#thing is i’m overdue for a haircut and when my hair is longer i get a lot more ‘she’

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

assigned male at walgreens (they printed m for “assigned gender at birth” on the form for me to get the flu and covid boosters)

[vukovich]

Chapter Two

It was 6:17 AM.  Robards pulled a flask out of his trouser pocket, took a long slug, glanced at Harry, and swallowed another mouthful.  He sucked what smelled like bourbon out of his regulation-length mustache.

He didn’t offer Harry a drink.  Only terse silence and the insidious ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of his office.

Harry swallowed dry and wiped his palms on his trousers.  The seat under him was vinyl, and his arsecrack would leave a sweat imprint if Robards kept him long.  His hair tickled his ear, and he brushed it away.  He was a month overdue for a haircut.

Robards sighed through his lips, rattling his mustache.

Harry held his breath and willed his pulse to be as slow as the ticking of the clock.

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you,” Robards said plainly.  “Is it, Potter?”

Microdroplets of sweat gathered in the creases of Harry’s palms.  “Sorry.”

Robards looked him straight in the eye.  “Four Auror partners.”

“I know,” Harry said, resigned.  It was an old lecture, and it was a little longer every time he was in this chair.

“Four Auror partners in two years.  Three departments.”  His face got a little more pink with each passing moment.

“I know,” Harry said quietly.

“Four Aurors, three departments, six dogs, and now this?”

He slapped a hand down on top of the gilded envelope on top of his desk.  The paper was a specific shade of mauve used only by the Wizengamot.

Malfoy ratted him out.  Tattletale.

“And you come in looking and smelling like a vagabond,” Robards said.  “To make things worse.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, below the shaggy line of his hair.  The air that wafted up out of his robes didn’t smell especially fresh.

“Were you drunk?” Robards asked, point blank.

“No,” Harry said, just as bluntly.  “I was just tired.  Dooley called in a half hour before his shift, so I stayed, and-”

Robards held up a hand, silencing him.  “I’ll be dealing with Auror Dooley this afternoon.”  He took a long breath and leaned back in his chair.  “I still have to explain to the Minister of Magic why an Auror who, on record, was off duty, sent an urgent message to a Wizengamot member for anything short of the second coming of Jesus Christ, Grindelwald, or the bloody Princess of Wales.”

He waited for Harry to give him an explanation, but all Harry came up with was.  “Sorry.”

He expected Robards to tell him he was getting written up again, and would be on desk duty, but instead, Robards said, “Are you?  Are you sorry, Potter?  Because somehow, I don’t think you are.”

“I’m…” Harry started, but didn’t finish.  He tucked his hair behind his ear again.

“Get out of my office,” Robards said.

“Right,” Harry whispered to himself.  He stood to leave.

“And get a haircut.  And a shower.  And a shave.  Good God, Potter.”  Robards put the envelope in his pocket.  “Pull yourself together.”

--

Afternoon sun was hot on Harry’s face when he woke.  He’d slept on the sofa, still in his work clothes.  Wurst was snoring on the rug near the hearth.

They didn’t need to be anywhere until 4:00, and it couldn’t be past 2:30.

He stretched out on his back, lifted his arms, arched, and stretched his whole body until his muscles shuddered, then relaxed.  Wurst opened one eye, studied him, then closed it.

Harry almost rolled onto his side and went back to sleep, but his watch clasp caught on the armrest.  After jiggling it free, he checked the time.

4:05.

“Shit!”

--

24K9

A daily(?) kinktober 2023 fic. Will post to AO3 on American Thanksgiving, 2023.

Harry is a K9 unit Auror. Draco is the Ministry Kennelmaster. How could that possibly lead to anything?

Tags: collaring, top Draco, sensual pet play, touch starved Harry, bathing, shaving, rescue dog feels, other tags TBA, maybe dark draco ending?, maybe werewolves?, definitely coming untouched though, just blasting rope man

--

Chapter One

“I assure you, Auror Potter,” drawled the Patronus, speaking even before it found its full form, “there is nothing wrong with your partner.”

Malfoy’s tone was patronising, as though he were telling Harry that the monsters under his bed weren’t real, and to go back to sleep.

Next to Harry’s desk, his ‘partner’ had managed to catch his tail and was currently gnawing on it with nothing short of ardour.  K9 Auror Wurst, aka RottWurst, clamped down on his fluffy tail so hard, Harry swore he heard a crunch.

The bright fog condensed into a direwolf the size of a modest pony.  It was the perfect symbol for Draco Malfoy.  A pale, leggy, sharp-toothed relic of another time.

“And I assure you,” Harry spat, “Kennelmaster Malfoy, that this mutt’s fucking touched in the head.”

The mutt in question was eighty-plus pounds of Rottweiler-poodle abomination.  He looked like a St Bernard had dug into an avalanche, missed the humans, and hit a thousand-volt power line instead.  The curly white fur on his belly was caked with mud, and his brown muzzle still had bits of grass clippings on it.  The rest of him was black, save his brown eyebrows and speckled ears.

“He keeps alerting to sex magic, not dark magic.  It’s fucking embarrassing.  Dragged me across Hyde Park.  I had to use a Confundus on him to get him back to the office.”

The direwolf was so still that Harry blinked twice to make sure the shape wasn’t burned into his retinas.  It was a bloody showboat of a Patronus.

It was so bright that it brought out the dinginess of Harry’s office.  The yellow carpet had a pale brown trail between the door and Harry’s desk chair.  The corners of the ceiling had cobwebs, and the baseboards held an unhealthy amount of dust.

The fresh dog piss on the floor didn’t help things.

“I mean, he’s not worthless,” Harry added.  “But Robards said he can’t reassign him to Vice.  That he doesn’t have that authority.  So it must be you who has to do it.”

It was a little risky to bypass Robards the way he had, contacting Malfoy directly.  He probably should have made an appointment with his assistant or something.

But he’d been angry, so he’d pulled an interdepartmental priority Howler out of his desk and sent it.

There was probably a DMLE protocol for contacting a member of the Wizengamot.  There was a DMLE protocol for everything but wiping his arse.  Actually, they probably had one for that, too.

Harry blinked again.  His eyes were dry.  He was on hour seven of a twelve-hour shift.  After this, he’d get another coffee.

The direwolf shifted its weight, then leaned back, hindquarters high, in a deep stretch.  Its paws spread out in front of it.

Harry wondered if Malfoy was actually stretching.  And what that might look like.

It’d been years since he’d seen Malfoy in person.  Just in the papers, and only in the background of Wizengamot photos.  He’d been called to his Wizengamot seat the day after his thirtieth birthday, having met the minimum age.  They hadn’t called Hermione to hers until she was thirty-two.  She’d die mad about that.

The direwolf laid down, then yawned.

Harry yawned.

Wurst yawned.  Then farted.

Harry thought to check the time.  2:30 AM, according to his wristwatch.  He’d been on the clock for fourteen hours.  Not seven.

“Shit,” Harry said.

He’d woken a member of the Wizengamot at 2:30 AM.  And an important one.  

The direwolf sighed and tucked its muzzle under its paw.  Harry held his breath.  Maybe Malfoy would fall asleep.

Maybe he’d doze off, and he’d think he dreamt he got a Howler in the middle of the night from a burnout beat cop at least six rungs below him.  Maybe.

The direwolf sighed again, then drifted away like will-o'-the-wisps on the wind.

Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t report this.

Maybe.

Maybe Robards wouldn’t kill him.

He drummed his fingers on his desk.  If he did get written up, it’d be his sixth this year.  Two of them were for failing to meet dress code, but the shaving regulations were stupid, and the hygiene one was just weird.

Still.  

Wurst looked at him.  He looked at Wurst.

Nothing would happen.  His talk with Malfoy had only lasted a few seconds.  He’d think it was a dream.

It would be fine.

“It’ll be fine,” Harry told Wurst, ignoring the sweat on his palms.

Wurst’s nostrils flared, and then an ivory envelope slid under the door.  It sat on the grimy carpet for a moment, then folded itself into a swan.  With a few wingbeats, it landed on Harry’s desk and unfolded itself.

Inside was a business card.

Draco L Malfoy Wizengamot Member, Kennelmaster Warminster BA13 4SH UK

“Shit,” Harry said.

He flipped the card over.  On the back was an appointment date and time.  Tomorrow.

“Fuck.”

Robards was going to kill him.

--

[hashtagdex]

aaaaa you reblogged the thing!!! could you write misc 7. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.” 💕

thank you so much for sending me one, jo!! i hope you like this <3

There is a reason Dex gets his hair cut once a month.

if it gets too long, it brushes his ears in a way he’s always painfully aware of and he can’t help but fidget with it if his hands aren’t busy. It’s a terrible distraction that he really can’t afford this close to finals. And yet, here he fucking is.

He’s tugging at it again, at the back of his head this time, when Nursey speaks up. “Dude, are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Dex drops his hand onto his class notes and looks up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just so busy studying that I don’t have time to get my haircut while the shop is open, but it’s growing out and getting so fucking annoying.” He tugs at his hair again once, like that will prove his point to Nursey.

Nursey looks at him for a moment, hand still curled around his pen as he scans Dex’s head, then shrugs. “I can cut your hair for you if you want,” he offers simply, “I saw clippers in the upstairs bathroom. How hard can it be?”

Dex hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Nursey, but Nursey is no professional, obviously, and he’s clumsy on a good day. His hair is important to him, Dex can admit that to himself, and the last thing he needs is to look like an absolute clown when he has places to be. And especially around Nursey.

But the hair is tickling his ears and it’s driving him insane, so he sighs and nods. “That would be great actually.”

_/ \_

Dex feels oddly exposed, sitting shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror on the stool they dragged upstairs from the kitchen, as Nursey clicks on the clipper’s guard. He knows he doesn’t need to. Nursey sees this—and more—almost every day in the dressing room, but this is more… intimate. There is no boisterous team around, no bro code to adhere to. It’s just them and whatever has been blooming between them for the past few months. 

“Ready?” Nursey asks and holds up the clippers in a much more menacing way than Dex thinks he really needs to. At least Nursey put on his glasses for this. As much as it makes Dex’s heart flutter to see him in them, it also calms his nerves to know he’s taking this seriously.

“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” Dex warns half-heartedly. He sees Nursey’s little eye roll in the mirror.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Nursey replies as turns the clippers on and gets started.

Dex finds it easy to get lost in the low buzz. Nursey’s free hand comes up to tilt his head where he needs it every now and then, and Dex lets his eyes fall shut. He hasn’t been this relaxed since before he started studying for finals two weeks ago and he’s going to soak up every second of this.

He only manages to drag his eyes back open once Nursey declares he’s done and turns the clippers off. It does look pretty good. Almost as if he’d actually managed to make it to the barber shop during opening hours instead of getting an impromptu haircut at home from Nursey at nine p.m. in their bathroom.

“Nice,” Dex tells him. He catches Nursey’s soft smile in the mirror and it goes straight to his heart.

Without warning, Nursey starts to dust stray little hairs off Dex’s neck and naked shoulders. His hands are warm and his touch is so light Dex can’t fight the goosebumps. Not that he really wants to. Nursey’s hands on skin feel good. Really good. Great, even.

Nursey doesn’t stop there, though. He pushes his hands up into Dex’s freshly buzzed hair, tracing along his sides and the back of his head. Dex can’t help but grin, probably embarrassingly lovestruck, when Nursey just keeps at it, going back and forth gently. The goosebumps make their way up Dex’s neck and, after noticing Nursey’s soft expression in the mirror, Dex allows himself to close his eyes again.

God knows when he gets to have this again, if ever, so he’s going to enjoy whatever Nursey’s willing to give him tonight.

Dex is sinking back into that relaxed state from earlier as Nursey leaves the shaved parts he worked on behind and threads his fingers through the longer parts on top of Dex’s head. His brain turns off for the moment and Dex is blissful and calm, finals and hockey and life outside this bathroom all but forgotten.

“You like that?” Nursey whispers eventually, voice quiet and soft with an audible smile.

Dex hums, low and deep, and doesn’t turn his brain back on. “Like you.”

Nursey’s hand stills right where it is at the crown of his head as Dex’s brain catches up with his mouth. Before he can start to panic and try to backpedal, though, Nursey asks, just as quiet as before but a lot more hopeful, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dex confirms, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then Nursey is pressing an unbearably soft kiss into the side of Dex’s neck and his heart lurches into his throat. “Me too,” Nursey says against his skin before he leaves another kiss on top of Dex’s shoulder, the smile clear as day.

Nursey’s hand falls from his head as Dex turns around on his stool and finally opens his eyes. The sight of Nursey there, with his soft smile and softer eyes behind smudgy glasses, is almost too much. He’s so beautiful Dex can hardly breathe.

“Thank you,” Dex says into the space between them as he reaches up to cup Nursey’s cheek. He strokes it once, a simple back and forth of his thumb, and then pulls Nursey down into a kiss that’s long overdue.

[pcychedelic]

Purple Rain (Part II)

Relationship(s): Kim Junmyeon/Reader

Tags: Professor-student relationship, college AU, slowburn; angst, smut

Rating: Explicit (mature themes, strong language, and sex)

Synopsis:  After a fateful encounter that results in the trunk of your car getting wrecked, the handsome stranger responsible for it turns up in your lecture hall and introduces himself as the professor.

Chapters [Word Count]:

Part I: Chapters 1 to 5

Chapter 6 [3.6k]

Chapter 7 [3.8k]

Chapter 8 [3.4k]

Chapter 9 [6.0k] + Chapter 9.5 [4.2k] ᴺᴱᵂ

Next update to be determined

Click on the links above to read the latest chapter on Asianfanfics (AFF).

Friendly reminder that mature words are censored when you’re reading as a guest on AFF, so make sure to log into your AFF account and turn off the content filter to read the chapters without censors.

Read Chapter 6 below.

Chapter 6

The urgent knocking on your apartment door interrupts you in the middle of making dinner. You glance at the wall clock, the time reading 9:01 p.m., and you wonder who could possibly be at the other side of the door at this hour. You aren’t expecting anyone this late at night.

You pad toward the door in your bare feet. A familiar face greets you when you peek through the peephole, though the sight of him standing outside your apartment door isn’t familiar at all. It’s so strange that you have to remind yourself that you aren’t dreaming.

You open the door.

“Junmyeon?”

“Hi,” he smiles. “Can I come in?”

“Uh…”

“Were you studying?” he asks, already taking off his jacket. “I hope I’m not bothering you. I should’ve texted first, but I kinda came here on a whim.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I was just making dinner.” You open the door wider and let him inside, bringing him house slippers to change into.

“What’s for dinner?” He looks around your apartment, his eyes eventually settling on your kitchen counter. A smirk creeps into his lips when he sees the pot of water over the stove and the noodle packs. “Instant ramen,” he says. “How very… college student of you.”

“Hey!” you protest. “I happen to like instant ramen, thank you very much. It’s delicious and it’s cheap.”

Junmyeon scoffs as he sits on the couch. “You’ve deluded yourself into liking it because it’s cheap,” he corrects. “Stop eating that garbage. Your body will thank you in ten years.”

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here again?” you ask, because you’re pretty sure that he isn’t there to just criticize your dinner choices. “And how did you come up? Mr. Bong just let you?”

You’re not sure if you’re seeing things, but you can swear you just saw Junmyeon’s cheeks blush a little. “Oh, your doorman let me up because… um, because he saw us…”

“Oh.” Now you’re blushing, too. “Right.”

You know that he’s talking about the night of your birthday, the night he drove you home from Esperanza, the night you kissed.

You still remember everything about that kiss, even the tiniest of details. You still remember how Junmyeon’s lips still had a faint taste of strawberries because of the ice cream the two of you shared before he drove you home. You still remember how his perfume smelled like lavender, warm and comforting. You still remember how soft his lips were, and even now, about a week later, a phantom of that kiss still lingers over your mouth.

It had been everything you imagine it would be, and more.

Definitely more.

“Water’s boiling,” Junmyeon says, reeling you back into the present. You head toward the kitchen and put the noodle squares into the pot. Junmyeon follows you, this time settling on a seat at the dining table. “I came here because… Well, I wanted to talk about that night.”

Your heart suddenly feels a bit too heavy on your chest. He’s here to lecture you again, isn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

Junmyeon doesn’t say anything. But you feel him stand up from his seat and walk toward you, coming closer and closer until he’s close enough that the skin on your neck tingles from his proximity.

“I’m not,” he whispers.

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not sorry.” You turn around, and the first thing you see is Junmyeon’s chest. He towers a couple of inches over you, so you have to look up to meet his eyes. “I’m not sorry,” he repeats. “God knows how many times I’ve imagined that happening. I know it’s a wrong thing to imagine, but it’s true. And I’m not sorry.”

“Jun—”

“But,” he cuts you off, “that doesn’t mean we can be reckless now. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than a lot. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, which is why we have to be careful.”

“I understand.” Truly, you do. Junmyeon has said it over and over again, that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble because of him and especially now that you’re just a few exams away from graduating.

After all, you know now how Junmyeon feels about you. I like you, he had said. That’s a guarantee you didn’t have before, and now that you do have it, it makes the complications more bearable.

“You only have about a month and a half left,” Junmyeon says. “After that, we’ll talk again. If our feelings haven’t changed, that is.”

You shake your head. “I’m afraid my feelings aren’t going anywhere. Not sure about yours, though…”

Junmyeon laughs, his cheeks beaming as he does. “My feelings don’t change so easily, either.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to grade a bunch of term papers. I still haven’t read and graded yours, to be honest. Besides, I’m not really a huge fan of instant noodles.”

You playfully slap his arm. “Stop making fun of my dinner.”

“Alright,” Junmyeon laughs again, and you can swear that it’s the sweetest sound you’ve heard all your life. “Good luck on the rest of your finals.”

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Don’t I get a kiss? For good luck?”

The smile dissolves on Junmyeon’s face. He steps toward you, walking until his face is only a couple of inches away from yours. He cups your cheek in his right hand, the pad of his thumb brushing your lower lip. An electric jolt races up your spine.

But he pulls away.

“No more kisses until graduation,” he says.

You had expected this, but it was worth a try. “And after graduation?”

“We’ll see,” Junmyeon says. You catch the corner of his lips curling into a smirk once more before he suppresses it.

* * *

On your way back home from your last final exam, you run into an old friend at the convenience store you always go to after school.

You almost hadn’t recognized him. The last time you’d had a good look at him had been a couple of months ago, and that hadn’t exactly been a friendly encounter.

“Chanyeol?” you call incredulously as you approach him by the beverage section of the store.

The last time you’d seen him, his dark mop of hair had been long and unruly, almost covering his eyebrows. Now it’s bleached strawberry blonde and cropped short, like a military haircut that has grown a bit longer, the undercuts fading from the crown. Chanyeol has always been handsome, but the clean hairstyle has accentuated his features even better.

“Long time no see,” he says in that deep voice that used to tie your stomach in knots. It still does, actually, but maybe not as much as before.

“Your hair… Wow.”

You can’t stop staring at him. He doesn’t quite look like the Chanyeol you knew, but at the same time, seeing him look so differently floods your brain with so many memories, and surprisingly, none of them are bad.

Perhaps it’s because he looks like a better version of himself, the version you’ve only seen in the happy memories you have of him, the version you would’ve enjoyed to get to know more back when you still loved him.

You still feel something, especially now that he’s standing right in front of you, but you’re sure that it isn’t love. It’s more of a what-if. No other term can encapsulate Chanyeol better. What if.

“Is it bad?” Chanyeol asks shyly, running his hands through his new hair. The dimple that you had always found adorable appears on his cheek as he smiles.

“No, no. It’s good. It’s very good.”

Chanyeol laughs. “That’s a relief. I thought it looked horrible on me since everyone can’t stop staring.”

“Well, it’s just that�� You look so different.”

“Yup,” he says, “that was the idea. I wanted to be different. Figured I should look the part while I’m at it.” He looks down at his feet, and swallows nervously. “Listen, um… I’d like to talk about a few things, if that’s okay with you.”

You stare at him for a while, trying to gauge his expression. He looks apologetic — sad, almost — and you can tell which direction this ‘talk’ would be veering toward.

But there are still some loose ends to tie up, and you figured that this conversation is long overdue.

You nod. “Sure, Chanyeol. Let’s talk.”

  The afternoon is relatively cool for an April one. The streets are filled with college students going out to eat and whatnot, filling the air with the buzz of chatter and laughter.

You and Chanyeol have taken a table outside the convenience store, a rectangular umbrella sticking out of its center and hanging over the two of you. Wisps of steam rise from the cups of coffee you’ve bought from the store. Neither one of you has drank.

The tension in the atmosphere is thick, not with resentment, but with awkwardness. It’s as if the two of you have forgotten how to talk with each other. You want to ask him, How did we end up like this? but you already know the answer to that.

Finally, when you can’t stand the silence any longer, you say, “What did you want to talk about, Yeol?”

The nickname feels strange as it rolls off your tongue, like it no longer belongs there, but you say it anyway to show Chanyeol that you no longer harbor bad feelings toward him.

You’ve forgiven him, even if he hadn’t apologized properly, because that’s the only way for you to stop hurting. And it has worked. So far, at least.

“Right,” he says. “I’ve talked to Kyungsoo and Jihyun, too. About the, um, way I’ve been acting for the past months. I’m sorry about ghosting you guys suddenly. It’s just that… I needed a lot of time to myself. To think about the shit I did. I’m sorry if it took so long for me to figure out.”

“I understand,” you answer.

Not It’s okay or It’s fine or any of that. I understand. That’s the best you can give him — your understanding. You’ve forgiven him based on that, but that doesn’t erase the pain he’s caused you.

Chanyeol continues. “I’ve apologized to Kyungsoo and Jihyun about those things, and you’re the last person I wanted to apologize to because… well, you’re the one I hurt the most.”

The cups of coffee have gone cold on the table, and so has your heart.

“I know that apologizing doesn’t cut it, but still, I’m sorry,” says Chanyeol. There’s no question about the sincerity of his tone. It’s the most genuine sentence you’ve heard from him in all the years that you’ve known him. “I’m sorry that I led you on, that I took advantage of how you felt for me, that I didn’t think my actions through when I was with you. I just want you to know that it’s not your fault. None of it is. It’s me. It’s all me. I was too afraid of my own feelings. That’s the truth.”

You stare at him, your throat beginning to tighten.

Chanyeol’s eyes are traveling everywhere except on you. You’re not sure if you’re just imagining things or if his eyes have really turned watery.

“I know that nothing’s gonna change what happened before, and I’m not even entirely sure if it’s gonna change anything now, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the things I did, the things I’m doing right now that I may not even be aware of, the things I’ll do in the future. I’ll never do anything intentionally that’ll hurt you, I just fuck up sometimes. I’m pretty sure I’ll fuck up in the future, too, but I’ll try to be better. I’ll try if it’s the last thing I do. I care about you. A lot.”

The awkwardness seeps back into the air. Chanyeol picks up his coffee, which probably doesn’t taste that good anymore, and takes a small sip from it.

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Yeol,” you say after a few seconds of silence. “There’s nothing else to forgive. But I appreciate your apology.”

It’s true. What’s done is done. Neither of you can do anything about the bad memories you have of each other now. All you can do is move past all that.

Chanyeol may have done a lot of hurtful things, whether intentionally or not, but it’s not his fault that he didn’t love you the way you loved him.

“I know I’m not in the position to ask for favors, but can I ask one all the same?” Chanyeol asks.

“Sure.”

“Can we be friends again?”

You smile. “I’d like that. Yeah, let’s try again as friends.”

Chanyeol’s lips curl into a smile as well, his dimple making another appearance. “Thank you. For hearing me out. And for the coffee,” he says. “See you around?”

“You can’t stay for a while?”

Chanyeol regretfully shakes his head. “I have to study for my major demo prod final.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You are different,” you say. “You never studied before.”

“Never too late to start again, right?” Chanyeol laughs. “See you around.”

You nod. Chanyeol stands up from his seat, gives you one last smile, and then disappears into the fading afternoon. Your heart feels the lightest it has been for a while, and you wonder until when this happiness will be good for this time around.

Apparently not for long.

Your phone dings, displaying an e-mail notification from the last person you’d expect it from. The message reads:

  From: CCU Department of Literature (literature@ccu.edu)

  Good day.

  You are respectfully invited to the department chair’s office for a dialogue regarding a sensitive matter. Kindly reply promptly with the schedule that works for you.

  Best,

  Lee Yeong Hoon, PhD

Chair, Literature Department

* * *

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst inside your chest any minute now.

You’ve never been personally asked into the department chair’s office in all your four years in college, and the churning in your gut tells you that your first visit isn’t going to be a pleasant one.

Students only ever go to their department chair’s office for either one of two reasons: (1) to ask for recommendation letters, in which case they go willingly, or (2) they fucked up and are in trouble, in which case they’re asked to go whether they like it or not.

You definitely aren’t there to ask for recommendations, so the only other logical option is that you’re monumentally screwed. As far as you’re concerned, you haven’t done anything to warrant the department chair’s attention.

Well, there is one thing…

No, you tell yourself. That’s impossible.

How could Dr. Lee have known? How could anyone have known? You and Junmyeon have been careful enough around campus. Heck, you haven’t seen him more than once outside of campus since the night he drove you home from Esperanza. It just isn’t possible that you’re in trouble because of that.

The shrill, robotic sound of a telephone snaps you back into reality.

The department secretary immediately picks it up. “Sir? Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” She turns to you, placing the handset back on the hook. “Dr. Lee is ready for you, sweetie.”

You can’t quite place the secretary’s expression. Is it distaste? Pity? Nevertheless, you thank her, and then hesitantly make your way toward the office.

The second you open the door and see who’s in the room aside from Dr. Lee, your heart sinks right through the floor. The other man is sitting with his back facing you, but he doesn’t need to turn around for you to know who he is.

Junmyeon.

He’s already occupying one of the two chairs in front of Dr. Lee’s desk, so you naturally go for the other seat. Your entire body has gone cold.

“I suppose you already know why I asked you here this morning,” Dr. Lee says, talking to no one in particular. Neither you nor Junmyeon respond.

Dr. Lee brings out a small, dark brown envelope from one of his desk drawers. He pulls out a single sheet of glossy paper — a photo, you realize — and places it gingerly on the table, as if mishandling it will make it explode.

Junmyeon doesn’t move an inch, perhaps because Dr. Lee has already shown him the photo while you were waiting outside just a few minutes ago. You straighten in your seat, craning your neck to see what’s on the photo.

It’s a bit dark and grainy, like it was taken on a phone from a distance, but there’s no doubt that the two people in the photo are you and Junmyeon. It was taken on that night, the night you sometimes still can’t believe ever happened. There it is, the first kiss you and Junmyeon have shared, immortalized in a photo meant to destroy the both of you here and now.

“This was dropped anonymously into my pigeon hole about a week ago,” says Dr. Lee. “The only people that have seen it are the people in this room right now, and my secretary. She opens my letters, you see.” He takes the photo, puts it back in the envelope, and then returns it inside his drawer. “No one will ever see it again.”

That takes a huge chunk of weight off of your chest, but it doesn’t remove all the dread.

Despite the anxiety simmering in your stomach, you manage to say, “Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Lee simply nods. The neutrality of his features is a bit unsettling, but it’s better than him being angry. Or maybe this is how he naturally is when he’s upset? That’s even more unnerving.

“As Chair of the Literature Department, it’s my responsibility to make sure that… things like this do not spill over to the entire Liberal Arts College.” He said ‘things’ with such dismay that you know he said it not because of the lack of a better term. Dr. Lee continues, “We have to deal with this on our own. Our department cannot have any more attention toward it, especially not after the scandal last trimester with Ms. Jeon. We have to cut off this problem’s head before it bites anyone else. Do you remember your Greek mythology?” he asks you.

The sudden question causes your brows to furrow in confusion. “Sir?”

“You were my student in World Literature 1. Do you remember your Greek mythology?” Dr. Lee repeats.

“Uh, I g-guess, sir.”

“Good. You will understand my analogy, then. You see, problems are like the Hydra — cut off one head, two more take its place. How did Hercules kill it?”

The answer comes naturally to you. “He burned the stumps before they grew back.”

“Good,” Dr. Lee says, his tone void of any emotion. “We have already cut off the head by not telling anyone else, and this is how we will burn the stump of this problem so that it remains beheaded.” He leans back on his chair, folding his arms in front of him. “I have already discussed this with Mr. Kim earlier, but for your sake, we will discuss it again.”

You turn to look at Junmyeon — the first good look you’ve had of him since you entered the room. His face is as rigid as a rock, his eyebrows scrunched together. He hasn’t spared you a glance, not once, since you sat down. He hasn’t talked, either.

Dr. Lee sighs. “Given your father’s position in the university and the fact that you are merely awaiting graduation, I am inclined to grant you the utmost leniency regarding this matter. Personally, I do not care about other people’s relationships, especially if they are of legal age, but unfortunately, my personal bias is suspended when I am acting as department chair. Because of that, I have no choice but to not invite Mr. Kim to teach at the university next trimester, or in the trimesters to come.”

Did you hear him correctly?

“You’re firing him,” you sum up. Your voice doesn’t feel like it’s coming from you; it feels like it’s echoing from someplace else.

Dr. Lee leans forward, propping his elbows on the wooden table. “My dear, I am not terminating Mr. Kim’s contract. I am simply not renewing it. There is a difference.”

“Well whatever you call it, it isn’t fair, it isn’t—”

“Don’t,” Junmyeon’s stern voice cuts you off. He throws you a pointed glance, silently saying, Please stop talking right now. He’s angry; that, you are sure of. What you aren’t sure of is if his anger is directed at the whole situation or simply at you.

He has the right to be furious at you, doesn’t he? After all, all of this wouldn’t be happening if you just hadn’t let yourself get swayed by your emotions and kissed him that night.

The fault is yours alone.

“It is settled,” Dr. Lee says with such finality that it’s hard to argue.

Unfortunately, you’d never been one to know when to give up. “Dr. Lee, please. It isn’t his fault, it’s mine. Please don’t—”

“Enough,” the department chair says. His tone has gone from neutral to venomous. “The only reason I am not taking your diploma away from you is because your father is the president of this university. One more outburst like that and I will no longer hesitate to forfeit your degree.” That shuts you right up. Dr. Lee then turns to Junmyeon. “It is settled,” he repeats. “Thank you for your time in this university, Mr. Kim. I wish you good fortune in all your future endeavors.”

Junmyeon stands up from his seat and offers his hand to Dr. Lee. “Thank you, sir,” he says. After the handshake, Junmyeon walks out of the room, and all you can do is watch.

What you don’t know is that it’ll  be a while before you see him again.

If you enjoy my work and want to send a bit more love, you can buy me a coffee! Donors will receive a small gift from me. ♡

< Part I (Chapters 1 to 5) • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 > Chapter 8 > Chapter 9 > Chapter 9.5 >

[keanureevesisbae]

“Never out of practice” - Epilogue

Summary: When Darcie’s father loses an important case, a killer seeks revenge, by kidnapping the entire Angel family. Though John thought that he was officially retired, he has to save his Darcie and her family, because he can’t lose her.

John Wick x OFC Darcie

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None

A/N: Sadly this is the last chapter of Never out of practice, but I highly doubt this’ll come as a surprise: I’m writing something else for them, because these two are the cutest ever. 

Also, I hope the people who are on my taglist are now tagged correctly - turns out something went wrong. I’m sorry xx

Masterlist // Previous chapter

Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays, but this year it’s extra special. Last year it was just John, Tiki and me, since there was a huge blizzard and couldn’t get out. Now I’m here with the most important people of my life: my mom, dad, Jennie and Raye. Oreo and Tiki are asleep literally underneath the decorated tree.

I place my head against John’s shoulder as we watch Raye unpack her final gift. ‘No way, you guys,’ she says, as she unpacks the Prada shoes she has been eyeing for so long now. Every time we walked passed the store and she saw them, she’d tell us how much she loved those shoes. ‘I can’t believe you bought those for me.’

‘Well, if I had to hear one more time that you wanted them, but couldn’t afford them, I had to hit you, so yeah,’ I say, ‘it’s for my own sanity really.’

Raye sticks out her tongue. ‘You guys are the best. Thank you so much. I think I might wear those to my next date.’

‘And if you get dumped, at least you’re wearing cute shoes,’ Jennie says, something that earns her a painful pinch in her arm.

Since Jennie lost her parents not too long ago, she has been depending on mine for certain things and spending Christmas with my parents is one of those things. Sometimes she calls my mom, when she needs some female advice. It has become such a new normal in our life. She can’t really count on Raye’s parents, since Raye can’t even count on them.

Apparently, her brothers fiancé turned out to be a bitch and the wedding is off. Raye was kind of delighted, to see Alex so heartbroken and to be fair, I hated the fact that I couldn’t be there to witness it myself.

‘It’s such a shame that there are no more gifts left,’ Raye mentions.

‘You just got Prada shoes,’ Jennie says. ‘How ungrateful are you?’

‘Well,’ John says, before they can start to have a discussion, ‘there is one more gift left.’

‘Really?’ my mom asks. ‘It’s for me, isn’t it? Since I’m the best mother in law a guy could possibly ask for.’

He snorts. ‘No, I’m sorry, Somi. This gift is for my lovely Darcie,’ John says, looking over to me with a smile on his face. He is long overdue for a haircut, but now that his hair is basically shoulder length… God, I’ve been having certain dreams about it. Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about when there are other people around.

‘Oh, what did you get me?’ I ask him, turning a bit to the side, so I can have a better look at him.

‘Well,’—he clears his throat and holds onto my hand—‘Darcie, I can’t believe that we’ve been together for almost a year and a half. It seems longer and not in a time never passes with you, because you are so boring-way, but more in a I feel like I’ve known you forever-way.’

I chuckle, squeezing his hand, when I see that he needs a little bit more encouragement to continue.

‘Every day when I wake up, I prize myself so insanely lucky that you are my girlfriend. The way you run your cafe with so much passion and how you make your cafe a safe haven. The way I somehow persuade you to love me and get another dog. The way we are slowly talking more about our future, without freaking out. How you took care of me when I had injured my leg. Everything you do and say, makes me love you even more.’ He brings my hand to his lips, to press a soft and tender kiss on my knuckles. ‘When that idiot took you, I thought that was it. I thought that I had lost you, like I lost everything before. We were supposed to have a future together and thinking about how that might be taken away from me…’ John sighs.

It surprises me that he is so open, especially with everyone around us. I feel the tears burning in my eyes and I clear my throat to prevent myself from crying. My fingers run through his raven locks.

‘Darcie,’ he continues, ‘I really love you so insanely much and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my life with than you. I love having you as my girlfriend, but I think it needs an upgrade.’

For some reason Raye squeals and I glance at her, unsure of what is happening. When I look back at John, I see he has a red velvety looking box in his hand and he is sitting down on one knee. My eyes widen, while I bring my hands to my mouth. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask him.

‘My sweet Darcie, will you marry me?’ He opens up the the velvet box, only to reveal such a beautiful ring.

Tears drip down my cheeks, as a sob leaves my lips. He is genuinely proposing to me? ‘Why do you want to marry me?’ I ask in disbelieve.

John frowns, before he lets out a nervous laugh. ‘Didn’t you hear my speech, baby?’

‘I did, but… But what if I suck at being a fiancée or a wife? I thought I was getting the girlfriend part finally under control. John, you are such an amazing man and I… I feel like I—’

‘No, baby,’ he interrupts me, placing a hand on my cheek, ‘you’ll do just fine. I promise.’

‘Oh my God, Darcie, don’t leave the man hanging,’ Raye intervenes and I wonder how long she’s been holding in her excitement.

I look over to John and smile. ‘Yes, John, I want to marry you.’

He lets out a sigh of relief, like he wasn’t expecting me to say yes. He takes out the ring and holds out his hand. I place mine in his and he slides on the ring on my finger.

I stare down at the diamond and a nervous laugh leaves my lips. ‘I’m engaged,’ I whisper.

‘Yes, you are.’ John sits on the floor and pulls me in his arms. His warm lips against mine. I place my hands on the sides of his face, never wanting to let go. I’m going to marry this man. I’m going to be—

‘Holy shit,’ I say, pulling back. ‘I’m going to be Mrs. Wick.’

‘I know!’ Raye shouts, jumping up to launch herself in my arms. I tumble over, starting to laugh as she says: ‘You’re engaged!’

‘I know, isn’t this crazy?’

Jennie pushes Raye off of me, to give me a long hug. ‘I’m so happy for you, Darcie. You deserve this so much.’ She takes a good look at the ring and says: ‘He has taste.’

‘He sure does.’

‘Mister Mustang, you are an engaged man,’ Raye yells, jumping in John’s arms. He chuckles, patting her back as she hangs around him like a koala.

My father is genuinely crying. ‘My munchkin is engaged to such a great man. She is truly growing up.’

‘Dad,’ I laugh, wiping his tears away, but I’m tearing up as well.

After everything that happened, it took him a while, before my father could really look at John the way he did before, but now they’re the best of friends again.

My mom wraps her arms around the both of us. ‘Chris, don’t you agree? Aren’t they your favorite,’—oh dear God, she’s gonna say sail again—‘ship?’

‘Did you just get that right?’ I smile and pull my mom into a hug.

‘Now I finally have the son I always wanted,’ mom jokes, earning her a painful squeeze from me. She pats my hand away, before giving John a hug.

My dad looks at John and say: ‘I wanted to tell you that you should take good care of her, but I know for a fact that you will. You have done so much for her and us already.’ He pulls my boyfr— fiancé in a hug and I smile watching them.

John holds out his hand and when I hold it tightly, he gives me a long kiss on my lips. ‘I have to get used to introducing you as my fiancée,’ John says.

‘Well, I like the upgrade.’

‘Darcie,’ Raye says, holding Tiki in her arms, while scratching Oreo behind his ears. ‘Ask John about how much the ring was.’

‘Don’t,’ John says, glaring dangerously at my friend.

‘I’d rather not know,’ I say in all honesty. ‘I bet it was way too expensive. Something around two thousand dollars.’

Raye barks out a laugh. ‘Oh honey.’

‘Raye, really, don’t say it,’ John says.

‘How do you know the prize?’ I ask here. ‘Were you all in on this?’

‘I helped him pick out the ring, Jennie helped him think about how he should propose and your dad gave John his blessing two months ago and since your dad can’t keep a secret from your mom, he probably told her.’

‘Oh my God,’ I laugh. ‘The fact that the three of you,’—I point to Jennie, mom and dad—‘kept it a secret doesn’t surprise me, but you, Raye… I’m impressed.’

She nods. ‘Oh Darcie, I’m growing.’ She sighs deeply and smiles at us. ‘The ring was a little over ten thousand dollars,’ she blurts out.

‘Raye, I swear—’ John brings his fist to his mouth.

‘Ten thousand fucking dollars?’ I yell, staring at this ring. ‘I have ten grand on my left hand? John, are you insane?’

Taglist: @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @flhorah​ @allie1804-fan​ @cynic-spirit​ @raven-black102​

[theliterateape]

Happy Birthday to Me. I'm 53. I Feel Old.

By Elizabeth Harper

This past year, the year of the pandemic, is the year I grew old.

People used to comment I looked young for my age. They would assume I was younger than I actually was, demand to see my ID to verify what I was telling them.

I used to get carded. Now, unless the app requires it, the folks delivering my booze don’t bother.

I knew my apparent youth would eventually end. I would eventually start to look old, like a grandmother.

And why should I care anyway? There’s nothing wrong with getting older, with looking older.

Hell, if getting old and being mostly alone are my only problems, I’m doing swell and should thank my lucky stars. I know people have endured devastating losses, previously unimaginable changes in circumstances, due to the pandemic. People lost loved ones and jobs. I know people who are COVID-19 long-haulers, still dealing with the aftereffects of having the virus. Friends have been laid off from jobs they held for many years. I’ve mostly stayed home because I thought that was the right thing to do, given my personal circumstances and at-risk status, and I’m lucky, privileged, to have that option.

And yet, during this year of mostly staying home alone in my apartment, I have watched the visible signs of growing older with horror:

Are those lines on my forehead? Is my skin getting crepey? Is my hair thinning? My back hurts. My eyes hurt. I’m tired.

I haven’t had a haircut in over a year. My grey hair is getting long. It looks witchy.

I recently went to the eye doctor, because my eyes had been hurting for months and I worried something might be wrong and there is, so I have more prescriptions to take: pills, drops, ointments. I don’t want to be bothered with any of it. I long for the nights when I would fall asleep without taking off my glitter eye makeup.

I went to get my teeth cleaned. It had been a year and I couldn’t put it off any longer.

I was way overdue for a mammogram, which I was dreading, but I read I should get it before getting the vaccine. So, on a wintry Monday, after walking against the wind while trying not to slip on the ice, I made it to my appointment at the hospital. It wasn’t that bad.

I think going out to bars, talking to people, reading poetry at open mics, was keeping me young. Or maybe I was already growing too old for that before the pandemic and hadn’t admitted it to myself yet.

Going out was a way to experience a change of scenery and perspective, which I thought was useful for my getting on with and getting over things, but maybe it was also distraction and avoidance.

Truth is I’ve enjoyed my lightened workload and having more time to read and fewer hassles and people to deal with. I’ve made some progress on some long-term projects, but not as much as I think I should have. And then there are the errands, appointments, etc. I’ve put off that I can’t put off anymore.

I feel like an old lady, fearful, cloistered, looking out the window and getting notifications about news and crimes from various apps, thinking to myself:

Is the whole world going to shit? Or is it just my perception because I’m sitting here by myself taking in this information instead of going out to places and interacting with actual people, which would make the world seem less scary and awful? Or would it?

There are good things about being old. I’ve grown into myself. I know enough now to know what I don’t like, don’t want to bother with, so that leaves me free to focus on what I do like and am interested in. I think I’ve gotten better at housework, which isn’t saying much, since it will always be hard for me, as well as all the other mundane, tedious hassles and details of life. At least I know enough not to strive for circumstances I wouldn’t be able to handle anyway. Ambition, goals, productivity, success, relationships, adventures, etc. are not for me.

I don’t care about being famous. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I’m not interested in romance. I have my own work to do, projects to finish, hobbies I enjoy, family, friends, a home. And if I feel more and more out of sync, like I don’t belong in the world, maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, an indication that I should bow out gracefully, make room for the younger folks, let them carry on with the work I admire but don’t have the energy for.

But this is not just about me and my vanity. I have a feeling I’m not the only one who is feeling their age after a year of being inundated with news of death while in relative isolation, calculating risks and rewards and doing cost-benefit analyses for formerly routine outings, and overall experiencing a dramatic change from what life was before.

Happy birthday to me. May the world grow more free, with or without old folks like me.

[anonsally]

Days 55-58 of COVID-19 shelter-in-place

I am having a hard time keeping up. 

Day 55 was Mother’s Day. Wife baked banana bread! (which is sort of a big deal because she used to bake all the time but has not baked in at least a year due to feeling overwhelmed...) It turned out very nicely--though really it was more of a banana cake baked in a brownie pan, rather than a loaf pan. I picked some flowers from our garden and we wrote a card and then drove over to my parents’ house. We spent maybe 90 minutes or so hanging out in the backyard with my parents, seated a safe distance apart. My mother liked the flowers and the banana bread, and it was lovely to spend some time together--but the weather was much hotter than I was expecting. My brother also called (video call) and so we all got to chat with him, too.

We went home in time for my dance class, which was fun. (My mom took the class too!) I did one really good inversion (handstand) in which my hips got all the way over my hands! That’s something I only achieve once every few months, even though most of my dance classes have inversions. So I was pleased with myself. 

I managed to do some Adulting as well, so all in all it was a good day.

Day 56: Although it was sunny when I woke up, it clouded over and got very cold, and it rained much of the afternoon. Rain. In May. We were all outraged--that’s totally against the rules in California.

Work was okay--we had our group meeting, and various people gradually dropped out of it as we finished discussing projects they’re involved in, until there were only 4 of us left. We had a funny video-meeting experience: when one of the 4 left, my coworker said “Did you see that?! Someone walked across behind him! At his house! I think it was a woman! He must have a girlfriend!” I was very disappointed that I hadn’t noticed, and then our boss said “Oh, yeah, she moved out there with him when he left here, she lived in Marin” and we were gobsmacked... how did our boss know this when we did not?! how did we not know he had a girlfriend when he was still living here?! (In fact, he had mentioned his “friend in Marin” many times, but we had all assumed it was a dude, not a woman he was romantically involved with!) Anyway, after my boss left the meeting, the coworker and I caught up a bit--the first time we’d spoken one-on-one since the shelter-in-place started, so that was nice. And then we made some progress on a work thing. 

Later, I had a video coffee break with @llamapunk, who enjoyed the gossip. But she also told me that a guy who I vaguely knew at work had had a bike accident and is unconscious in the hospital.

After work, I talked to a dance friend who told me she’d been contacted by a woman we had been friendly with a few years ago when she was coming to dance classes, who has lost her husband to COVID-19. He was in his early 40s, I think, and had no underlying conditions, so it’s really shocking in addition to being tragic, and the poor woman is having to deal with this grief (and not having been able to be at his side in the hospital or even to visit him at all) during a lockdown so she can’t get emotional support from people who are physically there. They didn’t have any kids and weren’t living with anyone else. It’s really heartbreaking.

I didn’t leave the house that day--the weather was too terrible--but I did do a lot of Adulting. Maybe hearing about all these tragic things made me need to feel a bit more in control of my surroundings.

Day 57: Dance class in the morning! It wasn’t very strenuous, though. But starting next week, it will be 15 minutes longer, so that might help. In the early afternoon, Wife and I drove to downtown near my office--Wife was dropping off a computer for repair, and we picked up lunch at the taco place where I normally buy lunch at least a couple times per week. TACOS! We came home and ate and I was SO happy!!

Wife had a job interview. It went well and she has her second one with the same company on Friday morning. Fingers crossed! 

We did a bunch of Adulting. I took a very short walk after work, during which I think I saw another spotted towhee. I stopped at Trader Joe’s on my way home and managed to buy some facial tissue! 

In the evening, Wife finally finished Breath of the Wild! I’m not sure what game is next, but she won’t start till at least Friday, because tomorrow is her D&D night.

Day 58: I have been going to bed ridiculously late pretty much every day. So it was a struggle to get up this morning for ballet. But I did it. Ballet class was hard work. I think by the end of this shelter-in-place, I will be stronger, but probably less fit in the cardiovascular/aerobic sense.

Afterwards, I did some long overdue scrubbing of the shower, and then after lunch I went grocery shopping for my parents. I’m not sure why it was more difficult today than it has been in past weeks, though. The parking lot was a zoo, even though in past weeks there were always spaces available. Lots of people had parked badly, making it difficult to get in and out. Then it was sort of drizzling while I waited in line. Inside the store, it was a bit crowded, though perhaps no worse than usual. But when I left, it was out-and-out raining. Which, again. It’s May. I was not dressed for rain. 

Still, I had a nice chat with my dad when I dropped off his groceries, and I had bought some very pretty sunflowers to bring home. 

When I got back, I had a very late start to my workday and did not get very much done. However, a college friend of mine introduced me over email to a science journalist who wanted help interpreting his county’s benchmarks for reopening. So I spent some time looking at the county’s website about it and trying to explain it.

I took a leisurely walk after work, and saw some nice gardens and flowers, plus an Anna’s hummingbird, a crow hassling a bird of prey, and a very cute floofy puppy.

Wife had ordered some clippers, which finally arrived today. So she cut her own hair! It doesn’t look too bad. The back is a bit of a mess, but that won’t matter for a video call! 

I am very fortunate that I happened to get my hair cut just 3 days before the shelter-in-place started. I normally get a haircut approximately every 6 weeks, so it’s definitely getting a bit shaggy, but I don’t think I would dare try to cut it myself... even though it might be a long wait for the day I can return to my hairdresser. Well, we’ll see how bad it gets. I hate how I look with long hair, but it’s only barely at the bottom of my ears now.

Stay safe, everyone.

[buckysforeverprincess]

Your Hardest Goodbye -Pt 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1920

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Here’s part 2...Bucky comes home. Enjoy. 

Bucky steps off the boarding bridge and he knows he's finally home. He inhales a deep breath, and even though it ain't Brooklyn, he can smell the telltale scents of New York. Yeah, he's home and god…he’s missed this place.

It's been three years since he was last here, and as much as things have stayed the same, everything has changed. Bucky himself has changed since he left; his hair is longer, he's sporting a five o'clock shadow, skin a little pale. The Bucky from three years ago would kick himself in the ass, telling him to get a haircut and a new job. The Bucky walking through the terminal now would have to agree.

The trip home was two years overdue. Bucky lost track of how many times he tried to make this trip; calling the airlines, booking the flight, packing his apartment. Each time it ended the same way. Every time he cancelled his flight and stayed where he was.  

The only reason he finally made the trip back was to see his best friend get married, if you could still call him that. Steve was his best friend since childhood, practically living out of each other's pockets. Even their moms became best friends due to the vast amounts of time the two spent together, and the abundance of trouble they always seemed to find. Bucky and Steve both thought they'd be friends forever. That was before he left for Russia. Since then, things have been rather strained.

They were still best friends when he left three years ago. Five months into his trip, that friendship ended. Steve hadn't talked to him since their falling out, but when the invitation for the wedding came, his mother said he should come home and find closure for them all. Bucky typed out a message to his friend with the words ‘Are you sure?’ The reply came back to him the next day, only a single word, ‘Yes’.

So here he was walking through JFK, heading to the baggage claim, trying to get back home to Brooklyn. Brooklyn, where everything started and ended. The place his heart truly resides...his true home.  

By the time he's made it down to the claim area, everyone has pretty much cleared out. There are a few stragglers, and Bucky is grateful for the lack of people and mass hysteria. He just needs a few moments to collect his thoughts before he walks out of the airport, trying to regain some semblance of his old life. 

Bucky finds his suitcase and heads for the exit. Even though he's ready to be home, he's terrified to step through the doors. Walking through means acknowledging what he's been avoiding for over two years; all his extremely bad choices, and overall failure of his personal life. Looking back now, he never should have accepted the job in the first place. His acceptance was his ultimate demise.

He stands at the exit, cemented in place. The memories of three years ago flooding his head.

Your face, your eyes...your lips. The last time he laid eyes on you, he was waving goodbye. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. But that final wave solidified his future...his doom. Bucky should have stayed, but he chose his career over the woman he loved and paid the price for it.  

“You want to stand there all day, or you gonna give me a hug?” The familiar voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Clint, it's been too long!” Bucky steps through the doors without hesitation and heads straight for the man that has been his other best friend since they met in college. The two come face to face and wrap each other in a hug followed by pats on the back.

“Man, you look like shit!” Clint says as they break apart taking a moment to take in Bucky's appearance.

“Yeah, I was going for a new look. Russian hobo. Think it works?” Bucky asked with a laugh.

“No, I really don't!” Clint responds smiling and grabs for Bucky's suitcase.

“Come on! Let's get ya’ back where you belong!”

The drive back to was filled with easy conversation and chit chat, each man reminiscing about old memories and good times had by all. At one-point Clint had Bucky in tears as he recalled the clothing disaster of freshman year.

“Omg, Clint!” Bucky's face red, trying to catch a breath. “Natasha was so mad at me!! Poor Y/N had to practically promise our first born in order for Nat to forgive us!” Bucky's laughing stopped dead.  

He was trying to avoid it, but it just slipped out. There was now an uncomfortable silence in the car, all because he said the name that's never left his mind or heart for the past three years. Bucky knew there was no way to escape it now, so he might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.  

“How mad is everyone?” Bucky looked at Clint, who kept his eyes on the road.

“On a scale of one to ten? Epic failure!”

Bucky scrunched his face and shook his head. “Is she ok?” He tried to avoid saying the name again, hoping Clint would know who he was talking about.

“She's good, now. It took all of us, especially Steve. He tried to convince her not to give up…but, I don't have to tell you how that worked out.” Bucky swallowed hard and nodded his head knowing exactly what Clint was referring to.

Bucky stared out the window, watching the scenery go by. There was no one to blame but himself. He'd made one bad decision after another, and in the end, he'd hurt the woman he made so many promises to…the woman he intended on marrying. There was nothing he could do to take back what he had done.

So now he's home…three years later, preparing to watch her walk down the aisle saying ‘I do’ to someone that wasn't him. She was marrying his best friend. All because he couldn't see past himself and his own selfish dreams...wanting to be somebody important. Not realizing he was already important to the one person that mattered the most before it was too late. That was one of the many things he'd never forgive himself for.

“Earth to Bucky? You ok?” Clint asks, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Bucky looks over and gives him a soft smile and a nod “I really fucked up!” He has to get use to saying it. He knows the words will be on repeat no matter who he encounters.

“Yeah, you did.” Clint doesn't hold back.

“Trust me, I know….and what hurts is that I can't fix it.” Bucky lowers his head, looking at his hands in his lap. “I never should have left.” The words are soft and filled with sorrow, and he means them with all his heart.

“Why did you leave?” Clint's eyes are still trained on the road. “I mean, why'd you take the job? You'd just proposed…she said yes. So why? Why leave?”

Bucky struggled with this question often. He honestly asked himself the same thing standing in the TSA line before he left. He knew what he was leaving, and he questioned if it was the right decision for his future. In the end, he made his choice, and he knows it wasn't the right one.  

“Because I thought I could be somebody, someone she could be proud of. I could've given her an amazing life, where she would've had everything she ever wanted. I wanted to be important and successful, and thought I'd get that by accepting the job. So, I left…hoping I'd get what I wanted and fucked everything up in the process.”

Bucky can see Clint nod his head, confused look on his face. “What?” The man driving gives him a side eye. “Say it, Clint. Whatever it is, just get it out.”

“Was there anything that could've made you stay?”

Bucky shakes his head, “If I didn't stay for my fiancée...there's probably nothing else that could've kept me here.”

Y/N didn't stop him from leaving all those years ago. He may have resented her if she did, so he understands why she let him go.  

They finish the ride in silence, the drive honestly not taking that long. Clint pulls up to the Barnes family home and places the car in park. “Home, sweet home!” Clint gives him a warm smile.

Bucky is grateful the man came and picked him up today. His family couldn't, and he had no other friends he could call. He lost them all when he hurt Y/N. Clint was really all he had left.

“Thanks man!” Bucky opens the door and steps out, everything around him stills looking the same.

Clint also gets out of the car, grabbing Bucky's suitcase and walking it over to him. “Have you decided if you're staying?”

Bucky runs his fingers through his long hair, probably the only question he's nervous about answering. “I-uh I'm-home? Uh, everything I own is in this suitcase. I got a box coming from Russia, but I sold everything else. I’m meeting Steve tomorrow for the keys to the storage unit they put my stuff in.” The meeting had been arranged through their moms, Steve choosing to have limited contact at the urging of his fiancée is what he was told.

Clint crosses his arms and looks Bucky in the eyes. “Look, you know everyone is pissed off at you, and most of them are even more pissed at Steve for inviting you to this wedding.”

Bucky lowers his head to the ground, letting his hair hang in his eyes, listening to his friend scold him like a parent disciplining their child.

“You made a choice to accept that job and get on that plane. You can't take that back. Just know, you have to suffer through what you did, and also anything that may come to light. Everything happens for a reason.”  

Bucky knows he's right. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. He has to own it, no matter what the consequences are. He'll take whatever they give him and beg for forgiveness along the way. Bucky has nothing but time now since he's back for good.  

Clint leans in and wraps his arm around for a half hug.

“Thanks again for the ride.”

“No problem man.” Clint backs away and moves over to his car. “Oh, by the way…,” he stops before he enters the driver’s side, “I probably shouldn't tell you this...but Steve and Y/N--they uh, they have a child, Isabella or Bella, we like to call her. Steve is her father. Don't you dare do anything to upset her life. Nat will murder you!”

Bucky gives him a forced smile and a nod, accepting what he's been told. He gives the man a wave and watches him get into the car and maneuver his way back into Brooklyn traffic.

So, Steve and Y/N already had a kid. She really did move on, even using the name they planned on if they ever had a daughter. Bucky stands there on the sidewalk, unable to move. It really was his fault. He never should have left. Bucky should have stayed and married her like he planned. He regretted getting on that plane, and he hated himself for the phone call he made five months into his year long trip that forever changed their lives. 

Part 3

[zacharybosch]

Playing God - chapter 3

in which will books a haircut with the most exclusive barber in baltimore

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

read Playing God chapter 3 below or on ao3

It had barely been therapy to begin with, but to continue to refer to their meetings as therapy now was laughable. They didn’t even bother with the ritual of the armchairs anymore; Will had free rein of the office, and Hannibal frequently retreated to his drawing desk by the fireplace, to sip brandy or just watch Will roam. It was a strange thing to watch Will move through the world; Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder if Will even really saw anything clearly any more, or if every object, every new face, was just another rushing blur in the unending stream of his life. Everything must seem so impermanent to him, every towering cathedral just a house of cards waiting for the stiff breeze that would knock it over, while Will remained perfectly cast in amber, unmoving and unchanging through the centuries.

He wondered again just how old Will was, but asked instead, “Does your hair grow?”

“Not like yours does. But yes, it can grow.”

“Can?”

“I have to make an active effort to grow it, otherwise it’ll just stay as it is. At full strength I could grow my hair down to my waist within a minute or two.”

Will was completely unsurprised when the next words out of Hannibal’s mouth were, “Would you show me?”

The hair-growing thing was such a cheap trick. As superpowers went it was almost entirely useless, and only served to make Will feel like a performing animal. “I’d rather not. Once it’s done, I can’t un-grow it. I’d have to go get it cut. I don’t like going to get it cut.”

“I could cut it for you,” Hannibal said. “If I do a poor job, you can always grow the uneven parts until everything matches.”

“You’ve never done a poor job of anything in your life. You just want an excuse to touch me. See if I’m cold.”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Maybe so.”

If Will was being perfectly honest with himself, his hair was more than a little dull and scraggly, and he was about fifty years overdue for some new, healthier-looking growth. Hannibal would in all likeliness do a good job at cutting it, and Will would rather sit there and answer Hannibal’s questions about his alimentary canal than go to a barber shop and make small talk about the weather.

“Okay,” Will sighed, dragging out the word out far longer than necessary. “You want to do it now?”

“Perhaps after dinner, if you’ll join me?”

Will rolled his eyes. “So that’s why you offered to play barber. I’ll come, but I’m not promising to eat.”

***

Will didn’t end up eating, but he enjoyed watching Hannibal do so; he took his time cherishing every last morsel that went into his mouth, and he thrived off of his food in a way that Will hadn’t been permitted to for decades.

It was a performance. Not through use of the elaborate place settings or the ostrich-feather centrepiece, or even the careful architecture of the meal’s various components, but rather the consumption of the food itself made Will feel as though he were at a peep show, gazing in on something illicit. He was sure that Hannibal didn’t look like this when eating in the company of anyone else. Or maybe he did, but no-one else understood what it was that they were seeing.

Either way, by the time dinner was finished Will was more than ready to just make some excuse and leave, having been far more affected by Hannibal’s little display than he’d anticipated, but Hannibal swooped in with a hand at the small of Will’s back and guided him through to the living room.

There was a harpsichord, because of course there was, and a lot of pieces of art that hit various levels of unsettling. It wasn’t a comfortable-looking room by any means, with its cold marble floor and abundance of animal skulls, but it was very Hannibal.

Will would’ve preferred to just stay in the dining room with the solid barrier of the table between them, but he could see why Hannibal had brought him in here: just as the dining room was Hannibal’s performance space, carefully arranged to highlight and enhance exactly what he wanted to show, this space was to be Will’s. No doubt Hannibal hoped that Will would stand in front of the fireplace, cut a striking figure outlined with a golden glow, and demonstrate the wonders of his vampire physiology.

The reality would be underwhelming, but it couldn’t be helped. Will just needed to give Hannibal a little bit more of what he wanted, and then soon enough this would all be over.

Hannibal stood expectantly in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for his show. Will rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. “Okay. I need to sit down for this. It takes a bit of effort.”

He arranged himself on one of Hannibal’s ridiculous armchairs that had hooves instead of legs, and put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. For several minutes, nothing happened, but eventually his curls began to thread between his fingers, creeping over the backs of his hands and falling down around his wrists. Will was breathing heavily, which was alarming largely because he didn’t normally breathe at all. Pinpricks of sweat started forming on his skin, and when his hands started to shake Hannibal said, “Stop.”

Will’s hair hung to his shoulders, new growth lush and glossy in the firelight. He slumped back against the chair, wiping at his damp forehead.

“Sorry. It’s been a while. I didn’t think it would be this difficult or… sweaty.”

Hannibal was rapt, unable to take his eyes off the curls that now tumbled around Will’s collarbone. “Please don’t apologise, Will. That was a singularly extraordinary thing to witness. I admit, I’m somewhat reluctant now to cut your hair. I didn’t realise it would be so beautiful.”

“Please shut up. Can I have a glass of water?”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

Magic still had a place in Hannibal’s world, between the pages of books or in the brushstrokes of paintings, but magic in a practical sense had long since died a death along with so many other things in the snows of his childhood. He had witnessed magic anew, however, in the strands of Will’s hair that curled gold in the firelight. To think that such things existed, and that he was one of the few people who was privileged enough to have knowledge of it, was a wonder and a pleasure unlike anything else he could recall.

As he filled a glass with mineral water from a jug in his fridge, Hannibal contemplated this new idea of magic and all that Will had shown him of it. Some things mapped to what he already knew of traditional vampire folklore, while others were wholly new to him; the hair-growing, for one, was entirely unexpected and utterly delightful.

He tried to imagine himself as a vampire, and found the idea to be pleasantly unsettling. Would he be as powerful as Will? Or would Will always have command over him, being his sire -- if such things even existed? Perhaps vampires couldn’t be made, only born. It was one subject that Will had never broached.

Returning to the living room, Hannibal had to stop in the doorway and admire the image before him. He wasn’t immune to pop culture and knew the classic image of the vampire that had grown up on movie screens and in the pages of well-thumbed novels; the flowing hair, the frock coats, the propensity for lounging; skin like silk and mouth like velvet and eyes like ice.

It was all too easy to look at Will and see it, especially with his hair as it was now. He was preternaturally still, staring into the fire with cold, unblinking eyes, the planes of his face painted gold in the firelight. Flesh made marble and sat in quiet repose for centuries.

Hannibal placed the glass of water on a side table, and lowered himself gently into the chair next to Will. The silence and stillness that permeated the room was unlike anything Hannibal had ever felt; not just the absence of obvious sound or movement, it was as though Will’s presence actively smothered even the smallest sounds and motions of the crackling fire, the ticking clock. As if Will was a black hole, swallowing everything inside himself until all that was left was nothing at all.

Long minutes stretched between them, until suddenly Will ran a hand through his newly-grown hair and reached for the glass of water. Hannibal found the change startling, like a bright light suddenly being switched on in a dark room; the fire was crackling again, the clock was ticking, and life was marching on outside these four walls just as it always had. How could no-one else guess that Will was something entirely other? The very feel of his presence was alien, like a crinkling in the fabric of reality.

But perhaps the same thing that protected Hannibal also protected Will, allowing them both to move through the world unseen by the eyes of normal people. They were of a kind, two beasts alike in appetite and attitude, and such things had to be carefully guarded.

“How much of your life do you dedicate to maintaining cover?” Hannibal asked, voice quiet in the room that still held the lingering echo of Will’s profound silence. “Your clothes, mannerisms, the place you live… What parts are you, and what parts are the mask?”

“It’s difficult to know. I’ve hidden for so long, in one form or another. Easy to forget some parts along the way.”

“That which protects us also consumes us.”

“Something like that. What do you need protecting from?”

“You, maybe,” Hannibal said, smiling.

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Draco’s Emotional Uprising

As always, can be read on Ao3   

----------------------------------------

                “Draco!”

                Draco groaned, wishing his head wasn’t throbbing. Merlin, how much did he drink last night? The night had started out decent, but soon went to shit when he caught sight of his ex-boyfriend at the Ministry charity gala. The twat was a temporary foreign exchange transfer from France, the exchange program was supposed to unite the wizard community as a whole and welcome the idea of unity between all societies of wizards and witches no matter the country.

                Christophe had been charming in the beginning. Dinners, dates and nights out on the town had been refreshing, especially considering the lack of people wanting to date Draco. Not too many ‘respectable’ people wanted much to do with him. The six years since the war showed him how long people could hold a grudge, not that he blamed them.

               With his reputation shattered, it was nice coming across someone who didn’t seem to care. It was nice having someone be there. At least for a while.

               Draco should have known it was too good to be true. After six months of dating, he thought they were really going somewhere. Christophe had decided to leave the exchange program in favor of applying for a position in the Wizengamot Administration Services. Normally, that wouldn’t be allowed, the Wizengamot had rules against those who were not citizens of the United Kingdom holding a seat in the Wizengamot. But the Malfoy line had several unused seats, and with Draco giving up his own, it opened opportunities for Christophe.

               Only… Draco hadn’t counted on Christophe leaving him too.

               “I got what I wanted, Draco. You are only useful in what you can do for me, not the other way around.”

               Christophe had chosen him because of his tarnished name. It had never been about love, or attraction. With the seat already being given to Christophe, there wasn’t anything Draco could do. All that was left was waiting for the Wizengamot to make a decision. And why wouldn’t they choose Christophe? The man was a spineless git that sucked up to everyone. They wouldn’t see his true intentions until it was too late. Just like Draco.  

               What stung the most was that Draco knew that there was something off about Christophe. His lonely heart had ignored the warning bells and chose companionship over logic and common sense.  

               Maybe karma was meant to hit him socially and emotionally. Perhaps he was destined to spend the rest of his life making up for his actions but be alone and miserable at the same time.

               “Draco!”

               Draco groaned, shutting out the sound of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Really, how much did he drink? It was hard to piece the night together; a lot of his memories were clouded in alcohol. When he had caught sight of Christophe trying to charm his way into a discussion with members of the Wizengamot, Draco ended up summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey from his bag—propriety be damned.

               If there wasn’t love involved, or even if there had been fights, Draco would have been hurt, but he would have at least understood. But to use someone like that? Only seek them out for personal gain? It was cruel, and Draco wished he could say that he didn’t deserve it.

               “Draco Abraxas Malfoy, if I have to dismantle your wards, you are getting nothing from my will.”

               The sound of his father’s voice had Draco leaping up, only to groan miserably when his head throbbed, and his balance had him clutching the nearest thing to keep him steady. What he hoped was the wall was actually thin air—Draco crashed to the floor, wondering if this was his destiny. To be a fucking mess.  

               Draco shot out his hand, grateful that his wand came instantly. At least his wand loved him, that was something.

               With his wards lowered, he heard the door to his flat open, and braced himself for the commentary he knew would come.

               “For the love of—really Draco? Artificial leather? You have money, use it. And what’s with the color scheme? Is that—oh Merlin it is—floral print? This is worse than I thought. You need to move back home. Clearly allowing you to venture out on your own was a mistake.”

               “I’m an adult,” Draco yelled, still laying on the ground, not bothering to care enough to move. He had chosen his furniture knowing it would haunt his parents. Petty spite did wonders for the soul.

               “Are you? Because your actions prove otherwise.”

               Draco sighed, not ready for another lecture. It was too early for this—he squinted at the clock, wincing when it showed it was six in the evening. It was too late for this.

               “I was woken up this morning by six firecalls. Six. Draco do you realize how influential you are to getting the Malfoy name back into a proper standing?”

               The sound of cleaning charms had Draco huffing. It wasn’t that dirty. Sure, the dishes could be done, and perhaps the trash was a week overdue, but he didn’t need his father cleaning up after him.

               “Nothing will get the Malfoy name to be respectable,” Draco mumbled low enough that his father wouldn’t hear it. That would just make the lecture longer.

               “You caused a scene at the gala. So much so, that they called in Aurors.”

               Draco winced, trying to recall that. There were flashes of fancy robes, horrified faces and then green eyes. He groaned when he realized that Potter must have been the Auror on duty. Lovely.

               “Do you—” An incredulous noise left his father’s mouth as he stopped at the entrance to Draco’s room.

               “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

               Draco would have been impressed with the expletive, since his father was too proper to do anything common like swearing, but he was too distracted by the question.

               “What? Is it a mess? I just need to brush it.” Not that he could remember where exactly his brush was. Did he own a brush? Goodness, much more of that and he could be Potter’s twin.

               When his father continued to stare, Draco summoned a mirror.

               A squeak left his mouth when he caught sight of his reflection. The sides of his head were shaved, and he had a choppy wild mane on the top. The hair on the top was randomly cut in places, and he wondered if someone had done the haircut blind.

               Draco bit his lip, forcing himself to think back. After leaving the gala, he flooed to Greg and Neville’s flat. Which is never a promising idea, the two were the worst friends possible—always convincing him into stupid endeavors.

               “I want it gone,” Draco remembered telling that to an equally drunk Greg.

               “I can cut it, but I’ve only got Nev’s hedge trimmers.”

               Another once-over had Draco biting his lip. “It’s not bad,” he hedged hesitantly. “I can pull it off.”

               “That’s not the point,” his father drawled, impatience heightening the harsh tone. “Why did you cut it?”

               “He loved my hair long,” Draco whispered, eyes on the ceiling as he refused to look at his father.

               “Draco, it’s just a breakup.”

               Draco scoffed. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his father’s broken heart. He wasn’t the one left a mess, he wasn’t the one who had to come home to an empty flat every night wondering where it all went wrong, or how simple naivety had clouded all common sense.

               “You need to start acting like the respectable pureblood that you are.” Draco closed his eyes, tired of the disappointment in his father’s voice. “Appearances are everything. It doesn’t matter what fickle emotion you feel, what matters is how you look. Hide all of this behind a glamour and move on. I raised you better than this. Malfoy’s don’t fall apart.”

               “I can’t do that.” Draco sat up, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding everything. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be kind, Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to associate with lower classes, Malfoy’s are supposed to be regal at all times, Malfoy’s don’t show emotions, Malfoy’s save face at all costs—”

     Draco took a deep breath, air coming in as a gasp. “Well, fuck being a Malfoy.” A quick glance showed his father’s mouth open a few centimeters, the closest thing to gaping as his father could get.

               “Father,” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, reveling in the difference between the sides and the top. “I’m not okay. He broke my heart, and I don’t know how to emulate it any other way than destructive. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be like this, but I’ve repressed so much for so long that I need to express myself. I need to be someone other than just a Malfoy.”

               They stared at each other, neither wanting to give in. “It’s just a breakup.”

               Disappointment filled Draco as he stood up, gesturing for his father to leave. “No, it’s more than that. It’s an uprising—an emotional uprising where I find myself again.”

 -------------------------------------------------

               “Let’s get revenge.”

               Draco looked at Neville, surprised that he was the first one drunk, not that he wasn’t on his way there himself. “Revenge? How so?”

               He knew that no matter what Neville said, there was no way he was listening. Neville would never stop being a Gryffindor. If it wasn’t for Greg’s relationship with Neville, he would wonder how they could be friends. But only a few times around him was enough to show how loyal he could be.

               “We could set his house on fire.”

               Draco threw an alarmed look to Greg, silently demanding his friend fix this. Were all Gryffindors this crazy?

               Greg huffed in amusement. “Neville, love, that’s too adventurous. How about we tone it down?”

               “Oh,” Neville whispered, voice in awe as he blinked rapidly, alcohol dimming his normally kind aura. “We could send him a howler?”

               “Too tame,” Draco countered, shaking his head. Revenge didn’t actually sound so bad.

               “I don’t know what you want from me!” Neville cried, arms reaching out for Greg.

               Draco raised his hands placatingly when Greg glared at him, as if drunk Neville was somehow his fault.

               “Maybe we could set his house on fire,” Draco said, a shot of Firewhiskey and two large gulps of Elvish wine making the decision for him.

               “What?” Greg asked incredulously as Neville cheered loudly.

               “Maybe just his lawn?” The offer had Neville frowning, but at least he wasn’t crying.

               “I’m not drunk enough for this,” Greg whispered, exasperation bleeding through.

               Neville grabbed the Firewhiskey off the table. “I can fix that!”

               “That’s not what I mea—” Greg sighed as Neville smiled earnestly, eyes wide and hopeful. “Thank you, Neville.”

               Even in his intoxicated state, Draco knew that Greg was smitten.

               “Let’s make bad decisions.” Greg lifted his glass in a toast.

               “Already did that,” Draco jeered, joke falling flat as his mind went back to Christophe.

               “Fire, fire, fire,” Neville chanted, hands hitting the table as they all took one more round of shots.

  -------------------------------------------------

               In hindsight, being caught wands out and no alibis as Aurors showed up, really wasn’t the best decision. How were they supposed to know Christophe had backup wards? Honestly, it was a miracle they managed to tear down the original in their state.

               The fire was still going, and that was Draco’s greatest accomplishment to date. He watched Weasley attempt to wrangle it in with difficulty. Revenge on Christophe and manage to annoy Weasley? It was a great end to the day.

               Well, other than being caught.

               “What were you three thinking?” Potter looked between them, brows arched when they all looked at each other.

               Neville huffed, hands coming to his hips. “Harry, Draco is worth twelve of Christophe!” An angry finger was pointed to where Christophe was being questioned by an Auror.

               Draco wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. Why 12? Oddly specific? Only 12? Why not 50? Or a 100?

               By the way Potter softened, eyes glancing towards Draco, it was clear that he understood the reference. “Is he now?”

               Neville nodded fiercely, hiccup escaping. “He hurt Draco and that’s not okay.”

               When Greg nodded along, warmth filled Draco as he stared at his friends. He could honestly cry.

               A familiar harsh scoff had Draco tensing. “This just proves how imbalanced Draco is.” The accented tone had Draco clenching his fists tightly. “Always knew you were mad, if only I could have ended the relationship sooner.”

               Draco closed his eyes, wishing that a confrontation didn’t have to happen while he wasn’t sober.

               “I almost had your Wizengamot seat a month earlier, but you were holding out, wanting to mean something to me.” When Christophe snorted, light brown hair falling into his face, Draco took a step forward.            

               “As if you could mean something to—" Draco punched Christophe in the face, hard enough to have him taking several steps back.

               Draco wrung out his hand as the sound of Neville and Greg cheering could be heard. “I am worth 12 of you. I may be tarnished, and not whole, but I didn’t deserve what you did.”

               The truth of his own words had Draco pausing, a revelation taking place. He hadn’t deserved it. “I deserve someone who wants me for me. I deserve love just as much as the next person. And I deserve to love myself.” By hell, he was going to. Draco was done caring what other people thought. If society wouldn’t forgive him, then he would forgive himself and go from there. Fuck everyone else.

               Christophe clutched his face, breath coming out in quick successions before he rounded on Potter. “Aren’t you going to do something about this? They come to my home and set fire to my lawn. I then am physically attacked, with witnesses.”

               “Witnesses?” Potter asked, eyes narrowed and voice hard. “Goyle, Neville, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?”

               “No,” Goyle grunted, smirking when Christophe made an indignant noise.

               “Only a Nargle,” Neville offered grin on his face and eyes tracking what Draco assumed was a Nargle, whatever that was. They may be friends, but Neville wasn’t exactly normal—a symptom of spending too much time around Lovegood.

               Potter snorted, shoulders shaking with barely concealed mirth. “Unfortunately, the fire is still going and therefore not something that can be explained away.”

               Christophe made a noise of triumph, hands folding over his chest.

               “I am afraid you three will have to pay a fine.”

               “Yeah,” Christophe nodded in agreement. “Wait, a fine? They set my lawn on fire.”

               Potter bit his lip, something Draco was keenly aware of. “As negligent as their accidental magic was, it was still just an accident. Right guys?”

               “Absolutely,” Greg spoke up, hand not so subtly covering Neville’s mouth when he started to shake his head.

               “What?” Christophe’s tone was becoming increasingly louder. “You can’t just let them get away with it!”

               “Everything alright over here?” Weasley asked as he walked over, eyes looking around closely. His robes were singed, and Draco was pretty sure part of his right eyebrow was burned off. It really was a lovely night.

               “Yes,” Potter turned to Weasley, eyes shifting slightly, probably expressing something Draco couldn’t read. “The fire was a result of accidental magic. They are being charged with property damage due to negligent magic.”

               Weasley arched his brows incredulously as he looked down to his ruined robes. “Alright. Less paperwork for me. I buy it.”

               Draco grinned when Christophe gaped. His smile grew when the arse stormed away, angrily cursing in French.

               Neville whooped loudly, pulling Draco and Greg into a group hug. “I love you guys.”

               “I love you too,” Draco whispered, holding them tightly. “Both of you.” He knew that Potter and Weasley were watching them, probably not understanding their friendship, but that was alright.

               Neville was the adventurous one, Greg was the voice of reason and Draco was along for the ride. He didn’t need romance to form bonds. Friends helped emotionally, and it was already a fact that Greg and Neville were the best friends he could have.

               Romance wasn’t something he wanted to settle on. He was going to love himself first.

               When Neville and Greg began making out, Draco hastily took several steps back. Their friendship wasn’t that close.

               As Draco caught sight of Potter staring at him, he could see interest in those beautiful eyes. A wink had his cheeks heating up. Despite this, Draco knew it wouldn’t be fair to Potter if they began anything with Draco still needing to sort himself out.

               Draco walked towards Potter, aware of the way Weasley made a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”

               Potter grinned slowly, eyes traveling Draco’s face. “It was my pleasure.”

               The urge to forget his new restraint was prominent, but Draco knew he had to remain strong. “Potter, once I gain some emotional stability and become less of a mess, do you think I could—that we could—” Draco huffed as he closed his eyes. “When I find myself again, would you want to go out with me?”

               Potter’s grin became goofy, something that clearly hadn’t changed since their school years. “I’d love to.”

               Draco’s eyes closed again as Potter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

               “As long as you don’t start any more fires.”

               A startled laugh left Draco as he watched a sparkling shine to Potter’s eyes manifest.

               Draco continued to watch Potter, even long after he left to talk with his co-workers.

               “Looks like the fire was a great plan.” There was a smugness to Neville’s voice that hadn’t been there when he was first introduced to their duo that quickly became a trio. Draco couldn’t be prouder.  

               When Potter paused at the gate, sparing one last smile for Draco, he couldn’t help but agree with Neville.

      “It sure was.”

  -------------------------------------------------

               Draco paused at Potter’s office, unsure if he could do this. It had been a few months since the night on the lawn, and he wasn’t sure if Potter was still interested. They had maintained correspondents, but that was all friendly, never straying into anything that could be considered romance.

               The door opened instantly when Draco knocked. Potter was poring over folders and parchments. When he cleared his throat, and Potter glanced up, Draco smiled at the way Potter’s eyes widened.

               “Draco,” Potter sounded breathless and that had Draco’s heart racing.

               “I wanted to say thank you,” Draco said, wishing Potter’s robes didn’t fit him so tightly. Merlin, it was a distraction.

               “For what?” Potter’s head was cocked to the side endearingly.

               “Getting my seat on the Wizengamot back.” Draco had received several howlers from Christophe blaming him for an internal investigation that ended with an expulsion from the foreign exchange program.

               “I don’t know why you are thanking me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Potter’s eyes and it had Draco biting back a grin.

               “Word around the Ministry is that you have an in with the Wizengamot Administration Services. Granger just happens to be the next in line to become head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Interesting coincidence?”

               Potter laughed, before shrugging. “I may have talked to her. It was the least I could do.”

               “Thank you,” Draco said, conviction thick. “The least you could have done was nothing, but you didn’t, and that means a lot to me.”

               Draco wanted to squirm when Potter regarded him warmly, chin resting on his palms. “Is that all you came here for? A simple thank you could have been put into a letter.”

               Whoever said Potter wasn’t observant was a liar. Draco shifted on the soles of his feet. He took a deep breath before locking eyes with Potter.

               “I’m still kind of a mess,” Draco began, fingers twisting the sides of his robes. “My house is still in need of several cleaning charms, my furniture has grown on me, I even like the floral print—Merlin knows that will give my father a heart attack.” Potter tilted his head to the side as Draco rambled, and he knew he was rambling, but it was all coming out regardless.  

               “My emotions aren’t ever going to go back to how my father wants. I still want to cause scenes at Ministry functions. The thought of biting my lip to save face like my father wants makes my skin crawl. I want to be loud, I want to be able to express myself and I just want to be me.”

               Draco let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to be comfortable with who I am, but I’m getting there. I love myself more than I used to, and I know in a year, I will love myself more than I do now, and that’s progress—progress I can live with.”

               Potter was grinning, eyes lit with many things Draco couldn’t name.

               “I might always be a mess,” Draco continued, voice coming out quietly. “But this mess is my own doing, not a side effect of someone else’s cruelty. That’s enough for me.”

               Potter stood up, making his way towards Draco. “I’m a mess too, I think everyone is.” There were only a few inches separating them. “But I would like to be a mess with you, if you want?”

               Draco threw his arms around Potter, sighing when strong arms wrapped around him. “I want that. I do.”

               As Draco tilted his head back, eyes searching Potter’s, he knew that he would always have things to sort out, always have to be mindful of his self-worth, but that didn’t mean Draco had to go it alone. And as Potter said, everyone’s a mess.

               So why not embrace it?

-------------------------------------------------

This is for my second prize winner in the giveaway. @ironlilyflower this is for you! It was supposed to be 2k words but it ended up being 3600 words. I really do suck at limiting myself. 

In case anyone noticed, or was curious. This was actually inspired by a song. Mama’s Broken Heart, by Miranda Lambert. 

[expectyaytions]

Brothers Part II

Sweet Pea lived for weekend’s with his wife. He loved waking up next to her and making breakfast together. So much of their week was spent with Veronica studying cases and reading lawyer jargon and him reading reports and statistics. He helped her best he could; mostly quizzing her or helping her prep. She had graduated two weeks ago and was waiting to get her bar results.

He had received a duel degree in Community Health and Psychology. After a few years searching for his niche within the areas, he began focusing on the opioid epidemic -primarily children and families who were affected. It started after a social worker friend contacted him one night. The police raided a house where there was selling and there were kids inside. They were able to contact extended family for most, but some kids had nowhere else to go and there were infants who were suffering from withdrawals because their mothers were breastfeeding and using.

Sweet Pea was devastated when he learned it was common occurrence. He and Veronica had gone through a few screenings so in the off chance that there was nowhere for kids of babies to go -they’d be allowed to take them for a period of time. It was hard - the babies were often unsoothable and the children so malnourished and skittish. They would arrive at all hours of the day.

Hermione Lodge had her doubts about Sweet Pea when he and V had begun dating, but once she came over and saw what they were doing she softened a little. She’d stop by in the morning with stuffed animals, blankets and clothes and cuddle the babies and play games with the kids. She made sure each and every child who entered their home left with a comfort item.

    He was in the process of getting approved to build a small facility specific to children and families affected by opioid addiction. They’d be allowed to stay and families would be educated on their loved one. Children would have a place to stay and babies could detox. He’d hit a few snags, but was working harder than ever to get it approved. There were psychologists he was working with to create a program.

Veronica had decided to wanted to do family law. She didn’t originally, but seeing some of the cases that came through her home she wanted kids to come first.

    This weekend however was to be spent away from home. They were headed to Cape Cod for Memorial Day Weekend. They’d rented a cottage on the beach for three nights and were eager to enjoy a mini - overdue vacation. The drive was spent primarily in traffic and listening to NPR.

“I feel like we’re older than we are.” Veronica sighed.

“Just mature.”

“You are not mature! You put a toy rat in the silverware drawer to scare me.” he started laughing so hard and she couldn’t help but join in.

The cottage was perfect. They stopped at the grocery store on the way in and picked up steaks for grilling and salad fixings. Veronica picked out blueberry pie, vanilla ice cream and strawberries - running after they were already in line for a can of whipped cream. She was ready for a weekend with her husband.

Once they arrived at the cottage, Veronica insisted they pour some lemonade and sit out on the patio. The beach was at their fingertips and it was private and quit. They spoke back and forth updating each other about their current projects.

“You know, I didn’t see a beach until I was sixteen. Have I told you this before?”

“Um, no. Please continue.” She slid a strawberry into her mouth.

“As soon as Fangs and I both got our license and had saved up and fixed our first bikes, we headed to the first beach we could locate on a map. It was a two hour drive and we just went. Stopped for sandwiches and cokes and once we got there we were stunned. It was certainly a sight we had never seen. We ended up sunburnt as hell. But it was worth it.”

“That sounds fun. Did you guys ever go back?”

“Nah, things heated up with the serpents and we stuck close to home unless told otherwise.”

“I think it’s really sweet that you guys got to experience so many things with each other.” She grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“There’s a part of me that hopes that that’s where he is now. Just hanging out by the beach, relaxing, drinking beers with a nice looking man who treats him right.” He spoke wistfully.

“Were you surprised when Fangs came out?”

“I was a little, but not really. I mean I didn’t care at all. He would ask me questions like if I ever had dreams about boys and kissing boys and if I thought some kid in our class was cute. So when he officially told me he was bisexual, I kind of already figured as much.”

“It probably meant a lot to him.”

“It did. His dad kind of freaked out, but his mom was too strung out to care or realize. It kind of stopped there though. None of the serpents cared and anyone that had something to say, answered to us anyway. It really worked out in his favor in the end.” He nibbled his lip, something Veronica noticed he did when he was in thought or reminiscing.

“We’ll find him babe. We have to.” She inhaled nervously “we’ll need to tell him he’s going to be a godfather.” Sweet Pea’s brow furrowed in confusion before his eyes went wide.

“Wait! You’re! Are you? For real?” Tears filled his eyes and he jumped over the table and wrapped her in his arms. She nodded circling her arms around him. He pulled away and kissed her, grabbing her cheeks and pulling her face to his.

“I can’t believe it. Really?” She nodded again pleased by his reaction. He spun her around and they celebrated with the pie and ice cream they’d got at the store.

It wasn’t until hours later, after dinner, after giving V a foot massage while watching season two of How to Get Away With Murder, after having celebratory sex, after Veronica had gone to sieep; He snuck outside with a beer. He sat under brightness of the moon and wished he could call Fangs and tell him. Fangs would be the most excited. He’d reassure Sweet Pea that despite their childhood and adolescent years, their own shitty parents - that he, Sweet Pea would make amazing dad. Sweet Pea clenched his teeth and willed himself not to cry. He needed that reassurance. He was scared. He tipped his beer to the empty chair.

“Wherever you are man, congrats - you’re going to be an uncle.”

-//-//-//-

The program and center had been open for a month, but the ribbon cutting was today. He nervously pulled at the collar of his shirt. This whole thing was at Veronica’s insistence. She thought it’d make good press and get the word out. He was sweating even though it was November. He ran a hand through his hair. A knock at the door startled him.

“Honey? It’s me, can I come in?.” He exhaled slowly before opening the door to reveal his pregnant wife. She looked spectacular - she always did. Her hair was a little longer these days, too many things to do and a haircut had not been a priority.

“You look gorgeous.” He smiled at her. He loved her little bump. He ran a hand down her side.

“You’re going to do great. We rehearsed everything - it’s just a few short words. And we’ve already sent things to the papers, this is just for the news channels and so the community knows.” He nodded, his throat dry. She pulled out a bottle of water from her purse. “This might help.” He kissed her gratefully.

“Thank you.”

They emerged together from the entrance of the center, a good sized crowd in front of them. He ran a thumb over his tattoo while approaching the microphone. He told the short version of the background of the center and shared his vision. Veronica stepped in at the right moments adding to the story. Photos were snapped before finally he was handed the giant scissors and cut the ribbon. The crowd cheered and he found himself searching the crowd, hopeful, before turning to his wife and kissing her.

All his friends came over to their house after to celebrate. They considered going out but Veronica was too tired and her feet hurt. So they all headed back to hang out by the fire pit and cook burgers.

“You know he’d be proud of you.” Toni whispered to him while he shaped the burgers on the island. Everyone else was outside.

“What?” He looked at her slightly confused.

“Fangs, he’d be proud of you. With everything that happened to your moms. I think he would be impressed you’re doing something to help instead of winding up like them. I know that was a concern for you both growing up. That you’d end up like your parents.” Sweet Pea’s eyes filled with tears. He’d been so emotional lately he blamed the stress and newness of everything happening.

“Ton, I’m worried he did.” She wrapped her arms around him. “And that’s why we haven't heard from him.” He’d be lying if Fangs wasn’t some of the motivation for the center.

“I don’t think that’s the case Pea. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but it just, everything’s a possibility since we don’t know anything.”

She nodded in understanding.

“It’s weird.” She whispered. “Everything that happens, big things small things, I always just imagine he’s still there and then he’s not and it’s almost weird.”

“I do the same thing. I can’t not. He’s always the first one I used to call so it’s just instinct to want to do it now.” Toni leaned into his side and he wrapped his arm around her.

“I’m scared my kids will never meet him. That I’ll never see him again. I always kept saying maybe next year, but it’s been ten years and nothing. Maybe this is the year we start to accept that he’s not coming back.” His voice cracked and tears flooded his cheeks. That was his fear, his truth and he hadn’t spoken it out loud to anyone ever, not even Veronica.

They stood embraced in the kitchen until Veronica sauntered in, her belly on display in maroon leggings and a grey v-neck sweater that was snuggly covering her belly.

“Isn’t that my sweater?” He choked trying to joke as she approached them, her brows furrowed and concern in her eyes. Toni patted him on the back before wiping her eyes as she headed outside.

“Babe-“ she started.

“It’s about Fangs.” He hung his head. “It’s always about Fangs. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay to let things be about Fangs. It’s okay to miss him and be sad about him missing these things.”

“What if he never comes back Veronica?” He sobbed. She felt tears fill her own eyes as her husband started to lose it. He’d broken down plenty of times in their years together - usually about Fangs, but she knew today would be a tough one.

“He’ll come back. He will.” She reassured him, but there was a pang in heart as she realized that wasn’t something she entirely believed herself.

-//-//-//-

His heart was full. He was in love. He couldn’t believe after months and months of waiting and preparing and internally freaking out -they were here. His arms wrapped around his wife, his hand stroking his baby girl’s cheek as she fed. Veronica hadn't taken her eyes off her daughter since she was placed on her chest.

Now swaddled and head covered in a light grey hat she fed from her mother. The couple was speechless. Sweet Pea had only spoken praises to Veronica through tears as his daughter entered the world. He felt as though he were high, floating on happiness. His beautiful wife and daughter snuggled up.

Veronica was exhausted; he could tell. Once she finished feeding, she handed the baby over to be put in her little box. Sweet Pea assured her he’d make all the calls and let people come by in the morning.

She squeezed his hand, and before dozing she managed to whisper, “he’d be proud of you Sweets. He’d be as in love with her as we are.” He smashed his lips together in an effort not to cry and squeezed the hand she was holding.

He walked out into the hallway phone in hand; before making any calls he slid down the wall and cried. He sobbed and he promised himself this was it. He’d start living his life without The question of Fangs lingering over him. This was it. He needed to be 100% for his daughter and his wife; no more what ifs and maybes and speculations. He wasn’t holding hope anymore. It was time to let go. The thought made him sob louder and harder, but he knew once he cried it out he’d feel better.

He called his in-laws first. They were elated and said they’d be over as soon as visiting hours started.

He called Toni next, she screamed and then he heard Toni telling Cheryl. They asked when a good time to stop by was. He thought about it. He wanted to give Hiram and Hermione enough time with their grand-daughter and also let V relax a little. He decided any time after one o’clock would be fine.

He called Jughead and Betty, he could hear Betty “whooping” in the background. He made a few other calls before stepping back into the room and admiring his wife.

There was cooing from where his daughter was sleeping. He made his way over to see her eyes open; her mouth pinched looking for her missing pacifier. He picked her up, in the exact way the nurses had shown him and he had practiced after hanging out with a local expecting parents group. He gently nuzzled the pacifier back into her mouth and bounced her in a smoothing manner. He felt like a pro.

She was so tiny and perfect and he wanted to protect her from everything. She squirmed a little and he started talking to keep her from crying. Veronica said she’d recognize his voice. He spent each night reading her a story while she was swimming around in the womb. Her nurseries library was overflowing with books. He wanted her to be smart and he wanted to open as many doors as he could for her.

He kissed the top of her head as he told her about his best friend growing up, and one day she’d have a best friend too.

-//-//-//-

**A word from Veronica**

“I don’t know Betty, something's going on. He asked what I thought about him lasering off his tattoo and I was like, which one and he pointed to his neck. Betty, that’s not only his serpent tattoo, but he and Fangs got them together that’s like their brotherhood tattoo.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, I didn’t think he should. It’s important to his business. People feel like they connect because of where he came from and his background.”

“Jughead said he seems a little different. More focused and driven, but not like he used to. Have to spoken to Toni about it?”

“Not yet, I will once she and Cheryl come home from Greece. I can’t believe they’re pregnant!”

“I know! We have to throw the best baby shower ever for them.”

“B, have you ever lied to Jughead or gone behind his back to do something.”

“Not recently, but yes. And not because I really wanted to, but something’s have to be done.” Veronica sighed loudly, “Why V, what are thinking about doing?”

“I’ve asked Sweet Pea many times over the last nine years if he ever wanted me to hire a PI to find Fangs. Then he’d know and have answers, but he always said no. I’m thinking I’m going to do it anyway. It’s clear he’s doing something to erase him.”

-//-//-//-

“Dada!” She reached up at him. Her brown eyes smiling at him.

“Hi baby.” He picked her up and sat her on his hip. She rested her head on his shoulder, her blankie smushed under her head. “Where’s mummy?” He called into the house.

“Mummy is in the dining room.” He headed in that direction.

“Hi Love,” he leaned down to kiss her. “How was work?”

“Crazy.”

“The Stentson case?”

“Of course. Do you mind occupying her for an hour? Essie left for the day, David just arrived for dinner. I can switch with you after dinner if you have work to do?”

“Sounds good to me. I love it when you’re home for dinner.” Veronica listened for him until he was out of the room. She could hear him on the baby monitor talking and laughing with Emaline.

She downsized the laptop screen and looked at the email from the PI. It was their agreement - he’d share anything he found with her and not approach if he found Fangs until she gave him the okay. She was giddy with nerves and excitement. She so badly wanted this to be a good thing. But they had to actually locate him first.

-//-//-//-

“Happy Birthday!” Everyone shouted as the door opened revealing Sweet Pea. He jumped a little in surprise, but recovered quickly seeing all his close friends and co-workers. As he made his way to where he saw Veronica standing next to Betty.

“Dada!” He heard swiveling around he saw her, arms outstretched to him from Toni. Toni handed her over - giving him a quick hug and wishing him a happy birthday. He kissed his wife and wrapped very pregnant Betty in a side hug.

“This is too much babe, I’m only 28!” He laughed. He knew his wife lived for celebrations and planning, it was her comfort zone.

“I needed a distraction from work.” She smiled up at him, grazing Emmy’s cheek with her finger. Emmy was resting her head in the crook of his neck, her hand gripping the collar of his button up, a finger rubbing the buttons. He put his free hand against her head and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair.

He mingled around, laughing with Selma, one of the secretary’s at the center and how she almost revealed the secret that morning to him when she wished him a happy birthday. Jughead had wrapped him in conversation about maybe doing a podcast together on fatherhood, maybe parenthood and we could get Toni in on it. Sweet Pea was definitely on board. He told Jughead he thought it was a brilliant idea. After he’d made the rounds and changed Emmy’s diaper, Veronica found him, a slight look of panic on her face before masking it with a smile and a kiss.

“It’s time to give you your gift.”

“The party is enough, Honey.” She just looked at him and nibbled her lip. “But I bet I’ll love it.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and lead him into the center of the room.

She nodded at someone on the other side and the door opened, there were people everyone so he couldn’t see what was being revealed, but soon people parted ways.

Veronica took Emmy who fussed leaving her dad. There were a few gasps and confused murmurs before Sweet Pea finally saw what he was looking at. His jaw went slack, the sound of his heart beating filled his ears and for a second he thought might faint.

Walking toward him in black jeans, a lavender button down and a black dress boots was Fangs. He was slightly older and more tan then Sweet Pea remembered. He felt his feet moving forward, although he was sure he stumbled at first, he made his way towards the man.

It felt like a dream. Maybe this was heaven, surrounded by everyone he loved. But once he was in arms length he grabbed Fangs into a hug and held him so close he could feel his heart beating as loud and nervous as his own. Fangs arms wrapped around him just as tight and Sweet Pea couldn’t hold his tears in anymore. His hand came around to clasp the back of his best friend’s neck and he didn’t want to ever let go.

Eleven years was a long time, but for a minute it seemed as though he was in a time capsule. His life at five, sleeping at Fangs house because his mom was high and passed out and he was scared, at his moms funeral with Fangs by his side, getting bullied on the playground, joining the Serpents, the day Fangs got his heart stomped on and needed Pea to cheer him up. His first seventeen years hit him again all at once, the comfort of his best friend - it felt for a moment that no time had passed at all.

Neither moved to pull away, they both stood in the middle of the room crying into each other’s arms. Two gang members sobbing into the others nice button down shirts - their seventeen year old selves would never have believed it.

They only pulled away when a loud cry filled the room, “Dada!” And a second later a little body against his legs. He untangled himself from Fangs, his arms picking up Emmy to hoist her onto his hip. She shyly tucked her head into her dad’s neck.

“Emmy, can you say hi?”

“Hi” she whispered.

“Do you know who this is? She shook her no before changing to a slow nod. “This is Fangs.” Her little eyes widened in surprise her mouth turning into an “o.”

“Untol Fangs” she flung herself at him, he caught her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ve told her all about you and she’s seen your pictures.”

“She’s beautiful Sweet Pea.” He told him emotionally, trying to hold back tears.

“Hey Fangs, Honey, we’re wrapping up here and heading back to ours. We would be honored if you’d join us, but before that there are a few people who are looking to get in on this reunion.” He looked behind Veronica to see Toni, Jughead and FP.

Toni was the first to rush into his arms as soon as Sweet Pea pulled away. Her pregnant belly created an awkward time but she was too busy crying to care. He awed at her belly and kissed the top of her head. Jughead and Betty hugged him at the same time before FP yanked into a hug while he tried and failed to hide his tears. He whispered a few things into his ear before pulling away.

Veronica told Sweet Pea to drive with Fangs so he knew where to go. As people cleared out Veronica grabbed the last few things and Jughead carried Emmy to her car. After she was in her car seat and closed the door she was met by five pairs of serpent eyes and none of them her husbands. Toni was the first to speak.

“I can’t believe you managed to find him. How? When? Where?” She squeezed passed Jughead and Cheryl and wrapped Toni in a hug.

“I promise I’ll explain everything when we get back to mine. And I promise he isn’t here against his own free will.” Toni nodded in her shoulder.

“Thank you.” She snuggles before pulling away.

“You’re coming over too, right FP?” She asked the oldest serpent who Emmy fondly called ‘papa.” Sweet Pea had explained - he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a dad.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” They all looked at her expectantly.

“I only spoke with him on the phone to relay details about the party. We didn’t catch up or anything - I wanted each of you to tell him your own story. I don’t know what he’s been up to or what he does for work or where he’s been. He’ll tell you all.” They all nodded slowly, understanding. “Now, I’ll see you all my house in ten. I even made mocktails for you three.” She pointed to Betty, FP and Toni. “And David made his peanut butter brownies for you Jughead.” He took Betty’s hand and headed to their car.

“Thanks V.” He shouted as they walked away. She shook her head and smiled. The rest of the serpents dispersed heading to their cars or bike in FP’s case. She climbed into the SUV, releasing a shaky breath and telling herself she did the right thing.

[toomanysurveys9]

Have you ever had a really bad haircut? my mom cut my hair pretty short once.. it was to my chin or so. and it wasn’t the best look for me.

Did you ever order any clothes from the Alloy catalogue? i don’t even know what that is.

What brand, color, and type is your favorite eyeliner? don’t have a favorite brand. but just black pencil eyeliner i guess.

Do you wear eyeliner? on the rare occasion i wear makeup, yes.

Was there ever a time in your life when you couldn’t cry? none really comes to mind..

What’s your favorite type of yogurt? lately i like blueberry or blackberry.

What posters did you have on your wall as a teenager? i had a twilight poster for awhile. it had the quote, “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb”. lol.

What are your favorite type of calendars? i don’t really use any calendars.

Do you have a full-length mirror? i do not.

When was the last time you bought stamps? uh. back before jacob and i got married.

Do you have any overdue library books right now? no. i haven’t been to the library in years. i need to change that though.

How often do you do laundry? usually once a week. sunday is our day.

Do you have a piggy bank? i have a toothless (the dragon) one... somewhere.

Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? no. i rarely used my locker after freshman year.

What’s your favorite DIY crafts youtube channel? i don’t have one. i don’t watch craft videos on youtube.

Could you spend hours on pinterest? i couldn’t spend hours on there, no.

Do you own plaid pants? no. i don’t own anything plaid anymore.

Have you ever had to wear a school uniform? i did not.

What was your high school’s mascot? redskins. now they changed it to redhawks.

What were your high school’s team colors? red and white or red and black? something like that. i never paid that much attention.

Who were your best friends in high school? jacob.

Have you ever been to Chicago? If yes, what do you like best about it? i’ve been there many times. i like the museums and whatnot. also the pizza is good.

Have you ever stayed in a hostel? nope.

Would you rather sleep on the top bunk or bottom bunk? i liked the bottom bunk when i had bunk beds. i liked drawing on the board of the bed above me.

Do you love camping? i enjoy it, but i don’t know that i love it. and i’ve never got to do any proper camping.

Would you rather sleep in a tent or under the stars? tent for sure.

What insects are you afraid of? basically anything that could potentially hurt me. i don’t like being bit or strung or anything like that.

Have you ever had a secret admirer that left you notes? nope.

Are you close with your cousins? not anymore. used to be. now i’m not really close to anyone though.

Are you close to any aunts or uncles? not anymore.

Are you close to your grandparents? not really, no.

Who betrayed your trust? most people have..

Who was your first best friend (apart from a sibling)? ally.

What was your favorite thing to do at sleepovers when you were younger? watch movies i think? maybe play games or talk or something. i didn’t really have or participate in many sleepovers though.

What kind of popcorn is your favorite? buttered with jalapeno salt stuff on it.

Does your town have a big fountain in it? we might in front of our court house, actually. it’s king triton i want to say?

What is your town known for? we’re the maple city, so i’m assuming our maple trees.

Do you currently live in the city you grew up in? yup.

What’s one way in which you’re behind the times? i guess i don’t understand all the different slang terms that are used now..

What’s one way in which you’re still a child? i’m honestly not sure.. i guess i’m not as independent as i could be sometimes?

What’s one way in which you’re old? i feel like i’ve always had an “old soul”. also. i don’t really enjoy all nighters anymore. ha.

Do you feel old or young? Or do you feel both at different times? both at different times.

How old are you? twenty-five.

Do you know what you want to do for your next birthday? If yes, what is it? not a clue. i will be happy to just spend it with my family.

What is the last new thing you discovered that was really good? the ultimate mocha frappuccino from starbucks was okay. i went and got one because i had a gift card.

What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? if eliana decided to come on her own before i’m supposed to be induced on thursday. lol.

Do you usually forgive when someone hurts you or try to get revenge? forgive. i’m not really one for revenge.

Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? If so, what? english, choir, and history classes.

Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? nope.

What time of day were you born? i wouldn’t know without checking my baby book or asking my mom.

What is the best hairstyle you’ve ever had? i don’t really know. i don’t think i’ve ever had anything all that great to be honest.

Do you think you look better with dyed hair or natural hair? natural.

Do you think your look better with curly hair or straight hair? wavy at least.

Do you have bangs? not anymore. i get them from time to time but then they grow out and instead of getting them trimmed i just go back to not having them. Do you think you look better with bangs or without? i don’t know. i don’t think i look good either way so it doesn’t really matter. Do you think you look better with long hair or short? longer for sure. What’s your favorite rock band? i really don’t know. i don’t listen to that much rock. Who’s your favorite country singer? thomas rhett or luke combs i think.

Do you ever listen to Celtic music? occasionally because my dad does sometimes.

Do you listen to Hillsong? nope. Did you try the unicorn frappuccino, and if yes, were you a fan? i did not. i don’t really like going to starbucks all that much.

Have you ever won a contest? nothing super impressive, but yeah. Have you ever wanted to be a model, actress, singer, or dancer? singer. When you look at your baby pictures, do you recognize yourself? yeah... Has your hair color changed since you were a toddler? i don’t think so? Do you wear matching socks? not usually.

How many drawers does your dresser have? five i think? maybe six. Do you own an American flag shirt? i think i might have one with some kind of american flag on it.

Do you own a British flag shirt? i do not. Do you have a seashell collection? we used to. i don’t think we kept it though. Do you have a rock collection? nope. Do you decorate for Halloween? i’m hoping to next year. What is your favorite thing to do in the pool? i just like to swim around a bit and float... Flamingos or pineapples? hm. pineapples. Cacti or seashells? seashells. Maple tree or palm tree? maple trees. Dreamcatcher or wind chimes? dream catcher. Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? i think so, yeah. Do you have a crush right now? it’s more than just a crush. What color was your first car? i haven’t technically got my first car. both cars are jacob’s. before that, i drove my parents’ vans. Was your first car used or new? ^^^

Do you have a car now? jacob’s. What color(s) eyeshadow do you wear the most? brown-ish tan color.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 26)

Oh boy, this chapter was a wild ride. Buckle up kids.

Azula finally mustered up the vigor to leave her bed. Her hair fell haphazardly about her face and she could just barely bring herself to care enough to move it. She thought of the Nyūkirā in spurts and pondered upon how things would have been if she stayed with them. Such thinking only seemed to agitate her already touchy mood. She was slipping back into the depressive state she had worked so hard to shed and she couldn’t seem to break the fall. She leaned against her dresser, in doing so she reminded Sokka to begin his daily pestering. Just when she’d thought she’d grown to ignore it, he’d come up with a new tactic. That day’s approach seemed to be bribery. Without saying a word, he handed her a platter of pastries and exotic fruits complete with a fluff of citrine colored fire-lily and soft golden dandelions. She assumed he had just picked them himself. “I thought you’d like to share breakfast with me.”

 “Oh, I’m sharing it?” She quirked an eyebrow.

 He sighed, “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I was hoping…”

 She let him pick the first thing as she contemplated what she’d like to eat first. “So, what are you going to hassle me about this time?”

 “Hassle you?” He asked innocently. “I’m simply going to say that this tunic would look lovely on you.”

 She respected his persistency, and the flattery was helping his case very much. But she still didn’t feel like getting changed. So instead she plucked a grape from the platter and flicked it at him. “Nice try.” She commented. His face when the grape nailed him in the eye might have made her laugh some time ago, it was a good attempt on her part. But a failed one. She rested her cheek in her palm and stared blankly at the wall. Every now and again she would absently pick something from the plate until there was nothing left to take. Sokka eyed her with just about as much intensity as Azula stared at the wall. She buried her face in her hands, tired of it. Tired of what? She was just tired in general, she decided. But again it seemed as if she had run out of tears to shed. She was glad for that at least. She welcomed the sense of numbness that was setting in, the sort of lack of care that came with having no further to fall.

 This time Sokka wasn’t going to back down. “You’re going to start taking care of yourself again.” The look in his eyes told her that he was going to leave her with no option. One way or another it was going to happen. “We’ve already been through this.” He motioned about a room that was growing mildly messy again and at her increasingly disheveled appearance. Between the withdrawal pains and tiredness and her dreary state of mind upkeep was becoming a low priority again. It was a complete mirror of the woman she had become months back. Maybe she had never fled from that person at all. And with such a revelation she could feel her self-esteem dipping again. She should show Sokka out, how many times would he see her in such a haphazard state and still feel as though she were worth standing by? How many times before he became embarrassed by her? He was still prattling on and on in the background, her attention was wholly divided until she caught, “I thought we were passed this, you were doing so well.” So how could she tell him that she was feeling worse than she had when he first came to visit her. How could she tell him so when she didn’t even think that it was possible to feel worse than she had then—more so when things seemed to be going better for her.  She didn’t understand, not at all. For the first time, she considered that maybe her sullen mood was another part of the crash. It made her feel a tinge better to think that she might not be completely at fault for her poor mood. “Alright fine, we’ll do this the hard way.” Sokka perked her attention again. Before she could assess what might have been said before it, he lifted her from her chair and snatched up the tunic he was so adamant about.

 .oOo.

 Azula sat at the edge of the spring, rigid and unmoving. He may have delivered her to the bath… he may have prepared it just to her liking…

But he couldn’t make her get in.

 On the contrary, she pulled her dirty silks closer to her body in some petty act of defiance. Sokka was patient though, he sat in the water waiting for the soft odor of lavender and resiny scent of pine to beckon her in. By comparison the robes she wore smelled awful, she eyed the bath longingly but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cave. She didn’t have much of it left, so she would cling to the last scraps of her pride like her life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

 It would seem that Sokka was a man of tough love. At last, having grown impatient, he picked her up and dropped her in the water. The princess let out a sharp and surprised holler which seemed to amuse the Water Tribesman.  With a scowl she threw her drenched robes off before they got the chance to cling uncomfortably to her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man who was reveling in his small conquest.

 Engrossed in his one-man victory party, Sokka was no longer paying attention to her. She decided that it was a good thing too because she was feeling self-conscious and out of sorts again. She was quite literally exposed and she hated being so. The nakedness left her so much room to nitpick herself—it was the very reason she dreaded taking a bath in the first place. Every single time, without fail, she always seemed to assess and judge every aspect of herself. With her reflection clear in the water, it wasn’t hard to do.

 Her hair was usually the first thing she noticed and for once she wasn’t entirely horrified by the state of it. It has seen better days but she decided that the length of it was well enough. At worst her haircut resembled Zuko’s a bit too much for her liking—only an inch or so longer. Tossed by the spring water and its heat, her locks had a slight curl to them, she didn’t know how well she liked that.

For as much sleep as she was doing, her eyes still looked dull and sleepy. Faint bags seemed to mock her—what was the point of sleeping so much if she still looked like she’d been awake for weeks on end?

 Snarling to herself, Azula tried turning her attention to something else. She spied a bar of soap, if she was in the bath she may as well make the most of it. She let her fingers glide over a few different bars, trying to decide which scent she desired. Drumming her nails over the different soaps, she was reminded of how overdue her manicure was; her nails were long but not elegantly so and the majority of them were chipped or broken. They were all uneven. She snatched a soap at random, telling herself that it would be an easy fix. All she had to do was fetch herself a nail filer. The thought was comforting, despite knowing that she wouldn’t.

 For a brief period, she was alright as she carefully ran the bar of soap over her arms and legs. A tingle of cinnamon wafted up from the bar. She liked cinnamon, it would seem that even on auto-pilot, she could still find her favorite scents. She scrubbed at her chest and neck for longer than she needed to, just so she could let the aroma linger about her for a few extra moments. It was a fresh and welcomed change in comparison to the musky smell of staying in one place for too long. Every so often she would catch Sokka stealing a peek at her.

 On one completely unflattering, libido killing moment she looked up to see him scrubbing his pits. When he met her eye, he slowed his scrubbing and wriggled his eyebrows. And then he winked at her as if he was doing the sexiest thing in the world. She turned away, slapping her hand to her forehead. She had enough embarrassment of her own, she didn’t need to live vicariously through his. He must be what everyone was referring to when talking about how some men were closer to their primitive, barbaric natures than others.  

 He, Azula decided, was a complete and utter idiot on all accounts. She wondered how she let herself get attached to him. Lost in that thought she found herself stroking her arms with the soap again. She shook her head as if that would help her regain focus and ran the soap over the parts of her back that she could reach.  

 Azula’s attention was piqued again when she brought the soap over her sides and belly. Her torso was still rather pale. Regardless, the princess wasn’t too concerned at this; her arms, legs, and face had received more sun exposure than the rest of her. That’s how it always had been, even before she’d gotten into cactus juice and Ruby Tears. No, that didn’t bother her any. She continued scrubbing in inattentive, almost numb circles. At first, Azula had felt good about finally having her appetite back. She felt less frail and breakable. But running the soap up down her belly, she was beginning to feel as if she had been over doing it. Coupled with her lengthy bouts of inactivity, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her former lack of appetite was catching up to her and then some. In some way or another, she seemed to be constantly swinging from one extreme to the next.

 Mercifully, Sokka pulled her away from her newfound insecurities. “What is with you and soap?” He asked. “And what do you have against shampoo.” She had half the mind to chuck the bar at him—if only to take his gaze from her—instead she set it in its rightful place with an exaggerated flare.  

 “If you like shampoo so much then you can come over here and wash my hair for me.” Truthfully, she just wanted him in closer proximity. She vaguely recalled being soothed the last time he shampooed her hair and she could use mollification.

 He hesitated, “if that’s what you want.” As per usual, his touch was tender and needlessly careful. She allowed herself to relax a little. She wondered if it would be easier for him to wash her hair if she faced away from him, but he didn’t ask her to so she continued to stare at his bare chest. After a certain point, the princess deduced that he was using too much shampoo. She could see more frothy white in her hair than black. “And you said I use too much soap.”

 “I have to make sure your hair is washed good.” He countered, before dipping her head back and pouring water over her it. After a few more cascades he tilted her head forward again. “There!” Sokka exclaimed more to himself. Then to her he spoke, “nice and clean.” He combed through her hair a few times.

 “Don’t make this weird.” Azula grumbled, as if it wasn’t already. Her voice was short of its usual punch.

 “Too late.” He rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the other fell between her shoulder blades. She could feel him tapping his fingers upon her back as he mulled over whether or not there was anything left to do while in the bath. He realized with an, “oh yeah” that he had forgotten to wash his own hair. His touch left her skin as he went to fetch the shampoo again. With nothing else to do it was her turn to stare. In her eyes he was a better sight than she.

 His dark complexion complimented the hot shades of the spring walls. His hair and grown some as well and he had taken to stringing wooden beads through the longest of the strands. His face was getting a bit scruffy again but it was hardly her business how he wore his facial hair. He must have been aware, for he was shampooing his beard. The firebender always knew that he was sculpted but this was much more pronounced with droplets of water trickling over his biceps. No wonder he could carry her with such ease. The water traced the lines of his toned abs and Azula found her face flushed. If he asked, she would say it was the temperature of the springs. Her cheeks grew hotter still, she used to look something like that. Maybe not so obviously as him, but she used to have some degree of muscle definition. Just like that she felt gross all over again.  Dejectedly, Azula wrapped her arms around her middle, dropped herself on one of the rocky seats within the spring, and let the water ripple and churn around her.

 She felt dizzy, a sensation amplified by the heat of the water, her head dipped and she gripped the side of the spring. She slumped over, her face preciously so precociously close to the water that her bangs grazed the surface. She felt Sokka’s arms curl under her shoulders. He lifted her from the water and set her down on the rocky deck of the spring. She lowered herself to the floor and waited for him to fetch her clothing. Her body convulsed once and then a second time. She was so tired of it. She slammed her fist against the floor twice, clenching her teeth as another tremor passed. She only stood when he offered her a clean towel. After rubbing it over her hair, she wrapped it tightly around herself. When she found herself sufficiently dry, Azula tossed the towel to the side and retrieved the dragon tunic and pants Sokka seemed to adore so well. Pulling the top over her head was one thing, a simple task—one that she probably should have completed the first time Sokka asked. Getting comfortable was another; it fit more snugly than she ever wanted to admit. How had she managed to stray so far from the perfection she craved?  She tugged at the bottom of the tunic and gnawed on her lower lip. “What are you staring at?” She snapped, turning her furious golden gaze on Sokka.

 “Nothing.” He held his hands up.

 He was a dreadful liar. He was judging her and she knew it. She used the last of her energy to shove past him and storm back into her room where she practically threw herself onto the bed and bunched herself up. Resentfully she noted that, doing just that was exactly the problem; she should have been working on her firebending or on her bendingless combat forms or anything useful really. But she was too exhausted. She was always tired and she was tired of feeling tired which inadvertently escalated the feeling.

 Sokka only had his pants on when he entered her room. Apparently, it was too hard for him to put a shirt on under pressure. “Are you alright? Usually you feel better after you’ve taken a bath.”

 “Usually you don’t force me to do it.” She hissed, concluding in that moment, that it was all his fault for making her get up in the first place. She wouldn’t have been able to judge herself so harshly if he hadn’t presented her with such a golden opportunity.

 He still refused to back down. “You needed it.”

 “Thanks.” She spat.

 “Anytime.” He replied with just as much venom.

 “I hate you.” She hissed. “Very much.”

 “I’m just trying to help.” The way he drew the third word out was telling enough that she was testing him. But she prodded some more.

 “I don’t need your help.”

 His arm gestures were almost comical. First, he swept them out in a rainbow of an arc and then he threw them in front of him. After that, he slapped both of his palms to his head. In one final dramatic display his lip twitched and he threw his shirt to the floor and stomped off like the neanderthal she used to think he was.

 She rolled over and turned her back on the spot he’d just left. He was wearing her out. The arguing was taking its toll and she pondered upon if it was worth it. All getting him railed up did was sink her mood even deeper when he finally lashed out. But as many things were, it was a habit.

Maybe when she woke up she could pretend like it didn’t happen.

 That wasn’t the case. Though Sokka was back in the room with her, he looked just about as pissed—maybe more so—as he did before she had fallen asleep. So she closed her eyes again and pretended like she hadn’t woken up. With any luck she’d be asleep again. With any luck she wouldn’t wake up.  She looked at her wrists, running her fingers over the raised scars, dimly she wanted to open them up again. If she did she wouldn’t have to worry about finishing her detox. She wouldn’t have to worry about who she’d be afterwards. Azula wasn’t ready to come off of the tears and she was even less prepared for self re-discovery of any sort. That kind of introspection had never been good for her. She shuddered, asking herself why she had burned her crutch. She dug her nails into her skin, leaving four small puncture marks. She full intended to drag them down when Sokka’s hand closed over her wrist.

 “Don’t do that.” He reprimanded roughly.

 “Don’t tell me what not to do.” She replied in a horse whisper.

 Sweeping his hand over his face for what seemed like the tenth time that day, he started over, this time speaking softer. “Look at this. You’re hurting yourself.” He pried her hand away from her wrist and propped her up against himself, with her cheek on his neck.

Apparently showing signs of physical distress was enough to get him to drop his frustration with her. He peered down at her with all the pity she hated being shown. One hand rested on her head and the other held her by the wrist. He stroked the field of scars with his thumb. “You have to stop doing that.”

 “Then find me some other way…”

 “Some other way to what?”

 “To distract me from.” She pointed to her head, hoping that he would fill in the blanks. Her thoughts were overbearing and was desperate to distract herself from them.

 “What did you do the first time?”

 “Drugs.” She replied matter-of-factly.

 “Well what are you thinking about that’s bothering you so much?” He asked.

 “Right now? Or in general?” She would have a new problem by the next day.

 “Let’s focus on right now.” He replied. “What upset you so much earlier?”

 Azula rubbed her temples. She couldn’t tell if the ache was from the stress or from the usual. It was probably the product of both. She didn’t want to have this discussion. She didn’t want to have it ever. “It’s been three months. I’m still a mess and I look like hell!” She spoke at a volume she hadn’t intended. “I—”

 “That’s not true.” He interjected.

 “Oh, it isn’t?” Azula pouted. “Prove it.”

 His arm slipped down from around her. “Will you be okay if I leave you for just a moment?”

 “Depends, how long is that moment going to be?” She questioned.

 “I just have to go get something.”

 .oOo.

 Sokka took a deep breath. He supposed then was as well a time as any. With one last look at the woman on the bed he got up. She was so tense, it was a wonder that she hadn’t begged for a new pouch of Ruby Tears or for a bottle of cactus juice. He was halfway down the hall when he ran into the Fire Lord, before the man could even speak Sokka uttered a quick, “not now Zuko, I’m busy.” He watched Zuko shrug. He pushed the door to his room open, it smelled like him and he missed it. He shuffled through his things until he found what he was looking for.

 “What’s that?” Katara asked, leaving him to wonder how many people he could run into in one quick trip down the hall.

 “Art.” He replied instinctively and then added, “don’t worry about it.”

 He could hear Toph mutter, “oh so Sokka McSecretStockings will show her his painting but not us.” Aang’s snickers followed him the rest of the way down the hall.

 He inhaled again, he wasn’t sure how she was going to take this and he was afraid to find out. She was laying down again when he entered the room. Very still at that, with her injured arm out in front of her. An instinctive sort of fear took over. He took a careless step closer and collided with the bedframe. The princess jolted up. “What are you doing?” She drawled sleepily as she adjusted the position of her legs. “Don’t you know how to walk?” Her left hand came to rest on her ankle.

 “I forget when I’m nervous.”

 Azula scrunched her nose. “That’s a terrible thing to forget.” She looked down and plucked a strand of hair from her tunic. He gave her a quick onceover. He really did love how the outfit looked on her, it was his favorite by far. It somehow seemed to go with and highlight her haircut. A sharp haircut that accented her softer facial features; a delicate nose and subtle cheekbones—a trait she shared with her mother. He didn’t think he ever studied her so closely, he could practically start a new portrait…a better one. Without her lipstick and eyeshadow, she looked almost adorable and innocent. Her whole ensemble struck his fancy in the most pleasant way. He couldn’t fathom why she would think so lowly of herself.

He was already getting flustered and he hadn’t even revealed the picture yet.

 She tapped her fingers on her ankle. “Well? What did you have to go get?”

 He swallowed the nervous knot in his throat. His stomach was jittery. “Well, I’ve been working on this painting…”

 Azula knit her brows, “you’re finally going to show it to me?”

 “You seemed interested and I thought now would be a good time.” With fingers that shook slightly, he pulled at the sheet that covered the canvas. “I worked really hard on it and it means a lot to me.” He turned the canvas over and held it out to her.

 Her expression seemed to dim as she ran her fingers over the paint. “Why?”

 “I was fed up with drawing trees and hills and I had no inspiration. I was going to paint the palace and I saw you in the window…” He trailed off. “When I said that you helped me, this is what I meant.”

 “Why are you showing this to me now.” Her tone seemed dark and sullen and he was beginning to regret his decision. The bemused look on her face only added to his anxiety. Of course, she didn’t like it, he had painted her in a less than flattering state. But he still thought it looked nice.

 “I don’t know.” He started. But he did. He knew very well, he was just timid to say it out loud. He did anyways. “Because I think it’s pretty. I painted something that I thought was beautiful and I guess I wanted you to know that.”

 The princess remained dauntingly silent.

 “I’d like to paint you again, now that you’re getting better.” He confessed. “I think that it’ll look even better than the first.”

 “Is that right?” She asked, her voice still very hushed. It wasn’t so hoarse any more as it was when she was on the Ruby Tears and smoking from her kiseru. He didn’t realize that he had missed the silky sound of it.

 “It is.”

 Azula stared at her palms. “You think I’m beautiful?”

 He nodded and took her hand, it was clammy again but he would ignore that. “Very.” Now that he had said it aloud…now that he had made it real, he didn’t know what to do with the admission. He still didn’t know exactly what he felt for the princess. She seemed equally as puzzled about how to take his revelation. He sighed inwardly, he was being ridiculous; he only told her that he found her attractive, it’s not like he confessed to loving the firebender. But that was just it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if that there was much separation between the two confessions. He wasn’t sure at all of just what he felt for her.

 .oOo.

 A horrible three weeks it had been. And for a great deal of time she thought it would end as dreadfully as it had begun.

 She felt fragile and naked—perhaps a little uncomfortable—but at the same time she felt…relieved. Maybe even pleasant.

 She dabbed at her eye with her sleeve.

“Thank you Sokka.”

[beeezie]

All We Are

Astoria's painful memories surrounding Christmas during the war clash with Draco's insisting that she help him decorate his tree. Feelings are messy, trauma is messier, but it all (sort of) comes out in the wash.

December 2001

It’s not every day your world ends.

At the core of it, that’s really why I don’t like Christmas. Christmas in my fifth year was the day my world ended and a part of me died. We’re a few years removed from the war, now, so I feel pretty confident saying that that part of me is just… gone and never coming back.

I didn’t go home for the holidays the year the Carrows had taken over the school. I’d been too worried about what might happen while I wasn’t there. I’d ended up spending it frantically trying to learn healing spells from my textbook while my friend Eliza drifted in and out of consciousness on our bathroom floor because an aspiring Death Eater had used sectumsempra on her for being a halfblood.

He’d been a shit wizard, so Eliza hadn’t bled out in the corridor, but the memory of her crying, “Astoria, please don’t let me die” as she lay on the cold stone floor still haunted my nightmares. We were lucky that Anthony Goldstein had come across us - I’d already suspected he was a Potter sympathizer, but that night had confirmed it. My friend probably would have died sobbing in my arms rather than just stuck in St. Mungo’s for trauma after the war had ended if he hadn’t helped us.

Of course, the stairs had let him carry her up to our dormitory, which had been disconcerting for a number of reasons. I’d filed that away as being a problem for another time and then cornered him two days later to get his help with laying every spell possible into the door to stop people from getting in.

I guess what I’m saying is that Christmas had some problematic memories attached to it, even aside from my never much liking it in the first place. I was far enough removed from the war that talking about Christmas didn’t make me anxious anymore, but I still didn’t much like it.

My boyfriend seemed to feel differently, though.

“So I got a Christmas tree,” he told me when we were out getting drinks a week and a half before Christmas. He was about a week overdue for a haircut and three days overdue to shave his beard. I was okay with both of those things - I hadn’t realized that I was the sort of person who liked the vaguely-scruffy look on men before I’d started dating him, but I did. The blue sweater he’d worn under the deep green pea coat currently slung over the empty chair next to him suited him, too - it brought out his grey eyes and made him look a little less pale.

I’d been about to pick up my glass. Instead, I pulled my hand away and studied him. I had no idea what kind of response he was looking for. “Oh,” I said eventually. It was only after his face fell that I realized he’d been genuinely excited and trying very hard to mask it.

“It’s a small tree.” His finger circled the edge of the coaster, and the words spilled out of his mouth a little too quickly to feel natural. “Really small. I was just wondering if you’d help me decorate it.”

I weighed my options. On one hand, I didn’t like Christmas, but on the other hand, I did like my boyfriend, even if it had taken me months to adjust to being friends with a reformed Death Eater and longer to come to grips with wanting to date him. “No Death Eater ornaments?”

He let out a breath I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “New ornaments,” he confirmed. “I promise. Nothing from my parents. We can go to the winter market tonight and pick some out.”

I watched his finger, which was still circling the coaster. “Draco, you know that Christmas really isn’t my thing, right?”

“I know,” he said. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

I took a swig of my hard cider. “Yeah,” I said after a minute. “Okay.”

A smile broke across his face, and pushed his chair back. “I’m getting another. Do you want another?”

“Sure.” He paused on his way past me to press his lips against my forehead; when I leaned into him, he ran his fingers through my shoulder-length brown hair. My favorite bartender winked at me from across the room as she filled up our glasses - she’d called his feelings for me long before I’d been aware of them - and I smiled back at her.

It wasn’t uncommon for us to sit in the bar until it closed, but today we headed out to the winter market in Diagon Alley after we finished our next round of drinks. It was pleasantly chilly without being frigid; I was warm enough in jeans and a thin sweater underneath my red, knee-length coat, and while my socks and gloves were both thick, I hadn’t needed to charm them into staying warm.

Diagon Alley’s winter market goes up on December 7 and comes down on Christmas Eve, and it’s almost impossible to be sad in it - the red and white striped tents spiraling around to the circle of food venders is a sight to see, and the smells that fill the air as you get close are enough to make your mouth water. Small flurries erupt over the top of the tents. Sometimes they’re just flurries, and sometimes they spell out words and names like the cheap advertising gimmick the cold practical Ravenclaw in me knows that they are.

The sentimental part of me doesn’t much care. It’s still pretty.

We cut through the little gaps in between the tents to get to the center - it was cold enough that I wanted something to warm me up, and I suspected that Draco agreed. We bought two enormous sugar cookies in the shape of Hogwarts and two cups of perfectly warmed apple cider. I’d finished my cookie and was halfway through my cider by the time Draco was finished checking his for poison. “Good?” he asked, shoving the small potion bottle back into his pocket.

“Really good,” I said, taking another sip. Judging from the look on his face when he bit in, he agreed with me.

After we’d finished, we wandered through the stalls to scrutinize the ornaments. “What about this?” I asked him, holding up a miniature snitch. “To fly around the tree, I mean?” Its wings fluttered slightly, and he grinned and held out his hand.

When we’d been in school, I’d idly wondered whether his main interest in playing Seeker was showing up Harry Potter. Dating him had disabused me of that notion.

I turned back around to scrutinize the rest of the ornaments. “What about this?” I suggested, pointed at a bright red ball with a silhouette and the caption ‘The Chosen One’ underneath it.

“Seriously, Astoria?”

“Well, you said he was sort of your friend these days.”

His nose was still wrinkled. “Yeah, which is not the same thing as putting Potter on my fucking Christmas tree. Try again.”

I turned away from him, not even bothering to hold back my grin. Teasing him was too easy to be sporting, but it never stopped being fun.

When we left, we had a strand of blinking blue lights and a dozen ornaments, including the snitch. He’d vetoed my attempt to get a miniature lion to perch on the branches, too, but he’d finally ended up okaying a sphinx so I’d stop bothering him about getting something lion-related.

“You do know that you’re not actually a Gryffindor, right?” he asked as we climbed up the stairs to his flat. “Like, you were sorted into Ravenclaw.”

I shrugged. “Barely.” I glanced back at him just in time to see him wince - he still wasn’t thrilled about the revelation that I’d nearly been a hatstall. We came to a stop in front of his door, and he stuck the key in the lock and whispered the spell to unlock the door.

“Why do you keep reminding me of that?” He tossed the bag onto his couch and pulled off his gloves.

“Because it’s fun to see your reaction.” He rolled his eyes, and I threw my arms around his neck. “I think the better question is, why are you dating someone who was almost a Gryffindor?”

His hands rose to my waist, and he leaned in to brush his lips against mine. “That’s why,” he said softly. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he grinned. “Come on. You said you’d help.”

For someone who had apparently wanted my help decorating the very small tree sitting on the dark-stained table he kept in his living room for the rare times he actually ate at a table, he was very, very particular about where the ornaments went. When we were finally done and he was scrutinizing the tree from across the room, arms crossed, I collapsed onto his couch. “Did you actually want my help, or did you just want to spend time with me?” He grinned but chose not to answer the question, which was answer enough. Just as he was moving the coiling green snake to a different branch, I noticed a very formal-looking invitation laying on his side table. “Draco.” He glanced over at me. His expression, which had been uncharacteristically light-hearted just a moment before, darkened when he saw what was in my hand. “Can I?”

He sighed. “Yeah, you might as well. I’m getting a beer. Do you want one?”

I nodded, and he stalked off toward his kitchen. I turned my attention to the invitation. The parchment was thick, and the script kept turning slightly different shades of green.

Draco,

You are cordially invited to the Malfoy Manor for a Christmas Day celebration. Please confirm your acceptance by owl.

We look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely, Narcissa Malfoy

I looked up just as he came back into the room. “Did your mother really write this?”

He handed me one bottle and took a long swig from the other. “Yeah,” he said, sitting down next to me. “Along with a much more personalized guilt trip a few days ago.”

I battled with myself for a moment. Compassion won out over hating his family after I took a sip to console myself for not going with the latter. “You’re not going?”

His lips were pursed. I wasn’t sure if it was because he knew how tempted I’d been to call out their Death Eater affiliations or the existence of the Death Eater affiliations in the first place. “No,” he said after a long pause. “I’m not. I told her that in November. Their friends hate me and would be probably celebrate if someone killed me, and I hate their friends and keep trying to put them in prison. She just…” He shook his head and took another drink. “I’m meeting up with Theo a couple days later - I can’t wait to hear how many people bitched about me where she couldn’t hear them.”

“Didn’t he just get engaged to Daphne?”

Draco winced. Becoming friends with me had significantly soured his opinion on my estranged sister. “Yeah, well. That lapse in judgment aside, Theo’s not a dick, okay?”

“Then he’s definitely thinking with his dick, if he’s marrying my sister.”

Draco let out a loud snort, leaned forward to put his beer down on the table, and slid over to wrap an arm around me. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m in the position to judge anyone for thinking with his dick.” I made a face at him, and he leaned in to kiss me.

His lips were soft, and for a moment, I lost myself in the kiss. When he broke away to move down to my neck, though, I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster through the haze filling my head, “Good to know that -”

“Astoria?” His hand was starting to creep up the inside of my leg, which made it very difficult to concentrate on anything else. “Stop it.” I gave up on the prospect of picking a fight; kissing him was much more fun, and I did know that my boyfriend liked me for a lot of reasons, most of which didn’t involve his dick.

I reached for the bottom of his shirt, and then thought the better of it. “Draco?”

“Mm?”

“Can we - I just was wondering whether - you have a bed, right? Not, like, in a having sex way, it just…”

His eyes darted toward the door to his bedroom. We hadn’t actually had sex yet, and I wasn’t planning on changing that tonight, but there was still something that felt different about making out on a bed as opposed to the couch, which was probably why we hadn’t done it yet.

When we laid down on his bed, it was exactly as strange as I’d thought it would be. As soon as I pressed my lips against his, though, I forgot about the strangeness - we’d been dating for long enough that when his tongue brushed against mine and his hand trailed up my leg, it didn’t just feel good (although it did feel good) - it felt safe.

“Draco?” I murmured again when we broke away from each other. He raised his eyebrows. “Can I - can I stay with you tonight, maybe? Like, here? With you?”

“In my bed?” I nodded. “With me?” I nodded again. “Fuck yes.” Our lips met again, and I rolled onto my back. He followed me, positioning himself in between my legs to thrust his hips against mine. As our kiss deepened, I reached for the bottom of his shirt.

He stripped it off and tossed it on the floor. The band around his forearm was green today, which I found both endearing and ridiculous - I knew he’d claim that it was just in keeping with the holiday spirit if I pointed it out, and he knew that I’d see through that to his stupid Slytherin pride.

When he reached for the bottom of my shirt, though, I hesitated - I still don’t love my arms being bare. He ducked his head to brush his lips against my neck. “You don’t have to,” he murmured into my ear. “And if you do, I promise I won’t comment on - on anything. I just really like your tits.”

My face immediately started to get warm, and he grinned at me. “Go ahead.” I stretched my arms above my head again. “I think you like making me blush, though.”

“I really do.” He tossed my shirt to the side, and I arched my back so he could reach around and unhook my bra. True to his word, he didn’t comment on the fresh cuts as he ran his hand up my arm and leaned down to my chest. When his mouth closed around my nipple, I let out a gasp. “But I love making you moan,” he murmured as he moved to the other breast.

“You’re good at it,” I managed to get out. Between his tongue and the feather-light touch he was using on the crook of my arm, my mind wasn’t in a position to articulate thoughts very well. He didn’t seem to notice when I reached down to unbutton my pants, but when I lifted my hips to push them off, his gaze jerked downward and he let out a hiss. “Touch me,” I breathed, kicking my jeans to the floor. He didn’t move; we hadn’t done this before, and I seemed to have taken him by surprise. “I said -”

“I heard you.” He trailed his hand down my stomach, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. I hadn’t thought he’d hesitate -  he’d always been very clear that he was quite happy to go as far as I wanted to go, which meant both that he wasn’t pushing me and that he wasn’t the one putting the brakes on.

There was something about that approach to sex that I found very comforting. The formative years where most people started having sex and figuring out what they liked in a partner had been shrouded by the war for me - first the trauma of the war itself, and then the trauma of the aftermath. I’d had my first kiss with Emma Dobbs by the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts toward the end of my fourth year, and it had been nice, but then Dumbledore had died and the world had fallen apart and Emma had fled to New Zealand.

Nothing had been the same after the war, and Draco was the only boy I’d ever kissed. The reverse wasn’t true, and the less I was wearing, the more self-conscious I felt about it.

“I should get you in your underwear more often.” He leaned in to kiss me again. “You’re beautiful.”

I felt my face get warm. I didn’t always deal well with sincere compliments, but it didn’t seem like a good use of my time to argue with my boyfriend about whether he thought I was pretty, especially since the bulge in his trousers felt to me like a pretty convincing confirmation of his sentiment. “Thanks.”

He slipped a finger underneath my underwear and glanced at me. When I nodded, the rest of his hand followed, and he let out a loud groan. “Fuck, Astoria. You’re so wet.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was his touch or his words that were more thrilling, but the combination jolted through me and left me whimpering into his chest even before his thumb found my clit. He slipped one of his other fingers into me and leaned in to bite down gently on my neck. When I gasped and threw my head back, he started to move his thumb a little faster. “Do you usually get this wet when we make out?” he asked softly. I nodded. “Good to know.” He slipped another finger inside of me, and I moaned again. “Next time, maybe I should see how you taste.”

I felt a very pleasant shiver go up my spine. He was very good with his tongue in general, and I doubted that oral sex would be an exception to that rule.

He let himself fall next to me. “Don’t stop -” I started to say, and then I felt his fingers slide back into me and his thumb renew its movement.

“Roll onto your side,” he said softly. “It’s an easier angle for me.” When I did, he edged closer - I could feel him through his jeans, and his hips were moving with in time with mine. He used his free hand to sweep my hair back from my neck, and after a moment, I felt his lips against it. I closed my eyes as his fingers started to move faster, and I lost focus on anything that wasn’t his body and my body and how good everything he was doing felt. The pressure reached a tipping point, and I cried out as the vibrations spread through me.

When I opened my eyes and twisted around to see his face, he was grinning. “Fuck,” I said. “I - fuck. That was good.” I rolled onto my back, and he pressed his lips against mine. “Thanks.”

He studied his hand. “You know, I don’t think I want to wait until next time to see how you taste.” My stomach lurched as he ran his tongue along one of the fingers he’d had inside me.

I didn’t even try to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Do I actually taste good?”

“Mm. Do you want me to prove it to you? Because I will.” His gaze swept down my body again. “Fuck. Seriously, can I eat you out next time?”

My stomach did another flip. “Sure. I - er - do you want me to - you know?” His eyebrows knit together, and wrinkles appeared in his forehead. He clearly didn't know what I was talking about. I could feel my face burning, but I tried again. "Doyouwantmetogetyouofftoo?"

I said it in a rush, but his eyes widened a little, and a sigh escaped his lips. "I mean - do you want to?” he asked. “Because if you want to, fuck yes.”

Sarcasm usually didn't work on Draco when it came to this sort of thing, so I bit back my snark and said, "Yeah. I do." He opened his mouth. “I’m sure."

I’d never seen my boyfriend naked before. Over the past month or so, we’d started to get into the habit of taking off our shirts, and I’d definitely grown to sympathize more with all the girls I’d overheard giggling in the lavatories in school about him. I had disagreed with them at the time, because he’d been a Voldemort-sympathizing prat entirely too obsessed with showing Harry Potter up, and unlike some people, I’ve never been able to look past who a person is to their appearance. Now that Draco was a Voldemort-opposing prat who was sort of friends with Harry Potter, though, I could appreciate the way his hair fell in his eyes.

I could also appreciate the leanness of his chest, and the subtle flex of the muscles in his arms as he tossed his jeans and boxers aside. I’d never found dicks to be particularly attractive, but there was definitely a jolt in my stomach at the site of his.

He’d noticed my hesitation. “Astoria, you really don’t -”

“I want to. I’m just… just processing.”

He stretched his arms over his head. “I can understand that. I’m very attractive.” I stuck my tongue out at him, though I did feel a little better that he wasn’t so secure in himself that he was above making jokes to mask anxiety and insecurity.

Especially since both were things that I seemed to make him feel, which made me feel a little less self-conscious about my lack of experience.

Knowing that he was also nervous below the bluster helped give me the courage to climb on top of him. He immediately let out a very loud groan. “You know your underwear is soaked, right?” I started to rock back and forth, and he moved his hands up to rest on my hips. “Why are you still wearing them?”

“Because if I take them off, we’ll definitely end up having sex.” He made a face. “How - how do you want me to do it?”

“However you want.” He slid one of his hands over to start touching me through the thin cotton.

I whimpered and started to rock harder. “Can I suck it?”

He was beginning to breathe much more heavily. “Fuck yes.” As I edged down the bed, he added, “Um - put your lips over your teeth, okay? When you put it in your mouth?” I made a face at him, and he winced. “Sorry - I just don't know what you know.”

That part I had known, but I was fairly certain that there were plenty of things I didn't know, so I didn't mock him. “How will I know if what I'm doing is right?”

“I’m so hard for you right now that I don’t think you can do it wrong.”

I ducked my head down and ran my tongue up his length. I was rewarded with a loud groan, which gave me the confidence to be a little bolder. "Fuck," he said as I took him past my lips. "Oh, fuck.” I began to bob my head up and down, and he groaned again. I started to look up at him - I was curious to see what expression was accompanying those sounds - and he gasped, “Please don’t stop.” I pushed my head down further, and his hips jerked upward. “Fuck,” he said again. “Next time you suck me off, I want to go down on you while you do it.” I felt myself tighten a little at the thought, and I whimpered into him. His hips were moving faster now. “I want to make you come, and then I want to feel those lips on my cock as I slide into you.”

I moaned again. My heart was starting to race; there was a not-insignificant part of me that wanted to pull my underwear off and climb on top of him so he could do just that. I hadn’t gotten comfortable telling him what I wanted to do with him yet - it just felt awkward in all the wrong ways - but if his talking like this was having this kind of effect on me, it was probably something I should try.

“I want to tease you until you scream,” he said. “And then I want to bury my cock in you and grab your hips and fuck you until you collapse and all you can do is moan and beg me not to stop.” I felt his fingers in my hair. “Oh, fuck, Astoria, yes.”

I didn’t stop until he tapped my shoulder. “Astoria,” he rasped, “I’m about to - you should -” I stopped and looked up at him just in time.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes for a moment, still breathing hard. When he didn’t say anything, I asked, “I - was that okay?”

He snorted. “Did you hear me?” That made me grin. “Hand me my boxers. Yes, Astoria, that was more than okay.”

I reached down to grab them off the floor, and he wiped them across his stomach. “I just - I know I’m not - I’ve never done that before, and -”

He tossed the now-dirty boxers back on the floor. “Astoria, you have no idea how often I’ve thought about you sucking me off. Believe me when I say I’m not disappointed.”

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Okay.” He sat up to reach over to his drawer, and I added, “You talk a lot.”

He snorted as he pulled a clean pair of boxers on. “Yeah, well.” He bounced back onto the bed. His chest was still damp with sweat, as was the sheet where he’d been laying. “Do you mind it?”

I shook my head, and he reached out to grab me. “Thanks,” he said, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug and burying his face in my hair. “That felt amazing.”

I could feel my face starting to get warm again, so I changed the subject. “I - I was thinking,” I said. “Why don’t you come to dinner with us? For Christmas, I mean? Since you’re going to be alone?”

When I twisted around to look up at him, he had a wary expression on his face. “Who’s ‘us?’”

“My brother’s family. Maybe my parents - I dunno, they might be doing something with Daphne, they did Christmas with us last year. It’s not really a huge thing for us, anyway. My brother and Addison do it for the kids more than anything else.”

I wasn’t sure he’d processed most of what I’d said after “parents.” He’d frozen as soon as that word had come out. “Your parents,” he said. I couldn’t read his expression. “You want me to meet your parents. Don’t they hate me?” I shrugged, and he let out a sigh. “Okay. Yeah.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “Could I - I mean, do you want me to stay over on Christmas Eve? If I do that?”

I didn’t answer him at first. The honest answer was that I would like that quite a lot, especially after tonight - but I also had plans on Christmas morning. “I have something to do earlier in the day,” I said after a long pause.

“What do you have to do?”

It was an honest question, and he was really just curious, and somehow, that made the memory hurt even more. I looked away from him and rolled onto my stomach. There were things I didn’t like to talk about with anyone, and Eliza was one of them. The bed shifted under his weight as he sat back down. When I felt his fingers rest lightly on my shoulder, I stiffened, and he pulled his hand away.

After a few minutes of silence, he sighed. “So I’m pretty sure this is about your plans on Christmas and not anything I said while you were blowing me, but reassure me.”

“It’s about Christmas.” I buried my face in a pillow.

“Okay.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes. I tried to calm my hammering heart and dug my nails into my palms, which only helped a little but was the best I could do right now, since I was quite sure that my boyfriend would be very upset if I went into his bathroom to hurt myself rather than talk to him about my feelings - and besides, it was a bad habit I really was trying to break irrespective of his feelings on the subject. I didn’t know what he was thinking.

He spoke first. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” My voice was still muffled by the pillow.

“Astoria, please talk to me.”

I wanted to ignore him. I wanted to want to storm out. That was usually my reaction when people tried to make me talk about things I didn’t want to talk about. His voice wavered a little at the end, though, which reminded me that he actually was a person who cared about me quite a lot, and that was why he was pushing me to talk.

And anyway, he’d been a Death Eater. I still felt a little like he deserved to have what he’d been a part of rubbed in his face.

“I’m seeing my friend. She’s in St. Mungo’s.”

I turned my head to look up at him; from the suddenly-tense look on his face, he’d understood the subtext there. “The war?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I stayed at school for Christmas that year because I was afraid to go home and have - have something awful happen. Some stupid Slytherin cursed my friend Eliza - you probably didn’t know her - and she started bleeding.” I felt strangely disconnected from my body; it was definitely me talking, of course, but I didn’t feel anything at the words. I just felt numb. “She bled a lot, and she was begging me not to let her die, but I didn’t know how to make the bleeding stop. I tried everything, I just - I didn’t know.” I stopped talking; the numbness was retreating as quickly as it had taken hold, and the fear and anxiety I’d felt that night was flooding back to me, overwhelming all of my senses. I could even smell the blood. “I think - I think she would have died, if one of the Potterclaws hadn’t come across us. He got us back to our dormitory and fixed her, but it - everything was just - it was too much. She tried to kill herself a few months after the war ended. She’s - she’s doing better now, but she’s been in St. Mungo’s ever since. I dunno if she’ll ever be well enough to leave.” I hesitated. “My brother said someone in your year sort of recovered from the - the shell shock from the war after she was in St. Mungo’s for awhile, and she’s working for the Ministry now. So maybe.”

I heard Draco take a deep breath. I wondered if he knew who’d gotten out. I wondered if he knew who’d cursed her. If he knew either, he didn’t share. “I’m sorry.”

Something about that response made my blood boil. ‘Sorry’ was just so inadequate for what had happened. “Like you didn’t know they were doing that,” I snapped. “You have no idea how it feels to get cursed like that -”

“Actually, I know exactly how that particular curse feels.” His lips were pressed together. I readied myself to tell him off about the Cruciatus Curse, because it couldn’t kill you and there wasn’t so much blood overpowering your senses and invading your space, but he ended up surprising me. “Sectumsempra, right?” I stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I had it used on me, and believe me, that’s not something you forget.”

He didn’t seem to be joking. “What are you talking about?”

“Potter used that on me in our sixth year, and I almost died. Maybe I would have, if Snape hadn’t found us.” When I didn’t respond, he sneered at me. “Yeah, Saint Potter did some shitty stuff, too. I was a prick, but at least I never tried to kill him.”

He seemed sincere, and I hated it. “Well, you did try to kill Dumbledore,” I shot back. “Everyone knows that.” The look on his face made me regret saying it, but I didn’t apologize.

“You know, the endless rendition of everything I’ve ever done wrong is getting old,” he snapped. “For fuck’s sake, Astoria, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, maybe cut me a little slack and let the rest of the world treat me the way I deserve.”

I opened my mouth to tell him off, and then I closed it again. He wasn’t right, but I didn’t know that he was exactly wrong, either. “That’s who I am, though. You knew that.”

I was expecting the fight to escalate - he hadn’t seemed especially combative since we’d become friends, but he’d had a reputation at school for having a bit of a temper. When he spoke, though, there was genuine pain and uncertainty in his voice, not anger. “Do you even like me?”

I would have felt better if he’d insulted me. I couldn’t think of any other time that he’d sounded anywhere near this vulnerable, and it made my stomach squirm in a very different and far more unpleasant way than it had been earlier. When I looked up at him, he was starting at the wall. “Of course I do.”

“Maybe you should act like it, then.” He didn’t meet my gaze, and I looked away.

There was a reason I hated talking about feelings. I wasn’t very good at it.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Look, I know I deserve to have it rubbed in my face, and I know that people on my side hurt people you care about - hurt you.” He glanced down at the scars crisscrossing my arms, and I hugged them closer to myself. “And I know there were plenty of people my age - and younger than me - who were a lot braver than I was. I just - I just wish someone would stop giving me what I deserve for long enough to give me what I need. I was scared, Astoria.” His voice cracked when he said my name. It felt like a punch in the gut. “I was scared that he would kill me and kill my mother, and the only person from your side who offered to help ended up dead. It’s not fair to expect comfort from you, but I don’t really - I don’t really have anyone I can ask, and I don’t know where that leaves me.”

I wanted to ask him who’d offered to help him, but I let it go. “I used to like myself, you know, and now I don’t.” Tears filled my eyes, and I stopped talking. After a moment, I felt his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t shrug it off; I was still angry at him, but I was less angry than I’d been, and I wanted comfort more than I wanted to yell at him. “I’m always afraid now. They made me a coward.”

To my surprise, he let out a snort of laughter. Before I had the chance to get offended, he said, “Are you seriously telling me that the war fucked you up by making you a coward? Astoria, if You-Know-Who’s supporters couldn’t make you back down, nothing can. You’re not a coward. You’re one of the bravest people I know.” I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t. The silence had just started to become uncomfortable when he cleared his throat. “Can I hold you?”

I considered that for a minute, and then I nodded. The bed squeaked a little as he lay down next to me. When his arm circled around my stomach, I pushed myself closer to him. His grip tightened, and he rested his head on mine.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t like you,” I told him. “I didn’t think I would. I do, though. You’re my favorite person other than my brother. I didn’t think I’d ever trust anyone ever again, after - after the war, and after what Daphne did. But I trust you.”

“I know you do.” He kissed the back of my neck. It was a different kind of kiss than the ones he’d given me earlier, but I’d found that I liked his comforting kisses as well as the passionate ones. “You know, sometimes spending time with you gives me whiplash. How the fuck did we go from you blowing me to fighting about the war?”

I shrugged. “You used to be a Death Eater. I don’t like Death Eaters. Sometimes we fight about it.” I heard him take a breath, and I added, “Don’t say that you’re not one anymore. I know that. If I didn’t know that, I wouldn’t be here, and you’d never see me in my underwear.”

“If only you’d told me sooner,” he said lightly. I elbowed him, and I felt rather than heard the laughter in his chest. “Look, I know you like solutions, not apologies. Do you want to be alone on Christmas Eve?”

There was an unspoken heaviness between us right now that had nothing to do with our fight and everything to do with my problematic coping mechanisms - but he knew enough to know that stopping me from cutting myself rather than stopping me from wanting to was just a selfish way to make my feelings not his problem. He thought my feelings were his problem, so he tried to take care of them rather than just the symptoms of being sad. That was one of the reasons I trusted him.

I shook my head.

“Will having me there help?” he pressed.

I considered that. “Yes.”

“Okay. Why don’t I plan to stay with you on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day? When you go to St. Mungo’s, I’ll make myself scarce, and if you decide that I’m not helping, I’ll just leave.” I rolled over to study his face. There wasn’t a trace of anger anymore - he just looked concerned.

I nodded. “I - thanks.”

He let out a breath I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re my girlfriend. Supporting you is in the job description.” I rolled my eyes, and he leaned in to kiss me. It was somewhere between a comforting kiss and a passionate one, and it reminded me that there really was a reason I’d decided to date Draco Malfoy. He was sometimes a bit of a prat, but he’d somehow turned into a decent person underneath that, and he really was good at making me feel a little less alone.

A/N: Sorry this was a bit later than expected. There was a lot of editing/fine-tuning - hopefully it was worth it!

Related: +Sidenote: Greengrass stories (tumblr) | +Sidenote: Drastoria stories (tumblr) | +Sidenote: Greengrass stories @hpfanfictalk (organized chronologically)

[hesyungblud]

Dusk Till Dawn

A/N: so this is my first piece of shawn writing i’ve ever published! i hope at least one person enjoys it and i’m hoping to publish more soon. thank you to my girl @sensualshawn for always being a babe and helping me out with my writing. aesthetic is made by me so if you wanna steal it, at least let me know and credit it please. i try my best to get rid of all typo’s but there are probably some still hiding in there. please bare in mind that i am british and some spellings may be different to american spelling. enjoy!

- word count: 2,544 - warnings: none, it’s just kinda fluffy, kinda smutty, good balance of both - blurb: shawn and his girl’s first night / morning in his new condo

As soon as she started to stir, she realised she was somewhere unfamiliar which made her stomach turn. An uneasy feeling flowed through her body as she dared to open her eyes, peeking a look at her surroundings. But instead of seeing something unfamiliar, she saw a sleepy boy lying next to her on his front, his face opposite her, snoring softly as his back rose and fell ever so slightly through breaths. He'd become very familiar to her over the past 9 months, so much so that she used to hate sharing a bed yet now it feels empty when she doesn't have him there next to her.

The bedroom was hot, sticky and almost uncomfortable and as she looked around she could see that she wasn't the only one that agreed. The boy next to her was fully naked, one leg under the covers and the other on top. This made her smile for some unknown reason as she admired him as he slept. She longed to thread her fingers through his hair which was dark, thick and curly. He was completely overdue for a haircut but she was trying to convince him to grow it out just a bit longer. The length of it now, the messy, somewhat no style to it was the complete opposite to what his hair was like when they met - which back then was neat, trimmed and styled. But she loved his messy hair, it was her favourite.

It was humid in Toronto as it was at this time of the year, so God knows why he thought it would be a good idea to play about with the heating system on their first night in his new condo. The skies outside were overcast and cloudy, yet it felt like there was a heatwave ripping through the city. She sighed, wanting to get up to turn the heating off and to open some windows but she was just so comfy in bed with him, she wished she'd never have to get up and tear her eyes away from him but she knew she'd have to eventually. She flipped the covers off herself in one swift movement, probably a little too hard as he stirred and mumbled something which she couldn't make out. It still made her smile as one of his arms reached out to touch whatever part of her was closest to him, which was her waist. He pulled her towards him gently, which of course she obliged, shuffling forward to press herself against him, but the barrier of the covers not allowing their bodies to touch.

She was somewhat thankful due to how sweaty she was but she didn't care right now in the moment. She placed a hand on his cheek as their faces were now inches apart, using the other hand to finally lace her fingers through his curls, something she'd been longing to do since last night. Her thumb stroked over his cheekbone, making his lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners. She'd learnt to notice these small things ever since their relationship developed. The small things, like the way his thumb would stroke over the same spot on her back when he held her, the way his eyes would flicker all over her face, before focusing on her eyes and lips before leaning in to kiss her, the way he'd whisper in her ear and kiss just below her ear before asking her something important.

She wondered how long this feeling of being in love, the feeling of euphoria would last. She wondered if this was a forever thing now, a sure thing, even though they'd only been together officially for 9 months. She'd never been so fond of anyone before, she'd never met anyone like him and she knew for definite she'd never meet anyone like him again. They hadn't talked much about the future because right now, the present was all she could think about. How she felt, the way he looked at her - that was all that mattered. She had to admit that she had thought about it though, about the future. About how maybe they'd get married, have children, buy a proper house with a garden. Yes, they were still young but that didn't mean that they weren't completely and utterly infatuated with each other, which they were.

She couldn't wait any longer as she admired the sleepy boy now in her arms, as she placed a gentle, lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth, mostly on his cheek. His reaction wasn't drastic, he only pulled her closer as he took a deep breath in through his nose before finding her lips with his own as he pressed a kiss on her mouth. It lasted at least a few seconds as he grumbled something which sounded like I love you. She kissed him back with such passion, his arms tightened around her waist as the kiss broke off, them both now feeling empty and a little lost as he nuzzled his head in the crook of her neck. Her thoughts wandered to last night, which of course - they had christened the new bed in the condo. But it felt different to all the other times they'd had sex.

Their first time was at his family home in his tiny little box room on a single bed. His family were just across the hallway so they had to be extra quiet, so they didn't get caught and they didn't exactly wait very long before having sex, maybe 2 or 3 weeks. Every other time since then, they always seemed to be in a rush. He always had to get to a show in another country or she always had to leave to go back home. But last night was different, it was just the two of them in their own space, they could take their time. It was slow, passionate and caring - she thought. The two of them didn't see each other that often so when they did, it was all very desperate touches, hair yanking and pushing each other up against whatever was closest to them so they could strip each other of clothes. It wasn't like that last night.

After dinner, she excused herself to the bathroom and undressed, hanging up her red bodycon dress on the back of the door as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked good in her underwear, she thought. She quickly pulled on some lacy knee high socks and threw a thin dressing gown over her shoulders as she opened the door and peered out. He was clearly in his own world, humming along to a tune as he took off his trousers and socks, undressing as he got ready for bed. She coughed as she leaned up against the door frame to get his attention and he turned around straight away, his eyes widening as she smirked at him. He stuttered over his words, saying something like he wasn't expecting this as she started to walk over to him. She looked at him in awe, his white shirt now unbuttoned, leaving him in that and just his boxers and a watch. That damn Armani watch on his wrist was going to be the death of her, she thought. It was so unbelievably attractive on him.

His thumbs traced over the lace of her bra as their faces were now just inches apart. He shut the bathroom door behind her and pressed her against it as he kissed her on the mouth, his hands resting on the small of her back before dancing his fingers to her ass, where he squeezed it lightly which just made her want him more. His hands danced further as he broke off their kiss to bend down and hold the backs of her thighs, lifting her up in one swift movement as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was so unbelievably strong and she couldn't help but run her hands over his shoulders and arms as he held her up now only by pressing his chest against hers and an arm underneath her bottom. They'd only ever done this clothed before a couple of times so they both had a shock when they realised only 2 thin pieces of underwear were now separating them and she could tell he was growing harder by the minute.

The noises she was making as he kissed her neck and pressed himself up against her were only helping him. The soft gasps, moans and whimpers were getting him hotter by every single one and all he wanted to do was take her to bed but they didn't get time to spend with each other like this often, if ever, so he wanted to enjoy it as much as he could. But eventually when they both needed something more to satisfy them, she asked him to take her to bed and he breathed a sigh of relief as he somewhat stumbled over to the bed.

He placed her down as gently as he could, when normally he would drop her and immediately be on top of her straight away, it would be passionate but rough and as much as she loved it, she longed to actually make love with the boy she'd grown to be in love with. She crawled up to the top of the bed as he crawled up her body, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders as he did the same to her with her dressing gown. He kissed his way down her body from her lips down to her thighs. She gasped softly as he pressed his lips against her underwear and let out a loud moan. It turned him on so much that he had to compose himself and adjust himself in his boxers which were now straining uncomfortably.

"Are you okay?" He asked, bringing her back to earth from her daydream of last night. She nodded as he looked at her, a concerned expression on his face.

 "I'm fine, I was just thinking about last night," She said coyly, smirking at the boy who was now leaning over her as his eyes widened with a smile.

"Oh yeah? You wanna go for round two?" He said as he climbed on top of her, tickling her sides as he peppered her neck with little kisses as she giggled.

"Maybe when you're not so sweaty, It's too hot in here," She whined as she pushed at his shoulders gently, he mirrored her whine as his lips left her neck, giving him a chance to look at her naked body a little.

"You're pretty sweaty too, but I can solve it being too hot in here," He said and in one swift movement of his arm, the covers were by their ankles. She gasped and then giggled as he rolled them both over, her now on top.

He took this opportunity to look at her properly, to drink up all of her beauty as his fingers traced over her back gently, making her shiver. She traced her fingers over his chest, down to his toned abs as he tried to steady his breathing, along with his hips jolting slightly. She smirked as a finger reached the scar near his hip bone at the bottom of his stomach and he winced, not from the pain, but from it being a sensitive area on his body. He watched in awe as she leaned down to kiss it, her chest now covering his lower region which made him gulp with somewhat excitement. Seeing her do something as simple as kissing a scar on his body turned him on so much as the blood flowed to a part of his body that he wished he could stop. He didn't want to get hard but seeing her do this to him, feeling her tongue poke out and trace along the dent in his skin brought him out in a hot sweat as he tried to hold back a whimper.

She looked up at him, at how he was reacting to this and laughed from her throat before coughing. She kissed the scar one last time before getting up, out of bed to pick up her dressing gown off the floor. When she was covered, she went over to the windows to open them. She stopped for a minute to admire the view, to admire the pea-sized people in the hustle and bustle down below on the streets of the city. She got distracted, being taken aback by the beauty of the city when she felt a pair of hands snake around her waist which made her jump. 

"Come back to bed," He grunted into her ear as she closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of having him pressed up against her.

"You only want me to come back to bed so I can attend to that," She stuck her ass out, realising he was already semi-hard again as it poked at her backside. He grunted and moaned at the feeling as she turned around to see him standing there completely naked, his length half hard.

"C'mon, you can't leave me like this now you've started," He held his hands up in the air, protesting as his voice whined, echoing through the bedroom.

"You have a hand, don't you? Use that, that's what you have to do on tour. At least I hope that's what you do," She slapped his cheek playfully before climbing back into bed, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Of course that's what I do on tour," He shook his head, trying to not let the feeling of how extremely turned on he right now take over him.

"I'll help you out, once you've had a shower. And I'm hoping you'll return the favour, considering how hot you're making me right now standing there like that," She bit her lip and teasingly placed her hand under her dressing down between her legs. She was only doing it to tease him but she knew it would work.

"Fuck, okay," He cursed under his breath as he swallowed loudly and scratched the back of his head before wandering over to the shower. He wanted to touch himself so badly but he knew that it would be worth the wait, he knew it would feel better if she did it.

"Actually, I have a compromise for you," He smirked, popping his head around the door. She gestured for him to speak as she took her hand from underneath her dressing gown.

"Why don't you shower with me? I mean, It'll save water," He joked and she laughed, thinking he wasn't being serious. He was.

"Oh shit, you're not joking," She laughed again as she sat up, looking him straight in the eyes which were filled with lust and want.

"Do people actually do that? Fuck in the shower?" She asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

"You won't know unless we try it," He gestured with a finger for her to come into the bathroom which she obliged, that feeling she always got when she was around him intensifying as he pressed her body up against the sink, kissing her hard.

IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST A SHORT BLURB OR AN AESTHETIC, PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR THE RULES AND HERE TO GO TO MY ASK. 

[justanothermagicalbeing]

The Four Musketeers

Summary: A millennium ago, Mikael killed you to hurt Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah. Now when Esther is back in New Orleans with a new plan, she has resurrected your soul and put it into another body. But you have a plan of yourself – to get back together with your old best friends.

Prompt: 21. ”I thought… I thought you were dead.” Words: 1,199

A/N: This one was such a pleasure to write. I really hope you like it and that you like the way I wrote the reader.Thank you for your lovely request!

Your reflection bothered you endlessly. You disliked your figure, you hated your hair color – and that nose! Why could Esther not have chosen a prettier body for you?

You should probably just be happy to be alive; after all, you had not walked this earth for a thousand years. But you were well aware of that old witch’s plan about killing her children and putting them into other bodies – and if you were annoyed by your new look, it was nothing compared to how they would feel.

That was why you were walking into the Mikaelson Compound now (well, after you were done looking at your new body’s flaws and there were many). Esther might want you to play a dirty role in her evil scheme but you had no intention of doing so.

Your high heels clicked when you entered the building and it only took around three seconds before Elijah was standing right in front of you.

Elijah: Who are you and why are you entering my home uninvited? Without a knock, I might add.

You just laughed.

Y/N: Elijah, still trying to improve my manners. I’m surprised you never give up.

In a blink of an eye, you were grabbed by the throat.

Klaus: Who are you?!

Y/N: It’s nice to see you too, Nik.

His eyes flickered by the saying of his nickname. Only his family used that. But he did not loosen his grip the slightest.

Y/N: I see you’re still fighting girls half your size. But don’t you remember? I always win.

A small twist with your hand made Klaus fly through the room, landing right on top of his older brother.

You were just about to speak again when another person decided to join the party.

Rebekah: What the bloody hell is going on down here?!

Y/N: Oh, I was hoping you’d be here too Bex. It’s so nice to be with all of you again.

Rebekah: What on earth are you talking about?

While the two brothers got up on their feet, you looked at them carefully. They looked exactly like they had the last time that you had seen them. Sure, their clothes and haircuts had changed but the rest was all the same.

Y/N: Come on, you guys. Don’t tell me that you don’t recognize me. Or have you forgotten me through your many adventures over the past millennium?

Their eyes searched your body intensely but nothing seemed familiar – they were sure that they had never seen you before. Yet, your tongue reminded them of someone from their past. As did the sparkles in your eyes and the mischievous grin dancing on your lips.

On some level, the three Mikaelsons were pretty sure who was standing in front of them. But they were afraid. Afraid that they had had their hopes up too high. Afraid that it was not really you.

Eventually, Elijah gathered enough courage to say the name that they were all thinking about.

Elijah: Y/N?

You smiled genuinely. Not because they had guessed it but because of the tenderness in his voice and in their eyes. It seemed like you still mattered to them even after all of these years.

Y/N: In the flesh. Sort of, anyway.

Widened eyes, open mouths, and even a skipped heartbeat or two were the result of your reveal.

Rebekah: But… I thought… I thought you were dead.

Y/N: I am. Or I was, I guess. When you fled the village, your old papa dearest thought that my death would be the next best thing – if he could not kill you, he could at least hurt you.

Elijah: But how are you here, now?

Y/N: The old witch bitch resurrected me. She really doesn’t like you, does she?

The three of them stood still. Either they had a hard time understanding that you were really here. Or they were afraid of why you were really here.

Klaus: So, let me guess. Now when our dear mother wants our original bodies gone, you’ve come to help her to get revenge for your death.

You were not surprised about his words; no matter how long one had known Klaus, he would always have a hard time being trusting.

Even though Rebekah and Elijah were just about to speak up and apologize for his behavior, you did not let them. You understood Klaus’ worry and wanted to prove them wrong yourself.

Y/N: Actually, I’m here because I finally got an opportunity to see my best friends again. I’m not here to hurt you. I mean why would I? I died because you had a mad father, I can’t blame you for that. Honestly, the only thing I want is to enjoy living – and probably save your asses once in a while in between but when do I not?

You sighed when none of them moved.

Y/N: Come on, if I had truly worked together with Esther, don’t you think that I would have chosen a prettier body to jump into?

Your words brought smiles – you were exactly the same person as you had been those many years ago.

Rebekah was the first one to go near you and place her arms around you.

Rebekah: You have no idea how much I’ve missed having another girl around here.

Y/N: With those brothers, I sure can imagine it.

Elijah was the next one.

Elijah: It’s good to have you back, Y/N.

Y/N: Thank you, Elijah.

You had to wait a bit longer for Klaus but eventually his feet began walking towards you. His eyes were looking deeply into yours. You knew what he was searching for – sincerity. When he found it, he pulled you into a tight hug.

Klaus: Not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about you and how your life could have turned out if it hadn’t been for my father.

Y/N: Well, I probably didn’t have this hair color in any of those imaginations, huh?

He laughed and his siblings shared a smile and a knowing look.

Klaus: There’s the girl we know and love.

You slapped him playfully.

Y/N: I’m just saying that if you guys know of a spell which can change one’s hair color I’d appreciate if you’d tell me.

Rebekah: I may not know of a spell but I do know of a certain person who can take care of it. Things have changed during the last millennium, Y/N and all you need is a good hair dresser. And perhaps a shopping trip.

Elijah: But before you two do that, I think that we’re long overdue a good catch up.

Klaus: Indeed. We have a lot to talk about.

Y/N: Actually, you have a lot to talk about. I don’t have much to tell, the other side is rather boring. But I don’t mind listening to you talk – it’ll be just like old times.

Despite a wrong figure, a terribly wrong hair color and a disastrous nose, you had a feeling that your new life was about to filled with good friends, happy moments, and endless laughter. Because now when the four musketeers were back together, nothing would ever be able to come between you again. 

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