#so yeah it kind of is your fault i have so much trouble recognising my value

[touchlikethesun]

i called my mother for career advice. i really shouldn't have.

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

The Babysitter- Day 7

Summary: All you want for your last day with your bodyguard is a quiet day at home, good luck with that.

Theif!Reader x The Red Hood

3.1k

Warnings: SMUT18+, public sex, swearing, choking, teasing, angry fights, canon typical violence.

Day 6

“What are we going to do today?” You ask, rolling onto your side so you can look Jason in the eye. Jason, the name has been swirling around in your head since you learned it and now you don't think you'll ever forget it or the man it belongs to.

“What do you wanna do?” His hand creeps up the small of your back bringing up close to him, “we could order in, stay here all day.”

“We could but I think I should make a thank you gift for Harley.”

“Why?”

“This is kind of her fault.”

“She paid me, if anything I should get a gift.”

“Well, how about I make some cookies and we save some for her and you can eat most of them.”

“I thought you could only make eggs,” he jokes, groaning as he hears the familiar chords of his ringtone, “Hold that thought,” he groans even louder reaching over you and staring at his screen, “Fuck, what do these idiots want?” Jason sits up, his arm pulling you onto his chest as he does, “couldn’t they just let me have one more day?”

“Don’t know about you, but I’ve never been lucky.” you joke, pulling the blankets up tightly over you.

“What is it Jamie? I told you not to bother me.”

“Sorry Boss, just that we got word of the Penguin doing a trade in the zoo and-”

“It's today.”

“I sent Scarlett and Loxley to check it out 2 hours ago and I ain't heard from them.”

“Shit. Leave it with me.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah, trouble maker. I gotta go,” Jason grumbles, reluctantly pulling away from you and climbing from your bed.

“Go?” you follow him, shivering as the morning air hits your naked body, “Where are we going?”

“We are not going anywhere. I am going,” he starts to search the ground for his armor, pulling on his pants when he finds them, “You’re going to stay here.”

“I don’t think I am,” you dig through your drawers pulling out a black pair of leggings, “You said it yourself, I get into too much trouble when I’m alone, so I have to come with you.”

“This is going to be dangerous,” he pauses as he pulls his shirt over his head, “You're staying here.”

“Even more reason for me to come.”

“Trouble maker,” he levels his eyes at you, “Don’t make me restrain you.”

“I won’t, just let me come.”

“Do you promise to do as you're told?”

“I want to say yes, but-”

“That would be a lie.”

“Yeah, how about I promise not to needlessly get myself into danger?”

“Ok fine, but hurry up. We’re leaving in 2 minutes, we gotta get to the aquarium.”

Xx

“Why do I have to wear this?” you ask, tugging on the annoying domino mask that he made you wear. Not only was it too big, but the whiteout eyes made it kind of weird to see.

“Incase someone recognises you.” Jason says like it's obvious, he doesn't want you to be in danger because he brought you into his business. His brain starts to whirl with what's going to happen to you tomorrow after he leaves you, if he leaves you. He has to leave you, this deal was only for the week and he can't abandon his business for longer. Jason wonders what you’ll do, if you’ll remember him or if you'll just get on with your chaotic little life without him, maybe find a nice henchman and leave Gotham.

“Jason, no one in the history of my life has ever recognised me. I’m barely a blip on anyone's radar.”

“I don't believe that's true,” he pulls you in close, his fingers grazing along his mask on your face, “You’re unforgettable,” leaning his shiny helmet into your forehead the cold sending a tingle down your spine, “You ready to go in?”

“I am. Let's go get your boys.”

“And you are-”

“Not going to endanger myself for no reason.”

“Good girl,” he gives you a tight hug, before leading you into the depths of the aquarium.

Xx

“OO a shark,” you whisper as a reef shark swims over your head, the tiny little colourful fishes swimming all around you, the dim blue lights and the sunlight filtering through the open tanks as you walk deeper and deeper inside.

“We’re getting close,” he whispers in return, his hand falling to the gun at his hip, “I know it's hard for you, but try to be quiet.” 

You nod, zipping your lips and locking them with an imaginary key. You give his hand a gentle squeeze as you notice a shadow down the path and you start to hear voices. You shoot a finger out, pointing them out to Jason, but he grabs your hand pulling it back and pressing you into the glass wall.

“Stay here,” his voice harsh and threatening, but his brain’s full of worry. He knows what these men are like, what they do to people who oppose them and worse he knows how that disgusting bird brain treats his prisoners, “You hear me, Trouble Maker?” you nod again, thankful that he forced you to silence, fuck its so much easier to lie when you dont have to talk.

He stalks off, his hands close to his guns as he heads down the left side of the path. He melts into the shadows as he walks, a skill he probably learned from the bat you imagine. His ass so full in those tight ass pants he wears and with the swagger of a man about to go on a rampage, jesus you want to fuck him so badly right now. 

Instead, you pull a gun from under your shirt. He didn't see it or he didn't want to or he was happy you brought something to protect yourself. But really, that was just for show. The real weapon was in your pocket, just a snippet of it. One tiny leaf wrapped in a zip lock bag. It was all the weapon you need. 

Slowly you creep down the right side of the hall, the gunfire already echoing through the glass building. There's no water at your feet so he hasn't hit the glass yet, which means he's interrogating them. His men must be in a different room. You sink onto your tiptoes, crouching behind a desk, a chair and slinking through the shadow when you hear his voice, “Where are my men?” he shouts at them, “tell me where they are and you’ll walk out of there.” and he thinks you're a bad liar, anyone could tell that was a lie. You almost swear as you stumble a bit over the rubbish on the ground, not no rubbish, files. Rolling them up you stick them into the back of your leggings, you can look at them later. For now you need to find Jason's men, they have to be here somewhere. 

You push yourself closer to the wall as more men rush into the room, not noticing you at all as they start to rush the Red Hood.

When the wave of men have all entered the room, you slink down the corridor from which they came. Several doors line the hallway, shit. Which one? You try to think over the violent noise coming from the other room, when you hear a thud behind the second door.

Locked. Fuck, reaching into your boot you pull out your lockpicks and within seconds you’ve got the door open. The men inside stare up at you confused, their bound hands and gagged mouths mumbling something. You pull the gag from the one with the dark hair, “Behind ye lass,” you spin around and see a man dressed in a suit, far from the thugs you saw in the other room. Your pin still in your hand you stick it in the man's throat, his blood bursting out from the hole and covering you, like you're stuck in some bloody anime. When he falls to the floor you grab Jason’s men's bindings quickly untying them, “You wit da boss, lass?” the man winks before helping his friend to his feet, “Names Scarlett,” 

You nod, gesturing them to follow you as you head back down to where Red was. You stop them at the corner, peeking around to see Red surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. Fuck, why is that such a sexy look on him? 

He’s so focused on keeping the men from the corridor he thinks you’re in, that he doesn't see you, doesn't see his men until you're screaming his name and firing a shot right beside his head. Jason doesnt even realise what you’ve done until he feels the body fall down beside him. 

“Red, Run!” you shout at him, throwing your baggie at the crowd of bodies on the ground. 

Jason sees you grab Scarlett's hand, something new digs into his heart, his eyes fixed on where you’re dragging both men behind you. You’re covered in blood, why are you covered in blood? Are you hurt? What was in that bag? How did you find his men? 

“I told you to stay put.” he snarls at you as you run past him grabbing his hand with your free one, “Scarlett,” he says equally as aggressively.

“Whos dis lass boss?” Scarlett asks as he picks up Loxley and throws him over his shoulder, “I like her.”

“Not yours, is Loxley ok?” Red puffs as you run, a large sound behind him makes him pick up the pace, as you race forward and out of the aquarium, followed by a mass of vines, the vines retreating as soon as they hit the sun.

Huffing, you lean against the walls of the aquarium, “Are you ok?” you ask Jason, reaching out to touch him only for him to flinch away from you.

“Blood,” Jason takes a deep breath, he can't do this right now. He needs to get the boys back to base. You’re not hurt and with that relief another emotion fills the worries void,“Forward.” He directs them, pushing the party towards their base. He slips his arm under Loxleys, helping Scarlet carry him. Jason doesn't look at you, he- it hurts, you didn't listen and now something happened. Something worse could have happened. He didn't- he can't- it's too much to deal with right now, so instead he focuses on his men and getting them to a doctor.

Xx 

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” you ask as you sit on the rooftop as Jason walks out of The Red Hoods main hideout. The men down stairs being looked after by the shiftiest looking doctor you've met since Harley.

“Here,” he throws a set of clothes at you, “I can’t-”

“Cant what? Look at me?” you stand, dropping the clothes to the ground, “I'm not fucking sorry for what I did and I'd do it again. I saved those men and oh,” you pull the papers from your pants, “got you these too,” you throw them at his feet, “Don't know what they are but I'm sure the GCPD would be interested in seeing them.”

“Trouble maker,” Jason sighs, noticing how the blood on you is dry now, caked into your hair and into your clothes. Why can’t you just do what your fucking told? Why does everything have to be an argument?

“Fucking hell, just tell me what the problem is.” you shout, throwing the domino mask at him, “you think I give a shit if someone kills me? You think I'm worried about a little blood? I don’t know if you noticed Mr high and mighty but this broody, silent, macho act. It does fuck all for me, so why don’t you just tell me what the fuck is going on in that huge head of yours.”

“Stop,” he walks towards you, his eyes stare down at the ground while his hands reach out for you.

“Stop talking,” you step back, “stop walking head first into danger, stop trying to help” you stumble as you reach the banister on the roof, “What the fuck do you want me to do Jason? Just sit around and wait to die? Wait for you to leave me?”

“I don't like seeing you like this.”

“Like what? A mess? Because news flash, I've been this way forever!”

“No,” his eyes slowly rise, taking in the blood on your shoes, soaking your shirt, your hair and the tiny bruise on your arm. He reaches up to your face, grasping your chin when you try to turn away from him, “Angry at me and covered in blood.”

“Not-”

“Shut up,” he pinches your cheeks together, “can I talk for once?”

“Fine, but you've only got 12 more hours to punish me before-” his hand moves over your mouth, the other wrapping around your middle and stepping you back from the ledge.

“I thought-” he peers up at the bat signal in the sky before turning back to you, “I thought it was your blood, that something had happened to you. But you're capable, way more capable than I thought and I'm sorry for that. This death wish of yours, I- I just-" he shakes his head trying to align his thoughts, "That's not even the worst of it,” you try to mumble behind his hand but he just holds it tighter, “I don't- if they had killed you I don't know what I would've done, but I know it would've been bad. And I havent- I haven't felt like that in a very long time.” he releases your mouth.

“I didn't mean to worry you. But like you said I'M capable. I can look after myself Jason.”

“Yeh but like you said, I still got 12 hours left to punish you.” he smirks down at you, “not only for not listening,” he pushes you down on the bannister, “But for all those curse words you just threw at me,” he towers over you, making you lean so far back that your head is almost dangling off the side of the building, “You going to be a good girl and take your punishment?”

“Yes.” your mind starts to swirl as the blood rushes to your head and Jason's huge hand slaps onto your pussy, “Shit.” you pant, as he does it again, “Not- you’re.”

“No, I’m not counting,” he grabs hold of your throat to keep you steady, “You can take it, cant you?”

“I will.”

“Good girl, then take it.” he orders, continuing his slapping, his eyes watching you intently. That fucking blood still on your pretty face, he wants to rub it off almost as much as he wants to slap the asshole smirk from it. He sees your leg tightening, your head bobbing like you want to sit up and look at him. But you haven't earned it, you frightened the shit out of him and this is the only way he knows how to drill the lesson into your chaotic little head, “You going to cum, Trouble Maker?”

“Ah huh.” your legs flail and your throat constricts under his hand, your wheezing only seeming to egg Jason on.

“Go on then-” he stops his movements releasing you from his hold and leaving you hanging over the side of his warehouse, “-Cum.” he laughs at you, your hands fisting at your sides as you slide down onto the ground, “Is it really that hard to listen to me?” Jason's hand grabs at your hair, pulling you to your feet, “I told you to cum,”

“Yeah, I get it. If I don't listen, I don't get -fuck you-" you glare at him when he laughs at you again, "what I want.”

“You still swearing at me, you little brat?” he yanks on your hair, exposing your neck to him, “While you're covered in someone else's blood, you really have no self preservation instincts do you?”

“Does that frighten you?” yes, yes it does. It frightened the shit out of him. But instead of answering he picks you up, throwing you over his huge shoulder, slapping you on the ass and he starts to walk, “Where are we going?” you ask, poking your fingers into his squishy but, “you’re ass looks great from this angle, just so you know,” you slap him and that earns you another, “This your kind of torture just throwing me around and slapping me?”

“Is it working?”

“It’s working me up, if that was the plan then yes.”

“Good girl. Is that-”

“Rain.” you smile up at the sky, the tiny droplets of water falling into your eyes.

“That'll do,” Jason drags you from his shoulder, setting you down on your feet in front of him. The rain splattering over your face, over his. He wipes the droplets from his eyes before moving his hand to your face and wiping the now wet blood from your face, “Much better.” He smiles leaning down, his thumb brushes the blood from your lips, “The only thing I wanna taste is you, Trouble Maker.” slowly he peels your soaking clothes from you, the rain falling down your body like little droplets of ice sending shivers all over you. His hand cups your jaw bringing your face up to his, “I had planned on torturing you some more,” his fingers peel his jacket from his shoulders before throwing it on the bare concrete, “But fuck,” he picks you up his strong hand on your ass as he lowers you slowly onto his jacket, “How can I deny you when you look at me like that?” 

“Sofite and so close to your men,” you tease him, trying to wrap your legs over his thick thighs.

“Don’t mock me when I'm feeling generous, Trouble Maker,” he threatens, the head of his cock just teasing at your pussy, “Or do you not want it?” he leans back, laughing when you try to chase him only to hit the cold concrete, “I can wrap you up and take you home, is that what you want?”

“NO,” your arms extend out to him, trying to pull him back, “Please Jason, don't leave me like this.”

“So pretty when you beg,” his body covers yours, blocking the rain from you as he slowly fucks into you, both of you letting out little moans as you press together. His hand slides down your thigh lifting it up to his hip so he can plunge deeper into you, “Take my cock so well, my little trouble maker,” his fingers dig into your cheeks holding your face so close that you can feel his reggae breathing in your mouth, “so fucking beautiful.”

“Jason, fuck.” you pant, arching up so that his soft tummy grazes over your clit, your legs tightening around him, “Jason I'm going to cum, please let me cum,”

“No.”

“Why, please, please I want it so bad.”

“You want to listen to me don’t you? To be good?”

“Yes.”

“Then be good and hold it in.”

“Fuck, how- when you- like that Jason?”

“Baby,” he rests his forehead on top of yours, his eyes boring into yours, “say my name again.”

“Jason, fuck I’m- fuck - so full of you.”

“Sounds so good when you say it.”

“Right there, Jason. Please, more, Jason.”

“Fuck, you’re clenching down so hard on me,” he smiles at you, his teeth nipping at your lips, “You need it don’t you.”

“I need you.”

“Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, so full,” you scream as you orgasm creeps over the crest, “Jason I-”

“Fuck, me too.”

“Give it to me, please Jason. I want it,” you beg, your eyes pleading with him as he pounds into you. His lips meeting yours with so much fire it almost burns the rain away, “Yes, like-” you moan into his kiss as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy gripping his cock so tight that there's no way he could pull out, it convulses milking his cum from him and painting your guts in a warmth that seems to fill your soul as much as your sopping pussy. 

Jason slows down, his cock just grinding inside of you as you lay in the rain. He stops you when you try to move, keeping you held down beneath him, “I’m not done being inside you yet, Trouble Maker.”

“We’re going to get colds out here.” you joke, trying to discern the way he's staring at you right now. Like something is going on in his brain that you can't quite see.

“I just need a minute,” his hand holds your face, keeping your eyes on him, “I wanna memorize your pretty face.”

“Why would you need to- you’re going to disappear aren't you?” you sigh, turning your head from him, “just go now Jason. I- I cant stand watching people leave.”

“Trouble maker,” he pulls out from you, sitting up on his legs and pulling his jacket around you, “look at me please.”

“No. If you’re leaving, just go.”

“This is my place, why would I leave?” he laughs, standing up and offering you his hand. You stand and as he expected all the wind is right where it belongs in your sails. You tighten his jacket around you, glaring at him with the fury of 1000 suns and fuck its adorable. Why are you so cute when you’re mad? Especially now that he can really see your face, fuck now he definitely wants to bend you over the railing.

“Fuck you!” you stomp, your hair sopping wet and hitting you in the face when you thrash your head around looking for the direction of the door.

“Doors to your left,” he teases.

“I can find the door.” You start to stomp to your left, shivering in Jason's jacket and inhaling his wondrous scent. Fucking prick, just going to let you leave and shiver to death. When you’re almost at the door you feel a strong hand wrap around your arm and drag you back, “You wanted me to leave Jason, I'm going.”

“I was just playing Trouble Maker,” his hand slips under your chin, tilting your head up to his, “Not nice when people fuck with you is it?”

“This your way of telling me you care?”

“Is it enough for you?”

“For now. Maybe for later you can get me something shiny.”

“Later?” 

“Yeah, unless you are going to disappear tomorrow when your deal with Harls is done. In which case, I will continue to angrily stomp away”

“No, your brand of chaos is like heroin to me,” he picks you up and you wrap your legs around him as he walks you towards the door, “and I’ve always had an addictive personality.”

Taglist:

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[danatheelf]

Welcome to my NISA Nightmare.

This is beyond a bloody joke, now, and I am livid.

For almost six whole weeks now, I have been given the runaround by NIS America Europe's Customer Support, for an issue entirely their fault. And it's not the first time.

I love the games NISA publish. I preorder the vast majority of the Collector's Edition packages they put out, in spite of my precarious financial situation. Because I love these games and I want to have those nice sets to celebrate the art and music and game with a nice, generally sensible set of extra stuff that isn't just cheap tat to fill a box and charge a fortune for.

I have maintained "Diamond Prinny" loyalty status for years, which doesn't really mean much more than "buys their stuff a lot and gets offered small discounts when new ones go up" but you'd think if they recognise a group of their biggest customers, they would at least try to offer solid Customer Support for that group.

Here's the backstory: On September 8 2022, I placed a preorder with NISAE for four Collector's Editions. If you're unfamiliar with preorders, how this is supposed to work is that you pay money now, and they put a copy aside to make sure that you get them when they come out; I try to order as many things as I can at once, because shipping to Australia is expensive, and it helps to spread the load. When placing the order, one of the games I was ordering had an option for an Australian cover sheet - the only difference being the little rating symbol on the cover - so I picked that because... hey, why not?

At some point in production, they changed their mind, and decided they wouldn't bother printing that Australian cover sheet. No big deal, you might assume - just swap it for the UK English cover; no big deal.

Ah, sweet summer child, I see you have never had to deal with NISAE's order system backend.

Any other web store on the internet can make simple changes to an order relatively easily - but NISAE is special. They can't even change a tiny little dropdown menu option for which printed cover sheet should be included with the game.

To make any small change to your order, the entire thing must be cancelled. You must wait for a refund to clear. Then you must place the order again yourself with the changes in place.

Remember that thing about how preorders work? Yeah. It doesn't work if they just cancel your order without warning, and tell you to make the order again when something in your order is now out of stock.

For weeks now, I've been assured that they're securing a copy of the game that was out of stock, because I guess when your order is cancelled, they immediately incinerate the copies that should have been set aside for you.

But they'll have it shortly, so I can make the order then!

I've been dreadfully concerned about the other parts of my order going out of stock while I wait for them to find me a copy of the game I preordered. And naturally... that exact thing happened.

I've been keeping an eye on the stock situation and... now another one is completely sold out.

They haven't even fixed the first screw-up, and now this is added on top. It's cartoonish levels of incompetence. I have a heart condition! I can't deal with this kind of constant stress for weeks and weeks!!

If you know me, you'll know I am a very patient person. But this is really my limit. I'm fed up, and genuinely upset.

This isn't the first time I've had trouble with NISAE before, either.

A while back, I received a copy of a collector's edition set with a soundtrack CD - I love soundtrack CDs and they're a major reason I get these versions! But for some reason, one of the discs was just... missing.

Factory error, I suppose. Not much you can do about that.

So I contacted support, and they promised to just pack a replacement in with the next order that would be shipped out; it wouldn't take long for that, so, sounded to me like a perfectly reasonable solution.

Well, my next order from them came... and the next... and the next... and no CD.

After contacting them again, to see what the deal was... they just decided to send it out by itself, and eat the cost of shipping.

Screwed themselves over in that one, really. I was mildly inconvenienced, but it all worked out without too much hassle.

On another occasion, I had a preorder combined with some older items - the order won't ship until everything is ready to go, but it saves you on shipping, so, hey. That's fine.

Between the time of my order and the time it was ready to ship, they moved to a new warehouse. In the process of doing this... they lost the copy of something I ordered that had been set aside. And they had no more left.

Of course.

There was really nothing that could be done, at that point. "Sorry, we lost the very last copy of the thing you ordered." I was very unhappy about this, but... it was at least understandable. Moving to a new warehouse is a massive undertaking, and losing the last copy of some old stock... well, it sucks, but I get it. Exceptional circumstances; things happen.

So it's with this history of excusing mistakes that I am now faced with the latest one. This time, there is no massive warehouse to move; no unusual situation of sending out a replacement for part of a set that was botched by the factory.

I don't think it's unreasonable to expect better than this.

I don't think it's unreasonable to expect the barest minimum features of an online shop to include "swapping a tiny option in an order" and "actually getting the things you paid a couple hundred pounds to preorder six months ago."

I don't think it's unreasonable to expect better from the official European branch of a very prominent publisher, handling a large number of beloved titles that can't be bought elsewhere.

As it stands, if you have the option to buy NISA games from any retailer other than the NISA Europe Online Store, I advise you to choose that other option. I desperately wish this weren't the case, and would prefer to support the publisher directly... but until they get some web developers to implement a functional backend... I truly recommend choosing literally any other option, if you have it.

Maybe if I'm lucky, people will see this and they'll actually do something.

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

[lottiebagley]

Don’t get over me- Fred Weasley

Fred sits with his arms crossed and a fake smile on his face. Half listening to George who is rambling on and Fred feels like his head is spinning.

The memory of her looking insanely beautiful and yet nervous as she entered the common room. She was timid when she asked Fred if she looked okay. She was laughing when he twirled her around calling her a princess. She was blushing when he pressed a kiss to her cheek before sending her on her way, watching as Alicia double checked the girls hair and touched up her make up before sending her out of the room.

He watched on the map, that he'd asked Harry if he could borrow for the  very reason of torturing himself, as she left the castle grounds. Blood boiling at the thought of her date asking her out and then not picking her up.

Blood boiling at the thought of anyone but him asking her out.

He scowls as he sits in the courtyard, George had coaxed him out into the summer heat to help get his mind off his best friend he was in love with and her date with Adrian Pucey.

"Here comes trouble," George calls with a smirk, the grin on his face falling immediately when he recognises the look on his girlfriends face. "Angie, what's wrong?" He questions worriedly, jumping up from his seat to approach her.

"Fred you need to come now," She instructs, George even more baffled and almost hurt that his upset looking girlfriend was seeking his brother for comfort.

"What's the problem?" Fred questions, not really in the mood to deal with whatever's happening, his plans to sulk all day ruined.

"It's Y/N, she just-" Angelina is cut off as Fred leaps to his feet, George not sure if he should feel happy Angelina is okay or worried for his friend.

"Where is she?" Fred demands, feet already carrying him away from the others

"Her dorm, but she won't-" Angelina sighs, giving up on trying to talk to Fred as he sprints away.

Having successfully knocked down a first year and been shouted at by Filch, Fred arrives at the Gryffindor girls dormitory. Stopping his sprint at the sight of Alicia, knocking on the door with worry in her eyes.

"What's going on?" Fred questions, panting slightly

"We aren't really sure. We were in town and she ran past crying so obviously we followed but she's locked herself in and she won't talk to anyone," Alicia explains as she moves away from the door to allow Fred to take her place.

"Thanks Al, I've got it from here," he smiles to the girl who nods and leaves the best friends in peace. Fred knocks on the door

"Go away!" he hates that her shouted response is enough to let him know she's still crying, he can hear the crack in her voice.

"Sweetheart, it's me. Can I come in?" he calls through the door.

"No!"

"Why? it's only me I promise," he sighs, she never turns him away.

"I don't want you to see me like this," she groans. His heart sinks in his chest.

"Lovie, I hate to be the bearer or bad news but I've seen you in some pretty low points, cleaned sick out of your hair, nursed you to health, we went camping and you didn't sleep for 32 hours and couldn't shower. Reckon I can see you upset, it's nothing I haven't seen before," he tries to compromise, his head leaning on the wooden door

"It's embarrassing," she cries out, voice cracking

"Whatever it is I will have done worse, besides, it's just me sweetheart, I'm not gonna judge you," he assures, not quite realising that it being him was the whole damn point, unable to say no to him she sighs and moves towards the door unlocking it.

Fred pushes the door open the second he hears the lock shift, throwing his arms around her in a tight bear hug as she sniffles into his shirt.

"What happened darling?" He cooes, moving carefully to sit on her bed and pulling her into his lap without a second thought, holding her to him as she stares at him. Her eyes look sore from crying and her nose is red, her makeup streaking and damp sticky cheeks and yet to Fred she's the most beautiful thing in the world.

"He stood me up," she admits, not bothering to try and hide what was sure to be the talk of the school no matter how embarrassing it is to admit to her crush. "He stood me up and his friends sat at a table and laughed at me,"

Fred feels his blood boil, his heart beating faster. He wants to throw her from his lap, find Adrian and pummel the guy to death and then find any friends involved and do the same to them.

Instead he forces himself to take a deep breath, pulling her back to his chest and stroking her back gently, whispering sweet nothings into her hair as another round of cries escapes her. He holds her close until she settles down in his lap.

"Hey, you listen to me sweetheart, he is so fucking stupid. You are the most beautiful girl on this entire planet and you are smart and kind and funny and if Adrian Pucey can't see that then good riddance you didn't give him a minute of your time. You can and will do so, so, so, much better than him and you saying yes to him is the best thing that'll ever happen to him and I mean that," He rambles, his eyes searching hers, trying to find any hurt in them so he can melt it away with gentle touches and loving words.

"I just feel so stupid," she admits with a sigh as Fred adjusts his arms slightly to better hold her on his lap.

"He's the stupid one. You, my lovely, are golden, and he's an idiot if he doesn't realise that,"

"I'm just never good enough,"

"Hey," he scolds lightly "None of that,"

"I'm not though. Not enough for him, not enough for Cormac-"

"That was a blessing," Fred smirks, laughing when she rolls her eyes

"Not enough for Leo, I mean I had a boy who is practically a saint and he cheated on me, not enough for my dad, not enough for you, not enough for Oli or Alex or Chr-" her ramble is cut off by Fred who's heart is falling to his feet.

"Me? What do you mean me?" he asks, eyes wide. How had he ever let this girl think she wasn't enough for him?

"I-it- I don't know," she sighs, he raises his eyebrows and she takes a deep breath before talking once more. "I guess, well- look don't freak out alright? I've liked you since third year and I always just thought if I was more. Y'know prettier and smarter and funnier- I guess I just thought if I had been enough you'd like me back, but you don't and that is fine. I don't hold  it against you and it's not your fault and I don't want this to change anything and-" she cuts off her own ramble, her tears misting over once more at the feeling in her stomach. She was about to loose Fred. "Please say something," She whispers.

Fred had never been someone who struggled to talk, but, in that moment he feels his entire world stop spinning, everything falling into place and his heart soaring.

"Like me?" He questions

"Yeah. It's why I said yes to Adrian, thought maybe it would help me get over you,"

"Don't do that," He speaks too quickly "Don't get over me," he demands, she blinks a little "Get under me- wait!- I didn't mean- well you can if you want I very much welcome that-I just- I have liked you since the day I met you on the train and I never said it cause I didn't want to ruin us but, sweetheart, I liked you so much it might even be love and I have wanted this forever," He rambles, his breathing becoming easier when a large smile overtakes her face.

"I could get under you," she teases, giggling as he rolls his eyes, leaning down from her seat in his lap.

Her lips meet his and the whole world takes a moment. Nothing matters. Not that when he cups her cheeks in his hands her face is damp, not the slightly salty taste of her tears, not that Fred is still ready to go and kill Adrian, not that George and Angelina are listening in from behind the door, not that it could have all happened so long ago.

No.

All that matters is her and him. The feeling of him pulling her closer and the way her fingers tangle in her hair. The way they're smiling into the kiss. The way everything fits perfectly. It's her and it's all they ever needed.

She pulls away breathless, giggling when Fred's lips chase after her's subconsciously, willing to be close to her again.

"It could definitely be love," She whispers, her eyes fluttering open to see Fred beaming up at her.

"You think?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do," she grins.

"I'm going to go and kill Adrian now," Fred announces

"There's plenty of time for that," She argues, gripping herself to him tighter as he laughs at her clinging to him

"Something you'd rather be doing?" He teases

"I believe you mentioned something about being under you," She smirks, Fred's grin widening

"You're right. Adrian can wait,"

**

Masterlist 

[lokidoki-imagines]

Red String of Fate Part 1

So I wrote out a whole piece and then my iPad decided to just delete it 🥲 But yeah, I’m a Zemo simp now apparently 🤷🏼‍♀️ 

Warnings: None really for this chapter, but I suppose it’s the start of a love triangle so if those bother you, then this ain’t the one for you 😂

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Zemo x Reader, Sam x platonic!reader

Word count: 1514

Having worked with Bucky and Sam before the blip, you knew the two of them together meant trouble. There was never a plan, only arguments and bickering over who had the right to make the plan, which usually ended with you making the plan instead. What wasn’t in your plan, was meeting your friends at a small Berlin airfield after their trip to see Zemo.

After having found the space outside of hanger 9, you pulled your phone out and called Bucky. “Okay, I’m here. So what’s my surprise?” Hoping it was going to be something nice, like some of those famous plums he always insists are better than anywhere else in the world, you let your imagination run as you heard him chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Don’t freak out doll, but look to your left.”

Pulling your phone away from your ear as the line went dead you could feel the goosebumps creep along your skin. Swaggering as if he owned the place, and you’d be surprised if he didn’t, was the one and only Baron Zemo; flagging him either side was Sam and Bucky. Shaking off the shock you shoved your phone back into your jacket pocket and stormed over to the three approaching men, noticing an elderly man stepping off a private jet spurred you into walking even quicker. 

“What the hell are you two thinking?” Stopping a few feet away from them you ignored the man in the middle. “You said there was a surprise,” you let your eyes flicker over to Zemo’s brown ones before forcing them back to Bucky “Usually when someone says they’ve gotten you a surprise it’s something pleasant.”

“It’s his fault.” Sam spoke quickly, shoving a finger in Bucky’s direction. 

“Hey, don’t pin this on me. He broke himself out, I only-”

“Oh so you’re completely innocent in this? Pretty sure you-”

Your eyes drifted from your bickering friends to the silent man between them. He was unusually quiet, any smart ass quip he had planned had turned to lead on his tongue the minute you came into the picture. He had wrinkles, only slight, at the corner of his eyes that weren’t there the last time you’d seen him. Days worth of stubble marked his cheeks, but even with all the years and heartache that he’d endured since you’d last seen each other, he was still exactly the same as you remembered. You could only wonder what he was thinking, seeing you here with his enemies after all this time.

“Are we interrupting something?” Sam spoke carefully, pulling your attention away from the criminal in front of you. Bucky and Sam were watching you both with cautious looks, as words begin to fail you. You’d never told your friends about your past further than you’d moved to the states as an adult. They knew you lived in Sokovia for a number of years on and off, but they didn’t know all of it. You didn’t know them during the Civil War, you became fast friends with them during their exile days on the run from the law after meeting Sam and Steve during one of their recon missions. Of course you knew why they were on the run, it’s why you never told them everything. If they knew-

You couldn’t get any words out as your mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. You were blindsided seeing Zemo again and you couldn’t think straight, it had been so long and so many feelings began to rush to the surface you didn’t know where to start or what to say. Letting your eyes drift back to Zemo you pleaded with him silently to keep quiet, to keep your past a secret for the sake of your friendship, the sake of your reputation.

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. “No. I’m afraid I don’t have the honour of knowing your friend,” his lips curved into a smirk as you let out a breath, “though I would certainly like to be introduced.”

“Let’s get on the plane, then we can play nicey - nicey.”

Zemo brushed past you as Sam followed him onto the jet. Your mind was racing, memories of your past rushing back as they escaped the box you’d kept  sealed for the last god knows how many years. “Hey,” Bucky placed his hand on your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just a shock, thought I was getting flowers.” The close contact of Buckys body to yours would usually send you into a tailspin, racing heart and nervous smiles. Now, it was empty; void. Your thoughts occupied by the passenger on the jet.

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.” He promised as you turned towards the jet, “Let’s get going. The quicker we’re out of Berlin the better.” 

Walking down the gangway you took the seat opposite Zemo, Bucky opting for the one to your right across the aisle. Letting your head fall back as the engine roared to life you laughed a little, rolling your head to look at the super soldier. “I thought I was getting some of those famous plums.” 

You could feel his chocolate eyes watching and assessing the situation, just as easily as you could feel your nerves tingling on the back of your neck. Bucky let off a casual laugh, his head lolled to the side too. “Next time Doll, I promise I’ll get you some of those plums.”

“Perhaps I could get some too.” Flipping your head back you could tell he was teasing, testing the boundaries that were being set and seeing how far he could push it. “I do love plum jam, especially the homemade kind.” 

You set your jaw as his eyes began to dance with mischief. He held the power now and he knew it, you had no choice but to bite your tongue as he toyed with you as innocently as he could. “Well I bet you’ve never had jam as good as Y/N’s, she makes the best jam I’ve ever tasted.” Your heart swelled at Sams sweet compliment as a smile formed as a thanks on your lips.

“Oh I bet it’s delicious.” Zemo drawled, his lilting accent just as you remember it.

“So where are we going now that we’ve broken a convicted felon out of prison?” His eyes dropped from you to look out the window as he took a glass of champagne from the assistant. The old man offered one to yourself, but you declined politely.

“Madripoor,” The Sokovian opposite you drawled in his accent, his fingers pausing in the pages of a book. “Now I don’t recognise this name...Nakajima?”

Leaping out of his seat before you knew it Bucky had one hand fisted in Zemos shirt, the other grabbing a little notebook you recognised as Steve’s. “You touch that again, and I’ll kill you.”

Sinking back in your seat you watched the three men bicker over Marvin Gaye. Taking a cup of tea from the assistant as you relaxed back into your seat, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were heading to Madripoor of all places. You’d only been once, a lifetime ago now, but it made an impression.

“So who are we playing dress up as?” You asked the man opposite you, sipping your tea. You knew his games, and you knew he’d take any opportunity to be the one in the know.

Sam sat forward, “I’m sorry, dress up?”

Zemo heaved a sigh, his hands folding over his lap with a head tilt. “We all have a part to play if we are to get the information we need from Selby. Sam, you will play the part of Conrad Mack aka The Smiling Tiger.” You snorted at Sams expression, his deadpan face betraying his thoughts.

“Seriously? He even has a bad nickname man.”

“James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.” Your smile dropped, you knew that was going to be hard for Bucky. That much was evident from the scowl on his face. “And you, Y/n.”

His smile oozed mischief. “You will be my beautiful wife, accompanying her husband on business.” 

Sam and Bucky began to protest as his smirk grew. “Fine.” Their shouts of protest falling short as you and Zemo started each other down.

“You can’t be serious Y/N.” Sam began, his hands flying to the brown eyed man opposite you.

Bucky shook his head, letting loose a humourless laugh. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her, then-”

You felt a swell in your chest at Buckys protectiveness, “It’s either be his wife or his whore,” Zemo’s smirk dropped, his eyes glazing over as you smiled weakly at your friends. “Plus he’s rich, I’m getting some jewellery out of this.”

Closing your eyes to get some rest before you landed, you could feel a set of eyes on you; whether they were chocolate brown or ice blue was a completely different matter.

[yyxgin]

— FROM HOME || LEE MINHO

PAIRING: neighbour! minho x gn reader

GENRE: fluff + angst

WORD COUNT: 3.4 k

WARNINGS: eating behaviours, sad ending aaand I can't really think of anything else

this is a part of the @districtninewriters dear skz, with love event !! make sure to read all the other wonderful stories other members wrote for this !!

You studied the envelope you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands. The quality of the paper was nicer than normal, almost like whatever inside was more important than just a regular letter. You weren’t expecting anything, let alone anything important or special.

But it was definitely your name on the front.

The handwriting was oddly familiar-- the loopy curves and edges of your name bringing you the so well known feeling of longing as you recognised the owner of the handwriting, making your heart thump with the black ink on the envelope. You quickly opened it, revealing what was inside-- a letter written on a piece of lined paper you were so sure he tore out of the notebook you gave him a few months ago. 

Your eyes skim over the sentences, making your eyes well up with tears. You curse at Lee Minho under your breath, because how dare he say those things to you over a letter? Did he really have to be such a coward not to tell you to your eyes? 

You throw the letter back to the floor of your hall-- to the place where you first found it, concluding he must have slipped it under your door when you were still asleep, opening the door and sprinting down the staircase leading to his floor. 

You weren’t going to let him leave like this.

Your eyes skim over his room-- the room you’ve been to multiple times before, but now it looks a little different when it’s half-empty and the posters that were hanging on his walls were taken down into a big cardboard box. You hear his feet shuffling around the bedroom, making you look up from your place on the dark gray rug he had placed in front of his bed, locking eyes with the owner of the apartment-- your neighbour, Lee Minho.

You’ve met him the first week you moved into the apartment. It wasn’t anything romantic, how the teenage books always used to say, he didn’t even help you with the oh so heavy boxes you carried into your apartment all by yourself because the elevator just had to be broken the same week when you decided to move in, hell, he didn’t even take out his mail without a shirt on like the movies used to show. No. The way you met Lee Minho was kind of unpleasant and you’d be more happy to meet him any other way but this, but it seems like god had different plans for the two of you.

You met Lee Minho under bad circumstances, and those were that your washing machine broke exactly the first time you tried to use it. Well, it didn’t even break, to be exact, it just wasn’t really plugged well into the canalisation, as your neighbour himself told you when he paid you a visit after you managed to successfully be unaware of the whole thing and accidentally flood out his apartment with it. 

His face was scrunched up in frustration back then, yet he still acted polite and explained the matter to you in a calm way. When you let him into your apartment, shocked, he not only fixed your washing machine, but managed to steal your heart right there and then-- in his grey sweatpants, crouching on your wet floor. 

“I am so sorry, I really had no idea it wasn’t done properly… my cousin did it for me, since I’m totally useless and I just trusted him with it, but it turns out that I really shouldn’t have…” you mumbled, hands shaking and your lower lip nervously trapped in between your teeth. You wanted to give off the best first impression you could, yet all you managed to do was embarrass yourself in front of your neighbour and on top of that, flood his entire bathroom, which meant he had to get the walls repainted.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know. Let’s hope it won’t happen again.” he smiled, the frustration leaving his face in the instance, the furrowed eyebrows replaced by a welcoming glint in his eye instead.

“I will pay you for the paint you’re going to use for this-” you gestured to the wet spots on his walls. He managed to invite you over to his apartment that was situated exactly below yours to show you the damage, which you accepted, because it was your fault, after all. You felt terribly bad and embarrassed to be the cause of his trouble.

“No! It’s okay,” he smiled again, subconsciously squeezing your shoulder, “you don’t have to. You can… come help me repaint it and then we’ll be even.” he grinned at you. 

And that’s how you ended up at his apartment a few days later, a paintbrush sitting in your hand and a paper hat made of newspaper decorating your head made by your neighbour so you wouldn’t dirty your hair with the white slicking off the ceiling. See, Minho told you he knew how to do it himself, but the truth is, the renovation of his bathroom was clearly all just improvisation and neither of you knew how to do such a thing, but it only made it more fun for the two of you. 

You bonded over your shared frustration when trying to keep his three cats out of the small room that day. I mean, he couldn’t thank you enough when you saved Dori from drinking up the paint he left opened on the floor, a relieved sigh escaping his lips being all you needed to hear to make your heart burst with adoration.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho tears you out of your reminiscing, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumble, drifting your eyes to your hands in your lap, sighing, “I just remembered how the two of us met. I’m surprised you even wanted to be friends with me after I flooded your bathroom back then.” you grin, hearing him giggle.

“I was so mad that day I seriously thought I was going to throw a fit, but when I saw your scared eyes, I just couldn’t do that to you.” he laughs, sitting next to you and offering you a glass of orange juice. He discovered your addiction for it when you bought a whole carton of it last winter and managed to drop it on the stairs, making it spill everywhere with a loud curse leaving your lips, resonating through the whole apartment complex. 

You take a sip from the glass, smiling at him and looking him in the eye again. “I would have cried if you threw a fit.” you snort.

“Oh I know, I could tell, trust me.” he laughs. It seems like Minho always knew what was the right thing to say in moments like these. Over the past few months, Lee Minho grew into your best friend. There is only so much stuff you can hide from your neighbour-- with the walls being thin and rumours spreading quickly from the elderly ladies living in your apartment complex, but to be honest, after all this time, you would trust him with your whole life.

You can’t even count the times he must have heard you crying in the middle of the night, or the times when he made the effort to go up the stairs and knock on your door when he did just so you didn’t have to cry alone. You felt a little embarrassed the first time he did it, but after a while, it was nice to have somebody to lean on when things got rough. He was always there-- exactly 20 stairs below you-- and you knew you could always count on him with everything.

“You knew me too well even back then,” you roll your eyes at him, catching the playful glint in his eye once again. 

“I wish I could un-know some things though, you know-”

“Don’t even start-”

“-like the time when you ran out of toilet paper and called me to bring some in, like seriously, Y/N?” he glares at you, teasing even the last bit of you in his so familiar nature. Yes, this was the Lee Minho you knew.

“Not my fault you used it all up the evening before when you came over! It was totally not my fault!” you yell out, accusing him.

“Not my fault your cooking made me sit on the toilet for 30 minutes-”

“Let’s just stop talking about this.” you cut him off, laughing to yourself.

It felt kind of pathetic, but he really knew every bit of you. He knew every centimeter of your apartment, and it wasn’t just because it was the exact copy of his-- just decorated differently-- it was mainly because he’s spent so much time in it. Minho was your neighbour, your first friend in this big town, he was your closest friend and your companion. You felt connected to him on a whole another level you never knew even existed before. It was crazy.

“Right. I still have to pack these things,” he nods, motioning to a few of his books sitting on his bed-side table and the cat toys laying in the corner of his bedroom. Soonie, Doongie and Dori were at his parent’s house for the time being and the apartment without them seemed even more empty now that the tree creatures weren’t walking around the rooms and jumping into your lap. 

You sigh, nodding along with him. You get up, bringing the cardboard box closer to your feet and start carefully placing the books into it, avoiding eye contact with him at all cost. With every item disappearing into the boxes and bags sitting by the door in his hall just waiting to be moved, you feel like a bit of your soul is leaving, bit by bit. It doesn’t feel right.

“Thanks for coming to help, by the way,” Minho cuts through the silence, making you look at him. His eyes look at you with sincerity and longing in them and maybe you understand the feeling way too well, but neither of you dare to act up on it. Not now, that he’s not going to be your neighbour anymore.

“It’s nothing, really,” you mumble, “that’s what friends do. Besides, I doubt you’d be able to do it all on your own, since you clearly need my help with everything in your life.” you tease, grinning at him.

He shakes his head in disbelief, poking your side. “Yeah, you’re right,” he laughs out, “but really, I mean it. It’s hard enough for me to… you know… leave… but you helped me so much with sorting out my feelings and the mess in my apartment as well, so I’m really thankful.” he nods, giving you a warm smile that always used to leave you breathless.

“It’s okay. I know it must be hard for you.” you say, closing the box and moving it to the door of his apartment. You look back to the room-- the only thing left in the small space was his grey rug you used to lay on more times than you can count, staring into the ceiling as you listened to your friend rambling about his day next to you, and his bed you, admittedly, slept a little too many times in for the fact that your own bed was literally 20 stairs away. 

“And you?” he asks, voice small and hazy.

“Me? What about me?” you furrow your eyebrows, taking a seat back next to him.

“Is it hard for you too?” he repeats.

When he first told you about the job offer he got from the other side of the state, you were a tornado of emotions. You felt lost and terrified of being lonely, but the emotion overtaking all of it was joy-- pure joy and pride that your friend was finally being recognised for his hard work and skills. You hugged him tight that day, leaving a shy peck on his cheek you regretted in the instance when you saw his reddened cheeks, telling him how proud of him you were and how he should definitely take the chance. 

It was the best thing that could ever happen to him-- and that is exactly what you told him back then. 

“Do you think I should go?” he asked, voice unclear and coated in nerves.

“Do what your heart desires.” you told him. Although you never wanted him to leave, to move out of the safe space he created for you in the apartment below yours, you never wanted him to miss the great opportunity he just had. His career and his well-being meant so much more to you than your own happiness.

And so he took the job offer and here you were, almost two weeks later, helping him move out to the other side of the country, and it hurt you, it hurt you so damn much, but there’s nothing you would have done differently.

“This isn’t about me,” you mumble, staring into his eyes. You wonder if they tell on you-- if he sees the sadness in them, the fear of losing him forever. They say your eyes are the window to your soul and you wonder if Minho sees inside, because you are inviting him in. You’re going to miss him, but you will probably never tell him. Because that would only make it harder for the two of you.

“Tell me.” he insists, taking in your emotions, his voice barely louder than a whisper in your ear as he comes closer to you, intertwining your legs on the fuzzy rug.

You scoff, shaking your head. “What do you think?” you ask.

There’s no way he doesn’t see the state you’re in. You haven’t slept in days, your dark circles making their visit under your eyes ever so often since you discovered the possibility of losing the person that is the closest to you. You tried to put a happy face in front of him, you really did, but Lee Minho knows you too well. You know he knows. You both just pretend he does not.

He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing. The closeness of your bodies makes your heart race. Sure, you’ve been this close before, but it has never felt as intimate as now. You stare into his eyes for a moment before you let your eyes instinctively close on themselves just so you don’t let them wander to his lips, because that would surely let him know a little too much about the feelings you have for him. 

“It’s hard to let you go, but I know you’ll truly shine there, you know?” you let out, whispering. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, eyes filled with sadness and fear, flicking in between your eyes and your lips, just how you were scared of doing a few seconds ago. You wonder if he’s going to kiss you, if he’s going to give you the last goodbye, but he doesn’t.

His lips reach your forehead instead, placing a loving kiss onto your skin, but the butterflies in your stomach act on it with the same intensity as if it was a real kiss.

“You’re going to do amazing, Minho. Don’t be afraid. I believe in you.” 

And with that, you pay your goodbyes. Neither of you say it, but the both of you know that it might be for the last time. It feels like an end-- maybe because it is, but hell, you still treasure these moments just as much. You really did have fun with Lee Minho in your life.

Your feet reach the bottom floor, hands hurriedly banging onto the wooden door. Your breathing is quick, hands shaking from nerves. There’s no way you’re letting him leave like that. You know you already said your goodbyes at his doorstep yesterday, but after reading the letter, things were put into a whole different perspective.

You recall the words on the paper, the sentences running through your head like a broken record as you continue to bang on the door.

Dear Y/N,

I know we already said our goodbyes, but I can’t sleep and I feel like I have to write you this letter. There are so many things I want to tell you, but can’t, simply because I am a big coward and I’m also, coincidentally, bad with words, but I guess… here goes nothing.

I know you felt it last night. I regret not kissing you on my crusty grey rug you love so much (you can keep it if you want), but at the same time, I regret nothing. Perhaps ending it all with a kiss would make it only harder for me us.

From the day I met you, I knew you were going to be someone special. And not like, special in a way that you are special, because we are all just ordinary normal people, but special to me. You stole a big chunk of my heart and you never gave it back, so I guess I’ll just let you keep it haha. I know I told you I didn’t yell at you for the washing machine because I didn’t want you to cry, but it was mainly because you were too beautiful and I got nervous, so…

You told me to do what my heart desires when I first told you the news. I know it sounds cheesy, but what my heart desires the most has always been you. I know you’d feel bad for keeping me here, though. We have always been dreaming together and my dream has finally come true. It hurts me to know you won’t be there by my side to live it with me and it hurts me to know your dream hasn't come true yet, but I am rooting for you. You know that.

Anyways, I am spiraling a little. I wish this wasn’t so hard for me. 

I should have asked you out on a date long, long ago. I missed out big time. But I guess it’s too late to do that now. 

It hurts me to know I won’t be just a floor away from you now. It hurts to know there will probably be another dude moving in in a few days that will get to live though your first meeting (and I hope it won’t be as disastrous as ours was), but at the same time, I don’t want you to be hanging on me. 

Promise me to be happy. Promise me to never change. 

And the most important thing I wanted to tell you is that I love you. I’ve always had and maybe I always will, who knows. I know it changes nothing. I guess I just selfishly, desperately wanted you to know. In case you didn’t know it already.

Oh, and your cooking’s actually nice. 

I love you. 

I’m going to I miss you already. 

— sincerely, your favorite neighbour, partner in crime, washing machine repairer, pain in the ass, and the most fabulous best friend,

Minho. ♡

Once you finally realise you own a spare key you were supposed to return to your best friend last night before saying goodbye, your hands instinctively take it out from the huddle of keys from your own apartment and unlock his front door. 

Your feet dash through his apartment, reaching his bedroom, but finding it empty. 

You nervously turn around, seeing the boxes from next to his door had disappeared, just like his suitcase had, when it truly hits you one last time-- he is gone.

He is gone and there’s nothing you can do about it now. You loved each other, but now, it’s too late.

You reach his bedroom and find the grey rug still there, waiting for you. Your feet wobbly meet the middle, letting you fall to the floor as you hug yourself on the floor, laying in the emptiness of his room, missing the way he’d always lay next to you and his cats crawled on top of your body. 

And you finally let yourself cry-- you let it all out, because the truth is, even though you never said it to him, it is so damn hard for you. It feels like a piece of you left with him.

But perhaps, what hurts you the most about it all is, that it’s never coming back. 

You didn’t even get to tell him you love him.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Avoidance (Jane Volturi x Reader)

You went looking for Felix, even checking the library when you couldn't find him anywhere else. Felix didn't read. He couldn't stand it, if there were anyone to never be in the library it was Felix. To your slight horror and surprise you found your mate, Jane, instead. 

Whilst you two were mates, she was still quite cold and hostile around you most of the time. It was a very rare time that she let down her guard and really enjoyed spending time with you. It impacted you by feeling as though you were constantly walking on eggshells with her. So much so you eventually had begun to avoid her. Much to her disapproval although she never let it show. 

"Hey, uhh, is Felix here? Have you seen him?" You asked her.  "Of course, he isn't. This is the library." She said with a matter of fact tone as she beckoned you into the room. You complied standing in front of her as she asked. "Why are you looking for him?" "Oh, I just wanted to talk to him, really. Nothing important." You assured her. "Wouldn't you rather talk to me?" She asked lightly although her gaze was just empty as it had ever been. You dropped your gaze, stumbling slightly for words before Jane leaned back with a hardened gaze directed towards the window beside her. "Of course, you wouldn't." She said lowly. You immediately felt guilty, not wanting her to get the impression you wanted nothing to do with her.  You moved to sit on the window set beside her. "Actually Jane, can we talk for a bit instead? I haven't seen you in a while." You seemed to have surprised her as she straightened slightly, her eyes quickly moving back to yours. "I'd like that." She said quietly. 

Gradually you had warmed up to her, finding she was trying her best not to scare you at first and then she realised it was easier to speak to you than she had thought. The mate bond giving you both the confidence you needed. You hadn't even noticed that during your conversation, you had gotten closer to her. Jane's eyes ran over you once, noting your intense stare on the detail of her dress. Your finger trailed over the pattern on her skirt, delicately. "Will you accompany me to my room?" She asked. You hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, okay." You said after a moment meeting her gaze with a small smile. The two of you slid off the window seat as you let Jane lead the way. 

You immediately noticed Jane had a small loveseat in her room opposite her bed. However, Jane paid no mind to it and instead sat on her bed. She gave you an expectant look. Although you were uncertain if that was an invite. She patted the bed beside her. "Come sit with me." That was definitely an invitation. You complied, climbing upon the bed beside her. "Do you ever use this?" You asked, looking down at the perfectly made bed. You were consciously aware that every tiny little movement you made, intentional or not, messed it up that little bit more. "Not often." Jane responded. "We have no use for them but they're a comfort. It's better than anything I had when I was human. I tend to lay on it rather than in it." You nodded, pleasantly surprised with how much of a response you had received. 

Without warning, Jane reached out for your hand and brought it to rest on her knee. Your heart had then began to race. You knew had a good reason to avoid touching Jane as you had since the beginning. If she wanted physical contact then she had the control to initiate it on her own terms. She wasn't a particularly affectionate person, or at least, towards nearly every other person than Aro and Alec. It seemed like affection had to be earned with her and you didn't want to upset her by pushing her limits. Whilst she had hugged you briefly, even giving a quick kiss to the cheek on the days she's feeling generous. Those were rare, barely one or two occasions, any other contact is her guiding you out of someone's way or in the direction she wanted you to go. All of the above was quick and felt very forced with very little meaning behind it. 

This display of affection didn't feel forced and was longer than any touch combined had been. Even more so, you felt the genuine emotions she had for you. You really hoped it was love behind her actions. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked quietly. "Wh-What do you mean?" You stammered. "You're looking at me with fear and confusion. I'm asking why." Jane responded. "O-oh. I just wasn't expecting you to do that. I've always had the impression that you didn't like me touching you." You answered. "I didn't, at the beginning." She said. "However you've been here for months and I've been trying to get used to you. Although I will tell you that you haven't made it easy for me." You paused, uncertain of what to say and Jane could see that plainly on your face. Your brow had furrowed even more. "I am aware that you avoid me, (Y/N). You know when I'm not on guard or with my brother and most of the time you seek out Felix or another guard before I can consider going to you. Any other time, you tend to be on your own." 

So perhaps it was painfully obvious when hearing Jane's perspective upon it. Although you thought you had been doing her a favour or that she simply didn't care. "I thought it was what you wanted." You responded quietly. "I didn't think you wanted to see me and me being preoccupied meant you didn't have to." "It was, in the beginning." Jane admitted. "I wanted that because it meant next I could keep you distanced from me. It would just be myself and my brother, serving Aro. However recently you have been on my mind.” Jane looked away, staring at the floor across the room. "Until I realised very recently that I didn't want you so far from me. You spend too much time with Felix. So much so, it looks like you're his mate- not mine. I don't like that." Jane paused thinking for a moment, seemingly unsatisfied with her previous statement. "If you had a problem, if you were in trouble or upset, I know you'd go to Felix or Demetri. Although you should be coming to me. At first, I thought that was your fault. I was angry with you for always spending time with them and avoiding me. However I've been thinking about it and have recognised it isn't your fault. The problem is my behaviour. It's not easy leaving everything you knew behind to live with us. There is still a lot you don't understand about our kind and you've been adapting to that. My behaviour has led you to believe you cannot approach me for anything and instead must go to Felix or Demetri or any other more sociable guard. I am the last person you'd go to out of the fear that your inconveniencing me, when I should be the first person because your my mate. No one else's. That is why I've been trying to get you alone recently. I want to show you that I care and that if anything were to ever happen to you...I want to know about it. I don't want to hear it from Felix or Demetri or anyone else. I want to hear it from you. That is why I was disheartened when you came to, finally, only to be told you were looking for Felix. Then I became even more disheartened because you weren't comfortable talking to me. You never even said what you wanted him for. Even after I offered, you still wanted him. It's wrong and I don't like it. However I caused that and therefore it's up to me to fix it." You were taken aback by how vulnerable Jane had been. You slowly nodded. "I'll come to you." You assured her. "I didn't want to bother you and..." You paused, catching yourself before you spoke the words. However, Jane tugged you that little bit closer to her with your conjoined hands. Her eyes on you, once more. Silently promoting you to finish the sentence. "...I was worried about how you'd react about anything when it came to me. I see what you're capable of and it's frightening sometimes." You admitted quietly.  After a moment of silence you regretted saying it. Having admitted that you were sometimes afraid of her. As she let go of your hand, your heart sank.

In silence she pushed you back, gently, hovering over you as you lay back on her bed. You felt one of her legs cage both of yours, ensuring you wouldn't have gone anywhere. Jane's expression was stoic, even as she leaned closer to you, her cold hand against your cheek. "You don't ever have to be afraid of me." She whispered to you. "You're special." Jane's thumb brushed against your cheekbone. "You, Alec, Aro, Caius and Marcus are the safest people in the world." She smiled slightly at you. "Never be afraid of me." She whispered quietly before closing the gap between you, kissing you softly on the lips. You inhaled in surprise and you felt a small smile of amusement against your lips. This was your first kiss with Jane. Your first real kiss to the lips with Jane and you felt your chest flutter within your chest. Perhaps your heart skipping a beat only for her. 

She softly broke the kiss with a small smile. "Your heart is pounding." She said quietly. "I think it might give out." You said breathlessly. Jane hummed in amusement. "No, it won't." You weren't so sure, your mind still feeling at the memory of her lips on yours. "Don't forget to breathe." She whispered and that was when you realised you really had been holding your breath. You released the breath you were holding before taking a deep breath in.  Jane smiled softly at you before moving to sit on her knees beside you. 

She gently lifted your wrist moving your hand to press against her own cheek this time. "Are you alright?" Jane asked. You nodded. "I'm good." You said with a slight smile. It made Jane smile too. "When we're alone, you get this side of me. I'm not one for showing such affection around others. It's inappropriate. I might not always show my feelings, (Y/N) but it doesn't mean I have none." "I never thought you were unfeeling." You responded. "As long as you know." She said to you with a knowing look. 

Before blinking, her smile vanishing. "My apologies, it seems I am being called upon. An unexpected turn out from a trial. It appears I must leave you." You moved to get off the bed but by the time you sat up, Jane pushed you back down. "Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I'm done." "What do you mean 'stay here'?" You asked. Jane turned to you as she walked towards her door. "I want you here." "I'm sensing a pattern with you and the phrase 'I want'." You tilted your head at her. She smiled innocently at you though her eyes gleamed with mischief. "I always get what I want." 

It had been three hours. After the first hour and a half, you had fallen asleep. Jane stood over you, looking down at your sleeping form without any expression. Her love wasn't easily found. However, if you were patient enough, it would eventually show. She reached out, stroking her fingers along your cheek. You jolted grabbing her wrist with a gasp. Her hand was freezing to the touch but just someone touching you often made you jump. She hushed you softly. "Shhh, it's just me (Y/N)." When you saw it was her, you sighed in relief, your head falling back and your tight grip loosened upon her wrist. "Jane, you scared me so bad." You mumbled quietly, sounding like a whine. Her thumb brushed over your cheek. "Go back to sleep. It's okay." Your head drifted to the side, relaxing once more. "Go back to sleep."

[prose-for-hire]

UC Sunnyhell: Part three

There’ll be Hell to pay

Previous Part // Next Part

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Spike and you haven’t been getting along and it all reaches a boiling point. Harsh words are exchanged but something happens to make you both question your thoughts about the other. Will this be enough to change your perceptions though? College AU

Og request by: @sunflower-stan​

Requested tags: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @harpersmariano​

Warning: Sex reference, swearing.

He appeared to have no redeeming qualities. His personality was flat, two-dimensional. Like some bully in a kids cartoon. Not that you had particularly looked very hard since your first meeting.

He had upset you. And this ‘revenge’ was all you were thinking about. Your friends had planned it all out with you that night. They were all going to arrive soon and you were pacing with nerves. This could go badly.

You had convinced them to choose the least likely action to get you all into a physical fight. Something that appeared innocent that would annoy him greatly. If he got really mad there would be hell to pay. 

They all came over, spreading their stuff around the living room. Taking up as much space as possible because of the way he had all but made you live out of your room rather than face him. They made as much noise as possible and basically tried to antagonise him as much as possible. The way he had with you.

When someone mentioned Angel might show, Spike snapped and stormed out of his room ready for a fight. No bloody way was he coming into his home.

As he opened his mouth, about to speak, he saw something in Xander’s hand. He noticed that you had all been passing around a liquor bottle. He snatched it from Xander.

“That’s mine” He accused.

“Oh no, actually spike, that one over there was yours. My friend Faith supplied this one” Buffy explained, giving him an overly sweet smile as Xander took it back. He scowled between her and his now empty liquor bottle.

“Get out” He snarled.

“You’re not the only one that lives here-” Cordy started in your defense, but she was quickly cut off.

“Fine. We’ll make it a real party. I’ll invite my mates won’t I?”

“You don’t even like them that much” You replied getting to your feet, you had overheard him mutter it to himself when one of them annoyed him again.

“Well, I’ll like them a lot more when they round up your little gang of-” He smirked at their reactions, “Or, everyone could just bugger off I suppose. Wouldn’t need to invite ‘em then”

Everyone shared concerned looks. They had heard about the types of people he had around him. They looked at you as you broke the stare-down you and Spike were sharing. You just nodded and they scrambled to leave. Making sure that you knew you could call them at any time.

Once they left he smirked and began to turn to leave back to his bedroom. But you wouldn’t let him go. Not this time.

“Will you just grow up!?” You screamed as he turned around and closed the space between you. If there was hell to pay after these words you would happily go skint. He should hear them. After everything.

“Yeah, ‘cause you and your little bloody clique are right grown ups, yeah? So grown-up you whisper about people behind their backs!”

“What?”

“I’m disgusting to you, yeah? You’re such a bloody ponce – like them, not even got the stones to say it-” He said and you realised he had heard what you said about him to Willow and Buffy. You didn’t think about it, you just shouted back.

“You want me to say it to your face?!”

“Yeah, might be a change from you being such a back-stabbing bitch”

“Fine! You’re horrible, nasty and so fucking inconsiderate! You think the whole world’s against you but we don’t care! We just don’t care!”

“Yeah, well-”

“I’m not done – you’re so arrogant! You think the whole world revolves around you. Well, I live here too! I pay rent I deserve some space in my own home! I tried so hard to be nice to you and all you’ve ever done is throw it back in my face!”

“Oh yeah, everybody kick Spike when he’s down” he muttered despite him asking you to say what you thought. You didn’t realise but one of the people he frequently had sex with had finished it with him for the final time earlier that day, “You don’t bloody know me!”

“I don’t want to!” You shouted, this time when you turned you really did just walk away. He watched you go, eyes lingering on you as you walked away.

He snapped himself out of it, jaw tensing and you both slammed your doors on each other. He infuriated you. Completely annoyed you. Just like you angered him. Infuriated him. He couldn’t believe that he would have to live the rest of the year with you.

You had both started this because you didn’t know each other. You had assumed. Not wanted to even try to know each other. First impressions are hard to get over. You had appeared to him as some do-gooder that wanted to “fix” his immoral ways. You hung out with those clean-cut-9-to-5-losers that never gave him the time of day.

You had wrongly assumed all he cared for was sex and causing trouble. Hurting people just for the fun of it. You never tried to delve deeper. Think about why he acted this way. Like you said, you didn’t care.

Weirdly, since that night, he kind of respected you a little more after your outburst. You showed that you did in fact have a backbone when he had assumed you had yours removed like most of the people on campus at birth.

But you stood firm, you were just usually nice to people because it just felt obvious to you to treat people with kindness until they gave you a reason not to. And, boy, had he given you reason not to.

As you were thinking this. He was thinking about you. He had always been that way, the line between hatred and... no. He didn’t care. He was indifferent about you. Or, that’s what he kept telling himself. Wouldn’t even entertain a thought to the contrary.

After this argument, he just kept out of your way. You barely said two words to each other, you just lived your separate lives.

You had realised how the other saw them. How there appeared to be faults there that couldn’t be bridged. You had gotten bored of fighting. It was starting to cut closer to each other’s bones. You were exhausted from it. So you kept away from each other.

You had barely spoken for almost an entire month. If it wasn’t for the occasional musical soundtrack or the smell of smoke neither of you would know the other was in.

That was, until something happened. Something neither of you would have ever thought possible. It all began one Saturday evening, at an open mic night.

You arrived at the dimly lit bar and walked in a little tentatively. Your heart was already beginning to race and you still had a while until it was your turn. You were finally going to do it. You were going to perform something you had written.

You smiled at someone that you recognised, he came over to you greeting you excitedly. The guy was friendly enough but you just weren’t able to form that connection you longed for with him. He was very loud and dramatic – a one-man show, if you will. You struggled to keep up with him in conversation.

“Great turn out tonight!” He gushed as you looked around at the two other people that had turned up. You nodded distractedly as you saw a figure at the bar. You recognised the figure but just couldn’t place it.

That was, until he turned around and caught the light. The bleach blonde hair. That leather duster that appeared to be surgically attached to him.

You caught each other’s eye. Scowling at the other. Why would he possibly be here? Was he going to heckle everyone? Start a bar fight?

The truth was, Spike would come every month or so. To read his writings, his poems. He did this because nobody rarely turned up and the tender took a shine to him and offered half priced beer.

He took his beer and sat in his usual corner. Hiding until it was time for him to get up and speak. He watched you, burning holes in you as you walked up to the bar yourself, asking the guy what he recommended. He stared at you. It was a student bar, there wasn’t an exclusive wine list.

You rolled your eyes and just asked for some shots. Three, to be exact. You threw them back one after the other. Spike raised his eyebrows and then smirked when your entire body appeared to shiver in reaction. You went and sat near the front, facing away from him for a while.

Both of you began to feel more and more nervous about speaking. Especially with the other there. Suddenly you got to your feet, full of nerves you needed to have a breath of fresh air.

He saw you leave and this relieved him. You must have become too nervous. He could go up to speak now that you were gone.

And just in time, his name was announced and he got up swigging from his beer as he walked. Glaring at the enthusiastic guy that had been talking to you who had put both of his thumbs up at Spike as he got up to where the mic was set up.

You returned just as he started to speak. But you sat down without him seeing it at first. You heard those words. The breath was knocked out of your body. The words spoke to your soul. The feeling behind them, it was all you had longed to find. Someone with a mind that expressed things the way you did… but the words were his.

He spoke with such passion, such feeling. The words were incredible and you couldn’t believe they were coming from his mouth. You had goosebumps and you just stared, suddenly finding yourself really looking at him. At the way he spoke. The way he looked.

You held your card containing your own words to your chest, there was no way you would be able to go up after that.

You had listened to his words, all but swooning. Hanging on to every last syllable less it dissolve into the air and you would forget it forever.

How could someone with that much of a nasty attitude have so much heart hidden away? You were in awe. His words, the feelings behind them. It was like the musicals you loved so much. Exploring love and loss and heart.

He caught your eye as he walked from the stage. He hesitated, realising what you had seen but just walked past you to the bar. He ordered his body weight in liquor and just sat there.

Then they announced your name. You jolted with shock, still reeling from Spike’s eloquent words. You cleared your throat, nodded at yourself and stepped up to the microphone. He rolled his eyes at you turning away.

Then he heard what you had to say. Such meaningful prose shared with the world. Baring yourself so raw. The words you spoke had real heart. Real meaning, more so than he thought you had been capable of.

His eyes were on you now. Only you. He didn’t even pick up his beer as he listened.

The spotlight was blinding though so you never saw him look at you in the way he did. That flash of understanding, the way that he could empathise with the way you spoke. How you wrote.

You both returned home separately. Neither of you could stop thinking about the other. Those words. Those feelings. The way he looked up there. The way you did. Almost ethereal to the other. It was confusing. Wrong.

You definitely didn’t speak to each other at all after this. You didn’t know what to say. You were so torn. Between what you knew about him and what you had just heard Had you been wrong about him?

His words had stopped time. His thoughts, feelings. They meant something. They had settled somewhere inside you and you weren’t sure if they would ever leave.

You were daydreaming about his words again, looking out of the window as you waited for your water to boil. You hadn’t realised the man himself had walked into the room behind you. You had spun around and overbalanced.

You tripped and he put a hand out to steady you, before snatching his hand away immediately in horror. You just stared, frowning.

“Watch it” he said, but he turned frowning at himself. He stared at you for a second as if he wanted to apologise but then he turned on his heel and left. Your words, the one that you had spoken had made him rethink. You weren’t just some plastic copy of Buffy and her sorority sisters. You weren’t shallow to him like Angel and Xander or just ‘one of the boys’.

You had heart. You had thoughts and feelings that transcended this mundane part of the world. You had such a beautiful mind that spoke to his own. He was just fighting against it as much as he could.

Since a few more occurrences like this, lingering glances. Weird silences where things felt unsaid, your courage began to grow.

You had to say something. You would only regret it if you didn’t. You feel like you had misjudged him. That he was hard to live with but that there was a promise there. You knocked on his door and began to open it.

“Bugger off!”

“Uh, sorry, I… I know we haven’t been getting on but-”

“Understatement of the century that” He grumbled, looking up from where he was lying on his side in his bed. He was flipping through a magazine.

“I just… your words. The other night. I couldn’t not say something. They were beautiful”

“You’re bloody hilarious” He said harshly, jaw tensing. He felt that you were teasing him. Making fun of him for his poetry. He was used to it.

You didn’t realise but his past was the reason he was so defensive. Had to harden himself. Because they all used to tease him for his poetry. For his soft side. Until he hid it completely. Didn’t allow anyone to see him that vulnerable (apart from the two patrons of the pub the open-mic night was held in – he had to express it someway).

“No. I mean it, I’m not- I wouldn’t make fun of you. I’m really not like that, I loved your poems I was wondering if you were going again in two weeks-”

“What so we can skip there together through the merry fields of glee?”

“I’m s-sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered” You shook your head, he saw that you were genuinely embarrassed and upset. You should have known, just because he could write and his heart wasn’t as completely hardened as you thought didn’t mean that he suddenly wanted to be your friend. Just because you suddenly had one common interest.

“Y/n” he said and you turned back, your hope lifting slightly, “close the door on your way out”

Your face crumbled slightly and you turned and slammed it shut. You had wanted so desperately to have a connection with someone, on that level. That you would even chase after it at even the slightest glimpse of feeling from someone you didn’t like.

You couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you. About that offer. He was so lonely, no matter what he filled his time with he wanted to be able to trust someone. Desperately. But they always disappointed him eventually. He didn’t want to give you or anyone the power to do something like that.

There was a hint of understanding that began between you though since you went to tell him your thoughts. You spoke to him as if he was an equal, for the first time in a long time that someone had. And he let you. You looked at him, past the front he put on. It was only a glimpse but you felt the anger melt away. It had been exhausting living that way.

He wouldn’t dare verbalise his understanding. He did make some subtle changes though. He didn’t blast his music full volume as much. Spent more nights out, rather than bringing as many people home. He was still messy but he left a space for you to live your own life too. Which was really all you could ask for.

You had both humanised yourselves to the other. Let the other into your mind. Your perspectives. He didn’t mention what he had started to do and you wouldn’t dare, but you had definitely noticed. You had formed a kind of truce. And understanding of sorts.

The whisper of a possibility of friendship kind of hung in the air between you. It was there, you could both feel it but it wasn’t solid. You couldn’t grab onto it. It was transient, floating all around. An abstract concept.

For one of you to make the first move, to try and make some kind of amends. It would mean something too great. You wouldn’t push it, you were still unsure.

You were sat in your elective class. You hadn’t really been sure what to take so you ended up in this one. The dreaded paired presentation were looming.

Nobody usually sat next to you, none of your friends took the class so you were facing the embarrassing walk to the front to ask the professor if there was any one else that needed a partner.

That was, until a guy walked in. He was tall and he appeared to take a lot of care on styling his hair. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him in the class before and this was confirmed to you when he stood at the front scanning the rows for a spare seat before narrowing on the seat beside you.

He walked near you and awkwardly asked if the seat was free before he sat beside you. Just as the professor announced that the person sat beside you would be your presentation partner. He turned to you and nodded in acknowledgement that you were paired.

“Angel” He offered his name and it clicked. You had met him before, you think. At a frat party you went to with Buffy so she could try and find him. Either way you had heard so much about him you felt as if you already knew him.

“Y/n” You replied and he nodded his head before it clicked with him too.

“You’re Buffy’s friend, right?”

“Yeah, she’s like a big sister” You smiled and he nodded. You spoke amiably for a while rather than actually doing the work you had been assigned at first.

Actually, you found that you were doing most of the talking but you felt comfortable with him in a way you hadn’t expected you would. The guy was pleasant perhaps a bit more reserved than you would have expected for this ‘popular frat guy’ everyone had made him out to be.

“You’re the one stuck living with Spike, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s…”

You didn’t really know how to finish that sentence now. You had formed a kind of truce. A tenuous understanding. He annoyed you still in some sense but you were intrigued by him. You wanted to understand him. See what else he may be hiding deep down. Why he was the way he was. Angel just nodded, presuming that the tailing off was you implying how horrible Spike was. He had never liked him.

You weren’t friends. You weren’t sure that you and Spike would ever end up friends.

[startanewdream]

Chasing Dreams

Summary: When Ginny Potter is having doubts about her pregnancy, her father-in-law shows up to give her some help, flying time and, of course, present his suggestion of baby names.

Read on AO3 or below:

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The wind blows in her face and Ginny closes her eyes, happily, enjoying the feelings that only the breeze over fifty feet in the air can bring. It's been a while since she has felt that breeze, considering the doctor warned to…

Doctor? 

She opens her eyes, confused, but she can't remember anything specific. In fact, she doesn't even remember exactly how she got there - she knows she is on her Firebolt, well above ground, in a Quidditch field that looks like the one in Hogwarts; there is a mist around the field, but she thinks she can see the edges of the castle. It's been years since she played there. Perhaps she had a contusion? She can't recall, but still, it would take more than a Bludger to stop her from playing Quidditch.

'First season in the Holyhead Harpies, third match, right?', asks a voice close to her and she turns to see Harry slightly below her, also on a broom, his face turned away from her.  She thinks there is something strange with his voice. 'That's the game a Bludger broke your foot after fifteen minutes of play and you refused to leave the game'.

Ginny nods, laughing at the memory.

'I told Gwenog that I needed my arms to play Chaser and they were working perfectly fine'.

'And Harry didn't know if he should be mad at you or kiss you'. There is a playfully chuckle. 'Guess we know which won in the end'.

'Harry…?'

The man turns to her, and now Ginny can see it's not Harry. He looks remarkable like Harry though, but the man with her has more lines in his face, his black hair is starting to recede, his nose is longer, and his eyes are completely different. Hazel eyes that shine with more mischief than she ever saw on Harry.

For a moment, Ginny is troubled, feeling like there is something wrong there; then she relaxes, as some part of her mind recognises him.

'I hope you are not listening to gossip, Mr. Potter', she says, grinning at James Potter with the feeling they are sharing a long-lost joke.

'You mean that article of the Witch Weekly saying how you and Harry like to shag on changing rooms, Mrs. Potter? Because I would never read that kind of gossip'.

'As if', Ginny scoffs lightly. 'Everyone knows you and Sirius are the worst tattletales ever, Mr. Potter'.

He laughs in agreement.

Ginny can't remember when that started, but she knows calling him formally is supposed to be a joke between them. Like he was annoyed when she first called him Mr. Potter ('It's James, Ginny, Mr. Potter was my old dad') until she started dating Harry, and then he'd started calling her Mrs. Potter long before they even began thinking about taking that step.

Ginny doesn't remember exactly - a lot of things seem mussed in her head -, but she thinks of a hug on her wedding day, hearing James Potter telling her she was already a Potter even before the wedding vows.

She thinks she might have dropped a tear back then, though the exact memory evades her.

'Well, you and Harry are our favourite celebrity couple', assures James. 'But I promise I give you privacy always - no matter where you are, though I must note that Weekly Witch tends to be right once in a while'.

Ginny feels warmth through her body that has nothing to do with the bright summer day - is it summer? She thought they were in February… -, as her mind perfectly recalls the aftermath of last year’s final match of the Quidditch league, when she and Harry had postponed the victory party in favour of him helping her ease all the tension from the match…

James coughs, as if to draw her attention, and Ginny blushes, trying to think desperately of something that could back away the memories of being with Harry in the shower and how his mouth -

'Quidditch!', James cries suddenly, drawing her attention. 'How about one-sided Quidditch? We can bet who scores the most'.

Ginny is about to say they have no Quaffle to play when she notices the ball in her hand. She doesn't remember taking the ball - and there is a nagging feeling she shouldn't be playing…

'Ginny?', calls James, and when she looks at him, he is smiling gently. 'It's okay, you can play now'.

His tone is reassuring, and she lets herself believe in his words. Besides, though she can't recall the reason, she feels like she misses flying; this should be silly - ever since she left school, all she’s been doing is playing Quidditch professionally, though in the last months…

The thought eludes her again.

Thinking no more of it, she throws him the Quaffle and goes to the hoops. Ginny was never a very good as Keeper - she can play Seeker very well and she loves chasing, of course -, but she can defend somewhat; most of the time, she just watches James Potter flying, dodging some Bludgers that come out of nowhere, and she thinks he flies really well, like if he really trained for it, instead of being more natural like Harry; his moves are perfectly executed, like a professional dancer.

He manages to score a few goals before she finally gets his ticks. James likes to show himself off; even when he has a clean shot, he likes to do manoeuvres that almost make him break his neck, before throwing the Quaffle.

'Oh, you got me', James admits in a defeated voice after she makes the fifth consecutively defence. 'Lily warned me that flaunting would only lead to me embarrassing myself'.

'You are good', Ginny assures him hurriedly, but James just shakes his head, undisturbed.

'I used to be, but I'm rusty. Well, fair is fair. Let's switch positions. Don't be afraid to put your father-in-law to shame, huh?'

Ginny grins. She flies to the middle of the field and as soon as he throws her the Quaffle she begins.

Her style is almost close to his, she realizes; they've both been trained. But Ginny is a top Chaser and there is a reason she holds the scoring-record from the Quidditch League, so after twenty minutes, James refuses to give her back the Quaffle after she scores another goal.

'I think that's enough', he says. 'Sirius won't stop laughing when he hears I barely managed one save that was luckier than any talent on my part'.

'We can keep it a secret', Ginny promises, and she thinks once more this is one of the things she and James Potter share.

How she never tells when she catches him eating the last piece of cake that Lily saved for herself, and how he never tells her mom the time she managed to be drunk at the Potter's New Year's Eve Party.

She can't specify in which year that happened, but it seems like something that could have happened - then it means it did happen, right?

‘You are really excellent’, James says, flying closer. ‘I’d seen you already, but playing with you…’’

Ginny frowns, not knowing how to answer. His comment seems off; of course, they’ve played before, in one of the many times she had dinner over the Potter’s and Harry convinced them to a family Quidditch game on cool nights. They all would play, her brothers against James and Sirius, teasing them for their old age to which they’d answer that they had more experience, while Lily would laugh, acting as a referee and asking them to avoid faults for once.

That had happened, she can’t have imagined it…

‘You remind me of myself, you know’, James adds, distracting her. ‘We both have been flying since we were young, and I’ve broken more than once through my parent’s broom shed’.

‘I thought your dad was the one who taught you how to fly’.

‘He did, but he and my mom were a bit protective. You know, I was their only son… They wanted me to fly safely, and it took them a while to see that if they didn’t want me to do something, then -’

‘Then they shouldn’t forbid you’, Ginny concludes for him, smiling knowingly. ‘Yeah, half the reason I wanted to fly so much was that my mom said I was too young and my brothers refused to let me play’.

‘See? We were both rulebreakers’. He winks at her. ‘Between you and me, that’s what attracted Lily and Harry to us’.

She raises her eyebrows.

‘Harry broke more rules than I ever did’.

‘Says the girl who once broke the headmaster’s office to steal a sword’, remembers James fondly. ‘Still, they both like to break some rules now and then, but their passion is not on it. That’s why we are so good to them. We encourage this side of them’.

‘You approve us. I mean, me and Harry, together’.

Ginny doesn’t know why this information is important to her; it should be something that she already knew, but still a part of her feels warm at the thought. It’s like if she had always wondered if James and Lily would like her, would approve her relationship with Harry, would cheer them...

He throws her a funny look.

‘Of course I do. I mean, for a while I thought Harry was totally going to miss you, and Lily had to forbid me of doing anything - I was just going to nudge him in the right direction, come on -, but things turned out perfectly, didn’t they? You should see me when you first kissed - I was practically waving little flags written “H&G” in a heart…’

His voice suddenly stops, and James blinks as if he realizes he is oversharing. Ginny’s smile, which first came out when he was telling his reaction, dies slowly as she registers what he is saying.

It’s wrong, somehow. James Potter couldn’t be there.

Harry first kissed her in the Gryffindor Common Room, after the Quidditch game and he was alone because he’d been in detention with Snape - Snape who had always disliked Harry, even though he’d protected Harry all in the name of a long-lost love…

A love that had died with her husband years ago.

Ginny blinks and then she chokes as if the air is not enough to breathe, as if she is underwater instead of flying well above ground. With a sigh, James pushes her towards one of the stands and she barely notes he’s helping her to sit.

She breathes slowly before returning to look at James Potter. He looks younger now somehow, younger than her even, barely in his twenties.

And he looks worried at her, which she thinks is kind of ironic considering he’s been dead for the last twenty-four years.

Oh, goodness, he is dead. And if she is seeing him… She remembers Harry telling her, so many years ago, how he died once, how he saw Dumbledore then...

‘You are fine’, James assures her, looking at her as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. ‘You’re sleeping on the couch of your house right now’.

She nods, still dumbfound, and her hand falls to her lap. Her flat lap.

Now panic crushes over her, more than before when she thought she was dead, and she remembers exactly why the doctor told her she shouldn’t fly anymore, why she hadn’t played Quidditch in the last six months…

‘Your baby is fine too’, adds James. There is a thoughtful smile on his face. ‘This is just a dream, Ginny’.

Relief floods over her, even though she can’t help but think it’s strange not feeling her swollen belly or being able to see her feet.

Now that there is no problem - that her baby is safe - she looks around curiously. As if the mist of early had suddenly vanished, she can see the Hogwarts castle in the distance.

‘I never really played anywhere else’, says James fondly, looking in the same direction. ‘All my Quidditch career was here in Hogwarts, that’s why you are dreaming of here’. He sighs. ‘People always told me I should’ve played professionally’.

Ginny remembers hearing Sirius and Remus describing James, a long time ago, on quiet nights in Grimmauld Place.

‘Sirius always told me how good you were, Mr. -’, his eyes catch hers and she grins. ‘James’.

‘I enjoyed showing off too much. Here in Hogwarts it may have worked, but it’s a cooperative game, I would have sucked playing it in a real league’.

‘I don’t know’, says Ginny slowly. ‘What I like chasing, more than seeking, is teamwork, knowing the other players and working together as one. And for all I’ve heard, you were very good at making people trust you and trusting back’.

‘With one exception’, he murmurs and there is a shadow on his face. ‘Well, I never had the opportunity nor the interest. But who knows what might have happened?’

Ginny feels the same shadow in her heart. She doesn’t know what James Potter would have done with his life, but there are other things she knows – how he’d watch every game that Harry played, how he’d be his son’s most passionate fan, how he’d give his grandchildren their first broomstick.

This thought makes her sad and she feels tears coming to her eyes, as easily as during the first trimester of her pregnancy, when everything made her cry.

‘Oh, no, no’, James says hurriedly, looking at her worriedly. ‘This dream is not supposed to upset you. I thought I could distract you’.

‘Sorry, it’s just - I wish you had played Quidditch instead of being in a war…’

‘I’ve fought in a war so Harry and you and all your generation could be free to do whatever you want. And if it meant I’d die for it, I’d do it again without thinking’. He smiles assuringly. ‘That’s what being a parent means, Ginny. Doing anything for your child’.

She bits her lips and looks at James Potter’s eyes. Even though the colour is very different from Harry’s, she thinks there is the same comfort there, the same patience and the belief that things will turn out fine somehow if you just never give up.

‘I don’t know how to be a mother’, she admits, whispering something that she hadn’t dared say out loud because she never thinks anyone could understand her. Her mother had seven children, Hermione doesn’t think of kids yet and Harry…

Harry is even more worried about himself as a parent than her, and all things considered, she doesn’t want to burden him with her worries.

‘No one does because there is not a formula’. He chuckles lightly. ‘Me and Lily - I don’t know who was more in panic. We were young, we never had even discussed kids, the war was at its peak… But we managed. You will too, and you won’t be alone. That makes all the difference. Sirius, Remus and -’, he hesitates briefly, ‘- Peter didn’t know how to change diapers any better than we, but having them there, having a family… That’s what you need and that’s what you already have’.

‘It’s just not this. I can learn all these things and Harry is there to help but… I worry about me’. She avoids his eyes. ‘I know it’s incredibly selfish, but I don’t know what I will do with a kid, it changes everything, and I’m scared… Not very Gryffindor of me, I know’.

‘The thing I’ve learnt is that being a Gryffindor has less to do with never being afraid and more with never letting fear control you. And from what I’ve seen of you, Ginny, you never let anything control you’.

She nods, in silence. Not being controlled is something she is adamant about ever since she was eleven.

‘You get the right to be scared for you. Of course you do. You don’t stop being you when you become a mother. And you are twenty-three. You still have time to figure it out’. He gestures to the field. ‘If you want to go back, you can. If you want to lay down and retire, you can too. Like you once said, everything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve – and you have that more than most’.

She lets the words – her words – fill her, trusting in them.

‘I - thank you, James’.

‘No problem’, he says dismissively. ‘That’s me, calming future parents’.

‘What?’

‘Nothing’. He presses his lips for a few seconds. ‘That is why you are dreaming now, you know? I saw how worried you were, and I thought maybe we could talk a little. It’s always good to chat with your favourite daughter-in-law’.

‘Am I not the only one?’

‘Still my favourite’, he promises, and Ginny believes in him.

She glances at him. Now James is playing with a Golden Snitch that has just appeared, almost absently, seeming to just enjoy the wind that messes with his hair.

Now she knows she’s dreaming, these things seem to make less sense than before, but still she knows – even though no one told her before – that, like her, James always felt better flying than walking on the ground. If she closes his eyes, she can imagine being with Harry in the living room of the Potter’s house, listening to James recounting his best Quidditch matches, laughing of how he exaggerates in his stories until Lily teases him with the description of what really happened.

(‘I wasn’t knocked by the Bludger, Lily, it was just a scratch’) (‘James, you stayed on the Hospital Wing for three days) (‘Only because you were there watching over me, I could have left the first day, but you were so worried that I let you care for me’) (‘You prat, I was worrying madly over you’) (‘That’s because you were already madly in love with me’) (‘Merlin, could you two find a room to ourselves? You are embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend’)

Ginny blinks, disorientated. These memories can’t be real, but somehow she can almost feel the heat from the fireplace, the softness of the couch as if she and Harry were sitting there now. She can hear their laughter echoing in the room.

‘I know’, James says quietly and sadly. ‘It would be amazing if it had happened, wouldn’t it?’

‘How –‘

‘I think you are just one of those people with the power of imagining. Seeing what it could have been’. He sighs, looking beyond her. ‘It’s good, but it’s also dangerous’.

‘It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’, she recites, thinking of Harry telling her this a long time ago.

‘Dumbledore always had the best phrases. It’s a good advice’. He smiles. ‘Still, Ginny, if there is one thing you could really remember from this dream… Talk to Harry. About your worries. He will listen and support you’. He sighs. ‘Almost ten years and that kid is still deeply in love with you, you know?’

‘I do’, says Ginny calmly.

Their love is one of the things that always keeps her going. Harry encourages her as much as he encourages him, and she doesn’t know how she’d deal with their unplanned and unexpected pregnancy if it wasn’t for him. 

‘Well, it’s obvious by now, but I always supported you. I told Lily ever since you first defended him that you would be together’. He grins. ‘It earned me five sickles’.

Ginny doesn’t know what money is good for someone who is not alive, but she is tactful not to say anything.

‘So Lily didn’t support me?’, she asks instead, rather worriedly.

James blinks.

‘What? No, of course she did. But she bet you’d be together only in his Seventh Year, and I bet Sixth. Harry was much better than me, he couldn’t take that much time…’

‘He took long enough’, Ginny says playfully. This brings another sad smile to his face.

‘Well, he was slow considering -’

‘He was too busy saving the wizarding world, yes’.

‘I saw you two, you know’. He rolls his eyes. ‘Well, not when you took your strolls in the grounds and certainly not in all those detours to broom cupboards, but when you were sitting together in the Common Room, just side by side, holding hands, hugging. This is something Harry never had enough of in his life. Physical contact. If I could give you any advice… Hug your kid. Let him always know he’s loved and cherished’.

‘I will’, she promises. ‘Harry too’.

James nods, then he raises.

‘I think our time is almost up. How about a last flight around the pitch? I know you miss flying’.

‘Oh, I do’. She grabs her broom, but before she mounts it, she turns to him. ‘Huh, James? I know that Harry would probably say something like this is real as long as I think it is… But just between us, is this real?’

‘Harry is usually right about these things’, he says cryptically, winking at her.

‘So if it’s real… no offense, but why seeing me, not Harry?’

‘It was you who needed some comfort and Harry already knows I am always with him. Plus, I couldn’t help but think…’

He hesitates, looking sheepishly at her.

‘I just noticed - like I said, I watch sometimes and - I know you know it’s a boy - I noticed that you and Harry never discussed names - so if it’s up for suggestion -’

‘James’, she stops him, smiling. ‘Harry and I never discussed it because there was never a question. Our baby will be called James, there wasn’t ever doubt about it’.

‘Oh’.

James’ grin is infectious, like watching the sun burning, and Ginny is reminded of how brightly Harry smiled when she told him he was going to be a father.

She’d always listened to people saying how Harry looks like his father, but this is the first time she really sees it. It’s more than the physical appearance.

She wishes Harry were with her in this dream.

‘I was just worried, you know’, James says after a minute, with barely contained satisfaction. ‘If you would think of naming him Elvendork - even though it’s unisex, always good - or after Severus Snape, imagine that’.

‘James Severus would sound catastrophic’, Ginny grins at the horror in his face. ‘But I’m more inclined to James Sirius. Much more explosive and -’

‘Marauder’, completes James, smiling. ‘That kid will be lucky to have you as his parents’.

‘Thank you, James. Not only for your confidence in us, but for… well, everything’.

‘It’s me who has to thank you. You gave Harry a family. That’s the only thing I ever wished for him’.

He mounts his broom.

‘Shall we?’

She laughs, delighted, and joins him for a last flight in the field.

[waynewifey]

A dream of you and me—

soulmate!au

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: In a world where a dream means something more, trying to save the boy from your dreams can change your life.

Warnings: angst, crying

Words: 1900.

A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing feedback on my last fic! I’m sorry it took me so long to comeback, please remember that my requests are always open! I hope you like this.

I've always liked dreaming. It's the moment of the day where I'm taken to a random place with random people to live a priceless adventure. Tonight I dreamed with a boy. Well, I was the boy. We were running through the Hogwarts corridors, but somehow no one saw us. It was like we were invisible. We ran up to the bridge, staring at the moonlight. He was sad for an unknown reason, I could feel it. I saw his black locks blocking the vision when it winded. I've never seen his face before, but, somehow, he felt like... home. He let out a deep breath and I heard some footsteps approaching. Suddenly, the image became blurred. I let out a gasp, waking up. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, before opening my curtains, looking around and noticing it was still night. I got up and walked to the biggest window in the room. The moon looked exactly like the one in my dream. Maybe it is happening right now, I thought. But that was impossible. Well, not really impossible, more like improbable. The soulmate link was a very rare occasion. One would dream about the day or the moment the other were living for days or years, until they meet and recognise each other as soulmates. But they wouldn't see faces or hear voices, so that turned the meeting more difficult and rare. I've never met soulmates beside the ones in fantasy books.

The morning after, I woke up earlier than usual, as I could barely sleep. I got ready quickly and ran to the Great Hall. I was looking for someone who looked like they haven't slept properly, someone who may be up all night. But, to be honest, all seventh graders looked almost dead, thanks to the exams. A red head sat beside me, putting some books on the table.

"I have something to tell you." I immediately said.

"Not even a 'Good Morning'? Fine then. What is it?" Lily Evans replied. I rolled my eyes at her, beginning to speak.

"I dreamt with someone. I know it's rare but I really think it may be... that." She looked disinterested, picking her food. "Lily, I'm serious! It felt so real! And I could feel his feelings too! What should I do?"

"There's nothing to do yet, I guess. You'll have to keep dreaming and collecting clues. But maybe you could forget about it and help me with my charms assignments." She bit a piece of bread and I gave her an yellow smile. By the corner of the eye, I saw a group of boys approaching.

"Or you could ask your pain in the ass boyfriend." She scoffed, turning around and smiling at James Potter, whom were now sitting beside her, embracing her back with his arm and laughing loudly about something I didn't knew. Remus Lupin sat on my side, as usual. He was the only tolerable one in the group. He often helped me with my studies, but our relationship was very far from a friendship. Other two boys sat in front of us.

The day went by normally. Too many classes for my last two neurones. I was exited to go to my dorm and sleep, to test my theory.

I could see the dark sky and the Whomping Willow. A rat ran to the roots of the tree and pressed a small knot. The tree stoped moving. We dove into a hole next to it. After a long time walking inside of a tight tunnel, we arrived at the gardens of a house. The Shrinking Shack?! What is he doing here? We entered the house and walked to what looked like a living room. I watched as a gigantic creature approached. Some kind of wolf, but it was standing in two legs. It's arms were thin. It was looking a bit... tired? I analysed the beast carefully. A werewolf! Why was he around that monster? He was in danger!

I jumped out of  bed, running to get my robe and my wand. I left the dorms, running to the Castle Grounds. The wind was extremely cold, but I kept running. I searched for the knot on the Whomping Willow. After a few times being thrown in the air by the tree, I finally got to the secret hole. It seemed like it took me forever to get to the house. I heard a howl and a growl, which made me desperate to find my soulmate. Would he even be alive by now? I came across a bizarre scene. A werewolf, a huge black dog, a stag and a mouse – the mouse in my dreams – all laying on the floor. The werewolf turned its head to me, growling at me. The dog jumped, getting in front of me. Where was my soulmate? The werewolf tried to attack me, but the stag got on its way. They were protecting me? Why? The dog barked at me, getting my attention. He ran to the exit door, turning his head back at me, as if he were calling me. I followed him. I ran to the gardens, but the dog was gone. Suddenly, a boy came out of behind a tree, wearing a black fur robe. I annalized his face in the moonlight. I recognised his black locks from my dreams. Sirius Black.

"What are you doing here? You need to go back to the castle right now." He said, eyes not focusing on me and ears on alert, still taking care of whatever was happening in the house.

"What are YOU doing here?! Did you know that is not a regular wolf, but a werewolf?! And if it bites you-"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Now, you. Leave." He cut my speech, making me roll my eyes.

"I can't let you die! Every night I have these dreams, you're always getting yourself in trouble and-"

"You dream with me? You saw Moony?"

"Yes, Black, keep track. Stop interrupting me. Wait, who's Moony?" Sirius looked around, getting closer and lowering his voice, like he was about to tell me a secret.

"Remus Lupin. He's a werewolf. The stag is James Potter. I'm not sure if you've seen it, but the rat is Peter Pettigrew and... I'm the dog. Yeah, yeah, woof. We're animagus. Remus is under control... well, kind of. But it's still not safe for you and I need to take you back to the castle." I was stunned when he grabbed me by the elbow and made me walk all the way back. My thoughts wouldn't process, my mind was a mess.

"You're supposed to drink the tea, not stare at it, you know?" Sirius said, his voice echoing in the empty common room. I blinked for the first time in a while. I took a last look at my teacup, glancing upwards. I stared at his obsidian orbits, frowning my eyebrows trying to figure out what to say. Sirius Black was my soulmate. This guy I've never really talked to before, whom I know practically nothing about, and now I discover he's an illegal animagus, friends with a werewolf and will probably reject me so badly the angels will pity and and let me escape from hell. Because I made it quite obvious by telling him about my dreams, and he ignored it.

"I dreamt about you, you know what this means, right?" I couldn't keep the eye contact for long and quickly went back to staring at my tea. I moved in the couch to a more closed posture.

"Yeah, I understand it just fine." He said. I couldn't figure out his emotions by the tone of his voice, so I looked at him. His expression was as neutral as his tone, not helping me at all.

"Oh, okay. I wasn't expecting this." I rested my cup on the coffee table in front of us, getting up. I felt a slight spark of anger inside of me, starting to burn everything. He scoffed, leaning back on the chair. "Well I don't like that either! It's just- It seems unfair to condemn me to literal hell just because you're not happy about me being your soulmate!" The words bursted out of my mouth without a previous warning, tears forming in my eyes. I had waited for so long to see if I had a soulmate and he just scorn me like that? "I'm sorry if I'm not what you expected, but this isn't my fault!" I blubbered, gathering all the small amount strength that kept me on foot to turn around and walk away. But before I could do so, his arms embraced me in a harm and desperate hug. The smell of his hair made me dizzy, and I could honestly live there.

"I never believed in this. I never thought fate would bring someone to keep company to a person like me but- seeing you cry made my heart ache... So please stay. I don't care if we're soulmates or not, I just... need you here."

Epilogue — 3 years later.

I finished mixing the coffee and placed it at the silver tray. I took a final look: scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, and bangers — it all looked delicious. Not the kind of thing I was used to do, but I definitely am good at it. I walked to our room and opened the door. He was in the same place he was when I left earlier: the bed. I put the tray on the nightstand, preparing myself to wake him up. I sat beside him, staring at his unique features. The sunlight coming through the curtains lightened his nude torso and I got myself admiring his skin.

“Breakfast in bed? Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?” His husky morning voice, massaged my ears. “Fiancée, actually.”

“Well, I thought this was a great way to celebrate your first day of work and our three year anniversary.” I kissed the top of his head as my hands danced around on his curls. “But don’t get used to it, you’re the cooker in this relationship.”

“I love you, Y/N L/N Black.” I stared down at his face. The same face of the boy I fell in love with, a long time ago, and I remembered the first time we kissed through sobs and hugs. This was when I realised I loved Sirius Black more than anything in the world and I knew we were forever. I smiled at him and kissed him passionately.

“I love you too.” He smiled widely at me and pulled me to under the sheets, throwing my apron across the room. “You’ll be late, Siri.” Sirius rolled his eyes at me and got on top of me.

“I have more important matters to deal with right now.”

[rubysunnday]

If your open for requests... A Shelby!Sis where she’s finn’s twin and best friends with Isaiah. Reader has a massive argument with Tommy after protecting Finn for something reckless he did. Tommy crosses the line and says something too hurtful in the heat of the moment causing the reader to storm out but something ends up happening to her after leaving. Isaiah finds her and you can decide the ending. Hope it’s not too confusing, I love your writing🥰

“Ow!”

“Oh, shush.”

“It hurts!”

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten shot!”

“It’s hardly my fault!”

You stood up and glared at your brother. “Last time I checked, yes, yes it was, now shut up.”

“You’re the one who pushed me.”

“And if I hadn’t, I would be currently staring at your dead body!” You yelled, your voice cracking slightly. You sighed heavily, leaning on the table Finn was perched on. “I can’t keep doing this, Finn. I can’t cope with the constant threat of losing you or anyone else. So, for the love of god, sit still and shut up.”

Finn kept his mouth shut and let you continue cleaning the bullet wound in his shoulder, flinching occasionally as you pressed down too hard. You wrapped a bandage around the bullet wound, tying the ends in a knot and tucking it under.

“I’m sorry,” You said quietly, sitting down on the table next to him.

“It’s fine,” Finn replied, taking the rest of his ruined shirt off. “Thanks.”

You nodded, both of you staring ahead at the wall, not speaking.

Tommy had sent Finn to go deal with an uncompliant client of his and you’d tagged along, knowing what Finn was like. But the client, unwilling to give into Tommy and angered by Finn’s attitude, had pulled a gun on you both and you’d only just managed to tackle Finn out the way of the killer shot. Isaiah had miraculously appeared shortly after, taking down the man and leaving you to haul Finn back to the house.

“Do you think he knows?”

You glanced over at Finn. “Tommy?” He nodded. “Yeah. Someone will have told him by now. And then told Arthur.”

Finn sighed, lowering his head. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Why? You didn’t pull the gun.”

“No, but Tommy gave me strict instructions to settle the argument not kill him.”

“Tommy obviously didn’t know what that man was going to do,” you replied. “If he did, he would’ve sent someone else, Finn. He shouldn’t have even sent you in the first place.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you,” Finn muttered. “I put you in harm’s way, again.”

“I can handle myself,” you told him.

“I know you can, but Tommy doesn’t seem to know that. You shouldn’t have come, y/n.”

You took Finn’s hand in yours and looked him the eye. “If I hadn’t come, Finn, you wouldn’t be here. You would be in a morgue. No matter what Tommy says, I’m never going to leave you to do something reckless on your own.” You gently nudged his injured shoulder, giving him your trademark smirk. “We’re the Shelby twins.”

The front door was thrown open and you both looked up as Tommy marched into the room. You squeezed your twins hand, reassuring him, as Tommy’s eyes swivelled to face the two of you, anger radiating off him.  

“What the fuck happened, Finn?”

“Tommy –“

“Did I say, y/n speak? No, I said Finn,” Tommy snapped, and you closed your mouth, jumping off the table.

“He didn’t want to comply,” Finn said simply, shrugging and wincing when it angered his shoulder. 

“So you shot him?”

“No, he shot at me, y/n tackled me out the way and then Isaiah shot him,” Finn replied. 

Tommy turned to look at you and you resisted the urge to shrink under his ice cold expression. “You were there?”

“Tom -”

“You went with him even though I've told you countless times to stay out of the way? When I’ve told you to never get involved?”

“He need help!” “No, he didn’t he could’ve managed on his own, y/n,” Tommy snapped. “You just wanted the thrill.”

You glared at him. “Is that really all you think I am? Some kind of adrenaline junkie like you?”

“Y/N, don’t, not now,” Arthur warned tiredly but you didn’t here, far too caught up in the argument. 

“Right now, yes! Whenever something bad happens, you’re always there. Always watching, always causing chaos,” Tommy said coldly, glaring. 

“If I hadn't been there, Tommy, we’d all be standing around Finn’s corpse!” You yelled, getting far too angry to back down. “Maybe you’d prefer it if I was the one we’d be standing around.”

“Maybe I would!” Tommy yelled loudly.

You stalled slightly, your brain struggling to process what had just been spoken. Finn looked between you and Tommy, the shock at Tommy’s words evident on his face. You took an uncertain step back, staring at your brother. 

You straightened up. “Well, you might just get your wish then,” you said quietly as you walked to the front door, ignoring Arthur and Finn calling after you. 

The door slamming shut behind you echoed loudly in the otherwise silent house.

Luckily for you, it was the middle of summer and therefore still light and relatively warm outside. You quickly stormed down the street, away from the house, trying to stop the tears burning behind your eyes. 

You didn’t know where you were going. 

You just walked.

And walked.

After a while you began to notice it getting colder, the lampposts around you slowly blinking into life. You shivered, crossing your arms and rubbing them furiously to try and warm yourself up. 

Your eyes were obscured by tears again as you realised you didn’t actually know where you were and you tried to hide the sob that broke free from your lips. 

Tommy fucking Shelby was an arsehole. 

An obnoxious, self entitled arsehole.

Yet, you couldn’t stop loving him.

You let out a yelp as you suddenly hit a wall, a hand over your mouth to stop you from making anymore noise. 

“Well,” the man said and you vaguely recognised him as the brother of Tommy’s client who’d been killed. “Look what I found. Y/n Shelby.”

You tried to yell but it was muffled by the heavy hand over your mouth. 

“Now, don’t fight,” the man said, “I don’t want you to ruin what I’ve got planned.” 

Your head hit the wall and your vision went, blinded by blackness as you sank to the floor. A punch to the face. A kick in the side. 

You could taste blood as he punched you in the face again but you just laid there and let it happen. 

Tommy didn’t care after all. 

There was suddenly a gun shot and the man fell to the ground, dead. 

You tried to see who it was running towards you but your eyes were heavy and filled with tears, making it near impossible. 

“Y/N, hey, come on, sit up.”

You blinked, releasing the tears, and suddenly Isaiah Jesus was helping you sit up, holding you to him tightly. Your hand found his and held on tightly as he knelt next to you.

“Oh, y/n,” Isaiah said softly, tilting your face up to the light. “Hey,” he said, noticing you beginning to dissociate again, “come on, stand up.”

You allowed Isaiah to grab your hands and gently stand up. Isaiah pulled you to your feet and you swayed, knees buckling. 

“Whoa, ok, I’ve got you,” he said, effortlessly catching you. He stood you back up and you blinked slowly, not with it at all. “I’m going to let go for a second, ok?”

You forced yourself to nod, readjusting your grip on his hand. 

“Ok,” Isaiah said, letting go. You wobbled but remained upright as he quickly took his coat off, wrapping it around your shoulders. 

You felt yourself loose your balance and you grasped Isaiah’s arm again, holding on tightly.

“If I let go are you going to fall down again?” Isaiah asked. You nodded, forcing yourself to stay standing. “Can you walk?”

You shrugged slightly, wincing as your ribs flared in pain. Isaiah guided you forward and you took a small step, holding his hand in a death grip.

As you walked, you realised that you’d only been a few streets away from Charlie’s yard and that you hadn’t actually gone as far as you’d thought. 

You blinked and suddenly you were outside the front door to number 6, Isaiah opening it one handed as you held onto the wall. 

Everyone was sat around the table in the betting shop looking as if they were planning an assault on a castle. 

Isaiah didn't let go of you even as the entire family stared at the two of you. 

You swayed and suddenly Polly leapt into action, shutting the shop doors behind her and taking you from Isaiah, the boy quickly disappearing.

“What happened?” She asked gently, taking your hand and observing your bruised cheek and cut lip.

“Got attacked by the brother of that man,” you replied, hissing as she touched the bruise on your eye. 

Polly sighed and led you over to the sofa, sitting you down. “Come on, let’s sort you out.”

You looked up as your bedroom door creaked open and Tommy Shelby poked his head in.

“Can we talk?” He asked softly, his eyes holding no malice or anger for once. 

You nodded and shifted over slightly, wincing as you aggravated your bruised ribs. 

Tommy sat down next to you and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.” 

You nodded. “I know.” 

“I didn’t mean what I said. But I know I still said it.”

You looked up at your brother and sighed quietly. “Tommy, you push everyone who cares about you away. And...I know why you do it but it always ends up with you hurting us anyway, directly or indirectly.”

“I just can’t cope with loosing anyone else, not after John,” Tommy said quietly, still not looking at you. 

You shook your head, sighing. “Tommy, I love you. And no matter what you do or what happens, I think I’ll always love you, because you’re my brother. And that’s why I keep coming back every time you push me away.” You sighed sadly. “That’s the problem.” 

Tommy turned to look at you. “What is?”

“I can’t stop loving you.” 

[musecharm-writes]

Bad Influence, Pt 2 (Steve Harrington X Reader)

Summary: Jonathan, Robin, Steve, and Nancy find out more about what happened at Melvald’s; you have your first shift at the general store.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

When Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin head to the Byers’ later that night, Joyce is there, making herself a sandwich and smoking a cigarette in the kitchen.

“Jonathan, sweetie? That you?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Jonathan replies. “Nancy, Steve, and Robin are here, too.”

Joyce appears around the corner, a look of surprise on her face. “Oh! Hey, guys! Sorry, if I had known you were coming I would’ve cooked dinner, or--or gotten take-out, or something. Will is over at Dustin’s tonight so I was expecting it to just be me and Jonathan--” She cuts herself off to take a pull from her cigarette.

“That’s okay, Ms Byers, me and Robin were gonna get pizza later,” Steve says politely. He’s always been good with parents, moms especially, and for whatever reason Joyce seems to like him. 

He assumes that Jonathan has never breathed a word to her about all the shit Steve used to put her son through, otherwise he’d probably be eating all his meals through a straw to this very day.

“Hey, Mom,” Jonathan begins, in a characteristically unsubtle fashion, “we were wondering if we could ask you about something.”

Joyce smiles, somewhat unsurely. “Okay,” she says, with a nervous little laugh, “ask away.”

Jonathan and Nancy share a look before Nancy says, “We were wondering if you knew anything about what happened at Melvald’s earlier today?”

Joyce’s eyebrows draw together, a furrow appearing like magic on a face that Steve privately thought looked too young for all the stress Joyce Byers carries with her. “How do you all know about that?”

“Steve and Robin saw it,” Jonathan says.

“Uh, technically only I saw it,” Steve corrected. “I’m still not quite sure what it was all about, though, we were too far away.”

Joyce nods slowly, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “Well… I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you. Technically, I’m supposed to keep it kind of a secret.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Nancy says, and Steve can tell she’s trying her absolute best to look innocent and wide-eyed. “We’re very curious, is all. And, honestly, a little worried that something bad is happening again.”

Clever play, Nance. They weren’t worried there was another impending apocalypse -- not really. She’s just trying to appeal to Joyce’s instinct to comfort.

Sure enough, it works; that furrow in Joyce’s brow deepens as her conflicted expression melts into a look of concern. “Oh, honey, no. It’s nothing like that.” She bites her lip, mulling it over for a moment, before she says, “Okay, if I tell you, you all have to promise you’ll keep it quiet, okay?”

They all give various answers in the affirmative.

“Someone -- a teenager, around your age -- tried to steal a carton of cigarettes from Melvald’s. I spotted them right as they slipped it into their pocket and started to walk away. Powell and Callahan happened to be there, stopping by on their way to the station, so they took the kid in.”

“Seriously? They tried to steal cigarettes?” Nancy asks, her nose wrinkling with her distaste. “God, that’s so stupid. I’m glad you caught them.”

Joyce sighs. “I feel a little bad for getting them in trouble. It seems like it’s just a case of a good kid making bad choices. I mean, I remember myself at that age…” She shakes her head, taking another drag from her cigarette. She walks over to the coffee table and flicks ash into the ashtray.

“I mean, you did the right thing though, right? Just because they’re some mixed up kid doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have to learn from their mistakes just like anyone else,” Steve says.

Everyone, save for Joyce, turns to look at him.

“...Why are you all staring at me like that?”

Robin puts a hand on his shoulder. “Probably because that’s the most intelligent thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” she says, giving his shoulder a little pat.

“Hey!” Steve exclaims, but everyone else is laughing, and he can’t help but smile.

Even though he knows it can’t possibly be true, because he says intelligent stuff all the time.

--

The morning of your first shift at Melvald’s begins with your alarm clock, which you set the night before to go off at five. Unfortunately, it never actually went off; unbeknownst to you, one of the breakers had tripped in the middle of the night, which reset your alarm clock.

You wake up from a blissful sleep and roll over to see the blinking red 12:00 . For a second, you don’t comprehend what you’re looking at, and then when it sinks in, you scramble out of bed so frantically that you go tumbling to the ground, tangled in the sheets, yelling, “SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!”

You get ready faster than you ever have in your life, skipping breakfast and brushing your teeth in the kitchen sink while tugging on your clothes. As soon as you’re ready, you’re flying out the door, grabbing your bike, and peeling down the road that will bring you to Downtown Hawkins. You count your lucky stars that the only drivers out this early are the people driving to work.

When you get to Melvald’s, you chain your bike up at the bike rack and blow through the door like a hurricane, your cheeks bright red with exertion and your blood rushing in your ears. The tinkling of the bell over the door is almost mocking in its gentleness.

The store is almost completely empty except for a single woman in a uniform vest who appears to be pricing items. She looks over at you; you recognise her as Joyce Byers, the woman who caught you stealing the cigarettes.

“Oh! Hey,” she says, sounding surprised to see you.

“I’m so-- so sorry,” you pant, walking forward a bit to lean on the counter. “My… My alarm... didn’t go off, and I--”

She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re actually early.”

You pause, your chest heaving, looking at her in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yep. By about…” She looks at a clock behind the counter. “Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

You let your head loll against your back. “So I skipped breakfast for nothing.”

Joyce smiled sympathetically. “‘Fraid so. Sorry. If it makes you feel better, Hop’ll definitely be happy about it.”

And, embarrassingly enough, it does make you feel a little better.

You’d like to say your first day on the job goes pretty well.

You’d like to say that, but if you did, it would be a lie.

It starts with the pricing gun, which miraculously stops working moments after Joyce leaves you to your task. She assures you that it’s just because the damn thing is so old and Gary refuses to replace it because of how expensive they are, which makes you feel a little better, but part of you still feels as though you broke it despite her reassurance.

Then, when Joyce offers you a break to go and grab lunch for the two of you from the diner, you almost lose the money she gives you thanks to a hole in your pocket that you hadn’t even realised was there. Thankfully, you’re able to make it with the cash still in hand, but the incident makes you so nervous that on the way back to the store you almost drop everything multiple times.

When you finally make it back, the store is unusually busy, so you’re forced to stow the paper take-out bags under the counter as Joyce attempts to teach you how to use the register. You frantically memorise as much as you can, and are somehow able to make it through the rush without missing a beat, but by the time it’s over and the two of you are able to take a load off, your lunch is stone cold.

“I’m sorry,” you say to Joyce, staring dejectedly at your cold fries. “I don’t know why I’m having such a shitty day today. I’m trying so hard but it feels like everything is going wrong.”

Joyce shakes her head. “Hey, no. It’s okay. Sometimes, you just have bad luck, no matter how hard you try. It’s not your fault.” She places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes.

You wonder why she’s being so nice to you, but you can’t work up the nerve to ask. Instead, you ask if there’s a microwave you can use to heat up the food.

Toward the end of your shift at around 12:30, Joyce calls you over from where you’ve been organising a window display and says, “Hey, would you mind going into the back and grabbing the boxes that have ‘ballpoint’ and ‘pencil - yellow’ written on them? I need to restock.”

“I’ll do it for you!” You blurt out. You can feel your cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” Joyce says, raising her eyebrows at you. “Okay. Uh, I’ll show you where they go and then that’ll be the last thing you have to do before I let you go for the day. Okay?”

You nod, too flustered to speak. You need Joyce to like you for reasons you aren’t totally sure of, and you hope with every part of you that you aren’t being too obvious.

Joyce walks you through restocking the shelves and then sends you on your way to retrieve the boxes from storage. They’re bigger than you thought they would be considering they’re just boxes of pens and pencils, but you guess it makes sense, since it’s not like the boxes are full of individual pencils and pens. There are three of them, standard sized cardboard boxes; you lift each one and find that you could probably carry two at a time, if you were careful. You stack the two boxes of pencils on top of each other on the ground, squat, and lift them up with a grunt of effort.

Now that you’re holding them, you realise it’s a little hard to see around the boxes. You have to angle your head awkwardly to peer around one side, which leaves you with a pretty big blind spot. You guess you’ll just have to trust that any customers nearby will be smart enough to stay out of the way.

You’ve made it almost all the way to the correct shelf before tragedy strikes again.

You glance down at the ground to make sure that there’s nothing you could trip over or slip on, and as you’re adjusting your grip on the bottom box, you hear a voice coming near you.

“--And stop nagging me! You’re not my mother, Buckley!”

Shortly following this is a shout of, “Steve! Watch where you’re--!”

You look up right in time to slam into someone.

The boxes fly right out of your hands. Boxes of yellow Ticonderoga pencils go flying, scattering across the floor. Some of the boxes even come open and pencils go rolling every which way. You end up flat on your ass in the middle of it all.

For a moment, you stare at the boxes of pencils all over the floor, gobsmacked. Once you’re able to tear your eyes away from the mess, you look up to find Steve Harrington looking down at you with his eyes as wide as dinner plates, but not one strand of hair out of place.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Then, Harrington opens his mouth.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” he babbles, dropping to his knees and starting to pick up the stray boxes and escaped pencils. “That was an accident, uh-- shit, I swear I’m not usually this much of a klutz. I’m sorry, please, lemme help--”

“It’s okay,” you sigh, somewhat dejected. You’re probably going to have to stay after your shift ends to finish picking all this up and do what you promised Joyce. You glance at the clock and find your theory is confirmed, to your dismay. “I can handle it. It’s my job.”

“No, really, I…” He pauses after a moment, squinting at you. “Wait. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

He has. The two of you went to school together for, like, your entire lives. That’s not what he means, though; he recognises you from yesterday, when he watched you get patted down and shoved in a cop car after making the dumbest mistake you’ve ever made in your life.

“We went to the same school for twelve years,” you say stiffly. Like hell are you gonna remind him if he actually forgot.

“...Oh,” he replies awkwardly. “Uh. Sorry. But, no, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere else. Did you used to hang out at the mall? I used to work there. Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “Wait! I got it! You’re the one who got arrested yesterday, right?”

Before you can answer, a girl you vaguely recognise as being a high schooler a couple of years your junior appears at Harrington’s side, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him with surprising strength and an almost enraged expression.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She hisses at him, before turning to you with a sunny smile. “I’m so sorry about him, he’s chronically stupid. We’re going to go before he says another dumb thing, right , Steve?” She has him by the ear, now, and you have to admit it’s kind of funny; she’s a couple of inches shorter than him, so he has to bend down to keep her from tearing his ear off.

“OW! Yes , Robin, jesus! Let go of me, I’m leaving!”

As you watch them go, you can’t help but feel disappointed. You’d kind of wanted someone to help you pick up the pencils.

--

When Robin and Steve are outside of Melvald’s, Robin finally lets go of Steve’s ear, saying, “Steve, what have we talked about? About thinking before we speak?”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “I know, dummy. I had to learn it, too.” She sticks her hands in her pockets and glances back into the general store through the front window. “So, what was your angle with that whole spiel back there?”

Steve blanches. “What?”

“I mean , you’re not just nice to people for no reason all the time, even if you did something to them. So why were you being such a hardcore nice guy?”

Steve opens his mouth to say something and realises he doesn’t have any clue how to respond. He crosses his arms and shrugs, flustered. “I dunno. Maybe I just felt like it. What’s it to you?”

He starts to walk away, tired of the conversation, and Robin comes trotting after him, still yapping right in his ear. (He pretends to be annoyed, but honestly, his heart feels full to the brim with love for Robin. Before her, nobody has ever chased after him before.)

“Uh, you’re my best friend, dumb-dumb! That’s what it is to me! My nose belongs stuck right in your business!” She catches up to him and runs around to plant herself in his path, grinning broadly. “So, tell me what it is that has you so riled up.”

Steve gapes at her for a moment before shrugging again. “...I don’t know.”

Robin arcs a brow at him. “Seriously? You’re still not gonna tell me?”

“Robin, c’mon, I’m telling you I have no idea ,” Steve insists. He sighs, and lowers his voice. “Look, I just felt this weird… Urge to stay and talk? And picking up the mess that I caused anyway seemed like a good excuse at the time. Until I stuck my foot in my mouth, that is,” he sighs.

Robin gasps. “Steven Janine Harrington--”

“Not my name.”

“--Do you have a CRUSH?”

Steve feels his entire body burst into flames. He looks around frantically, saying, “Will you keep your voice down?”

Robin’s face takes on an expression of pure glee. “So you do! Oh my god, I didn’t think you were capable. So, are you going to pursue anything? Or are you more the brood-from-afar type?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, will you shut up? You’re such an embarrassment. This is why I never take you anywhere,” Steve says, walking off in a huff.

Robin chases after him, laughing her ass off. He’s glad at least one of them thinks the situation is funny.

[lottiebagley]

Till forever falls apart- Fred Weasley

Out on our own Dreamin' in a world that we both know It's out of our control But if shit hits the fan, we're not alone

Fred Weasley lived in his own little world. He had his friends who he eagerly invited in but he was never particularly aware of the world around him. He never needed to look any further than his circle of friends.

She fell in love with Fred Weasley instantly. From the moment she saw him she wanted to be around him. Something about him made her heart beat faster and her mind run miles. She wanted Fred Weasley in every room she entered.

He never really noticed her.

She was the year below him at school and he never needed to know who she was.

His little world didn't include her and so he barely realised she existed.

That was until she arrived at his quidditch practice in floods of tears in the middle of his third year at school.

Fred had watched in shock when Oliver Wood immediately called a break mid-practice, something he never does, and rushes down to the crying second year.

Fred notices as he flies back towards the ground that despite being in tears the girl is beautiful. Something about her so raw and vulnerable. He pushes the thought away because what 13 year old is looking at a 12 year old, he doesn't quite understand the difference between them is a mere 6 months.

"What's got Wood all caring? Hope he's not dating a child the pedo," Fred jokes to his friends who all seem to look at him like he's grown a second head, even Harry, who had only been on the team for four months.

"That's his sister you moron," Angelina Johnson states, rolling her eyes.

Thinking really hard Fred can almost remember knowing that Oliver Wood had a sister, he just never took the time to realise who she was. He watched from afar as Oliver comforts the girl before she settles in the stands and practice resumes.

The entire time Fred feels drawn to her. Glancing towards her every so often and watching as she reads her book, occasionally glancing up at the practice.

When Oliver finally calls time Fred watches as the girl walks down to the pitch, eaves dropping as Oliver tells her to wait for 5 minutes while he changes. Fred sees his opportunity to talk to her, wanting too not just because she's beautiful but because something about her seems to pull him in, he runs to the locker room and grabs his bag before heading out to the pitch where she's standing.

"Hey, I'm Fred," He grins brightly to the girl who blushes just from the way he looks directly into her eyes, looks into them like he can see her very soul.

"I'm y/n, Oli's sister," She introduces herself, he nods

"You alright? You- well-"

"Showed up a sobbing mess?"

"Yeah," He nods, chuckling a little at how direct she is

"I'm fine. I've been arguing with this girl in my dorm a bit recently. I'll be honest she's kind of a bitch,"

"Really? Who is she? I'll prank her for you," Fred offers brightly

"Florrie Watson, but you really don't have to. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble,"

"I have no clue who that is but just you wait, once I find this Florrie Watson she won't know what hit her. And don't even worry about me getting into trouble, I've done it for much less beautiful girls," Fred promises, the girl giggles a little and Fred would do anything to be the cause of that giggle again and again for the rest of his life.

"Thanks Fred," She smiles, he grins back brightly, fishing around in his bag

"Here, have a chocolate frog, they always make me feel better," He offers, she smiles gratefully accepting the frog as Oliver exits the changing room. He strides over, nodding his end in a goodbye to Fred before leading the girl off talking about a game or exploding snap and some hot chocolate.

Fred Weasley would never forget the image of her, a few feet away, turning over her shoulder to shoot him a warm smile.

Three days later she arrives at breakfast to see Florrie Watson with bright green hair and exploding boils on her face. When she looks to Fred he sends her a knowing wink before returning to his breakfast.

She was utterly in love with Fred Weasley and maybe one day he would feel the same. 

Cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

Fred does feel the same. He doesn't realise for a while but he falls just as hard.

Once she's become part of his little world she is a staple of it.

They chat in the common room, she helps out with pranks, they tease Oliver together.

They grow close over the next two and a half years and so on the platform ready for his sixth year at Hogwarts, Fred is more than excited to see her.

Although, he had probably been in love with her for a while, the realisation happens all at once.

He turns around to see her charging down the platform, skillfully avoiding bumping into people, as she runs towards him and George. She has a bright grin on her face and her eyes are shining with excitement.

She throws her arms around Fred who wraps her in a tight hug lifting her into the air to spin her around.

It's as her easy laughter floats into his ears he realises he's a goner.

That he is madly in love with her.

Despite feeling anxious at the realisation he wouldn't have it any other way.

He places her down gently and smiles happily as she grins up at him "Missed you Freddie," She grins and with that she's moving to pull George into an equally tight hug.

"I'll never understand why you come from Scotland all the way to London to go back to Scotland," George teases her as he releases her from his tight grip.

"Becuase floo powder takes literally seconds and otherwise everyone gets fun memories and I don't,"

"So you're scared of missing out," George deadpans

"You're happy to see me, right Freddie?" She beams, turning to the boy who is staring at her with a love struck grin on his face

"Couldn't be happier sweetheart," He confirms, she grins even bigger, although he hadn't thought it possible, before turning back to George

"See Georgie, some people actually like my presence," She jokes

"Don't remember saying I didn't," He chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender, she laughs loudly, swatting his hand down. She moves to say something but is stopped when her name is squealed from across the platform.

"I'll talk to you guys later," She informs, turning to run towards her best friend, the very Florrie Watson that Fred once pranked.

"George?"

"Yes, Fred."

"I think I'm in love with her," Fred speaks with confidence

"About time you figured it out," George smiles, patting his brother's shoulder with a laugh

If the tide takes California I'm so glad I got to hold ya And if the sky falls from Heaven above Oh, I know I had the best time fallin' into love

She was almost 100% sure she had no chance with Fred Weasley, that and that alone is why when Cormac McLaggen asks her out she says yes.

"Hi boys," She smiles, leaning over the sofa to stick her head between Fred and George

"You smell good," Fred comments, not really thinking about what he is saying but immediately recognising the scent as the one coming from the potions classroom that morning.

"Thanks Freddie," She grins happily

"You look good too, what's the occasion?" Lee questions, he's the only one who can fully see her from his arm chair across from the sofa the twins are sat on

"I've got a date," She shrugs. Fred feels his heart sink as he takes a deep breath, mustering his best fake smile, before putting on a 'totally fine' act, not wanting her to think he is mad, although right now he's thinking up a thousand ways to make whatever boy she's about to go on a date with's life a misery.

"Show us the outfit then," He chimes cheerily, she moves away to come around the sofa, George catching Fred's eye and sending him a sympathetic smile.

She looks beautiful as she stands in front of the boys. Fred letting out a dramatic wolf whistle and smiling when she blushes

"Give us a twirl then," George encourages, she laughs but plays along and twirls for the trio.

"Looking gorgeous," Lee compliments

"You really are," George adds. She smiles at them both before turning to Fred, his the only opinion that ever really mattered to her.

"You think I look alright?" She questions, he wonders for a second how she seems so anxious, like he doesn't think she looks like a piece of art people would wait hours to see even when she's just in her pjs in the common room.

"You look better than alright darling, absolutely beautiful. He's a lucky guy," He grins happily. She blushes a bright red, moving to respond before her name is called from across the room.

"See you later," She smiles to the trio before rushing off towards Cormac McLaggen who is eyeing the girl like she's a piece of meat.

Fred watches as he leads her out of the common room with a scowl on his face "Seriously? McLaggen of all people? If Oliver knew he'd murder Cormac and then he would murder us for letting it happen," He grumbles, receiving sympathetic grunts of agreement from his friends.

We've been livin' on a fault line And for a while you were all mine I've spent a lifetime givin' you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever 'til forever falls apart 'Til forever falls apart

Fred feels his heart sink at the sight in front of him. Cormac McLaggen dancing at the ball with a girl who is most definitely not his current girlfriend.

He's exiting the ballroom quicker than his friends can work out what's going on. "She's in her dorm," it's the voice of Florrie that makes him stop his frantic search, turning to look at her, thinking it best to have a clue what's going on before he charges full steam at a problem.

"What happened?"

"He broke up with her this morning so he could bring Romilda. I tried to force her to come anyway but she didn't want to. Managed to talk her into her dress and we did her hair and makeup but she just wouldn't actually leave the dorm,"

"Prick!" Fred grumbles, shooting the younger girl a thankful smile, before running off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

When he arrives, slightly breathless, outside her dorm his heart sinks even further in his chest. He can hear her sniffles from inside her dorm, raising his hand to knock on the door.

"Florrie, please, I really don't want to go," she calls, her voice cracking a little.

"It's Fred," he calls back

"Oh, do you need anything?"

"Just wanna see you sweetheart," he responds gently

"You should be at the ball,"

"So should you," he calls, "I'm coming in," he adds.

The sight makes his blood boil in anger but also makes his heart beat race.

She looks beautiful, a long silver ball gown flowing around her, her hair curled and falling gently around her head, her makeup is smudged from crying but he can tell before the tears it was done to perfection. She looks like an angel walking the earth and he wants to kiss her right there and then.

At the same time though, he notices her red eyes and the tracks of mascara on her face. He thinks about Cormac and how horrendously he treated her and it takes everything in him not to turn around, march back to the hall and kill the stupid boy.

"You look beautiful,"

"I look a mess," she responds

"A beautiful mess," he sighs, moving to sit next to her on the narrow single bed.

"You look handsome Freddie," she smiles, resting her head on his shoulder, exhausted from crying all day.

"Thank you darling," he grabs her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze "There's no chance I can talk you to coming to the hall is there?" He asks

"No. You should get back though, I don't want to ruin your night,"

"Well my plans were to stare at the most beautiful girl in school from across the hall which I can't do when you're sat up here," he's completely honest but she laughs like it's a joke.

"It's your one ball at school,"

"Look, I know you don't quite realise how important you are to me, but I'm not just leaving you a crying mess on your own. So, you and I will stay up here all night," he decides

And they do.

He steals snacks from under Ron's bed and they sit up in her bed eating them. He makes her laugh and she cheers up a little. He catches Bertie Botts every flavour beans in his mouth and smears Cauldron Cake filling on her nose.

He talks her into dancing around her dorm with him. It's fast at first, music playing from her friends record player. When a slow song comes on he holds her close and strokes his hand up and down her back, she rests her hands on his shoulders and stares up into his eyes with a too quick heart beat and a need to kiss the boy she's head over heels for.

They drop to her bed, laying up as she explains what happened. She tells him that she never really liked Cormac all that much and it was the shame and embarrassment that hurt so much, it was the feeling of worthlessness.

Her friends filtered back from the ball one by one, finding them fast asleep in their ball outfits, her head on his chest and his arms holding her close.

So this is it, that's how it ends I guess there's nothing more romantic than dying with your friends And I'm not sorry for myself I wouldn't want to spend a minute lovin' anybody else

"Where too next pretty girl?" Fred questions with a smile, his arms  wrapped around her shoulder, holding her to him as they walk through the warm streets of Hogsmeade, the first drops of summer warming the couple.

"Three Broomsticks?" She suggests, taking a lick of the caramel ice cream Fred had insisted on buying her in Honeydukes.

"Sure," He nods, beginning to walk in the right direction, swinging his Zonko's bag in his empty hand "How's the ice cream?"

"As good as ever, you wanna try some?" She questions, taking another lick before tilting her head upwards to look at him, he shrugs in agreement before a smirk takes over his face.

Her eyebrows raise in question before his thumb comes down, hand cupping her jaw, the thumb swiping over the corner of her lip and collecting a smear of ice cream, he pops it into his mouth, sucking the caramel flavour off as she stands staring up at him, eyes a little wide and mouth a jar.

"It's good," He nods, casually dropping his arm back around her shoulder and continuing on his was towards the pub. She allows herself to be tugged along, slightly in awe and massively in love as he somehow manages to act nonchalant, in reality his insides feel like they're on fire.

"Hey, Fred?" She questions as they walk, he hums gently in response, eyes flickering down to look at her

"Why no date this weekend?" She questions casually.

"Haven't been on a date in a while if I'm honest," He admits casually. It was true, for a while Fred was serial dater, she was so unattainable and so he occupied himself, tried to find someone who would make his heart beat just as fast as she did. That was until George informed him the more girls he dated who weren't her the less likely she was to admit to liking him if she felt the same, George knew she did, he could tell, not that Fred believed him.

"Very out of character," She teases, a smirk falling to her face "You lost all your game?"

"Why don't you consider how much you blushed when I tried your ice cream and answer that yourself?" He smirks, watching as she blushes once more but rolls her eyes at him.

The afternoon passes pleasantly, harmless flirting that makes them both overthink carrying the conversation.

It was a joke at first.

He had snuck into a small florist whilst she was talking to a girl from her year.

When he had returned to her side, the flowers held behind his back until the girl was gone, he smiles politely along with the conversation.

She had turned to him, ready to ask where he wanted to go next, and blushed madly when he held out a bouquet of sunflowers to her, he knew they were her favourites.  She had taken them with a bashful smile and a teasing 'what have you done wrong to butter me up with flowers'

And it had been a joke when he responded.

"Nice guys buy their dates flowers Wood,"

The reality of what he said hit the pair hard as his eyes widen at the realisation. He can practically see the cogs turning in her head before she whispers

"Is this a date?"

He almost lies. Tells her she's insane and that she's like a sister and he had just been messing with her.

But then he sees it.

The flicker of hopefulness in her eyes.

"I hope it can be," He admits, breathless although he's not quite sure what from.

"Okay, date it is," She confirms, tugging the flowers to her chest in one hand and taking his hand in the other.

'Cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

Fred's foot taps loudly on the floor, a rapid beat ringing through the kitchen.

"You're up early," Molly comments as she enters the kitchen, she's unsurprised by her son's presence in the kitchen even though it is hours before he would normally wake up.

"My girlfriend gets here today. Merlin, mum, you didn't forget did you?" He questions.

It had taken hours and hours for Fred to be able to convince his mother and all the other adults involved to allow his girlfriend to stay for the last two weeks of summer given the location of the Order was supposed to be a secret.

It was eventually Remus' declaration of trust for the girl over dinner after a meeting one night that forced the adult's agreement. "Of course not sweetheart," His mother assures, a loving smile on her face as she watches her son who she's never seen happier. "You know she's not getting here until the afternoon though and that Remus is meeting her in Diagon Alley and he hasn't even woken up yet, let alone left,"

"I know. Just couldn't sleep," Fred admits, rolling his eyes at the beam that overtakes Molly's face

"You really love her?"

"I do. If it means anything I think you will too,"

"I'm sure I will dear," Molly smiles, squeezing her son's shoulder before moving to prepare breakfast.

6 hours later the door is pulled open and Fred feels his heart practically double in size. She hadn't been expecting her boyfriend to be sat on the stairs staring at the front door waiting for her, he had been there since his old professor left. She had been talking happily with the older man, something about her brother's new quidditch job from what Fred heard before she's silenced.

She let's out a mildly shocked laugh when two arms wrap around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around in circles. He places her back to the ground, staring down at her with a bright grin that's mirrored on her face as she stares back up.

Half the order and all the kids have now made their way to the front door to watch the couple's reunion. No one can deny that the entire house seems warmer now that their love is filling the walls. No one can question that it's love to the very truest form as they watch the couple stare at each other.

"You're entire family and a load of people I don't know are staring at us," She whispers, only he can hear and he chuckles a little, his arms still wrapped around her waist as her hands rest on his chest.

He can faintly hear the scream of Walburga Black's portrait followed by Tonks shouting 'shit I tripped, did I miss it?', her question answered by Ginny's laughter and a 'They haven't even kissed yet'

"I'm going to kiss you anyway darling, because it's all I've been thinking about for the past four weeks an-"

He's cut off when her hand tugs him down by his shirt, his lips meeting her for the first time in a month. It's not the most magical of kisses, a little toothy from both their wide grins and ruined by the onlookers and Ron's dramatic faux gags.

She pulls away quickly, not wanting to seem disrespectful and giggles when his lips chase after hers "Next time don't talk so much and just kiss me," She teases in a quiet whisper, just for him, he lets out a breathy laugh as she pats his cheek before squeezing past him in the corridor, approaching Mrs Weasley with a tentative smile.

She's pulled into a hug by the woman before being lead into the kitchen. Fred watches from the doorway as she's introduced to everyone and happily greets his siblings, a lovestruck smile on his face.

If the tide takes California I'm so glad I got to hold ya And if the sky falls from Heaven above Oh, I know I had the best time fallin' into love

Fred sits on the cabinet, his legs open as she stands inside them.

"You really need to stay out of trouble," She comments quietly, trying to be gentle as she dabs the open wound on the back of his hand clean.

"Better it's me than the 11 year old she would have given the detention too if I didn't take the blame," Fred responds, trying not to wince at the sting of the alcohol on the cotton pad.

"I hate seeing you like this though," She sighs, he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead "You were very brave though," She compliments, throwing the red stained cotton pad into the bin as she grabs the ointment the twins made a few weeks before from the cupboard. "We're running low," She comments quietly

"I'll make some more in the morning," Fred sighs, letting his head drop back against the wall "Is there enough for George too?" His voice sounds tired but she knows if there wasn't he would stay up to make his twin more, it was the quickest way to heal the scars of Umbridge's quill.

"Yeah," She sighs gently. "Freddie?"

"What's wrong darling?" He asks, one eye fluttering open to look at his girlfriend. Not liking the anxiousness of her voice.

"I was just thinking that tomorrow I could go to Umbridge and tell her the other night was my fault, your hand is practically raw and-"

"No," He doesn't mean to snap at her but he would never, ever, let that toad of a human lay a hand on his girl. He'd take any punishment she has a thousand times before he let her take it even once.

"Fred, you can't just-"

"I mean it. I'm not letting her hurt you, alright? 'M your boyfriend, it's my job to keep you safe so no. You aren't taking the blame for her finding us kissing in a broom cupboard," He demands, she sighs as she grabs a bandage to wrap up Fred's hand

"You're killing yourself slowly Fred and I won't let you. I was just as at fault as you were and you've taken the blame for every slip up I've made all year. Even when you weren't there," She argues, her voice is soft though, not wanting to fight with him.

His hand that's not being bandaged rakes through his hair in frustration. "Please, please just let me keep you safe?" He's speaks so quietly, so full of nerves and love and every emotion in between that her heart melts a little

"You-"

"I swear to you right here that I'll start being more careful and I'll stop taking the blame for other people if it makes you worry, but, please. Angel, please, just let me look after you,"

He's practically begging and she can't help but agree, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Just start being careful alright?" She whispers the question

"Promise," He confirms quietly

"I love you Fred,"

She had been in love with him since her first year and it was the first time she ever said it to him.

She wasn't nervous though, not even for a second, she knows he loves her back, he may not have ever said it but he tells her in his own way a thousand times a day.

"I love you too sweetheart," He smiles gently, reaching his none bandaged hand to her jaw to pull her to him.

He kisses her soft and slow before she pulls away, moving her head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand that's moved to cup her cheek.

"George! I'm ready to do your hand!" She calls, turning away from her boyfriend to blink away her tears, her anxiousness for his well being feeling overwhelming. George enters the small bathroom, cradling his own bleeding hand.

Neither twin mentions the redness in her eyes.

We've been livin' on a fault line And for a while you were all mine I've spent a lifetime givin' you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever 'til forever falls apart 'Til forever falls apart

"I need to tell you something," Fred had spilt the words out over dinner, interrupting his friend groups story. She immediately turns to him, eyebrow raised in concern. She had joined his friends for dinner at his request, he'd been clingy fort he past month but she thought nothing of it until that very moment.

His brown eyes that usually held so much love and mischief seemed consumed in guilt.

"Alone," He adds hastily, trying to ignore the questioning look from Angelina Johnson across the table who had been talking about her Potions essay.

He stands, his girlfriend following behind wordlessly. Normally, he would reach out to grab her hand but he could feel the cold stare of Dolores Umbridge.

By the time he pulls her into an empty class room, too anxious to go all the way back to his dorm, he can feel his heart in his mouth.

He knew, realistically, that he should have told her months ago. Told her when the idea was first born. Not now, less than 24 hours before it happens.

"I swear to god, if you've cheated on me Fred I will cut you-"

"No!" He's quick to defend himself "Of course not. I would never, you know that," He sighs, still not sure where to find the words. "I have something to tell you but please don't be mad,"

"You can tell me anything Freddie," She reassures, sitting down on a desk as he stands in front of her

"I'm leaving," He speaks lowly

"What do you mean leaving?" she questions, eyes scrunched up like she's concentrating.

"I mean Harry gave George and I his tri-wizard cup winnings and we are dropping out of school to open a joke shop. I'm leaving tomorrow,"

"I- I don't know what to say," She admits quietly

"Well, what are you thinking?" He promts, trying to gauge her reaction

"I'm- I'm kind of mad that you didn't tell me you were leaving. That you've undoubtedly known for a while and you didn't bother to tell me. I'm worried because I'm so in love with you and I don't know what happens to us when we aren't both here, I mean I knew next year everything would change but I thought we had time to work out what we are doing. I'm sad cause I'm going to miss you like crazy, but, if I'm honest more than anything I'm so unbelievably proud of you and happy for you,"

"I should have told you. I know that. But I promise that nothing has to happen to us, I love you, not being here won't change that,"

"And you'll write?"

"Everyday," He assures, standing between her legs to press his lips to hers.

We never had it from the start 'Til death do us part

"So, what do you think?" Fred's voice questions, his hands that had been clasped over her eyes nervously ringing by his sides.

She was the first person to see the inside of the shop and both the twins, who stand on either side of her, were nervous about it.

She looks around with wide eyes, her feet spinning her in a slow circle as she takes in the bright colours of the store.

"Jeez woman, say something already," George groans, his anxiousness getting the best of him

"It's perfect," She grins, turning back to the two boys

"You really think?" Fred questions

"I do. It's like you two in shop form. I love it," She grins, flinging her arms around her boyfriend's arms as he lifts her up into the air, spinning her around as his loud laughter of excitement mixes with her giggles

"You love it?" He asks, excitement evident in his voice

"I love it," She confirms as he places her back onto the ground. She turns to hug George, smiling a congratulations.

Fred tugs her by her hand around the store, giving her the guided tour and pointing out every single product, explaining ones she hadn't seen before. She listens attentively, her heart swelling in pride and she swears she falls in love all over again as he grins at her, eyes shining.

If the tide takes California

I'm so glad I got to know ya

Fred's arms hold her close to him, her's looping round her neck as he sways them gently to the music playing through the marquee, her head tilted up to look at her boyfriend who smile back down.

"When we get married-" Fred starts, rolling his eyes when she immediately rolls her eyes

"Did you just say we?"

"Obviously we are getting married you idiot," Fred huffs, she smirks, reaching onto her tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek "As I was saying, when we get married, it's not going to be this fancy,"

"No?"

"No. Not worth the stress, unless you want a big fancy shindig, if you do obviously we can have one, we will just put a full body binding curse on mum," He chuckles at his joke but she can hear the sincerity in his voice

"Fred Weasley I would marry you with a piece of string for a ring and only one witness,"

"So a small wedding?" He smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head

"Small wedding sounds good. You'll have to ask Oli for permission before you ask me though, otherwise he'll genuinely murder you,"

"I'll do that," He grins down.

She laughs it off, no idea there was a ring in his bedside draw since his first pay check at the joke shop, that he was just waiting for everything to calm down to ask.

And if the sky falls from Heaven above Oh, I know I had the best time fallin' into love

Fred feels like he can finally breathe again when he hears the door of the flat swing closed.

"Hey, I'm back," Her voice rings through the home above the joke shop.

"In the living room," He calls back, he hears her drop her keys onto the small table by the door before she arrives in the door way. Staring at him from the door way

"Thought I told you not to wait up?" She questions

"Couldn't sleep, hated not knowing if you were okay," He admits, she let's out a sigh, crossing the living room to sit next to him on the sofa.

"I know what you mean. Spent the whole day worrying if anything had happened to you," She admits, he sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"How was work?" He asks softly

"Busy. The world is a mess out there," She admits, her job as a healer seemed to only get crazier with each passing day, the war raging on the streets.

"I know," He hums gently, "Did you see Oliver after you finished?"

"I did, he's good just worried about everyone," She shrugs, it was how everyone seemed to be recently.

"I'm glad your home safe,"

"I'll always get home safe to you Freddie, as long as you promise to do the same?"

"I promise angel,"

We've been livin' on a fault line And for a while you were all mine

She feels like she can't breathe when the door is pulled open, she had the address on a piece of paper in Hermione Granger's neat cursive.

For a second, as selfish as it makes her feel, she allows herself to pretend. Pretend the man standing in the doorway is him. Allows herself to pretend it's the love of her life staring at her, and, for the second she does she can almost kid herself into thinking everything is okay.

"You want to come in?"

She feels the world crash around her as she nods, allowing George Weasley to lead her into his house. He offers her a drink and she politely declines, taking a seat in his living room.

"You're staring," He comments, he doesn't seem angry, nor does he seem hurt to see her. Instead, he watches her with pity.

"Sorry, I just-" She sighs, not bothering to finish

"I do it too. I stare at my reflection and trick myself into thinking it's him,"

"I'm so sorry, that you've had to go on without him. George, I'm so, so, sorry,"

"The same to you," George smiles sympathetically. His eyes scan her, trying to work out how she is without asking. "So, that's why you're here?" He questions, nodding towards the ring that sits on her left hand.

"It is. I need to talk to you about it. I'm sorry, because I know we said that we weren't going to speak but it had to be you,"

They'd both agreed it within a few months of the war ending. Being around each other was too hard. They were the one person who reminded the other of Fred the most.

"Okay," George nods in agreement. He watches as she eyes the framed photo of his wedding day on the mantle piece before letting out a deep breath.

"I moved away, to America, after the war- I just- I needed to get away. It was 5 years before I went on a date, it was 6 before I had sex it was 7 before I had a boyfriend. I didn't want to have a relationship, not when it would never come close to the one I had with him, and it doesn't, you should know that it doesn't, but Daniel, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. But- I can't go through with it, not if you're mad at me for it,"

"I'm not mad," George speaks gently, he has a feeling that in this moment it isn't him she's speaking too at all. If it were anyone else he would be angry, but for her, he is prepared to be the bridge to Fred, because he knows the one person who loved his twin more than George himself, was the girl in front of him.

"I know. I knew you wouldn't be I just-"

"You aren't asking if I'm mad. You're asking if I think he is," George comments, he reaches across the coffee table to squeeze her hand gently

"I know. I'm so sorry George, it's not fair to you and I know that. The thing is- You knew Fred better than anyone and you- Oliver keeps telling me that it is okay. That Fred would want me to be happy and to have a husband and kids and- I want to believe him but- I need to hear it from you. From you who knew him so deeply. Wherever he is does he hate me right now?"

"Fred would want to be the one who made you happy,"

"Look, George, I believe in love. I believe in one grand love, a soulmate, a forever. I believe that Fred was mine. He was the one. He was the sun and the moon and the stars. He is the love of my life. But I want kids, George, I always wanted that, and he is gone. I believe that when you die, the person you loved most in life is waiting for you and no matter what I believe it'll be Fred who greets me. I believe that he's watching over me and every decision I ever make I can practically hear him telling me what to do. I have love for Daniel but I am not in love with him, I will never be in love with anyone like I was with Fred, he was it for me. But I can't have him. I think he knows I would always pick him, I would still pick, I wish it were him. So, George, would he hate me for having a life without him?"

"You had a forever with Fred. It wasn't your forever, but it was his. I never saw him so happy. He wouldn't hate you. Just, for me, don't forget him,"

"I won't George. Nothing else comes close. It never will,"

I've spent a lifetime givin' you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever 'til forever falls apart

**

Masterlist

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 14

[AO3] - 2,072 words

x

Lacey kept her eyes fixed on the sign outside Mr Gold’s shop as she walked rapidly towards it, clutching the cardboard tray containing the coffees and muffins in a death grip. She shoved open the door before she could think too hard about it, the bell above jangling, and stepped into the cool darkness of the shop.

Mr Gold was not there, and for a moment she stood, uncertain, bouncing on her toes a little. Then the familiar, rhythmic tap of his cane sounded, and the curtain that separated the back room from the shop was pushed aside.

“May I help - ah.”

Gold paused as he recognised her, sinking back on his heels a little with a wary look on his face.

“Hey,” said Lacey.

He folded his hands over the top of the cane handle, raising his chin a little.

“Miss French,” he said neutrally.

He was wearing a dark blue shirt beneath the suit jacket and waistcoat, the silk gleaming softly in the light from the lamps. The tie was a gunmetal colour, matching the silvery streaks in the silk handkerchief tucked into his pocket. His eyes flicked up and down her so quickly she hardly noticed, but he didn’t lose that wary expression.

Taking a deep breath, and telling herself to get on with it, Lacey marched up to the counter and set down the cardboard tray, taking out the cup with the black coffee and holding it up to him.

“Here,” she said. “Black, no sugar, right?”

Gold’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“That’s your order,” she said patiently. “Ruby told me.”

“So?”

“So, I bought you a coffee,” she said. 

He gave her a very level look.

“Did you spit in it?”

“No.”

“Are you planning on throwing it over me?”

“What?” Lacey wrinkled her nose. “No! I - I just bought you a coffee, that’s all.”

“Oh,” said Gold, an air of puzzlement about him. “Why?”

Lacey hesitated.

“Because…” She trailed off lamely. “Uh - well, because I guess I owe you an apology.”

“Really?” Gold’s tone was very dry, and he shifted his feet a little, fingers opening and closing on the cane handle. “For which particular indignity?”

She sighed, letting one hip swing outward as she leaned on the counter. His eyes flicked up and down again.

“I’m sorry I called you a pervert, okay?” she said. “I know the underwear thing was Darcy’s fault.”

“Darcy?”

“My cat,” she explained, and his puzzled expression cleared.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, I did try to tell you that.”

“I know,” she said. “So I’m sorry, okay? And I’m sorry for throwing a drink over you.”

His mouth worked a little, and she could tell he was thinking of making a snide comment. At least he managed to keep silent, she supposed. 

“So - that’s the reason for the coffee,” she added. “And a muffin. Coffee and walnut with chocolate chunks. Smells pretty good.”

“Alright,” he said cautiously.

She waited, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Was there something else?”

Lacey sighed.

“Okay, I’m sorry for flashing your son,” she muttered. “Really, really didn’t intend to do that.”

Gold’s mouth quirked at that, his eyes gleaming.

“Well,” he said. “You certainly made an impression.”

“God...” Lacey closed her eyes, letting her head roll back. “I just wanted us to be even, that’s all.”

“Is it necessary to be nude for that to happen?”

She opened her eyes, looking at him. He definitely looked amused, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“You got any better suggestions?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Maybe I could accept your apology and the coffee,” he suggested. “And we can call it even.”

“Okay.”

There was silence. Gold raised his eyebrow again.

“You appear to be waiting for something,” he said, gesturing towards her, and Lacey huffed in annoyance.

“This is the part where you apologise,” she explained, and his brows drew down.

“For what?”

“For flashing me!” she snapped. “For opening my shipment of sex toys!”

“Both of these unfortunate occurrences were entirely accidental.”

“For - for being a snarky bastard when you brought over the box!” she went on, and Gold rolled his eyes.

“If you want me to apologise for my use of sarcasm we’ll be here all day.”

“You threw a drink over me!” she protested, and he sighed.

“I did,” he acknowledged. “And given that you have professed some sort of - regret - for your insults, I offer you an apology of equal worth and sincerity.”

Lacey opened her mouth, closed it again, and wondered if he was making fun of her. She decided that she didn’t have the energy to argue about it.

“Fine,” she said. “Enjoy your coffee. I had Ruby make it as bitter as your personality.”

She snatched up the paper bag of muffins and her own coffee and turned on her heel.

“Ah - Miss French?”

Lacey rolled her eyes, swivelling on her toes to face him. Gold flicked a finger at her.

“I believe one of those muffins was mine.”

“You’re not gonna tell me you’re sweet enough?” she asked dryly, and he chuckled.

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Hmm.” She put down her coffee on the counter and reached into the paper bag, bringing out a muffin and holding it up. “Here you go. Sweet, tempting, and delicious. Your polar opposite in every way.”

Gold grinned, the gold tooth on his lower jaw glinting, and she set the muffin on the counter between them. He glanced down, and she watched as the tip of his tongue moistened his lower lip. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes, and for a moment she thought he looked unsure of himself. 

“I’ll take these in the back room,” he said, and hesitated again. “Do you - want to sit down?”

Lacey eyed him for a moment. He was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she raised her chin, licking her lips just as he had done.

“Okay.”

He nodded, picking up the muffin.

“If you wouldn’t mind bringing the coffees,” he said, gesturing with the muffin. “Only one free hand, you see.”

He turned away, cane clicking on the floor, and Lacey set both coffees back in the cardboard tray, balancing her own muffin next to them and following him through to the back room. She glanced around, eyeing the shelves filled with stock, pawned items marked with labels, and what she presumed were antiques awaiting cleaning or repair. Gold put his muffin down on a workbench and gestured to a stool.

“Please,” he said. “Take a seat.”

Feeling awkward, Lacey sat down on the stool, setting the coffees on the bench next to her and offering him his. She pulled a chunk of muffin off, popping it into her mouth and watching Gold furtively as he lowered himself onto the stool opposite and rested his cane against the bench. He reached for the coffee, taking a sip, and Lacey realised she hadn’t been chewing the muffin at all. It sat in her mouth, a sweet ball of soft, coffee-scented cake, and she grabbed at her drink, chewing and swallowing before chasing it with a mouthful of coffee. The muffin was as good as it smelled, she decided, the chocolate chips rich and dark and an excellent accompaniment to the coffee.

“So,” said Gold. “Your cat’s name is Darcy.”

“Yeah,” said Lacey.

“As in Pride and Prejudice Darcy?”

“Well, he was a rescue,” she explained. “And when I went to the shelter, all the other kittens were playing and he was kind of standing at the side looking uncomfortable. He’s really great when you get to know him, though.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, setting down his coffee. “He’s been spending the evenings at my house. He likes chicken. And fish, when I have it.”

Lacey’s eyes widened.

“So it’s you that’s been feeding him!” she exclaimed. “He turns his nose up at the cat food I put out for him because he’s eating gourmet crap at your house?”

“I only gave him a few scraps.” Gold looked amused. “I can stop, if you like.”

Lacey huffed.

“He really stays with you?” she asked.

“Stretches himself out on the lounge floor and watches me read,” he said. “It’s actually nice to have a little company.”

“Huh,” she said. “Yeah, I hear you.”

There was silence. She sipped at her coffee, setting down the cup and taking another piece of muffin.

“What made you move to Storybrooke?” he asked, and she licked crumbs from her fingers.

“I needed a total change,” she said. “New York was great - expensive, but great - but it was kind of weighing me down. I grew up in a small town something like this. Maybe I was trying to get back to - I don’t know, a simpler life, maybe?”

“I suppose I can understand that.” He took another drink of coffee. “If it’s a quiet life you’re after, you could do a lot worse.”

He took a bite of muffin, making a noise of appreciation, and Lacey put her head to the side.

“What about you?” she asked. “I mean, with that accent, you definitely weren’t born here.”

“No, I grew up in Glasgow.”

“How d’you end up in Maine?”

Gold gave a somewhat secretive smile.

“Long story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

He shrugged a little.

“Maybe some other time.”

Lacey realised she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him on that front. She took another drink.

“So,” she said. “Ruby says you have a grandson.”

“Yes, Henry.” His eyes softened a little. “He reminds me of Neal at his age. Bright, curious about everything. He’s a good boy.”

There was more silence, and she tried to think of something to say. Gold spared her the trouble, sucking crumbs from his fingers before glancing at her.

“I read your article with Miss West,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” She perked up a little. “What did you think?”

Gold pulled a face.

“It was more interesting in what it didn’t say,” he remarked, and Lacey deflated a little.

“Yeah, well…” she muttered. “Sidney doesn’t want a lawsuit, I guess. I had to trim out all the juicy stuff I couldn’t prove.”

“Hmm.” He looked amused at that. “Have you noticed that she’s not on good terms with the Mayor?”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” asked Lacey. “From the look on her face, she seems to really hate Regina, but I haven’t heard that they had a fight about anything.”

“I very much doubt Mayor Mills is aware of her - animosity,” he said. “You might want to look into her distant past.”

Lacey was intrigued.

“What’ll I find?”

Gold grinned, reaching for his muffin again.

“If I told you that,” he said. “It would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”

He tore off a piece of muffin, popping it into his mouth, and Lacey took a deep breath.

“Can I interview you?” she asked, in a rush, and his eyes widened.

“What?”

“For the paper,” she explained. “Sidney bet me I couldn’t get you to agree to an interview, so since we’re now best buddies, I thought I’d ask.”

Gold looked amused.

“It’ll take a lot more than a coffee and muffin to get on my good side, Miss French.”

“Oh yeah?” said Lacey. “What more do you want?”

His smile grew.

“I don’t know just yet.”

He took a drink of coffee, and she ate the last piece of her muffin.

“So, is that a no?”

Gold popped the last of his own muffin into his mouth, dusting crumbs from his hands and sitting back.

“For now,” he said. “Ours is a new and fragile peace, after all.”

“Very poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not planning on throwing any more drinks on you,” she said. “Promise not to flash me again and I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

“Extend me the same courtesy and we’re agreed.” 

He was grinning, and she got the feeling he enjoyed being challenged.

“Fine,” she said loftily, and raised her cup. “Here’s to never seeing each other naked.”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, but picked up his own cup.

“To propriety.”

They touched the cups together, and Lacey met his eyes, breath catching at the amused glint in them. Good job at not getting the hots for the guy, Lacey. Excellent work.

[tessiete]

Yeah, yeah, yeah another prompt fill that came from DMs. And also was my fault. @treescape​ asked for prompts and I um, offered this, and immediately took it back, and didn’t even do a very good jobby on it so. *shrug*

Anyway! A vague continuation of The Punishment of Silence, post Order 66

THE HOPE OF ORPHANS, AND UNFATHERED FRUIT

He wakes to silence. There is nothing except the sound of his own breath being scraped from his lungs like wax under fingernails, the beating of his heart against his ribs, and the creak of his bones. There is nothing else. Even his cry of terror has died upon his lips, unfledged and unrealised in this void. He is all alone.

“We’ll be coming out of hyperspace soon.” 

He hardly recognises the voice, hardly hears the words as he reaches for the only source of warmth and light in space. Beside him, tucked securely between his chest and the wall, is a heavy bundle of coarse wool, and worn linen. Within it, the weakly struggling flesh of new life.

“Hush, Luke,” he whispers, and even his voice is absent.

But Luke...Luke is here. With him. Luke is golden. Luke is the sun, and he shines so brightly that for a moment, the absence of stars is obscured by the break of dawn, and he turns his face to meet it. Luke cries, his voice wet with the sorrow of Obi-Wan’s soul, and he weeps where Obi-Wan cannot.

“Master Kenobi?” The voice calls again. It is young, too, and threaded with uncertainty as it seeks a mooring in this black new world. “Master Kenobi, I need your help.”

He must answer it.

But he is wrung dry, having wasted it all in the desert of affection.

“They’re asking for a landing code,” the boy says. “They want to search the ship.”

“Let them,” he replies. “We’ve nothing for them to find.”

He adjusts the swaddling around the babe, pulling the folds up higher until the little face is barely visible, and drawing up his hood until his own face is shadowed and obscured.

The pilot fumbles for the comm, but hesitates before he makes the call.

“Master, we haven’t got the clearance,” he says. “I tried Republic codes but they’re all invalid, and I daren’t use a - a Jedi -”

“No.”

“Master, they’re waiting.”

Outside the viewport, Tatooine looms larger, and larger, round and golden, like the husk of a burnt out star. Just endless swathes of sand and stone. A barren rock. The twin suns watch, and Obi-Wan feels his hackles rise, as though he were prey under the baleful gaze of a predator in the night. 

“Tell them whatever you must,” he sighs. His shoulders slump, and his eyes close. He is weary.

He cannot see the way his pilot stares at him, hopeful, and waiting. He doesn’t want to. The weight of his need is punishment enough. Luke is light in his arms, and he rocks him gently.

“This is the pilot of  The Slip, Corellian class YT-1300 AUX requesting permission to land.”

“Airbase to  Slip , have you got those docking permits yet?”

A single, shimmering breath, and the pilot answers, “No. But we - I  can pay you.”

Obi-Wan does not object.

“What sort of payment we talking?”

“What do you care, so long as you get your money?”

“I don’t know,” replies the man. “You bargain like a pirate, but you sound like a kid. I ain’t convinced you got anything I want.”

He can feel his eyes upon him, but he cannot tear his own away from the babe. He is preoccupied with this one last precious thing. The pilot grits his teeth, and replies with all the arrogance of his past life. “Well, how about this - if you don’t like it, you can shoot me when I get there?”

There is silence on the other end, then the comm crackles back to life. The deck officer’s voice rasps with laughter. “Alright, kid,” he says. “You got a deal. Hope you ain’t got family to miss you. We’ll see you at Dock 3, on the south side.”

“Dock 3,” says pilot. “Copy that.”

“And kid? Don’t try anything stupid.”

 --

He takes the ship in with a steady hand, but as they get closer and closer Korkie feels his breath quicken in anticipation. They haven’t got anything to pay with. They have no credits, no valuables, nothing personal which might tie them back to the Core, or worse, to the Temple. He doesn’t worry so much for himself, having no particular training in the Force, nor any distinctly Jedi affectations. His borrowed robes he discarded on Polis Massa, but his father…

Obi-Wan is unmistakably a Jedi in his sand coloured tunics, and thick, wool cloak meant for all terrains but a blazing desert. However, there is one appurtenance which may work in their favour -

Everyone knows that Jedi have no children, and he will not relinquish Luke.

“Slip  to base: Docking clamps locked, and pressure restored to atmo baseline. Please advise.”

There is sweat beading upon his upper lip. Obi-Wan rocks Luke as he fusses, awakened by the sounds of noise outside. People are waiting for them.

“This is Squaddy Redsun. Lower your ramp, and prepare for immediate boarding.”

He looks to the Jedi, and gathers himself. There is nothing on the ship, and so there is nothing to pack or take as they leave, but still, he casts one last look at the cockpit. Then, he ushers his father forward, through the main hold, and to the head of the ramp. He presses the pair to the side, leaving them just out of plain sight, and so wrapped up in the folds of Obi-Wan’s cloak and each other as to be indistinguishable from shadow. He steps back. He strikes the button to lower the ramp with an open palm. Sunlight floods the hold, and he is left blinking and blind as a rough voice calls to him.

“You the captain, then, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. He can see a man clad in worn leathers, and decorated in the gleaming white bone of some fearsome beast. Beside him, two others with wrist guards, and pikes. He makes no attempt to resist as the guards approach, and does not fight as he is grabbed by the elbow and shoved down the ramp by the first.

But the second has discovered Obi-Wan, and grabs at him with the same barbarity. The Jedi flinches away, and curls around himself. One pale hand reaches back, and Korkie can feel the air turn electric. 

“No!” he cries, startling both the guard and Obi-Wan, the warning clear in the fraught timbre of his voice. “He has a child,” he says. “He’s harmless. But there’s a child. Please. I am the pilot. This is my ship.”

“And who is he then?” Redsun demands.

“No one,” says Korkie. “A refugee of - of Mandalore.”

“He don’t look like no hunter.”

Korkie shrugs, watching closely as Obi-Wan descends untouched, the guard at his elbow. “I don’t know that he has enough left to look like anything.”

“Ha,” chortles Redsun. His men laugh, too. “Then I suppose it’s you what has my payment. Docking codes don’t come cheap.”

“No, sir,” says Korkie. “I - I haven’t any credits.”

“That Republican dross is no good out here, any way,” Redsun spits. “Now, where’s my pay?”

The guards edge closer, and Luke chokes on a feeble cry.

“Hush, dear heart,” murmurs Obi-Wan. “Hush, sweet thing. And sleep.”

“The ship!” says Korkie. “You can take the ship. It’s in fine working order, and the hyperdrive is good for your smaller jumps. I -”

His neck snaps, his teeth snap together, and he can taste blood as a fist connects with his cheek. It leaves him staggering, and spitting into the sand. Luke begins to wail. The sound rings out around him, but he struggles to place its source. Nearby, he knows. They must still be beside him. He reaches out and catches the edge of heavy wool in his grip.

“None of that banthashit, boy!” shouts Redsun, and he is near as well. He can smell the man as he comes closer, still. “That ship ain’t worth half the trouble you’ve caused. What else you got?”

“Nothing,” he pleads, struggling upright again. The guard at his side restrains him. “Nothing. But take the ship, and I can - I can work for you. You can garnish my wages -”

“Garnish your wages? What kind of -” A blaster primes. He hears the pitch rise with the charge until it disappears. “Now, we had a deal,” says Redsun. “You pay me now, or I take it out of your hide. Right? You pay me, or I shoot you.”

“Yes, sir,” whispers Korkie.

The barrel presses against his forehead. 

“So you decide,” says Redsun. “Give me my money, or I kill you where you stand. You, and that screeching brat.”

Korkie tries to swallow, but all his tastes is the sour, metal tang of blood. It roils in his stomach. He feels faint. Luke screams, and screams but Obi-Wan only tries harder to sooth him, singing some sad lullaby. A Mandalorian lullaby. 

Korkie recognises it. His...his mother used to sing it to him. He clenches his hand into a fist, tracing his thumb over the ring he wears, as a reminder. And he remembers -

“My ring,” he says, slipping the jewelry from his hand. It is a simple band, but thick and completely unblemished by age or use. “I can give you this,” he insists, holding it so that the suns set it ablaze, glittering like fire in his hand. 

“And what’s that?”

“Pure beskar,” he says. 

Redsun lowers the blaster. Korkie can see his interest pique, and greed replace fury in his cold, black eyes.

“Beskar,” he says. “And how’d you be coming by that?”

He nods at one of the guards, who swaps his pike for a techscanner. The ring is plucked from Korkie’s fingers, and the green light of the machine washes over it.

“Like I said,” says Korkie. “Mandalorian refugees. 

The guard looks up. “It’s as he says, Squaddy. Beskar.”

Redsun regards him for a moment. He shifts his jaw, and rolls his tongue over his teeth. Korkie holds his gaze, even as blood drips from his chin. At last, Redsun gives the sign, and his man lets Korkie go. 

“I’ll be taking the ring,” he declares. “And your kriffing ship, for all the good I’ll make of it. And you get off with a warning.”

“Yes, sir,” says Korkie. “Thank you, sir.”

Korkie gathers Master Kenobi in his arms, and pushes him towards the exit. Through the wide, rusted blast doors, he can see where the dockyards end, and the streets beyond begin. Their escape is at hand, but Obi-Wan is slow to move, fearful of jostling Luke who has settled tentatively once more. The guards make no move to assist, but Korkie is determined. He keeps between Redsun and the Jedi, he keeps him moving forward, and they are hardly ten steps from freedom when blaster fire rings out across the docking bay.

There is a blaze of fire along his side, and Korkie falls in a heap of fine, yellow dust. Breathing hard, he presses a hand to the source of heat, and cries out as agony is awakened by his touch. His fingers come away bloody, but he sits up, then stands, then stumbles on towards the exit, leaning on Obi-Wan, urging him to go, to move, to keep pushing forward. Step by step. He can hear the guards and Redsun laughing behind them.

“Don’t you try playing games like that round these parts, son,” shouts the man. “Not everyone’s as kind as Squaddy Redsun.”

 --

The crowds are easy enough to get lost in, and soon Squaddy Redsun and the Mos Eisley docks are far behind them, but Korkie feels their ruin is closer than ever. His side aches, and bleeds sluggishly where the bolt hadn’t instantly cauterised the wound. He is hot. He is thirsty. But worst of all, he cannot speak or read a single word of Huttese. 

“Please,” he asks of a woman hustling by with an armful of black fruits. “Please, can you tell me where to find shelter? An inn?”

She cuts him a glare, and hurries on.

“Sir, if you could - I need to find a place to stay.” 

The man flicks his lekku, and shakes Korkie off.

He cannot tell if they’ve tried this street already, or not, all the architecture looks so similar to his unfamiliar eyes, and all the people are one massive murmuration of a society he is not part of. Then suddenly, a child stands before him. A little boy, with hair the colour of the sandstone walls of the city, and eyes like the sky reaches out a grubby hand.

“We need food,” says Korkie. “And a place to sleep. Please.”

The child nods, and Korkie takes his hand, fisting his other in the folds of Obi-Wan’s robe to be sure he doesn’t lose him in the crowds. They follow the child through innumerable streets, and darkened alleys before they are abandoned in front of a low building on the outskirts of town.

“Can we stay here?” Korkie asks. The child nods. The door slides open at his touch, and he is swallowed up in warm yellow light while Korkie hesitates on the threshold.

But it is getting dark, and he can think of no other alternatives. So he knocks.

“We’re all full up.” He hears the voice first, but it is soon matched by the scowling countenance of a woman worn old by the suns. The little boy clings to her skirts, now shy and retiring after his brazen rescue. She looks at Korkie and his charges from the doorway, and nearly turns away.

“Wait, wait, gedet'ye, jatne vod, vi linibar taap at nuhoy.” He’s slipping, and he only notices when her brow crinkles in confusion. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just - please, we need a place to stay. Just for the night.”

“We don’t have any more rooms,” she says.

“We have a baby.”

He clutches at Obi-Wan’s arm, until he steps forward, and the light falls across Luke’s sleeping face. The woman sighs.

“It’s five wuipui,” she says. 

“I haven’t any money,” he says.

“Then I haven’t any beds,” she replies. He catches the door before it can slide shut. 

“Please,” he says. “Please.”

And at that moment, Luke wakes and begins to weep. The woman stills, and Korkie thanks the stars for timing.

“One bed,” she says. “I won’t have a babe die on my doorstep. Bad business. Bad bly is what it is. But I can only afford to take the one of you with it.”

“Him,” says Korkie, shoving Obi-Wan forward. “He’s his father.”

“And where’s the mother?”

“Dead,” says Korkie. “It’s only - they only have each other.”

The woman nods, and reaches out to pull Obi-Wan into the shelter of her home. The wool slips from his fingers, leaving them clammy and sticky in the rapidly cooling night air. 

“Thank you,” he says, and they disappear behind the door.

At once, the strange euphoria of a desperate flight deserts him, and he collapses in the sand against the wall. His side aches, though the bleeding has mostly stopped. He supposes that is the result of dehydration as much as anything. His lips are cracked. His tongue feels thick. His own blood sits uneasily in his stomach. The streets empty, the second sun slips below the horizon as he watches, and soon he begins to shiver. It’s difficult to stay awake, but after so many hours of preternatural vigilance it feels impossible that he should sleep. There is always some danger, now. They will always be hunted. He blinks, and sees three moons. Perhaps he is concussed, but then Coruscant had four moons, and Mandalore had two, so that is no measure of his injury.

He’d travelled once to Concordia, when he was a child. It was a beautiful place, and it felt, at the time, as though he’d been transported to some ancient world. There were trees. And grassland. There was water you could swim in, and could drink, and it ran freely over rock, and silt in unpredictable patterns, like the veins on the back of his hand. Though he’d been born in Sundari, there was something about Concordia that felt viscerally his. He recognized himself in the wildness of it all, as though it were a sort of mirror, as though if one were to pull up all the grasses and the plants they might pull up all his roots as well. The moons of Tatooine are white. They shine like stars, but there is no warmth to them. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see Concordia again.

Warm light illuminates the dark, turning the sand golden again.

“Alright, none of that. Can’t have Core soft boys dying on my stoop, either.”

“‘M not from the Core,” Korkie mumbles.

“That posh accent of your father’s could’ve fooled me,” she says. He feels her prop him up against the wall, and wonders when he’d laid down. She taps his face with her hand on the cheek that isn’t hurt. Water touches his lips, and he opens his eyes. “Drink up,” she says. “Heat’ll kill you faster than a blastoh will out here, lapti wermo.”

He drinks as quickly as she lets him, and until the vessel is empty. The clay cup is cool against his skin, and he presses his swollen eye against it, grateful for the relief.

“Now,” she says, taking it from his hand, and standing it upright in the sand. “Let’s see about that blaster wound.”

“It’s not bad,” he insists. She ignores him, and tugs his jacket down one shoulder, and slides his arm free. He hisses in pain, and she cuts him a look that says she has absolutely no confidence in his ability to self-diagnose. 

Blood stains his close-fitting sark, and she draws back. 

“I’m going to get some vibroshears,” she says. “I’ll need to cut this off.”

“No,” he protests. “Just lift it. I haven’t got anything else.”

“You haven’t got this , you stupa,” she grumbles. Korkie makes no reply, but leans forward and begins to tug at the hem of his shirt. In response, she leans forward to help him, and launches into a vehement stream of Huttese that makes no sense to Korkie. He comprehends the spirit of the words just the same. “Bolla rass tata, u beggybeggy brite lapti wermo.”

“On my world, we’d say ‘slanar nek gar shabuir’,” he says, grimacing as the shirt comes off. “Or something like.”

“Shabuir?” she says, letting the word bubble on her lips. “I like that one. I’ll keep it.”

“It’s yours.”

The fabric lifts away, heavy with dirt and grime. She is careful not to tear it further as she lays it flat to dry in the sand, and Korkie does appreciate that. Such a small measure of care, and yet already so coveted in this drought. 

“I’ve a poultice,” she offers, withdrawing from the darkness a little bowl of sludge. “It isn’t bacta, but it’s better than nowt.”

Her fingers are cold against his side, or the wound is hot, but either way, he finds her ministrations soothing, and it’s not long before he finds his eyes slipping closed again. He fights it, and thinks he wins, but when wakes to her carefully tucking the ends of his bandages, the moons are much higher than they were before.

“There now,” she says, brushing back his hair, and giving his cheek a kind caress. “Let’s get you inside. Give you some food. Put you to bed.”

“I thought you said you had none,” he mumbles.

She smiles, and throws his arm across her shoulders. “That was before I saw how pretty you were. Now, come on.”

He grins, though it hurts, and rises to his feet when she pulls him. He staggers to the door, his feet made clumsier with exhaustion more than injury this time, and doesn’t fight when she leads him to a room, and drops him on a bed, and urges him to rest his head upon a thin pillow of sand and dry grass. The light goes out, and the door slides shut behind her. In the dark, he cannot tell if his eyes are closed, or not. But he is not alone. There is a voice.

Someone is singing a lullaby nearby. A Mandalorian lullaby. It is an old call and response. He used to sing the answers with his mother when he was very young. He hasn’t heard it in years. But when the singer gets to the end of the verse, he joins in.

“A ner kar'ta cuyir gotal ciryc, bal ni kar'tayl gar darasuum nayc or'atu...O meg, o meg, kelir ni vaabir?”

The voice answers back on a sigh, though the words are different than they ever were before.

“O, ner Kiorkicek,” it sings. “Ni kelir ratiin yaimpar bal cuyir saanyc be gar.”

A baby sniffles in the dark. There is another bed. And he recognises the voice.

“Buir Kenobi,” he says, his voice hardly more than a thought. “Cuyir gar pirusti? Cuyir gar morut'yc.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies. “We are well. You have saved us. Now, sleep. We shall all begin again in the morning.”

There is a warm hand upon his brow, and the irresistible temptation of sleep, and Korkie drops off into dreams.