of running into things that you shouldn’t have tucked in those blazer or trouser pockets, be it cash in hundreds, pills, or occasionally a bullet, which you always put in a small plastic bag to be discreetly tucked into the blazer pocket later. Usually when you saw that same suit again, it came with a massive tip. 

Oz wasn’t messy like that though, he was clearly meticulous with his clothing and his belongings – not like someone who could afford to be careless. 

You grew to look forward to seeing Oz, he and the unmistakable car he always pulled up in were like a breath of fresh air. 

One day, a completely dead afternoon, he came in at around his usual time for pickup. You didn’t need to look at his slip to know where his things were, “Hey Oz,” you said as he walked in, the bell on the door ringing behind him, “how’s your Tuesday?” 

“It’d be a lot better without this heat, I gotta tell’ya. How’re you?” 

You came out with his suits, hanging them on the rack by the counter and catching that he wasn’t wearing one of his usual blazer. You’re not sure you’ve ever really seen his body before this and were you not on the clock you’d probably be blushing, but you maintain professional stoicism, clearing your throat, “I’m alright, it’s been very slow today. Pros and cons, you know.” 

He nods and you take the first suit to scan it in when something catches your eye, “Shit – ah, pardon my language,” you say, hurriedly flipping through the short stack of suits in front of you.

“Everything alright?”

“Ugh, my boss let the new guy do these while I was out and he didn’t crease any of your pants. I’m so sorry, Sir, I can have them done in about twenty minutes if you don’t mind waiting, but I can give you a discount on them if you need to head out. I’m so sorry again.” 

“‘S alright, Doll. Shit happens, ain’t the end of the world.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it before looking at you with those big brown eyes, “To be honest with’ya? I really don’t feel like going back out there. It’s nice and cool in here, and I got a little time anyway. If you have time to take care of them now, I’ve got time to wait.” 

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your uh – “ not being a total asshole about this “ – flexibility.” 

“All good. And you don’t have to call me ‘Sir,’ Oz is fine.” 

“Okay, Oz,” you smile, “I just put on some coffee, would you like some?” 

“Honestly, that sounds wonderful. Thank you.” 

You give him another smile, “You can come get it, it's just to the left here,” you say, pointing to the machine and mini fridge just past the space to get behind the counter. 

He looks at it and laughs a little as he makes his way over, “VIP treatment, unless you’re this nice to all your customers?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and going to the creaser with his suits, hanging them up on the rack next to it, “You might be the first. But you’re in here like clockwork and you always remember your slip, so you get the privilege of the secret menu.” 

“Well, color me flattered,” You get to work, as does he, and it’s silent until he opens the fridge. “This caramel macchiato creamer thing any good?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s mine, it’s my favorite,” you say, carefully setting the first pair of his pants in the machine. “It’s a little sweet, they do a good job with the caramel, though.” 

“Hm.” You continue to work, practically on autopilot, and you hear him hum happily, “This is excellent, I’ll have to get some for my place.” 

“Good! I’m glad you like it.” He walks back to the waiting area in front of the counter. You work some more before calling out to him, “Any plans this weekend?” 

“Eh, the club’s been real busy lately. Which is great, I’m thrilled about it but you know – doesn't leave a lot of time for rest. Barely been sleepin’. Anyway, I’ll probably be there, keepin’ an eye on things. Gave myself tomorrow off, maybe I’ll try to rest then.” 

“I hope you catch up on your sleep, it’s so important,” you say. “That and self-care, do you get massages?” 

“Not really my thing.”

“Probably no facials either?” 

He laughs, a full yet bright sound, “No facials either.” 

“They’re nice! Especially if you work hard, which I know you must.” 

“Maybe I oughta listen to you, you know coffee. My clothes always look good when I get them back, too.” 

You beam, “I’m so glad to hear that.” 

You work on the rest of his pants, chatting with Oz as you do. It’s easy conversation between the two of you, swapping restaurant recommendations and making other small talk. You’re about to start the last pair and think about asking him out, innocently enough, but then his phone rings and he takes the call. 

He’s speaking Spanish and while you’re not fluent, you were good at it through school so you can understand the gist. Someone close to Oz, especially if his face was any indication, had been found down the street. There’s a brief argument about her medications, about long-term care for her. Oz hangs up with a deep sigh. “Sorry, Doll, that was my shift lead at the club. Needs me in for a really important meeting, completely forgot about it. You know how it is. Would I be able to come in a little later and pick these up?” 

You suspect this isn’t the first time that Oz has lied to you, but it’s the first time you’re able to see it. You turn around and give him a smile, “Absolutely, no trouble at all.” 

“I’ll be back before you close. Thanks for understandin’.” 

True to his word, he does come back in the evening. You weren’t sure if he would; you imagine he has other things on his mind. He looks much calmer than when he left earlier, his smile contagious. “Welcome back,” you say, moving to get his suits. 

“Glad to be back,” he laughs, coming to the counter. You hang his suits on the rack and he breaks the silence, placing a sequined dress on the counter between you. “I’ve got a question for ya, do you do repairs?” 

“What do you need?” You ask, looking at the dress. 

“Well, it needs to be cleaned first, it’s – it’s my sister’s, she asked me to take care of it but I’m not sure something like this can even go in a washing machine. Anyway, there’re some missing sequins – where’d they go…” he murmurs softly as he turns over the fabric until he reaches a small but obvious section of missing sequins toward the bottom, running his fingers over it. “Right here, would you be able to fill in the gap here?” 

You take the dress, looking over the spot and nodding, “Absolutely, that’s no problem. It’ll take a little longer because I think I’ll have to order these sequins and I’ll have to do it by hand – you can with the sewing machine, but I don’t think it looks as nice.” 

“You’re a lifesaver. She was real upset about it, I told her though, I said ‘I know where I can take this and they’ll make it good as new.’” 

You chuckle, “I admire your faith in me. When does she need it back by?” 

“Oh, whenever. I don’t think she’s got anything coming up for it.” 

“Awesome. I can call you with a price estimate once I look at the new sequins.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Oz paid his bill for the rest of his suits, thanking you again. “Today was kinda – didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. But this made it better, thank you.” 

He turns to leave and head for the door but you stop him, calling his name. Maybe it was the way he thanked you, maybe it was his confidence in your skill, maybe it was that he liked the coffee but before you can stop yourself, you’re writing down your number on the back of a dry clean ticket, stepping out from behind the counter. You’ve never really looked at him this closely before, your gaze flickering to the tufts of hair peeking out from the undone button on his shirt. He’s looking at you curiously and you will yourself to speak. 

“Um – “ you clear your throat, handing over the paper “ – that’s my personal cell. In case she needs her dress back early or…in case you want to get dinner sometime?” 

Oz smiles but it’s not one of his customer service interaction smiles – it’s something real, like when he was sipping your coffee earlier. “Well look’it that, you just keep making my night better and better. I’ll text you about plans later tonight, this week’s a little busy but I’m sure I can make some time.” 

You smile brightly, “Perfect. I’ll be around.”

“Have a good night, Doll.” 

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 1

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; some swearing, mentions of wounds & medical stuff, dottore warning (?) he doesn’t exactly do anything but y’know- it’s dottore, sort of proofread

note ; i am so scared, i’ve never posted anything like this on tumblr or at all LMFAO this is my first fic ever and very self indulgent. ive already posted 5 chapters of this on ao3 but i was curious as to how the tumblr ajax kissers would react to it. im sorry if this sort of info tab isn’t very descriptive, im just basing it off what i’ve seen from the viewer’s perspective.

ALSO, for context- tetya= aunt and dyadya= uncle in russian!

constructive criticism is appreciated!

next part | masterlist

“hey, watch your step! snow’s gotten harder and slippier these days…”

“yes, sir!”

“yes, father!”

just as the warning rings out, it’s followed by the dry crunch of heavy boots against snow. it’s not the same soft sound as it was a month or so ago, rather it sounds almost as if the ice gnashes aggressively at the leather boots.

it gnaws at your ears painfully, though you’ve been sensitive to such sounds for as long as you could remember, yet you still flinch.

ajax notices right away. he always does.

“here,” he goes, the cloud of his warm breath visible. turning your head toward the boy, you see that he’s handing you his earmuffs.

a sheepish grin invades your lips as you wordlessly take him up on his offer. mind rid of the god awful crush of the snow, you come up with a brilliant idea.

“last one there’s a rotten catch!” you charge onwards with a laugh.

“ah, n-not again!”

ajax’s father only watches from behind as his son hurries to catch up, a defeated sigh leaves him. “these kids…”

said kids were already reaching the lake clearing at that point. the frozen water already has its own layer of fresh-fallen snow, making it seem like an entire new tundra- that is, until you and ajax brashly create footmarks and snow angels on the surface while his father is still yet to catch up. if he’d been closer you would’ve heard the old man’s grumbles about having to carry all the fishing gear.

thankfully, there were no rotten catches that day.

your best friend’s laughter and your very own echo in your head like bells in an empty chapel, uninvitedly. the entire memory is instead invited by the sight of a father on the street with his own children, he carries a bucket and fishing rods as the youngins run ahead excitedly. you conclude that you should’ve left for zapolyarny palace earlier today.

this morning cannot start off on a bad note, not when the doctor had meticulously scheduled an operation for this very day with your presence prerequisited.

you’re acutely aware of this.

you’re still acutely aware of this when you slam your work bag onto the desk with such force that even the fatui guard monitoring the palace hallway jumps.

and you’re still acutely aware of this when you almost bump into one of your boss’s segments on your way to the operation room, a most certain death that would be if you did bump into him. even as you break your stress fueled stride, the segment blocks the path forward.

“if i didn’t know any better, i would assume this is your first day on your first job. ever.”

you furrow your eyebrows confusedly while the segment coldly scrutinizes you top to bottom.

“even the lowliest of fatui recruits know that the first thing one should do after clocking in is get into the proper uniform.” he indicates with a snark in his tone.

ah- your lab coat.

“yes sir. my apologies.” with a haste in your step previously thought impossible to achieve without actually sprinting, you beeline straight to your office, which is conveniently on the other side of a very long hallway from the operation room. so long, in fact, that it gives enough time for a certain someone to slink into the office room without you even seeing it.

you don’t notice him even as you’re already inside the room. well, how could you with such tunnel vision, powered by your early-morning frustration and innate fear of disappointing the doctor. you’re practically out the door with lab coat in hand when he finally quips.

“uhm, doc?” the voice is shaky but still impossible to not recognize.

god dammit.

the tsaritsa was truly not on your side today. with a deep inhale, you do your best to keep a neutral expression as you turn around to face the head of red hair that haunts your dreams. or rather nightmares.

“how may i help you, lord tartaglia?” you still hated that title.

“well heh… this is the head nurse’s office, i believe you can help me by exerting the very function of this room?” the harbinger puts on a friendly front, acting like he can’t feel your burning glare. within it, you start to gauge at what’s brought him here, few surface-level scratches and even fewer cuts that are ever so slightly deeper present on him.

“i’m afraid i’m running late for an important appointment with the doctor, you’ll have to ask one of my subordinates.” you state matter-of-factly and start turning to leave again.

“w-wait, please!” he reaches out to stop you and the hand lands on your bicep, rather than your wrist which would’ve been a quicker latch. huh. “let me talk to him afterwards, he’ll understand. plus, i’m your boss as much as he is.”

“you’re quite literally not.”

“yeah, i’m not. still your boss though.”

childe is not of as high authority over you as the doctor is, afterall you’re one of the doctor’s assigned assistants, but the way he talks so casually and… playfully makes him seem even less bossy. but you don’t allow yourself anymore time to dwell on it, instead you roll your eyes and give in. your boss almost giddily sits on the examination bed.

the sterilized silk gloves slide snugly onto your palms as you look your patient up and down.

“how did you even manage to get yourself roughed up so early in the morning?”

“it’s never too early in the morning for a spar! though- hah… even i didn’t expect to take this many free hits.”

“who were you sparring?”

“eh, some junior lieutenants at the northwest wing. there were some new recruits there too so i figured i’d set an example for ‘em.”

northwest wing..? you visibly pause at the revelation.“that’s… on the other side of zapolyarny palace.”

“so?”

“so there’s nurses there too.”

childe himself seems to pause then- you were catching onto him. he realizes he must think about his next actions as carefully as humanly possible.

“ahah… a-are there?”

good one, ajax.

you look down at the alcohol-soaked cotton ball sitting snugly between your tweezers and then up to a scratch right above childe’s eyebrow- seems like the perfect time to treat your patient. the sting comes before the harbinger can even react and much to his dismay, you keep the cotton ball on his forehead even as attempts to lean away from it.

“childe tartaglia,” you start, voice menacing and low. “did you orchestrate a sparring session with low-rank officers and get yourself injured on purpose to come see me?”

“a-ah ouch!” childe hisses. “surely you w-wouldn’t commit medical malpractice over something as trivial as this?” clearly he forgets who you work for, or pretends to at least.

“start talking.”

“okay, okay! yes, i did all that…” the red head sulks with a defeated sigh. pleased by the confession, you move away with your alcohol cotton ball of doom and give him space.

you watch the tsaritsa’s weapon of war crumple into himself, looking off into a meaningless corner of the room.

“i… i’m being stationed to liyue tomorrow.” his voice is entirely different from what it was when this entire ordeal began- quiet, hesitant.

“and?” is your response before you can even think about how douchey it sounds. it’s already too late when you see childe deflate even more and feel like you just kicked a puppy.

“and i wanted to come and give you the news.”

really? that’s all he wanted from this?

“then why go through all this effort of sparring newbies at practically the ass crack of dawn and lose? why not just come here and tell me at once?”

he scoffs bitterly. “like you’d talk to me under normal circumstances.”

the regret you were feeling from your cruel response from earlier quickly bleeds out into incredulousness.

“you haven’t talked to me under normal circumstances since we were fourteen.” you stab back and childe bites his tongue, he won’t retaliate this time. the rest of the appointment is spent in the deadliest of silences as you finish tending to his “injuries”. neither of you ever look up to face the other.

you pack up quickly as to haul ass from the office room as soon as possible. but not before you mutter stoically- “have fun in liyue.”

and childe is left to sit pathetically on the bed and contemplate his astronomical failure.

—

what a wretched week.

the days seem to take a thousand years each to end, the laboratory feels stuffier, the people less tolerable and you swear the pen in your hand feels heavier than a lead ingot.

“are you done sulking?”

oh yeah, there’s also the ruthless fatui harbinger you work under and the equally insulting bajillion copies of him. you know bajillion is a gross overestimation but you also gave up keeping track of how many segments the doctor has a long time ago, they’re bossy all the same.

“not sulking, sir, just… thinking.”

“thinking about the medical records you’re supposed to be overseeing surely?” he taunts and you can only scoff non-committedly.

said medical records were mere reports on several of the doctor’s past experiments and operations, arguably not worth such a commitment of your time or worth a hackling from your boss. either way the words and paragraphs had merged into blurred lines and incomprehensible messes in your eyes about ten minutes ago, you were only pretending to be doing something at this point.

the irresistible force of your boredom drives your gaze to anywhere but the papers in front of you, eventually settling onto a corkboard hung up on a farther wall of the doctor’s laboratory. tired retinas struggle to focus on the blueprints that are stuck onto the corkboard but they seem to have rough sketchings of… body parts? they’re definitely not human, no, instead the drawings indicate they’re robotical. on another blueprint is an unfinished rendering of the full robot body. the shape language is unconventionally stylized, to a point where they almost resemble traditional inazuman patterns or even… the patterns on scaramouches robes-

“l-lord dottore!! i have an u-urgent matter sent by lord pierro himself.”

huh?

“out with it. quick.” the segment doesn’t even bother to face the stammering officer that had bursted through the door right then.

“u-uhm… some of our liyue informants have reported t-that rex lapis suddenly p-perished during the rite of descension,”

huh?

“rex lapis, dying? well,” he drawls amusedly. “that would certainly be a sight. but how exactly does this development concern me? is the banker not available?”

“w-well y-yes… lord pierro specifically requested for your word on the matter a-and perhaps see if one of your s-subordinates could… be on-site?”

dottore’s segment lets out an exasperated sigh while a gloved hand goes up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “unfortunately it doesn’t surprise me that the collective surplus amount of agents we have stationed in liyue harbor proves to be utterly incompetent to the point where the jester himself would come to me for help.”

a feeling of dread settles in your chest as you try to digest the insane information you’ve been given-

rex lapis, the oldest of the seven archons of teyvat, is dead.

pierro, the head of the fatui harbingers, is requesting dottore to send one of his subordinates to investigate the scene.

that’s you, you’re dottore’s subordinate.

which means you’ll be sent to investigate an archon’s death. in liyue.

that’s where he is.

your head feels like it’ll explode any second now. the segment, ever so brilliantly clever like his prime version, seems to have the same idea as you and beams a sharp-toothed sadistic grin.

“why my assistant here does seem to be available, wouldn’t you say?” he turns a serpentine stare over to you.

“err… i don’t think i could leave my post here, sir, i am the head nurse after all-“

“nonsense, i doubt the bumbling idiots of this palace will find themselves into anything more troublesome than a papercut while you’re gone.”

oh the irony of hearing that after your… situation the other day. you huff defeatedly, standing up to start packing for your impromptu trip. the mysterious blueprints in the laboratory long forgotten.

—

morepesok hasn’t changed a bit since you left.

which, as much as you love your hometown, isn’t saying much- morepesok is as uneventful as it gets. in such a small seaside snezhnayan village, the only points of interest are the painfully traditional values of fishing and family.

the visit to your parents’ house is brief but comforting, some teary goodbyes and heartfelt words about how pleased and proud they are of what you’ve accomplished for yourself- achieving such a high position in the fatui ranks by merely helping people. you don’t even consider telling them about the doctor.

but what makes you feel worse is the visit to ajax’s family home. it’s like the house has been frozen in time, the place where you spent years of your childhood is intact and unchanged- except for some newer family pictures, of course.

teucer, tonia and anthon are the ones to greet you first, then ajax’s parents come along. huh… ajax. you hadn’t even noticed the switch your brain does whenever you’re back home. here, he’s ajax but in zapolyarny palace, he’s childe or tartaglia. but there’s no time to dig yourself a deeper hole in that topic because you’re presently being pampered like a very own daughter of the house by his parents.

“my dear, look at you! you look so grown and mature… have you been eating well?” his mother walks up to cup your cheeks with the most genuine parental love. she, like the rest of the environment, looks exactly as you remember her, with a few newer white strands betwixt her bright orange curls. well, remember is a strong word.

“tetya, it’s only been a few months since we’ve seen each other, i’m all the same.” you laugh and she reciprocates.

“yes yes, i know… and- oh! as a matter of fact, we saw ajax just this week, said he was being transferred to a northland bank all the way in liyue!”

and when you thought you could not feel shittier about this.

“it is a shame to have our ajax so far from home so suddenly but at least we still have you, dearest!” she grins, pinching your cheek with more vigor than you’ve seen apparent in fatui sergeants.

“hey!” the three younger siblings call out in unison.

“yeah, a-about that, tetya…” you start hesitantly. “i’m… also being transferred to liyue. there have been some unexpected developments and i’ll just be on field to check up on things.”

ajax’s mother huffs incredulously. “by the tsaritsa’s name! they must hate mothers over at that palace!” she shakes her head with disappointment. “speaking of which, have you gone to see your parents yet?” you only nod. “good good… well anyhow, are you in a hurry, dear? i could make you some hot chocolate and then you’re free to be on your way.”

how could you ever deny your tetya’s hot chocolate?

the rest of your stay in the household is spent chatting with the family and playing games with the younger kids, as well as drinking a cup of hot chocolate so delicious you almost cry. the afternoon is nearing its end when you’re walking out the door and teucer is bawling his eyes out at your departure, or maybe he’s just tuckered out.

“have a safe trip, kiddo.” ajax’s father pats you on the shoulder firmly.

“thanks, dyadya, i will.”

“oh! and take care of ajax, make sure he doesn’t get in over his head.” this time it’s tonia who pipes up and the rest of the family nods in agreement.

“bye bye, everyone!” you’re already at the house’s front fence, waving back as fiercely as you can.

the only thing you don’t notice is the knowing look that is shared between tonia and her mother when she mentions ajax.

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: You and Bucky arrive at the house in Lincoln, Nebraska, to start the mission. And you also meet some… SHIELD agents.

Warnings: Deaths, missing people, hydra.

Other: English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for eventual mistakes. -> 18+. !!

-> Masterlist

-> Part one ; Part three

-> Sam and Dean (02)

The tension in the Quinjet was thick as you and Bucky sat in silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Bucky had been avoiding you like the plague but that was no surprise, his jaw clenched thigh as he stared down at the clouds out of the window.

You moved uncomfortably in your seat, your eyes finding his figure. Whether you liked it or not - whether he liked it or not, you needed to break the ice. You couldn’t arrive there pretending to be a couple when it was clear from miles away he’d push you down a hill if he could.

“So,” You started. “Anything you wanna add to the plot? This shit says little about it, Fury is letting us set up a story.” You said, looking up again from your papers. Papers that needed to be burned in case anyone found them. Rules. “Like… when we met? How we met? Something like that?”

“Isn’t that enough?” He muttered, not turning his head to look at you.

“No.” You said letting out a sigh. “Listen, you need to put this one-sided fight you have with me away for a moment. We’re on a mission to save lives, not on vacation.”

He finally turned to look at you for a long moment, before crossing his arms under his chest and sink in the seat he was sitting on. “We met at a party thanks to our common friend, Steven. We immediately hit it off and I asked you out the same night, you said yes and we got together a few months after that - two months, to be exact. The tenth of march is our anniversary. We got engaged three years later the same day and got married… when’s your birthday?”

“Seventh October.” That was the day you were supposedly born. But no one was sure, since you didn’t have a birth certificate.

“Seventh October of the same year. We moved there due to my work since you’re a stay at home wife, and we have been talking about adopting a cat.” He finished. “Is that good enough?” He asked sternly.

“Perfect, actually.”

“Great.” He grunted. “Now shut it.”

“And they say I’m the rude one.” You muttered under your breath.

“I can hear you.”

“You’ll survive.”

* * * *

The taxi pulled up in front of a modest two-story house, its faded paint and overgrown lawn gave it a cozy vibe. There was even a porch. Not that you knew what to expect, you’ve never lived in a house before - and frankly, you couldn’t wait to have your own kitchen even if it was just a big play pretend for the mission.

You and Bucky got out of the car, taking your heavy bags from the trunk. The taxi driver, who was an undercover SHIELD agent, nodded at the both of you before driving away, leaving you both alone to face the mission. You weren’t nervous, and neither was he. If anything, your only complaint was the fact that he wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary.

The neighborhood was quiet, and you could see a few people already looking curious at the new couple in town. Little did they know how much that man hated you.

Unlike you, Bucky was looking at the house with a critical eye, his expression almost unreadable. Not that you had ever seen him without that frown.

“What’s your complain now?” Your hands found your waist, and you looked at him waiting for an answer.

“Too many windows. A kid would be able to break in any second.” He said - he wasn’t wrong but if they chose this house, they must have had a reason. He looked at you for a second before motioning you to follow him as he made his way up to the front door.

“Home sweet home.” You said, walking inside.

“Stay here. I’ll do a quick check of the house to see if everything is alright.” You two just arrived and he already started to boss you around.

“I’ll come with you.”

But this wasn’t an option for him.

“Stay here.” He repeated more firmly than before.

“Ah yeah.” You raised your hands in surrender. “You don’t trust me.” You said, clearly mocking him. “Whatever, James, just be quick.”

You stayed there for about ten minutes before he finally came back, his expression didn’t change one bit. He gave you a simple nod, took the bags - his and yours - and walked upstairs again.

The silent mission begun, apparently, as you were sure he won’t utter a word until he was forced to. Fucking great.

You walked - rushed, immediately to the kitchen. It was, honestly, everything you’ve ever dreamed of. The sunlight was coming in through the huge window that made you also see the backyard, the countertops were made of wood, dotted with small appliances and cooking utensil. A modest wooden table was in the middle of the room and you imagined yourself, perhaps in another life, sitting there with the family you never met.

You forced yourself to walk out of there to find your husband, wherever he disappeared to. You walked upstairs, your footsteps echoing in the empty staircase, and looked in each room - the bathroom, a small library room, and laundry room.

But you found him in the bedroom, pointing a gun at the window.

“What are you-“

Bucky didn’t turn to acknowledge your presence, his focus solely on the window before him. Without saying a word or turn to explain what the fuck he was doing, he pulled the trigger; the gunshot didn’t make you flinch but you weren’t expecting him to do that.

Your eyes widened in shock, mostly because you had just arrived and he was already acting like a fool. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” You almost yelled, walking towards the window to close the curtains - and you saw that the bullet only left a scratch on the glass.

“Relax, it’s bulletproof as I suspected.” He said nonchalantly, shrugging.

“Suspected?!” You repeated, this man was an idiot. So much for being over a hundred years old. “For fuck’s sake, Barnes, someone could have seen it! Or heard!”

Bucky’s eyes finally flickered to hers. “If I am correct, this house is also soundproof. Stark’s technology is hard to miss.” He said with complete indifference, putting the gun down.

You just sighed in frustration, knowing full well that arguing with him was like arguing with a wall. As you shook your head, you walked out of the room and went downstairs again. You irritation was palpable even for Bucky that was following you with what you swore was a grin. That asshole.

You, once back in the kitchen, stood in front of the coffe maker. The familiar hum of the machine filling the quiet room as you prepared yourself a well-deserved cup of coffee. Not even half an hour and he managed to piss you off.

“What do you know about those SHIELD agents we were supposed to meet today?” You tried to keep your tone casual as you turned to face him.

Bucky watched her from his seat at the kitchen table. “Not much.” He replied curtly, his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance. Stuck with the person he trusted less in the entire State, he felt alone in that mission.

Maybe he was being stupid, but he couldn’t look past the way you served Hydra for all those years without ever questioning a damn thing.

You raised an eyebrow, your irritation raising at his dismissive attitude. “Helpful.” You remarked dryly, taking a sip of coffee.

His jaw clenched at your sarcasm. “I know as much as you do, Emma.” He retorted, his tone full of annoyance. “If I’m not helpful then neither are you.”

“Then let’s just hope they’re better than you.” You couldn’t help but say. “Wouldn’t want to work with reckless assholes for God knows how long.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with anger after hearing your remark. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Or what, Barnes?” Your own temper was rising to match his.

He was about to answer before the doorbell rang and his words died in his mouth. The bell rang in a distinct pattern - three times with quick breaks. It was a code that both you and Bucky recognized instantly.

The agents had arrived.

That also meant the mission had officially begun, and you both had to put and end to the reckless behavior and start being professional. That probably was going to be the hardest part of the whole ordeal.

Without uttering another word Bucky rose from his seat, the tension on his shoulders was visible. He made his way to the front door with you trailing just a few steps behind. The asshole didn’t even spare you a glance before opening the door.

As it swung open, you were greeted by the sight of two men standing on the doorstep, they were both dressed formally and you noticed that one of them had a small cut on the lower lip.

One of the two men was tall, even taller than Bucky, and he was very well built. His brown hair was tied in a neat man bun, and he was looking back at the grumpy Super Soldier with a small, amicable smile.

You edged closer to the doorframe trying to get a better look at the other man since Bucky had moved just enough to block your view.

He was definitely shorter than his companion, but there was something about him that seemed far more intimidating. Perhaps it was due to the fact that his piercing green eyes were locked on yours and, for a short moment, you thought you saw a small smirk playing on his lips before it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Clearing his throat, the shorter man broke the silence. “Barnes and Dayne?” He asked just to make sure, his voice was barely above a whisper to prevent anyone to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Mh.” Bucky responded, nodding in affirmation to the man’s words as he moved aside to let the strangers inside the house.

“What he meant to say,” You glared at your partner for the mission before continuing. “was yes, we are and you’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” The taller man shared a glance with the other one. “My name is Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean.” He pointed to the shorter guy, who was scanning the surroundings.

Before you could introduce yourself too, even if it was clear that the two men already knew who you and Bucky were, Dean spoke first.

“There are too many window in this house. Even a kid would be able to break in.” He said. “Is this supposed to be your base?”

How ironic.

“Yes. And the windows are bulletproof and locked, though. Already tested it.” Bucky answered. “No one can break in.”

“The doors?” Sam asked.

“They can’t be opened in anyway from the outside and there’s a passcode to lock them for more safety.” You answered. “We’re good.”

“Great.” Dean spoke, walking past the both of you to go sit on the couch. “You guys don’t mind if I make myself at home? It’s been a long day.” He said, sending his brother a glare. That sounded quite personal.

Sam shot his brother a warning glance back, clearly trying to dissolve the growing tension. “Dean’s right.” He interjected smoothly, his voice calm as he went to sit on the armchair - purposely away from his brother.

Weird.

“Are you two gonna stay in here with us for the entire duration of the mission?” You asked.

“No, we momentarily live in the house next to this one.” Sam informed you.

“We’ve been following a series of disappearances in the area.” Dean begun, getting down to business immediately, as you and Bucky took a seat as well. “We were given fake identities and went undercover as FBI agents, most of the cases led to dead ends…” He made a pause, taking a stack of papers from his bag and tossing it on the coffee table so everyone could have a clear view of it. “Except this.”

You looked closer. There were some pictures of a woman, not much older than you probably, alongside some of her personal data. Cassandra Miller.

“This says she was a nurse.” Bucky spoke. “Hydra is after people that nobody would look for.”

Sam nodded, agreeing to that. “True.” He said. “But after talking with some of her colleagues, we found out she was the assigned nurse to treat a patient that was found dying near a river. The man had no documents on him and he was barely recognizable but still alive.”

As Sam spoke, Dean retrieved another set of documents from his bag and spread them out on the table. Amongst them were medical records, lab reports and handwritten notes.

“She found out some anomalies in his DNA and begun to dig deeper - apparently went a bit too far because she completely disappeared five days ago.” Dean finished Sam’s speech, looking at both Avengers.

Your heart sank as the weight of the whole situation settled on your shoulders - if what you were thinking was right, Hydra was probably looking for another you. Another person who could survive all the shit they injected and comply, instead they were just leaving a trace of bodies behind - and you only had found two for now. Who knows how many there where out there.

You knew all too well the fear and helplessness that those poor people must have felt - must be feeling now as you spoke. Being assigned on this case was already bringing your mind back to memories you wanted to forget but couldn’t even if you tried. That was a burden you’d carry all your life.

Memories of your own captivity - that you didn’t even know was one. The experiments, the torture, the constant struggle to hold onto your humanity- everything came back in an instant and you felt like suffocating. Innocent people were going through that and you were there, trying to make light of it all without even knowing where to begin.

Your eyes fell on the photographs and documents spread out once again, and you felt a surge of rage and sorrow wash over you. But then, you frowned.

You were kept a secret for fifteen years inside Hydra’s facility, no medial records of what they did to you existed to your knowledge. You, growing up in there, often saw other ‘patients’. You had seen things that probably not even Bucky had seen, and you knew Hydra never left pieces behind.

“Why,” You started, clearing your throat as you tried to ignore the fact that you felt like someone was squeezing it. “Why are they leaving the bodies out in the nature? Why aren’t they burning them like they used to?”

Bucky turned to look at you, a frown on his face. “What makes you think it was them? One of them was found still alive, maybe he escaped?” He didn’t believe his own words for a second - no one escaped Hydra. But he also knew it was unlikely for them to purposely leave a trace to follow now that the Avengers were looking for them.

You shook your head, dragging the picture of the man in front of him. “Look at his feet.”

Bucky did as you said and he let out a breath. “Found without shoes and no scratches on his feet.” He noticed. “He was left there on purpose.”

You nodded. “And they wanted us to know.”

As you stared into Bucky’s eyes for a moment, you missed the glance the two brothers gave to each other. As if they knew something more about this whole situation than you and Bucky could ever imagine.

[critter-paw]

JJBA Matchup Trade for @tubbypeddle

A/N: CRYING ABOUT THE BUG BITE PART BECAUSE I GET SO MANY IN THE SUMMER HELP

Anyways, I love the matchup you gave me! I’m just positively sobbing over it. Also, sorry this is so late!

As always Gifs are not mine!

For Part 5, I pair you with. . .

Bruno Bucciarati!

Note: We matched each other with the same person, help. We can share /hj

- When you were assigned to the team, Bruno almost didn’t know what to think. He brought you to the usual restaurant where the gang was and honestly, he didn’t know what he was expecting. If anything, it was not you standing there awkwardly as Mista tried to joke with you. However, it didn’t bother him. He just thought you were more like Abbacchio and preferred to be quiet. 

- Bruno honestly does not know what to expect with you. The first month, you stand there almost staring at anything BUT him while he gives you a mission. After about 2, you tackle him into a hug once he returned from a dangerous mission and almost tackled him violently. 

- He also didn’t expect the sarcastic side, although it was less of a surprise than the aggressive affection. The first time he heard it was probably you and Fugo got into a fight because of. . . Well anything due to both your hot tempers. Bruno was shocked when you had a quick and sarcastic comeback to Fugo’s insult. Of course, after that he stopped you two. 

- You find it absolutely hilarious that Bruno did not expect the sarcastic side. You asked him why he would ever think you weren’t when he brought it up. 

- When you don’t respond to any of his messages, Bruno starts to worry. You’re out on a mission, what if something happened to you?! Are you okay? Did you need help? What if- then you respond with an apology saying you forgot to message him back. He’d breath out a sigh of relief, well, that’s after he bombards you with questions if you’re okay or not. 

- Bruno can help with ADHD, after all. . . He’s dealt with Narancia for a while. He knows how to help and even gives suggestions on what to do when it hits particularly bad. 

- Rejection sensitive dysphoria? That’s why you didn’t confess sooner? Poor man will reassure you that he will never reject you. Well maybe unless you do drugs- he’s joking!!! Even if you did drugs he would try to help you quit. He doesn’t want to lose you like he lost his Dad. 

- Now. . . One of the main reasons Bruno is your match. He is also a huge family person! Look, he’s a mom to like 4 misguided teens. When Bruno found out you had 5 younger siblings, he almost jumped out of his seat when you asked for a bit of help. He’s also the one you trust to watch your 2 year old sister when you’re out on a mission. He’s protective of her, going as far as not letting Mista, Naranacia, or even Fugo near her. (Those 3 are not childproof.) Abbacchio maybe, but even then it would have to be under emergency circumstances where Bruno is not available. 

- Bruno appreciates that you like to stay out of conflicts. It really is the best way to not get hurt at times. However, when confrontation is unavoidable, he thinks your response is. . . Interesting to say the least. Another member from a different team in Passione started pushing you around and trying to get in a fight, and you just laughed??? He was shocked before shaking it off and telling the other member to back off. 

- As said in a different matchup, I believe Bruno is a flirty type of guy in private. So when you two are together with no one else around, things might get a little heated 😳

- I mean, you both like physical touch. He also enjoys that you try to spend what little time you both have in the mafia with each other. 

- As explained earlier, I believe he is also a words of affirmation type guy. He will assure you he loves you all day and night. 

- STEAL HIS CLOTHES. STEAL HIS ICONIC OUTFIT.

Boob Window Boob Window Boob Window Boob Window Boob Window 

Runner Up. . .

Doppio!

He doesn’t care what the boss thinks, you’re the light in this dark mafia world. 

Melone!

It doesn’t matter if Baby Face says you’re not perfectly compatible with him. He wants you for you. 

For Part 6, I pair you with. . .

Jolyne Kujo!

- First things first. . . She will literally just hand over some of her clothes for you to wear? She absolutely adores it when you are in some of her outfits. 

- I feel like you gave Anasui vibes at first with the awkwardness. Remember that Stone Ocean scene where she was like "Hi" and he fucking left 😭

It was kinda like that.

- However, you weren't a weird simp like he was (I called him out even though I love him sm.) You and Jolyne actually got closer, which meant as you got closer, your aggressive levels of caring weren't scary because you didn't just meet her.

- Let me just say the whole group was literally shocked to see how viciously you cared for people? Ermes frankly never expected it from you whereas Jolyne is like, "I knew there was something about you that I liked."

- Please show her that you care for her. FUCK YOU DAD (I love you my match Jotaro.)

- When you were sarcastic around her for the first time she was like O.o but then burst out laughing. She didn't expect it from you but it was pure gold. 

- With what she learned from Gwess, Jolyne helps you adapt to life in the prison. She warns you of people you shouldn't trust. She doesn't want to see your feelings hurt! :(

- I feel like Jolyne would maybe want a small family with you but is scared she might end up like her Dad and not be there for her family. However, that is not the case. I feel like Jolyne would be one of the coolest moms, one of the most embarrassing ones, or just the cool aunt of the family. 

- While in the prison system, Jolyne also appreciates that you stay out of conflict. After all, it wouldn't help her in fights if she kept worrying about you too! So staying safe is obviously the best option. However, when conflict was unavoidable and you started laughing she might've thought you lost it. . . Like you just laughed at Pucci while he was spouting heaven nonsense and about to fight you and you were just standing there hysterical? 

- Jolyne is DEF a physical touch person. Like have you seen how down bad this girl is sometimes? You give her a kiss? She gives you one right back or even initiates it herself most of the time! She also loves that you spend quality time just cuddling or hanging out, she couldn't ask for more.

Runner Up. . .

F.F!

You've sparked some odd feeling in her plankton heart that she never knew she could feel.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 3: Broken Bones

(Disclaimer: only three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about K.O. here. For more information about Azalea, go here. For more information about Caliban, go here.  For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(Note: as K.O. is multilingual, some of his dialogue in this story is Italian, which I personally used DeepL for. Pay the site a visit if you’d like to translate that dialogue for yourself. As of right now I can only speak English and a bit of Spanish, so I do apologize if the phrasing is a bit off, but this still seems much better than Google Translate.)

(Trigger Warnings: mentions of gunshots, physical violence, blood, broken bones, descriptions of illegal business, slight mentions drinking/eating, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

There was no doubting that The Pentas Family had a reputation; a well-earned reputation. And while that commanded both respect and fear from anyone with good sense. . .it could also encourage extremely idiotic attempts at stripe-earning. 

Kaiser had done plenty of stupid things in his life. Pledging himself to a mob wasn’t one of them, thank you very much, but ever underestimating an adrenaline rush definitely was.

Aftertaste was a fair distance from The WormRoll; the same obviously went for Azalea and Kaiser’s respective dens. He’d been sprinting along the old railways for nearly ten minutes now, but by some miracle, he didn’t feel winded. 

Sure, his heart was hammering against his ribcage, more or less threatening to explode out of his chest at any given second. And yet, somehow, his head wasn’t throbbing, his jaw wasn’t aching, his lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire. He didn’t have to chant Just a little further between each breath.

The flickering caged lights that had been installed every ten feet were eager to distort his shadow as he passed them by. (It never failed to amaze him how The Boss had managed to siphon electricity back into the subway tunnels without alerting any of the local companies.) 

One might’ve been a bit reluctant to leave Azalea alone. Which was fair, considering exactly what had happened almost an hour ago. Plus, as of right now, there was no way to be sure of A. who had ordered the attack. B. why they’d done so in the first place, and C. if they’d sent more people than just that one gunman. . .

Then again, progress had already been made. And progress would keep being made.

Besides, Kaiser knew better. For one thing, he’d already patched up her latest injury, which certainly wasn’t a fatal one. For another thing, the entrances to these tunnels were well-hidden, hard to get to without specific information. For a final thing, Azalea had been part of these operations longer than him. She was cunning, slippery, determined. 

. . .She’d also been loading a fuck-off tranquilizer gun with darts that would probably do more than just knock their targets out when K.O. got the text from Murdock.

So, yeah, Azalea could take care of herself just fine.

Besides, Kaiser would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. 

He was going to get to lead the impending interrogation, after all. 

This wasn’t the first time, of course. He’d been a Pentas representative for years now; violence was just part of his career, and things would’ve been pretty damn awkward if he hadn’t made his peace with that by now. The people he worked with were unhinged enough to make honey badgers look like capybaras, and they’d done so, so, so much more than enough to earn his loyalty. 

Murdock and Caliban could’ve absolutely gone through with information-extracting without him. . .but they’d chosen not to. They wanted to include him. They wanted him to have some of the credit for neutralizing a threat. 

It was touching. In a dark, fucked-up way. 

Kaiser rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding tripping as he hopped onto the platform that came into view. He finally skidded to a stop in front of the steel door, fishing his special key out of his drawstring backpack—the makeshift first aid kit that he took almost everywhere. 

His breathing was heavy and ragged as he closed the door from the other side. He strolled across the room to have a seat, retrieving a water bottle from his bag, raising it up and taking several gulps. His pulse still rang in his ears, but he’d be fine. It would take a lot more than a last-minute jogging session to put him out of commission. 

His phone was in his hand the second he stopped drinking. 

You guys up there yet? He typed. I’m ready to go.

We’re just pulling in around the back, Murdock replied after a moment or two. He was quick to add,  This asshole’s stubborn, so give him the special treatment. 

Gotcha! I’ll say hi to Francis and J.P. for you ;D

Can’t believe you’re still sticking to THOSE names.

Yep. Nothing you can do about it. Kaiser chuckled as he sent that last message, thinking of Murdock’s patented sigh and eye-roll. 

He set his phone down, then got to his feet to finish preparing. 

His den seemed a bit sparse at first, but that was only because of the way he’d organized his stuff. Three corners were taken up by a punching bag, an incline bench, and an elliptical. One wall was nearly hidden behind a weight rack and the storage cabinet he was now rummaging through. There was a decent amount of space between all the equipment, leaving the center of the abandoned office open, offering enough room to pace around. . . 

Kaiser couldn’t help it: the arena was, ironically enough, something of a safe-space to him. It was one of few places where he could truly be himself, let his emotions out, earn his keep. (He knew he already had an actual arena upstairs, but it was only an arena at night, after the rink’s customers had to leave and all those roller skates were cleaned and stocked away.)

Kaiser wasn’t much of a jewelry person. He could see the appeal, but in this line of work, shiny little ornaments pretty much always found ways to be inconvenient. The small silver hoop adorning his left earlobe was the first of two exceptions, but only because it was sentimental. Besides, he’d gotten dangerously close to finding out that it probably wouldn’t budge before his ear did. (And that incident had taken place before he’d found his new family.) Kaiser shuddered at the memory, his skin crawling as he carefully took the hoop out and packed it into a little box.

The second exception was rings. Two sets of four that were connected by a solid band of brass, to be specific. Francis—who was best friends with leftie—and J.P.—who was carrying on a nice little affair with rightie—caught the light as Kaiser turned each of them over. They had sentimental value as well. Just a different kind. 

The silence was broken by the telltale sound of a door creaking open, followed by a chorus of grunts and yelps and expletives. Kaiser turned his head just in time to see an unfamiliar figure descending the old concrete staircase in a very ungraceful manner, landing on his face just five feet away. 

“Candygram for one K.O.!” Called a familiar baritone voice. 

Kaiser took a few steps closer, looking up to see Murdock hovering at the top of the stairs. He caught flashes of dark blue darting here and there behind the hitman; that had to be Caliban, who was probably pacing the floor of the rink’s locker room.

“Cal and I have some stuff to go over. It should only take five minutes or so,” Murdock explained. He titled his head, quirking the brow of his left eye. Even after all the time Kaiser had spent working with him, it was still odd to see Murdock wearing his medical eyepatch rather than his tinted glasses. But in his defense, this venture had kinda-sorta been randomly sprung on them. “We’ll check on you two after that. Sound good?”

Kaiser made a little show of cracking his knuckles, sliding J.P. and Francis onto his hands and giving them each a chaste kiss. He offered a grin and thumbs-up to his colleague. It was always nice to hear someone using his nickname. “Sounds awesome!”

Murdock nodded, smirking. “Have fun.” He then stepped back and pushed the hidden door shut with a loud click. 

Kaiser stared up for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as his gaze landed on his new target. 

The new target glared back, huffing and puffing as he floundered on the floor. 

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten a clear look at this guy earlier, what with having to duck and cover and the crowd around him becoming a blur as people ran and screamed in response to those six sharp, booming CRACKS that had rung through the air. 

Then again, he hadn’t needed to. Mob life may have been depraved and dangerous, but it still had plenty of perks to make up for that. Such as, for example, the way it took your instincts and made them faster, tougher, deadlier. 

A quick glance at this person’s watery, mud-colored eyes was all it took for Kaiser to know for an absolute certainty that he’d been the one to try playing around with him and his peers. 

Plus, the fact that the gunman’s eyes were visible meant he wasn’t wearing one of the hostage masks (burlap sacks adorned by strips of duct tape to make a frowny-face with Xs for eyes) Kaiser had seen Murdock and the others use before.

And that meant he would NEVER get a chance to describe anything he’d soon be seeing to someone else. 

“Well,” Kaiser announced conversationally. He started circling the gunman, quickly spotting the thick strip of red nylon encircling his wrists behind his back. “I think you already know how this’ll work.”

“Fuck off!” The gunman snarled, shakily worming his way to stand on his knees. “I’m not talking. Especially not to some idiot kid who’s gonna get himself killed next week.” 

Kaiser narrowed his eyes. “Funny how a man-baby like you is trying to call me a kid.”

He had the basic courtesy to let the gunman get to his feet, to reveal how he stood a good few inches taller. Not like that mattered, though. Kaiser had taken on plenty of larger opponents before. 

“Whatever you think is gonna happen next week, it won’t,” Kaiser stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “And it’s already way too late for you to change that, even if you do talk.”

The gunman made to spew something else, but Francis helped Kaiser interject. The first strike landed on one side of the gunman’s chest, prompting something to go snap! behind his shirt. A millisecond afterwards, J.P. crashed against the gunman’s cheek, leaving some fresh, angry imprints to bloom on his skin. The gunman staggered back with a shout, but he didn’t fall.

“Who do you work for?” Kaiser inquired (hey, that rhymed!). “They must’ve been pretty damn persuasive. Or maybe you’re just pretty damn gullible. Though I guess both could work.”

The gunman shook his head, sputtering a laugh as he spat out a wad of blood. “If you really want to know, they paid me a lot more than you probably make in a week. More than what you think you deserve.”

“Considering how you only got one nonfatal shot out of six, I call bullshit,” Kaiser growled.

He marched forward to deck the gunman once, twice square in the nose. The third hit landed solidly against the gunman’s lower lip. Blood sprayed out around Kaiser’s fist with each impact, quickly soaking Francis in red. Meanwhile, Kaiser buried J.P. right below the gunman’s sternum, which definitely paved the way for another fracture to open up under his skin.

The gunman roared, suddenly craning his neck to slam his forehead against Kaiser’s. 

Kaiser hollered in pain, but he was still far from disoriented. He took the opportunity to reach around and deliver a rabbit punch. He didn’t have enough time to do as much damage as possible, but the back of the head was still one of the worst pain-points the human body had to offer. 

Kaiser stepped to the side, snatched the gunman’s collar and dragged him down to the floor, only letting go in order to give him a couple harsh kicks to the gut. “Answer me! Who the hell sent you, and what’s their fucking damage?!”

The gunman rolled onto his back, swinging his legs to try and knock Kaiser down. Kaiser huffed a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stomped on the offending foot. Another cry tore its way through the gunman’s throat as he was forced to go still. Both he and Kaiser panted like dogs for about twenty seconds or so. 

And then. . .

“Y’know, I can’t tell why this band of misfits gives off the vibe that it does,” the gunman slurred, his head lolling to the side. “I mean, look at you. The only reason you can do this to me is ‘cause those two freaks bound my hands. And you must think you’re so goddamn special, when any untrained bitch can throw a punch if they’ve got some knuckle dusters.”

Kaiser froze, feeling his eyes widen. 

Oh. OH.

The gunman wanted to go on that route?

Alright, then.

They would go on that fucking route.

A low, manic chuckle bubbled up through Kaiser’s lips. 

“Oh. . .these little friends of mine?” He asked, holding up his hands to let Francis and J.P. glint against the light in all their shiny, bloody glory. He shook his head. “No, no. I didn’t just pick them up before I joined the family. They were given to me. As rewards. After I proved what I could do and took the time to get even better at it.”

As he spoke, Kaiser slid the brass knuckles off, one after the other. He held them near eye-level for a moment, giving them a look that was typically reserved for a charming pet, before setting them off to the side on the floor.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re a lot of fun to have around!” Kaiser continued. The gunman’s foot was still trapped under his own. He used that to his leverage, holding the gunman in place as he leaned down. “But I don’t depend on them. I’ve fought dozens and dozens of people in recent years, and I never needed to use my babies in any of those matches.” 

Kaiser grinned as he flexed his fingers, practically feeling how his eyes drilled into the gunman’s. That grin grew wider as he hauled off and clocked the gunman with a good ol’ fashioned right-hook. 

“See, that’s what makes my special guys special! They only make appearances when I decide that my opponent DESERVES IT.” A sardonic laugh ripped through the air as Kaiser felt a tidal wave of new energy come crashing through him. “You don’t have any damn room to talk about shit being fair!”

He pulled his right hand back, then dished out a classic left-hook. 

“You pulled out a fucking gun in public! During the annual art festival, of all things!”

Another right hook.

“You shot six rounds into a crowd full of people who had nothing to do with whatever the fuck you think you need to prove!” 

Another left-hook.

“You shot at members of my family when our backs were turned to you!”

More blood gushing out.

“There was nothing honorable about what you did today!”

More fleshy pops and cracks. 

Time seemed to slow down as he kept at it. For a brief moment, his voice seemed to blur, as did the agonized noises that the gunman was making. Before he knew it, Kaiser’s vision grew somewhat hazy. So, he instinctively paused, blinking. 

He discovered that he was standing upright again, still keeping the gunman’s foot pinned. By now, the gunman’s eyes were almost swollen shut. His face was covered in splotches of black, blue and purple. . .or, Kaiser knew from experience that it was, at least. The new bruises were well-hidden by all the blood dribbling down to create a small puddle on the floor. As Kaiser stared at the red, he realized with a note of pride that a couple teeth had landed there, too. 

Despite all of this, the gunman was still attempting to kick Kaiser. Not too surprising, really. People were just as resilient as they were fragile. Kaiser knew that better than anyone.

But he also knew that being persistent didn’t outweigh being pathetic. 

He also-also understood the importance of a good finale. 

Kaiser shifted in place to stand by the gunman’s side. He took a second to hype himself up a bit more. . .then raised his free leg and stamped down on the gunman’s knee as hard as he possibly could. 

The bony cap inside crumpled under Kaiser’s weight.

The sickening CRUNCH it made wasn’t drowned out by the gunman’s shriek.

“What you did today was just chicken shit,” Kaiser proclaimed as he finally stepped back. 

As if on cue, Murdock’s voice piped up from across the den: “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Kaiser turned to see the hitman in question standing at the foot of the stairs, with Caliban lurking beside him. He met the duo halfway as they slithered over. 

“Did you get anything out of him?” Murdock wondered aloud.

“It looks like something might be happening next week,” Kaiser reported, wiping his hand on his pants before running it through his side-swept bangs (the blood would certainly be less noticeable against amaranth denim than bleached-white hair, after all). “I couldn’t tell if he was just talking out of his ass, but we might as well stay on our toes.”

Murdock nodded. “Good, good. Anything else?” 

“. . .Not really,” Kaiser sighed, shaking his head. He folded his arms across his chest at the way Murdock pursed his lips. “Hey, I was trying to, but he threw me off track!” He glanced back down at the gunman and spat, “Stupido stronzo del cazzo.”

Confusion flickered on Murdock’s face at the string of Italian, but the mask of overexaggerated disappointment stayed strong. “You’ve made tons of jackasses sing before. What could possibly be so different about this one?”

“I’m not sure!" Kaiser responded, placing his hands on his hips. “If I had a little more time with him, then I bet I could get more information.” 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but we don’t have extra time! That’s kind of the thing about last-minute-emergency-jobs!” Murdock snapped, marching a few paces closer. 

Kaiser tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, refusing to budge from where he stood. He’d adjusted to aggressive body language way more than what would probably be considered healthy. He knew Murdock wasn’t about to try anything with him. It would’ve been impossible not to notice the adrenaline in his features.

Glancing past Murdock, Kaiser saw Caliban, who was being uncharacteristically quiet as he glared daggers at the crumpled heap of failed assassin. There was almost always something a little strange in his eyes, but he was typically personable enough to draw attention away from that. But right here, right now, his expression was vicious. 

Not like Caliban could really be blamed for that, of course. 

Kaiser felt his own face soften a little. Then, he briskly shook his head, recognizing the sensation of a lightbulb manifesting in there.

What had happened a few hours ago was absolutely horrible. Yes, the main issue was being dealt with, but Murdock was right: neither he nor his accomplices could be sure how much time was actually on their hands right now. Everyone needed to keep moving.

. . .But the movement in question wouldn’t be very efficient if this new paranoia was just left to fester. . .

“You can’t say I didn’t get something done here. I know my business!” Kaiser pointed to the crimson smears that just screamed performance art. “What’s that on the floor? Blood! What’re those little things in the blood? A couple teeth, thank you very much! And last but not least, what’s—ah, the—” He briefly stammered before his focus landed on the way Caliban’s shadow fell over both the floor and the gunman. 

“—That’s a cannibal! And the one below him is a target!” Kaiser’s hands were a blur as he gestured toward Caliban and the gunman. “A cannibal and a target! What’s that called? DINNER. What—” he sputtered with sardonic laughter as he paced in a small, quick circle. “In what world do we live in where targets like this can peacefully coexist with our family?! It’s not going to happen!”

Kaiser sidled over to stand behind Murdock with just a bit less grace than usual, leaning from side to side to peer over his colleague’s shoulders. “Cal’s hungry! He’s hungry, Murdock! It’s like he hasn’t seen a FEAST in a FORTNIGHT! He’s licking his lips!” Once he decided he had to pause for breath, Kaiser glanced at the other two mobsters in turn. 

Murdock usually prided himself on being skilled with improvisation. Right here, right now, the evidence of just how violently he’d been thrown out of the loop was all over his face. (It was always fun to see someone who was usually amused at the expense of others falling into that very role himself.)

Caliban, meanwhile. . .well, there was still plenty of understandable anger in his features, but his more typical curiosity had wormed its way into his eyes as he stared back, clearly not sure what Kaiser was on about. 

Uncertain smiles were twitching on both of their faces. 

That was good. That was part of what Kaiser was after. He just needed to go a bit further. 

So, he practically skipped past Murdock and came to loom over the gunman, standing opposite of Caliban. “This target has gotta be afraid for his life! I bet he wishes he had an actual chance to get away! I don’t know what he’s trying to do!”

Kaiser leaned down, grabbed the gunman by the collar, and hauled him halfway up. The gunman struggled, of course, but he was way too battered to do much at all. “If he hadn’t fucked around in our territory, then I might fear for his safety! But I DON’T, because it’s his OWN STUPID FAULT that he ended up in an unsafe place!” 

With that, he hauled back, letting go of the gunman’s bloodstained shirt at the exact second the back of Kaiser’s free hand collided with his face. Yet another dull thud and yet another cry of pain were accentuated by familiar snickering from the other two members of Kaiser’s audience. 

There. 

Kaiser knew his work wasn’t completely done yet, but that could count as his good deed for the day. 

“. . .Alright, then.” Murdock announced. “I guess you’ve made your case.”  

“Damn right I have,” Kaiser agreed with a proud smirk. As he let himself relax, he finally remembered how his hands were throbbing and tingling. The ache wasn’t necessarily a bad one, though. He chewed his lips, then glanced back at Caliban. “Ah, sorry, Cal.”

Caliban blinked at this. “What’re you sorry about? You did exactly as we asked. Plus, that little show was certainly something.”  

“Yeah, but. . .now that I think about it, I probably roughed him up too much for you.” Kaiser nodded over to Francis and J.P., then toward the gunman, implying all the bruises that were most certainly forming beneath the gunman’s clothes. 

Caliban followed his gaze, quiet for another few seconds. Then, he let out a small chuckle. “I appreciate the sentiment, K.O. But really, don’t worry about it. Tough meats aren’t impossible to work around. That’s what the crockpot is for.” 

Kaiser felt his expression brighten back up as he nodded, chuckling a little himself. 

It seemed like mere minutes had passed since he’d heard Caliban scream Azalea’s name, since he’d watched a dark red stain start spreading through the white fabric of her button-down, since he’d followed the two siblings when they disappeared into Aftertaste’s back entrance.

The restaurant’s kitchen was dark, but that hadn’t slowed them down. Azalea was already sitting on one of the many stainless-steel countertops with her sleeve rolled up to expose the wound. She hissed as Caliban used a washcloth to scrub the blood away.

Both of them nearly leapt a foot in the air at the sound of the back door creaking open and closed again. Like clockwork, Caliban’s cleaver was halfway out of his jacket’s interior pocket. 

“W-whoa, hey! It’s just me!” Kaiser called out as he raced over to Azalea. He slammed his drawstring backpack down beside her, pulling it open to ferret out a first-aid kit. “Hold your arm out, Aza! Keep the wound above your heart!” 

“Are you okay?” Azalea asked, her voice labored as she obeyed his instructions. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kaiser answered, his breathing equally ragged. He plucked a roll of gauze from the kit, as well as a few small bottles. After donning a pair of latex gloves, he took hold of Azalea’s wrist, carefully unwinding the bloody hand towel. 

“Where’s Murdock?” Caliban demanded. “Did he get hit, too?” 

Kaiser shook his head. “No, but he must’ve seen the gunman. He took off across the street after the last shot.” 

Azalea nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and baring her teeth.  

“Wait, hold on—” Kaiser turned Azalea’s arm in his hands. Relief flickered on his features. “Okay, okay! Good news: there’s nothing in your arm! The bullet just grazed you!” 

“. . .She’s still been shot at!” Caliban exclaimed. “Are you not seeing all this blood? How the hell is a grazing supposed to be good news?!”

“Because it means Aza won’t have to wait for signs of lead poisoning before we can weigh the options of removing a goddamn bullet!” Kaiser snapped back, though his nervousness was just as obvious as his stress. 

Betrayal may not have been tolerated in The Pentas Family, but a furious cannibal still wasn’t something anyone would necessarily want to be within five feet of.

Azalea gave her brother a stern look. “He’s just trying to help!”

Caliban flinched, blinking, grinding his jaw. “I know, I know! I-I’m sorry, I just—” 

He cut himself off in favor of placing a hand on Azalea’s left shoulder, bowing his head as his eyes started to sting. The conflict he felt between wanting to embrace her and knowing that he couldn’t unless he wanted to risk making her injury worse was crystal-clear. 

Azalea’s face softened. She gingerly raised her uninjured arm, reaching around her brother in order to draw circles on his back. 

Caliban glanced at Kaiser. His anger and fear were still very much present, but somehow, his expression managed to be apologetic. 

Kaiser tipped his head in understanding. “. . .You guys are one step ahead of me,” he continued. “Look, the bleeding’s already slowed down! It won’t take much time for me to stop it. The graze just needs to be cleaned and bandaged.” He then pressed the hand towel back against Azalea’s skin.

“Cal,” Azalea announced, her voice firm in spite of her pain, “you need to go find Murdock.” At the way her brother sharply raised his head, she attempted to laugh. “Oh, c’mon. I’ve had papercuts worse than this. You heard K.O.; I’ll be fine!”

“She will be,” Kaiser promised, nodding earnestly, “and she’s got a point. We have no idea what Murdock’s running into, so he might as well have some backup.”

All this time, Murdock had been fiddling with a rectangular object. Aforementioned object became a small blur as he lightly tossed it in the fighter’s direction. 

Kaiser just barely managed to catch it, soon realizing that it was a cellphone. 

“It’s already been combed through,” Murdock explained, “but running it over to the base wouldn’t hurt.” 

“What about him?” Kaiser asked, jerking his thumb toward the bloodied man on the floor.

“It’s over, that’s what about him,” Murdock snorted, firmly ignoring the questionable grammar. “I’ve already sent for some of the others to clean out the motel room he’s apparently been staying at. Cal and I can take it from here.” He paced around the gunman, pausing to stomp on his chest. “He’ll have one more chance to talk with us. No offense, but we’ve got a few more methods than you do.”

“Terapia di coppettazione orribile,” Kaiser predicted with a nod.

Murdock froze, slowly turned his head to face Kaiser again. “. . .What?”

Kaiser offered a cheeky lame gesture. “You tell me.”

Murdock shook his head, uncharacteristically bewildered. “No, seriously. What did you just say?”

“Palle,” Kaiser quipped, his smile now reaching glorious heights of shit-eatingness.

Murdock’s face fell into a tired scowl. “Very funny, asshole.”

“‘Molto divertente, stronzo,’” Kaiser technically echoed. “Se vuoi capirlo così tanto, dovresti studiarlo tu stesso.”

If Caliban hadn’t been there, then this probably would’ve gone on for another moment or two before devolving into a small fistfight. Since Caliban was indeed there, he made a point to clear his throat before either of his accomplices could get louder. 

“I don’t think the cleanup crew has been very busy this week,” Murdock mentioned as Caliban helped partially hoist the gunman. The two of them half-carried-half-dragged him over to the den’s door. 

Kaiser glanced at the bloody puddle on the floor. After a few seconds of consideration, he shook his head. “Nah, this isn’t a big enough mess to drag them down here. There should be enough stuff in the rink’s broom closet for me to use.”

Murdock shrugged. “Fair enough. Just head over to the base once you’re done, alright?” 

Kaiser hummed affirmative, already heading for the staircase. At the sound of the den’s metal door creaking open, he paused to glance over his shoulder. The gunman was still wheezing, trying and failing to squirm. He made eye-contact with Kaiser one last time, glowering as he spat out yet another wad of red. 

In return, Kaiser simply smiled and waved, hoping he could send a silent message about how much worse things were about to get.

That smile stayed on his face as he resumed walking, as he listened to the door swing shut with a final-sounding SLAM.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever

[butchyena]

the first time a boss pretends to care about my leaving and he literally just sat me down to basically say “i dont care why youre leaving and im not going to pretend to care enough to ask why im just sorry that you felt that way and reached this conclusion” lol

[pellucid-constellations]

Five Moments in Time

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Summary: All of the moments in which Sergeant Barnes let the nurse on his unit know he’s not gonna stop trying to win her over. Even from beyond the grave.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Minor injury, angst (the big kind)

a/n: I rewatched tfa and fell in love with Bucky all over again! So I had to write some 40s angst of course. Also I think might’ve made myself cry. 

I discontinued my taglist, but you can follow my library blog @pellucid-library​ for notifications 🤍

Masterlist

“And just who are you?” 

The medical tent was overrun with white-clad bodies in a flurry. Aprons were stained and gauze was clenched tightly between overworked fingers. The war hadn’t been kind, but at least Captain Rogers had been able to save all these men. 

And amongst the men was the flirty, ever charming, Bucky Barnes. 

“I’ve told you, Sergeant Barnes, I’m your nurse. Now please sit back so I can properly stitch your arm.” 

He didn’t listen to you, sitting up further to prop his hand on his chin and take you in. You’d asked him about four times now, each one fruitless. 

You huffed. “Sergeant Barnes, please.”

“Maybe if you call me Bucky I’ll consider it.” 

You’d be lying if you said you were impervious to his charm. How could you be? He was one of the most handsome soldiers you’d seen on the front lines, and he certainly was smooth with his words. Too bad you’d heard the same thing from just about every nurse on the floor. 

“That’s against protocol,” you explained, pushing him back on the cot. He wrapped a delicate hand around your wrist. “And it’s in your best interest to receive treatment, Sergeant, not deny it.” 

He let you roll his sleeve up, but continued. “You new? I know I was away for a while, but I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.” 

You focused on his arm before answering. The cut wasn’t too bad; you were sure the treatment he received while he was prisoner paled in comparison to the wound. But after everything these men went through, you would try to bring them any comfort you could. 

“I was transferred to this unit while you were… away. They were hoping you all would get back, so they brought on extra medical coverage.” 

He flinched when the first stitch met his skin. You went to apologize, but he quickly brushed it off. “‘S no problem, doll. I know what I signed up for, and your hands are the nicest things I’ve felt in weeks.” He winked, hiding a grimace. “You stayin’ then? They keeping you on unit?” 

“Well, I would hope so,” you breathed, intently focused on the next stitch. “I’m the head nurse.” 

You pricked at a nerve that made him jolt, hand coming out to cover yours. And then you were met with the most gorgeous shade of blue you’d seen since you hit the front lines. They were soft and vibrant, but held a tiredness to them—like a man who’d seen too much. 

Against your better judgment, you let yourself get lost in them. You tried to find the man he was before all of this; the bachelor from Brooklyn his accent hinted to. Maybe he was a flirt with the girls back in New York. Maybe he had a family that missed him. Maybe he wanted to go home. 

He hadn’t stopped looking at you, and you wondered if he was doing the same thing; if he saw the pain in your eyes, all a product of the war. He let his fingers brush across yours as he pulled away. 

“You can keep goin’, doll.” 

“Sorry,” you whispered. But he just reassured you again. 

He spoke up after a few minutes of careful stitching. “So what’d I do to get the big boss workin’ on me?” he flirted. 

“You’re just lucky I guess.”

“More than lucky. I’m bettin’ every guy in here wishes he was me.” 

“You know—” you began wrapping his arm in bandages “—I heard a lot about you while you were away. Captain Rogers likes to talk. So do the other nurses.” 

Surprisingly, his eyes lit up. “You know Stevie! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. He always did flock to the best of ‘em. That’s why I’m his best pal.” 

“Yes, Captain Rogers did have a lot to say about you. But the other girls on the floor had even more.” 

His smile fell a bit, features now on the defense. You could tell he knew exactly what you were referring to; the flirting and the sneaking kisses and the empty promises. None of it was too harmful, but it was there nonetheless. And referencing it had made your stance clear. 

“C’mon, doll, don’t listen to those girls. I was just passin’ the time with them. Swear on my Ma I’ve meant every word I said to you. You really are the most beautiful dame I’ve ever met.” 

You smirked. “And I’m sure Susan was the most beautiful the last time you talked to her.” You tied off the gauze on his arm and gave his shoulder a soft pat. “You’re free to go, Sergeant. Keep that clean.” 

“If I don't, are you gonna be the one to fix it?” 

“Goodbye, Sergeant Barnes.” 

“I’m not gonna stop tryin’, doll,” he called over his shoulder, figure half out the medical tent. 

You didn’t want him to. 

~~

Bucky had been back to your tent multiple times in the weeks following. He learned your name from another nurse during his second visit, but he rarely used it. He preferred doll, or sweetheart, or just about anything that might get your heart racing. 

You feigned indifference each time his dog tags jingled behind you; you pretended he wasn’t there until he was physically shoving himself in front of you. But you still let him throw his arm around your shoulder when you took a break and listened when he talked about his sister. It was a little game you two played: you pretended you wanted nothing to do with him, he saw right through it. 

And as much as you wanted to fall right into Bucky’s trap, you couldn’t. You couldn’t allow yourself to love a soldier when the outcome might be disastrous—even disregarding his flirty nature. Because if you fell for Bucky Barnes, you knew that was it for you. There would be no way to recover from a heartbreak connected to such a pure blue set of eyes or the Brooklyn drawl that warmed your chest. 

So, you kept your distance—or tried to at least. Bucky didn’t enjoy distance. 

Which is why you expected him to come today. You hadn’t seen him yesterday—your tent was filled to the brim with an onslaught of injured soldiers—and going a day without seeing you was unacceptable in Bucky’s book. 

Secretly, you enjoyed it when he came; his visits were a welcomed break from all the death you had to encounter. But today, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your eyes open long enough to humor him. You hadn’t slept last night, and the tent was still full this morning. Sure, all the soldiers were finally asleep, but that didn’t mean you could rest; you needed to monitor them. 

“Where’s my best girl?” The flap of the tent punctuated Bucky’s entrance. “Doll, you back here?” 

You were there, but barely. You were slouched against a post with your feet aching under you and your hair in a frazzled mess. The bags beneath your eyes revealed your lack of sleep, and your hunched shoulders gave away your broken spirit. 

And yet, when Bucky caught sight of you, a dreamy smile took over his face. 

He pulled you away from the post and pressed you to his chest as soon as his boots were close enough to do so. He was immediately worried. Because you always pushed away—or at least pretended to—and this time, you leaned further into him. He glanced down at your face, burrowed into his arms, and narrowed his eyes. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Hmm?” you hummed, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Oh. Yes, yeah, I’m fine.” You righted your body and straightened out your uniform, embarrassed. “Just a bit tired.” 

“A bit?” he parroted. “You look dead on your feet over there. When’s the last time you took a break?” 

You searched your mind, eyes trailing up the ceiling. “Maybe yesterday? It’s hard to keep track when there’s no windows in here.” 

“Oh, doll, yesterday? We gotta get you layin’ down.” 

You yanked yourself back when he reached for your arm, and quickly grabbed the paperwork to your left. You couldn’t take a break. You were the head nurse; if any one of these soldiers’ health went south, it was your job to help them. 

“I can’t take a break, Sergeant. I’m the only one left on the floor. I have to make sure I watch the patients.” 

“Well, where the hell’s everyone else? You can’t work like this, doll. You’ll end up in one of these beds yourself.” 

You ran a tired hand over your brow. “These guys are worse off, trust me.” 

“Yeah?” He placed his hand behind your neck and brushed a thumb across your cheek. You closed your eyes, only allowing the contact because you were so tired, surely. “And what happens to them if their nurse passes out from exhaustion? You think that leaves ‘em in good hands?” 

His touch got more healing as the seconds ticked by. His fingers trailed down your neck and began kneading into the tense muscles of your shoulders, and you felt yourself sag against him unwillingly. He was definitely doing that on purpose. 

“Let me take you back to your tent, yeah? I’ll grab Susan or Dot to come watch these guys. I’ll even wake you up in a few hours to micromanage, I swear it.” 

“Can’t, Bucky,” you mumbled. But he took the papers from your hands anyway. “I gotta stay here in case they wake up. Let me do my job.” 

Hands rested on your waist, as if you were dancing. “Well, I made it my job to make sure you’re doin’ okay. And you’re not. So let me do my job, doll.” 

Your body betrayed your words as you sunk into him. “Bucky—” 

“I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. This is non-negotiable for me.” 

You sighed and rested your forehead against his chest, the dog tags cool against your skin. His heartbeat lulled you into compliance; Bucky was nothing if not persistent, and you knew this was one thing he wouldn’t let up on. You felt his hand run across the back of your head before you spoke, your voice quiet amongst the breaths in the room. 

“Alright.” 

He was gone and back with another nurse before you even realized he left. Susan was cranky and unkempt, but Bucky didn’t let you feel much sympathy for the girl as he ushered you out of the med tent. He had his military jacket thrown over your shoulders, and a soft hand pressed to your lower back. And it was a bit strange that he knew the exact location of your sleeping quarters. 

When you threw him a confused look, he explained. “I kinda asked Steve. Just wanted to look out for you.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Glad I did, because that’s how I knew you hadn’t been back here in over a day.” 

You hid a small smile. Bucky had wormed his way into your heart over the past few weeks—as much as you didn’t like to admit that—and it was moments like these that affirmed that. 

When you reached your tent, he didn’t leave. “I got it from here, Sergeant. Thank you for walking me.” 

“Oh, no. You go in there and change and let me know when you’re done. Can’t have you runnin’ back to work after everything I went through to get you here.” 

“Come on, I’m not gonna—” 

“Go, doll. I’ll be right here.” 

You huffed, but complied, too tired to argue. Once you’d changed into more comfortable clothes, you poked your head out of your tent. “Alright, done. You can go back to whatever soldiers do when I’m not saving them from death.” 

He cracked a smile at that, and pulled you out of your tent by your shoulders. This hug felt the same as the one from before; it was warm and full of comfort and you’d never wanted to fall into something more. You even wrapped your arms around him this time, feeling the sharp intake in Bucky’s chest as you did so. 

With a ghost of his lips along your temple, he pulled away. “You gotta get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll have Stevie come wake you up if I’m on watch, okay?”

~~

It was Christmas. You had time off. The bustling streets of London were a beautiful place to celebrate. And yet, you’d never felt more empty. 

Christmas was a time for family; it was a time for big dinners and laughs between friends. Christmas wasn’t a time for sitting alone at a near empty bar, a glass of water rolling between your hands and a bartender sending you sympathetic glances. But staying at the camp hurt more than being alone, so you left for the evening. 

You were even wearing a new dress. After being assigned to the Howling Commandos, Peggy became a close friend. She took you shopping last week—“a Christmas treat” she called it. You felt like a fool really, dressing up to sit by yourself at a bar. 

This war was not kind. 

You almost asked Bucky to come with you; the closeness between you had only grown since receiving your new assignment. You began to expect his gentle touches throughout the day, and missed him when Steve had him away on an assignment. His flirty tone was now reserved for you alone, something you held deep within your chest; watching his expression change when you came into his sights was a feat you’d never tire of. 

But the worrying was nauseating. When he was away for long periods of time, a fear ate away at you like nothing you’d ever experienced. It sunk its teeth into your veins and sucked out any joy that could prosper there, only releasing you when his hands were brushing your hair away from your face once more. 

That feeling was why you’d stayed away for so long. Because how could you love a soldier when their fate was so undetermined? How could you give yourself so fully to someone when you didn’t even know if they’d live through the week?

It’s a shame your heart didn’t listen to your mind; that you had fallen for Bucky anyway. Not that you told him that. No, you two still danced around each other as if you weren’t completely enraptured by the thought of the other. 

So you didn’t ask Bucky to come with you. That didn’t mean he didn’t watch you leave. 

“What’s a dame like you doin’ in a place like this?” A Brooklyn accent. You weren’t surprised. 

“I run with a pretty bad group. They get into lots of trouble,” you played along. 

Bucky sat beside you then, thigh pressed to yours. “Want me to sweep you off your feet? Take you awake from it all?” 

“Don’t I ever.” 

“Let me then, sweets. I got lots of money back home. A big house with one of those new televisions. I even got a driver.” 

You laughed. “What, no indoor swimming pool? I’ll have to pass, big guy.” 

“What!” he groaned. “C’mon, give me another shot, toots. I’ll make it worth your while, I swear.” 

“Sorry, buddy. I got another soldier in mind.” 

You finally turned to him from your place at the bar, a playful smile gracing your lips. But Bucky’s smile was much more fond—more in love. You could always tell by the way he looked at you that he loved you. You knew he loved you. But you wouldn’t let him say it out loud; that was too dangerous. 

For the millionth time since you met him, you let yourself fall into the blues that were Bucky’s eyes, except this time, you could see past the war-torn soldier. You could see the bachelor from New York that read the hobbit to his sister and walked to school with Steve. You knew how the hues looked when he laughed and how they glistened when they cried. You knew Bucky, in every sense of the word. 

“Dance with me.” 

“What?” you whispered. 

“Dance with me on Christmas, doll.” 

“Bucky, there’s no music. And no one else is dancing.” You kept your tone low, gesturing to the few inhabitants at the bar. 

“They gotta jukebox. And I don’t really care if I’m the only one dancin’ with my girl,” Bucky said. He reached for your hands. “C’mon, dance with me, sweetheart. I’m not gonna stop askin’.” 

You shook your head fondly, agreeing as he bounded off the stool and headed straight for the jukebox. And true to Bucky’s cheesy nature, ‘White Christmas’ began to delicately slip through the speakers. 

“What, nothing fast to show off your moves?” you teased. 

“Nah.” He pulled you off the stool, guiding you to the empty floor in the middle of the bar. “I wanna hold my girl.” 

And so he did. He held you against his chest as the jukebox crackled and eyes glanced at you from tables hidden in corners. He swayed along with your hips as his chin came down to rest in the juncture of your shoulder, and he didn’t let you go. He didn’t spin you or pull apart to dip you low. No frills. 

Sergeant Barnes simply wanted to hold his girl. 

You could feel your chest tighten as the song reached its bridge. You wouldn’t cry; you wouldn’t worry Bucky and have his eyes gleam that beautiful cobalt under the dim lights of the bar. But holding it in was getting harder the more Bucky pressed you against him—the more he snuck secret kisses to the side of your head. 

Because, god, if this didn’t hurt. 

To be pretending that you could simply be Bucky’s girl in this rundown bar, dancing on Christmas, hurt deeply. It was an uncomfortable ache in the pit of your stomach, amplified by each of Bucky’s touches. You weren’t just each other; you weren’t just in love. You were the war. You were bodies used by the war. And that could never end well. 

You sucked it down—for Bucky’s sake as well as your own. You would have this moment. You would let yourself bask in the simplicity of this dance and of this night and you would pretend. 

Bucky’s hand ran up from your waist to cup the back of your head, somehow keeping you even closer. “Merry Christmas, doll.” 

His lips brushed your ear. 

~~

“We’re gonna kick Hydra’s ass!” 

A round of deep cheers followed the cry, beer sloshing over glass rims and onto the dirt floor. The fire in the middle of the group roared with gusto, mimicking the tone of the night—impending victory and vigor. 

Bucky took part in the festivities for a short while, but soon contained himself to the log you were sat upon. The bubble around the two of you was created as soon as his hands captured yours. The rest of the commandos carried on, leaving you with knowing looks and keen smiles. Steve’s was the worst. 

“Gonna be back in no time, sweetheart, you just watch.” Bucky knew how worried you always got; he claimed it was one of your quirks. 

“I know you are, Buck, just try not to get hurt this time. Last time you walked in with a gunshot wound to the arm and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” 

It was meant to be funny, but Bucky’s eyes softened. “I’ll do my best to come back to you in one piece, alright?” He tugged you closer, a firm kiss placed on your forehead. “You gotta promise to take care of yourself while I’m gone though. No running yourself ragged or worryin’ yourself to death.” 

“I know how to take care of myself,” you rolled your eyes. 

He tucked you under his chin with a laugh. “I know you do, doll. But I like to be the one takin’ care of you when I can.” 

You hummed, burrowing yourself further into his embrace. You were comfortable in his arms. Used to them. The past few months had granted you with more acceptance; you felt more secure in this new love with Bucky. There was still the fear looming in the back of your mind—reminding you occasionally that everything could be ripped from you in a moment's time—but you had decided to overcome that. 

Bucky was worth it; he was worth the pain. 

“I’m gonna ask you again.” Bucky cut through your thoughts. “And I’m not gonna stop askin’. Marry me when this is all over, doll. Let me take care of you till I die.” 

You clutched his cotton sweater between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut at the question. Each time he asked you filled your head with so many scenarios; you could see yourself in the Brooklyn apartment he always talked about, kissing on the couch and making dinner in the kitchen. You’d go to the movies and fix the bathroom sink together and maybe he’d buy you a ring.

It was everything you wanted. 

But you needed him to ask you when there weren’t constant threats coming from every direction—when you were safe. 

“I’ve told you, sarge, you have to ask me when we get back to New York. That way I’ll know whether it was just the war talking or not.” 

“The war—doll, you don’t think that, do you?” He pulled you back, eyes searching yours. 

You gripped his forearms. “No—of course I don’t, Buck. Hey,” you snapped, tilting your head to meet his shifting gaze. “I don’t think that. It was just a joke, Bucky. I want you to ask me later because I want us to feel safe. I want to enjoy getting engaged to you in your home and start our life there.” 

He blew out a relieved breath. “Good… Good, doll, because you're the best thing to come out of all these damn years. I know I mess around, but I mean it. And I mean it when I ask you that. Every time.” 

“I know you do, Buck. And I mean it when I tell you to ask me again in New York. Ask me when we’re happy.” 

“You already make me happy.” 

“Then ask me when we’re safe.” 

“Alright, doll.” 

The fire was almost stifling when you were pressed up against Bucky; he always seemed to run so hot. But you didn’t mind— and would never mind—if it meant he was here in your arms and safe. Because this war wasn’t kind to people like Bucky; people with affable hearts that made you feel at home. And this war wasn’t kind to people like you; people with too much hope. 

~~

The war took your soldier, and your heart along with him. 

The fear that held you captive each time Bucky left camp with a soft kiss to your lips, was replaced by a mind-numbing ache. It consumed you; it ripped you up from the inside until all you had left to do was scream. But you didn’t scream, because you still had a job to do. 

You still had to care for the Commandos and the others as if you didn’t lose the half of you that kept you sane—the half that was gentle. Steve let you cry against his chest when he told you, but you were expected to be up and working the next day. 

Because the front lines were no place for a romance, and you had been selfish. 

A week after you were torn in two, Steve made an appearance in your tent. He shuffled in with his broad shoulders and puffy eyes and handed you a letter. He didn’t need to say who it was from, he simply kissed the top of your head and left it in your shaky hand. 

Bucky’s handwriting was hard to miss; it was messy and sprawling, but so devastatingly charming. Just like he was. 

You almost didn’t want to open it. It was as if, somehow, leaving it sealed with the twine wrapped around the edges would make him live on. As if opening that letter meant coming to terms with his death, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that. 

You left it for a night. 

You opened it the next day, right before you pulled on the nurses’ shoes Bucky always helped you slip out of at the end of a long shift. Your eyes were blurred by tears. 

My Doll, 

I miss you already, I can tell you that much. Something about this mission feels different than the rest, so I gotta make sure you know a few things in case I don’t come back. 

I love you. 

I know you don’t like saying it to each other, but you gotta know. I love you and I don’t think I can stop. I haven’t been able to get you outta my head since that first day in the med tent, and I haven’t wanted to. I mean, what would be the point of forgetting something so beautiful? 

I’m getting all cheesy, I know, but it’s the truth. You can ask Stevie if you want. I’m never shutting up about you when we’re away. Is that weird? I hope you talk about me. I hope you remember me. But more than anything, I hope I come back to you. 

But just in case, I’m still not gonna stop. I wrote you a few more letters to make sure of that. One for your birthday and Christmas. A few others Stevie will give you. I hope you don’t have to read them. But if you’re reading this one, I guess you will. Funny how that works. 

My handwriting’s not the best, so you’ll have to put up with that. But what’s one more thing on top of me bothering you all the time? I’ll miss bothering you I think. The way you always scrunch up your nose when I tell a bad joke. The laugh you always try to hide. I see ‘em all by the way. 

But there’s something else you gotta know, doll. The letters will stop, because you gotta move on. You gotta find someone that’ll take care of you the way I wanted to. At the rate you’re goin’ in that tent, you’ll be in the ground before you hit 40, and I want you to live a full life. I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed. I’m sorry I can’t be the one to give you that. 

Swear I tried my best. 

Pick a good guy though, will ya? Someone like Steve maybe. Take care of Steve if you can. I’m sure the guy’s beating himself up over whatever happened. Let him know it’s not his fault. 

More than anything I’ve rambled on about in this letter, know I love you. And know that I’ll always love you. I’m never gonna stop. 

Bucky. 

I’ve discontinued my taglist! If you want to be notified when I post, you can follow @pellucid-library​ 🤍🤍

[abbysanders2000]

What's worse than a zombie? A vampire!! . (Poly lost boys x female reader. The walking dead crossover)

Soo this was a request for @genocide31 so sorry it took me this long. If anything is wrong I apologize in advance because I am not apart of the walking dead Fandom. It is also short because I do not want to butcher it. Enjoy lovely

Y/n was breathing heavily as she watched Negan circle her with his bat. "How was I supposed to know he was your guy?! He came out of no where!" She yelled.

One of Negan's crew had stumbled upon Y/n in her camp. Thought he could have run of her stuff until he had an unfortunate run in with her mates that is. She of course thought it was done and over until one of Negan's other guys found her camp and dragged her all the way back to their base.

"Don't matter now princess. You cost me a good man. Now you don't look like you could do much around here so I'm afraid I'm just gonna have to kill ya. That's how business works." He said with a sadistic smirk.

Y/n sank down to the ground with hot tears running down her face. She called out each of the boys names begging for their forgiveness. She knew that death was coming for her quicker than any of them had expected. In the back of her mind she had wished she had David turn her.

But it was too little too late for any of that now. She knew somehow some way she'd see them in the afterlife. She felt the awful poking feeling of the wire on the wooden bat as Negan put it on the base of her skull.

"Don't know who David Marko Paul and Dwayne are doll but you'll never see them again." He raised up his bat about to deliver the first blow when suddenly all of the lights went off leaving them surrounded in darkness.

Loud hissing and growls could be heard. "The hell is going on?!" Negan yelled. His yells were followed by the screaming of several of his goons. The snapping of bones and tearing of flesh also followed. Y/n was still shaking as she laid down on the ground blinded by the darkness

She felt someone wrap their arms around her. She struggled for a minute before she realized who exactly had picked her up. "Shh Shh baby it's me." Dwayne said softly.

"Oh God Dwayne!" She cried into his neck as she held onto him for dear life. The vamp rubbed her back gently. "It's OK love its OK. We're here." He cooed softly as he pressed kisses on her face.

Suddenly the lights were flipped back on. The bodies of the fallen were scattered across the field soaked in blood and guts. Marko and Paul held each of Negan's arms behind his back. David stood in front of him with his bat in his hands.

"Quite the piece of equipment man. It'll do some damage on a human. Too bad none of us are humans. But you've already figured that out huh?" David asked as he began to laugh evily.

Negan looked him right into the eyes. "Look. Just take the girl and leave. I didn't kill her so you've got no issue with me. I'll make sure to stay clear of you guys from now on. You've got my word." He said with all the confidence that he would be off the hook.

All 4 boys chuckled darkly. "You think we are just gonna ignore the fact that you kidnapped our mate and were seconds away from beating her brains in?" Marko asked.

"We were always going to end you. But since our baby girl is safe and unharmed we'll make it quick. Or whatever the boss wants." Paul said as he looked over to David.

Negan just shook his head. "There's not much more you can do to me. You guys are monsters but you can't be any worse than the walkers." He said.

David inches ever so closely to him. He placed a hand onto the man's cheek. The same sadistic smile that was once on Negan's face was now plastered all across David's.

"See that's where your wrong." He said as he leans closer to his ear. "We are much worse." Two pearly whites dug into his soft flesh as the screams of the once terrifying Negan filled the night air.

Sorry it's so short love! I hope you enjoyed it anyway 🥰🥰

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[goldengoddess]

you’re my home - kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x heartrenderi!reader

request: hi!can i request a kaz brekker x reader where they were childhood friends but she had to leave because she was a grisha, and later at the fete they see each other again and she ends up helping the crows?thank you!!have a great day!

a/n: hey i hope this is what you like! i based it more off the show and just switched things around,,,, this is absolutely cheesy and i hate it and i didn’t know how to end it pls forgive me omg

warnings: normal heist stuff, like one curse word?

kaz brekker had changed since the last time you saw him. 

to start, he was taller. he’d grown at least two feet. he’d also grown into himself, he didn’t look like the lanky boy that you had once pulled out of the garbage can that one time. and he had a noticeable limp, something that he hadn’t had when the two of you had last talked. his clothes were different too, he was wearing a little palace guards uniform. 

but you knew who he was anyways. 

his voice was the same, the same comforting sound that invaded your dreams on a good night and had you screaming on a bad night. when you heard him whispering you whipped your head around in panic. he was leaning down talking to suli girl in hushed and angry tones. 

when had he become a palace guard? you wondered to yourself, how hadn’t you noticed before? why was he in ravka of all places?

a silly thought came into your head, was he looking for you?

but you pushed the thought away, moving close enough to listen but not to get caught. 

“take your position” you heard him say to the girl, also in guards uniform.

she moved away silently, too silently. 

kaz straightened himself and surely enough turned his head in your direction.

his eyes were also the same. they were the same color the same look. but they were hardened and cold. the eyes of a boy who had done everything too survive. even the things that he didn’t want to do. 

his face was shocked for only a fraction of a second before he regained his composure and faced the rest of the room. standing straight and poised like any of the other palace guards.

had he not recognized you? no, that couldn’t be it. the two of you had grown up together, yes you had changed but not enough that he wouldn’t know who you were. maybe he resented you. for leaving. for being grisha. for having been taken away and saved from the streets of ketterdam unlike him. 

you remembered the day they had taken you away.

you and kaz were huddled in the corner of the room away from the rest of the kids your age. 

the two of you were been inseparable. stuck together like glue, everyone said.

both of you worked the shitty jobs in the barrel. the ones no one else wanted to do. you ran around the streets delivering packages and messages. you would clean up anything that needed cleaning. the two of you were survivors.

kaz never talked about his brother or how he’d ended up working the streets like this, but you knew, even then as a little kid, you were all he had. 

but nothing good ever lasted for little kaz brekker.

when the grisha examiners landed in the harbor of the city, all of the children running around making trouble on the street were forced to get tested.

you and kaz weren’t any different. 

you tried to hold onto him as the adults gripped to your arm, testing your for abilities in the small science. when they determined that you were grisha, and promised you a wonderful life at the little palace, they had to rip you from kaz’s arms.

the both of you were wailing and protesting, saying that you wouldn't go anywhere without the other. but eventually the fight left you and you let them drag you away from your only family to a country you didn’t know 

you snapped back to the reality of the party going on around you. kaz still looked stoic and unphased a few feet away from you, as if your presence didn’t affect him at all. 

but his presence affected you tremendously. 

you had whined and cried when you first made it to the palace but you had loved your life here. being surrounded by other grisha, other heartrenderers. people who could do the same things as you. understood the need to use your powers. and you couldn’t deny how comforting it had been to settle into a life where you didn’t have to worry about whether you could make enough money to eat. 

you thought of kaz all the time. you thought of everything you had left behind but the only thing that had really mattered to you in that horrible place was kaz. you wondered what had become of the young boy you knew in the years since you had seen him.

just as you were about to make a move to talk to him, two squallers were storming in the direction of kaz and the silent girl he had been talking too before. 

the two of them shared a look and started walking in opposite directions. kaz walked past you, sparing you the fastest look ever. a look no one else would have even noticed. but you did because kaz brekker, your child hood best friend was finally in front of you. 

the hurried and suspicious steps of your fellow grisha, set off an alarm in your head. even when the two fo you were little, kaz was good at getting out of sticky situations. he has a gift for scheming and the sleight of hand.

he was here on a job, you concluded.

you waited a few seconds and then snuck away, following kaz out of the room where the main events of the fete were taking place. 

you walked in just in time to see the inferni make a move to attack kaz. you raised your arms and the grisha dropped like a stone. kaz turned around in a fighting stance and froze when he saw you. he kept his hands in fists, as if he was waiting for you to attack him too. 

you dropped you hands, “what are you doing here kaz?”

he dropped his hands as well but you could tell he was still on guard and looking for a way to leave the room.

"i don't have to explain myself to you” he all but growled at you.

you stepped away from him, like his words had physically wounded you.

he seemed to regret the words and took a couple of steps closer to you. 

“i’m here on a job and i really need to go find my team so if you’ll excuse me” he tried to move to the door that was behind you. 

“let me help” you said, almost desperate. he had just come back into your life, and yes it seemed like he resented you but you couldn’t let him go just yet. 

he looked at you skeptically but nodded his head, “i need to get to the courtyards with the carriages. can you take me there.”

you nodded and started leading the way. you turned through many different hallways, moving up and downstairs. every now and then you held up a hand for kaz to stop, as you listened for a heartbeat nearby. 

“you’re good at that” he mumbled, gesturing towards your heartrender movements. 

you nodded your head, a shy smile. “yeah i’ve had a lot of practice here.”

his face turned gloomy at that and you realized you had said the wrong thing. “yeah. i know” he said curtly. 

you stopped for a minute, turning to look at kaz in the dimly lit hallway.

“i’m sorry i left okay? i know it hurt you, i can only imagine how much it must have sucked. it was horrible here at first, i missed you every day. but i will not apologize for enjoying myself here and taking advantage of what i was taught. i like it here. i have friends, and a life, and im good at what i do and i will not allow you to make me feel bad about that.” you said all in one breath.

kaz didn’t say anything, choosing to look down at the floor instead of you. 

you sighed and took a step closer to him, you noticed he still wore the black gloves similar to the first pair that you had stolen for him when you two were younger.

“kaz,” you said, your voice shaking, “i missed you so much. i still miss you and you’re standing right in front of me. i get why you hate me but i really don’t want you to. so that’s why i’m helping you, that’s why i’m going to get you out of here without getting caught.” 

you turned on your heel, prepared to continue to lead him away. but before you could get away he grabbed your hand and spun you back around. 

he flinched at his own action and let go.

“i don’t hate you y/n. i get why you enjoyed yourself here, this over a life of petty and dangerous crime? of course this is the better opportunity but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when you left.”

you bit your lip and nodded your head in understanding. 

he looked directly into your eyes, “i knew you would be here but i thought, hey what are the chances of actually running into you. having to see you happy and having to live with the fact that i never came to look for you.”

you took a step closer to him, “kaz i don’t blame you for not coming to get me, i wouldn’t have wanted you to anyway.”

he looked at you and for the first time he looked desperate. kaz brekker was never desperate. and if he was, he didn’t show it.

“come home with us” he said.

you raised your eye brows in surprise.

“come home with me” he corrected, looking at the wall to avoid your eyes

it was the same voice he had used all those years ago, when he was begging for you to stay. he wanted to you stay with him. to come home. to go back to the place that had broke kaz and would probably have broken you.

but it was kaz.

but ketterdam wasn’t your home anymore.

kaz had been your home, but was he still?

the two of you stayed silent. there was still so much the two of you needed to say. how you had probably loved him as a kid. how you probably loved him now. how you regretted never writing, never trying. how you missed ketterdam. how this place would be perfect if kaz was here with you. but there wasn’t enough time or courage to say those things.

so instead, you raised your arms in your fighting grisha stance and smiled at him.

“how about we get you out of here first and then we can decide is i become a fugitive of ravka to go play crime boss in ketterdam?” you teased.

he almost gave you a grin and you continued walking, a new found peace settled between the two of you.

kaz brekker in the little palace, who should have thought.

[sunsents]

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

IT'S. OVER. Holy shit, this took way longer than I expected it to be. Yes, it’s 20k mf words and what abt it. Don’t look at me like that. I warned ya’ll 🙄. Now, I definitely made up some words while writing this. Like a shelved corridor, the heck is a shelved corridor?!?! Please tell me it makes sense…please for the sake of my sanity. The smut is kinda tame so I’ll whip out the chains on the next one.

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

Summary —> Years later you find yourself face to face with the person that caused your ruin - yet this time, somethings different.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 20k... honestly I completely get it if ya'll wanna sit this one out

Warnings: *deep breath* a poor attempt at humor / gingers / pining idiots / normal idiots / excessive cursing / fred weasley in slacks / alcohol consuming / very little angst (its mostly just overthinking) to fluff / minor character death / smut / oral, (fem) / fingering / cum play / sexual mf intercourse mfs / protected sex (dont be silly protect your willy) / dirty talk / sappy stuff

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

tagged: @opalsheart @ronsbadidea @uselessmoonlight @boxofbadaddiction @lovenonymously @sergeantkilowog @rudypankowisdaddy, @nobutfredweasleytho some names didn’t come up when I tried, so what do we get from this? I can't properly use Tumblr <3

Five Years Later, 2003

"____, will you just calm down." Aleyna lets go of the book box full of bathroom supplies and they clink together, to which you wince because these are your stuff and you’re in a far too dangerous position to lose more money.

"How can I calm down?!" you exclaim dramatically, tossing your wand on the nylon wrapped couch. "It's all Stacey's fault."

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

"That one chick from Magical Catastrophes who always has lipstick on her teeth."

"I don't think her name is Stacey though."

You send Aleyna a look that screams, stop being reasonable at a time like this. No, this was when you overpaid your TV cable to air The Twilight Zone and drank cheap wine while cursing out your boss who cared about your well being. Hermione had become The Minister of Magic, and of course you were proud of her. Though, this didn't mean she could let you have time off work whenever something insignificant happened.

"Probably not," you mutter, opening your fridge and coming face to face with the painful truth that it’s empty, and you’re hungry. Your hand unintentionally flies to graze over your scar as you survey your options, a small pack of ketchup and left over chips. "Suits her though, feels good to say 'Goddamnit Stacey' when something goes wrong in my life."

Stacey deserves it because Stacey doesn’t refill the staplers on purpose.

Aleyna snorts, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "What did Stacey ever do to you?" Then she wheels across your new apartment to retrieve more boxes from outside.

You’re grateful for the support of all your friends, but the pitying looks they give you whenever someone mentions the words house and fire is enough to fuel into your secret want of setting their houses on fire. It was an accident, you were just trying to make the delicious recipe Molly had sent you, ignoring the small fact that you didn't know how to properly use an oven. The savings you lost from your bleeding bank account were not worth pasta with tomato sauce on it.

Though, your new apartment is big, bigger than your first because after making a name for yourself as an Auror money came easily. Wide walls for a projector TV, long tail shaped couch standing firm on varnished wood floorings, and two bedrooms that have their own - kind of unnecessary - bathrooms. Not to mention the giant kitchen with an island, only rich people had islands, where you could make plenty of Italian recipes and not worry about burning the house down because Aleyna fool-proofed it for you.

The flat was at the top floor of the new bar she just built, and she was kind enough to let you start renting the place. The residents of Diagon Alley had been fighting for this apartment for months, and you were proud to have snagged it before anyone could even offer.

Gripping the last two boxes, Aleyna pushes the front door with her foot and navigates herself backwards through the other dozen boxes you had just tossed on the floor. "These are the last two, are you sure you don't need anymore help?" she offers.

You shake your head, "I can just use magic, not in the mood for pursuing the muggle lifestyle right now."

Aleyna frowns, this reaches her eyes though. "That bad huh."

Simply nodding, you don’t bother getting into an in depth rant about how a simple fire didn't mean you had trauma, and that you didn't need to stop working for a few weeks. Not that being an Auror was hard, your work days have been quite uneventful if you didn't count a few "Revalutioners" sticking a muggle's head in a toilet.

"I know what will cheer you up," Aleyna chimes, already clad in her pea coat and sneakers. "Dinner, and it's on me."

You couldn't possibly say no to free dinner, also making food for yourself was probably not a good idea right now. Stay clear of ovens, you reminded yourself.

After getting snug in your coat and fluffing your hair, you fall on step next to Aleyna as the two of you chat.

The London cold is brutal, shivering whomever until their noses turn red and making their hands feel itchy when sudden warmth overtook. You’re used to it, as is anyone in Diagon Alley. People are crowding the stores, chatting loudly and waving their wands around at stores to reserve whatever crappy gifts they were going to buy for their family's.

You hate the holidays, refusing to go back to America and visit your own family. Your mother couldn't cook, nor could your father. Though, that didn't stop her from insisting every year and giving you, your father and the Burke's food poisoning.

After three years of sitting through awkward family dinners where everyone ignored the fact that you were almost Head of Aurors, and focused on Eva's collapsing career of Healer only to praise her, you had about enough and stopped attending. It had been two years since then, they didn't bother to write. Your dad occasionally sent you money in a horrible christmas card with an even more horrible pun written in red glittery letters that also sang Run Run Rudolph.

"Ugh, everyone's crowding the joke shop aga- oh." Aleyna pauses. "I'm sorry."

She knows about your past with Fred Weasley, considering whenever you rant about work it ends up with you cursing him and Eva out. He had such a blame-able face, just like Stacey from Magical Catastrophes.

You give Aleyna a look. "You act like I'm not a grown woman who can't get over something that happened eight years ago." you say, shaking off the small snow particles that begin to lightly fall. "You should be like this with, I don't know...my relationship with Theo! We broke up last year, why aren't you fragile with him, hmmm?"

Aleyna claps your back in a friendly manner all the same. "I know I know, but come on. This is childhood trauma we're talking about."

"Now that I think about it, seeing Eva's coochie was traumatic." you grin, and Aleyna's jaw gape even if she heard the story hundreds of times before. Not that Eva's...modesty was bad per say, just not a pleasant sight seeing as you guys grew up together.

Other than that fact, you hadn't talked, even seen Fred after the war ended. Sure, you occasionally stole glances at their very successful joke shop, but there was no point in dwelling and trying to fix an already withered away friendship.

You had fixed your relationship with Ron and Harry, having had no choice since the three of you worked together. "You were right ____, we were assholes. You don't need to apologize." they had told you, and that was that. The two families and well, you did weekly dinners and enduring the two men for Ginny and Hermione got easier as days passed, finally ending up in a good friendship like old times. It was casual between you, easy when no one mentioned how abruptly your friendship ended. No one dared to either.

Also, Harry was your boss and him remembering that you called him a drama queen wouldn’t do you any good in your career.

People bump at your sides as the two of you squeeze your way towards Sacree Fleur. The end of Voldemort brought a new, reformative era in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley expanded, new buildings were built and culture grew. You were happy to see that Ollivendar's Wand shop renewed, along with other crumbling buildings that needed desperate attention.

Bandits lessened, and the utter arrogance some parents had by not sending their children to get magical education faded, partly because there was nothing to fear, and partly because more job opportunities arose, like said, money came easily.

Fleur Weasley, your good friend and someone who had done the impossible and won over a Weasley brother - though she was gorgeous and possibly the sweetest person you've ever met, so really they were perfect for each other - had decided on a whim to open a french restaurant. Bill couldn't say no to his wife, the rough man you had met years prior was softened with age and the struggle of raising children.

Good wine, deliciously soft steak that melts in your mouth and warm atmosphere that makes five o-clock feel like midnight. It’s by far your favorite restaurant and you'd much rather spend your Christmas Eve curled up next to a warm candlelit dinner on a terrace.

"Bonjour!" an obscenely attractive woman, Fleur greets the two of you when the revolving glass doors are pushed, and you break out in a wide smile seeing your friend at the door. "____, Aleyna! Come here, give me a big hug!"

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

With dopey smiles, the three of you embrace.The door closes on it's own, and you shiver unintentionally, just now realizing how cold it is. Usually the big marble fireplace keeps Sacree Fleur warm, but even that seemed not enough and the restaurant is adorned with small muggle heaters, floating up above the ceiling and adding to the red light of the candles.

"You'll see. Came at a most amazing time too, silly girl always knowing when to show. Saw all the juicy drama when you were younger..." Fleur continues to joke lightheartedly, pulling away and leading the two of you through occupied tables as she faux scolds. People are content, it feels warm and almost soft. Conversation seems to flow easily and the unease you feel for the Holiday melts. Almost.

You blech whenever someone brings up the line ‘love is in the air’. It never made sense to you, because love was simply a fairy tale that would wither away with time. Also, how could love simply float? Of course, unless you count Amortentia fumes - which yours always smelled like sweat and crushed hopes. So frankly, you prefer expensive Dior perfume in the air rather than love.

Though now you find yourself doubting whatever you engraved in that well protected head of yours, love is truly in the air at Sacree Fleur. All kinds of love, mothers lovingly wiping food off their children's mouths, happy newlyweds clinking their wine glasses together with nothing but adoration in their eyes, friends enjoying sharing a simple dinner far more than should be done.

"My family, they're upstairs having dinner. The kids like the ice cream here, Mr Fortescue provides it well."

"Family? Ginny and Hermione are here?" you ask, lazily climbing the steps to the second floor to reveal the more, private part of the restaurant. Now, instead of wooden chairs with red cushions attached at the middle, there stand long booths with comfortable blankets and pillows with empty, eerily clean tables - except one.

The long table near the terrace is much livelier today, people sitting there whom you consider your own family. The three post luster that hangs low from the ceiling is turned on - it’s the first time you’ve seen the glamorous glass orbs in action. Its light ricochets off of several bright orange heads, simply calling it a lamp does no justice. The hue is yellow, low and it reminds you of the Christmas Eve fantasy you planned.

Said orange heads turn at the noise of delight you let out. "Oh Fleur! This is gorge- oof-"

"Auntie ____!"

A pool of orange locks squish into your stomach, snug in the soft fabric of your coat and you let out a chuckle. You can’t help it, even if you would never admit, he’s your favorite by a small number that-

"Well well, if it isn't Teddy Lupin."

The small boy chuckles, hair matching your black coat like a chameleon sticking itself on a flower and absorbing the color of the petals. You ruffle Ted's hair as the orange fades, he’s delighted to see you, and so are you yet your attention is quickly cut off by several disembodied voices thrown your way.

Bill Weasley is standing up, wine glass on one hand while grinning wide. “Look who my dear wife brought in!” his tidy yet visible scar stretches when his face brightens, you remembered again that day, just how much love you have around you.

“Hey everyone, hope we’re not interrupting.” you apologize, wincing but Bill quickly shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

You waddle your way towards the marble table, Teddy following suit with his face still smushed in your coat. He grips you tighter and you have to peel his small little limbs off your legs.

Aleyna scoffs, arms crossing together as she surveys Ted. “The blatant favoritism!”

Teddy rushes on his little legs to jump in Aleyna’s arms, and only then are you able to acknowledge the other - a little less important - people in the room.

“Happy holidays!” echoes around your head as several people embrace you all at once, and you have to simply stand and awkwardly loop your arm around whoever you can get a hold of.

Once the formalities are over, Ginny throws her arm around your shoulder. The red tresses of her dress hike up her leg from her slightly bigger stomach, and you can see the small broom tattoo on her thigh that she loves to display like a trophy. “You should’ve told us you were coming! We would have saved you a seat.”

A round of yes’s resonate around the room, and you take a quick moment to scan who’s afternoon dinner you’ve just interrupted. Hermione, hand resting on her very pregnant belly, is smiling warmly at you, and Ron quickly shoots up from his seat and wipes his mouth to catch up to his wife. Harry follows in his friend's wake, his hair has a white streak at the front and you furrow your brows.

“Age catching up with you Potter?” you grin, rubbing Ginny’s back fondly before she separates from you and greets Aleyna. “Or is it the pregnancy?”

Harry scoffs, pulling you in his embrace for a quick friendly second. “Always the charmer ____. I’ll have you know I’m handling it wonderfully, right Gin’?”

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

Harry’s face feigns faux disbelief, and it quickly melts as you bombard the man with questions about how Ginny’s first trimester is going. You mentally take note of asking Ron about Hermione’s as well, your two best friends are fucking pregnant. It’s almost too happy, and slowly the anxiety creeping up from your spine wraps around your throat, ready to suffocate you whenever.

It was always like this, the past ready to make it’s deathly move, because nothing is perfect. Happiness doesn’t come this easily.

And you’re right, because not only a minute after the warm embraces of your friends comes the voice of the person you’ve been dreading to see.

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

He’s a man. Of that you’re sure, because now his muscles stretch well over his broad shoulders, maroon satin shirt loose on his frame, tight around his biceps - properly sculpted of course - portraying defined collarbones.

His eyes are somewhat duller, though the same glimmer of loveable mischief he always had is evident. It will never go away, even after all these years, yet it’s tamer. That mischief caused him quite the trouble back in school, and now it seems he knows when to act, when to speak and when to stay silent.

His silhouette catches you off guard, his features are sharper, much sharper than how much Harry has matured. His biceps bulge obscenely when he rests his - also generously sized you might add - hand on the table, and the table suddenly doesn’t seem that long.

His forearms, on display with his sleeves rolled up, glistens under the soft lighting of the balcony. Your eyes fall on his bracelet adorned right wrist, one of which in particular catching your attention.

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

His face, always glowing, wears a large expression displaying his set of perfect teeth. He’s awestruck, you think.

You watch him push his large body out of the small chair, and wow chest, is your only thought. Then further down and...god damn thighs. Burly thighs - probably very comfortable too - squeezed in black tight fit jeans, however he managed that you don’t know but it was nice to imagine.

He’s leaned back, casual as he strolls towards you in two large steps, his long sculpted legs never disappointing.

Fred Weasley is genetically designed to ruin you and your insides with just one look, and you’re ashamed to have realized it all too late because when he speaks again you swear you saw stars.

“Wow - you,” he breaths, walking towards you with slow, unsure steps. “Grew!”

You raise a brow, Aleyna snorts. Grew? His steps should be unsure, because you want him to take them back, sit his fine fit ass back on that chair and pretend he never saw you.

Because this wasn’t your plan for tonight, seeing him wasn’t in your checklist. You woke up today, thinking nothing but coffee and a stressful moving day ahead. Not of the boy - the man you’ve been in love with since childhood, the man you blamed for your problems as an excuse to hide the heart squeezing pain of loneliness, the man you hadn’t seen in so many years you forgot what his voice sounded like.

You could have never guessed, and now you want to go back. Somehow rewind the clock to this morning when you were safe of your tucked away feelings trying to bulge, safe in your own little circle. All your efforts of leaving your house just a little early so you wouldn’t run into Fred seems stupid now. Your strategy ran smoothly for five years, it could’ve ran for more.

You would have continued avoiding him like your life depended on it, and his stupid joke shop, and the way he stupidly looked at you everytime he saw you. You’re reminded again, because no matter how older he looks he’s still Fred, and he still looks at you the same.

“I mean - beautifully! Shit I - fuck.” he groans, and George claps his brother on the back with a chuckle. Wherever he came from, because you were so entranced by Fred that you didn’t see George standing tall next to his family.

“____.” George stops before you, hands in his pockets. it happens too quickly that you’re forced out of your panicked state.

You raise a brow, and only then - Fred’s out of view with George’s figure towering over you - are you able to find your voice. “George.”

He pulls you in his tight embrace, “How come you never visited!” he scolds, chest stretching back to bring you with. “You’d think she’d bloody say hello once in a while! Maybe drop by our shop after 5 years, you quack!”

“George - can’t,” you heave and your legs wobble when he sets you on the ground again. You clear your throat, grinning widely at your...friend?

It would be fair to call him an acquaintance, right? You don’t know where you stand with the twins but you have love for them. This is clear from the way you can’t stop smiling like a sappy idiot - or perhaps it’s because of how contagious George’s smile is. You thought they hated you, but the youngest looks anything but displeased. He gives you a squeeze again before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“I thought - I dunno. I thought you guys didn’t wanna see me.”

George scoffs, “Because you told us off that one time in seventh year?” he laughs, arms folding and displaying a set of bulging biceps much like Fred’s. “Yeah mate, you’re not that intimi-“

“George Weasley, finish that sentence I dare you!”

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

It’s Frederick Weasley, probably here to beat you to death.

“Hey Fred.” you greet, mouth dry. Get a grip, you scold yourself.

Fred opens his arms, “Well well,” he laughs, pulling you into a hug with a polite smile. His cheeks tint red when you shuffle closer, you would have missed this but you’re a creep, and you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man before you. He displays his beautifully indented smile lines, as if he was saying look at me! I’m perfect and sexy, I also broke your heart that one time, too bad I had no idea!

And it’s true, Fred never knew about your feelings. You kept them well hidden and they ate away at your organs from the inside, there was no reason to blame him. The realization is probably what compels you to accept him with open arms and wrap them around his neck.

You feel him shiver, dismissing it quickly because of the cold.

He smells good. Way too good that you melt in his arms and let him engulf you in his dangerous warmth. Manly, musky cologne, mixing with hints of cigar smoke that lingers on only certain areas of his shirt. You recognize the scotch in his breath when he whispers how much he had missed you, and his nape still has that cinnamon deliciousness he would parade whenever he came out of the shower, you fought the urge to shiver yourself, and it’s not because of the cold either.

It’s dizzying, and before you can start a detailed essay about how good his muscles feel, firm and digging into all the right places, he pulls away.

The past hits you like a ton of fucking bricks and crumbles down the firm foundations of the walls you have been building for eight years. You feel guilty, have you learned nothing? The loud pounding of your heart is a warning, yelling at you to stop getting swept away. Yet you can’t control it, just like how you can never control your feelings.

“I missed you guys too.” you breath shakily, you have to make sure to keep your distance. For your own good, you tell yourself.

Teddy pulls away your attention, and you silently add buy Teddy an expensively dumb toy to your checklist.

He sticks to your leg and is adamant on staying there. “I grew taller.” he says, looking at you between his eyelashes. “He says I didn’t, but I know I did!”

You chuckle, ignoring how Fred looks at the boy with such a warm expression, ignoring the way your heart nearly catapults out your chest.

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

Ted immediately lets go of your leg and straightens, hand going to his forehead to salute you. A giggle escapes him when you bend on your knees and act like you have a measuring stick on your hand. “Oh yes yes, seven feet tall and growing.” voice mock deep, you nod sternly.

“By this rate - I’ll pass you! Hah!” Teddy stomps his little foot on the stone floor, little sneakers barely making a sound.

You stand up again and fold your arms, “Well, I grow too you know! You can never pass me.” smirking slyly, you egg him on to see how much he’ll endure before he demands a ride on your shoulders - because that’s how giants saw the earth he told you. You doubt giants compare to a twenty four year old woman with attachment issues

Ted stands on his toes, struggling to tug on your shirt and bring you down. “No, I don’t like this game anymore…”

“Alright alright.” and with that you pick him up and prop the little boy on your shoulders.

Ted happily kicks his feet on your chest and you groan. He’s supposed to be five, not a midget wrestler. “Easy buddy boy.”

“You’re amazing with him, little twerp barely lets me tie his shoes.”

Fred’s voice startles you, only now do you realize that he had been watching you and Teddy. Speaking of, Ted’s busying himself with your hair, small hands pulling and twisting locks and mumbling incoherently.

Ear tips slowly catching fire, you chuckle. “Buy him a broom at four and see how he handles it.”

Fred shakes his head, tongue poking at the side of his cheek and you remind yourself to breathe. “You spoil him then? They say the way to a five year old's heart is money.”

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

Nuff words said, everyone soon sits on their designated chairs, and you pull one from another table, being the uninvited one.

Aleyna isn’t slick, you knew she had something up her sleeve the moment she had offered to pay for dinner. Though, this is your fault. You let her without calculating whatever end result was waiting to catch you off guard and ruin your entire life plan to avoid Fred Weasley.

Being the snake she is, snake Aleyna enticed you with nice food, dragged you to Sacree Fleur and did her little snake magic.

Awkwardly angled next to your best friend, you chat with Harry and Hermione while they tell you what you missed from work. (Not that you missed much, actually nothing different seems to have happened other than boring paperwork and Mrs Newersman’s new hairdo.)

Swirling your wine in one hand, the reflection of Fred from the rim of the glass keeps distracting you.

He’s changed, not personality wise though there were tweaks. Nor looks, he’s an adult now and his boyish charm is gone, but it isn’t quite that.

You can’t put a finger on it either, and you watch him laugh, carefree with his sister.

He looks relaxed, or maybe it’s merely the wine. Is it - no, couldn’t be. He looks happy. Genuine happiness and adoration for whomever. Love in his eyes as he looks at - Ah. He’s looking at you.

You jerk your head away and tip your wine glass back to gulp down liquid courage - because you need it tonight.  This is bad, you tell yourself, kick you on the shin and punch to your gut bad. This can’t keep up or else you’re going to end up right back in that hollow pit of empty hope and gooey saturday lasagna.

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

Ron’s timbre voice thankfully grips your arms and pulls you away from said hollow pit.

“Uhh what?” you cough awkwardly, setting your now empty wine glass down.

“Christmas Eve, what are you doing? Going back home?” Ron asks, raising a brow.

You can lie but something compels you not to, maybe it’s how warmly they always welcome you, how they’re welcoming you now with open arms and nice food.

You shake your head, answering honestly; “No actually, I’ll just celebrate with Jambo and Christmas movies.”

And that’s exactly how you’ve been spending your Christmas Eve these past few lonesome years. It wasn’t that lonely, you had Aleyna and people loved her bar, you’d drop by and count down with people you didn’t know, at least you got to kiss a random stranger.

“Jambo? He’s still alive?” Hermione chuckles.

“No no, this is Jambo Fitzwilliam the Second, who is also a cat but don’t you dare tell him that!” smiling, you joke lightheartedly to conceal the harsh news.

Your hand reaches to trace around your scar as you speak.You know their eyes follow, and you know they stare at it when you’re not looking. Teddy asked you one day, even after Ginny’s scolding but you happily told him your heroic story and how Bellatrix smelled like piss and rum.

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

Jambo had unfortunately passed away because apparently dogs couldn’t live two hundred years, which you were disappointed because clearly Dumbledore could. You had already grieved and mourned, it left you with the happiest memories of your precious dog and you were grateful.

“Poor kitty doesn’t know he’s adopted?” George frowns, banging his fist on the table.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure he’s caught on by now, he’s three.”

“So, you’re spending Christmas Eve alone?” Fred asks, too suddenly and you flinch. He probably sees this, his effect on you.

You nod, and your friends gasp. Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal, or maybe it’s because of how normal it felt for you to be alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ginny says, hand shooting out to rub your arm.

“I’ve been trying to get her out for ages-“

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

“No Aleyna, do!” Ginny protests. “You’re spending it with us and that’s that.”

“Wha-“

George throws up his finger to shush you, “No objections!” he declares fiercely. “We’re having a party at our flat and you both are coming!”

“Oh! Unless you and Blaise have any other plans.” Hermione’s quick to ask, she isn’t being slick though.

Aleyna chuckles, “We had dinner reservations but we can make it.”

Hermione grins, and you watch Aleyna pretend that she didn’t notice her friend ready to snoop in her relationship with an amused smile. Not that it matters - she and Blaise have that kind of love you hoped for as a young girl. There was truly no two other people so perfect for each other.

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

Aleyna takes a sip from her almost empty glass and tuts on the bitter after taste. “Amazing, actually. He just got promoted…”

Almost empty glasses are soon emptied bottles, and two steaks turn into a large brownie for the middle. You know that it’s a good meal, because as you stand outside in the midnight cold, arm around Aleyna, your legs wobble and your stomach aches from all the deliciousness you’ve consumed. More like inhaled, you only realized how hungry you were until the second steak arrived.

“Thank you so much you guys!” you wave your arm, overly theatrical, forgetting about what a day you’ve had.

Though, the thoughts catch up as you lay awake in bed.

It had gone by too quickly, and your heart is still beating louder than any chirping of the bugs outside. Your bedroom lacks furnishing, it only adds to your wild imagination. Your mind paints pictures on the blank walls as your eyes dart around, Fred didn’t look in your direction once that night.

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

It’s strange, whenever you turned your gaze his way, he seemed to be busying himself with whatever, whether it be his fork or napkin. How interesting can a damn napkin be? Hopefully not any lesser than you.

And are you just going to ignore that goddamned bracelet? The one you carefully sculpted with beads in such a way that you were sure Fred would suspect at least a drop of your raging crush. He’s still wearing it, that piece of string and glass - the symbol of your love and effort - survived through a war.

Are you reading into things? Surely not, he greeted you as anyone else would. Or maybe he remembered - you don’t dare think of that night.

How can they act so normally, so brazen after everything? It’s been almost six years since you saw them, have they got nothing to say to you? Maybe an apology?

Frustrated, you turn to your side and force your eyes shut.

————————

When night bleeds into morning, every cat has a tendency to quip over to their owners on their cushioned paws - which makes no noise but simple claw scratchings on the floor.

Jambo’s no different.

So, you’d imagine the poor creature's shock when he finds your bedroom empty. If he’d bothered to check, you’re seated on your island stool, pen and parchment in hand and mug of hot coffee (instant given the circumstance) in the other.

You hung your new curtains this morning, and were making use of them by shutting them halfway on the hooks while your window stood half open. You watch the snow flurry outside and gulp. If this week was to go horribly wrong... at least you have nice curtains waiting for you at your ritzy new apartment.

Jambo wraps his tail around your dangling ankle like he always does and you barely hum in acknowledgement. He’s purring, and it brings you comfort even if it’s for a small moment. But your question still remains unanswered, What would a five year old boy want for christmas?

It had been exactly two days since Ginny invited you to spend Christmas Eve together, and you busied yourself with buying them gifts - a tradition you hated because 1. coming up with gift ideas is infuriatingly hard. It’s way too time consuming, nit picking every single personality and deciding what they’ll like and what they’ll pretend to like. Pretend like they’re going to use it, and then never touch it until that one very specific occasion.

Maybe it’s excessive, but you actually like these people. They somehow give you - a sad, lonely sewer rat that’d been a neglected child - joy.

And 2. you feel like those people you make fun of every Christmas. Though, somewhere deep in your heart, you know you enjoy being those people. You would never admit it though.

What? You actually relish in the idea that you belong to a group, and that said group causes you to carry out cliche holiday traditions?

Absolute blasphemy.

Finally deciding, you leave your apartment in warm but cher clothing. It isn’t as crowded this morning - or maybe it’s because it’s seven forty in the crack of fucking dawn. Though, with the amount of caffeine you’ve consumed, it feels like ten.

Would they even be open, you ask yourself, jogging quickly about the streets on your heels to avoid the cold. It’s Christmas, they have to be.

Of course your logic sucks.

Shivering, you round the corner tea shop and fasten your pace. Ass freezing, lip tucked in between your teeth, you realize you have underestimated the morning London cold.

Soon, thankfully, the giant head of George(?) you assume, comes into view. The animatronic is motionless, big porcelain eyes closed and displaying sinister gaping holes. You shiver, and not because of the cold either.

Keeping your eyes low on your feet, you push the glass doors of the shop open. You don’t bother to check the inside from the generous glass displays, it’s way too cold and you don’t want to spend any more time outside with the giant George doll.

A bell rings, a little jingle up above that puts a smile on your face. Jambo’s collar jingled like that whenever he got excited, whether it be a pesky squirrel ready to bum off your house food, or maybe a friendly one showing its face to piss off the house dog.

You sigh, and only then notice the delicious scent of fresh coffee roast. Invading through your nostrils and turning you into a drunkard, and you can’t help but gravitate towards-

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

“Who's here so early, couldn’t a man enjoy breakfa-”

You smile apologetically, it’s only natural that Fred just woke up. He isn’t a morning person, after years of knowing him you found out one way or another. In your case, he was mean to you and that’s when it clicked. Fred doesn’t like the early hours of morning, where his hair isn’t as tame and his lips feel like they’re about to pop. You find it charming.

“____?”, the man of the hour comes into view, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The first step is a rung, rolling on the hinges of the wall's edges. The staircase rattles when Fred steps down, and you quickly jump forward in panic.

Mug in one hand, his fingers rake through his mussed morning hair then settles on the checkout counter. “Morning,” He smiles, and those dang smile lines greets you, as if they’re mocking you again.

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

“It’s okay, have you had breakfast yet?”

Taken aback, you nod. Disappointment flashes through his face, and before you can analyze he straightens. Taking a sip of his coffee and humming, he fixes his pyjama bottoms. Red and checkered, loosely hanging from his hip and giving you a teasing view of his lower abdomen. “Can I get you anything?” he asks again, adamant on offering you something.

You shake your head no and you watch his face fall. Merlin, you would have come starving if it meant having breakfast with him. The view before you is enough to fulfill your darkest fantasies, and this is enough. Because you know that this is all you could get. His friendship.

But is it though? Is it truly enough? Will it ever be enough?

The questions that linger around your head have an answer that you wouldn’t dare set free. Everything you’re doing right now is wrong, how you’re standing in front of him, letting his delicious scent compel you further into him.

He smells almost alluring - he always does - less piquant than yesterday. Probably the after taste of neglecting a shower, yet his natural fragrance is just as charming. You remember those mornings at the Burrow when Fred stumbled down the stairs, sun early and bright, woken up just like himself. He smelled ama-

Woah, down girl.

Fred clears his throat, and only then do you realize how long it has been since you spoke.

“I need to buy something.” you blurt. Fuck, this couldn't get more embarrassing. “For Ted, his gift.” You finish lamely.

“Ah,” Fred chuckles, giving you a quick lookover. You flush. “You have come to the right place.”

It’s true, the shop is truly...something. A gateway to heaven for anyone twelve or younger. Fascinated, you take your time to linger your eyes on every little nook and cranny that catches your eye.

The shop feels much tamer without the telltale rowdy crowd, it’s almost comforting. You can really see a piece of each twin on each display, Fred’s being the Deflagration Deluxe. ‘A deluxe selection of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs’ read on the big cardboard. You chuckle, he always had a bag full of them that he carried around religiously.

“Those!” he exclaims, scurrying over to the display, “New and improved by yours truly.”

You chuckle, and Fred breaks out into a smile. “Here, I’ll show you around.” he mutters, before you can utter a protest, he takes your hand in his and drags you to a shelved corridor. “This is his favorite section, explosives and quidditch.”

You smile as you scan the heaps of colorful products lining the walls, all engraved with the shop's signature logo. Fingers coming out to touch a few, you subconsciencly swing your encased hands together. “These are real neat.”

Fred smirks, though his palms feel hotter than usual, “Not so much when he’s blowing up the bloody flat.”

You chuckle softly, eyes fluttering to imagine little Ted shaking up a pair of fireworks, unknowingly setting them off and resulting in a giant black mark on the ceiling. Because only that explains the small black stains on the walls of the shop.

“See anything you like?” Fred offers, almost in a whisper.

“No I,” you turn back to him, and something flashes between the two of you. “I’m still…looking.”

The air feels tense, warm, affecting your body. Your breath catches in your throat, Fred’s eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t know what to do. Even your breathing feels on edge.

He moves closer to you and your heart flutters. His exhales hit your ear, only a breadth away from your neck and you flinch. Chills lift up the hair on your arms, “No...erm.” you mutter.

“Alright.” he says softly.

His eyes are hooded, displaying a perfectly long set of eyelashes.

How, is the question. They’re long and thick, and you’re jealous. Yes, you might have ruined yours with your curler but still, if you were born with eyelashes like that you wouldn’t even need a blasted curler.

“What are you thinking ‘bout.” he whispers, long digit lifting to stroke your cheek. So soft that you barely feel it, before he trails it up your cheekbones, to the panes of your face.

The same alarms blast in your ears, and you can’t ignore them this time. It isn’t that you don’t like this, on the contrary you’re ready to jump him.

“Eva!”

Fred takes a step back, face falling. “What?”

You shake off whatever just happened seconds ago and focus on reality. “Gosh, I forgot to ask.” you exclaim, over excited but at what cost. “How is she doing? Is she up there in the flat?”

Fred winces. “Actually-”

“I’m guessing you guys moved in together, after all those years you know. Don’t tell me you guys got marr-”

“____!” he takes a deep breath, “We broke up a few years ago.”

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

Fred shushes you with a finger. Embarrassed, warmth spreads through you like a tidal wave. “I fell out of love, but it felt nice to have someone around, you know?”

You don’t say anything, yes you know but his loneliness and yours is much too different.

Growing up, Fred had the support of his family, he always had someone there. You knew it was bad to dismiss him like this, but the aching in your heart wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that. He always had someone affirming that it would be okay, someone to pat his back whenever he scored a goal through a hoop, whenever he got a good grade or did a cool trick with his broom. He still had them, even if he was at his worst. He had endless support. You didn’t.

It wasn’t easy after the war, living alone with nothing but the collar of Jambo gripped tightly in your hands. He had died shortly after Voldemort fell, and you had to hang onto the last piece he left until your agony died down. That was your only support.

Ginny, Hermione and Aleyna were there of course, but everyone's way of coping is different, and they didn’t understand yours nor each other’s. It’s worse to try and forget, run away from that fear because it would always catch up with you, and you found that the best way is to sit and feel.

But that doesn't mean your friends weren’t any less supportive. The after effects of the war were way more harsh on you than you let on, you were stuck on autopilot - a painful loop that made your life feel worthless. Work, money, survival - the three main aspects occupying your mind at all times. You didn’t have the love and attention to give to friends or a relationship (maybe that’s why it never worked out) but soon, Ginny and Hermione had reached out to you.

It was a simple letter delivered by their family owl Nebula - a descendant of poor old Errol. You remember tears pooling in your eyes when they told you how much they missed you, they gave meaning to your life. It was no longer the painful loop, they invited you over for dinner, visited every other day after hooking up your house Floo Network, you were always a welcomed guest in their homes.

They made you realize that friendship didn’t need much energy nor hard effort, just being there for each other was enough. Love for someone came naturally, and you didn’t need to extract some of your own self-love to give to others. They were two different things.

Skimming past that, you watch Fred show you three different options of Make Your Own Fireworks kits. You smile solemnly, accept a random one and quietly follow him to the checkup counter.

“So.” he starts, wrapping the product with the paper design you picked. “How about you, anyone special?”

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you shrug. “I dated Theo Nott for a year, I knew nothing would come out of it but like you said, nice to have someone.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Nott? Really?” he frowns. “Can’t believe that tosser managed to-”

You snort, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging, Fred hands you the package. “Nothing, it’s just that -” he pauses and his eyes look at you like you should know what he’s talking about. As if the two of you have some sort of telepathic connection, Fred was always like this.

He would look at you like you understood a word you said, even though he’s been silent for the past minute or so. He always struggled to express himself, and you’re sad to see that this habit followed him into adulthood.

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “That’ll be twenty five galleons.”

“Twenty what?” Your eyes widen. “You heartless man!”

Fred gapes at you, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Twenty five, to your oldest pal? Twenty and a stick of gum.”

Fred pretends to think. “How about you keep the gum and give me twenty four.”

“Twenty two.” you narrow your eyes, leaning forward on the counter. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

Fred scoffs,“I am giving you the holiday discount!”

Grumbling, you reluctantly stick your hand in your purse and take out your wallet. “I won’t forget this. You’re in my book.”

Fred gasped dramatically, “Not the book!” he exclaims, “Twenty two then, please for the love of merlin not the book.”

You lift your chin, head tilting to the side to survey him mockingly. “Twenty two it is, you won’t get away so easily next time.”

The two of you giggling, you pay him the money and leave a few sickles. “For the great service.” you say, him pretend-blushing at your words and tucking a strand of his shoulder length hair behind his ear.

He speaks after some time, the laughter has died down and left it’s comforting after taste. “I missed you ____, why didn’t you visit?”

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

How can he ask that when the answer is so obvious. Fred’s still cruel it seems, he doesn’t bat an eyelash as he speaks. He knows the reason.

“Oh you know,” you start after some time, “Work and stuff.” you lie, and fight the urge to cringe at your words.

Though Fred doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t push it either. He simply nods, looking down at the checkout counter. You’re glad he’s avoiding your gaze, because it makes your departure much easier. “See you at the party Fred, thanks for the...uh. Yeah.” you awkwardly lift your bag up and give him a wave before pushing yourself outside. You can finally breathe.

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

Blaise was arriving in exactly seven minutes and you barely just put on your dress. You’re sure of this because Blaise is always on time, he even has an unnecessarily expensive watch on his right hand that he obsessively likes to check. At least Aleyna’s into it, frantically trying to strap her heels, she’s wriggling herself towards the front door to somehow track her lover. You don’t know how love works, maybe they can smell each other from a mile away or something.

Shaking your head, you fluff your hair and wipe a hand across your under eye after wetting it with your tongue. You think Aleyna calls for you, you’re not sure because you’re too occupied trying to decide if you’re going to wear lipstick.

“Hey,” you walk out of your bathroom door and scurry towards her, “should I?”

Aleyna raises a brow. You scoff, “Stop doing that, you know I can’t raise mine individually.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem too if you don’t help me.”

As reflex, you roll your eyes. You only do this because you know it reminds Aleyna of that one chick from Blaise’s workplace - she knows no boundaries, apparently. It’s a shitty move, but it’s a shitty world.

Aleyna carefully inspects the two products you hold tightly between your hands. A simple shimmery gloss and a nude, almost dark red lipstick you stole - borrowed - from her. “Depends, who are you smooching?”

Throwing her an incredulous look, you hold out the two products on your palms. “I’m not smooching anyone.”

Unless of course Fred Weasley asks, if he does you would pull out makeup wipes from thin air and jump into his arms with naked lips ready to be kissed. Though, that’s only a fantasy and Fred is emotionally unavailable...scratch that, you are.

You’re not sure how tonight is going to end, and you can’t help but be aware of that looming clump of anxiety, clutching on your chest and refusing to let go until you're assured that it’s going to be fine.

“The gloss, just in case.” Aleyna stops your train of thought before it trashes off its tracks and crashes somewhere in Fred McDreamy land.

You nod, making no further inquiries and getting yourself ready as best as you can. Fixing your bodice and giving your scar a quick look, you finally hear the doorbell ring after a few long minutes, followed by Blaise’s deep voice greeting his girlfriend. You give the couple a few seconds to smooch - if you will, before walking back to the living room.

Blaise grins when he sees you, he’s wearing a sleek black suit with its first two collar buttons undone - you expect no less class from him.

“Happy Christmas!” you chime, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight just enough so you can whisper in his ear. “I hope you picked out the second ring, Zabini.”

Blaise swallows thickly before laughing, you know this because you physically feel him start to sweat. “I swear I did, don’t worry I have a plan.” he winks after letting go.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he loops an arm around Aleyna’s waist and pulls her by his side. “Only the best for my girl.”

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

You quickly clear your throat, “Anyways, let’s go before the serenading and the rose petals start.”

The three of you finally leave, the walk down your apartment building feels way too short, and the moment you exit you’re hit with the wonderfully chilly Christmas air.

For a moment, you forget where you’re going.

Lights are hung up everywhere, across shops, tangled through trees and some floating in the air. You can’t see the night sky, Diagon Alley has one of its own, adorned with radiant moons and luminous stars just bright enough for people to navigate themselves through crowds with zero accidents. It feels breathtakingly overwhelming.

Glass ornaments are charmed to fly across, a special show prepared by Madame Mulkin, and Mr. Eyelop tuned in by letting out a few snow owls rest around random trees to add to the warm atmosphere. There’s flavour wafting around the air, you inhale again to identify it better.

Speeding your way through - it hits you, gingerbread and chocolate.

You clutch your bag towards your chest, suddenly you feel disgustingly sappy. Though, you are in public so you decide to shake off that small warmth threatening your heart and continue walking towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The walk towards the shop feels too short again, you almost check your watch to see if Hermione’s playing with the time turner again.

You almost turn on your heel, dump the bundle of presents you’ve bought on their front door and leave. You can, in theory, you’ve separated from Aleyna and Blaise midway through and you can just run and never look back.

Tough luck, when you walk through the generously decorated shop and up the stairs, you’re disappointed to see their flat door wide open.

You stare at it, it feels too inviting. Frank Sinatra blares through the walls, you can smell hints of incense, trailing through your nose and tickling you, causing you to sneeze. You were always sensitive towards smells, and it never bothered you until now.

“Bless you!” George Weasley appears, rounding a corridor and greeting you with open arms into his neat dress shirt. He hugs you like you’re family, and if you weren’t holding a sack like Santa Clause with his your jolly ass hanging on by the mere piece of fabric of your dress you would have hugged back.

“Thanks, Happy Christmas George.” you smile when he takes the sack from your hands and weighs it with raised brows.

“You didn’t have to buy anything ____!” he pats your shoulder, hand trailing to your lower back to navigate you inside. “We are the gift givers, you’re our guest.”

You chuckle, walking through the long entrance corridor, “Of course I’m getting gifts you quack.”

George scoffs, “Using my words against me now are we?”

When you gaze up at the famous joke shop as a little civilian in the streets of Diagon Alley, you don’t expect to catch the sight of a flat this large. You knew it was sizable since two grown men somehow fit and live there, but you underestimated just how successful Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was.

The floors are wood, clean with even several shoes stepping around, chattering with wine glasses in their wobbly hands. A bulletin board hangs next to a quidditch rack filled with different kinds of equipment - old and new.

Too entranced by the cozy interior, you don’t bother stealing glances at the bulletin board. The kitchen and living room are connected, yet they still somehow feel like completely different rooms. The den is lit up by a brick fireplace, lightly crackling and making the atmosphere all the more comfortable. The soft fur (faux you hoped, though Mr Weasley did have a muggle hunting rifle phase which you thoroughly discouraged) carpet tickles your ankles and you have to hold onto George’s arm for support

“Bevvy?” he offers you, holding out a pint beer glass and you shake your head, admiring the apartment further.

Most couches are leather yet they still look comfortable, the kitchen is big but not obnoxiously so, you can hear the clinking of a foosball table - commotion makes sense in their apartment - the wide living space narrows through a corridor, leading to what you assume must be bedrooms.

You’re glad Fred and Eva broke up, because you decide then and there that you’re going to visit the twins everyday despite your history, just to step into this apartment again.

“____!”

Angelina’s sweet voice causes your unease to vanish in an instant and you crush her in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you smile, looping an arm around her shoulder and letting her guide you through the flat. “You changed your hair!”

Angelina nudges you with her hip, “Thank merlin you noticed, George is clueless.”

“Oh? George? You never told me - Hey Cho!”

You’re cut off by several familiar faces greeting you and telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you do, right next to Hermione and Ginny, two pregnant and fierce women that keep bickering with their husbands because of their weird cravings.

“I’m with you on this one Gin’!” you snort, eyeing Harry. You have a wine glass in one hand and the power you hold makes you feel too confident. “If the woman wants sausages marinated with toothpaste, she’s getting sausages marinated with toothpaste!”

Harry grumbles, “Will you please stop fueling this!” he protests, downing his drink and banging this on the table. “Look sweetheart, you wanted onions and mustard just a second ago so I got you ‘em, what made you change your mind?”

Ginny bangs her fist on the coffee table, in addition to Harry’s outburst. It seemed everyone was banging stuff on tables, so you do too.

“You think I know? Sod off or get me my toothpaste!” Ginny yells, banging another fist after you.

Harry kneels down next to the foot of the couch and holds his wife’s hand, gently massaging her knuckles. “We can’t get you toothpaste,” he says calmly.

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

“Stop damaging my property.” says George, materializing out of thin air.

You feel bad for Harry, you truly do but it only lasts for a second because this is even more entertaining than watching Aunt Muriel try to play foosball while shouting ‘Come at me you haired back marys!’

You’re enjoying yourself, the buzz, the warmth, the scent of fire. It’s comfortable and not at all like a party. It’s as if you’re visiting your friends for thanksgiving, homely and welcoming.

Though, the first crack forms when you see Fred, eyeing you from the small bar of their kitchen.

Dressed in navy slacks and a red, turtleneck sweater, he leans against the counter with a glass of Firewhiskey clutched on his big hand. He swirls it as his lips twitch, keeping his gaze set on you. His hair falls on his eyes, mostly pushed back but how strong hair gel can really be?

He looks good, way too good for a party. But it’s not the outfit, it's his entire presence. The way he holds himself, acts, speaks - shit, it’s attractive. He can do anything and he’ll always have that charismatic charm, it makes you feel envious, not to mention incredibly horny.

It’s Christmas, it’s a sacred holiday. You can’t let Fred sexy Weasley get to you, no matter how unapproachable and out of your league he looks.

You’re the bigger person - apparently - and you decide to greet him first.

You don’t know what compels you to do this, but it must be quite a strong force because you feel yourself start to quiver when you abandon your place on the couch. It’s so strong that your wobbly legs carry you while you push through tipsy friends and hold you up all the way to the kitchen area.

“Merry Christmas.” you croak, pulling him in a quick hug which he returns happily.

“Merry Christmas yourself.”  he smiles, gaze drifting lower to your dress only for a second before he swallows.

His signature cologne that you’ve engraved deep in your head this past week bursts out again. You smile softly, relishing in him.

“You look,” he seems to be giving much more thought on whatever he’s about to say, he settles on; “Beautiful, you’re, uh - the dress.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” your face falls. The dress is beautiful, not you. Of course. “Thank you, I would say you don’t look too bad yourself but that would be a lie.”

Fred raises a brow, putting his wine glass on the bar with a clink before slowly turning on his heel. “Aw, cheers love.” he says casually, “Wore it for you,”

You raise both your brows, “Is that so?” you fight a grin.

“This little number is my lucky charm.” he smirks, pulling on his shirt. “Made women fall at my feet back in the day, maybe you will too.” he finishes, more bashfully than before. His cheeks are tinted pink and, now, for the first time, you feel clueless.

Your heart stutters when you speak, “Trying to butter me up Frederick?” you say shly, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours.

Fred winks. “And what if I am?” he suddenly straightens, arms folding together. His head bows as he continues with a smile, “I’m joking, got this a week ago for the party.”

You fight the urge to smile, “Ah, so not the chick magnet.”

“Well,” Fred laughs, “It’s still very wolfish.”

“Whatever you say, big ole pussy cat.” you pat him on the shoulder.

Fred scoffs good naturally, “Ah, you hurt my pride ____.”

When you don’t say anything, his gaze falls on you. He takes the time to look at you, really take you in and it makes your efforts feel appreciated for once. He takes a deep breath, head careening left for a moment.

“It’s not just the dress.” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes falling on your scar. “You really are beautiful.”

Your hand immediately flies to your brow, tracing a finger down the gash. It’s not as noticeable anymore and your hair grew back - thankfully - but the knowledge that it’s still there, parading itself to everyone makes you feel much more self conscious than you should.

Fred’s hand closes over yours and you freeze. “You might not think so, but not only is your scar a wicked bedtime story, it’s very attractive.”

Your ears feel hot, “You think I’m attractive?”

It’s a nice compliment - especially when it comes from a man like Fred.

“Do I think you’re,” he gasps, giving you an incredulous look. “Of course you’re - ! I mean you can’t be asking me that - are you, gah!”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. It’s quite amusing watching Fred Weasley struggling to speak, clearly embarrassed. The knowledge that you made him this way, you were sleeping like a baby tonight that’s for sure.

“Look, ____. I actually wanted to tell you something really important.” he fidgets with his cuffs.

You furrow your brows, “Of course, what is it?”

“I used to, well I think I still do because it never truly went away but - okay, this is harder than I thought.”

You chuckle nervously. “Fred, you’re freaking me out here.”

You hear him mutter something along the likes of what’s wrong with me, until he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

When you left your apartment a few days ago, your mind didn’t calculate the outcomes of meeting Fred Weasley.

The impact is so strong that it causes your past to - not flash, because this is painful - slowly start playing before your eyes, like a play you have to sit through because the seats were expensive, and the star of the show, the star of your own life is standing right in front of you.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, gold cocktail dress. The costume design is delicate, it’s the type of dress you flutter your fingers in (the fabric is ticklish and soft, you just had to touch it) before moving onto the next. The rack is full of other suitable options, because you know you can never wear a dress like that.

But Eva can. She was always gorgeous, you couldn’t compare.

Fred’s eyes are wide, the way he’s tugging on your dress makes worry wash over you. “Eva? Erm - who invited you?” His words sound more bitter than he intends them to, or at least you think so.

“Oh, is that how you treat guests around here?” she fucking giggles, playfully slapping his shoulder.

You can’t tell if she’s purposely ignoring you - you’re standing right there - or just forgot your existence after seeing Fred in those pants because sweet merciful heavens.

Fred shifts uncomfortably, “Right sorry well, Merry Christmas!” he’s back to normal, addressing her as he addresses anyone else you can’t help but smirk.

Of course, you immediately jump on this opportunity. Eva may have ruined most of your childhood, she may currently look gorgeous - mockingly so, but you’re not kids anymore. No matter how insignificant you feel, you still have your pride to protect.

“Merry Christmas,” you add, jumping forward. “How long has it been?”

Eva’s expression turns sour, though she conceals it quickly. “____! Oh I love your dress.”

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

“Happy holidays Freddie! Where can a girl get a drink around here?” she squeaks? You’re not sure, her voice is too sweet and you don’t know how to act.

Fred grins, “Right there,” he points to a corner far away from the kitchen. “Lee’s in charge of drinks, I’m sure he can hook you up with something.”

Eva ponders, pausing for a beat. She’s expectantly staring at Fred, though when he shows no intention of accompanying her she gives you a menacing look and leaves.

You didn’t expect a big reunion because you saw Eva a few months ago at the hospital, you had sprained an ankle while training with Ron, and she tried to heal you before the Head Healer cut in and told her to take a walk.

Fred’s weight relaxes as soon as Eva’s out of view, it doesn’t take much to know something happened between the two - it wasn’t a harmless breakup like Fred had told you. You don’t push it though, if he wants to tell you he will.

“Well that was,” you say, and he hums in response, swirling his drink in one hand. You watch the gold hue with him for a moment. “Interesting.”

He snorts, “She drops by every Friday to give me green apples. I hate green apples.”

“How long did you guys date?” you can’t help the words that tumble out of your lips.

He stares at you for a moment, you swear his lip almost twitch in a smile before he clears his throat. “Three years, I thought I loved her for a year.”

“Well what changed your mind?”

Fred looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question a joke shop owner could hear. “You, daft idiot, you did.”

“Wha-” you stammer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fred groans. “I need a drink.” and with that, he leaves towards where Eva previously walked on her precious Chanel heels. Leaves you alone.

It wasn’t like you called the man's family a disgrace and cursed his entire bloodline. Confused, you decide that maybe you need a drink as well to survive this night.

Everyone you had talked to so far ended with a disagreement, except George because he probably felt bad for you and your huge red gift sack. Embarrassment fills your cheeks as you walk towards the beverage table, you shouldn’t have come tonight.

The cherry on top gets dropped on the shit sundae when Eva Burke bumps into your shoulder and causes you to spill your drink.

“Oops! Babe I’m so sorry,” She pulls a red cloth from the glass table filled with different types of intoxications and rubs it on the fabric of your dress, further ruining it.

Embarrassment turns into frustration, this turns into pure anger. You see red.

You snatch the cloth from her hands and lightly push her forward, Eva dramatically - and very theatrically - falls on the ground with a yelp.

“Oh get up!” you hiss, throwing the cloth on the ground.

Eva scrambles to her feet, holding her right ankle with dainty, perfectly manicured hands. “Oh, now we’re turning to violence are we? Some things never change.”

You let out a frustrated grumble, stumping your heel on the ground. “I really don’t have time for this Eva.”

“We’re just talking babe, I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

Suddenly with her magically healed ankle she trudges forward. “Is it the dress?” she pouts, bending down to eye the splotch on your chest. “I can pay for it, say...two sickles?”

Your eyes narrow, “How about this, you show me how your career is going and I’ll decide if you can afford a wash.”

Eva barks out a laugh, “How about this, I’ll show you a family picture album.”

Gasping, you hold back the urge to slap her. You never expected Eva to stoop this low, and you know you shouldn’t be upset over it but it hurts. It hurts how easily she can use your family against you with no remorse.

Beyond pissed, insulted and done with tonight, you pull out your wand and get ready to apparate. This time it’s not to run away, nor do you feel like a coward. You feel tired, using your palms to press into your temple and relieve your throbbing headache.

Eva grips your wand and tries to pull you forward with failed force. “Let’s get this straight, Fred’s not interested in you.”

“And you think he’s interested in you?” you laugh, “You broke up remember?

Eva flings her long hair back, “And I’m gonna get him back. No one breaks up with me.”

“So, you're still a narcissistic bitch.” you smile.

“And you’re still pathetically clinging onto whatever I touch.” She takes a step forward, and it hits you then and there that you aren’t going home sooner or later. “Wanna know why we broke up?”

You hold your breath, her perfume is too sweet and you can’t process her words.

“He caught me cheating.” she smirks. “And he still begged me to stay, after all that.”

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about ready to punch her. You’ve never seen someone so prideful, so proud to have done something so obaminable. But it doesn’t surprise you, you pity her.

“Some loser from the bank.” she mockingly wipes a nonexistent tear with her jeweled wrist. “See, that’s the difference between me and you ____. “

You almost scream bloody murder. “Oh do enlighten me.” Your voice is weirdly high pitched but you don’t seem to care.

“He begged me, not you. He’ll never want you. You’ll always end up with the leftovers ____, accept that.” she hisses, taking another step forward.

You don’t know what you’ve done to the woman standing before you with nothing but red fire in her eyes, she looks ready to pull out your hair follicle by follicle, yet it makes you smirk. With a shit eating grin on your face, it hits you. “I knew it.” you laugh.

Eva stutters, “What?”

“Why you’re actually delusional to think he’s taking you back.”

“Oh but he will.” she protests, stomping her heel.

“No, he won’t.”

When you see Eva stay quiet, you continue. ”You grew up spoiled rotten, your parents love you, hell my parents love you, you always had the most friends and always got your way.”

She smirks, you’re tempted not to continue but years of pent up anger is ready to burst through your chest. “Yeah, jealous are we?” Eve mocks, and you quiver as you speak. Stating the obvious doesn’t hurt you anymore.

“No, because you grew up thinking everyone will love you, no matter how wrong you are, or what horrible things you do, you’ll always think that people won’t stop being by your side.” you shake your head, tutting. “But you’re wrong. I guess that’s what too much love does to you - you think a simple sorry will fix what you did? Because no, it won’t.”

“Oh stop it, Fred wants me back, it’s painfully obvious.” Eva speaks, but she doesn’t sound sure at all.

“I’ll make it clear for you.” you smile. “Fred won’t take you back for cheating, you won’t get a second chance in your career, and you sure as hell won’t be getting an apology from me.”

By now, you don’t care who's listening, because they are. Oh, they’re eating this kitty fight up like free dessert Monday at Fleur’s. Your childhood friends are watching you with intense, widened eyes. And somehow, in a cruel, wicked way, you feel satisfaction. The harsh words slipping out of your lips like nectar, in comparison to the way they slap Eva across the face fills you with nothing but disgusting satisfaction.

Sure, it’s immature and yes, you could’ve worded everything much better to be even more impactful, but the way her eyes are bloodshot and vengenceful, it’s enough for you.

Eva grits her teeth, and you know she doesn’t have much to say. “I don’t need an apology from you, ____.” she speaks, and her next words cause you to freeze, because no matter what wrong doing, she’s still right. ”You’re right, I might not be forgiven, but in the end I will always be better than you. People will always favour me more and you can never change that.”

You try to lunge forward, teeth gritter. With harsh impact, you topple backwards. Strong arms are wrapped around your chest, holding you back from gouging Eva’s eyes out with the toothpick from the martini glasses.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fred says, a deep rumble coming from his chest and against your back. You fight the urge to shiver, though you’re way too angry to be thinking of how good he smells. “Why don’t we sober up sweetheart.” he asks you, whispering.

“No!” you shriek, struggling to move forward. “This isn’t over until I break her nose!”

Eva laughs, “Oh come at me, babe! Let’s see what a traumatized neglected child can do, yeah?” her eyes flash.

A deep, growling of distress leaves you. “Oh let me go! Let’s see what a filthy adulter can do!”

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

You groan, “Heaven’s above let me go Fred.”

Eva takes two steps forward before Lee grasps her arms. “But these things happen for a reason!” her shrill voice causes you to wince.

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

Eva shrieks, lunging forward in an attempt to reach you again, and at that moment Fred seems to have about enough.

“Alright, that’s it.” His stern voice causes you to flinch, muscular arms still holding you close to his chest, he yanks you backwards and starts walking towards the corridor. “That’s enough with the both of you, Lee take Eva outside, get her some fresh air.”

——————

Fred has the decency to take you to his bedroom rather than toss you outside like he had done with Eva.

If the situation was any different, you’d be over the moon right now. Alone? With Fred Weasley? In his big bedded, fireplace occupying, additional bathroom having bedroom?

Said situation did not have you sitting on a leather rocking chair, big mug of coffee in hand while Fred lectures you like a parent. Actually, you wouldn’t know.

You’ve been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, too scared to say anything and anger him further. You knew how much this party meant to him, and you had ruined it with your childish, pent up jealousy. It wasn’t just you per say, but you had let Eva get to you.

“Can’t the two of you act your age for one fucking second,” he groans, hand propped against the brick fireplace. “I know how infuriating she is, but you-” inhaling sharply, he strides towards you. “Say something will you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

You gulp, you shouldn’t have brought it up when he was agitated, but you can’t listen to him while the words echo around your head. You feel awful, insensitive, anything else to call yourself that makes you feel better towards your lack of judgement. “She cheated, you didn’t tell me. Why?”

Fred pauses, after what feels like a seconds he bends down on his knees in front of you while you watch him, engrossed.

“Been waiting for you to bring it up.” he chuckles, his smile disappearing in an instant. His ginger locks hang in front of you and you realize that his shampoo, like the rest of him, smells amazing. You fight the intense urge to card your fingers through.

“Merlin, I just,” he meets your eyes. “I felt ashamed.”

Suddenly standing up, your hands flail. “Why?”

Fred stands up as well. His stance alarms you, arms wrapped around himself, brows furrowed and defensive. “Not ashamed because of you, because of myself.”

You take a step forward when Fred indicates that he’s going to continue. “I thought you were going to judge me. Bloody coward, can’t even break up with his cheating girlfriend.”

You scoff, “Fred, I’ve known you since I was eleven. Sure we had some tough times but do you really think that low of me?”

Now he scoffs, it’s nothing short of mockery. “Tough times my arse. You avoided us like the plague, ____.”

“I had my reasons,” you raise your voice, wincing slightly and it only fuels Fred’s anger.

“Proper liar you are, you didn’t even write, or even just explain why you suddenly walked out.”

You don’t feel ashamed for what you did, it was for your own good. Though, Fred’s right. You never gave a proper reason other than those childish insults at Hog’s Head. But now, with your head banging, you can’t think logically.

“Again.” you grit your teeth, words spilling between like venom. “I had my reasons.”

Fred quickly stalks towards you, enough so you can reach a hand, grab his jaw and smash your lips against his. But you don’t. “Excuse me for not giving a rat's arse about your reasons, do you know how worried I was!”

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

[illicitlimerence-writes]

a-maze-ing | m. schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x reader word count: 1.3k words request: yes/no. by an anon: "you get scared by them in a corn maze and lash out and hit them, quickly followed by apologies with mick? xx" i really liked this request and wanted to post it during spooky season. warnings: fluff, scares, language. a/n: as i was writing this i realized i've written about the reader hitting someone like four times. i promise i'm not a violent person and do not condone violence, i just try to think about the most likely reaction to what's going on in the story. not proofread! also english isn't my first language! not super proud of this one. writer's block is being a bitch again. also i know no one's gonna care, but i start my new job on monday! it's actually the same job i had before the panoramic happened, and i've been working from home since then (which is a blessing, but, being cooped up in my home for almost two years has been awful for my mental health so i asked if i could come back). and i'm so excited because i love my job! (plus my boss is one of my best friends, so it's all really chill and fun.) anyways i'll shut up now. hope you like this!!!

my masterlist

(will i ever get tired of posting these gifs of mick in that sweater? no, the answer is no.)

the usgp was an event you were really looking forward to. it was nearing the end of october and you were a fan of all things autumn, pumpkin spice, and chilly mornings.

you'd seen on instagram a few posts of a pumpkin patch nearby, and you and mick decided to go there the week after the race, before heading to mexico.

mick knew how much you loved fall, and he bought matching sweaters for you two as a surprise. you were getting ready that morning, brushing your hair in front of the mirror when mick came up behind you.

"close your eyes," he said, kissing your cheek.

"what's going on?" you giggled as you felt his soft lips on your skin.

"do it, trust me," he insisted, you gave in, closing your eyes with a smile on your face.

you heard him grabbing something, you cracked one eye open slightly to see what it was, but he caught your reflection.

"don't peek!" he said, hiding whatever he was holding behind his back.

"sorry, sorry," you chuckled, closing them again.

"okay, keep them closed, but turn around," you heard in your ear, feeling his warm breath on the side of your face. you did as you were told, standing expectantly. mick helped you put on the sweater, guiding your head first, then your arms. "wait, not yet," he said as he finished, quickly putting on his own.

he turned your body so you were facing the mirror again, and you felt his arm around your waist, his body next to you.

"okay, now," he kissed the side of your forehead and you opened your eyes. you blinked a few times, your sight a little blurry. once your bodies came into focus you gasped.

"mick! i love it, look at you!" you cooed as you saw your reflections, matching cream-colored knitted sweaters with a little pumpkin on the left side, where your heart is. "this is so cheesy, i love it," you grabbed his face and tangled your lips together. he hummed into the kiss, his hands on the arch of your back.

the entire ride to the pumpkin patch you could barely contain your excitement, your leg kept bouncing up and down in anticipation, mick's free hand that was wrapped around your thigh bounced alongside it.

you gasped, the back of your hand hitting his shoulder repeatedly in excitement. through the distance, your eyes met a huge red and white barn. a giant wooden sign with 'welcome' painted in red showing the way to the pumpkin patch.

"oh, my god. look at this! i want to live here forever!" your nose was almost pressed against the glass window of the vehicle, mick chuckling beside you.

"look here," he said, and you turned to his side. as mick drove through the entrance you saw a petting zoo, bouncy castle, and a corn maze. "we're definitely going to the maze," he stated, his eyes returning to the road ahead.

"there's a giant creepy scarecrow right in the middle of the maze, i'm not going anywhere near it," you shook your head, choosing instead to look at the dozens of rows of pumpkins.

"that's the fun part of the maze! you don't know where you're going." mick said as he turned off the car, leaning on his side, towards you. you did the same, and he looked at you with puppy eyes. "please?" he stuck his bottom lip out.

"fine, but you're going first on each turn we make," you pecked his lips quickly, but he grabbed your chin and kept you there, prolonging the kiss.

"i'll protect you with my life."

bullshit.

the minute you walked into the maze he immediately left your side, insisted on timing how long it'd take each of you to get out first.

athletes. everything had to be a competition. before you could even utter a word he took a turn and vanished from your sight.

you tried to memorize each turn you took, but every green leaf looked the same to you. you knew that eventually, all roads led to the scarecrow. it stood tall, imposing.

throughout your walk, you felt eyes on you, and you could've sworn something, or someone, pulled your hair at some point. maybe you were just paranoid.

you breathed deeply, it was the last turn before you came face to face with the creepy scarecrow. you gathered as much courage as you could, taking a step towards the final path.

you let out a loud shriek as out of nowhere, you felt two hands gripping your waist and lifting you up.

"boo!" mick yelled, setting you down as he laughed at your reaction. you furrowed your eyebrows as you felt your heartbeat speeding up.

"mick! what the hell?" you hit his arm twice, pouting as he kept laughing. you crossed your arms over your chest, "you scared me!"

"yeah, love, that was the point," he chuckled at your annoyed expression.

you stuck your tongue out, turning your back on him. not even the scarecrow could stop you as you focused solely on getting out of there, mick following you.

"it's this way," he said, pointing to the right as you chose the left.

"well, i want to go this way!" you continued your determined stroll.

"are you mad?" he asked, trying to take your hand. you let him, but didn't meet his eyes as you kept walking.

"what do you think?" you asked, growling when you realized you'd met a dead end.

"come on, it's this way," he said softly, throwing an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head. you resisted the urge to wrap your arms around him. "i didn't mean to upset you, i'm sorry, love. i promise i won't do it ever again,"

later that night, you returned to the hotel after spending the rest of the afternoon with mick as he spoiled you in hopes of forgiveness. in truth, you weren't upset with him, yes, he'd scared you to death, but you were already planning your revenge.

mick had left you alone for a few minutes to go to the restroom, and you rushed to one of the stands, buying what seemed to be a music box, but when you opened it a small replica of the scarecrow jumped out like a jack-in-the-box. you paid for it and set it inside your bag carefully as you returned to your previous seat.

now, you were about to shower, ridding yourself of the leftover hay that stuck to your clothes and hair. mick was already in bed, scrolling through his phone. he'd showered already, and looked pretty cozy and relaxed.

the perfect time.

"oh, i almost forgot. i bought you something," you said, rushing to your bag, grabbing the music box in your hands.

"ooooh, what is it?" he asked excitedly. you handed him the music box. "thanks, love. it's beautiful," he said as he looked at the details on the wooden box, you nodded in agreement. he set it aside, leaning towards you, kissing you. "i love it," he smiled, and you returned it.

"i'm glad," you ran a hand through his hair. you almost felt guilty for the scare he was about to live. "i'll go shower now, i have hay in places where there shouldn't be any," you chuckled, walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

you waited a few seconds before you opened it again.

"oh, i think you'll really like the song it plays. you have to rotate the little stick first, and you open the box after," you explained, smiling softly as you bit your lip, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"cool, i just have to reply to this email and i'll try it after," he said, and you nodded. about two minutes later, you stood beneath the warm shower, feeling lighter as each second passed.

your peace was interrupted by a terrified shrill coming from the bedroom.

"baby, what the fuck?" you heard mick's shaky voice.

sweet revenge, you thought, smirking to yourself.

[formulawonu]

Can I have a Lance imagine were it’s like a enemies to lovers situation were I work for Aston Martin as like his assistant and him and I don’t get along at all we always bicker and tease other when I have to go over his schedule in his driver room we get into one of our heated arguments as we subconsciously get closer and we kiss and it gets a little heated. Thanks!

omg hi sorry this took a while! here it is, hope you like it <3 thank you sm for requesting!

listen / lance stroll

(gif is not mine!)

warnings: kissing? kinda steamy. bickering and teasing

a/n: was fun writing this one haha i love writing tropes/prompts like this!!!! i'm always open to requests x

Working for an F1 team has always been your dream. You’ve always admired how much work and efficiency is needed in getting the results each team aims for so when you were given the chance to be part of something that special, you jumped and took it immediately. It was obviously also a plus that you’d gotten offered to work for Aston Martin since it meant helping out a team that was rebuilding. You’d be lying, however, if you said that everything about your dream job was perfect. Great environment? Check. Opportunity to travel? Check. Making enough money? Check. Great drivers? Debatable.

The job offered to you was to be the personal assistant of one of the drivers, Lance Stroll. You were really excited when you heard you would be working that closely with him since that meant you’d also get to be closer to the action and learning all about the inside-outs of racing. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for the both of you to start off on the wrong foot which then spiraled into him being literally the only person you did not get along with in the team and vice-versa.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” Your cheeks are heating up and you stare at the large coffee stain now covering what once was a clean green Aston Martin shirt. You look up and make eye contact with the guy you’re supposed to be working for now. Just your luck. This was not how you wanted to meet Lance Stroll on your first day. The person behind the hospitality counter hands you tissue and you’re about to hand it to him but he snatches it out of your hands, a scowl on his face. “I’m supposed to be going to the media pen. You’ve obviously ruined that now. Do you even know what you’re doing?” You reel back a bit, kind of shocked at how sharp Lance’s words are. He doesn’t even glance at you as he walks away, shaking his head. He makes his way upstairs, presumably to ask someone for a new shirt instead of going to the media pen. Maybe he was just having a rough day. How was he going to react when he found out you were going to be his new assistant?

“No way. This is a joke.” Nope. He isn’t having a rough day. He’s just being a total jackass. You try your best to act professionally as Lance comes into the room. “She can’t be my assistant. She literally caused me to be late to my schedule for the day. I need someone competent.” You furrow your eyebrows, starting to get frustrated with the guy in front of you. Sure, you had messed up. It was an accident and after asking around, Lance had actually made it just in time to the media pen earlier that day. You had apologized too. “Look, I’m sorry that my coffee had spilled on your shirt but that isn’t a basis for how I work. My competency does not depend on whether you were standing too close to me.” You shoot back. Lance has an incredulous look on his face, glancing at his dad who is watching all of this unfold. You probably shouldn’t have said that last part but you were not going to let someone put all the blame on you. Lawrence Stroll, your boss, just looks on and is clearly amused at what’s happening.

Lance continues looking at his dad, trying to convey how displeased he is with the decision made. “Lance, Y/N’s track record and experience is actually very impressive. I think she’ll be very good for you. You both just started off on the wrong foot. You both have a lot to learn from each other.” You flash a smile at Lawrence then look at Lance, who is still not smiling. You don’t like the guy but if this is what you have to put up with to continue doing your dream job, you can be damn sure you’d be professional.

“You don’t have to like me but we are going to be working closely together so I’d suggest sucking it up. Let’s try this again. I’m Y/N.” You say, reaching a hand out. Lance glances at your hand and grimaces. He shakes it once then puts it down, not bothering to introduce himself. He storms out of the room immediately after. You were beginning to resent the job you so desperately wanted.

“Lance, whatever it is you’re trying to do, it’s not going to work with me.” Lance cocks an eyebrow up at you, clearly amused and suddenly turning whatever you’ve said into a challenge. A couple of months after you both started working together, you both had fallen into a routine of your own. The both of you bickered incessantly and never bothered getting to know each other. It was always you giving Lance a rundown of his schedule, prepping him when necessary and Lance shooting back a snarky remark or pretending to ignore whatever you said. “What do you think I’m trying to do?” “You’re trying to be an idiot again.” Lance rolls his eyes at you from the couch. You were currently going through his schedule for the day at his driver’s room but he just wasn’t listening to you. Every time you’d glance up from your clipboard, Lance was scrolling through his phone, not paying attention.

“I’m serious. You messed up the press conference last week by talking about something the team was not ready to share yet. I specifically told you not to and you did anyway because you weren’t listening to me.” “Well, do a better job at making me listen then.” He says, finally glancing at you. You let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t think you were the type to need to be babied,” You taunt, making your way to the couch. “Do you need this actually shoved in your face for you to listen? Is that the pace we’re going for?” You place the clipboard directly in his line of vision, on top of his phone. You glance at his face, now way closer to you than it had been a couple of seconds ago. Only a couple of inches separate you both. Lance looks at the clipboard then at you, clearly unamused.

“Are you saying I’m slow?”

“You said that, not me.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

The exchange between you two has you both glaring at each other, getting closer to one another’s faces. There’s a tiny glint in his eyes, almost as if he’s amused by what’s happening. You can imagine you have the same one. “You’re actually impossible.” He says, still looking straight into your eyes. You pretend to squint, inching just a bit closer to Lance’s face. “Would you look at that? It’s like looking into a mirror.” You don’t realize how close you two actually are until Lance breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lips then back up to your eyes. The mood in the room has suddenly shifted, everything feeling a bit too hot for your liking. The position you’re in isn’t helping at all either. For some reason, you’ve found yourself beside Lance, your sides touching. Lance’s arm is draped on the part of the couch behind you and your arm is still on top of your clipboard, which is on top of his lap. Your faces are so near each other, closer than they’ve ever been before. You know you’re treading dangerous territory but for some reason you want to play with the situation a little longer.

“Do I need to get this close to get you to listen?” You whisper, glancing at his lips then back up to his eyes. Lance is clearly stuck in the moment too, trying to process what’s going on. The glint is back in his eyes. “I don’t think that’s close enough.” He whispers back. You inch just a bit closer, still not allowing yourself to connect your lips to his. You want him to make the move. You know this is another game you both are playing. “How about now?” He just shakes his head. You move in even closer, close enough that you can feel his breath fan your face. Lance rolls his eyes, obviously frustrated and decides to take matters into his own hands. One second you’re watching him in amusement, the next your hands are in his hair.

Lance crashes his lips onto yours, his arms quickly moving from the sides of the couch to your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair as you kiss him back with just as much intensity. There was no way you were actually doing this right now. What were you doing making out with Lance? What if someone entered? What if someone heard you both? These thoughts quickly exit your mind as Lance pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him. He pulls away then starts trailing kisses down your neck. “You’re so hot when you’re angry.” He says in between kisses. “You make me angry.” You retort. You try to push your bodies closer together, feeling his excitement rub against your thighs. He groans. “You’re actually crazy.” He says before connecting his lips to yours once more. You both continue making out for quite some time until you feel your watch buzz with an alarm. Media pen. Lance needs to be in the media pen. You pull away and plant kisses in the sensitive spot near his ear. “You,” you start. “Need,” you kiss his jaw. “To go,” you kiss his cheek. “To the media pen.” You plant one last kiss on his lips then get off of him.

Lance looks exasperated on the couch as you smile down at him. “Are you being serious right now?” He asks. You nod your head, still flushed from what just happened. “Dead serious. Come on, off you go.” Lance shakes his head as he gets up, trying to process what’s just happened. You needed to process it too. You take a quick look at him to see if he looks presentable. You reach the bottom half of his body and blush. You make your way out to the door. “I’ll let you fix yourself up and meet you outside. You have five minutes.”

[beann-e]

Haikyu! boys reacting to their s/o flinching during an argument

Karasuno boys reacting to their s/o flinching

Tsukishima

“ what’s the problem are you serious are you not even understanding why we’re here in the first place“

“ oh I understand—really but I just don’t care “ he moved to think before speaking

“ I actually don’t think i’ve ever had one of those cares when I hear you talk “

you fumed “ i’m so so sick of this Tsukishima i’m so sick of everything having sarcasm in it —you can’t be serious for two seconds “

he moved to throw up a peace sign before his fingers dropped one by one “ is that two seconds — i’m not sure if you meant literally because according to you I look like a grade school swim team member who doesn’t know basic communication skills”

you felt your throat beginning to hurt you’d been screaming with him for hours over his comments he’d made about the cake you ate earlier

as soon as you sat down on the couch he spoke telling you

‘ babe maybe you should’ve saved that cake for later I can feel the extra weight weighing down mine and your side of the couch ‘

“ I can’t be serious no you can’t be serious — you fucking told me that your sorry i’m so skinny that my legs look like toothpicks in the shorts that you bought me “ he screamed

“ you bought them on purpose they were a size large you know i’m a size small you just wanted to be fucking funny “

you scoffed as you two were now standing in the kitchen while he was cooking dinner. His body turning to look down on you.

you could never say tsukishima got mad at you he never did he would just get really annoyed and make more sarcastic comments then he did in his free time but right now you couldn’t figure out what was so different about him

About his voice

About his body that was making him seem like the boss at the end of a video game you just couldn’t beat

“ i’m just really tired of everything being turned into a slick comment with you tsukki and then you can’t even say a shitty sorry you just look at me like i’m crazy “

he sighed as he looked away “ look baby— “ he pushed up his glasses that were threatening to fall

“ i’m really sorry for all the mean , awful , accurate , things I said “

your body went hot as you screamed “ THATS NOT A FUCKING SORRY “

“ well why the hell would you think you’d get one from me “

he screamed at you backing you up eyes still downcast on you

“ you —annoying —child —every fucking five seconds your complaining about something now it’s how I talk ? before it was how I don’t show you enough physical affection in public are you serious “

you heart quickened as his body jerked at you almost threatening you “ what else do you want from me huh “

“ want me to fuckin—“

you closed your eyes and your body moved on instinct to cover your face body sinking into itself in a hole before standing up trying to protect yourself as the loud clack went through the house

Your breathing fast as you had all the worse possibilities move through your head that was rattling along with your body in fear

“ aw damn — their cracked anyways we gotta figu—“

his voice stopped as he came face to face with your covered body “ a-are you dancing or something why the fuck are you —“

then his thoughts clicked as his blurry eyes ran over the way your arms were above your head and body tucked in as if trying to limit the pain you would feel wherever he touched you

“uh “ he coughed as you relaxed looking at the male with wide eyes as you spoke

“ no I didn’t —I didn’t think “

“ um — so i’m not gonna take offense and instead i’m just gonna “

he moved to sit his glasses on the table before his hand grabbed your head forcefully and pushed you into his stone cold chest your body flaring up and shaking

“ yeah you totally did —I wasn’t sure because I can’t see but yeah you did “

“ I - — I didn’t mean to —it was just so loud I thought — and you were yelling “

“ I would never hit you — I would never ever hit you with anything except my beautiful words “

you pushed out of his chest with a small smile trying to seem upset “ your still joking after something like that “

“ well i’m not a soft person what do you expect I mean I feel bad really bad but — “

“ I know I know — it’s better to make jokes than make it sad and make the both of us feel uncomfortable “

he moved his head down to kiss you softly “ I promise you it was just my glasses falling I would never hurt you y/n no matter if we fight or not “

he scoffed “ I love you and all that other crap blah blah “

you ran away with your hands to your ears “ no no I feel like you just put a curse on me — you’ve hugged me , kissed me , apologized and told me you love me all at one time I have to call yams and get an exorcist over here “

he scoffed “ just call Hinata his non stop talking could pass as an exorcism “

you smiled as he whispered small apologies in your ear all night the both of cringing when he would say them knowing he hated you feeling that way but also hating how the word sorry rolled off his tounge

Hinata

“ Great king that Great King this — I must beat The king — I have to beat this person and that person your always beating someone Hinata “

you cried as you stood fighting with him in the gym as he had sweat running down his forehead

you’d originally came here to watch him play a game between a team he had yet to beat that he told you they’d practiced for months to win.

Only for them to lose In a straight set of 2 that caused him to stay after and continue to practice in the same spot all night

You being the loving s/o you were decided to stay with him

only for him to take your kindness for granted and practice at the gym until 3 in the morning letting you wake up to the constant thump of the ball against the wall and your body shivering on the bench while he wore his jacket

“ DID YOU EVEN NOTICE I FELL ASLEEP “

“ of course I did “

“ then why didn’t you give me your jacket —babe I woke up freezing “

“ because I wanted it too— if I gave you my jacket what would I wear was I suppose to freeze “

you knew all rationality was thrown out the window when Hinata lost a match and right now that’s exactly what was happening

“ you can’t keep expecting me to put you first — it’s stupid “

he raised his voice “ the only thing i’ll put first is this ball in my hands and you may come in third to my team other than that — I don’t know what you want from me “

“ I want you to understand i’m here too —not just that lifeless ball Hinata “

he screeched at your words “ it’s not fucking lifeless”

“ I worked hard for this I worked hard for everything when I pick up that ball I put my energy into it when I —“

his hand outstretched as you sunk to the floor ears covered as you ducked into your knees hearing the loud smack moved to every corner of the room

“ that’s me putting life into the bal—baby where’d you go—if this is you telling me to stop—ok I get it I need to calm down “

he looked around the gym eyes finally searching the floor for the ball he’d thrown until they landed on your huddled figure

“ babe what —why are you on the floor come on its dirty get off “ you shook at his voice

“ w—why are you so scared I don’t understand come on stand up y/n “

you tried to calm down your body knowing you couldn’t tell him what just happened you knew Hinata wasnt innocent but you still didn’t want to break his heart not tonight not more than it already was argument or not

you moved to stand up as he grabbed the ball and threw it harshly to the wall for a second time

your body reacting out of control as it thought back to that moment of fear you had seeing him that angry at you and the same noise that followed after

“ y/n-chan did you just—“ his eyes creased “ baby why did you “

he said quietly thinking “ baby who hurt you “

his voice was concerned as he raced to you who shook a bit at his changing emotions taking a shaky step back to get away from him his eyes falling as he finally realized softly speaking

“ o-oh I hurt you “

he sat thinking as he pulled your arms from your face slowly “ I—i’m so sorry I don’t —it was the ball really it was the ball it went woosh and so I went weee to go get it I swear “

you straightened up cursing your body for reacting the way it did “ I didn’t mean to scare you that way I just —I was upset over a match and wanted to prove a point “

he moved to hug you tightly “ I’m so greatful for you and so lucky to have someone who would even stay with me for over 7 hours in a gym hearing nothing but loud noises and echoes —someone who’d fall asleep on the cold floor because they love me so much “

he hugged you tighter kissing your head repeatedly whispering the same line over and over “ i’d never hit you —i’d never hate you or be mad at you “

your tense nerves leaving as you sighed out wrapping your arms around his body “ I —I know and i’m sorry “

“ nothing to be sorry for I do need to put you first and I will from now on —I will “

he pulled you back as he spoke “ i’ll start putting you first and taking your needs into account and you start speaking up and saying no to me instead of doing everything I do or want you to do “

he smiled as he held his pinkie out “ promise baby? “

you shook your head in a yes smiling up at him “ promise “

[lipstickstainedred]

Champagne 1 🥂 (dark!Steve X Reader)

So this is my first time writing in a super long time and I’m so excited for people to hopefully read it haha. This is going to be a series and it is a total slow burn. Lots of angst and there will be eventual smut. I’ll try to add warnings for each chapter just because as I write this story more warnings may need to be added.

I want to give a shout out to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for being just an amazing human. Thanks for helping me work through some ideas for this series and helping me make necessary edits.

 This work also will eventually qualify for the @basementwiveswritingchallenge.

If you would like to be added to the taglist please just drop me an ask. :)

Word count: 1318

Warnings: angst, DUB-CON/NON-CON (eventual), smut (eventual) NSFW (eventual), violence (eventual), kidnapping (eventual)

A few months ago you started a new job as an assistant rep for a marketing and advertising company. This was your first REAL job! Of course, you had had other jobs but nothing like this. Prior to this job you had worked as the occasional babysitter, worked at coffee shops, or grocery stores. Nothing of substance or promise, until now. You had almost cried when you had gotten the job, having little to no experience.

You didn’t grow up privileged but you were always taught that if you kept your head down and worked hard, you could create a better future for yourself. And that’s what you had done, despite being in and out of foster homes for the better part of 10 years, you kept your head down, got decent grades in school, did well at your previous jobs, and was even able to pay for some business and marketing classes down at the local community college.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Your blouse and skirt unrealistically tight against your slightly sweaty skin. The outfit fit you correctly but your nerves made it feel uncomfortably snug. This was the first time you’ve worn some of your new work clothes.

“I apologize for the wait, they are ready for you now.” The busty blonde assistant said approaching your boss and snapping you out of your thoughts.

Your boss, Phil,  glanced over at you and the couple other coworkers present for the pitch meeting. It was a huge deal for your company. Stark Industries was a multimillion conglomerate and if this ad proposal went well, all advertising and marketing jobs would be contracted through your company exclusively. It would be a big account and make your boss and your boss’s boss a pretty penny.

All of your team gathered the materials needed for the pitch. You followed closely behind Phil with your notebook and pen in hand. Since you were new, barely having your foot in the door of the marketing worlds, you were a glorified note taker at the moment.

“Right in here.” The assistant ushered your boss and you into the elegant conference room as the rest of your team followed. As you walked into the room, you stumbled nearly tripping over your heels. Stupid uncomfortable shoes.

You straightened back up and readjusted your skirt that had ridden up a tiny bit. Feeling eyes on you, you glanced around the room of lawyers, accountants, and assistants. Seated at the other end of the long conference table was none other than Tony Stark himself! You had no idea that your team's meeting was important enough for Mr. Stark to actually attend.

You still felt someone watching you, someone unseen. Your eyes fell on the man seated next to Stark; Captain America. Your breath caught as you realised he was staring directly at you. You catch the slight smirk on his lips. He must have been the only person to see you trip.

Everyone else was looking through paperwork and making casual introductions.

Your breath hitched as Steve Rogers’ eyes took you in,  traveling up and down your body, before meeting your gaze. You averted your eyes away from his turning toward your boss to help him set up the presentation.

🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂

As Phil and some coworkers pitched their plan, you took notes of any important details your boss would want to review over later. Occasionally, you felt someone’s eyes burning holes straight through you.

You tried to ignore it but against your better judgment you glanced up to find the same blue eyes looking you over. It was extremely unsettling and for the second time today you wished you were wearing something more comfortable, something less tight.

“I like you people!” Tony exclaimed, as the meeting drew to an end. Standing from his chair he continued, “The ideas you pitched are innovation and exciting, I like it. Just give us a few moments to discuss, and we’ll let you know our thoughts.”

Instead of asking your team to leave the room, Tony and Steve along with what you would guess to be a couple of lawyers and accountants just spoke in semi-hushed tones huddled on their side of the conference room. Your team gathered their things with their eyes elsewhere, as to give them privacy.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the first avenger. His eyes flickered over to you as he spoke with Stark, diverting your gaze as your cheeks warmed.

As if on cue, Tony stole a glance your way, as if Steve had said something about you. Realizing staring at these two men was a bad idea, you joined in the conversation your boss and coworker were having beside you.

“Well, we are all set.” Tony stood up, clapping his hands together. “We are having our lawyers draw up all the contracts now. We at Stark Industries really value teamwork and accessibility. So I’ve made the executive decision to do things a little differently with this agreement. Normally I wouldn’t require this but we really need dedicated staff here on sight.”

“Requiring all of our team on sight? That would be a little difficult to swing with the higher ups, Mr Stark. Our team currently has 3 other contracts we manage.” Phil said, seeming a bit confused by Stark’s announcement.

“That’s exactly my point.” Stark explained. “I need a dedicated team focused solely on our needs. Your company has plenty of other people to manage those contracts. If you want to sign on with us, I need your full attention to be on Stark Industries.”

“Ok.” Phil sighed, “We should be able to have another sector absorb our current contracts.”

“Great!” Stark exclaimed, “So we will be expecting ALL of you to be signed on as consultants as part of the contract. That just means that your team will be exclusively working on Stark Industry projects from now on. You’ll each be getting a desk and/or office down in our marketing department.”

Your boss shook Tony’s hand as everyone in the room clapped that the deal went through. You joined in, a little shocked from Tony’s change in plan. Normally, as contractors you would work in your office building where all the employees worked.

Instead, your boss, you and your three other coworkers would drop all other projects to work with Stark Industries alone. You wondered if it had something to do with what Steve said to Tony, but quickly shook that thought way. They probably just want to make sure you were dedicated to their company.

It wasn’t until your boss called your name that you returned to reality. You hadn’t noticed that Tony had his assistant bring in a few bottles of champagne and some glasses.

“Y/N do you want a glass?” your boss asked.

“Um sure. Thanks.” You mumbled, taking the champagne flute from his hand.

“Cheers,” Captain America said, raising his glass as everyone followed suit. You lifted your glass as well, eyes trained on him as he continued his toast.  “To new relationships.” He added with a subtle smirk, his icy blue eyes gazing straight into yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of why his words made you so nervous. He averted his eyes and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Business relationships, That is.” He chuckled and so did the rest of the room. His laughter spread contagiously.

Bringing the bubbling liquid to your lips you took a small sip. It was absolutely delicious. Probably the most expensive drink you’d ever had. The rest of the room continued to celebrate and talk boisterously about ideas while you and all of your team signed the contracts required by Tony.

As you left Stark Tower, you couldn’t help but feel weird. Despite the success of the meeting, you couldn’t help but wonder why you felt so on edge?