#the line with the freckles surprised me so much and punched me in the feels but it's my fave

[elvenbeard]

20677

“What happened in 2067?” Kerry asked.

“Hm?”

V, still somewhat zoned out, needed a moment to register fully what he had said. It was oddly quiet in his apartment, as if the city hadn’t fully awoken yet either. Nibbles dozed on her favorite pillow on the sofa and the sun was shining, dust swirling in the light. Everything seemed strangely peaceful, normal even… as if there was anything normal about having Kerry-fucking-Eurodyne casually lounge in his bed after an emotional rollercoaster of a day and night yesterday. Yet, with all that had happened over the past two months, V grasped at every semblance of "normal" he could.

“I mean… don’t have to tell if ya don’t wanna,” Kerry added, sitting up properly now, and moving to join him at the edge of the bed, “Was just curious.”

He had every right to be… V had grown so used to being silent about his past, his private life, that it had become quite hard to open up when prompted. Even with people he felt safe around. To a degree, his silence felt unfair towards Kerry, whose life had been on public display for decades – more or less accurately depicted. He literally carried his past on his sleeve, but even if he didn’t, by Johnny’s presence alone V already seemed to know so much more about Kerry than the other way around.

Kerry trailed a finger or two down V’s spine, making him shiver in a pleasant way. A caress of something he had almost forgotten about, at least for a moment taking his mind off his uncertain future. Reminding him of where he once had been and how far he’d come, who he had become since then.

“Ah, the tattoo…” he realized.

“Guess you can put two and two together ‘bout mine,” Kerry said with a sad smile, looking to the floor for a moment, “2023… hell of a year.”

“Pah, he can talk,” Johnny scoffed somewhere in the back of his mind, but V decided to not humor him right now. Honestly, he doubted Johnny really meant what he said half of the time. They weren’t so different after all, in that regard at least: hiding their hurt behind sarcasm and snark…

This thought alone made V want to spill his entire life’s story right then and there. But no matter how much he wanted to do it just to prove Johnny wrong, spite wasn’t strong enough a weapon to break down the walls he’d built up around himself. As much as he’d set himself free in 2067, it had somehow also marked the beginning of a downhill race – sure, with a few peaks in-between, but the overall trend hadn’t been that positive in hindsight. There was little glory in his past, and he dreaded the moment he’d have to come clean about his time with Arasaka. Not in the sense that he regretted having worked there, he still didn’t and probably never would… but not being sure at all about how Kerry would take it.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Kerry looked back up at him, almost expectantly, but V still didn’t know where to begin, or what he was even ready to share.

“Could say 2067 for me was what 2023 was for you, in a way,” he decided to say, lame as it was as a reply, “Something ended, and something new began.”

Deep down he knew Kerry would understand. You didn’t get a year and wings tattooed across your whole back if it didn’t hold significant meaning, usually even in a painful way. Yet all that had happened then seemed so minor and unimportant to what was happening to him now… If he made it out of it alive, he’d have to get the six covered up with a seven.

He realized he’d been quietly staring at his own intertwined hands for a little too long now, abruptly turning to look Kerry in the eyes again. The thin golden rim around his gorgeous, piercing blue irises gleamed in the morning sunlight and the sight took V’s breath away for a moment.

“As I said, no need to tell right now. Or ever,” Kerry repeated softly, lips then curling into a cheeky grin, “Like me a man with secrets. Somethin’ to look forward to unravelling further down the line.”

V’s heart first jumped then sunk at that notion.

“Kerry…” he hesitated, voice barely more than a murmur. Then he sighed.

“In 2067… Felt like I was at a point of no return then. I thought I’d never be as scared and lost again as I was that year. But now…”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Ironically what scares me the most is knowing exactly what I’ll have to do next. My path is clear, seems to be set in stone, I didn't have that certainty back then… but at the same time it’s like I’m ‘bout to walk straight off a cliff.”

Kerry looked him in the eyes intensely, and V wanted to believe he recognized understanding and sympathy in his expression.

“I’m not gonna say I understand even half of whatcha goin’ through right now,” Kerry said and scooched a little bit closer, their hips and thighs touching now, his arm around V’s back. Kerry sighed, and his face was so close to V’s, his breath brushed past his cheek and neck and chest. Had he wanted to, he could have counted all his freckles, reminding him so much of the stars in the night sky he’d always been so desperately looking for as a kid.

“You asked me yesterday if I was sure about this. Us,” Kerry said quietly, “Knowin’ what’s potentially gonna come.”

V’s heart was beating so hard, so fast, as if it wanted to climb out of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking slightly, grasping at his own fingers even more tightly now, shoulders tense. Then Kerry pulled him closer, just a tiny bit, less than an inch really… but it was still somewhat startling and unexpected. Kerry wasn’t shy about touch, that much was clear, and V was still somewhat overwhelmed by it now and then. But this now was different, subtle, soft… and he liked it a lot.

He looked back up at him.

“Still no doubts,” Kerry then said, gently and firmly at the same time. V was frozen in shock for a moment, but the warmth of Kerry’s smile started to melt his tenseness away, little by little.

“Thing is… ya never know what’s gonna come. Sometimes you just gotta take the leap and hope for the best. Take all chances you can, cause life’s only gonna throw so many at ya.”

He had a point. All he could really do was continue moving forward. No matter how much he wanted to put off the inevitable, it would arrive sooner or later.

Kerry tilted his head slightly and smiled, and V couldn't help but do the same, heart beating hard and fast again. Fuck... it was way too soon to say "I love you", but in this moment he was certain that this was exactly what he was feeling. He hadn't fallen so hard and so fast for someone in a while, hadn't even thought he'd ever be capable of it again.

"Guess the odds of us ever meeting and ending up here were pretty slim, too," he then said instead.

"Nothin's impossible if you set your mind on it. You've shown me as much, and I'll keep it in mind for sure..." Kerry smiled as he leaned in to capture V’s lips in a soft, warm kiss, his hand reaching out to hold V's, the sun embracing them.

Maybe it was worth risking it all, if on the other side of the abyss waited a future with more of this. And even if not… V was certain, whatever time he had left, he wanted to spend it at Kerry’s side.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

valentine

pairing: steve harrington x reader

WC: 1.9K

warnings: cursing, some suggestive stuff, a little nightmare sequence that involves punching and blood mentions. should be it!

summary: you blinked and suddenly, you had a valentine. ❤️

A/N: a late v-day post, i guess. inspired by the lovely Laufey song. much love to @alecmores for proofreading 💗💗💗

it cut off some of the ending when read on mobile 😒 but it’s looking completely fine on computer. just an fyi

masterlist

I’ve rejected affection for years and years. Now I have it and damn it, it’s kind of weird.

Out of your twenty-one years of living on this planet, this is the first year you have a relationship and it’s simultaneously the greatest feeling in the world while also making you want to run away. But you can’t find it in yourself to run, not from him.

Steve. Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. 

You feel like you need to pinch yourself every time he looks your way and throws a smile meant for you, or feel the furnace heat of his fingers grasping your hips before pulling you into a kiss, sweet or searing.

He tells me I’m pretty.

The two of you are just laying in his bed on a lazy saturday morning, with no hurry to be anywhere, facing each other as you practically share his pillow causing your noses to bump with a simple shift. The blanket covers both of you from the waist down, your top half open to the slight chill dancing through the room.

Steve's shirtless and you're wearing an oversized shirt you found at a garage sale, one that goes to rest at the top of your thighs, but right now it’s bunched up high, allowing Steve to toy with the elastic of your underwear and drag his knuckles over your exposed waist. Legs tangled together, your cold feet pushing into Steve’s calf causing a gasp of shock from the boy which pulled a heartfelt giggle from your lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” A hand instantly moves to tuck loose strands behind your ear.

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Soft eyes that twinkle, an easy smile that displays his stunning smile lines, his freckles, and moles that mark his face and body that you smother with thousands of kisses when given the opportunity. How his bed head of hair is curled and twisted this way and that, the ends tucking and touching his ear lobe and neck or even his jaw.

You don’t know how to respond to the sudden compliment, you haven’t received much in your years. So as you memorize him, you instantly say the words back to him, in your own way, of course.

“You’re quite pretty yourself, Steve Harrington. Very nice on the eyes.” A finger trailed his nose and down to his jaw.

A deep rumble from his chest filled you with a warmth that pushed away the February chill. You weren’t sure if you should’ve called him that. Most guys don’t like the word "pretty" being used when complimenting them, most like strong or handsome, pretty to them seems weak when it isn’t towards a girl. But when you looked at Steve he was all those to you, but pretty will be the one to always come to mind when you look at him, especially in moments like these. Intimate and away from prying eyes.

With every passing moment, I surprise myself.

You’re usually scared of guys, whether it be in a general sense or a relationship kinda sense. You’ve been on dates, didn’t like the guy and stopped talking with him or you liked him and went on a few dates but those ended up fizzling out as well.

But Steve Harrington made you feel scared, but the good kind of scared. The roller coaster adrenaline scare, where you’re whooping and hollering at the top of your lungs. Clinging to the metal bars for dear life worried you’ll fly away, but they're holding you securely in their grasp.

Steve constantly made you smile and laugh, scream out of slight fear or extreme pleasure. He held you in firm hugs, his chin digging into your scalp as he slowly swayed your bodies. He made you feel safe and loved.

Loved. You’ve fallen in love with him after just a year. Now you were scared.

What if he’s the last one I kiss? What if he’s the only one I’ll ever miss? Maybe I should run, I’m only twenty-one.

You began to panic. There was no real reason to panic, but you're an overthinker, constantly making useless scenarios in your fast-paced mind, thinking the worst of peaceful times. It’s a terrible flaw, but one you can’t push away no matter how much you try.

‘What if he gets bored of me? What if he thinks I’m clingy? What would he do if I told him I love him?’

Evil thoughts that would creep up in the time of silence.

You stared at nothing while you sat behind the counter at Family Video, body unconsciously swiveling the rolling chair from side to side. Steve and Robin are out on the floor putting away new releases and returning stock, their friendly banter becoming white noise to your ears as more corruptive thoughts came to mind and cramp every single space in your brain.

Your fingers pick at your nail beds, you don’t even feel the pricks of pain or feel the little trickles of blood pooling to the top. Only when you feel someone else’s hands pulling yours apart into their hold do you snap from your trance.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Steve's melodic voice rings in your ears.

“Huh?” Not too sure what he means.

His eyes are focused on your hands, pulling each finger in his eye line and then bringing a kiss to each nail. It made you flush at the sudden display of affection.

“I was calling for you,” another kiss, “and you didn’t answer so I came here,” kiss, “and your eyes were just wide and you were picking at your nails. I thought you stopped that.”

‘Great now you disappointed him’ ‘Probably thinks you’re a liar’

You bit your bottom lip, “got lost in my thoughts. That’s all.” A shrug of your shoulders.

He still held your hands, fingers laced together and his thumb ran atop your knuckles. He was warm and comfortable, it pushed the negative thoughts away just a bit.

Then he crouched down, hands placed on your knees and head tilted to look up at you with your small bit of height. His head tilted and swayed, trying to find your eyes that you wanted to hide away from him, he could always find what was wrong in the end.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna make you tell me what’s wrong, or I won’t act like a mind reader, cause I’m not-“ “Beg to differ on certain days.” You interrupted.

He breathed a laugh, “if you believe so. But I just want you to know you can talk to me if something is bothering you, especially if it’s about me. Cause I don’t want you to think the wrong thing.” He squeezed your knees.

You looked at Steve, held his eye contact, and said, “I really like you, Steve Harrington.” The closest thing to I love you right now.

He smiled wide, “I really like you too, sweetheart.”

I’ve lost all control of my heartbeat now.

He said the words. He said the words.

“I love you, (Y/n).”

It felt like all the air left your lungs and now you probably looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing. Trying to process everything that just happened while also trying to find the words for a proper response.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” He has a firm hold on your biceps.

Your own hands are also holding his biceps, eyes dancing across his face. You wanted to memorize this moment, the way he looked in the overhead lighting of the grocery store where you were buying snacks for a night in.

He just had to say the words that rocked your heart in the freaking grocery store!

“Sweetheart, say something, please. You’re scaring me a bit,” a chuckle but you knew he was concerned.

“Uh,” you blinked a few times, “really caught me off guard with that.”

The both of you chuckled, you from the absurdity of the moment and Steve from your comment. But it felt so perfect, a special moment to remember for the future.

When I hear I love you, now I’ve got someone to lose.

You tried fighting back, you desperately tried with all the strength you could muster into your bones. You yanked hard against the metal cuffs, the skin on your wrist starting to sting from the breakage. You tried kicking with your legs, but it was no use, you weren’t close enough to hit anything or anyone.

You could only stare and scream as you thrash. Watching helplessly as the soldier beats Steve down with his knuckles. How his skin breaks and bleeds, the loud cracks of his nose breaking causing blood to spill from his nostrils.

“Stop! Stop! Please! We’re telling the truth!” You tried to plead with them.

They just laughed and continued the harassment. Steve always being the hero, making sure they don’t lay a finger on you, causing him to be the center of their attention and attacks.

When the soldier got tired from throwing punches, he gripped Steve’s neck tight. You could slowly see the blood leaving his face, the air not making its way to his brain. His feet scrambled against the floor to find some purchase.

In what seemed to be his final moments, he looks at you.

“Steve!” You cried as you blotted upward from the bed.

Your chest heaved with heavy breaths and sweat formed at your temple while your back and chest were sticky with perspiration. A hand touched your chest to feel your heart as you pushed sticky strands from your face.

‘Just a nightmare’ ‘It was just a terrible nightmare’

“(Y/n)?” A scratchy voice was heard through the darkness of the bedroom.

“Steve, sorry.”

You felt him sit up, his hand rubbing circles to your back along your sleep shirt. He laid his head on your shoulder and placed his free appendage on your thigh.

“Was it a nightmare? Cause usually if it's dreams, there’s a different way we go about things.” He tried for a laugh and you gave him one. “There we go,” he sighed.

“Can you just hold me?” You whispered. An unspoken ‘I love you’

“Always, sweetheart.” ‘I love you too’

The first one to ever like me back. I’m seconds away from a heart attack.

“You know you are my first boyfriend, like ever.” You randomly blurt one day in Steve’s kitchen.

“No way, I find that hard to believe.” He called over his shoulder as he worked on breakfast.

“Oh!” You hop onto his counters, “and what makes you think that? Do enlighten me.”

He didn’t say anything quickly, so just as you were about to say something, he spoke up, “because you’re… you. Anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

He said the words so easily like they were the most obvious answer to your question. He was trying to give you a heart attack with how sugary sweet he is.

“Like I can’t believe I get to call you mine. Every day I wake up and remember I’m dating you and it makes my day one hundred percent better already. And knowing I get to call you or see you throughout the day, it keeps me from going insane during the boring or terrible moments.”

You were speechless. Steve caused every word and thought to leave your mouth and brain, all you could say was, “I love you.”

I blinked and suddenly, I had a valentine.

[katyswrites]

ur robin smut was amazing 🫶🏼 could u do 13, 98 or 142 with her from the “150 random prompts” list? whichever one you feel more inclined to do works for me! or do all of them i wouldn’t complain 🫣 hahaha

Hi, anon! Sure thing! I was originally going to write a blurb, but this ended up being a whole oneshot, so I hope you enjoy!

Prompt 13: “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

Prompt 142.: “Could he make you feel as good as I do?”

I Don't Want You Like a Best Friend

Pairing: Robin Buckley/afab!reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), vaginal fingering (reader receiving), fluff, friends-to-lovers, reader has a bit of a sexuality crisis

Smut below the cut!

It had started simply, really. You were reeling from your fresh breakup, your boyfriend of a year doing it via phone call. He had decided that the girls at college were better, more interesting to him, and that he didn’t have time for his girlfriend stuck back in Hawkins for her senior year. Well, he hadn’t exactly put it that way, but… you weren’t stupid.

It’s been two weeks since then. You had gone through a range of emotion - devastating sadness, frustration, regret and blinding anger. The pain is less raw now, and you’re pissed, more than anything. Still, it’s a welcome surprise when Robin calls you up and invites you over for a movie night - somehow, she always knows exactly what you need.

Robin’s parents aren’t home, and she’s brandishing a tape of Labyrinth, freshly-arrived at Family Video. It’s sold-out nearly everywhere, but she had set it aside for you.

“Perks of the job,” she says, popping it in the VHS player and passing you the bowl of stovetop popcorn.

You sit for a while and just watch the movie, making jokes and commentary throughout. Robin doesn’t bring up the breakup - you both know that it’s why she’s invited you over, to take your mind off of it. 

“God,” you groan. “How much do you think they paid Bowie to dance with puppets like this?”

Robin laughs, the kind of laugh that has her snorting and gasping a little. It’s not even that funny, but she’s acting like she’s just heard the best joke in the world. You look over at her, the way her eyes crinkle and her face turns red, warming the freckles that dot her skin. And, for a moment, your heart aches with how bad you want to reach over and brush her hair out of her eyes, and hold her face in your hands.

You shake the feeling quickly, and push it down. You’re vulnerable, and reeling, and Robin’s your best friend… you can’t cross that line, not now. Besides, she likes Vickie, and you know that.

You turn your attention back to the TV, and focus intensely on the movie, taking in David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly as they ballroom dance. Soon, though, the credits are rolling, and Robin’s gotten up to rewind the tape. 

“So,” she says, flopping back down on the couch next to you, “What now? Wanna watch something else? Or, we can break into my mom’s liquor cabinet, if you’re feeling frisky.”

You grin. “Hm - I like that second option.”

*****

Soon, you’re splitting a bottle of vodka, mixed with some fruit punch Robin unearthed from the back of the fridge, and you’re feeling warm and light. Robin’s turned on the radio, Madonna’s voice floating through the crackly speakers as you melt into the couch. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything, and to just be here, with her. After a while, you feel Robin’s gaze on you, and you flop your head over to look at her. Her face is soft, and sympathetic, and you sigh.

“What is it, Robs?”

“Nothing! Just - you’re doing okay, right?”

You take a deep breath, and stare up at the ceiling. 

“I mean - I guess. I’m definitely doing better, at least, better than a couple weeks ago. I’m just pissed. I mean, I wasted so much time with him.”

“Yeah,” Robin says, scooting a bit closer. “I mean, I always thought you were way to good for him. I never really liked that guy.”

You look over at her, furrowing your brow.

“Wait, actually? And you never said anything?”

Robin sighs, pressing her palm to her forehead.

“Well - yeah! I mean, you really seemed into him, so - what was I supposed to do? I mean, would you tell me if I was dating a girl you didn’t particularly like?”

You sigh, and cross your arms. “No, probably not. I mean, not if you seemed to really like her.”

Then, you raise your eyebrows suggestively, and look over at her.

“Speaking of girls you like - anything going on with Vickie?”

Robin’s face falters a bit, and she shakes her head. 

“Um - no, not really. I mean, we chat at band practice, and stuff, but… I don’t know.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “You don’t know what?”

Robin shifts, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch and fully facing you.

“I mean - Vickie’s cool. And, I like her. But, not as much as I thought I did. I mean… I think I maybe like someone else, and that’s the real stuff.”

Your stomach lurches, and you shove it down - you’re not the jealous type, you can’t be. So instead, you force a smile, and lean casually against the back of the couch.

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

Robin looks at you for a moment, something unreadable passing her features. Then, she scooches a bit closer to you, enough that you can count her constellations of freckles, her blue eyes soft and sincere.

“Hey - if I ask you something, can you promise not to get weird?”

You nod, not risking saying anything. The alcohol makes your brain feel a bit fuzzy, your face flushed and warm. Then, Robin whispers something softly, delicately.

“Have you - have you ever thought about kissing a girl?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, a hot rush to your face - you’re almost positive you’re beet-red.

“I - um - what?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just - have you?”

You don’t know what possesses you - maybe it’s the alcohol, or the mourning of lost time, or the acute awareness of how close Robin’s face is to yours, doe-eyed and beautiful. But, aloud, you say something you’ve never even admitted to yourself.

“Yes,” you breathe. Then, without thinking, you’re closing the remaining distance between you two, and you press your lips to hers. She lets out a squeak of surprise, but doesn’t pull back. For a moment you’re terrified, and unable to believe this is happening, because you’re kissing your best friend and - of God, she’s kissing you back.

She tastes like cheap liquor and cherry Chapstick, her mouth moving with yours as you breath her in - lilies, sandalwood, and mint, and so Robin. All at once it’s scary, and amazing, and strangely familiar. You aren’t thinking about anything else, just how right this feels, even if it’s actually wrong. Your brain is short-circuiting, your skin is on fire. You suddenly understand what people mean by sparks, and they’re firing off in your head, unable to think anything besides yes. 

You open your mouth a bit, allowing Robin’s tongue to enter, exploring your mouth as you let out a small moan. You bring your hands to her hair, grasping the back of her head as she melts into you. She lets out a groan of approval, and you’re letting her take the lead, easing you back on the couch to lay underneath her.

Then, you’re both pulling away, gasping for breath. She’s hanging over you, and you both stare at each other wordlessly for a moment. You’re both breathing rapidly, hearts thumping, lips swollen and glossy. Robin speaks first.

“I - um, I just -”

“Shut up,” you breathe, and you’re pulling her down to you, kissing her deep and hard. She holds herself up, swinging one leg so that she’s straddling you. It’s getting messier, all gnashing teeth and tongue, your kisses becoming more desperate. Is this what you’ve been missing, this whole time?

Then, your fingers are toying with the hem of her t-shirt, lightly brushing the soft skin of her navel. You sit yourself up a bit, pushing her into an upright position, and she’s pulling it over her head. You stare at her, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her chest under her black bra, and it finally occurs to you that this is happening. Part of you thinks you might return to your senses, decide to not go any further, but it doesn’t happen - instead, you want more.

“Wow,” you gasp, taking her in. 

She smirks. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”

You smile devilishly in return. “Who says we have to?”

Then, she’s on you again, pressing you into the couch and kissing you hungrily. You gasp into her mouth, her lips soft and perfect, exactly how you’d imagined.

Then, she’s tugging at your shirt, and it’s being pulled over your head, flung to the other side of the room.

“Everything - ah, fuck - everything, off,” she breathes, fiddling with the button of your jeans. You help her and shimmy them down your legs, kicking them off the edge of the couch. She sits up, leaning back on her knees, and stares at you in absolute awe.

You suddenly feel shy, and cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?” you ask, avoiding her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just,” she shakes her head incredulously, “you’re really beautiful, you know that?”

You blush at that, your heart fluttering and threatening to burst out of your chest - you can’t remember the last time someone called you beautiful, least of all him.

“You really mean that?” you ask, voice feeling small.

She nods, leaning over you again until her face is inches away.

“Yeah - I’ve always thought that.”

Then she’s kissing you again, deep and slow, and you sigh into her mouth. She moves from your lips to your neck, peppering kisses there and making her way down to your chest. Then, she looks up at you, eyes soft.

“Can I touch you?” she asks, her voice low.

Your stomach flutters, the warmth in your chest spreading further, lower.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

She grins, and presses another kiss to your chest, your neck, your lips, her hand traveling downwards. She brushes her fingers along the edge of your panties, toying with the elastic.

When her hand finally slips underneath the thin fabric, and she runs her finger along your slit, you gasp. 

“Jesus, you’re so wet,” she murmurs, completely in awe. She coats her fingers in your slit, touching you, but not exactly where you need her. Before you have a chance to beg, she brings her fingers to your clit, and you see stars.

You cry out, involuntarily bucking into her hand as she begins to rub slow circles on your clit. Your eyes flutter closed, and she toys with your cunt, spreading the lips and stroking.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry, voice shaky and strained.

“That feel good?” she asks, her voice sultry and low as she kisses your neck. You bite your lip and nod, unable to speak, unable to think anything besides how much you need her.

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?” she rasps. You shake your head,gasping for air as she speeds up her ministrations on your clit.

“Well, could he?”

“No! God - fuck - no, he couldn’t,” you gasp, writhing underneath her.

She smiles into your skin. “Good.”

Without warning, she sinks a finger inside of you. You moan, and as she curls it along that spot along your walls, your back arches, head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Oh, oh God,” you pant, grasping the back of Robin’s neck and pulling her impossibly closer to you.

“God’s not here, I’m afraid,” she whispers. Despite yourself, you roll your eyes. But before you can come up with a clever retort, she adds a second finger, and you lose all cognitive function.

She scissors her fingers, stretching you out, her thumb continuing on your clit. 

“You close? You gonna come for me?” she asks, reaching up with her other hand to start palming your breast.

“Yes - almost there - Robin, fuck, keep doing that -”

It’s too much, and not enough, and exactly what you’ve been needing. She pumps her fingers, once, twice, three times, and you’re done for. You let go, your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami. You scream, head lifting off of the pillow and pressing into her shoulder. You clench around her fingers, convulsing as she continues to circle your clit, slowing down as you ride out your high.

“That’s it - there you go, that’s perfect,” she croons, soothingly stroking your hair as you come down.

Then, you’re flopping back, heart pounding, panting heavily. She withdraws her fingers, and you look down, the sight of her hand coated in your juices making your head spin.

Did that really just happen? As you stare into Robin’s wide eyes hovering over yours, you come back to reality - the reality where you just had the best orgasm or your life on your best friend’s fingers, that is.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, matching each other’s slowing breathing as you assess the situation. You decide to break the silence.

“That - that was -”

“Yeah,” Robin says, sitting back up on her knees. “Um - is this the part where we talk about it?”

You look at her, as if you’re seeing her for the very first time. Maybe it’s the afterglow, or the fact that things make sense for what might be the first time in your life, or the fact that her lips look so kissable. But, you shake your head, and shakily bring yourself to a sitting position, pulling yourself closer to her.

“No,” you whisper, bringing your face close to hers, brushing your noses. “Now is the part where you show me how I can make you feel that good.” A smile spreads on her face, warm and big until she’s positively beaming. Then, you’re pulling her in for a passionate kiss, and she’s falling back, taking you with her. It’s all smiles and giggles, kisses and touches, and you know that no matter what happens after tonight, this is what you’ve been looking for.

Taglist: @cityofidek

Stranger Things requests are open!

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[blazedfists]

Alive (MarAce)

((Hey all! This is my little Marco/Ace one shot I finished last weekend! This is also posted on my AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad accounts aMaskedNinja! Hope you all enjoy it!))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Luffy!" 

Ace cried out upon seeing his little brother falling to his knees out of exhaustion. The battle at Marineford…the fight to save his life, had been a long and hard one. Luffy had fought hard…busted his ass to make it to where Ace was being held for execution, and to everyone's surprise, the boy had made it and managed to set Ace free, causing panic to spread throughout the Marines. Everything seemed to be going well…a little too well. Just as they were making their escape, Akainu had opened his mouth and managed to get under Ace's skin. The freckled raven had stopped running instantly, turned to defend the man he called his father, but Akainu continued to press the other and had looked past Ace to where Luffy was. The younger boy was exhausted. His body was failing him and he couldn't even find the strength to move. 

"Luffy! Watch out!" Ace had suddenly cried out when the Admiral suddenly flew past him, heading straight for his exhausted little brother. Without hesitation, or thinking twice, the raven moved and put himself directly between Akainu's attack and his little brother. Within seconds, Akainu's magma-covered fist had shot straight through Ace's torso, leaving Luffy kneeling there with a look of horror on his face. Gritting his teeth harshly, Ace stood there with both hands clenched in fists. He couldn't even feel the pain, not even when Akainu's fist was removed from his body, causing him to fall to his knees. Coughing up blood, Ace slowly brought one of his trembling arms around his terrified little brother and pulled him into a weak hug. 

"I'm sorry…Luffy… You went through so much trouble…and I screwed it up…" Ace coughed out, his eyes barely remaining open. So many people had put their lives on the line for him…and he went and did something completely stupid. He stopped running…let Akainu get under his skin and the results left him severely wounded and barely alive. "Y-you fought so well…and I…went and pulled something like this…" 

As he spoke in a low tone Luffy remained frozen in place. His body was shaking from both fear and exhaustion. There was no way this had actually happened…right…? "H-hey…Ace it's going to be alright… We'll get you some help…and you'll be okay…" The Straw Hat captain spoke out with a tremble in his voice. "We…we can still save you…so just hang on…" 

"Luffy…he burned my organs…punched me straight through…there's no way I'm going to survive so just listen…" Ace coughed out while tightening his grip on his younger brother. He could always feel himself fading so he needed to speak as quickly as possible. "You…are one stubborn pain in the ass…never listening to a damn thing I tell you… I swear, you would do it just to drive me up a wall but… in the end, I was really glad to call you and Sabo my brothers… The three of us…we really were a bunch of trouble makers… We drove Dadan insane…yet she still took care of us… If you ever see her…" Ace had to pause his words for a moment as a cough escaped from him. Time was running out but he wasn't done yet. "...Tell her I'm sorry for being such a brat…and also tell her thank you…" The raven went quiet again as tears started to spill down his freckled cheeks. He didn't want to die here…not anymore. He wanted to live, wanted to see Luffy achieve his dreams but he was certain he would be gone soon. There was no escaping this fate. 

"Luffy…if I have any regrets, it's that I won't be able to see you fulfill your dream… I won't get to see you…become King of the Pirates…" Sniffling softly, Ace's vision started to blur, whatever life was left in him was fading fast. "Thank you…for being the best little brother I could ever ask for…thank you for loving me… a-and one more thing…" He paused once again to cough up more blood. Over Luffy’s shoulder, he caught a blurry glimpse of blond hair and a purple shirt. Marco… "T-tell Marco…I'm sorry…" 

"A-Ace…! H-hey…! Dammit hang in there! You can tell him yourself that you're sorry! You have to survive! You can't just die like this!" Luffy shouted out while clinging to his brother's battered body. In his hold, Ace's breathing was slowing down drastically. The younger raven couldn't stop shaking while continuing to beg his older brother to hold on just a little longer. "W-We're going to get out of here…! You have to see me become the King of the Pirates! Ace…! ACE!!" 

~~

Beep….beep….beep…

The sound of the consistent beeping was more than annoying, it was down right infuriating. Wait…why could he hear beeping, yet he was surrounded by darkness? What happened…? The last thing he remembered was hearing someone screaming his name before darkness had completely taken him over. He was certain he had died but…if that was the case then why could he still hear the annoying beeps, along with other sounds that he couldn't quite make out. Footsteps? Maybe… Voices? But who's voices…? He couldn't make out what the voices were saying, only a few words here and there. 

"....alive…but…no telling….wake up…" As much as he continued to try and make out the full conversation, his brain refused to work. Exhaustion was taking over once again, and soon everything went quiet, as if he had passed out again. 

In the room with Ace, there were two men, both rather tall, one with dark hair and tired looking silver eyes, the other blond with blue eyes that were stained red as if he had been crying. Together, both men had been working non stop, not only to save Luffy, but to also save another raven. With both surgeries successful, all they could do now was wait. 

"He's lucky to be alive, but there's no telling when he'll wake up. His injuries were very severe…along with Straw Hat's. Neither of them should have made it." The dark haired male spoke out while removing a pair of rubber gloves from his hands. "You're lucky I got there in time and had that weird clown drop them onto my submarine. Normally I wouldn't let anyone help that's not on my crew but… well, considering one is part of your crew, I decided to let you help." 

Standing beside the dark haired raven, the exhausted looking blond ran a hand through his hair and sighed softly. It had been an extremely close call for both of their patients, but somehow they were both going to pull through the incident. "Trafalgar Law… I can't help but wonder what you were doing at Marineford…" The blond spoke out as he pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his tired eyes. Of course the question only made the raven scoff before he rolled his eyes and made his way to the doors.

"Call it a whim. I saved Straw Hat because he still has something in this world to accomplish. There's still things we haven't seen from him. As for Fire Fist…I assumed he was already dead, but it seems he wasn't quite ready to die yet either. Don't read too much into it. Just be fortunate that I was able to save him." Law spoke out lowly before making his way out of the room, leaving the tired looking blond with the unconscious raven. 

~~

How many hours had passed since he had heard those voices…? The sound of the annoying beeping was still echoing in the background, but this time Ace somehow found the strength to open his eyes a bit only to find himself in a very unfamiliar place. It looked like he was in some sort of hospital…if that were even possible. He was certain he had died on the battlefield at Marineford, so why was he waking up to a place like this? A majority of his memory was fuzzy, the last thing he was able to recall was Luffy screaming for him… Luffy! Where was he!? Was he alright!? All the questions that were buzzing around in his head made his heart rate increase drastically, causing the heart rate monitor to start beeping like crazy. His anxiety was at its peak due to not knowing where his little brother was…or if he was even alive. During his panic, a hand suddenly came down and covered his eyes, followed by a very gentle and familiar voice. 

"Shhh… calm down, Ace…" That voice…Ace knew it all too well but…what was he doing here? 

"M-Marco…?" Ace asked softly. His voice was just barely there. 

"That's right… it's me…" The blond replied, making sure to keep his tone nice and quiet. The gentle voice and familiar presence was slowly helping the raven calm down, but he was still very worried about Luffy.

"Ace…" Marco's voice called out to him again,  pulling him from his thoughts as the hand that was covering his eyes slowly retracted. Blinking a bit, the raven slowly turned his head in the direction the voice was coming from, only to smile slightly when his gaze finally fell upon a familiar looking blond. Marco really was here…but where was here? 

"...Where the hell am I…? Where's Luffy…? Is he alright…!?" Ace was starting to panic again, causing the heart rate monitor to skyrocket one more. Sighing softly, Marco sat himself down on the edge of the bed the raven was laying in, only to bring a hand up to gently ruffle the other's messy hair. 

"Calm down…he's fine. He's in the next room sleeping. Both of you suffered from severe injuries, but a certain pirate showed up and managed to save both of your lives. You're actually still on his submarine." Marco explained softly while continuing to run his fingers through Ace's hair in order to calm him down. "You're going to have to stay put for a little while." 

Hearing that Luffy was alive was enough to get Ace to calm down a little bit, along with Marco messing with his hair. Sighing softly, the raven's eyes slowly closed for a few moments while he tried to remember everything that happened at Marineford, though only a few memories were coming back to him. Mostly he remembered when Luffy had fallen to his knees out of exhaustion…and more importantly…he remembered the decision to jump in front of Akainu's attack in order to save his brother's life. That's right…he still didn't understand how he was alive. He knew Marco told him someone had helped save him, but with how severe the injury was…Ace was having trouble believing he was actually still alive. 

"Marco…am I really still alive…? Saving my life should have been impossible… He- he punched me straight through and my organs were burned… There's no way I should still be here…" Ace spoke out as he tried to sit himself up, only to hiss out in pain. Seeing that the raven was trying to move, Marco quickly placed a hand on the other's bare shoulder and gently pushed him back down to keep him from moving around too much. 

"Ace… you can't move like that. You'll open that wound again and if that happens, there will be a much higher chance of you dying…" Marco replied before letting out a quiet sigh. Keeping his hand on the raven's shoulder, the older blond leaned over him so he could look into the other's tired eyes. "You felt pain when you sat up, right? And you've been awake talking to me. If you were truly dead, you wouldn't have felt pain and I wouldn't be here. You can see me and you can feel it whenever I touch you, right?" 

Listening to the older blond once again, Ace let out a bit of a sigh. It was true…if he were really dead he wouldn't have felt pain a moment ago, nor would Marco be right here with him. He could feel every touch and see every detail of the man before him, so why was it so hard for him to believe he was truly alive? Maybe because he had already accepted that he was going to die on that battlefield…and with how bad the injury was- no one should have survived that. While he continued to lay there quietly, he finally decided on one more confirmation test to ensure that he was alive. Biting slightly at his bottom lip, Ace slowly brought his hand up and placed it against Marco's warm cheek. Sure enough, nothing happened. He could feel the warmth of the blond and his hand didn't phase through the other. He was in fact alive…and that alone got tears to form in his tired eyes. 

"Y-yeah…I can see you perfectly…and I can feel it when you touch me… Your warmth…it's always so comforting…" Ace mumbled out through his tears. It was an overwhelming fact to know that thanks to not only Luffy, but to Marco and another pirate, that he managed to actually get out of Marineford alive. Wait…that suddenly reminded him. "Marco…where's Pops…?" 

Heating that question, Marco stiffened up slightly. He should have known that question was coming, but he wasn't prepared to tell Ace about that. However…there was no point in keeping it a secret. While there had been many tragedies on the battlefield for both sides…the most tragic loss that was going to throw the world out of balance was… "He didn't make it out of there, Ace… Pops died on the battlefield, still standing with that usual grin on his face. As much as none of us wanted to run, when we found out you were still somehow alive, his final order was for us to get you out of there…and despite trying to protest he wouldn't budge on the order. Even with the odds against him, he didn't turn to run… He was a great man and pirate up until the end…"

Talking about Whitebeard's death…it really was difficult for Marco but he managed to get through everything before he too started to cry lightly. After his explanation of what happened, he leaned down and lightly pressed his forehead against the raven's. His larger form was trembling slightly, but he remained still, continuing to carefully lay over Ace as if he were trying to shield him from anything else that could possibly take him away. Underneath him, he could feel the raven's body starting to tremble more. As he suspected, the news must have shocked him but Marco wasn't about to sit here and lie to him. Ace had wanted to know and he deserved the truth. 

   

"H-he's really gone…? T-that old fool…" Ace managed to mumble out through his tears as he brought both of his arms up and wrapped them around Marco's neck. "I…I didn't want him to die for me…he didn't have to go and risk his damn life like that…! Dammit… he's the one who should still be alive! Not me!" The news really had been too much to bare. Ace didn't think anything could take the old man down…but even he wasn't invincible, and now…he was gone. 

"Ace…don't say that…" Marco suddenly mumbled out in a bit of a stern tone. He even gave the raven a bit of a squeeze without hurting him, almost as if he were clinging to the other for dear life. Whitebeard was gone…and Ace nearly left them as well. Marco knew their captain wanted Ace to live, and he wouldn't want them mourning over his death, especially not like this. "Once he found out you were somehow still breathing…he threw away any worries about getting himself out of there… He wanted you to live, and if he were here right now, he would have been overjoyed to know that you pulled through…so don't go saying stuff like that… I know it isn't easy…none of us thought he would die but he didn't just save you, he saved all of us because he saw us like we were his sons… He saved what he could of the family he worked so hard to build…and he wouldn't want you to say you should have died…" 

With Marco lightly squeezing on him, Ace sniffled softly and tightened his arms around his neck, as if he were afraid the other would disappear on him. He couldn't stop crying or shaking, and he knew Marco was crying too. He could feel the tears from the other falling onto his freckled face. It really was a tragedy…and it was one that would throw the world out of balance, but they would find a way to deal with it. Even with their captain gone…the Whitebeard Pirates weren't just going to fade away from the world, not if the First and Second Commanders had anything to say about it. 

"Y-you're right… He wouldn't want that… I'm really sorry, Marco… If I hadn't tried going after Teach, none of this would have happened… I just…wanted to make him pay for what he did to Thatch…" Ace sighed out while bringing one of his hands up to run his fingers through Marco's pineapple-like hair. The hairstyle always cracked him up, but he couldn't laugh at the moment. He was still too busy crying right along with Marco. 

"I know that, Ace…. You saw it as your responsibility to go after Teach and make him pay despite Pops telling you not to… I'm not upset with you. I'm just glad you managed to pull through for me… Now we can get through this together and once you're fully healed, we'll go back out to sea and show the world we're still here and still fighting. How does that sound?" Marco asked as he finally lifted his head up so he could look down at the other and so he could wipe at his eyes. "But you have to promise me something…" 

After Marco had sat up a bit, Ace brought one of his own hands down and wiped off his face as well. Hearing that they could still go out to sea and show them all that these events didn't destroy them…that sounded like a good idea, but of course Marco had a catch. Lifting a brow slightly, Ace tilted his head to the side with a curious look on his face. "And that promise is…?" 

"You're not allowed to leave my side…because I don't know if you're going to do something stupid. You're reckless and you're an idiot, so that's why…you have to promise me that you'll stay by my side and do everything I tell you to do. No more going on missions alone. You have to always have someone with you if I can't be the one to accompany you. Does that sound fair?" Marco asked, though he used that serious tone to show that Ace really didn't have a choice in the matter.  Smiling lightly, the raven simply nodded his head to show he understood and pushed himself up a bit so he could be a little closer to Marco's face. 

"Marco… I promise I'll stay by your side and do as you say, however… I can't promise I won't be a pain in the ass. If you can accept that, I'm willing to accept your conditions… I'm really sorry I made you worry so much…" Ace finally replied while continuing to give the blond a little grin. Hearing that got Marco to chuckle lightly as he shook his head a bit. He shouldn't have expected that from Ace, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

"I think we have a deal then." 

~~

Several weeks had passed since the two of them made their agreement and now that Ace was in a more stable condition, he was finally able to go with Marco and return back to their friends. Of course the raven made sure to thank Law several times for saving his life and Luffy’s, but the taller raven simply waved him off and told him it was a one time thing, which he could accept. Once Luffy was awake, the two of them hugged and cried with each other, both feeling relieved that the other was alive and well. Now that they were both in a decent spot, Ace had asked Luffy what he planned on doing next. After all, his little brother was still missing his entire crew, and finding them wasn't going to be easy. 

"I actually have a plan to send them a message. It's going to be risky, but it's the best way I can think to give this message to them. After what happened on Sabaody…it made me realize we aren't strong enough yet. We need to improve our skills so we never have to go through that again." Luffy explained while stuffing his face full of food. "All I can say is…keep an eye out for the paper. You'll see what I mean." 

Naturally Ace laughed at his brother's explanation and he ruffled the boy's hair before embracing him tightly. He knew Luffy was going to do big things once he got to the New World and Ace was glad he was going to be alive to see what his little brother had in store. Once he had let the raven go, Ace went over and stood beside Marco. Like Luffy, his chest and body was still bandaged up but he felt well enough to move and wanted to get back to the others. 

"You're going to do great things Luffy. Risky, but great things. You're really going to shake up the New World, and I'll be here rooting for you. If you ever need any kind of backup, you can rely on us. After all, you are my bumbling kid brother. We'll see each other again soon." Ace said as he held out a thumbs up toward Luffy, who grinned widely in response. 

Once the two of them had said their final goodbyes, Ace and Marco boarded a smaller ship so they could set sail to meet up with the remainder of the Whitebeard Pirates. For a while they sailed in silence, enjoying each other's company but eventually Marco had moved and wrapped his arms around Ace's smaller form. Sighing happily, the raven leaned back against Marco's chest and closed his eyes as a breeze ruffled through his messy hair. They were back at sea again…together. After a moment, Ace opened his eyes once again and tilted his head up so he could look at the blond. 

"Marco…" Ace called out, earning the other's attention instantly. The second their eyes met, the raven felt his heart stop a little bit. Was Marco always this handsome? Or was this the first time he had really gotten to look at the other without worrying about anyone else questioning it. In the end, he supposed it didn't really matter. Instead he brought a hand up and placed it lightly on Marco's cheek while standing up on his toes. "I love you…" 

The three words were just barely a whisper, but Marco heard them perfectly. Three words he had been wanting to hear for some time, and feared that he would never hear. Now that they were out there, the blond simply smiled and leaned down to close the distance between the two of them. Their lips met for the first time, causing Ace's heart to start pounding in his chest. He turned slowly without breaking their kiss and threw both of his arms around the taller male's neck while the arms around his waist tightened even more to hold his shorter form close. After a few moments the pair pulled away from each other and pressed their foreheads together, both having smiles on their faces. Ace’s cheeks were flushed with a light shade of pink, something Marco found to be rather perfect on him, and to think…the moment almost didn’t happen between them. Leaning down once more, Marco brought the raven in for another quick kiss before letting out a soft chuckle. Ace was here…he was alive…and Marco planned on making sure he didn’t go anywhere ever again. 

“I love you too…you reckless idiot.” 

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Wavy hair dangling and tickling their cheeks, brown eyes wide, freckles stark against paling cheeks, Quinn struggles to take in the sight before them. One hundred and twenty stories up in a massive tower in the city, the firm grip of a furious businessman at the back of their neck to pin them bent over the guardrail on this rooftop. If they fell from this height… well, they need to make sure they don’t fall.

The cars driving down below look like little toys. The streetlights and headlights make up a stunning array, a swarming pattern that will only be extinguished when the sun rises again. Will Quinn be around to see that sunrise? The man behind them shoves down harder so they’re dangling at a sharper angle, startling a sharp cry out of the young spy. Their fingers are wrapped tightly around the railing.

“You’re a liar,” Growls the man. Pearce, his name is. “You just wanted to skim off the top, make a quick buck. Ruin my portfolio. Ruin my life.”

Quinn is in nice slacks, a white dress shirt, shiny shoes. Those shoes are scuffed now from struggling against being shoved to the edge of the rooftop. Their shirt is bloody from the initial punch to the face that they took as soon as he figured out their scheme. Quinn licks their busted lip and tries not to let their mind drift away to escape this situation; they blink at the constellation of city lights as their mind works frantically.

“It’s just a job, Pearce. Just a - a corporate spy thing, just a paycheck, it wasn’t meant to ruin you. You would’ve made that money back easy by the next quarter. Just a, a setback - wait, wait!” Their hands fly off the guardrail and smack against the cold metal-stone exterior of the building. He’s gripping them by the hips and holding them more than halfway off the ledge, now. Suddenly their breaths are coming out as sharp, quick whimpers. This is happening. They could die. Does he have a good enough grip on them? Will they hear him make a sound of surprise as his hold slips before they plummet to their death?

“Just a setback? Five million? I should kill you with my bare hands. You’ll be lucky if I just let you fall, let it be quick.”

Okay, he’s more than angry. He’s hurt. Quinn runs through all their mental notes of him, every piece of information they’ve gleaned in the past two months.

“You - please, wait!” He’s on the verge of just letting go. They have to regain his attention and interest. “You don’t have to kill me. I can get your money back! I can - I can help you get twice as much from them!”

His grip tightens. They imagine that his mouth is forming a straight line as he does the mental math. “Like a double agent?”

Their vision is swimming, the lights are going blurry. A heavy tear falls finally from their lashes like a single raindrop heralding a storm. Will someone down below feel that raindrop and know that someone up here is begging for their life? “Yes. A double agent. I like you, Pearce, I didn’t want to scam you, I can make it up to you. I’ll get you-”

“Ten million.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll get you ten million. And I’ll tell you who they are, you can get your own revenge.”

A jolt forward. Quinn screams in shrill panic, their sweaty palms slipping further down the edifice of the building. Low-hanging clouds dampen the surface with droplets, and they’re sure it’ll be the reason they slip too far and fall.

“Maybe I want revenge,” He grants, not sounding all too keen to take them up on the offer. “Maybe I just want you to pay. I gave you my clients' information. I invited you into my home. I told you about - fucking told you about…”

“Loni.” Quinn’s toes are just barely scraping the roof. Their chest is tight with terror, blood pounding in their ears. “You told me about Loni. And I told you I lost someone, too. Right? I lost someone. I lost my best friends. Let me tell you about them, Zack. Let me tell you the truth.”

They’re still dangling. Quinn can see their own warped, foggy reflection in the metal inches from their face. Tears drip over their brows and down their forehead.

“…Are you crying?”

A humiliated, ragged sob. The spy squeezes their eyes shut after one more frightened look down at the street below. “Yes.”

Is he going to let go? They’ll be dead. They’ll die, they’re going to die… he holds on tighter, shifts them against the guardrail, and at the movement, the spy weeps openly, pushing as hard against the building as they can without propping themself too far out and causing tension he can’t uphold. Their arms quake, breaths choppy.

One haul backwards. Quinn’s eyes fly open. The lights beneath are still beautiful, a lot of them red instead of white now as a traffic jam starts up. The swarming movement slows in big swathes along the highways.

Another haul. The rail presses uncomfortably into their stomach, then against their ribs. They wheeze frantically, scrabbling against the front of the building, then the edge, then the rail itself. He’s pulled them up, and now he tosses them back to crumple at his feet.

“I thought you looked young at the pub.” He’s standing over them, looking more weathered and pensive than they’ve ever seen him. "How old are you really?”

What? Quinn wipes the tears from their forehead and cheeks with the side of one hand. They have to try twice before they can quell the shaking enough to not miss. Star-like pinpricks of light are floating in their vision in an echo of the sight off the edge of the roof. They told him they were twenty-two in the interview, and no one at the pub carded them. Why does it matter now? Because they lied? A sniffle, then they answer, “Nineteen.”

Zackary Pearce lowers down on his haunches, staring at them. “I thought you sounded like a kid, crying like that.”

It doesn’t sound quite like he means to tease, but Quinn flushes with anger anyway. They avert their eyes, fully aware that he could very well still be about to kill them. His company has allowed kids to die to protect their bottom line.

He reaches out to grab them by the collar. The spy bites the inside of their cheek and looks him in the eye once more.

“If you ever show your face here again, or anywhere near my home, I won’t stop halfway through. You’re going headfirst off of a roof next time. So don’t let there be a next time.”

They can live? He’s letting them live? Quinn’s head bobs with eager nodding. “I understand. Zack, I… thank you. I’m sorry.”

He shoves them away with disgust and stands to watch them scramble backward and up onto their feet. Stands still to show he won’t attack again, while they bolt for the roof access door and down the stairs. Answers a text about the running assistant in the lobby with a curt, Let them pass. But never let them in the front door again.

From his view up on the roof, he watches the tiny spy down below running through a sparse crowd of pedestrians, slowing occasionally to look casual, probably panting from their mad dash. A teenager who screwed them out of millions and cried instead of defending themself when they were seconds from death. That’s not someone he ever wants to see again, not even to get his money back.

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 8 (It's a long one, y'all)

A choice, a conversation, and a question

Read on AO3

Azriel’s body was perfect.

Anyone who disagreed was surely blind.

Gwyn had been watching him for the better part of half an hour, choosing to sit in silence when he hadn’t acknowledged her presence. There was no possible way he didn’t know she was there – he would have scented her at the very least. Azriel was one of the most accomplished warriors in the history of Prythian, after all, and no-one could ever enter his sphere without notice. She had only managed a handful of times, and she had a sneaking suspicion that his shadows had been responsible.

Those shadows were coiled tightly to their master tonight, looking like they might snap from even the slightest brush of a finger. They mirrored the tension that rippled over the shadowsinger’s bare back. Gwyn smirked to herself as she silently cursed the Illyrian for focusing his frustration solely on the post in front of him, facing away from her and cruelly limiting her ogling. He’d opted for punches and kicks, no doubt requiring impact and pain to relieve whatever it was that had weighed on him today. She would have quite enjoyed the sight of that gloriously elaborate eight-pointed star, appreciating how the sweat would bead and trickle down his spine or between the muscled ridges of his stomach.

Mother above, he was beautiful.

Both of the Illyrians in her life were impossibly tall and built of solid muscle. They were the definition of power. But Cassian and Azriel were so utterly different. The general was brute force, hulking muscle, arrogant. The spymaster, though… He was leaner, strength hidden underneath an unfair amount of grace for a male of his stature. Gwyn had seen him shirtless many times, but rarely did she have the chance to appreciate the vision that he truly was. She wanted to memorize the tangled strokes of the tattoos that waterfalled down his neck and over his shoulders. She marveled at the ease with which he moved, even with his long legs and arms. His wings were magnificent, even as silver ribbons of scars streamed over the thin skin. She’d heard Nesta, Cassian, and Emerie talk about wingspan and how it related to other parts. That wasn’t particularly important to her, but it had still made her blush.

And his hands.

She knew Azriel was determined to hide and hate them, just as much as she was to love them and prove to him how special they were. She nearly crumpled in tears every time she recalled the cruelty that had marked them, fire and torment melting the flesh as quickly as it could be woven back together. The story of his childhood had shattered her heart, and she was even more awed that he had somehow grown into someone so considerate, noble, and kind. Gwyn longed to hold those hands, to trace her thumbs over the mottled flesh and make him feel her adoration for them. But she wanted them to adore her, as well. To feel those graceful calloused fingers gliding over her skin…

She felt warmth coil deep in her belly as it crept into her cheeks. Gwyn blinked away the haze in her eyes and chided herself. There was no reason to think things like that – she shouldn’t get ahead of herself.

The priestess scowled as she saw blotches of red blossoming over the strips of cloth wrapped around his hands. Enough was enough. She pushed herself up off the stone and strode over to where the Illyrian continued to batter the post, shadows still taut around his rippling shoulders and incredible wings.

“What’s wrong?” she called, making sure he could hear her over the echoing thunder of his fists against the padded wood. Azriel paused but didn’t turn to face her.

“Nothing.” He squared his shoulders again, but she would not have it.

“You’re a liar, Shadowsinger.” He straightened but didn’t respond. So Gwyn continued. “You were tense during training this morning and you skipped dinner. And I can only assume you were here instead because, violent and powerful as you are, it would take you longer than the last half hour or so to beat your hands to a bloody pulp.” She crossed her arms, the billowing blue of her robes tucking under her wrists. Gwyn bore into his back with her eyes, willing him to turn around and face her. She’d be damned if she let him shut her out, not after things had been going so well. She could feel her heart beating in time with his measured breaths, those toned shoulders shimmering as they rose and fell in the moonlight. She was so entranced by his breathing that she jumped when he flared his wings.

He finally turned around. His shadows had loosened, if only slightly. But it was a start. Gwyn shot him a grin, daring him to tell her that she was wrong – to deny that something was eating at him.

“It appears I’m caught, then.” Azriel’s voice was quiet and measured. Most wouldn’t understand how it differed from his usual tone, but it set the priestess on edge. She looked into the dark gaze of the spymaster, and somehow the angles of his face had sharpened. “Interesting training attire.” Gwyn ignored the lightning that seared through her as his eyes swept over her body, even though she knew there wasn’t much to see thanks to those robes.

“I didn’t come here to train.” She rolled her eyes. The shadowsinger’s cold stare flickered for a moment, a crack in that practiced stoic expression.

“Then why –“

“I came out here to make sure you were alright, Azriel.” Cauldron, he could be so dense. She cocked her head, watching his face relax as her words sank into him. And she might have heaved a relieved sigh as his shadows started twirling like candle smoke and hazel gleamed back at her in his widened eyes. Satisfied that she had been able to reach through his veil of detachment she strode toward him. Gwyn did not move her eyes from his, even as she stopped in front of him and pulled at one of his battered hands. She cradled it in both of hers, allowing her fingertips to caress the whorls of skin and blood-soaked rags. “Why don’t we go inside. I’ll take care of these and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” She kept her hold on him gentle, though she couldn’t help but tighten her fingers around his for fear that he might pull away. The priestess studied his tanned face, trying desperately to read any hint of where his silence was leading them. The spymaster mask had slipped, but aside from the pooling light in his hazel gaze and the easy wafting of the shadows there was no breath of what he was thinking.

Gwyn lowered her gaze, frustrated that he was still so reserved. But she would not give up – that was not her way. So she sighed as contentedly as she could muster and focused on his hand. She drew her fingers softly over his knuckles, surely cracked and stinging under the crimson stains she traced. Her fingers followed the paler lines of scars to the end of one finger, then the next, until she had attended to every piece of exposed skin she could find. Then she folded his fingers into his palm and raised his hand to her chest. She dared a glance up at him and found it difficult not to cower away from the intensity in his visage – burning liquid pools of hazel seemed to pierce straight into her soul. But she gathered her courage – from where she did not know – and stared back, lowering her chin and brushing her lips over his knuckles. Gwyn felt his intake of breath, even though his lips barely parted and his face betrayed nothing. The air around them grew thin and taut and she waited, once again, for him to pull away.

When his hand squeezed one of hers, she knew her cheeks had flushed a deep crimson. Mother, she was sure her face looked giddy with child-like hope, but she smiled up at that perfect face when she squeezed back. She earned a soft crooked grin in return.

“Lead the way, priestess.”

~~~

Azriel kept his wings tucked close as he was silently led through the house. It had not gone unnoticed by him that Gwyn had not released his mangled hand, choosing to keep those long fingers of moonlight tangled loosely with his own. He couldn’t quell the warmth that spread through him, and he couldn’t stop shadowy tendrils from circling down his arm and looping around the contact. If the priestess noticed she didn’t show it as she pushed open the door to the library.

“The library?” He raised his eyebrows, but his question was soft. He had assumed she would guide him to his room, but realized as soon as he’d voiced his surprise that it was a ridiculous assumption to make. Being alone together in his room would feel extremely intimate, and she was likely not ready for that.

“Is that alright?” Gwyn asked him as she turned to him with that lovely hand still grasping his own. “We could have gone to your room, but I know your privacy and space are important to you. I didn’t want to intrude on that.” Her head cocked as she blinked toward the ceiling, freckled nose scrunching in thought. Azriel felt the corner of his mouth quirk, unable to suppress his fondness for how expressive her features were. The warmth inside him took root as her words registered. She’d been thinking of him. Of his comfort and not her own. Irreverent and spontaneous as she was, her consideration for those she cared for was thorough and thoughtful. As surprising as she always was with her candor, Azriel was floored by the depth of her compassion.

“Actually, I’m not even sure I know where your room is so,” she shrugged and tugged him over to the settee, “the library will have to do. Now sit.” The spymaster dropped onto the cushions as if his body were unable to resist her command for even a moment, though she let go of him when he did so. The absence of her gentle touch left him aching and he looked up at her gleaming teal eyes. “I need some things to tend to your hands. Promise you won’t leave?” His heart pinched at the earnest plea as he tried to understand the emotions churning in that ocean-deep gaze.

“You have my word, Gwyn.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so rough, thick with other promises he wanted the priestess to ask of him. But he was inwardly smug as he watched the blush stain her freckle-painted cheeks.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered and scurried out into the hallway.

Azriel allowed himself a chuckle at her reaction, running a hand through his dark locks. Then his mirth settled, a weight in his gut replacing the contentment he had felt only seconds before. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about his distaste for Illyria, least of all Gwyn. He didn’t want to see her eyes darken from his own sorrow, and he couldn’t bear for her to realize that just by being Illyrian he was a potential danger to her – a monster.

But, Mother above, this was Gwyn. He’d promised that he wouldn’t pull away, that he wouldn’t decide how she would react instead of giving her a chance. And somehow that beautiful warrior would not see the same things he did. Something inside him just felt it. So he would be brave and he would lay himself bare to her. Again. And he knew, terrifying as it was, that he would do it over and over – she need only pin him with that hopeful, caring gaze.

A clinkinterrupted his reverie, and he saw a porcelain bowl sitting on the coffee table, the water still rippling from its sudden appearance – no doubt a request to the house from Gwyn. As if on cue Azriel shifted his attention to the door and found the lovely copper-haired priestess pulling it closed behind her, a basket in her hands. He allowed himself a grin and let his gaze follow her as she crossed the room and placed the basket next to the bowl of water. Then she hiked up the waterfalls of blue robes and sat – somewhat unceremoniously – facing him on the couch. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, surveying her supplies and formulating her strategy, and the shadowsinger could feel the heat coil low in his stomach at the sight. It was a small mercy that she gestured for his hand and released that lip from her teeth.

With less trepidation than he expected, Azriel placed his scarred hand in Gwyn’s alabaster grip, but kept his focus planted on where they touched. Her long fingers were nimble as they worked against knots to unwrap the crimson-stained rags. As he might have expected, the wounds had already closed, his Illyrian blood providing swift healing. When the priestess scowled playfully, nose scrunched, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“I suspect I might not have required your medical expertise, Berdara.” But the priestess just shrugged a shoulder, unaffected by the turn of events.

“It was only an excuse to get you to stop and talk to me,” Gwyn admitted before looking up at him, beaming that her ruse had succeeded. “So I’ll wash off the blood and make sure everything is fine. And you’ll start talking.”

Azriel just stared at her for a moment, shadows flaring in his periphery at her unabashed statement. Her hair shone like flames in the fae light as it fell over her shoulders, her focus firmly on his hand. She had dipped a cloth in the water bowl and started dragging it gently across his knuckles, cleaning the red stains from his mottled skin.

“I’m waiting, Shadowsinger,” she cooed.

“I have to go to Illyria. Tomorrow. With Cassian and Rhys,” Azriel sighed, and had his hand been free he might have flopped dramatically into the back of the settee. When the priestess remained silent he whispered venomously. “I hate it there.” Gwyn still didn’t look back up at him, and he wondered if she did that purposefully, as well, so as not to make him feel more pressure than the anxiety that already gnawed into his chest.

“You don’t lead the armies. Why do you have to go?”

Cauldron, if she only knew how many times he’d asked the same damned question.

“For… status checks such as these my primary purpose is intimidation.” He let his eyes wander over the rainbows of book spines filling the shelves on the end wall, once-vibrant hues dulled by time and dust. “We present a united front, the leadership of the Night Court and their forces.” Azriel felt the warm cloth on his hand pause and he turned his attention back to the Valkyrie who now looked up at him, head tilted in curiosity.

“So you, Cassian, and the High Lord?”

Azriel nodded. “I believe the High Lady will be joining us, as well. Sometimes Mor accompanies us, as a representative of the Hewn City. We’ve tried a few different strategies regarding who makes these visits.” He couldn’t hide the contempt in his words. “But we’ve found a strong female presence is… rarely helpful. Even though it is proof of the point that Rhys and Cassian are trying to make.”

“Rhys and Cassian, but not you?” The shadowsinger inwardly cringed at the implication that he may not share his brothers’ beliefs about the value and potential of Illyrian females, but the priestess before him held no judgment in the depth of those teal pools. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair.

“My brothers have been quite insistent that Illyrian females have the opportunity to train, should they choose, as well as putting a stop to some of their more barbaric traditions and practices.” He stifled a gasp as Gwyn’s fingers traced over his now-clean knuckles, examining them for any remaining injury. Apparently satisfied, she set that hand in his lap before lifting her gaze.

“But you don’t include yourself in that effort?” Her eyes narrowed, but her lips lifted in a wry grin. “I know firsthand that you also believe that females should be trained and can be capable in battle –“

“More than capable, priestess, as you have proven.”

Gwyn’s smile widened. “So why is it that you separate yourself from them?”

“Of course I share their beliefs, and I would love nothing more for wing clipping to be a figment of a dead past and for camp leaders to stop insisting that weapons must be buried once females touch them. I just don’t have faith that the Illyrians will ever change.” He loved his brothers. They were the best males he’d ever known, their hearts and minds full of so much hope. But Illyria would always be a cesspool of brutality and carnage.

“You believe so little in their potential?” Gwyn’s face had softened, no lines crinkling her nose or the corners of her eyes, swirling orbs of concern. His shadows held tight to him, unmoving with his bitterness. Not a single tendril reached for the warrior who gingerly grasped his other hand and pulled it into her lap. “You and Cassian and the High Lord are all Illyrian, and the three of you have grown into quite exemplary males.” After that soft statement she turned her attention to the bloody wraps, sighing contentedly. He watched the top of her copper-tressed head.

“Cassian and Rhysand are the best of us. I’m not –“

“Azriel.”

His throat bobbed at the quiet reprimand in her voice. Gwyn’s grip on his hand had tightened considerably and the rest of her body had tensed. Silence thickened the air and it fell over him like a blanket, urging the shadows closer to him, to safety. When she looked up at him again his mouth nearly fell open at the intensity of her expression.

“Why do you do that?” He was taken aback by the roughness in her voice, usually a sweet, soothing song. “You are one of them. You are. Their hearts and souls are no more pure and precious than yours. And even if we spoke only of you, what about being Illyrian would damn you so?”

The shadowsinger gaped, and Gwyn’s bright eyes challenged him to prove her wrong. Just like he knew she would. But, no matter how many times she proved to him the depth of her empathy and understanding, he still felt the pang of shock simmer through him. His fingers tingled in her grasp.

“Tell me, Azriel,” she whispered her near-silent plea.

“Gwyn, you know how the Illyrians are. You’ve seen it with your own eyes and experienced it.” Azriel took a breath and shifted his gaze to their hands, still entwined in her lap. “Illyrians are bred to be brutal in all areas of their lives, violent and entitled and possessive and selfish. They take what they want without thought or regret. They… indulge themselves freely, taking females for their own pleasure with or without consent. And that is the heritage I share. I was created there, just like the other brutes, to be a monster. Powerful, yes, and lucky as fuck to have found myself under the care of Rhysand’s mother. But a monster, nonetheless.”

The spymaster kept his lidded attention on his bloodied hand and Gwyn’s delicate pale fingers tightened impossibly further around it. He focused on the contrasts – his darkened, ruined skin under the freckle-spattered moonstone of hers; her two hands unable to wrap completely around his much larger one.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a brute. And no matter what happens, I will always be here to remind you of that.” Azriel closed his eyes, shuddering at her conviction. He felt her hands moving again but kept his eyes closed, unsure of how to continue. He felt the wet cloth against his skin and knew his priestess had resumed her ministrations, washing away the stains of his frustration and contempt.

Minutes passed in silence as he focused on the dampness against his skin and the soft, comforting breaths of the incredible female in front of him. Then the cloth was gone, his fingers guided to fold around her hand, and then he felt two fingers lifting his chin. Azriel took a breath to gather his courage and lifted his gaze, finding full lips in a soft smile, constellations of freckles dusting pink cheeks, and the most incredible, impossibly expressive teal eyes shining with emotion. The fingers left his chin but he barely noticed, lost in that ocean.

“When you go to Illyria, I want you to remember what I’m about to say.” He gave a nod when she paused, waiting for him. “Nobody is just one thing, Azriel. Being Illyrian does not doom you to a life of committing atrocities and causing pain. There is hope there. Remember Balthazar? He aided Nesta and Emerie during the Blood Rite. I know there aren’t many, but they are there. Think of Cassian and Rhysand, who you say are the best of males. They have far outshone the picture of damnation that you’ve painted.” Gwyn squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, as he swore he saw a fine line of silver on her lower lashes.

“But what I really want you to think about is you. You’ve shared your history with me, Azriel. You have experienced pain and loneliness and darkness greater than most can even imagine, and your power is some of the greatest that Prythian has ever known. You had every reason and every opportunity to become a monster. If anyone could have become the most fearsome, brutal male it could have easily been you. But you didn’t.” Azriel felt pinpricks in his eyes, and the way the priestess smiled at him… that light seemed to breach his very soul. “You are here, a dedicated servant to your court. You do the things you must, to protect your family and your home. You are thoughtful and kind and more generous than you probably realize. You are not a monster, but you areIllyrian. And you are sitting here with me, holding my hand. Being Illyrian has not defined who you are. And there are likely others out there who are the same. Try to remember that.”

Azriel let out a disbelieving huff, but he felt his lips curl into the slightest grin. This warrior priestess was going to be the death of him – a certain death of broken-down walls and encouragement and fierce rebuttal of the self-loathing that had been with him far longer than he could truly remember. It was uncomfortable, and he almost didn’t know who he would be without it. But the way Gwyn looked at him, the way she saw him. Maybe he could find himself there.

“Well,” she patted his hand and gave it back to him. “Your wounds are healed, the blood is gone, and hopefully now you can get some rest.” She hopped up and began cleaning up her rags and water, only to give a soft ‘squeak’ as the house vanished them away. He snickered, earning a withering glare, which only made him laugh harder.

“I’m going to bed,” she huffed, sticking out her tongue at him before stalking to the door. Azriel rose quickly to stop her.

“Gwyn,” he called, halting her at the door. She turned to look at him, an expectant eyebrow raised. He reached for the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Thank you. For listening. And… and for your encouraging words.” Watching her expression change was like magic, like watching the sun transform the sky as it breached the horizon. The irreverence and playfulness fell away, replaced with that delicate gentle smile and burning compassion in her ocean depths.

“Thank you, Azriel. For trusting me. I am so grateful that you didn’t pull away from me.” She paused before turning back to the door. “Be safe, Shadowsinger.” And then she was gone.

Azriel just stared at the empty doorway, confounded and delighted and… awestruck. And there was nobody to hear his quiet vow when he finally spoke.

“Anything for you, Berdara.”

~~~

He was all but running down the ramp to one of the lower levels of the library. His long legs loped, carrying him closer to his goal – the sweet voice echoing a lilting melody through the stacks. Azriel kept his wings tucked close, knowing that if he unfurled them even a little he may be tempted to fly.

He was sure Clotho and the other priestesses would not appreciate such brazenness.

He didn’t think he would ever describe a visit to Illyria as pleasant, but even he couldn’t deny the optimism that had somehow permeated his soul. It had helped him open his eyes beyond his own bitterness. She had helped him. Of course he had been every bit the feared spymaster that he was required to be, but he had surprised Rhys and Cassian when he had joined them for every meeting and observation, choosing to utilize those few moments of downtime to execute his more covert tasks. They were to debrief immediately with the rest of the Inner Circle – given only enough time to wash before they were required at the River House. But as soon as he had smelled the air of Velaris all he could think about was the lovely Valkyrie priestess who seemed to be a balm to his scars.

He was breathing hard when he spotted her, shadows flitting at the enchanting picture before him.

“Gwyn.”

Her singing stopped as her head whipped to face him, face splitting into the brightest smile. “Shadowsinger! Welcome home!” If their relationship were different – if it were further along – he might have run to her, gathered her up and swung her around in his arms. Gods knew he wanted to. But he had to keep himself in check, at least for now. So he settled for a grin and walked briskly toward her. Her eyes darkened in question. “Do you need something? When did you get back?”

“A few minutes ago. I don’t have much time – we’re supposed to go debrief at the River House with Amren and Mor. But I do need something.” Gwyn’s smile had softened but she giggled.

“Alright, well I’ll do whatever I can –“

Her voice halted when she noticed that Azriel had extended his hands to her in silent question. He could never just grab her, but he prayed to the Cauldron, the Mother, to all the gods above that she would take his scarred hands in hers. Confusion fluttered over her features, but he grinned, hoping she was encouraged. He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when she cautiously lifted those robed arms, placing her palms in his open ones.

“Az?”

“I do need something. I need to ask you… if you would join me for dinner tomorrow?” For once he could be smug, seeing the surprise light in her eyes and knowing this wasn’t what she expected. He was emboldened. By her. So he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles as he continued. “I know it’s only been a few weeks. And I’m sure I haven’t done nearly enough to prove myself, but I just –“

“Yes.”

His eyes had to be wide as saucers, and his breath seemed to have escaped his chest. But he didn’t need it. Not when Gwyneth Berdara, hands still safe in his own, smiled at him that way – corners of her eyes crinkling above flushing cheeks.

“You came straight here – knowing you were needed immediately by the High Lord – just to ask me to dinner?” Gwyn snickered but it caught in her throat, betraying emotions that stormed in her beautiful eyes. He released one of her hands, only to grasp the other with his scarred fingers.

“Yes,” he breathed, lifting that pale hand and brushing his lips lightly over the soft skin of her fingers. A shadow twirled down his arm and danced where they touched, but Azriel’s focus was pinned to her face. He was relieved to see no sign of discomfort, but a furious blush had painted her cheeks and the points of her ears. And he chuckled. She could not be more lovely. “I want to see what comes next, Berdara.” She shook her head.

“We need to work on your priorities, Shadowsinger.” She scrunched her nose and then gave him an easy shove with their tangled hands. “Go, you’re going to be late.” He kept ahold of her, jerking her forward lightly. Smirking, he kissed her knuckles again before letting her go.

“I’ll see you in the morning, priestess. I hope you haven’t been slacking in my absence.” Azriel winked at her – Mother above the things she made him do – and turned on his heel, moving much more slowly to leave than he had to find her.

“You’re going to wish we had!” she threatened. And he laughed, throwing his head back, reveling in the joy he felt. Whatever was next, he was ready to face it. And he wanted to face it with Gwyneth Berdara.

Tag List: @trashforazriel @tealnymph24 @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @katiebellf @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430

[mitsukui]

put your lips like this | f.w.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader.

Summary: there is a secret buried inside your heart that is keeping you from going to the Yule Ball. However, Fred decides to be the greatest of friends and  teach you one thing or two.

Word Count: 2.1k - oops...

Warnings: none! Just a whole lot of fluff! ✨ Oh, there is a curse word towards the ending.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS, BABIES! *aggressively listens to ‘My Boo’, by Usher and Alicia Keys*. Not to be dramatic, but James Phelps with long hair could punch me right in the face, and I would thank him. Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention!  ♡

Masterlist!

“You know I’m good at keeping secrets, so just tell me already! C’mon, tell me why you don’t want to go to the Yule Ball.”

A heavy and utterly annoyed sigh left your lips. Fred Weasley – that prick! – had been tormenting you the entire day. You knew he was a curious soul, but you had never imagined he would try so hard to make you spill one of your secrets out.

It was not something you fancied sharing; actually, it was something that made you feel rather pathetic and embarrassed. How could you tell your friend, whom you had unexpectedly developed feelings for, that you had never been kissed?

Curiosity and anticipation were emanating from his figure as he whispered soft ‘tell me’s, and moved anxiously on his chair. You fidgeted with the quill in your hand before you sighed once more. It did not seem like he was going to give up on solving that mystery any time soon. “Alright, fine. I will tell you. But only if you promise you will act as if nothing had ever happened.”

“Pinky promise!” He immediately dropped his own quill and extended his right hand towards you, his little finger waiting up to be intertwined with yours. Your eyes studied his hand, and you did not fail to notice how big and veiny they were.

Oh, Godric, the voice that took form of your consciousness echoed in your head, this boy is going to be the death of me.

Reluctantly, you closed your textbook and put your quill down on the wooden table, these two actions being followed by the connection between your fingers. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, the similarity to a little boy that he carried in his behavior causing you to chuckle. However, your good spirits soon vanished away when you came to the realization you now had to tell him the truth. You had never been good at lying, for all it mattered.

He beamed widely at you, and he had his ears ready to capture all the words that were about to slip from your lips. But nothing was coming out of them, and a slight impatience resulted in his eyebrows being furrowed together. Fred went back to whispering words to hurry you into opening up, and the situation just overwhelmed your inexperienced heart.

It was all too much: you could not bear with the fact that he was staring so intensely at you, nor with the fact that you were about to tell him you saw yourself as a ridiculously stupid teenager who had never felt a pair of lips brushing against their own.

“I don’t really know how to do the whole…kissing thing. And I refuse to go to the Yule Ball because of it, given that chances of being kissed by your date are high.”

Your confession came out as a train losing its track – fast, unruly and through gritted teeth. Although you were deeply ashamed of that part of you, his face expressed the total opposite of any of your feelings.

His eyebrows were still furrowed together, but now scoff dripped from his words. “Yeah, right. And George is more handsome than me.”

You could swear your heart skipped a beat at that moment. Blinking in the rawest surprise your body could internally gather, you stared at him and waited for him to say anything else. You were lost for words. How could he not believe you?

“I mean, you’re incredibly beautiful. And I know you have a few people interested in you.” When you raised an eyebrow at his latter words, he was quick to snap back at you. “I’ve noticed how that Ravenclaw boy looks at you.”

Even though there was an inconspicuous blush tainting your face due to his compliments, you waved his words off and laughed shyly. He probably was just acting nice towards you. That was a huge characteristic of the Weasley family – being raised by an amazing woman like Molly herself made such a thing come out naturally.

You remained quiet for a few moments, your heart beating fast in your chest and your eyes staring out the library windows. You still had a hard time believing you had just confessed your deepest secret to your love interest, but it was of no use crying over spilt milk. If he were one to keep his promises, one of your rare studying sessions with Fred Weasley would soon return to normal.

But what if he started pitying you for it? Or what if he stopped talking to you, once he concluded your universes did not collide? He surely was vastly experienced when it came down to kissing. Kissing Fred Weasley would probably be the biggest honor of your life.

Unconsciously, your eyes left the windows and roamed the surroundings until they reached his lips. It was almost as if the whole world had stopped.

Fred had thin lips, but they seemed to be astonishingly soft for someone who caused as much trouble as he did. His upper lip was subtly curved, and you were mesmerized by every single little detail you could visually grasp. That moment would haunt your thoughts for a long time, once it was pure cruelty how you had fallen out of love – the one you loved did not love you back.

But you were terribly wrong about that. Fred had been experiencing some shifts on his feelings towards you lately. He had watched you blossom into a charming young girl, and there was something about you hitting hard on his heart. And, frankly speaking, after he caught you looking at his lips, he would be in heaven if he ever got the chance to kiss you.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He helped you gather all of your belongings with a gentle smile hanging on his lips and, once more, you swore your heart was melting away over everything he did.

As you walked out of the library together, dipped in a somewhat agonizing silence, you felt his fingers brushing against yours, which caused you to instantly look at him. “Can I hold your hand while we walk?”

Holy moly, what did he just say? Your consciousness was again alarmed at the scenario taking place right in front of your eyes. Okay. Keep calm. Don’t freak out.

“Y-Yeah, I guess.”

He did not waste any time on ending the ridiculously small distance between your hands. However, he did not simply hold your hand in his; he intertwined your fingers together, and gave your hand a light squeeze. His eyes fell upon you, and his gorgeous smile grew wider. You could not help but smile along.

You continued on walking together in silence, the only tangible thing between you and Fred being the tiny circles his thumb drew on your skin. If it were possible to describe your feelings, one would choose the talk about fireworks, or waves violently crashing on rocks on a breathtaking beach.

He unquestionably would be the death of you.

He tugged on your hand once you stopped in a deserted hallway. There was something astounding about the fact that he was able to find a calm and quiet place on Hogwarts, but he had always been like a box full of surprises to you. And he was also really good at knowing all the best places in the castle.

You smiled at him, the riddle he was presenting filling your chest with amusement. “What are we doing here?” All of the terrors you felt earlier returned to you, and you felt like withdrawing. “Wait. We are not here so you can lecture me on kissing, right?! Because, if we are, I would very much like to lea-“

Fred abruptly shushed you, stepping closer to your body and gently pushing your back against a wall. His eyes darted up and down your face, and he grinned cunningly down at you. He was so much taller than you, and the sight of him towering over you was quite intimidating.

“I’m gonna be your kissing instructor.”

Bitch, said what?! Your eyes widened in shock, his fingers reached out to place a lock of hair behind your ear, and your biggest wish was to evaporate. With your head shaking vigorously, and your lips being pressed together in a disappearing line, you exclaimed you would never accept that.

You could never allow physical intimacy to destroy your friendship with Fred Weasley. It was better to have him as a friend than not having him at all.

He found your actions to be absolutely adorable, the desire to consume your innocence growing bigger and bigger each second. “I’m only trying to help you out, y’know. If that Ravenclaw boy is not willing to claim these luscious lips, I sure am.”

Your cheeks erupted in a dark red shade, and you looked away from him, unable to take it for any longer. He was now evidently playing with your feelings, and you did not know how to deal with his attitude.

You were torn apart between accepting his kiss and pushing him away. It could go two ways: you would either kiss him and dismiss all of your feelings and expectations, or you would fall even harder for him. You were not exactly leaning towards neither option.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now.” He murmured his confession as he briefly dodged his eyes from your face as well. It was unusual to see the great Fred Weasley embarrassed but, apparently, it was happening right in your face. “So, please, let me be your first kiss. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Your gaze moved back to him and he also had a light pink flush on his cheeks. He looked painfully handsome at that moment, with his freckles splattered all over his skin, and his lips trembling slightly. Your eyes met, and both of you smiled timidly. You were swooning.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He repeated your monosyllabic answer and nodded a bit, mostly to himself, assuring he would finally feel his lips on his. “I’m gonna put my hands on your hips now.”

And he did. Both of his hands ghosted over your body until they reached your hips. He pulled you a little bit closer to his chest, and his scent tickled your nose. You felt like electrical waves were rushing through your entire body, and you wondered how you had managed not to faint.

“Look, do what I’m doing.” Fred parted his lips slightly and tilted his head to his left side a bit, his eyelashes fluttering until he finally closed his eyes. He looked heavenly, but you could never admit that and put yourself into an even more vulnerable position.

An almost inaudible snicker rang in his ears, and he soon opened his eyes and looked at you. You confessed he looked quite silly like that, but he ignored your comment and ordered you to mimic him again. His voice was low and his warm breath hit your face gently. You finally obeyed, feeling all jittery and anxious.

You looked captivating in his eyes, and he was ready to show you how amazing a tad of intimacy could be.

He leaned down, bringing your lips together in an extremely slow brush against each other. “Put your lips like this.” And, a second time, you did as he told you to, copying all of his actions.

It did not take long for him to finally involve your uneasy lips with his own. He started out by giving small pecks onto your skin, but his hunger got too big and he demanded more.

Your small silhouette was pressed even harder to his body, and he touched your lower lip with his tongue, asking for permission to feel more of you. Your attempts to continue moving according to him went on, and you thought it was a good sign he had not stopped you yet.

Once the velvet-feeling of his tongue came in touch with yours, he groaned against your lips, which caused you to use both of your hands to hold onto his robes tightly.

The kiss went on for a few more moments until you and Fred were breathless, and you had to break away to learn how to cope with oxygen again.

It was difficult to find words to talk about whatever had just happened, but you mumbled a shy ‘thank you’, which he replied to with ‘don’t mention it’.

Kissing was not as horrible as you thought it would be. 

And, after all, maybe going to the Yule Ball could be quite nice if you had enough luck to get Fred Weasley to be your date and kiss you again.

[plant-flwrs]

hii! can i request a fred weasley x reader where they're like in their 4th or 5th year and in a secret relationship? like kind of having to sneak around and stuff like that and thinking people don't notice but theymre really obvious? thank u!!

the map’s findings // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: did i insinuate lee x george in this? yes, yes i did. no shame. also, i really like the way this fic turned out. i hope u guys do too :D

summary: Harry and Ron think they’ve discovered a secret relationship between you and Fred. Little do they know, they’ve just been clueless to the obvious romance all around them.

(2.8k)

----------

“Mate,” Harry’s voice was muffled from where his head was tucked under his thick blanket, but Ron turned to him anyways. Ron watched Harry’s black, unruly hair spill from under the covers, followed by the light at the tip of his wand and a folded piece of paper. 

“Hm?” Ron hummed, expecting Harry to have woken him from his light sleep because of another nightmare he had about spiders. Ron didn’t remember these nightmares, but Harry told him all about his sleep talking in the morning. 

“Come look at this.”

Ron wanted to protest the wakeup call, but his eyes focused in the dark and he realized the paper in Harry’s hands was the map. The map. Ron always woke up for the map.

Ron stumbled from under his covers, his feet landing loudly on the ground. Harry widened his eyes, flicking them to Neville and Seamus, both of them still asleep. Ron tread over more carefully, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“What is it?” he whispered, pulling the curtains closed on Harry’s four poster and sitting on the bed by Harry’s knees.

Harry thrusted the map into Ron’s arms, the tip of his wand, still illuminated, showing him where to look.

Ron’s eyes followed, and his face was turned into a grimace of disgust before he could help it.

“No,” he mumbled, holding the map tighter in his pale and freckled hands and bringing it closer to his face, knocking Harry’s wand away by accident. 

“Do you think-” Harry cut himself off, his lips pulled in a sympathetic but worried thin line, his eyes opened in shock beneath his glasses.

“It can’t be,” Ron gasped out in the way Ron gasps when he doesn’t know the answer to something.

“I dunno, mate,” Harry said wistfully, leaning his back against the headboard behind him.

“I’m going to ask George about it tomorrow,” Ron said, standing with dedication but tossing the map back to Harry with hesitation.

On his way back to his bed, Harry heard Ron mumble, “For Merlin’s sake,” and flop into his bed with a new sense of exhaustion.

The next morning, Ron was pleased to wake with no memory of any spider nightmares, and Harry didn’t have the look on his face he usually did when he was about to regale Neville and Seamus with Ron’s asleep ramblings. Harry, however, had a different look on his face. Something mixed with apprehension and excitement. 

“Ready?” Harry asked from the doorway, watching as Ron was neglecting to tuck in his shirt tales and tighten his tie, granted to lose Gryffindor some house points if Snape saw his uniform so out of order. Harry decided to leave it to either Hermione or Snape, whichever got to Ron first.

Ron mumbled something in response, swinging his bag over his shoulder and following Harry down the stairs.

“Still going to ask him?” Harry said, slipping past Ron as he held open the portrait for him.

“Who?” Ron said, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light let into the hallway by the tall, arching windows. 

“George,” Harry said, eyeing Ron as he walked beside him.

“What do I have to ask George?” Ron said, hopping over the trick step in the stairs and pausing as Harry did too.

“You don’t remember last night? The map?” Harry turned at the sound of his name, and Ron racked his brain as they waited for Hermione to come down the stairs.

Ron’s eyes lit up when Hermione reached the last step, causing her cheeks to flush. Ron punched Harry’s shoulder.

“Yes! Bloody hell, thanks for reminding me!” Ron started to the Great Hall, not casting Hermione or Harry a second glance to make sure they followed.

“Ron!” Hermione called, shifting her overflowing bag on her shoulder, “Fix your uniform!”

Ron continued to walk ahead of his friends, going to the Gryffindor table while his hands worked away at his uniform. 

“What’s got him in such a rush?” Hermione huffed, tightening the hair tie in her hair as she walked with Harry a few paces behind Ron.

“We saw something on the map last night,” Harry mumbled, craning his neck to see over everyone and making sure he didn’t lose sight of the ginger tuft of hair he was following.

Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing to give into the rumors Harry and Ron would be creating today based on something they thought they saw on an enchanted map-- a map they had no idea it’s origin, or it’s creators, or it’s purposes.

George was where he usually was, right beside Lee and Fred as the three of them stuffed their faces with eggs and bacon and toast. His eyes flickered to Ron when he approached, then he sat up straighter when Harry slid next to Ron.

“Boys,” he mumbled, his mouth full of eggs. Next to him, Lee looked up and quirked an eyebrow. Fred was still busy stuffing bacon in his mouth, just about to wipe his greasy fingers on his school sweater.

“George,” Ron said, his voice overly curious and polite in an attempt to hide the information he was holding, “could Harry and I speak to you?”

George’s eyes shifted between Harry and Ron, as if trying to read their minds and determine if this was worth cutting his breakfast short for. He looked down at his nearly empty plate and decided it was.

“Sure,” George stood, wiping his hands on a napkin, and slung his bag onto his shoulder.

“Where ya going?” Fred asked, looking up at George as he stood behind him.

“Ron and Harry want to talk to me, I’ll see you in Minnie’s class.”

Fred chuckled, seeming satisfied with his brother’s response and paid no more attention to it. Harry watched him as they walked back out of the hall, noticing him leaning over to say something into your ear. You flushed, hitting Fred’s shoulder jokingly, and turned back to your friends, ignoring Fred’s burning gaze on the back of your head. Harry turned away, feeling more confident in deciding to skip breakfast for this conversation.

Along the way, Ron slotted himself in an empty part of the table, picking up a stack of toast and eating it as he walked along the aisle.

“Alright,” George said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets and rocking on his heels, “what’s up?”

“The map-” Harry started, but George stopped him, alarm in his eyes.

“Is something wrong with it?” George asked, lowering his voice and stepping closer to Harry, “What happened?”

“No,” Ron said, stepping closer to George and Harry as he finished off his last piece of toast, “No, we saw something on it.”

George relaxed and leaned away, propping himself against the stone wall in the hallway.

“That’s to be expected,” he said, smirking.

“Yes, we know,” Harry answered, avoiding Ron’s annoyed huff.

“We saw something in your dorm last night,” Ron said, his tone harsh and hurried.

George didn’t answer, only narrowed his eyes and waited for the younger boys to continue.

“Y/n was in your dorm last night,” Harry said slowly, then glanced at Ron, who nodded him on, “in Fred’s four poster.”

George let out a surprised laugh that echoed in the hallway like a cackle. Harry adjusted his glasses awkwardly and Ron shifted his weight between his feet as they waited for George to calm down.

“He’s such an idiot!” George managed in his laughter, bringing his hand to his face to either smother the sound or wipe his tears, “I knew it was only a matter of time!”

Harry glanced at Ron, both of them holding a look of curiosity and slight worry in their brows. The boys had thought they had unearthed a scandalous secret, and in Harry’s secret wishes, he had drifted off to sleep imagining a scenario in which George would be so pleased with Harry and Ron for telling him that he’d enlist them to help him prank Fred. Harry saw that secret wish drifting out of his grasp as George’s laughter failed to subside.

“George!” Ron finally groaned, stomping his foot a little.

“You two,” George said with an admiring tone before he swiped a hand over his now pink face. 

George was too overcome with laughter to pay any mind to the boys, so he simply walked back into the hall, pleased to see food was still being served. He had worked up quite the appetite with all that laughing.

“What’d they want?” Lee asked as George slipped beside him.

“Tell ya later,” George managed before suffocating his laughter with a forkful of eggs. 

Fred had paid his twin no mind, once again, his gaze still on you. You had been hiding your face from him since George had left, giggling with your friends in an attempt to avoid Fred’s knowing and painfully flirtatious gaze.

On their way to Transfiguration, Lee walked beside George. Fred trailed behind his friend and brother, walking on the outskirts of the herd of girls you traveled in.

George lowered his head, his mouth close to Lee’s ear so they could talk in a more private way.

“Ron and Harry told me something quite interesting,” George said mysteriously, his eyes trained on Lee’s face.

“What?” Lee said, enthused at the idea of a secret.

“Harry said he saw Y/n in our dorm last night, on the map, in Fred’s bed.”

Lee’s reaction was very much similar to George’s when Harry and Ron told him. It gathered Fred’s attention, and he jogged a bit to catch up with the two, leaving your group behind.

“What’s so funny, mate?” Fred slung his arm around Lee’s slightly shorter shoulders, jostling him as he laughed.

“Told him about your prank idea,” George lied easily, “I reckon he likes it.”

Lee nodded at Fred, who smiled smugly. The rest of the short walk to class was spent with Lee falling into fits of giggles every time George looked at him. 

The common room fire crackled loudly, but could not be heard over the bustle of students. With classes let out and the weather outside being dreadful, everyone went to their respective common rooms for the evening. 

George and Lee were spread out on the couch, their legs entangled in the middle with each of their heads perched on the armrests at opposite ends. Lee flipped through a Quidditch magazine while George flipped through the new Zonko's catalogue. Both of them were aware of Fred’s absence.

Harry and Ron came through the portrait hole. Ron was squeezing out his drenched bag, tracking a trail of mud into the room as Harry undid his soggy tie from around his equally soggy shirt collar. 

“I told you-” Hermione said as she came in behind them, seeming to be completely dry.

“Yes, ‘Mione, we know,” Harry cut her off, digging through his bag for his wand.

Hermione cast a cleaning charm at Ron’s feet, then at the rug he had dirited. The drying spell came from her wand just as easily, leaving Harry and Ron with frizzy hair and dry clothes. 

Ron fell onto the floor in front of the couch George and Lee were on, dumping his wet school books onto the coffee table. Harry did the same, though a bit more gracefully. Hermione walked past them and up the stairs to her dorm.

“See anything else interesting on the map today?” Lee snickered, his magazine now resting on his chest as he looked at the boys.

George chuckled, untangling himself from Lee and sitting up. He made no protests when Lee rearranged his legs to fall across George’s lap.

Ron flushed, perhaps in frustration or embarrassment, and scoffed as he riffled through his books.

“Let us in on the joke, George,” Harry pleaded, slumping in his spot on the ground and abandoning his soaked books.

“I dunno...” George teased, resting his warm hands on Lee’s shins as he pretended to be in deep thought, “Should we, Lee?”

Lee perked up, sitting up as his legs stayed in their position on George. He mimicked George’s look before he nodded reluctantly.

“Might as well, everyone else knows,” he flung his legs from George’s, sitting so his shoulder bumped against George’s. George willed his face not to blush. He didn’t think anyone as thick as Ron and Harry would notice, seeing as they still had no idea about you and Fred.

“C’mon!” Ron whined, half at George and half at the smudged ink on his newly written Charms essay. 

“Alright,” George said, “We’ll let you in on the secret.”

George leaned forwards, and Harry and Ron shuffled to the other side of the coffee table, closer to the other boys. They were perched on their knees like children waiting for a bedtime story, expectantly looking to George and Lee.

“Fred and Y/n have been fooling around for a couple of months,” George paused for dramatic effect and waited as Ron and Harry shared blushing faces and smug looks, “They don’t think anyone knows, but practically everyone does.”

“Is that why-” Harry started, his mouth forming into an ‘o’ shape as George began nodding his head.

Harry thought back to all the odd comments people on the Quidditch team had made every time Fred was late for practice. Why Angelina didn’t have him running excruciating drills every time he was late, as she did everyone else. All the sly looks Fred made towards the student section at one particular person. 

“So, the map was right? They were-” Ron cut himself off at George’s nodding, his face distorting into disgust.

“Hello, losers,” Ginny said, coming from the dormitory stairs.

Harry straightened instinctually. George glanced between Harry, Ron, and Ginny, absolutely in awe at how his little brother could be so clueless when it came to romance. George and Lee instinctually moved away from each other, now that they were in the presence of someone with an actual insight to the world.

“Hey, Gin,” Ron said, his voice low as if he had a lot on his mind.

“What are you lot talking about?” She fell into an armchair that had been pulled close to the couch, so they could still all talk in a low voice and hear each other.

Harry and Ron shared a glance, then looked to George and Lee as if they were asking for permission. George shrugged his shoulders, falling deeper into the couch.

“Y/n and Fred,” Harry said, his eyes searching Ginny’s face for a hint as to if what George and Lee had told them was as well known as they said.

Ginny rolled her eyes and chuckled good-naturedly, “Finally.”

George smirked at the look of shock on Ron and Harry’s faces.

The rain fell against the window in a soothing pattern, and you could have watched it for hours. Your eyes fell upon two drops, watching them race to the bottom of the glass before they joined the rushing water sliding off the building. 

Beneath you, Fred’s chest rose and fell in a calming rhythm, a reminder that he was still there when you were too lost in the views of the window.

Fred’s gaze was on your face, as it usually was, and his long fingers were lost somewhere in your hair. You felt his fingertips brush against your ear every once and awhile, also a reminder he was there. 

Fred licked his lips, watching your eyes move up and down towards the window. He watched the way your teeth snagged your bottom lip occasionally, watched the way your cheeks would hollow when you subconsciously pursed your lips in thought. Fred watched his own hands on you, one in your hair and the other wrapped around your waist.

Your chin rested on his chest, laid diagonally across the bed so you could see out of the window and so Fred could see you.

“When do you reckon Lee and George are going to tell us?” you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had been between you two. You shifted your head, resting your cheek against his chest and looking up at him.

“When we tell them we know, I’d guess,” Fred said, looking down at you with lidded eyes.

You hummed in agreeance, closing your eyes and hoping Fred would do the same so you could both nap. He didn’t.

“When should we tell them about us?” he asked, a hint on unease in his voice as he waited for your response.

You didn’t open your eyes, “When they tell us they know.”

Fred’s chest moved with a chuckle that escaped his throat, causing you to bounce slightly beneath him. His fingers brushed away hair that had fallen into your face, and his eyes fell closed.

“That’s fair,” he mumbled, shifting his head on the pillows beneath him and drifting off to sleep.

[robinsdearest]

Quick Enemy Patch Up

Jason Todd x Reader

[Totally and utterly based on this TikTok I saw the other day]

You slump against the brick wall. It’s not as comfortable as you’d hoped it would be, but it’ll have to do for now. One hand attempts to dust off the rest of your costume as the other applies pressure to the ever-quickly bleeding stab wound in your abdomen. 

You thought of yourself as a lowly, blue-collar criminal only good for the occasional museum robbery or as a beneficiary gala jewel thief. You always worked solo, had the occasional police run-in, and more often than not, you were met by other Gotham vigilantes trying to catch you. Nothing could surprise you after being in the game for as long as you had been. At the very least, you should have expected a job gone wrong would have ended with a Black Skull goon tying up loose ends. 

You close your eyes and sigh thinking about what went wrong. The ache in your bones and the pounding in your head stole the thoughts away- everything was getting blurry at this point. Breathing was getting difficult, and you really wondered if someone would find your cold body in the morning.

A slight thud has your eyes shooting open, and your free hand goes to the blade you were carrying. Even though you’re wincing in pain, you lean forward to watch a figure emerge from the blackness of the alley. 

“My, my, what do we have here?” The voice mocks as it makes its way towards you. You slightly relax and drop the knife as the dim light reflects off your company’s helmet.

“Red Hood, I didn’t take you as someone to ask stupid questions.” The two of you had a long history of run-ins. He always seemed to be the one to keep you from obtaining your best items. Most of the time, he’d have you in situations pretty similar to this one. He was your very own public enemy number one. 

The man with the hood laughs again; he’s gotten close enough to where he squats just above your sprawled out legs. He takes a gloved finger to lift your chin and examine your face.

“Looks like someone could use some help.” With the pop of the last word, he flicks your chin down. You wish you had more energy to snap back- you didn’t need his help. The snarl you pull does nothing to deter the man. “I don’t plan on knocking someone while they’re down, sweetheart.” He reaches over with one hand to support your upper back and another to lift up your legs. You attempt to struggle against his hold on you at first, but exhaustion soon takes over- you pass out from blood loss before the two of you can exit the alley.

                                    _________________________

The smell of something cooking has you slowly waking up. Consciousness comes to you all at once; glancing around, you realize you’re on a couch in what appears to be an apartment. Your immediate thought is that it looks like it came right out of 1980’s furniture magazine.

Rising up on your elbows, you notice the TV playing a movie you’ve never seen before, a coffee table littered in medical supplies, and an empty wall where you can hear a radio playing behind it. Inch by inch you move the rest of your body until you’re upright. Your entire body seems to be bandaged- there’s a dull ache where your open wound should have been, and you are definitely in clothes that do not belong to you. You get to your feet by holding yourself up on the couch arm. You limp to the wall where you regain a hold to keep yourself standing. Beyond the wall where the music is playing, there’s a dining table with your costume and cowl. Next to it, a dazzling red helmet.

“Damn, I didn’t expect you to wake up that quickly. I was hoping to finish cooking before you woke.” The man’s voice startles you, and flight instincts have you scan the area for your quickest escape route. Spotting a door, you make a run for it. However, the attempt is pathetic, and the fast movement has you face first in the carpet. You cry out in pain as you feel something along your side tear. You hear a string of curses before strong hands are lifting you. “What in the hell was that for? I just patched you up.”

The man places you in a chair at the dining table. He goes back towards the living room and returns with the medical supplies you saw before. He squats next to you and starts to raise your shirt. He tries to fully take it off of you, so you swat his hands away. You’re met with deep blue eyes, and you finally get a good look at the man trying to help you. You let him pull off your shirt while you continue to take in his features: thick black hair, slight freckles across his nose, broad shoulders, and incredibly large hands that seem to work so delicately. A comfortable silence settles between you as he works to fix the stitches you reopened. He finishes and sets the sutures on the table before he speaks. 

“You were barely conscious and almost dead when I found you. I hope you realize that, darling.”

“You didn’t have to help me, Hood. I was doing fine by myself.” The man scoffs in response.

“Fine? You almost bled out before I even got you back here.” He gestures to the apartment and looks down to your costume. He taps your forehead. “And besides, now I know what you look like behind the mask. And you can say the same for the man behind the hood.”

He walks back to the kitchen to finish the cooking he had started earlier. You attempt to pull the shirt back over your head, but fail. You forgo the shirt, and only an instance later is the Red Hood walking back to you with plates in hand. He sits next to you, hands you a fork, places the plate in front of you, and begins eating. 

“Jason.” It’s simply stated in-between bites. The name seems like it fits well. 

“Y/N,” you reply. He hums, glances at you, and finishes off his plate. Once you finish your food, he takes the plates back into the kitchen. After he returns, he picks you up again to carry you back to the couch. Jason cleans your abdomen wound, and then begins working on your other bandages. He takes off several wrappings of gauze and seems to stall his movements as he stares at your exposed back.

“Who did this to you?” For a moment, you hear a touch of concern in Jason’s voice. The thought invites butterflies to your stomach. 

“Well, most of these are from you, remember?” In your mind, you whack yourself. What kind of flirting was that?

“Ah, yes. That I did.” His breath hits at the top of your ear- he’s so close, you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “But I’m not talking about old scars, beautiful. I’m talking about who almost put my favorite thief into the ground tonight.”

You ignore most of his words. “Oh, I’m your favorite thief? I didn’t think you could continue to scar someone you would label as a favorite night after night.” You didn’t mean that to come off as harsh as it did, but Jason only chuckled. His breath continued to tickle your ear.

“Don’t get too defensive on me now. I just want to make sure I’m the only one in Gotham giving you things like this to remember me by.” 

His hands begin to explore your back, landscaping all the muscles and marks he could see. You shiver as Jason traces his finger along a thin, white line right in the center of your back.

“That was from uh- um..” And your voice trails off as his hand continues to roam your body.

Jason chuckles. “You don’t have to remind me, darling. I remember.” 

You grin. “That hurt like a bitch. Took me days to get back to the streets.” You turn around so that you are seated facing him. When you finally get situated, there’s a smile plastered on his face that makes your heart flutter and would have made your knees week.

“Oh you think that one hurt?” Jason’s eyes dart from your own to your lips. He begins to reveal a piece of skin under his shirt. “Take a look at this one.”

You slowly raise your fingers to reached out and trace along the jagged scar that you gave to him months ago. A jagged line across his collarbone that was still raised and pink. You puff out air through your nose humorously. 

“Jason, what have we been doing to ourselves?” He adjusts his shirt and he shrugs. 

“I think it’s called just business.” His lips turn into a smirk as he glances over at your half-naked body. “I’ve never been one to mix work and pleasure.”  

“In your dreams, Red Hood,” you respond, rolling your eyes. 

“How did you know I dream about you?” 

Your face immediately turns red: this guy was too much. His following laugh is whole-body and deep, yet he lets you playfully punch his arm. You can’t help yourself but smile. Your once least favorite vigilante had you in a puddle in his apartment. No masks, no facades, no crime fighting, even if just for a night. Maybe the Red Hood would be your enemy turned ally, or possibly even more.

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

[AN: please please please go back and watch the video linked above. I want to give credit to the one who made the TikTok, but I couldn’t find them on here.]

[narukoibito]

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Am I Your Lockscreen?

Summary: Harry misplaces his phone.

AO3 | FF.net

Note: This took absolutely forever (months!), but here it finally is. Thanks for the ridiculous prompt Anon. This is complete, unadulterated fluff. It’s ridiculous, and I just can't. Haha, I hope you enjoy!

*

Harry was in the middle of stifling a yawn when he heard the rumbling downstairs.

Must be Fred and George, he thought, stretching his arms over his head. He let them fall back on the cot, with a content, food coma induced sigh. He was thinking about taking a little kip when Ron stirred on the bed beside him.

“Sounds like Ginny’s home early,” Ron grumbled.

“Ginny’s home?” Harry perked up, only to cough self-consciously at the strange look Ron gave him. Right, best mate’s little sister, he reminded himself. Except she was so much more than that. As if on cue, he heard the tinkling of her laughter below.

“Oh, I guess that’s nice,” Harry said casually, leaning back into the cot and pretending to go back to napping.

After a moment, Harry sneaked a peek. Ron had returned to fiddling with his phone. Texting Hermione probably.

Good save, Potter.

Unable to stop himself, Harry reached into his pocket to protectively touch his phone. Only to come back empty-handed.

His eyes popped open.

He straightened and immediately began to pat the blankets around him, his hands searching with a growing franticness.

“Mate?” Ron asked.

“Have you seen my phone?” Harry looked under his pillow and the sheets, on the verge of panic. He always, always kept his phone with him, especially —

“Er, no?” Ron sat up, confused. “Let me call you.”

Harry waited with bated breath as Ron dialed his number. He glared at the rumpled sheets pooled around him, willing them to start ringing.

Finally, there came his tell-tale ring! Only it was…

Shite. Shite, shite, shite!

It had been a moment of weakness. At her last football game, he had snapped a photo right when she’d made the winning shot. Then, like the idiot he was, couldn’t resist saving it as his lockscreen.

“Harry?” He heard Ron’s cry of surprise behind him as he moved, wrenching open the door. He bolted down the stairs, taking two, then three steps at a time, racing toward the ringing.

Just as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, Harry saw Ginny. Even in the midst of his panic, he couldn’t stop the way his stomach swooped at the sight of her standing there in her football training kit, with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders, her freckled skin that glowed, her pale fingers that he longed to hold.

And then, as if in slow motion, he watched as those very fingers reached toward the dining room table.

Fuck.

“Whose phone—?”

“Argh!” Without thinking, Harry launched himself into the air. 

His fingers triumphantly curled over the phone.

Sweet relief coursed through him as an invisible audience cheered him in his head. Safe! He was safe!

Only of course his foot caught on something, and Harry went tumbling headfirst onto the floor. All those years of football training meant he automatically rolled, protecting his head, even as he crashed against the cupboards.

“Harry! Are you okay?”

He blinked away the spots in his eyes to see Ginny looking down at him, her brown eyes bright with concern. She leaned in, her face tantalizingly close.

“Fine. I’m fine,” he croaked, his face flooding with color and not only because he was upside down.

And he was fine, despite the spinning room, because Ginny was here, smiling down at him. The fluttering in his chest mixed with the squeeze of relief that she wasn’t looking down at him in disgust or, worse, pity at having uncovered his secret.

“I see you haven’t lost your flair for dramatics,” she said wryly.

“Constant vigilance,” Harry said, pleased when she laughed at the reference to that ridiculous counselor from that summer camp their parents had enrolled them in as teens. Counselor Moody used to do all sorts of mad things to scare them, like popping out of the bushes. Harry and Ginny used to catch each other’s eyes and laugh about it back when she was nothing more than his best mate’s little sister.

Harry’s eyes couldn’t help but wander from her face, only to flush and snap his eyes upward. She certainly wasn’t so little anymore.

“Let’s get you right-side up, and then maybe you can explain why you were pulling a Moody.”

His stomach curled into knots at her proximity as she helped him. He tried to think of something charming to say, which was hard when she was dusting him off and unintentionally sending goosebumps up his arm.

“I was testing your reflexes,” Harry blurted. “I’m still faster than you.”

“Oh, like that really counts when you suddenly shout and fling yourself at me.”

Why was it that the challenging look on Ginny’s face only made his heart skip a beat?

“Element of surprise.” He reached up to adjust his crooked glasses, something tickling in the back of his mind like he was forgetting something. Focusing was difficult with the intoxicating scent of flowers short-circuiting his brain.

“Well, for all your bluster…” With a mischievous glint in her eye, Ginny triumphantly raised his phone screen to his line of sight. “You still lose.”

Harry’s heart dropped to the floor. His eyes darted from the phone to her face and back again. He made a wild swipe for it, but Ginny was prepared.

“Whose call were you so eager to answer, hmm?” she taunted as she ducked into the family room.

“No, Ginny!” He followed her frantically, nearly knocking over a vase. “Come on, don’t—!”

“Not Cho, I hope?” She ran around the couch, strategically placing it between them. Her hand waved the phone tauntingly at him.

“No,” Harry said, slowly drawing nearer, adrenaline drumming in his ears. He frantically looked for an opening. “Cho and I aren’t a thing anymore.”

“Then it’s no problem if I check, is it?” Ginny turned the phone toward her, eyes slowing lowering — with his heart lodged in his throat, Harry lunged.

The two of them tumbled to the ground in a mess of limbs.

Harry groaned at the sting from where his head had connected with the floor. Somehow, in the chaos, he had managed to be on the bottom, which was good because Ginny hadn’t felt the brunt of the fall. But as the pain began to recede, he was suddenly very much aware of the soft curves pressing into him, her legs tangled up with his. She moved, wiggling enough to make him yelp.

Oh God, was this it? The only time he would ever get this close?

How pathetic could he get?

“Harry?”

He winced and waited for her to punch him and call him a pervert or something. When it didn’t come, he dared to open a tentative eye. Ginny had lifted herself up, hovering above him, her fiery red hair a curtain around them. Unable to stop himself, he stared up at her, bewitched by her freckles up close, the growing flush on her cheeks that reminded him of a sunset.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Am I your lockscreen?”

Harry swallowed hard, his chest twisting painfully. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Her lips quirked upward. “Planned on keeping it a secret for life?”

“Worth a shot,” he said dryly, even though his pulse was racing. She was smiling — could that possibly mean…?

“Yes, well. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, what are you going to do about it?” Her eyes flashed.

His traitorous hand reached up, lightly brushing her hair back. As his fingers skimmed her cheeks, she released an unsteady breath that whispered against his face. Ginny, his best mate’s little sister, his brilliant friend who could kick his arse, who made him laugh until his cheeks hurt.

“Ginny,” he said, barely able to think over the hammering in his heart, trying to form the words he had been reciting endlessly ever since she and Dean split up. “Will you be my lockscreen?”

Wait. Did he just…?

Mortification surged inside him. Where was a hole to bury himself in when he needed it? He would never be able to show his face around the Weasleys again — how was he going to explain that to Ron? He’d go abroad, Scotland maybe, explore castles or woods, anywhere really, just somewhere far, far away.

A peal of laughter tore him from his runaway thoughts. Ginny gave him such a bright smile, it was hard to look at her straight on. She was leaning closer, her eyes blazing. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

“Fair is fair,” he said, holding her gaze for what seemed like an impossible time, the tension between them making his chest want to burst, and then suddenly they were kissing.

He had imagined this moment many times in the past few months since his feelings had all but clobbered him over the head when he and Ron bumped into Ginny and Dean snogging under the bleachers. He’d replaced Dean with himself, imagined his hands around her waist, his lips fused with hers.

But this — this was so much better than anything he could have imagined. All conscious thoughts were obliterated by a warm sunshine that effused his every nerve.

“Harry,” Ginny breathed heavily when they finally broke apart. The smile she was giving him made him smile what was surely the soppiest smile in existence. “That was…”

“Lockscreen worthy?” he asked like an idiot.

She chuckled, her body shifting against him, turning that sunshine inside him to molten heat. “Might need to double check.”

“Happy to oblige,” he said, as she leaned down and kissed him again. He ached to be closer, his hand tangling into her soft hair, and she pressed closer as if also driven by the same reckless desire. He was so lost in her, he only barely registered the distant noise that was getting closer.

“Where’d you go, Har— oh my God!” Ron’s cry pierced through Harry’s hazy brain. “Get off my sister!”

Fear spiked through Harry. He looked up at his best mate (who was hopefully still his best mate), who looked as if he had been clubbed on the head.

“He can’t get off me, I’m on him!” Ginny replied unhelpfully.

“Oh then… Get off my best mate!”

Ron grabbed her ankles and started pulling her off of Harry, but Ginny, in a fit of rebelliousness, clung onto Harry harder.

Over their bickering about “bro code” and “we don’t need your permission” and “took you both long enough, but no snogging in the family room,” Harry let his head fall back with a thunk against the floor.

Nevermind – Scotland it was.

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ~

Part II

© sailorhyunjinz 2021; Rights Reserved

All picture rights to their respective owners.

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥: Photographer!Hyunjin x fem!model!reader, model!bestfriend!Felix, barista!Seungmin, agedup!straykids, fluff, character driven story, stranger to lovers, summer!au, mentions of death/passing away, mentions of injury, slight angst, mentions of self doubt, mentions of bad economy. 

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 4.6 k 

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: lmao if anyone is wondering why the cafe is open at night; it actually exists! most commonly found in korea but hey this fic doesnt have a set place so just imagine that it’s a cafe that works 24/7 ALRIGHTY? 

If you have any feedback I’m more than happy to receive it! <3

Taking pictures of you - MASTERLIST

ONE｜TWO｜THREE

“What do you think this means? Why does he want to contact me?”

You anxiously paced around the living room, Felix sitting on the small grey sofa, his soft brown eyes going from left to right, following your distressed figure.

“Maybe he just wanted to talk to you directly, make it feel more personal you know?”

Felix sounded unsure of his own answer as he tilted his head questioningly, his gaze still glued on you.

“But why does he want to know me personally? Does he do this with every model?” You bit your lip as you thought, stopping hastly before running to the kitchen and grabbing the water bottle from the day of the photoshoot. 

“y/n! What are you even...” Felix abruptly halted his sentence before widening his eyes at your intentions.

“Surely you’re not actually gonna call him?” he asked in surprise.

“I should at least find out what his motive is! I can’t just ignore the poor boy can I?” you held the water bottle tightly in your hand, removing the plastic wrapper with the number scribbled on and observed his delicate handwriting.

“He seems...strange, to say the least. He rarely talks to people during events and is only ever interested in anything that involves his work.” 

Felix knew since he himself was a model. The two of you met during a casting in the earlier years of your career, both being youthful teenagers with dreams and slightly puffy cheeks, babyfat that eventually got away and revealed your hidden features. The day of the casting Felix injured his foot causing him to fall when walking in front of the hawk-eyed judges. Your heart ached when you saw his desperate figure on the cold floor, he was just like everyone else in that frigid casting room, just a youngster with a dream. You passed the audition, smiling as you accepted a blue clipboard with papers from the judges, feeling everyone’s eyes drilling into your back with jealousy. Moments later, after night had fallen over the big city, you found Felix hunched over a small step of stairs meant for the fire escape. 

“H-hey,,,uhm, are you fine?”

You hestitated speaking to the quivering boy, his hands covering his face as tears dripped of his chin. 

“W-what do you care?!” he spat towards you, his attitude making you want to leave but you felt to guilty to do that, after all he was simply upset and not actually mad. 

You inched closer to his cowered body and sat down next to him on the hard stone steps. You looked at him in guilt. You had passed the audition but how were you any better than him? Softly, you put your hand on his shoulder, patting it a couple of times and letting the dark haired boy cry out, his sobs echoing in the dark stairway. He leaned into your touch and you ended up hugging him in silence for what seemed like hours. 

Times change and here he is. Signed to a highly respectable agency and catching flights left to right. Nothing more made you prouder than knowing that he didn’t give up on his dream.

“Felix! He’s not strange... maybe he’s just shy?” you tried to defend Hyunjin but realised how defensive you got over somebody you barely knew.

“Shy? In this line of work?” he furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at the white wrapper in your hands. “I’m not sure...what if he’s interested in you in that way?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest upon hearing Felix’s words. 

“You mean r-romantically?” you cleared your throat, feeling butterflies in the depths of your stomach. 

“Well...that will never happen, don’t wanna ruin your career, right y/n?”

Your gaze fell onto the white wrapper in your hand as your heart started beating faster. 

“R-right y/n?” He coughed as you grabbed your phone and started typing in the digits, glancing over at the wrapper and pressing accordingly. 

“Y/n, are you crazy? What if he actually has romatic interests in you? That could ruin both of your careers especially since he’s a world famous photographer that has every girl wrapped around his finger because of his looks.” Felix spoke bitterly, looking at your phone screen and then back at you with heightened eyebrows. 

“I’ll guess I’ll have to find out, Felix” 

“Ok but do that after I leave, I don’t want to hear you talk about him anymore and also be careful. You never know whats brewing on the inside in people like him” he said while rolling his eyes.

“What you wanna eat then bestie?” you laughed as you threw your phone onto the couch and made your way to the pantry. 

♡ 

Hours later Felix was waveing at your from the other of the door, you waved back at the freckled boy, smiling at him. 

“Be careful with that dude!” he yelled as he walked down to the flight of stairs, his voice echoing in the old apartment complex. 

“I will, mom!” you laughed at his cute consideration before shutting the heavy door. 

Silence broke out once the door shut, leaving you alone in the apartment yet again. You dragged your feet on the light laminated floor, making your way to the couch where your phone was buried underneath a multitude of pillows. 

“Where did I put that number”. You searched for it, finding your phone and the wrapper wedged between two seat cushions. Sitting down, you landed with a thump on the soft couch, the blue light from your phone emitting onto your face as you typed in the number yet again. A big lump was situated in your throat, your hands shaking as you sent a message to the number. 

[y/n] Hi! It’s y/n, it was a pleasure working with you. 

You stared at the message you sent before cursing to yourself. 

“Why the fuck did I write that? He’s gonna think that I’m some sort of weirdo, can I ever do anything ri-”

A pling from your phone erupted in the living room, catching you off guard. It’s probably not him, why would he reply so fast?

You were wrong, it was him.

[Hyunjin] Hello! It’s Hyunjin, hope you weren’t too surprised at me leaving my number. I’m just happy that you decided to reply. 

You gulped as you typed. It didn’t seem like he’d ever done something like this before. 

[y/n] No, not at all! Did the pictures turn out well?

[Hyunjin] Oh, you haven’t seen them? 

[y/n] My manager usually shows them on the date of the release...

[Hyunjin] How about this, we meet up and I’ll show you the pictures beforehand. We’ll keep it a secret from your company. 

M-meet up? This soon? A million thoughts passed through your mind in an instant, your mind zoning out while your eyes were glued on the well-lit screen that displayed the messages. You were curious about the photos but also about him. Wanting to know more about the blond boy and his abrupt ways you replied back, fingers shaking while moving over the keyboard.

[y/n] Sure, when and where?

You didn’t have any work to do anyways so why not solve the mystery called Hwang Hyunjin?

[Hyunjin] 2 PM, tomorrow

An adress was attached to the message which led to cafe you used to work at, not to far from your place. You placed your phone beside you and looked up at the white ceiling, sighing heavily. Maybe Felix was right, it’s strange to meet someone you’ve only met once, especially since he’s met countless of models just like you if not even better. The thoughts consumed too much of your energy and you ended up falling asleep on the couch, chest heaving peacefully. 

♡ 

The sudden vibration of your phone woke you up, the sun shining through the window as you grabbed your phone, light straining your eyes. 

[Felix] I’m 100% sure that you messaged that dude, right?

You laughed before typing through squinting eyes, laying down on your back.

[y/n] What if I did? 

[Felix] You’re insane 

[y/n] That’s my charm, Lixie~

Putting the phone away you slowly sat up, looking around the sunlit living room as if you’d never seen it before. Rubbing your weary eyes, you yawned before thinking ‘breakfast!’

Without even taking one step to the kitchen your phone vibrated once again. You lifted your eyebrow at the signal but ignored it for the time being, thinking that’s it’s Felix pestering you about your desicion to talk to Hyunjin. After you made a bowl of porridge and quickly washed up in the bathroom you grabbed the phone, wanting to scroll through your socials but what you saw on your home screen made the spoon of porridge that was on it’s way towards your mouth stop.

[Hyunjin] Slept well?

You’ve met him once and he’s already asking such a question? But something made you believe that this isn’t how he normally is. He’s hiding a type of shyness underneath those bold messages and actions. This Hyunjin isn’t the one that you’ve been described, this is a different Hyunjin. 

Your mind was blank. What do you even reply to that? In search for answers you texted Felix, knowing he wouldn’t give you a good answer but at least some emotional support. 

[y/n] Lixie, what does one reply to the question “Slept well?”

[Felix] You don’t, you pack up your things and you leave.

[y/n] You dickhead

[Felix] That’s my charm y/n~

If you could punch someone through the screen you would punch Felix. Returning back to the message that Hyunjin sent you, you quickly typed something down and sent it. 

[y/n] Yeah, fine! Everything well with you?

[Hyunjin] Yes, it’s fine. See you later then, y/n

The porridge infront of you had cooled down, now being a sloppy mess of oats with a spoon slowly sinking into the substance. You stared at the message before your gaze returned to the breakfast bowl. This wasn’t going to be an easy day. 

♡ 

The clock ticked as your stomach was filling up with butterflies, one by one. 

“This is a casual meeting not a date, y/n” you mumbled as you tapped your foot, standing infront of the multiple racks of clothing in your slightly stuffy walk-in closet. You rarely wore even half of the clothes. Most of the pieces were sent by companies or given to you after photoshoots, this being both a blessing and a curse. 

Your hand gravitated towards a white blouse with puffy sleeves because it reminded you of him. You shook your head wanting to get the thought out of your head. You hated that you cared so much about him but at the same time you knew why. Because he ignited a feeling of longing. A feeling called love. 

Snatching the blouse from it’s hanger you digged through your drawers and fished up a pair of beige colored wide pants. You glanced at the brown watch on your wrist as you stepped into the pants, pulling off your pyjama top in one swift motion before putting on the flowy blouse. You looked in the mirror, combing through your hair with your fingers and reaching for a pair of pearl earrings that rested in a small tray infront of the mirror. Turning around, you observed the shelf that displayed the dozens of shoes in your possession, all while tilting your head and putting on the small pearls. Varnished heels would be good, right? Stretching out your arm to grab the heels, your gaze feel on your watch. As usual, you were going to be late and you hoped with every bit of your mind that Hyunjin wouldn’t find you rude. With the heels on you grabbed your purse, throwing in your keys that were decorated with keychains off all shapes and sizes as you staggered out the door. 

The breeze hit your face as you made your way down the street, the heels clicked against the broad stone sidewalk making both women and men turn their heads. Lucky for you, Hyunjin chose the cafe where you happened to know somebody working at. 

That somebody being your friend Seungmin. 

You see, when you were just starting your career money was an issue. Your family wasn’t well off and when you set out to find your calling in the big city without a stable job your family was worried to say the least. You moved into a small apartment that more looked like a mouse burrow than an apartment. Holding a bag of trash you went down to the lobby of the apartment complex, the trashcan reeking as you lifted the lid and quickly threw in the bag, bending your spine backwards with a disgusted look on your face. Walking back you accidentally knocked down a paper that was resting on a corkboard by just how fast you walked passed. The light yellow paper landed infront of your feet, halting your movements. You picked it up.

« Searching for barista assistent »

The pay wasn’t too bad and neither were the working hours and so you folded the paper and went back into the apartment, smiling as you thought that this was the moment when everything changed. 

And it did. Seungmin became one of your first friends in the city, right after Felix came into your life. You have very fond memories of that cafe. Working late nights with Seungmin, drinking coffee to stay awake through the late hours. 

“What’s your dream, y/n?” Seungmin asked on one of the first days, still not knowing who you were and what your goals in this big city was.

“I-i want to become a model” you muttered underneath your breath, scared that he was going to belittle you and crush your dreams into nothing but fine powder.

“I believe in you, y/n” he said in a low voice, wiping the counter, not making eye contact as you stood on the other side. 

Silence overtook the empty cafe, the low humming of cars on the road being the only noise that was heard before you cleared your throat, looking down at your shoes and leaning against the counter.

“Thank you Seungmin, that means a lot” you said before the silence took over again. 

You swore you could’ve cried right then and there. Hearing those words when being in such a vulnerable situation really did mean a lot to you. His words stuck with you and in every interview where the interviewer asked about what you want to tell to aspiring models you always said those words. “I believe in you.”

The neon pink open sign in the window was brightly lit, the silhouette of people sipping on their lattes and chatting could be seen from the outside of the reminiscent building that was covered in hops. You stepped in, your heels making a loud clicking noise on the dark walnut colored wood flooring.

“How can I hel- y/n!!” Seungmin looked up at you, standing infront of the espresso machine as steam was billowing out. The other co-workers gave you a glance before returning to their tasks. 

“y/n! I haven’t seen you in so long, how are you?” he asked, you had contact on the phone but didn’t meet each other too much due to different schedules. 

“Minnie! I’ve missed you!” you squealed out as he walked through the low wooden gate that seperated the working area from the rest of the cafe. Seungmin pulled you into a hug, warmness emitting onto you as your bodies touched. 

“I’ve been good!” you continue, smiling as you pulled away from the hug seeing Seungmins waist defined by the strings of the apron wrapping around him, a kitchen towel hanging from his shoulder. 

“But I have to tell you something, Seungmin” you say quietly making the dark haired boy tilt his head in question. 

“I’m meeting Hwang Hyunjin here in about 5″ you say with a smirk, knowing Seungmin would be jealous.

“Wait,,, the Hwang Hyunjin?!” he said a bit too loudly, alerting the customers before he turned to them with a embarrassed smile, bowing his head in an apology. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“He was the one that suggested it, I couldn’t help it” you answered to which Seungmin’s eyes widened.

“H-he knows about this place?” He was stunned as he looked into your warm eyes.

“Yeah? Such a coincidence right? I was sur-” Your sentence was cut short as Seungmin’s breath hitched and a cold breeze hit your back. You turned back and there he was. 

Hyunjin. 

His presence shined in the relativly small rustic cafe. A white t-shirt and black slacks decorated his well toned body, a long leather coat draping over his shoulders as his black boots shined perfectly. Multiple silver chains hanged around his neck and the rings from last time were boldly placed on his lanky fingers. The blonde boy is tightly gripping what looks to be brown leather computer clutch. 

He waved awkwardly and you smiled sweetly his way, playfully hitting Seungmin whose mouth was wide open, looking at the dashing boy. Hyunjin walked over to you, the other guests staring and some of them already picking up their phones to capture this moment. He looked oddly stiff, mannerisms totally different from how you saw him last. 

“Hi Hyunjin! uhm,,, this is my friend Seungmin, he works here.” you said, trying to initiate a conversation but only earning a wide eyed expression from Seungmin before Hyunjin spoke. 

“Nice to meet you!” he smiled, his eyes forming into half-moons.

Seungmin snapped back to reality before bowing slightly, his eyes twinkling and his ruffled hair landing infront of his deep brown eyes.

“It’s an honor to meet you, mr Hwang” 

Hyunjin chuckles slightly at his cute gesture.

“Your cafe seemed charming” was the only thing he could response before looking at you and blushing. 

“2 americanos, Minnie” you said, momentarily glancing at Hyunjin before staring down at your heels. 

“It’s on me” Seungmin leaned in to whisper in your ear to which you giggled and looked at Hyunjin’s confused expression. You pointed at a table in the corner of the cafe with your chin, signaling to sit down.

As you walked over to the cedar table you couldn’t help but to wonder about his duality. He seemed so comfortale last time, talking to you with no problem and being as bold as to leave his number but now he seemed like a young school boy that wanted to ask his crush out. You started to understand what Felix meant by “people like him”. 

You sat down on one of the wooden chairs with steel details, the only thing seperating you from Hyunjin being the light ash table. He pulls out his computer, clicking away as you observe his perfect features. His concentrated eyes were fierce but had a soft gaze, his plush pink lips being soft, perfect for kissing you thought as your eyes drifted to his adams apple that bobbed everytime he swallowed.

Before Hyunjin could show you his screen Seungmin came over, shyly placing the drinks on the table and striking his sweet smile your way to which you laughed inaudibly until he went back behind the counter, observing the action from afar. 

Hyunjin cleared his throath nervously as he turned his computer to show you the colorful photos, looking at your judging gaze in reassurance as he sipped on his americano. 

You were amazed. The photoshoot seemed simple when you modelled but no one could have ever guessed that by just looking at the photo. It had a touch of charisma. The angles, the lighting and the editing made this originally plain photo look dimentional while still having a youthful touch with the pastels.

“W-what do you think?” He said, looking at the screen as his ring finger flicked through the pictures, pressing on the right arrow key on the keyboard. 

“It’s amazing, no wonder you’re so famous” you said while grabbing your americano without lifting your gaze from the enticing photos. Heat rose to Hyunjin’s cheeks upon hearing your words. Sure, he’d heard it before but not from you. Not in that cute, geniune voice that ringed through his ears like music. 

“Thank you y/n” he said, his gaze drifting over to you. He was stunned from how beautiful you looked in the cozy ambiance of the cafe. A wall plant descended down behind you as your eyes twinkled when you caught eye contact with the blond boy. Everything he wanted to do right now was to capture your beauty, make this moment last forever. 

“Earth to Hyunjin” you said, giggling as his gaze froze on you, feeling your heated cheeks get even hotter. 

“Uhm,,, s-sorry, wanna get some sneak peaks from other photoshoots?”

You nodded excitingly, feeling special but also questioning why he treated you so specially. He was shy, theres no doubt about that but it almost seems like he trusts you. You move your chair closer to him, wanting to see the screen properly before you notice Hyunjin shifting awkwardly in his seat, not used to being this close to you. 

“H-here are some I took last week, another one of mr Styliz many projects” he smiled timidly before taking another sip of his beverage. 

Once again you were amazed by his talent but what caught your attention even more was how undressed the female model was, her curvy body being covered by nothing more than a short glittery dress with a plunging neckline, displaying her cleavage. In her hands there was a delicate red bottle, decorated with art deco lines.

“What was the concept?” you asked, curious of this sensual vibe that emitted from this photo. 

“Something along the lines of elegancy. It’s for Aurora Perfumes”

He namedropped the famous brand in the most colloquial fashion, seemingly an everyday occurence for him. 

“Y-you worked for Aurora? That’s,,, wow” you were speechless as Hyunjin quietly giggled at your reacting, waveing his hand in the air in disagreement.

“I don’t like to b-brag about my career so hopefully I don’t come across that way” he said, almost worryingly. 

“No! Not all, it’s really impressive, your entire career is.”

Your sweet voice made his heart flutter, never before had he heard compliments sound this pleasant. 

“Why did you become a photographer?” you asked, your curiosity bubbling over as he looked at you with his penetrating brown eyes. The mood suddenly got cold. Hyunjin took a deep breath, exhaling loudly from his nose as you sipped on your coffee. 

“I’m an only child and therefore I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when I was younger.” 

You knew this was going to be a sad story, you bit the inside of your cheek, regretting asking that question as you thought that it might be too personal but judging from how Hyunjin’s words spilled from his mouth you believed that he felt comfort telling you.

“They had photoalbums stacked up in their attic which I flipped through for hours, observing their youth and innocence and seeing how time fled by. When I got my first camera I was overjoyed, taking pictures of everything around me and putting them up on my wall, acting as if my room was an art gallery.”

He smiled when talking, his voice turning mellow as he reminisced. 

“But when my grandparents passed away,,, I noticed that I didn’t have any photos of them nor of my friends or family which made me feel disappointed. I had spent so much of my time trying to capture beauty when beauty was infront me.”

Shivers ran down your spine as his sugared voice ran through the words. Hyunjin looked nervously down on the table and you did the same, not knowing what to say or how to comfort the blond boy. 

“I-I’m sorry for your loss” 

That was the only sentence you could muster to say but Hyunjin glanced at you, his dimples appearing as he smiled. 

“Why are you sorry? No one usually asks me that question so it feels nice to get it off my chest.”

You nodded shyly as silence erupted in between the two of you. 

“It really was a pleasure working with you y/n, I would like to have you modell for me again” he blurts out, trying to put an end to the painful silence.

“Y-you what? B-but my manager hasn’t told me anything ab-”

“No, just the two of us.”

You went quiet, not believing your ears. A photoshoot, the two of you? Isn’t that practically a confession? Your dazed mind seemed to wander off to places far off, imagining the tension that would be looming over the both of you. Felix sure as hell wasn’t going to like this but you didn’t care. Hyunjin seemed comfortable with you, talking as if he’d known you for years and now he was asking you to modell for him? Saying no to this opportunity would be a crime.

“S-sure, when were you thinking?”

“You free tomorrow?” Hyunjin says, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs comfortably, looking up at you through a curtain of blonde. 

“Yeah,,, sounds great!”

A smile crept up on your face as heat rose to your cheeks, feeling everything and nothing all at once. In this moment you didn’t care about the shutter coming from the guests phone cameras. You just cared about him. 

The next half an hour went by in a blur. In that short time you probably covered half of the conversational topics on this earth. Hyunjin laughed as you told him about your childhood.

“That’s so cute y/n”

“Well it wasn’t cute in the moment but now I can laugh at it” you laughed with him, stroking a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“I think you’re cute y/n” 

“Of course I was cute when I was little” you roll your eyes at him, tears prickling in your eyes from laughter but when you glanced at Hyunjin he wasn’t laughing, he was simply observing you. 

“I think you’re cute now” 

You froze. All these things he’s saying made your heart beat faster than ever, a nervosity that couldn’t be described with words.

“You too” you exclaimed without thinking to which Hyunjin glanced at you with a grin. He coughed before streching his arms.

“Time to head home?” He said, packing up his computer. 

“Yeah, I have something to do” you said looking at your watch, knowing very well that you had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the day except for anxiously thinking out every potential scenario that could occur tomorrow.

“Meet me at my studio tomorrow at 5 pm”

You nodded carefully, knowing exactly where his famous studio was.

“Don’t tell Bangchan I showed you the photos” he laughed mischievously, looking a bit like a ferret. 

“Alright, alright I won’t even though I really want to tell him how good of a photographer you are” you said cheekily as you stood up. The both of you headed towards the wooden door with glass panes, flashing a wink towards Seungmin that had his eyebrows heightened, amazed from how the little cafe lit up with two attractive people walking side by side. 

Outside the sun beamed, the bustling of the city and high skyscrapers stimulating your senses. 

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow Hyunjin”

You scratch the back of your neck nervously as you speak before remembering something.

“Oh! Do you have a concept in mind?”

“Wear whatever, I’ll think of a way around it” he said. 

“Mhm! See you tomorrow!”

“Text me when you’re home, ok?” 

That sentence made your heart flutter and before you could embarrass yourself by saying anything stupid he waved, his rings shining in the sunlight. Turning around, you promptly started walking back home.

Your heart thumping, your thoughs scattered, your mind dazed. 

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@vogueinnie @that-anxious-bisexual @putmetogetheragain13 @hyunsluvv @lawleighette @meow-minho @minaamhh @ohmysparkle @hwangi @rindomo​ @fleeingreality @nycol-ie​ @jisungsplatforms @p0t4t0don14ll

[coldflame96]

Wrapped up in you

Summary: Sharing a scarf with your girl when you don’t like things around your neck is something that can be so personal..

Rating: T

Also found on AO3 and FF.net

Based off that picture in the very last scene with Kyoru sharing a scarf <3

“Wow!" He heard her gasp. "It's snowing!" But then she furrowed her brow. "But it was so mild this morning."

Neither of them had brought coats with them, but Tohru brought her scarf with the pom poms. She really loved that thing and it was cute.

"Kyo-kun," she grabbed his hand. "Are you cold?"

He didn't think he could ever truly be cold as long as she was around.

But he did shiver a bit. "A little. The temperature really dropped."

"Well here!" She took her scarf off, handing it to him. "Maybe this will help."

He knocked her head gently. "Then you'll get cold, dummy."

"I'll be okay!" She waved her arms. "I don't want you to get sick!"

He could tell this was gonna go nowhere fast. He rolled his eyes fondly and grabbed the scarf. She looked at him expectantly and he got an idea. It was cheesy, but knowing her, she'd probably love it.

He pulled her in closer, wrapping one end of the scarf around her neck, and the other end very loosely around his own.

"There." He said triumphantly, breath visible, "now neither of us have to be cold." He punctuated with a gentle whack with one of the poms and she giggled. He paused and then whacked her again. "Huh, this is kinda fun."

He was met with a whack on his own cheek with his girlfriend grinning impishly. "You're right, it is."

He gently whacked her again, this time pressing the pom right on top of her nose, shaking it as she tried to bat it away.

She tried to do a little twirl but the scarf wasnt quite long enough for that so she just did an awkward twist. The temperature was dropping by a lot and her nose was starting to turn red.

He leaned over to kiss it and she gave a questioning look.

He shrugged. "It looked cold."

She grabbed his hand, peeking at him from under her lashes. "I think my lips are cold too."

Subtle. He cradled her face and kissed her gently. "Better?"

"Still feels pretty cold."

He hummed, kissing her again. It was something he never really got tired of doing. She fisted her hands in his uniform jacket as he just kissed her slowly, careful to keep it chaste.

"Oi, lovebirds," he jumped when he felt a hand slap his back and saw Uotani to his side. She smirked. "When you're done being gross, you might wanna actually head home before you turn into snowmen." She put her arm over her head like a visor. "It's supposed to snow all night."

"Oh really?" Tohru asked. "I had work tonight."

She grunted. "So did I. But I called off. You should too."

She frowned. "I wouldn't wanna trouble them-"

He'd heard enough. "You're not walking to work in a blizzard. If you don't wanna call off, then just have Momiji do it for you. His dad owns the place."

She bit her lip. "I suppose…"

"Momiji Sohma is quite fond of you," Hanajima came out of nowhere. "I would imagine he wouldn't expect you to risk yourself in such weather."

"C'mon, we should go." Uotani said, wrapping an arm around Tohru's neck. "It's already cold and it’s only supposed to get worse."

She relented and he followed behind her closely, the scarf still hanging off his neck.

"Apparently we're supposed to get 15 cm," he heard Uotani say vaguely.

Tohru clapped her hands in excitement. "Really? Wow. We could play in the snow!"

"We could have a snowball fight." And then Uotani smirked. "Betcha I could beat Kyon."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't start a fight you can't finish, Yankee."

She snorted. "Yeah okay. You know your ‘bad boy’ image is ruined with that scarf around your neck."

He shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything to be embarrassed about.

Tohru was talking to Hanajima now about something, her face lit up. He smiled softly. She was happy and that's all he cared about.

The wind was really picking up and everyone in the group did a full-body shudder. It really was getting freezing and the snow was sinking into his clothes uncomfortably. Tohru was trying to hide it, but she was shivering. How did she manage to wear skirts in this kind of weather?

They parted ways with Uotani and Hanajima and no sooner than they rounded the corner, he wrapped his arms around Tohru's waist from behind.

"Are you cold?" He whispered.

She nodded. "Only a little."

He kissed her temple. "C'mon, let's get home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they got into the doorway, her teeth were chattering and he rubbed her arms to try and warm her up.

"My, my, my," he heard Shigure say from the kitchen door and he looked up to see him standing there, looking way too amused. "I understand you kids are in love, but there is a time and place."

"Piss off," he snapped. "It's snowing and freezing outside."

"Well, that's why coats exist." He said smugly. "Honestly, Kyo-kun, do you not ever check the weather forecasts?

He was gonna punch this asshole. He felt a light tug on his shirt and he brought his attention back to his currently shivering girlfriend.

"D-do y-you m-m-m-mind if I shower first? I...c-can w-wait if you w-want to."

He pushed her back gently towards the bathroom. "Go shower before you get sick."

"O-okay."

It was once he heard the bathwater running that Shigure turned back to him, smirking. "Nice scarf." He gave him a flat look in response, which he took as a cue to continue talking. "Tsk, tsk, you made a rookie mistake just now."

"What are you talking about?" He asked on impulse, and then came to the conclusion that maybe he shouldn't have.

Shigure's grin only grew wider. "When a beautiful woman you're with is going to the shower, it's only natural you offer to join her."

Kyo grabbed him by the collar, growling, "Don’t talk about her like that, you fucking creep. I’ll kill you!”

"Scary~" And then something else seemed to come to him. "Where's Yuki-kun? Don't tell me you left him out there."

"How should I know? He was never even with us."

And that was when the phone rang. Shigure waved, saying "I'll let you handle that” and then went back to his own room, hopefully to die.

He scoffed. He didn't usually answer the phone but he had a good idea who it was.

"Hello?" He sighed out.

"Kyo?" Yuki's voice came through the speaker. He sounded surprised, which was fair.

"Yeah?"

"Where’s Honda-san?"

"In the shower.

"I see. when she gets out, tell her not to save me any dinner. The weather's getting bad so I went home with Kakeru."

"Fine. That it?"

"Yeah."

"Great. See ya."

"Wait."

"What?"

"You and Honda-san are alone...don't do anything stupid."

His face heated up. "Shigure's here, you jackass." He gritted. And probably eavesdropping. "And that's none of your business."

"Oh, he's actually home?"

"Yeah."

"My condolences."

"Whatever. Anything else?"

"No. You can hang up now."

And he was about to do just that but something paused him. "Oi."

"What?"

"You too," he mumbled through gritted teeth because he really didn't wanna think about Yuki doing anything like that. "Don’t do anything stupid."

A pause and then a "Thanks" before the line went dead.

"Oh, was that Yuki-kun?" He heard Tohru behind him, her skin flushed from the steam and her hair still damp. “Is he alright?”

He grunted in affirmation, trying not to look at how a stray water droplet ran down her neck. "He's fine. He's at Manabe's, so don't wait up for him on dinner."

She made to hug him, but then reeled back. "Kyo-kun, you need to get out of those wet clothes! You'll get sick."

If it were just them, he would suggest she help him with that, but Shigure was here and he was not gonna give him the satisfaction of that.

He patted her head. "I'm going."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without work to go to, her and Kyo-kun took the night in. She had already changed into her sleepwear (which consisted of one of his shirts that was way too big on her and a pair of flannel pants).  

He had changed too, in a loose long-sleeve and a pair of sweatpants.

With Shigure-san here, they couldn't exactly do anything more than kiss, so they'd just ended up watching a movie.

He'd fallen asleep halfway through and was currently clinging to her, head on her chest.

She could really admire him without being questioned when he was asleep, how his nose wasn’t set completely straight, the smattering of light freckles on the bridge that were more pronounced in the summer.

She lightly stroked his strong jawline and his arms tightened around her waist.

She smiled to herself. He was such a cute sleeper. She lightly threaded her fingers through his fiery hair, noting how it curled around his ears now.

It's getting so long..

She heard her phone vibrate from the nightstand and strained to reach it without disturbing her sleeping boyfriend.

She saw the message was from Uo-chan and then shot up in alarm at the attachment.

She heard a light groan and saw Kyo-kun blearily blinking his eyes open and she felt a little guilty.

"Wha's goin' on?" He mumbled.

"Uo-chan just sent me something."

He hummed. "'Splains why you woke me up."

She was pretty sure he was being sarcastic based off the grumpy look on his face but paired with the messy hair, it didn't have much of an effect.

"Look at this." She shoved the phone under his nose and watched him squint as he put his own hand over hers.

It was a picture of them, sharing the scarf with snow falling around them. Neither of them were looking at the camera but she was chatting with Hana-chan, though the angle of the photo cut her poor friend off, and Kyo-kun just watched her, looking content.

He normally hated getting pictures taken so it was rare to see him so relaxed in one.

"Was this from today?" He asked.

"Yep! Uo-chan took it." Then she cocked her head. "I wonder how she managed to do it without us noticing."

He stretched, his shirt riding above his waist, which she attempted to steadfastly ignore for her own sanity.  

"Probably because I wasn't looking at her."

He always said things like that so easily and it was a marvel each time.

"I know you hate pictures," she started hesitantly, "but do you mind if I keep this one?"

"I don't mind pictures," he said softly. "Not with you, anyway."

She blushed, smiling to herself. "Right." She put one foot down on the carpet. "I'll go ask Shigure-san if I can borrow his printer."

A warm hand grabbed her wrist. "Do it tomorrow," he said. "It's late." And then he slumped on top of her. "I want my pillow back."

He was actually pouting and it was quite possibly one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen.  

She just stared at the picture of them, smiling softly, Kyo-kun’s chin on her shoulder.

"You look cute," he murmured.

"I look the same as always, don't I?"

"Yeah."

He was warm. Like a steady heater on her back. It made her feel sleepy.

At some point, she’d been gently coaxed on her back again, eyes heavy and her boyfriend a comforting weight on her chest. She managed to text Uo-chan a 'Thank you' through bleary eyes before letting sleep take her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, she bought a frame and added the picture to her shelf next to her mother and Kyo-kun’s beads.

“You’re such a sap,” he’d said when he walked in and saw it.

But he couldn’t hide how his eyes kept softening when they landed on it.

Not from her.

[cringelordlikesplaz]

Strange to be an Eel

Turning into silly putty wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, honestly. It’s everything that happened after that which was weird.

"Please! I'm begging you, Jake bailed last minute and we don't have any replacements! This musical is our last chance. If this flops, we'll never be able to keep this place open!" She cried. 'She' being a short woman with desperate tears in her eyes and too many freckles. 

Eel pulled his wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip. He shook his hand off and observed the woman in front of him. She looked stressed, tired, and a general mess. Her name tag read ‘Penny’.

"Well, Penny." He said curtly, "I got things to do. Better things to do than-"

"But you're the perfect fit! You're the right size, you already know all the lines-"

"Seeing a musical five times doesn't mean I've memorized-"

Penny snapped to attention and pointed her finger into the air dramatically. The imaginary audience located in the storeroom fell silent. 

"And if I'm not here to save the day- Then as God as my witness, I'll be here to save the night!"

"-It's 'then as the gods as my witnesses'." Eel pointed out. Penny smiled smugly and Eel shook himself off.

"That doesn't prove anything. And it doesn't change the fact I can't go onstage!" Eel said.

"You'll be wearing makeup and goggles! A hat too! No one will be able to recognize you in costume!" Penny said, suddenly desperate again.

"No! I won't do it!" Eel said in response to her puppy eyes.

"Please! Please, Bruce Wayne's out there and if this goes well the PR will be fantastic!" She said, tears beginning to fall.

Eel looked up at the cracked ceiling and let out a long, long groan.

"I want 100 bucks." Eel said.

"Deal!" Penny said, the tears instantly evaporating. 

Damn actors.

~~~

So, the musical rendition of the hit show 'The Grey Ghost' went pretty damn well, in Eel's opinion. He was skeptical at first, as anyone should be, but he had to admit it, Penny was right. He was an amazing Grey Ghost. 

It helped that Eel had been a fan of the Grey Ghost since he was a boy, and it also maybe helped that he had snuck into the theater to see the practice runs of the play five times. He had thought he was being sneaky, but apparently theater kids could like, smell intruders. Fresh blood, if you would.

He hadn't known what would happen when he was cornered by a very manic little blond lady, but it ended up surprisingly well. He even got paid. 

After he and the other actors had taken their bows or whatever, Eel snuck back to the storeroom. He pried off the grey suit- it was kinda itchy honestly- and began to dig around for his usual clothes. 

He put his suit on. The nice one, that didn't pinch his shoulders and had all his crap in the pockets. He buttoned up the coat and pulled out his glasses. They were black and pretty slick, if he was honest with himself. Which he was. Occasionally.

The temples were wide and helped hide his eyes from the side. They hid his scar even better. They were sunglasses, unfortunately, not the best eyewear to have in Gotham, but he liked them. And that was enough for now. 

They were also expensive as all hell. Some sort of designer brand. He would wear them till they broke for how much they cost him. 

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm decent," Eel said. 

Penny opened the door and held her clipboard to her chest excitedly. Her eyes sparkled. 

"So." She said.

"So?" He asked.

"So! Y'know how Bruce Wayne was in the crowd tonight?" She asked.

"Yup," He said. 

"He liked it! He liked it so much he wants to fund us!" She said, "And he wants to meet you."

Eel blinked. "He what?" 

"He said your performance was incredible! He wants to meet you!"

"No." 

"No?" She asked, her head cocked, "But you've got so much talent! He could get you a job, y'know." 

"No. Just- no." Eel shook his head. He could just hear the sirens now. "I can't, Penny."

She seemed like she wanted to press him- like she did with getting him into the costume. But something on his face made her reconsider, apparently.

"Alright." She said, sighing, "I'll tell him you're not available."

"Thanks, pal." Eel said.

They stood awkwardly.

"I need to go." He said, pointing behind her to the door.

"I- okay." She said. Penny stepped aside and Eel left the storage room, Penny following behind. She led him to the backdoor.

"Um, thank you...?" She said as he stepped out into the alley.

"It's best if you don't know my name." Eel said.

"Will you be back?" 

"Probably not." Eel said, "What with your success here tonight- I think there's going to be too much foot traffic around for a crook like me to be hidden."

She smiled softly, "You weren't very hidden in the first place."

"I'll have you know I've hidden from cops in more obvious spots."

"I think that says more about the GCPD than it does your skill," Penny said.

Eel huffed, mockingly offended.

"Later, miss." He said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye." She said.

Penny waved to his back and waited for him to slink into the shadows before she shut the door.

~~~

"Eel O'brian." A gruff voice called.

Eel grinned and craned his head around to look at a familiar face.

"Matches! Ol' pal, where've you been? It's been ages." Eel said.

Matches Malone slid into the seat next to him at the bar. The bartender wordlessly handed Matches a drink and Matches wordlessly slid a few bills over the counter.

Eel took a sip of his own drink- a cocktail.

"I've heard there's work around." Matches said, taking his match out of his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

"I mean, yeah-" Eel said, rolling the cherry around his glass for the hell of it, "But there's always work around."

"Hmm." 

"Yeah yeah, I know what ya mean." Eel said, nodding. "You want the work that won't have you dressed up as a daisy and punched by a furry. I gotcha."

"Hmm."

"I miss the good 'ol days, Matches. Before all these folks in spandex came along and started going nuts all over town-" Eel paused, taking a sip of his cocktail, "-But I do got to admit it; the spandex is pretty hot."

"I need cash." Matches said, ever eloquent. 

"Cheers to that!" Eel laughed. He downed the rest of his drink, swallowing the cherry. 

"Where's the work?" Matches finally asked, and Eel's grin faltered. Always work and no play with this guy.

But Matches seemed to like him well enough, so Eel wouldn't hold it against him.

"So, new boss in the West part of town looking to hire some folks. I think they're hiding something pretty big, but we won't know that 'till we get there, won't we, Matches?" Eel said.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, me too buddy."

~~~

Things at the new job were getting crazy. Like, really really crazy. Like the type of crazy he spent a great amount of his time trying in vain to avoid. Super crazy.

Pun intended.

It started off fairly normal. By Gotham standards anyway. Looting places. Stealing. Scarin' the living daylights out of folks. Keeping out of the limelight. 

But the boss turned out to be working for an even bigger boss- who had a penchant for monologuing- and Eel couldn't help the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

And then the boss- the small boss and not the bigger, monologuing boss- somehow kidnapped Batgirl of all people and decided to drown her. And he did it in this big glass chamber with a valve on the side. 

He stood in front of it, glaring at each of his men accusingly.

He had each of them turn the valve, adding a few inches of water to the chamber, and taking few inches of air away from Batgirl. He was trying to root out a snitch. Or, as he put it, a bat.

Matches didn't even hesitate. Eel wished he had that guy's confidence.

But Eel? He wasn't a big fan of murder. It made him feel icky. It kept him awake at night. He already had enough insomnia, thank you very much.

And Batgirl- She was just a kid. A baby-faced teenager. Up close, she was no longer a force of nature fighting alongside a cryptid. She was a teenager up to her nose in water, her clothes torn and bloody.

Eel went last.

He put his hands on the valve and-

He couldn't do it.

He wouldn't.

A lot of things happened after that.

The boss (the small one) told the rest to shoot him down, and Eel had a half a second to view his terrible life before Matches tackled him to the floor.

The glass of the chamber broke and the room was suddenly flooded with a lot of water and one very mad vigilante. Then a window got busted in, even more glass flying, and then two Robins showed up- There was the young Robin who was grumpy and the other older Robin that wasn't Robin anymore but Eel couldn't really be bothered to remember his name at the moment.

There was fighting, gunfire, blood, and then there was glass in his hands-

And then Matches had somehow manifested them both outside and set Eel on his feet.

"You-" Eel spluttered, "You saved me!" 

Matches looked at Eel. Eel looked at Matches. The street was quiet. Inside the building, it was not.

"Thank you." Eel said softly.

"...You cost me my payment." Matches said at last.

Eel's face fell.

"I just- She's just a kid, Matches. I ain't a monster." Eel said.

Matches shook his head and walked away, leaving Eel on the sidewalk with glass in his hands.

Guess he was wrong about Matches.

~~~

That day wasn't too bad, though. In the middle of the night he was woken up to a knock at his window. His fourth story window in his crappy apartment.

He opened his window and suddenly a basket was shoved into his arms. He fumbled with it for a second, his hands still raw. There was a blur of movement and Eel was left standing half-naked holding a- a gift basket?

He sorted through it- it had cash and cookies and bandages. It also had a plain white card. He opened it and raised a brow in surprise.

"Thanks for not drowning me!" 

It was signed with a little bat drawn in the corner. 

The cookies were delicious.

~~~

The safe was built into the wall. The safe itself wasn't too big, and the wall was only made of plaster. It would be a pain to lug the safe back to base though. And it would cost precious seconds to hack away at the wall to get the safe out-

There was really only one option. The bomb he had was small and wouldn't do much in terms of excavation- but it would absolutely open up that pesky Wayne-Tech lock.

"Alright guys, we need to get back-" Eel didn't hear anyone. He turned- "Guys?"

"It's been a while, O'brian." Batman said, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of his crime buddies. Well, not really buddies- you get the point.

"Batman! Hello! I don't think we've met," Eel said, swinging on his heel and turning to face his doom.

"No, we haven't. But when I didn't hear word from the police of any of your activity for a few months- well." Batman took a silent step closer. "One tends to worry."

"Oh? Me? Lil 'ol me? You shouldn't have." Eel batted his eyelashes, though the effect was diminished as he was wearing his shades.

"You plan these heists well." Batman said slowly, "You waited until the Riddler attacked to go for this safe. You got past the cameras without setting off the alarm. You tipped off the police of where you'd be- on the other side of town."

Eel tried to reach for the detonator on the bomb. If he could just- "You flatter me, Batman really, but I-"

"We could use a man like that on our side, O'brian." Batman said. "A smart man like you could do some real good in the world."

Eel laughed. That was the most wrong thing he'd ever heard. He laughed but it wasn't funny.

He pressed the button and the bomb started counting down from 10.

"I don't think so, Bats. I'm not the hero type." Eel said, and then tried to make a run for it. Batman caught him by the collar.

"It's not about types. There's good in you."

"I really wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta split." Eel said, slipping his arms out of his coat and breaking into a mad sprint.

The bomb let out a single shrieking beep before it detonated. 

Eel didn't turn back to see what happened to Batman.

~~~

A deal went wrong. Unsurprising. They broke his leg. Unsurprising. He was alive. Surprising! Unfortunately, he was still very much crippled and bleeding out from somewhere. 

He limped along the sidewalk at night, always a dumb thing to do. His vision was either going or the lighting in this city was getting worse by the moment. Given that he lived in Gotham, it was likely both.

He limped into a grassy part of the city- a park of some sort. He'd get caught soon. Or maybe he'd bleed out and die. He couldn't manifest the energy to care either way.

He flopped down onto the grass, for lack of any other bright ideas. He couldn't see the stars through the cloud cover. Tragic. 

"Hey." A commanding voice called. He looked around until he spotted a scantily-clad woman. She was green and wearing leaves and had bright red hair and was looking at him like he was a pile of dead slugs.

Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap that's Poison Ivy.

Eel tried to shrink into the ground.

"Hiiiii Poison Ivy, how's the weather?" He asked. He tried to smile charmingly but it was most likely very strained and bloody.

"Why are you bleeding on my flowers?" She asked, a single brow raised.

"Haa, would you believe that blood makes a great fertilizer?" Eel said.

"It does." She said.

"Uh," Eel had lost too much blood for him to come up with a witty remark.

"Please don't kill me." He said.

"Greater men than you have begged for mercy. What makes you better?" She asked, head cocked.

"I can, uh," Eel panicked, "I can give you my grandma's recipe for caramel coffee." 

Poison Ivy's other eyebrow raised. 

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, a shrill voice called from across the park.

"Ivy! Come on!! What are you even doing?!" 

Eel was fairly certain he was hallucinating now. Blood loss and all that. Because Harley Quinn, wearing a football jersey and sweatpants, came running up to stand besides Poison Ivy.

"We're going to miss the game," Harley pouted, then took notice of Eel, "Who's that mess?"

"Someone who can make caramel coffee, apparently." Poison Ivy said, bemused.

"I like caramel." Harley said.

Poison Ivy shrugged, "We can keep him if you want."

"I also like coffee..." Harley tapped her chin in consideration, "Yeah we'll take him. Come on, Ivy!"

~~~

That was how he ended up getting high with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. His leg was propped up on a table, a bong was being passed around, the apparent football game played on the TV in front of them. They were in a greenhouse and the city’s lights shone through the glass almost magically. This was probably not what someone suffering from blood loss should be doing. Eel almost considered making a break for it. 

But Poison Ivy was the Weed Queen of Gotham, and getting this stuff free? Too good to pass up.

Harely had seemingly forgotten about the promised coffee, but since they hadn’t killed him yet and gave him weed, Eel decided he'd write the recipe down for them before he left.

"I don't get why capes dress the way they do," Harely said, "I mean, rogues have the same problem but like, it's more noticeable with the heroes, y'know?"

"Like, the boob windows?" Ivy asked. Harley nodded enthusiastically. 

"Yeah, yeah! The boob windows." Harely said, "Why do all the guys wear kevlar and body armor and the girls got to show off their tits?"

"Maybe the dudes should show off their tits too." Eel said. 

Poison Ivy laughed and Harely nodded even more enthusiastically.

"Yeah! This guy gets it!" 

"See, if I were to go running around in spandex-" Eel gestured to his very much not spandex coated body, "I'd show off my cleavage all the time." 

"Men don't have cleavage," Ivy pointed out.

"Not with that attitude they don't." Harley said, "Say, Eel, if you ever get tits, come over so we can prove Ivy wrong."

Eel cackled, "Sure thing! And if I ever start wearing spandex as a hobby I'll make sure the V-neck plunges all the way down."

"You'd better!" 

Ivy laughed and Eel was handed the bong again.

~~~

Eel wasn't even doing anything. He was in his apartment, minding his own business. Well actually he was trying to sleep but that wasn't going so well.

Then there was a tapping on his window. Feeling a sudden wash of deja-vu, Eel turned around. There was an otherworldly, haunting green glow coming from his window. 

Pausing, and exercising a healthy amount of caution, walked over to the window.

A UFO hovered outside his window. A tiny one.

Eel rubbed his eyes.

The UFO bonked against the glass, seemingly wanting inside.

"uh," Eel said. Against every ounce of common sense, he opened the window. 

The UFO flew inside his room, casting its light oddly through his home. There was a mechanical whir, and suddenly a robotic arm sprung out from the bottom of the ship.

"Uh," Eel said, regretting everything immediately.

The UFO then grabbed Eel by his good ankle, his other leg still in a cast for a few more weeks. He lost balance and hit his head on the floor. The small ship lifted him off the floor by his ankle, and then dragged him out the window. He tried to claw at the windowsill but the ship was too fast.

"UH,"

He dangled dangerously over what was at least a thirty foot drop. The UFO paid no mind to his panicked flailing, and instead began to go higher.

"OH GOD."

~~~

The small UFO took him to a bigger UFO, of course.

A small hole opened in the underside of the ship, and Eel was brought inside. The inside of an alien spaceship looked nearly identical to its outside, apparently. Weird and green.

The smaller ship finally dropped him off in a large circular room. He was set down gently on his back, but he still hissed in surprise. The metal floor was freezing and he was only in his shorts.

"Uh oh uh oh uh oh..." He muttered.

"Hello, human!" A cheery, buzzing voice greeted. 

Eel looked around frantically and finally spotted a small, glowing blue light.

"Uh, hi?" He said to the light. The blue light bobbed up and down- excitedly?

"Human!" It said, "We are the-"

It said something that sounded eldritch to his human ears.

"-and we saw your performance!"

He blinked.

"...my what."

"On February 7th, approximately 11 months ago, you performed in the musical "The Grey Ghost Strikes Back!"." The light said. Several other colorful lights manifested around him.

"...uh huh."

"If you are wondering why you did not see us, the-" [REDACTED] "-in the crowd on the date of your performance, it is because we were not there."

"Ooohh kayyyy...."

"Batman recorded it and sent us a copy!"

Eel blinked. They were speaking alienese, he was certain of it.

"He also sent along with it 307 other forms of human entertainment as a welcome package to Earth!" It said, "And we must say, we really enjoyed your performance."

A red light, hovering just a little lower than the blue one, perked up.

"We especially enjoyed your performance in the third act, and would like to compliment your singing skills." The red light said.

"Thank you?" Eel said.

"If it is not too much trouble, human, we would like what is most commonly known to you as an 'autograph'." The blue light said.

"...alright." 

~~~

The night started off odd, he'd admit it. But it wasn't bad. He signed some stuff. He didn't know what the things he signed were or what exactly he wrote with, but it hardly mattered. They asked him to sing a song from the musical- he did- and they somehow applauded him.

They gave him alien food, and he'd be damned if he didn't accept free food. Even if it was probably radioactive. It tasted like cotton candy. Again, not bad.

They told him a bit about their situation. Their home- somewhere on a different plane of existence- exploded. They were the last of their kind. Batman approached them, because he could do that apparently, and offered them a place on Earth.

"Our culture is based on entertainment. Each piece of what you call 'media' is like a fine work of art to us." They said. 

"Oh, cool. So do you kidnap actors you like in other stuff?" Eel asked, trying to figure out the best way to consume the slime on a stick he'd been given. He decided there was no proper way to do that so he just decided to slurp it off.

"We would like to meet the actors and actresses in other media, but they usually just scream the whole time they are here. We gain the impression that they do not appreciate our hospitality." They said.

Eel shrugged, "I can't imagine why. You guys are great."

"You have taken this whole experience very well, comparatively."

"I mean- I'm a bit desensitized to weirdness." Eel said.

"Is this experience considered 'weird' to other humans?" They asked.

"Nah." Eel said, waving off their concern, and set his slime stick down, "Hey, I'd like to get home now. This has been fun and all, but it's kinda cold in here."

"Of course, human. We wish you fame and fortune for your future."

"Uh, you too?"

They dropped him off on the roof of his apartment building. The sun was beginning to rise. He made his way down the stairs, nearly naked and his leg still in a cast. He slept okay.

~~~

Eel was known for many things. He knew most, if not all, of those things were bad. Hell, all of the things he was known for would be bad to the common man. But to the common crook? Only most of those things would be considered bad.

Some of the things he was known for made him desirable. 

He was a safecracker, he never got caught, he could make a good plan and stick to it. He was good at his job.

But Eel was not... valuable, per-say. He was a tool in most people's eyes. Something to be discarded when the job was done.

Eel knew this. Made his peace with it. He knew when he took this job that the guys he was working with didn't give two shits about him. But he needed their muscle for the security guards, and they needed his skill to crack the safe. They all needed the cash.

They walked into this big facility during a storm. Mr. Freeze was causing havoc in city hall again. The outer parts of the city didn't get the blizzard- they got the freezing rain.

The security guard appeared- he had a gun and he was willing to use it. If the folks he was working with were smart, which they weren't, they would have ran. Don't shoot back, don't have murder put onto your sentence along with theft and arson and everything else. 

But they were stupid, and they shot blindly, and the guard shot Eel in the shoulder. And the bullet tore through his shoulder and into a container of something-

Another shot rang out, the guard fell.

There was a crack and suddenly Eel was soaked in something- it was bright and hot and it burned like the embers of Hell. He screamed, of course.

The people he was working with, his 'pals', stared at him for just a second.

"Eel-!"

"Eel doesn't have the cash, now run!"

Eel got up, and gave chase. His steps faltered and his vision swam.

He made it outside just in time to see them get into the car and book it.

"Adios, Eel!" 

"You putrid punks!" He yelled, his hand clutching his shoulder. Everything burned. Everything throbbed. His pulse beat in his ears, the rain came down like knives, and the bullet hole poured blood like a faucet. But it was oddly thick- was it? The world kept wanting to wobble and spin.

The- the police. They'd be here soon. Maybe. Eventually. He needed to go.

He walked. 

Down the street, down an alley, then another, then another, until the buildings began to spread out and trees and grass began to coat the land.

The rain was softer here. Warmer too. He climbed a shallow hill. Like climbing a mountain. His heart slammed the inside of his skull like a drum. There was a tree on the hill, its branches bare.

He collapsed beneath it.

He didn't have time to see if he could spot any stars before it all went black.

~~~

Eel's life had always, always been strange.

But it apparently that was just the beginning.

[meowizard]

irumeno headcanons because help me

himiko has awful posture and is insecure, and whenever miu walks past her she punches her back (gently) to remind her to straighten up

'shoulders back, tits out'

their favourite movie is anastasia

or ponyo

they both quote the 'grRandma, its me. ahnastasia' line frequently and laugh manically every time

himiko cant sleep easily like ever, but she counts mius freckles on her arms while they cuddle and its like click

himiko lets miu play with her hair! she has fun discovering how much she can do with such little hair

and its a surprising amount! miu bought rainbow butterfly clips especially for her

miu's good with hair, she just finds it a hassle to do anything with her own

himiko likes watching miu weld stuff (from a safe distance with all the precautions ofc) bc the sparks look like shes casting a spell :)

they're masters at throwing food in each others mouths

himiko feels insecure without her hat, but since miu will ruffle her hair and give her forehead kisses when shes not wearing it, so she tends to take it off when they're in the same room

they do game nights with kiibo and shuichi

[vivithefolle]

Is there anyway you could share the entire livejournal essay about Hermione's reaction to Ron coming back in DH? The few paragraphs that you referred to in your recent answer sound extremely interesting.

[The “recent answer” that goes back to... last December. Oh my god I’m such an ass I left you hanging for so long I’m so sorry.]

Okay, okay, so here goes! KEEP IN MIND: I DIDN’T WRITE THIS. I FOUND THIS ON LIVEJOURNAL AND PICKED EVERYTHING THAT I LIKED ABOUT IT, AS WELL AS SOME COMMENTS THAT INTERESTED ME.

This “essay” was actually more of a “reading the books” thing with the person sharing their thoughts and ideas about it. The person was clearly a Snape fan, but they had sympathy for Ron too. I’ll try to formate it as accurately as I can remember it.

And now, here it is:

---

ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

[About Ron being made a prefect.] The essayist: It’s sad, but this probably is the first time Ron’s beaten Harry at something. And the last time.

A commenter: Ron's had a really difficult life, and this is the book that proved it for me. It made me a Ron fan. Just look at the interactions he has with Fred and George. This is commonplace. I know a lot of people don't like Ron, but just look at this book, this chapter especially. People have accused Ron of being lazy, unambitious, having no emotions, and being a big stupid boy. It's just not true. Look at how Fred and George needle him out of jealousy. Look at how they treat Percy. Imagine Ron having to grow up with two older brothers that will not hesitate to bother, torture and torment people that stand out or that get more attention than they do or that cross them. He saw it happening with Percy, so what's he going to learn? He'll learn to shut up unless he wants to have something happen to him. He'll learn that standing out positively is rewarded with cruelty. I can understand how Mrs. Weasley could not have fully protected him from those two. Not all the time, not while trying to also care for Ginny, keeping up with her other kids in school, and running the household. Worst of all, punishing F&G doesn't seem to do anything. Those two just don't care/they crave the attention, negative or positive. The best thing she could've done would be to give them no attention, but that's so against her nature that unfortunately she just fed the monsters. No emotions? Is it really difficult to understand that sensitivity wouldn't be encouraged in young Ron? He's got these two bullies that only want a reaction out of him. If he cries, it'll only encourage them. Any reaction is encouraging to them, but he has to go with anger. It's a survival thing- puff yourself up, make yourself look bigger than you are so the predator messes with you a little less. Look at the pride Ron's showing in his badge. The desire to do well is there. He likes the good feeling that comes with it, but he's been hard-wired since birth that it's better to be "middle of the pack". In later chapters, I know you'll have to point out the way the power makes Ron behave, so I just want to start on the defence now. It's all Ron knows. It's all he's been taught. It's a huge character flaw, but it's what makes him so human. Rowling did develop this in the book, but only accidentally. We're never going to get a good look at Ron's psychology except through these hints because it's, as usual, All About Harry. Ron's flawed, but I hope we remember that he has a reason why he's got those flaws. It doesn't excuse him, but it really explains him. So yeah... that's why I defend Ron.

...

“I’m not Percy,’ he finished defiantly.”

The essayist: Mmmm-hm. Ron feels nervous at the thought of his good fortune inspiring anger in someone and what's his first defence? "I'm not Percy"? Man, the evidence that the Twins' psychological torment has left lasting scars on Ron could not have been more obvious if he'd shielded himself and said "Please don't jinx me, Fred! ... I mean Harry. ... Shit, what'd I say?"

...

“Excellent,”  said  Ron,  with  a  kind  of  groan  of  longing,  and  he  seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them onto his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick. “What  were  you  saying  before  the  Sorting?”  Hermione  asked  the  ghost. “About the hat giving warnings?” “Oh  yes,”  said  Nick,  who  seemed  glad  of  a  reason  to  turn  away  from  Ron,  who  was  now  eating  roast  potatoes  with  almost  indecent  enthusiasm.

The essayist: Ron’s not being very restrained with his eating, is he?

The commenter: I don't know if it's accidental or not, but this is one of those moments that I love, one of the tellings of Ron's home life via his behavior. In this scenario, he's totally a kitten who just got adopted to a house where he's the only cat. He's at a table with food, so his instinct is to eat as fast as he can or his siblings will yoink it. It doesn't help that there are many other people around, encouraging the "get the good stuff fast or you'll have to sate yourself on bread or whatever nobody wants". Ron is so much more human than Harry! How can Harry not be showing any signs of his "horrendous abuse" for eleven years? Well... I guess he sort of does when he buys all that stuff in his first year. And I guess Ron has to go back home every summer where it gets reinforced. But Harry goes back every summer, too... what the hell?

...

“What’s going on?” Ron  had  appeared  in  the  doorway.  His  wide  eyes  traveled  from  Harry,  who  was  kneeling  on  his  bed  with  his  wand  pointing  at  Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised. “He’s having a go at my mother!” Seamus yelled. “What?” said Ron. “Harry wouldn’t do that — we met your mother, we liked her. . .” “That’s  before  she  started  believing  every  word  the  stinking  Daily  Prophet writes about me!” said Harry at the top of his voice. “Oh,”  said  Ron,  comprehension  dawning  across  his  freckled  face.  “Oh . . . right.” “You know what?” said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look.  “He’s  right,  I  don’t  want  to  share  a  dormitory  with  him  anymore, he’s a madman.” “That’s out of order, Seamus,” said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red, always a danger sign. “Out of order, am I?” shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron &#145;was  turning  paler.  “You  believe  all  the  rubbish  he’s  come  out  with  about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he’s telling the truth?” “Yeah, I do!” said Ron angrily. “Then you’re mad too,” said Seamus in disgust. “Yeah?  Well  unfortunately  for  you,  pal,  I’m  also  a  prefect!”  said  Ron,  jabbing  himself  in  the  chest  with  a  finger.  “So  unless  you  want  detention, watch your mouth!”

The essayist: Note how Ron’s first reaction is to side with Harry.

The commenter: Not surprising because of the best friends thing (some might argue) but I say it's not surprising considering how Hermione and Ron were treating Harry like a ticking time bomb. Survival!

...

“Hello, Harry!” It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball. “Hi,” said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you’re not covered  in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “You got that stuff off, then?” “Yeah,”  said  Harry,  trying  to  grin  as  though  the  memory  of  their  last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. “So did you . . . er . . . have a good summer?” The moment he had said this he wished he hadn’t: Cedric had been Cho’s boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday  almost  as  badly  as  it  had  affected  Harry’s.  .  . Something  seemed  to  tauten  in  her  face,  but  she  said,  “Oh,  it  was  all  right,  you  know. . .” “Is  that  a  Tornados  badge?”  Ron  demanded  suddenly,  pointing  at  the front of Cho’s robes, to which a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold T was pinned. “You don’t support them, do you?” “Yeah, I do,” said Cho. “Have  you  always  supported  them,  or  just  since  they  started  winning the league?” said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice. “I’ve supported them since I was six,” said Cho coolly. “Anyway . . . see you, Harry.” She  walked  away.  Hermione  waited  until  Cho  was  halfway  across  the courtyard before rounding on Ron. “You are so tactless!”

The essayist: So Harry meets Cho, makes a complete faux pas and reminds her of her dead boyfriend. Ron quickly steers the conversation away onto something more happy, i.e., Quidditch, before Cho can get too upset. Nevertheless, Ron is apparently the insensitive jerk around here, not Harry.

[If this reminds you of something, then yes, I absolutely took what the essayist was saying and elaborated on it. I confess, I am a dirty thief.]

...

“Well, I suppose he could’ve played better,” Harry muttered, “but it was only the first training session, like you said. . .” Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework  that  night.  Harry  knew  Ron  was  too  preoccupied  with  how  badly  he  had  performed  at  Quidditch  practice  and  he  himself  was having difficulty in getting the chant of “Gryffindor are losers” out of his head. [...] And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker; slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again.   At   half-past   eleven,   Hermione   wandered   over   to   them,   yawning. “Nearly done?” “No,” said Ron shortly. “Jupiter’s  biggest  moon  is  Ganymede,  not  Callisto,”  she  said,  pointing over Ron’s shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, “and it’s Io that’s got the volcanos.” “Thanks,” snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

The essayist: So Ron’s getting basic facts wrong in his essays.

The commenter: This is going to look so contrived, but I genuinely believe it, and maybe after these reviews, your standards for contrived have dropped enough for me to pass the bar :3 But... he's not putting in any effort. His ego can't take another beating at the moment (even punching bags have limits). Imagine it- after the Quidditch humiliation with his friend the Star Athlete (when he really was trying) he tries to distract himself by doing school work 1. which he isn't very good at anyway, 2. with the Star Athlete of Academics/Slytherin Spectator Crowd best friend Hermione there 3. with Hermione there to set it right anyway (it sounds as if Hermione isn’t so much correcting their essays as writing them herself). If he tries his best at this and then fails at that, Ron probably would start to consider suicide. It's self-preservation at this point to put in zero effort. This kind of fail is literally "I'm not trying because I have given up."

...

She  wrenched  her  bag  open;  Harry  thought  she  was  about  to  put  her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects,  placed  them  carefully  on  a  table  by  the  fireplace,  covered  them  with  a  few  screwed-up  bits  of  parchment  and  a  broken  quill,  and  stood back to admire the effect. “What  in  the  name  of  Merlin  are  you  doing?”  said  Ron,  watching  her as though fearful for her sanity. “They’re  hats  for  house-elves,”  she  said  briskly,  now  stuffing  her  books  back  into  her  bag.  “I  did  them  over  the  summer.  I’m  a  really  slow  knitter  without  magic,  but  now  I’m  back  at  school  I  should  be  able to make lots more.” “You’re leaving out hats for the house-elves?” said Ron slowly. “And you’re covering them up with rubbish first?” “Yes,” said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto her back. “That’s not on,” said Ron angrily. “You’re trying to trick them into picking  up  the  hats.  You’re  setting  them  free  when  they  might  not  want to be free.” “Of  course  they  want  to  be  free!”  said  Hermione  at  once,  though  her face was turning pink. “Don’t you dare touch those hats, Ron!” She left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls’ dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats. They  should  at  least  see  what  they’re  picking  up,”  he  said  firmly.  “Anyway  .  .  .”  He  rolled  up  the  parchment  on  which  he  had  written  the title of Snape’s essay. “There’s no point trying to finish this now, I can’t  do  it  without  Hermione,  I  haven’t  got  a  clue  what  you’re  supposed to do with moonstones, have you?”

The essayist: This doesn’t seem like a particularly open-minded and enquiring position to take, although I suppose that Hermione’s open-mindedness has always been something of an informed attribute.

The commenter: This trope among fans has got me riled up beyond belief because they use the "Hermione's word is gospel" thing to make unfair assumptions about other characters: Ron's "emotional range of a teaspoon" thing comes to mind, and right after that, Lavender supposedly being silly about believing Trelawney about her dead pet (Hermione never considered that maybe the thing Lavender was dreading was bad news from home or bad news about her pet). Regarding house elves: This is one case where the fans ought to have seen that Hermione was being very thoughtless as far as strategy. Ron has lived all his life up until this point thinking that there was no problem with house elves and she literally expects to be able to just tell him "it's wrong" and he's supposed to change instantly? Talk about your cultural insensitivity. In this case, maybe Ron knows better than you do, Hermione? You didn't even know about house elves until you were at least twelve (but more likely, she didn't know until this year). She must understand the concept of "he doesn't know it's wrong". That was how she defended Crookshanks when he was chasing Scabbers. ... Hey, Hermione thinks Ron's smarter than her cat. That's something, I guess.

...

The commenter: Competition is seriously the worst thing in the world for Ron. He's got wa-a-ay too much baggage. Do well so they'll love you. Do well so they'll notice you. If they notice you, you'll get praised. And tormented by Fred and George. Then if you fuck up, you'll have let everyone down. My brothers never let anyone down. That's the standard. Oh God, I can't live up to that. Which do I want to chose- being ignored or scorned? I could do well. Then I'll be good enough to be called "just like them"! JFC, when's it ever going to be "Good like Ron"? Chess. Literally everyone else has one thing they shine in, even Neville with his Botany and Dean with his art (and... and I'm going to ignore the fact that Hermione and Luna are the only two I can think of with non-appearance based special stuff... someone please help me out? I guess Tonks' doesn't really count as a shallow one because it makes her a master of disguise...)

...

HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

...

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

The essayist: “Hermione spared [Ron] one look of disdain before turning back to Harry” pretty much sums up her relationships within the trio. It’s no wonder Ron’s so insecure and keeps worrying that she really fancies Harry.

...

“And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway...”  “You  can  still  see  where  those  brains  got  hold  of  me  in  the  Ministry,  look,”  said  Ron,  shaking  back his sleeves.  “And  it  doesn’t  hurt  that  you’ve  grown  about  a  foot  over  the  summer  either,”  Hermione  finished, ignoring Ron.  “I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

The essayist: Ron’s so adorably pathetic here, the way he’s obviously feeling inferior to Harry and being ignored by his so-called friends. *hugs Ron*

...

When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed  Lavender  Brown  and  Parvati  Patil.  Remembering  what  Hermione  had  said  about  the  Patil  twins’  parents  wanting  them  to  leave  Hogwarts,  Harry  was  unsurprised  to  see  that  the  two  best  friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so  after  Malfoy  had  broken  Harry’s  nose;  Hermione,  however,  looked  cold  and  distant  all  the  way  down  to  the  stadium  through  the  cool,  misty  drizzle,  and  departed  to  find  a  place  in  the  stands  without wishing Ron good luck. 

The essayist: Hermione keeps belittling Ron and doing him down, and reacts quite strongly when he even so much hints at losing interest in her and showing attention to another woman. Can we say “abusive relationship”, anybody?

...

“Harry! Ginny!” Hermione was hurrying toward them, very pink-faced and wearing a cloak, hat, and gloves. “I got back a couple of hours ago, I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck--I mean Witherwings,” she said breathlessly. “Did you have a good Christmas?” “Yeah,” said Ron at once, “pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim—” “I've got something for you, Harry,” said Hermione, neither looking at Ron nor giving any sign that she had heard him. “Oh, hang on--password. Abstinence.”

The essayist: Wow, Hermione’s just being so childish here, ignoring Ron when he’s talking directly to her. Incidentally, Ron’s speaking to her like a normal friend, it’s Hermione who’s doing the blanking. Still, I’m sure this argument is all Ron’s fault for daring to go out with another girl. Hermione is totally blameless.

[Just in case: the essayist is being sarcastic, they’re pointing out the double standard of the HP fandom blaming Hermione’s immature behaviour on Ron.]

...

DEATHLY HALLOWS

...

“I think you’re right,” she told him. “It’s just a morality tale, it’s obvious which gift is best, which one you’d choose—” The three of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, “the Cloak,” Ron said, “the wand,” and Harry said, “the stone.” They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused. “You’re supposed to say the Cloak,” Ron told Hermione, “but you wouldn’t need to be invisible if you had the wand. An unbeatable wand, Hermione, come on!” “We’ve already got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry. “And it’s helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn’t noticed!” said Hermione. “Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble—” “Only if you shouted about it,” argued Ron. “Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around, waving it over your head, and singing, ‘I’ve got an unbeatable wand, come and have a go if you think you’re good enough.’ As long as you kept your trap shut—” “Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?” said Hermione, looking skeptical. “You know, the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years.” “There have?” asked Harry. Hermione looked exasperated: the expression was so endearingly familiar that Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

The commenter (?): Actually, I thought that Ron was proving the errors in the story. Because he’s right. The eldest brother didn’t die because the Elder Wand had corrupted him (like the One Ring). He died because he was an idiot. He died because he randomly decided to start blabbing about his new toy.

“You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,” said Harry, “like they canthink for themselves.” “The wand chooses the wizard,” said Ollivander. “That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.” “A person can still use a wand that hasn’t chosen them, though?” asked Harry. “Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.”

The essayist: Harry’s wand has to think for and protect him because he’s too stupid and incompetent to think for and protect himself! Ollivander’s the expert, and he just admitted it. He said any halfway decent wizard can perform magic with almost any wand. The reason Harry could only work with the holly wand is because of the phoenix feather core it shares with Voldemort’s wand. That is, it wasn’t Harry doing the magic with Harry’s wand! It was the Voldemort soul piece! Once Harry was forced to use wands that didn’t have that core, the soul piece couldn’t do the work for Harry any more. He was forced to rely on his own magical powers and competence, which are clearly minimal. This is proven by his inability to do effective magic with any other wand. It’s also proven by an incident from Philosopher’s Stone. Remember when Harry was being chased by bullies and inexplicably found himself on top of the shed roof? That was the soul piece allowing him to fly like Voldy. Lily could slow her descent from a height, as if she had an invisible parachute, but that is not the same as flying, and we have no evidence she could fly. Only Voldemort and Snape fly without assistance! The evidence is overwhelming that I am right. How many spells can Harry do effectively? Expelliarmus, Expecto Patronum, Protego--that’s it. Even as a young adult, he is incapable of doing the basic healing or cleaning spells a young child should have down pat before going to Hogwarts. Of course, we’re told the Patronus spell is difficult and advanced, but who told us that? Remus Lupin, friend of Harry’s father, sycophant, and notorious liar, particularly when it comes to flattering Harry. Recall Lupin also said Snape didn’t like James because Snape was envious of Potter Sr.’s Quidditch prowess, and we know that was a lie. Given this evidence, anything Lupin says that cannot be confirmed by an independent source, especially regarding the Potters, should be dismissed out of hand. True, Hermione has trouble with the Patronus spell, and she’s super-competent. Doesn’t that prove it’s a very difficult spell? Not at all. To take an example from a different field, Beethoven was a virtuoso organist, the greatest pianist of his day, one of the greatest pianists in history, and probably the greatest improvisational musician ever. But he was only a decent violinist. Everybody has areas of weakness, no matter how good they are overall. In addition, Hermione is very gullible where authority figures are concerned. If a teacher tells her, “The Patronus is a very difficult, advanced spell that many people can’t ever master,” she’ll believe that, which may create a self-fulfilling prophecy. A couple of years ago, another DTCL member and I facetiously suggested Harry was less intelligent than his wand. We didn’t know we were right. It rarely happens, but this is an occasion when I would have preferred to be wrong.

...

If only there was a way of getting a better wand... And desire for the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, unbeatable, invincible, swal-lowed him once more... They packed up the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes that Harry found bleak and depressing. He could think only of the Deathly Hallows. It was as though a flame had been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts, could extinguish. And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the less joyful it made him. He blamed Ron and Hermione: Their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute. Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt isolated from the other two and their obsession with the Horcruxes. [...] As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them, perhaps because Harry’s descent into listlessness galvanized his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action. [...] But not until March did luck favor Ron at last.

The essayist: MARCH! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. The first fifteen pages of this chapter cover three months, and during that entire time, Harry Potter does nothing, nothing, but sit on his ass fantasizing about the Elder Wand and trying to connect with his Voldie-soul mate. Oh, wait. He also tries to open the snitch so he can get the stone out of it. (Nothing gay about that, either.) I wish he’d succeed in that, too. Maybe he’d swallow the stone, and it would end up in his scrotum. He sure needs something that works down there. Harry doesn’t have the right to bail out on his society like this. He can’t have it both ways. He can’t have the adulation that goes with being Mr. Boy-Who-Lived-Chosen-One-Wizarding-World-Savior and abdicate the responsibilities that go along with those titles and that adulation. Look at what happens in this chapter: Harry becomes obsessed with finding and uniting the Hallows, so much so that he withdraws from his friends, bails out on the job his idol Dumbledore gave him, and spends all his time brooding and trying to connect with the Dull Lord. In other words, he acts clinically depressed. Ron and Hermione were exposed to the same information Harry was, but they didn’t become obsessed/depressed. Ron was mildly interested in the Super-Wand, but not enough to distract him from the Horcrux hunt. Hermione dismissed the whole DH story as nonsense and continued following Dumbestbore’s orders. So why weren’t they tempted?

...

The essayist: Harry opens the locket using Parseltongue--interesting that this never occurred to him before now--and two ghostly figures emerge. They’re Voldie-versions of Harry and Hermione, and they articulate Ron’s worst fears: “Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter...Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend...Second best, always, eternally overshadowed...” I’ll say it again: When you’re right, you’re right. The evidence is overwhelming that Molly Weasley treated Ron the worst of all her children. And if Rowling doesn’t want us to ship HP/HG, she needs to quit throwing them together and making them leaders, with Ron either in the background or absent entirely. JKR obviously wants us to automatically dismiss certain statements just because they’re made by “bad guys” such as Voldemort and Rita Skeeter. There are two problems with this: (1) The “lies” make perfect sense, far more sense than what we’re supposed to believe. (2) Even pathological liars sometimes tell the truth, typically when it won’t hurt their own interests to do so. For those of us who live in what cartoonist Garry Trudeau calls “the reality-based community,” the evidence is what matters, not what we’re told by authority figures. Those of us in the higher stages of spiritual development are funny that way.

...

The essayist: Well, whose fault is that, Ms. Rowling? You’re the one who’s spent the last four books making Ron dumber and dumber, depriving him of any meaningful activity, while you shoved Harry and Hermione into increasingly dominant roles.

The commenter: Are we supposed to look down on Ron now so that we can condemn him for leaving Harry and Hermione? Because if so, then that’s just unfair. Every time Ron tries to come up with an idea, Hermione criticizes him or shoots him down. And the twins have done a fine job of intimidating Ron into remaining mediocre and modest so that he doesn’t remind them of Percy, so what is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to come up with ideas when he’s surrounded by people who basically tell him to shut up and sit down?

The essayist: Just then, Hermione comes out of the tent with cups of tea, with tears running down her face and looking terrified her “friend” is going to curse her with her own wand.

The commenter: So, Hermione will snarl at Ron all day long, but cower in fear when Harry gets mad. Is she projecting herself onto Harry and assuming that just because *she’s* quick to hex people who anger her (Ron, Marietta, etc.), Harry will do the same to her?

The essayist: The evidence is overwhelming that Molly Weasley treated Ron the worst of all her children.

The commenter: And blatantly showed favoritism to Harry while snarling at Ron in the same breath. Of course, Horcrux!Tom doesn’t bring that up, because JKR would have to admit that there might be something wrong with Molly favoring Harry the way she does. The essayist: Hermione acts so crazy Harry has to put a protection charm between her and Ron.

The commenter: Yeah…sorry, it’s not “slapstick” anymore when somebody actually has to stop her from hitting Ron. When Harry feels that the situation is dangerous enough that his intervention is necessary. That’s not funny. That’s a true-crime episode. What gets me is that Hermione's tantrum lasts for days. It goes on for several pages into the next chapter. She doesn't start acting normal again until she comes up with the idea of visiting Xeno Lovegood. The essayist: Hermione tells Ron she still hasn’t ruled out attacking him with birds again.

The commenter: *flatly* So, all of the fans who cooed about how “great” it was for Hermione to show “girl power” by sending Ron to the hospital wing in HBP or breezily dismissed the scene as just tired teenage melodrama? Can put a sock in it. Hermione has clearly learned nothing, JKR clearly feels that that scene was funny, and at no point are we supposed to think that Hermione is an abuser. Even though, if the genders were reversed, fans would be calling for Ron’s head on a platter if he dared lay a finger on Hermione. No. This isn’t funny. This isn’t charming. Hermione hurt Ron so badly in HBP that he had to go to the hospital wing. And she tried to repeat the damage she caused here. Is she going to attack him with birds again after they get married? Is she going to do it in front of their children? Will it be “cute” and “funny” then? No, if a man is an abusive monster for losing his temper and trying to hurt his girlfriend, then Hermione is an abusive monster for losing her temper and trying to hurt her boyfriend. Not only did Hermione land Ron in the infirmary with the first attack, but she wants to do it again at a time when they are on the run. She will NOT be able to take an injured Ron to Hogwarts infirmary, nor to St. Mungos. In other words - she intends for him to remain injured and stick with them while camping, or else he must apparate away while injured, risking another splinching so he could be healed.

...

The essayist: Ron and Harry go back to the tent, and Harry fades into the background so as not to interfere with the lovers’ reunion. That’s a mistake. After Harry wakes Hermione, she shows her delight at Ron’s return by--attacking him? She punches him over a dozen times while yelling at him and screaming for her wand from Harry. Remember last chapter, when I talked about how immature Hermione is? Here’s your proof.

[The essayist quotes an article that I haven’t been able to find, but paraphrased: it speaks of a father who came to pick up his 4 y/o daughter from daycare, a little later than usual, and the daughter reacted by punching and hitting her father, upset at his being late. Additional read:  “The parents must know that physical aggression is a common yet natural problem faced by toddlers.”]

The essayist: So there you have it: Hermione Granger, know-it-all supergirl, is so immature she acts like a preschool child when the boyfriend she’s been missing finally returns. I’m not suggesting she has a father-daughter relationship with Ron; this kind of anger is found in other relationships, too. What I am saying is that her way of expressing her anger is appropriate for a very young child. While adults may certainly feel this kind of anger and desire to hit when reunited with a loved one under similar circumstances, they don’t act it out. That restraint is what separates adults from children. Hermione acts so crazy Harry has to put a protection charm between her and Ron. I frankly found her behavior so out of control as to suggest mental instability. She engages in two full pages of histrionics before throwing herself into a chair, sitting so tensely I’m surprised the circulation isn’t cut off to her arms and legs. She remains in a bratty snit until the end of the chapter, which is another six pages.  Hermione is still pouting the next morning. I’m wondering if her real problem is not that Ron left, but that she didn’t. Is she angry at him because he had the guts to admit they were blowing it and take a time out, while she just kept trailing along after Harry like a lost house elf? I think she’s definitely mad because she’s always controlled Ron and their relationship. How dare he assert his independence of her! Who does he think he is? Her equal? In an AU, maybe. This is called the Potterverse after all, not the Ronverse.  Hermione’s having a bad month. First Ron runs out on them; then she saves Harry’s life, but he’s an ungrateful jerk about it; then Harry asserts his independence; then Ron comes back but doesn’t grovel sufficiently for her taste. All this mistreatment is going to give her the idea she’s just a normal character and not an Author’s Darling.   While Ron was gone, he was captured by bad guys called Snatchers, who are bounty hunters for Voldemort. In getting away, he got a spare wand, which he gives to Harry. Of course, it doesn’t work as well as Harry’s “real” wand, so Harry’s still in a snit about that, and with Hermione in a snit, too, they’re a cheerful bunch. Honestly, I don’t know why Ron puts up with these two. The Hs are so spoiled and self-centered, they deserve each other, but I don’t think this is what HP/HG shippers mean when they proclaim the two as an OTP. Sane, normal Ron doesn’t deserve either one of them. Run, Ron! Run while you still can!

...

The essayist: As an interesting aside, ròn is the Celtic word for seal. In Druid lore, seals represent love, longing, and dilemma. No more appropriate totem animal could be imagined for this boy whose sense of selfhood is undermined by his longing for love from a rejecting mother and inadequate father, and who, like the selchie wives of folklore, is faced with the impossible choice of being who he truly is and being rejected, or denying the best part of himself to gain love. Ron’s intelligence and independence threaten his insecure wife (and best friend), just as the selchie’s identity as a seal-woman threatens her human husband; Ron imprisons himself by hiding who he is so the Hs can feel smart and in charge, just as the selchie’s human husband imprisons his wife by hiding her sealskin in a trunk.

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Last Christmas (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, smut, fluff

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: mentions of past bad relationships, oral (f receiving), fairly vanilla sex

(A/N): I am aware this is a common title 🙄 I’m very insecure about my angst writing skills and my golly gosh I was not happy with this at first. So I edited it several times and now it’s... acceptable. Hope y’all enjoy! (Inspired by me listening the Last Christmas by Wham! 20,000 times)

“Crowded room, friends with tired eyes/

I’m hiding from you and your soul of ice”

-Last Christmas by Wham!

Holiday parties can be one of two things. They could either be the most exciting, eventful get together of the year, filled with laughter and happenings that will be talked about all the way until the next party. Or they can be a dreadfully stressful evening of avoiding that One Person and stuffing your face full of cookies and eggnog— trying to figure out when’s an appropriate time to leave without being rude because you only really came to show your face for the person that invited you. Last year’s party was the happier option for Jimin, one he’ll never forget; but unfortunately, this year has become the latter situation where his choices from the previous party have come to bite him in the ass.

He stands somewhere in the corner, out of sight and avoiding the crowd as everyone mingles merrily over the festive music playing in the background. All night has been like this, terribly boring as he watches his friends joke around and have fun. A few times he’s gone over to the group when he felt it was safe to do so, trying to appear as normal and relaxed as possible as Seokjin scolded him for being a wallflower. He didn’t even want to come, he reminds them, he would have been happy to stay home and mope all night instead of being subjected to this torture.

‘But you have to come, this party is tradition!” Hoseok whined when Jimin first told them this 2 weeks ago. The others had similar complaints.

‘Yeah, it’ll ruin the whole night if you don’t show.’ Jungkook’s pout was pretty convincing, part of the reason why Jimin caved. When he finally agreed, Taehyung had thrown an arm over his shoulders with that carefree grin of his.

‘Don’t let her keep you from having fun! Show up and show off how good of a time you’re having. She doesn’t control your life and you need to start acting like it.’

But Taehyung was completely wrong about that because you had an unimaginable amount of control over him even after so much time. His eyes were wide and paranoid from the moment he walked through the doors, hoping that you wouldn’t see him or try to approach— hoping that he wouldn’t see you and fall apart. And even after initially locating you on the other side of the room chatting to someone else, Jimin couldn’t freely move about the room without keeping his eyes on you to maintain a safe distance. He wouldn’t allow himself to become too distracted in fear of losing sight of you and having an awkward encounter, so he barely spoke to his friends and kept a solo cup of punch as his only companion. Even if he hadn’t come, if he had stayed in his home like he wanted, you would probably still have power over him. He’d probably catch himself wondering if you decided to show up or if you were just as nervous to see him as he was. Would likely daydream about what creative outfit you’d chosen to dress yourself in because he’s been told you usually go all out for parties like these. Maybe he’d scroll through the messages he still hasn’t deleted from his phone, remembering, regretting, reliving both the good and the bad of everything that happened between you two in the course of the past year. Thinking about the events that led him to this, all starting at last year’s party.

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

One Year Ago

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

“Who is she?” Jimin stares at you over the lip of his cup, sipping slowly on his drink. Seokjin glances at where his friend is looking, lounging drunkenly on the sofa cushions and loudly singing the wrong words to the Christmas music blasting through the speakers.

“Why? You have a crush on her or something?” He smirks, chuckling at the scandalized expression that Jimin turns to him with.

“A crush? I’m not in the 5th grade, hyung,” He rolls his eyes. “I’m just asking because I’ve never seen her around before...” Jimin finishes quietly, mumbling into his cup as he takes another sip. But before he can swallow fully, Jin is calling you over with a wave of his hand.

You turn your head at the sound of his voice and Jimin swears his heart stops beating in his chest as a bright smile spreads on your lips at the sight of your friend. You walk over with confidence and he has no choice but to take in your body, curves and lines caressed by the tightest onesie he’s ever seen. You’ve come to the party dressed as Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer, your deer onesie zipped low enough for the tops of your cleavage to be revealed and your makeup colored flawlessly to match, freckles spotted along your cheeks and red painted at the tip of your nose. It shouldn’t be sexy, but you could probably make a trash bag look like lingerie with your looks. Jimin shifts in his seat when you come to stand in front of the two men, popping your hip as you look down at them.

“Yes, Seokjin?” You only spare a glance at Jimin before your eyes return to Jin, but his linger on you shamelessly.

“There’s someone who wants to meet you,” He sits up into a proper sitting position, pointing to the man beside him. “(Y/n), this is Park Jimin. Jimin, this is (Y/n). You’re welcome.” Abruptly, he stands and walks away, heading over to bother Jungkook in another part of the large room.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin.” You extend your hand toward him and he fumbles with his cup between his hands at the gesture, eventually composing himself to stand and give you a proper handshake. Since he was seated on the couch and you had come to stand directly in front of him, you now stand a bit too close to each other, his body trapped between yours and the couch. But you don’t retreat, not even moving back a step as you inspect him from head to toe.

The two of you spent more than 2 whole hours talking, relentlessly flirting with each other as you discovered that you shared many things in common. You laughed at his jokes and gave him your full attention the entire night, your hand always finding it’s way onto his arm or knee as you pressed closer to him on the couch cushions as the night went on. It was obvious that you were very attracted to him, but Jimin didn’t want to be too forward and make you uncomfortable so he kept his hands to himself until you finally cracked and pulled his hand onto your upper thigh.

Looking into your eyes, he could clearly see the lust swirling in your irises, so it wasn’t a surprise when you pulled him upstairs into a bathroom, locking the door behind you and kissing him up against it. Nor was it surprising when you allowed him to lift you onto the countertop of the sink and bury his face between your thighs, tasting you until you had to clap a hand over your mouth to suppress your moans. What did surprise Jimin, however, was how amazing it felt to be inside you, his knees feeling weak as he pounded you into the hard surface and bit back the needy groans bubbling in his throat. You almost killed him when you dropped to your knees and took his tip into your mouth, sucking and swallowing every drop of his release as he gasped in elation. It took him several minutes to collect himself after the ordeal, but you sat on the counter and talked to him as you both calmed down and quickly agreed that this should become a regular thing.

It was about 5 months in that Jimin realized that he had serious feelings for you. The realization came when he couldn’t stop thinking about you— even in a non-sexual context— and started thinking about what it would be like if you were his. And when he finally gathered the courage to ask you out on a date, his heart nearly exploded when you said ‘yes’.

Yet his joy was short lived because his phone rang on the day of your date and you explained to him that you had been “thinking about some things” after a conversation with Jin. You had been talking about the newest episode of a tv show with him when he mentioned how awkward it would be if 2 of his friends ever started dating. He said he would hate to be a middle man between them, especially in an argument or breakup, and how hanging out with them would never be the same, how it would be weird to spend time with them separately but that he would be a third wheel if they were together. Of course, Jin didn’t know that you and Jimin were sleeping together, even if he was the one who introduced you, but his comment got you thinking and now you weren’t sure if you wanted to go out with him anymore. You told him that you needed time to think about it more deeply, but you are a logical person who never makes decisions without analyzing every outcome, so Jimin knew that it would be a long time before he got an answer from you. In the meantime, you suggested, you could continue to be friends because you had grown so used to his company, but things were awkward, and eventually communication dropped between you and you fell out of touch for the rest of the year.

A few times Jimin had wanted to text you. Ask if you still thought about him or if you ever intended to give him an answer. Maybe just check to see if you were doing well since he does still care about you. He still thinks about you almost everyday. Still wets his pillow with tears on hard nights. But his pride keeps him from reaching out, always afraid of your rejection.

*** *** ***

A sharp tap on the shoulder startles Jimin out of his thoughts and he almost drops the plate of cookies in his hands. Turning, his face pales as he is met with your inquisitive stare, beautiful face betraying little emotion. Before he can stop himself his eyes are scanning down your body, the ugly Christmas sweater dress you’ve elected to wear looking so cute on you, and he’s certain you’re the only person who could pull that off.

“Are you avoiding me? I haven’t seen you all night.” Blunt as ever, you stare directly into his soul as he squirms, looking down at the snack table in front of him and pretending to contemplate which goodies to pick up.

“No, I’ve been around.” He answers coyly.

“Not around your friends.” Your eyes shift behind him to the cackling group of men standing several feet away. This simple statement makes his heart jump. Had you been looking for him? Were you actually eager to see him tonight despite everything that’s happened? He tries to squash the tiny bud of hope in his chest, clearing his throat when you continue to stare at him.

“Like I said, I’ve been around. I’m not avoiding you.” This comes out quietly, he’s never been good at lying. But you make a sound of agreement and nod, not pressing him about it further. He watches from the corner of his eye as you turn your attention to the snack table now, looking as though you were going to pick something up, but when you realize that neither of you are moving and waiting for the other, you turn your head to him again.

“Do you- can we talk?” You ask abruptly and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He doesn’t know how to respond to this. Would it really be a good idea for him to talk to you? He’s tried so hard over these past months to extinguish the flame he felt for you, to lock away those feelings so he doesn’t get hurt anymore than he already has, but looking at you now— standing so close to him that he can smell the scent of your holiday themed body spray— has his heart working double time. One look into your eyes and he’s ready to melt into a puddle on the floor. He’s not sure how he’ll react if you actually got him alone.

Even still, he agrees.

Of course it’s after several seconds of silence and wide-eyed staring, but the smile you give eases his awkwardness once he finally gets the words out. It’s with lead limbs that he follows you through the crowd, weaving through friends and acquaintances until the noise of the room becomes muffled and you are the only person he can see. This is different, though. Flashes of last year keep coming back to him, the parallels making his head spin, but the air is different. Instead of sexual tension between you two it’s just regular tension. The air is tight in his lungs, but this time it’s not from excitement— it’s nervousness. The hallway you guide him to is private and out of sight, but this time you’re alone for an entirely different reason. He can sense the tension in your body even through the zip-tight facade you have on display.

When you come to a stop and face him, both of you are biting your lips, and it looks as if you’re trying to find the best way to put your words. You both stand with your backs to the opposite walls of the hall, the distance between you feeling necessary in order to think properly.

“How have you been?” You start quietly, lips pressed tightly together as though forcing yourself not to say the wrong things. “I’ve wanted to call you, text you, do anything to show that I still acknowledge your existence on this planet- but I’m a coward so I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So how are you?”

Again, Jimin finds himself not knowing how to answer. He could say he’s fine, but what good would that do in this situation? Taking a deep breath, he speaks.

“Honestly, it’s been hard, (Y/n). I know we never dated, I’m just the idiot that caught feelings in a strictly sexual arrangement, but it still hurts. You left me hanging.”

“You’re not an idiot.” You say quietly and he gives you a blank look before returning his gaze to the floor.

“... How have you been?” The words sound forced even on his own ears, but he can’t help but ask. He relates so deeply to what you said about not having the guts to reach out first. So many times he’s pulled up your contact, typed something out that resembles accepting the apology you never gave, but then he’d remind himself that if you wanted to talk to him you would, but you haven’t so you don’t.

“Miserable. I keep thinking about how it was when we were ‘together’ and how stupidly I acted. We were good together. I opened up to you more than I have to 99% of the people I know, and you did the same to me. I loved being with you— it wasn’t just about the sex— and I knew you felt the same way, but I froze up at the possibility of being your girlfriend. So I kept replaying everything that happened between us from the first day to the last, trying to make sense of it all and it was exhausting. A year feels like so long, but at the same time it feels like no time has passed at all.”

You were right about that. Standing in front of you now, it seems like he just saw you yesterday. He’s reminded of the last time he saw you in person, your head on his lap as he asked you out to dinner, beaming up at him as you spoke the magic words to him. “I did feel the same way. Truthfully, I liked you after our first night together and things just got better and better from there. I had so much hope. You seemed so happy with me, which made it hurt so much worse when you turned me down.” His eyes never leave the ground as he speaks.

He doesn’t see how your eyebrows crease. “I was happy! I was the happiest I’ve been in a long time when I was with you, but-“ You trail off with a shake of your head, biting your lip when you can’t think of the right words. “Jimin, I’m so sorry I hurt you. It really is all my fault.”

“But what? Would dating me really make that much of a difference?” You were basically a couple already, he doesn’t see what the problem could have been. He refuses to believe that you simply didn’t like him enough. Yet, a cold chill climbs up his limbs at the thought.

“No.” His eyes connect with yours and it’s your turn to look away.

“Then why did-“ He doesn’t even need to finish his question before you’re shaking your head.

“Because I was scared. Like I said, I’m a coward.” Jimin hates when you put yourself down like that. Hates to see you look so guilty even though he knows you probably should.

There’s a long pause.

“Then were you ever going to give me an answer?” Quietly, the words slip past his lips before he can even think about them. They float over to you and dance around your head as if taunting you. If Jin was truly the obstacle of your relationship, you both could have just asked him. No, Jimin isn’t asking you if you were willing to risk Jin’s comfort to be with him. He was asking you if you shared his feelings. If you wanted to be with him. And the answer isn’t as straightforward as he would have liked.

“I typed out an answer to you so many times, but I couldn’t send it. I’m sorry I waited so long to talk to you, but the more I looked at my words the more uncertain I got and eventually I felt like you wouldn’t want to hear from me at all. I really am sorry, Jimin.”

Finding his eyes again, you see Jimin stiffen. He looks tired almost, as if exhausted by his own worries and thoughts, and you sag when you notice this.

“What would you have said?” His words come louder than his previous ones, though they seem much more fragile. He blinks at you, watching your chest heave for breath at the question. Dread fills his stomach like a heavy stone in his gut.

“I like you a lot, Jimin, I do. But-“

Without a second thought, he spins on his heel and walks back toward the party, leaving you stunned with a gaping mouth. His heart twists painfully as he paces away from you, weaving his way through the crowd and toward the door. It’s one thing to worry and think the worst, but Jimin has been clinging onto that one shred of hope, and hearing you confirm his fears out loud would be the worst heartbreak. Your rejection would sicken him and he had no intention of crying in front of you or at a holiday party filled with his friends, so he made the split decision to leave.

He should have never come. He would’ve happily stayed in blissful ignorance for another year instead of having to experience this. This pain is the worst.

He can tell you’ve started to follow behind him but he doesn’t care. Swooping past the pile of coats on one of the couches and picking his from the top, slinging it across his body as he pushes open the door. The cold winter air bites at his nose as he pushes on toward his car, sniffling from both the weather and the emotions stuck in his throat. Soon, he hears your footsteps behind him, heeled boots clicking on the frozen pavement as you scurry after him. He doesn’t even look back.

“Jimin, wait-“ How childish of him to run off like this, you must be thinking, and he listens to your hurried steps with a frown as he imagines the pout on your lips and distress in your eyes. “I- Ah!”

Your dramatic gasp and the sound of your body hitting the concrete is enough to stop him. And his body reacts on instinct.

Whipping around he sees you wincing on the cold ground, cradling your ankle with one hand, and suddenly he’s rushing back over to you. You move to stand, attempting a tentative step forward, and Jimin reaches you just in time as you collapse again and fall forward into his arms.

“Jimin, that’s not what I meant-“

“Did you hurt your ankle?” He cuts you off, focused solely on the foot you hold limply above the ground.

“I-“ Noticing that he won’t meet your eyes, you relent, cheeks burning. “Y-Yeah.” The sidewalk is cracked and uneven where you stand, your heels likely stepping right into the crack and causing your twisted ankle. He clicks his tongue.

Any logical person might have taken you back into the party where the host, your friend, would surely be able to help. But instead he scoops you up into his arms princess style and continues down the path toward his car. You say nothing, simply looking at his side profile as he walks. Jimin refuses to look at you even with his arms wrapped around your body, feeling a distinct warmth not only from your body pressed to his, but also from your unyielding gaze. It’s almost as if you are studying every inch of his face, awed by the sight as though you missed it. As if you missed him. His face heats uncomfortably but he ignores it, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead until you reach his vehicle.

Opening the back door, he sets you inside, well aware of your momentary surprise when he slides in next to you and shuts the door. Holding out his hand, he waits for you to get the message, and slowly you raise your leg up until your ankle rests in his lap. The silence is tense. The enclosed space is only slightly warmer than the whipping wind and bitter cold outside, but currently neither of you are sure which you would prefer more. He removes your boot with some difficulty but takes care not to hurt you, reaching down to slip off the other and note the difference in size. Your ankle has begun swelling a bit, though the damage is minimal likely because of the cold. Your mouth opens with unspoken words, he can see this from his peripheral, but you end up closing it again without a sound.

The leather of his seats crinkle when you shift and the noise feels far too loud. His car smells of the air freshener he’s placed somewhere, a woody and spicy scent that reminds you of cuddles by a warm fireplace— the smell calming you somewhat as you allow him to continue his examination. As gently as he can, Jimin pokes at your ankle around the swollen area, pressing one finger over a spot that makes you hiss, and finally his eyes snap up to yours.

“What are you doing?” His eyes flicker away from you again at the question.

“I’m checking your ankle, it seems a little swollen-“

“No- what are you doing? Why did you walk away from me? Why did you bring me to your car?”

If he had an answer for you, surely he would give it, but he’s trying to figure all of those things out himself. What was his goal? Did he subconsciously want to talk to you somewhere away from the party, in a place where he was comfortable, that he could control? He thought he didn’t want to hear what you had to say, but here you are, alone with him again.

“I don’t know.” He answers lamely. “Did you walk here? I know you don’t live far— I can give you a ride home if you want.”

“I don’t want a ride home, I want you to listen to me!” At the raise of your voice everything stops. It even seems like the wind outside has paused. You weren’t angry, you were tired of him ignoring you when he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yourself. You bring your voice back down when he drops his hands. “Could you listen to me? Please.”

“... Okay.” Like a child, he sits stiffly with his hands folded and fidgeting, body half turned toward you, but you take that as sign enough to start.

“You asked me what I would have said to you in my message. You didn’t let me finish.” He swallows at your irritated tone, but it softens when you take a deep breath. “I was saying that I really do like you Jimin, but I just didn’t realize how much I liked you until I had already ruined things. I would have said that I’d love to date you, that hearing you ask me out was the happiest moment I’ve had in a long time— but I kept doubting myself. I’m so afraid that I’ll disappoint you. That we’ll start dating and just when I’m finally happy you’ll realize I’m not everything you thought I was and leave me. I’ve had some really bad relationships in the past and I felt like they’d come back to haunt me and you’d realize how damaged I am and get fed up because I’m not sensitive enough or too paranoid or too... broken.”

“(Y/n),” Seeing you so insecure like this hurts his heart. His hand returns to your leg. “I already know about your past relationships and trauma. You told me about it all and I still asked you out after I knew. I would never think that way about you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, that’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for you. That’s why it’s called an irrational fear. Even though I knew this, I still panicked when you asked me out and all of those thoughts came flooding in. And when Jin made the comment about his friends dating... I guess I was looking for an out. You did absolutely nothing wrong, but I pushed you away because I couldn’t handle the thought that you would want me, of all people.” You mumble your last sentence, but he hears you loud and clear. “I’m sorry, I do some pretty stupid things when I’m in love.”

When you’re in love? 

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a long while, shocked into silence by your last statement. It’s a lot to take in, he’s just gone from believing you were about to rip his heart out and reject him, to hearing you say that you’re in love with him.

“So... what does this mean for us?” He hears himself ask, not conscious of his mouth moving to produce the words.

“I-If the offer still stands, I’d really like to date you. That is, if I didn’t already screw everything up and you still have feelings for me.” Your eyes looks so innocent when you look at him. You are usually fairly stoic, eyes betraying little emotion except for when you’re extremely happy or flirting— this is one of the few times he’s gotten to see this side of you. Being vulnerable is something you struggle with, it’s rare for you to be in this type of position where someone else holds your fate, your heart, in their hands.

He can’t hold back the small smile that makes its way onto his face, meeting your eyes without any apprehension this time. “You didn’t screw anything up, (Y/n).” He doesn’t say anything more after you return his smile, he simply exits the car and rounds the front to the drivers seat. The air shifts and it’s no longer as suffocatingly tense as it was moments prior, much to your relief.

The ride to his home is quiet, you don’t dare speak or look out the window for the entirety of the trip because you’re so focused on the back of his seat and the glimpse of his face you can catch whenever he shifts. He’s fairly certain you’re trying to figure out what exactly is running through his mind right now— and so is he, honestly— but you won’t ask him yet. He hasn’t really given you a proper response, you can only hope that his comment meant that he holds no ill feelings toward you and would also like the chance to date you, but you hate assuming. Your pride has your questions caught in your throat, though.

You seem a bit startled when he parks in front of his building. He answers your curious gaze with the excuse that he can better take care of your injury here and insists that you stay the night since it’s already so late. Cheeks burning, Jimin tries to ignore the small chuckle you let out when he stammers, his arm wrapping around you to help you out of his car. He takes revenge on you, however, as he lifts you back into his arms like before, not even allowing you to place your feet on the ground as he walks into the apartment complex despite your complaints, smirking slyly when your face colors the same as his at the odd looks you receive from the other passengers of the elevator.

He puts you down only when you reach the couch inside his apartment, setting you gently on the soft cushions and offering to take your coat from your shoulders. He hadn’t even asked if you had all of your belongings from Jin’s house before he impulsively drove you here, something that he apologizes profusely for, though you wave him off and assure him that you only brought your coat and the things you could fit in its pockets with you.

Not knowing what else to say, Jimin stands in front of you for several long seconds as you look up at him with soft eyes. He’s caught now, forgetting everything that he was doing as he looks back at you sitting so prettily on his couch. That look you have in your eyes is the same one that gave him enough courage to ask you out months ago, your irises nearly sparkling even in the dull lighting of his living room. It takes his breath away and he is momentarily stunned, frozen in place with a heart that beats out of his chest. What was he even supposed to be doing? Your coat is in his hands and he fiddles with it, trying to remember where he wanted to put it before you blindsided him with those beautiful eyes. Ah, yes. The coat closet. Blinking, you take note of how he shifts from one foot, then the other, before clearing his throat.

“I’ll be right back.” Jimin turns from you immediately as he feels his cheeks start to color pink. It feels heavy, having all of those wilting and withering emotions come slamming back down on him with just one look. He’s dazed as he hangs both of your coats in his closet, picking up compression bandages and scissors from his first aid kit then swinging past his kitchen to retrieve an ice pack for you.

When he returns he sees you still seated rather uncomfortably on his sofa, body tense and on the very edge of the seat. You were never this awkward in his home before, even during your first time here— granted, you did spend the first few hours naked in his bedroom, eliminating most of the discomfort you’d feel when he decided to give you a tour of the rest of the place afterward. But Jimin somewhat expected that you would settle right in even though things have changed since the last time you were here. Guess not.

“You can get comfortable, you know. You don’t have to act like a stranger.” He tries to laugh but it comes out a bit dry, the pull on his lips looking a bit forced. And it hits him then that he’s the one that’s nervous. While you seem to be trying your hardest to be polite, he’s actually the one that feels pressured. Swallowing hard, he takes a seat next to you and lifts your injured foot onto his lap again, this time feeling hyper aware of where your body touches his. His hands shake the entire time he wraps your ankle and he’s sure you’ve noticed by how intensely you stare as he works. It’s embarrassing to say the least, but he can’t seem to calm himself. Not when you’re so close to him again and especially not now that he knows how you truly feel about him. So, reluctantly, he removes your legs from him once he’s finished and sets up some pillows over the armrest for you to elevate your foot and places the ice pack on your ankle. “So, um, do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

*** *** ***

One thing Jimin has always found endearing about you is how quickly you tend to fall asleep once relaxed enough. The movie is little over halfway through when he sees your head nodding beside him, catching him by surprise when you lean over to rest it on his shoulder. He shifted you to lay against his strong thigh so you can get more comfortable, and now he’s completely forgotten about the movie as he watches you sleep peacefully against him. Staring down at you like this has all of his worries slipping away, your words from earlier finally sinking in and allowing him to finally react. This was all he ever wanted, you to give him a chance and reciprocate his feelings, and now that it’s happening it doesn’t quite feel real. But you are very real. He confirms this by caressing his thumb over your cheek, planting a soft kiss on your forehead that makes your eyes flutter open.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispers sheepishly, but you simply shake your head.

“No, it’s okay.” You stretch but don’t bother to move away from him. You’re far too tired for awkwardness and would much rather return to normalcy with him.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks gently, glancing at where it remains propped up at the end of the couch.

“Mm, a little sore,” He frowns at that, feeling guilty. “But it’s not that bad! I’m fine, really.”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“No it isn’t, it’s my fault for not looking where I was going.”

“But you wouldn’t have needed to watch where you were going if I didn’t storm away from you like that.”

You let out a heavy sigh at this. “Just drop it, okay? It’s really not that big of a deal, I’ll be back to normal in a few days.” You turn your head toward the tv to take in what was happening on the screen, allowing the noise of the movie to fill the quiet that falls between you two.

“I won’t do that again.” Jimin states quietly, playing with the hair at the very top of your head. “In the future, I won’t walk away from you until we work things out like adults. You didn’t deserve that tonight.” Something about how he says this makes your heart stutter. You turn back around slowly, lips parted as you look up at him.

“In the future? As in, you want to have a future with me?” Realizing how that sounds, you quickly try to backtrack as you sit upright with a wave of your hands. “I mean in the near future, not like you want a future with me like we’re getting married or something! You know what I meant, right? I wasn’t implying that... y-yeah.“ At the amused look on his face, you stop, closing your mouth before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. You’re never like this around him. You never used to fumble for words or feel the need to explain yourself like you do now, but suddenly the pounding of your heart has you tongue tied and jittery. Your nervousness makes Jimin feel a little bolder.

“Yes, (Y/n). In both the near and far future, I’ll always treat you with respect. You’ve had it hard. I want to be the one to show you that relationships can be good— that you can trust me to respect you as a person and can put your faith in me. So yes, I want there to be a future.” You blink at him and he has to laugh at the dumbfounded look on your face.

“...Does this mean you’ll give me a chance and date me?” He nods. “You’re not upset? I left you waiting unanswered for months, I would’ve thought you would at least need some time to... reconsider?”

“What’s there to reconsider? My feelings for you are just as strong as the last time I saw you, (Y/n), that hasn’t changed.” Your eyes drop to where his hand lands on your thigh, making you gulp. “We wasted enough time not being together this year, what’s the point in wasting another second? Sure, I was hurt before tonight, but hearing you explain everything so openly to me made me happier than you can imagine. I want you to go out with me. I want you to see how much I care about you and know how far I’ll go to make you happy, and fall for me just like I’ve fallen for you.”

He seems resolute when he says this, serious but sweet all the same, and now it’s your turn to be shocked and dazed by how honest he’s being at the moment. This must have been how he felt earlier, unable to say the right words or relax his body even after your reassurance. You want to tell him that what he said is pretty silly. Silly because you already fell for him without even realizing it and there’s little else he needs to do to prove himself in your eyes. Unable to vocalize all of this, you simply move closer to him until you’re face to face. His hands come to softly rest on your waist out of habit, stabilizing you as you slowly rise on your knees and lean into his lips, kissing them innocently to convey what you feel.

As soon as your lips find his, chills shoot throughout his body. God, he’s missed your lips. Missed the way you smile into the kiss when he presses deeper and pulls you closer with his insistent hands. You tell him everything he needs to know with every movement you make, your hands snaking up from his chest to his neck where they twine loosely in the hair at the back of his head. His breath hitches when you throw a leg over his hips to straddle him, your dress riding up your thighs until it bunches around your hips. You pull away from his mouth, panting and grinning in his lap.

“Okay.” You nod, accepting him.

“Okay?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile.

“Yes. I want that, too.” He allows you to press into him again, his back molding into the cushions of the seat as you rest your weight on him fully.

“Good.” You can see he’s trying not to look overly excited by this because he’s biting his lips hard to contain his smile, but his eyes betray his happiness to you. When he sees you smiling at him, he buries his face in your neck, leaving playful butterfly kisses that flutter ticklishly against the skin of your neck, chest, and shoulders causing you to giggle.

“Jimin stop, that tickles!” You squeal, halfheartedly squirming to get away, but he has his hands tight on your hips to keep you in place. Giggling at your playfulness, he lets his lips linger just a little longer with each peck, stealing licks and nibbles every so often until he trails his way back up to your lips. His fingers slide down to press into the smooth skin of your exposed thighs, wanting but not pushy even as the kisses become hungrier.

You didn’t intend on your make out session turning into anything more, but the atmosphere quickly shifts in that direction as soon as your hips start to roll against his. As soon as your crotch meets his, Jimin bucks into you slightly and you let out a mewl into his mouth, grabbing a fistful of his hair. He feels your body start to heat when he slips his tongue into your mouth, exploring you in sync with the rolls of you hips. Just having you close to him again has his body reacting and he’s sure you can feel him hardening in his slacks, light hisses leaving him whenever you catch his tip against your thigh or pull at his roots, tugging his head back to you every time he tries to pull away to gasp. A wet patch seeps into his briefs beneath your expert hips, ruining his slacks from the inside while you ruin them from the outside with the wetness you drip from your panties.

Jimin’s fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress, breaking from you shortly to silently ask your permission, and once you nod he delicately removes the clothing item before tossing it to the other side of the sofa. Taking it further, he pulls down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts to him, gently rubbing his thumbs over your sensitive nipples.

“So pretty,” He whispers, bending down to take one into his mouth, sucking the bud as you hump against him faster. Your fingers, still wound in his hair, keep him steady at your chest, tiny whimpers leaving your lips at each flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your pert nipple. He works around your tits just how you like it, having learned exactly what makes you mewl from the many times he’s found himself in your bed. Your chest is glossy by the time you peel him away, the pressure in your core no longer satisfied by your grinding, and he gives you a questioning look when you move to stand in front of him with your hands on the button of his slacks. Completely forgetting about your ankle, your leg gives as soon as you put pressure on the bad foot and Jimin catches you swiftly, flipping you so that you now lay against the cushions with him kneeling in front of you. “Be careful,” He scolds lightly, trailing kisses up your thighs.

“You don’t want me to give you the ‘sloppy-toppy pepper grinder 9000’?” He snorts at your puppy eyes, pulling down your panties with a shake of his head.

“Not today,” The pecks he leaves up your inner thighs have goosebumps prickling your skin.

“But you love the ‘sloppy-toppy pepper grinder 9000’!” Your pout becomes more prominent when he spreads your legs further apart, anticipation building exponentially in your gut.

“Please stop calling it that,” Jimin laughs, eyes squinting cutely at you. “Tonight I wanna  show you how much I missed you. Just relax, baby, let me take care of you.” He doesn’t give you time for a rebuttal, diving down to lick up the arousal that dribbles down your folds, following the trail up with his tongue until he reaches your clit with a flick. You moan immediately and he’s almost surprised by your sensitivity, concealing a small smirk by dipping down to do it again.

His fingers part your lower lips, allowing him to press his tongue more firmly on your bud, and it’s all you can do not to shriek at the bolts of pleasure it sends up your spine. It’s like he’s injected lava into your veins, heat spreading all throughout your body and pooling in your core with every eager swipe of his tongue against your bud, setting your nerves alight. Jimin has always shown enthusiasm for oral— you remember one night in particular where he pinned you down and wouldn’t let up until you were begging and crying for him to stop as your 5th orgasm of the night washed over you— but this is something different entirely. His movements are slow and deliberate, sensual patterns drawn against your most intimate areas to build you up slowly but steadily, focused solely on your throbbing clit that practically begs for his attention. He has his eyes locked on yours the entire time, watching every emotion that flickers across your features and noting what brings you the most pleasure, although he already knows from experience.

“Mmh,” He growls into you as you continue to drip for him. You taste just as sweet as he remembers, your essence coating his cheeks and chin messily. It smears against his lips when you start to rock into him, moaning lewdly in tandem with your movements and holding onto the back of his head for leverage. He really doesn’t mind how you hold his face so tightly to your center. The heat from your core and thighs give his cheeks a delightful flush but he doesn’t pull away for a second, instead using his lips to suck on your pearl until your legs quiver around him. One of his hands drops down to palm at the ever increasing tent in his pants, his dick already at full hardness and twitching impatiently for the chance to be inside you. Just thinking about being inside your wet heat again makes his eyes roll— fuck, he needs to calm down before he cums in his pants. But he can’t help but shift his hips in search of friction when two of his fingers enter you with no resistance, slipping in to the knuckle because of the copious amounts of fluids you leak. It’s easy to find your spot, and when he does your back arches from the chair.

“Fuck, Jimin, I’m close.” You gasp out, tossing your head back as you rub yourself against his face more forcefully.

“Already?” He mumbles against you, the words muffled because he refuses to pull away, but the vibrations of his voice go straight through you. All you can offer is a needy whine to him but it’s more than enough for him to double his efforts. He pushes at your thigh to open you again, then flattens his wet muscle over your clit, using his whole mouth to please you with broad licks that make your toes curl. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he strokes at your spot, pulsing synchronously with the bud against his tongue, and he catches the most beautiful look take over your face as he brings you to climax.

Your skin flushes as the high overtakes you, mouth parted to let out the cutest moans and curses mixed with his name, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows scrunched together as wave after wave crashes down on you. His name has never sounded better to him as it falls from your pretty lips on repeat, drowning out the squelch of your wetness as he fingers you through your bliss. Feeling you pulsate around him is a feeling he’ll never get tired of, but he’d much rather feel you throb around his cock instead of his fingers, his hips bucking up into the air in anticipation.

“So fucking sexy,” Jimin groans, obsessed with the way your hips squirm when it becomes too much. His wet lips press kisses down your trembling leg as you catch your breath, ending with your tender ankle that he babies apologetically.

“Holy shit.” You finally find it within yourself to whisper, melting into the couch beneath you.

“You okay? I’ve never seen you cum that hard before.” He isn’t teasing when he says this, but your cheeks heat up regardless, averting your eyes away from his gentle gaze.

“I haven’t slept with anyone since you, so I’m a little hypersensitive now.” It’s been months since anyone has touched you. Truthfully, it wasn’t only because you felt bad because of your silence toward Jimin, but that certainly played a part in it. Even still, you don’t like how his face morphs into shock as if there’s a horn growing out of your forehead. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Oh, no it’s just- I haven’t been with anyone else either...” He didn’t like to think about it, but he assumed that you were getting your needs fulfilled by someone else after you had stopped talking to him. Knowing you hadn’t been with anyone else makes an odd relief come over him. Now he’s blushing too and you still can’t look at him, but he climbs up your body to kiss you anyway, easing your momentary shyness. The kiss reignites your desire and suddenly he feels your hands tugging at his zipper, working to free his member from his confinement. He takes this time to remove his own shirt, unclipping your bra and tossing it into the pile of clothes that now sits at the end of his couch as you yank down his slacks and briefs in one go.

His length springs free before you, the sight pulling a whimper from your lips. It’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, thick and long and smooth in all the right places, and it never fails to make you gush every time you see it. You can practically feel it inside you already and you can’t wait another minute, wrapping your warm fingers around the base and stroking drips of precum from the tip. Jimin groans with a bite of his lip, removing your hands from him and leaning away.

“Turn over for me.” He instructs, gripping himself as he watches you spin onto your knees with your arms draped over the back of the couch. You look back at him with flirtatious eyes, wiggling your ass at him to entice him into action. A smack lands on one of your cheeks, the flesh jiggling from its force and you hear a sharp inhale behind you. “Comfortable?”

Always the gentleman, he always checks to make sure you’re okay. But you’re far beyond that point, seconds away from grabbing him and pushing him into you yourself.

“Yes, now please fuck me already, I’m going insane.” He snickers at the way you push back toward him, hole searching for his length blindly as sweat accumulates on your back.

“Anything for you, babe.” Fingers collecting your dripping essence, Jimin takes the time to spread your lubricant over himself, allowing you to hear the slick noise and his heavy breaths as you wait on quivering knees. After what feels like an eternity, you finally feel him drag his hot tip through your folds, tapping the weight against you until you’re just about ready to crack. But just as you take in a breath to scold him, he pushes in to the hilt and forces a groan from you.

The intrusion is tight. He almost goes cross-eyed at how tightly you squeeze him upon entry, and he’s awed into silence at the way your velvet repeatedly clenches and relaxes as you try to adjust. At least he thinks you’re trying to adjust, until he brings his fingers down to your clit and starts rubbing, only for the clenching to get more intense.

“Is that okay?” He asks, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your back.

“It’s amazing,” You nearly sob, rocking back into him. “Please move, I can’t take it anymore.”

Before you’re even finished your sentence he’s pulling back, leaving you completely empty except for his tip before thrusting forward. You both moan at the movement and he starts a fairly quick pace, standing erect and gripping your hips securely. Just like the first time he had you, you steal his breath away. It’s addicting, the way he glides in so easily with the thick coating of arousal you cover him in, and he wonders how the hell he lasted months without you. He thrusts deep, giving you every inch and loving the curses and whimpers you let out.

“Shit baby, just like that.” You gasp, digging your nails into the top of the sofa at the pleasure. The arch in your back deepens when he hits your spot, and you involuntarily clench around him, goosebumps crawling up your skin when the tightness pulls a deep groan from him. His cock is the perfect shape, the perfect length for you, and he touches places within you that you can never reach on your own. Every snap of his hips is precise, intended to give you the utmost pleasure because Jimin simply adores seeing you fall apart for him, but there’s something else tonight. Passion. You can feel it in the way his hands roam your body freely, tracing over your curves and caressing you with a tenderness that you haven’t felt before from anyone. His thumbs massage the dimples in your back even as he rams into you, dipping down to line your shoulder blades in sloppy kisses.

“Fuck (Y/n), I missed you so much.” Jimin rasps, sucking a hickey into the side of your neck as he changes his pace to a swivel of his hips. “Missed our long talks, missed your laugh, those cute little moans— mmh— and I especially missed fucking this tight, wet pussy.”

“Yeah?” You try to sound a little cocky, but that’s ruined by the shakiness of your voice. He still has your legs shaking even with the delicate strokes he now delivers, and you have to rest your forehead on the back of the couch to catch your breath.

“I can’t tell you how much I thought about you these past few months. I drove myself crazy wondering if I’d get to see you again.” His voice drops an octave when you squeeze at his words, your walls fluttering along with your heart.

“S-sorry,”

“Stop apologizing, at least I get to have you now.” And have you he does. Whether he knows it or not, he owns your body and heart already and there’s no going back now. Nodding, you start to rock backwards against him, fucking yourself on his cock. He stops moving to let you work, biting down on your shoulder at the feeling as you spread your legs wider to get more leverage. His moans and grunts spur you on, wordless encouragement as you render him speechless with your hips. If he wouldn’t let you use your mouth on him, the least you could do is take some of the work off his hands to pay him back. If it wasn’t for your bum ankle you’d be riding him off into the sunset right now, but you settle for working hard on pleasuring him like this.

His hands aid your movements, pulling you back onto him as you feel the light layer of sweat smear on your shoulder when he rests his forehead against it. One of his hands inches toward your midsection, pressing down slightly to feel the bulge of his tip as it slips in and out of you, pulling a desperate moan from you. The pressure around his member increases from the external force and he moans alongside you, the sweet sound breathed right next to your ear and traveling straight to your core.

“I’m- I’m close again.” You hiccup, faltering in your motions.

Without a word, Jimin pulls out of you, ignoring your whine to move you onto your back swiftly. He situates himself between your open legs, smirking at how they tremble on either side of him as he lines himself up and pushes back into you. At your gasp he steals a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and savoring the taste of your moans. He drops down to his elbows but you pull him closer until all of his weight rests on top of you, even if it causes his thrusts to be less efficient. When he pulls away for air, he smiles down at you.

“Hi,”

“Hi.” You return, brushing some hair away from his eyes.

“I just wanted you to face me so I could watch you cum again.” Jimin explains cheekily, proud of the blush he pulls from your cheeks.

“Then make me cum.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. Swooping down for another kiss, his hand immediately slithers between your body to reach for your clit, pressing into it with his fingers as his hips pick up speed. You’re confused at first when his hand doesn’t move, your pearl throbbing beneath him, but it’s soon forgotten when he touches your g-spot again and makes you see stars.

Your orgasm builds up with every hard stroke of his, and when your legs move up to wrap around him he hits so much deeper. A knot is forming in his own belly from looking at you, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open and on him as you tug on his scalp. The sparks of pain only add to the almost overwhelming pleasure of being inside you, and Jimin has to focus hard to avoid cumming before you. He grits his teeth as he fucks you harder, reveling in the music of your squelching wetness and the slap of your skin, keeping the rhythm steady to please you. Your hands leave his hair as the pleasure mounts. They grapple at anything around you as you start to lose control, grabbing at the cushions beneath you, scratching down his back, holding onto your own legs, until they finally settle on the firm muscles of his ass, urging him on.

Then he feels it. The steady clamp of your cunt that tells him quite clearly that you’re ready.

Shifting his fingers to swipe a glob of your arousal, Jimin begins rubbing into your clit vigorously, holding his position solidly above you when your body jolts from the sensation. You feel as if he’s rubbing a fireball into your core, heating you up until you’re panting and sweating and just about ready to combust. He’s assaulting you from all sides, battering your g-spot, attacking your clit with his nimble fingers, and sucking at your stiffened nipples; the onslaught of bliss sending you head-first into a breathtaking orgasm.

Looking up at you through lidded eyes, Jimin feels like he’s flying. You look completely enveloped in bliss, pride swelling in his chest as you call out his name and pull him closer until there’s no space between you. Feeling you cum around him is his favorite feeling, he loves the erratic spasms of your inner muscles, how the rest of your body tenses around him, the uncontrollable jump of your hips as he works you through it all with slow fingers until you try to squeeze your legs shut around his body and he takes pity on your whimpering. It feels so good you could cry, and there’s nothing he loves more than the watery eyed smile you give him when you finally peek your eyes open to stare up at him.

His heart clenches as he looks down at you, racing for a reason unrelated to the vigorous movements of his hips. Seeing you like this, with stars in your eyes and soft adoration for him, has him hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You stroke his hair and continue to clench around him, whispering dirty words to push him over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna cum,” Jimin grunts, the crease between his eyebrows growing.

“That’s it, baby,” You drawl as you suck your own love marks into his skin. “Cum for me.”

With a strained groan, Jimin pulls out of you and rubs himself against your lower abdomen, shivering when you drop down a hand to stroke him until white ribbons coat your stomach. There’s a lot of cum and it makes a mess all over you, yet you enjoy every drop, savoring the quivering moans from the man above you. When he’s finished, you release him and reach for his face, bringing him down for a searing kiss.

You don’t know how long you kiss him like that, but you do know that he breaks away all too soon, pushing himself up off the couch to gaze upon his artwork. He lets out a growl of approval, to which you laugh and throw one a pillow at him.

“Pervert.”

“What? I didn’t even say anything!” He snickers on his way out of the room, returning with a wet washcloth to clean you with. His touch is so gentle that you could fall asleep right there, but you force yourself to stay awake to bask in the moment. It’s then that you realize the tv is still on, the movie you had been watching having ended long ago. You reach for the remote and turn off the screen, watching instead as Jimin busies himself with tidying the room. He reaches for you when he deems it good enough, all of your clothes folded at the other end of the couch and his cushions clean of any bodily fluids, and this time when he lifts you into his arms you allow it.

After helping you to the bathroom and making sure you didn’t fall or walk on your injured foot, he rests you on his bed gently and tosses you one of his shirts, slipping on a new pair of boxers for himself. As soon as his warmth enters the bed with you, your entire body relaxes. Cuddling after sex hadn’t always been your thing, but it became routine a few months after seeing Jimin. He couldn’t resist and you couldn’t say no and now it comes almost automatically. He lets you wrap your arms around his midsection and rest your head on his beating heart, his own arm slung around your waist. These moments, these quiet moments where the silence is comfortable and simply feeling your skin is enough, are what he missed the most. He’s never wanted this kind of intimacy with anyone else. Never craved to hug anyone and never let go until he met you. No one has ever occupied his thoughts like this, made him slightly irrational or scared him as much as you do— he’s never been scared to lose someone before he was faced with that situation with you. Jimin is certain he’s never been in love before, therefore he has no idea what it feels like, but now he’s starting to wonder if this is it. The thought is equal parts terrifying and comforting and all he can do is hold you closer.

A chuckle from you draws his attention to the silly smirk on your face, and he just knows you’re about to say something stupid.

“So, you missed this gorilla grip pussy?” Of course you would say something like that. You’re the only person he knows who would say that to someone in seriousness— just like how you came up with that foolish name for a blowjob. But it’s one of your many charms. He stifles a laugh knowing it would only encourage you, but you catch the rise of his cheeks and laugh anyway.

“Ugh, why do I even put up with you?” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Because of this gorilla grip pussy.” You state as though it were obvious, clinging to him as he lightheartedly tries to push you off.

“God, I missed your goofy ass.” His lips find your forehead and your snuggle deeper into his chest.

“And my-“

“Please, don’t say it again.” Jimin stops you with a wrinkle of his nose, pulling the sheets higher up your bodies. “But yes, I missed that too.” Your giggles settle down after a few seconds and then the mood shifts to something a bit more serious. “(Y/n).”

“Hmm?” You hum, closing your eyes.

“Never think you aren’t good enough. Your past doesn’t define your future and just because a few people treated you poorly in the past doesn’t mean that you’re unworthy of love. You may think that what you went through makes you undesirable, but in my eyes it makes you look incredibly strong. And you’re even stronger to be able to share your experiences with me and open yourself up after all that’s happened. I want you to know that I will never fault you for the shitty things other people have done, and I will spend every day showing you just how amazing you are to me, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t open your eyes as he speaks, afraid that the tears that have been welling up will spill over if you open them. Hearing him say this means the world to you and you’re inclined to believe every word. These are the kinds of things he would say to you when you were still just fuck buddies. He always listened with empathy and took the time reassuring you that nothing you went through was your fault, yet you still doubted him when he showed interest in dating you. Looking back on it, you feel silly. How could you ever doubt such a genuine man, who has never taken advantage of you even once when you poured your heart out to him, who is so understanding and caring that you feel instantly at ease when talking to him? Jimin is everything you ever wanted, and for once your heart and brain can agree to let yourself be happy.

“Thank you, Jimin.” You sniffle, leaning into the hand that now strokes through your hair as his words replay in your mind. You don’t like getting emotional, so you try to dispel it by using humor. “If you truly mean it then get ready, I only get goofier from here.”

He giggles. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh it is, trust me.”

“I do.” The seriousness of his tone has you glancing up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the affection in his eyes. You clear your throat, feeling a blush creep up your neck so you look away. “So will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, the sooner the better. We could go out for breakfast.” His smile is blinding and your blush deepens. You’re not used to getting shy, but Jimin seems to bring it out of you.

“Brunch. I have a feeling we’ll be sleeping in.” Glancing at the clock, you note how late it is, well past midnight and any other reasonable bedtime. That doesn’t seem to matter, however, because you will probably spend all night laying awake from the excitement of what will come tomorrow— and the day after, and the day after that. Your months of worrying have finally come to an end and this feels like a brand new start. You have no idea what it’ll be like to date Jimin, but the promise of it all is too much to bear. The smile doesn’t leave your face for the rest of the night, not even as you fall asleep.

“Brunch it is.”