#wrote this half an hour before a six hour long class

[allgreekbitch]

@jegulus-microfic december 29, ticket, wc: 231

To say the least, Pandora was shocked when Regulus handed her a ticket to James Potter’s newest play.

She’s wanted to go for the past month, but ballet classes were too demanding given the proximity of their show, and when she did find some free time, the entire theatre was sold out.

So, she had every right to be shocked when Regulus told her he got tickets for them, because he either had to pay a fortune, or he had bought them a long time ago and he kept it a secret. And not to mention, he chose to go with her and not the secret boyfriend he’s mentioned a million times. Either way, her smile was bright, and she leapt into Regulus’ hug with the biggest thank you.

James Potter’s plays were known to be of perfect production, acting, and performances. She just couldn’t believe they were going to see him and his team live.

Now, if the shock of going to the show was grand, you can imagine the shock when Regulus told her to wait after the play because she’d meet James himself. And, more importantly, the shock when James Potter, the known actor she’s been dying to see live, walked up to them, grabbed Regulus’ waist, and kissed him right on the lips.

She was never expecting to hear Regulus say, “Pands, this is James, my boyfriend.”

[finelinefae]

my darling

synopsis: a love triangle

word count: 10.8k

contains: angst angst angst, love triangle, mfm, best friends to lovers, boarding school, violence, unrequited love,

a/n: i wrote this for wattpad during the My Policeman era. I wanted to post it here after re-reading it. I remember this being one of the first pieces of fanfic i felt super proud of !! warning it is pretty sad

. . .

Then — 1996

Dear Diary,

Today we moved into our new home in Halton. It’s small, quaint, and quiet—very quiet. The kind of place where everyone seems set in their routines, the same patterns repeating every day. I already miss London. Mum says this will be good for us, though. Good to get away from the drama. Good to get away from Dad.

The house isn’t as big as our old one. I have to share a room with Delilah now, but it’s fine—I’ll be off to boarding school by the end of the summer. Mum says I’ll enjoy it since she went to the same school at my age, but I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. Who actually enjoys living at school?

It’s a three-hour drive from Halton, which feels like a world away. I’m nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once. The feelings are so overwhelming they all blur together into something I can only describe as... heavy. Like my life is a snow globe someone’s just shaken up, glitter falling everywhere. It looks magical at first, but the reality is you’re stuck cleaning it up for weeks, finding it in the oddest places long after.

I miss my dog. I never got to say goodbye.

Dad cried when we left. I’ve never seen him cry before. He told me it wasn’t goodbye, just a "see you later." Mum always says Dad’s a good liar, but I don’t think he was lying this time. Maybe it was the tears—they don’t suit him.

-

Dear Diary,

Today I moved into my dorm at Southend Park School.

Mum was annoyed we had to wake up before seven to pack the car and drive me down, even though this was all her idea. She’s probably just tired—or maybe something else. I have a suspicion she’s met someone. I’m not sure how she moved on from Dad so quickly. Did she ever really love him?

My dorm has six girls, including me. I’ve mostly been talking to Ellis, who’s in the room next door. She’s fourteen, older than the rest of us, but only because her birthday is the 1st of September. Today’s the third, so her advantage is technical, but she likes to remind us.

Being alone here scares me, but it’s nothing new. Delilah always had loads of friends, and Dad was always working. Mum was usually out socializing, too.

Mum cried as we finished unpacking, promising she’d pick me up for half-term or that I could come home anytime. But I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.

Tomorrow is a full day of inductions, and I’m worried about making friends. Southend Park is a mixed school, and boys make me nervous. I’d rather have no friends at all than feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I still feel like I’m picking up glitter from months ago. I wonder when it will finally stop.

-

Dear Diary,

I made two friends. You’ll never guess—they’re boys!

Their names are Harry and Dylan. They’re both thirteen, like me, but they feel older somehow. They even live in the same dorm and invited me over this weekend.

We met during lunch in the courtyard. I was sitting alone when Dylan walked up first, chatting easily and cracking jokes. Harry followed behind, much quieter. Dylan has blond hair and a small scar on his eyebrow from climbing trees back in Morston. Harry’s hair is thick and curly—I wanted to touch it but stopped myself because, well, that would’ve been weird.

Harry didn’t say much at first, though I noticed him glancing at me. When I met his gaze, he blushed and looked down at his extra-polished school shoes.

We didn’t talk much again until the end of the day, on the way back to the dorms. That’s when we compared timetables and realized we share four classes, including English Literature. It’s just Harry and me in that one, though.

I never thought I’d be friends with boys, but I like it. It feels different from being friends with girls—less pressure to act outgoing or girly. I hope we stay friends. I like them both a lot.

. . .

Then — 2000

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N called, running across the field toward the headmaster’s office where Harry stood, focused on his Nokia flip phone.

Harry glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. He tucked the phone into his pocket and waved her over. Despite the end-of-day chaos, both were still dressed in their school uniforms. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her with a quick kiss, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. He loved how perfectly she fit against him, as though they were made for each other.

“What’s going on? Aren’t we meeting Dylan to go to Ellis’ dorm?” Y/N asked, frowning slightly as she looked around for their other best friend.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “We are, but Dylan got caught passing notes to Casey Becker in geometry. He’s stuck with thirty minutes in the headmaster’s office to make amends.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh warm and familiar. “Again? He’s going to get himself expelled if he’s not careful.” She slid her hands under Harry’s blazer, warming them against his torso.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger on her cheekbone. “How was your day?” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“It was fine,” Y/N replied. “I scored three points in netball, and Tessa Riley gave me daggers in the changing room.” She giggled, leaning into him.

Harry smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “That’s m’girl.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently.

“Oh, please, don’t make me sick,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking the moment.

“Hi, Dylan.” Y/N turned to see him strolling down the stone steps, his blazer slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She leaned back against Harry, crossing her arms.

“Hello, my darling Y/N,” Dylan teased, his tone playful as he lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

“Seriously, Dylan?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really need another detention?”

“Don’t you smoke, Styles?” Dylan shot back, grinning. “Besides, Mary would love to see me again after our chat earlier. She’s got a soft spot for me.” He smirked, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping away from Harry’s warmth. She was long used to Dylan’s antics—four and a half years of friendship had left little room for surprises.

The three of them had been inseparable since their first days at Southend Park Boarding School. Despite their differences in personality, they were like a family unit, supporting one another through the highs and lows of adolescence.

Dylan, the loudest of the trio, was notorious for his sharp wit and knack for trouble. Teachers despaired over his behavior, but students were drawn to his charm—especially the girls, who fell for his rebellious streak and the ever-present cigarette.

Harry, by contrast, was the golden boy: smart, polite, and beloved by staff. He balanced his role as student ambassador with captaining the football team, a position that made him one of the most popular boys in school. Dylan teasingly called him a “teacher’s pet,” but Harry wore the label without shame.

Y/N was the quietest of the three, rarely seeking the spotlight. She volunteered in the school library every Tuesday and spent her free time with her dorm mates. Still, Harry and Dylan were fiercely protective of her, and she often marveled at how lucky she was to have them.

The trio walked out of the school gates toward the housing blocks, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun. Harry carried Y/N’s backpack on one shoulder, his free hand clasping hers. Dylan trailed behind, typing on his phone with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Ellis doesn’t want you bringing anything to the party this time, Dylan,” Y/N warned, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what happened last time. If you pull that again, you’re getting kicked out of school.”

“My darling Y/N,” Dylan began with exaggerated sincerity, pausing for effect, “only for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

When they reached her dorm, Y/N kissed Harry on the cheek and took her bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you both later?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Dylan saluted her without looking up from his phone, while Harry smiled warmly. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Harry,” she replied before disappearing inside.

Harry and Dylan walked in silence toward their dorm. The tension was palpable, Dylan unusually quiet as Harry’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“We’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Dylan murmured, his voice low as the setting sun bathed the path in a golden glow.

Harry’s heart tightened. “No, we don’t.”

“Harry—”

“Shut up, Dylan. Nothing happened.” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting Dylan off before he could continue.

They stopped, staring at each other, the air between them heavy. Harry’s frustration burned in his eyes, while Dylan’s sadness hung like a weight on his shoulders.

“I love her,” Harry finally said, his voice trembling. “I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love Y/N.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed into their dormitory, leaving Dylan alone on the pavement. Dylan exhaled shakily, the ache in his chest unbearable.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Diary,

It’s been a month since my fifteenth birthday, and Harry finally asked me out on a date. It feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so perfect you fear waking up to find it never happened.

To be honest, I think I’m already in love with him. He’s always been so kind to me, much more than Dylan. Harry carries my bag to class when I have netball, and sometimes, during English Literature, I catch him staring at me. There’s something about the way his gaze lingers that makes me feel seen.

In art class, he taught me how to use watercolors for the first time, his thumb brushing against mine as he guided me. Little moments like that remind me how much I care for him—so much that the thought of being without him feels unbearable. Is that dramatic? Probably. But I can’t help it if it’s true.

Even when I’m talking to Ellis during lunch or before bed, my mind wanders back to Harry—his smile, his eyes, the way he laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny, and how he hugs me differently from everyone else.

It feels strange to be fifteen and falling so deeply. What do I know about love at this age? How much further can I fall?

I think I’m going to love him forever. I hope he loves me forever too.

-

Dear Diary,

Harry kissed me today. My first kiss—with the boy I love most in the entire world.

I knew it was going to happen. We’d just finished dinner in the dining hall when he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens. Dylan wanted to come along, but Harry shook his head, saying he wanted it to be just the two of us.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked back and saw Dylan standing there, his expression heavy as he watched us leave. He kept staring at Harry, even as we walked past the window overlooking the gardens.

Harry brought me to the tulips because he knows they’re my favorite. He said my braid looked pretty today, and that’s when I knew—I truly, completely loved him. It was the worst braid I’ve ever done, but he still thought it was beautiful.

We sat on a swinging bench, listening to birds returning to their nests. When he said my name, it sounded magical, like it had been made for his lips alone. I turned to look at him, and that’s when he leaned in and kissed me.

It felt like a scene from a movie.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to kiss someone for the first time. The way their breath mingles with yours, the world fading away as you close your eyes and step into a place so tender it consumes you. It makes you wonder if you’ve ever been truly loved before.

We only stopped because we heard a rustling in the bushes. We looked around but didn’t find anything, so Harry walked me back to my dorm. He kissed me again outside the door, and I floated through the rest of the night, humming to myself as I got ready for bed.

But when I think back to that moment, I could swear I saw a tuft of blond hair sticking out from behind a bush.

. . .

Now — 2000

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of the mirror on Ellis’ floor, carefully applying mascara as Fiona Apple played softly in the background. Ellis sat nearby, painting her nails a deep red.

“I’m just saying,” Ellis began, waving the brush for emphasis, “you and Harry have been dating for two years, and you haven’t done the deed yet?”

Y/N flushed at the mention of sex, shifting uncomfortably. She hated talking about it, even with Harry. Maybe it was because she didn’t know much about it or because she’d never had a safe space to ask questions, but every time the topic came up—whether in conversation or during truth or dare—she wanted to run for cover.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” Y/N said evenly, her voice robotic as she repeated the well-rehearsed answer.

“The right time?” Ellis scoffed. “I’ve never seen a couple more in love—it’s nauseating.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind drifting to moments when she’d wanted to take things further with Harry. But he always stopped before it went too far. Sometimes it made her feel like she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, desirable enough—but then he’d kiss her softly and remind her how beautiful she was, stroking her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve done... things, but not that.”

“Is Harry religious or something?” Ellis asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Y/N replied with a frown. “He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he’s waiting until marriage,” Ellis mused.

The thought of marrying Harry made Y/N’s heart swell. She’d dreamed of it ever since their first kiss in the gardens—walking down the aisle in a white dress, Harry waiting for her at the end, tears in his eyes. Maybe they’d both cry.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Y/N said, her voice soft but certain. “I love him enough to wait as long as he needs me to.”

Ellis groaned, grabbing a bottle of vodka from her bedside table. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had a single drink.” She poured herself a shot and downed it in one go. “Okay, continue.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to her reflection, humming Queen’s Love of My Life as her thoughts drifted back to Harry.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Harry,

Today we went to the beach—the three of us. Me, you, and Y/N. I know in most situations it’s you, Y/N, then me, but in these letters, it will always be me and you.

We’d been planning this trip for weeks. It’s a three-hour drive to the coast from school, and Y/N had been complaining about the journey the entire time. I didn’t mind. Is it wrong of me to want to sit next to you on a bus full of people not one of them knowing who we are for three whole hours? Our knees touching for three whole hours? Sand on your feet and your hair salty from the sea, inhaling your scent and wanting your hand to touch my thigh for three whole hours?

When we got there, the morning was overcast, but by the time we hit the sand, the sun broke through the clouds. It was perfect. The light caught your skin, making it glisten, and your eyes shone with that impossible sea-glass green. I wanted to look into them forever, but you were too busy looking at Y/N.

I tried to catch your attention—touching your shoulder as I passed by, reaching for the beach bag at the same time as you, brushing my fingers against yours. But it didn’t matter. You only had eyes for her, and I only had eyes for you.

When you kissed her in the gardens, a part of me died. I had been pining for you for so long, silently hoping you’d see me, but it was always her. I felt stupid, running miles afterward, the wind howling in my ears: You fool, you idiot, how could he ever love you?

I didn’t want to feel this way, Harry. I tried to bury it, to pretend it wasn’t real, but when I met you, everything I’d hidden about myself unraveled.

The day wasn’t without its drama. Y/N, distracted, stepped into the road thinking the approaching van was the bus. You moved so fast, grabbing her and pulling her back before the van could hit her. I watched the terror flash across your face, the way you held her afterward as she cried. You kissed her forehead, comforted her, showed her the kind of love I’d only ever dreamed of.

And I hated her for it.

I feel terrible admitting this because I do love Y/N. I truly do. But most days, I hate her, and only because she has you.

When we finally got to the beach, the three of us ran toward the waves, shedding our clothes as we went, laughing like we were carefree children. For a moment, we were. We left our troubles behind in the sand.

You swung Y/N over your shoulder as you splashed into the water, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your muscles flexed. You were a work of art, Harry, something meant to be admired in a gallery. And I was nothing more than an observer, longing for what I could never have.

Later, Y/N went to get ice cream. Before she left, she asked for your order, and I already knew what you’d say—mint chocolate chip. The way she looked surprised made me feel smug for a second, but that quickly disappeared when she said it was her favorite too.

While she was gone, I felt a cramp in my shoulder. “Let me,” you murmured, and before I could answer, your fingertips ghosted over my shoulder, pressing into the tight muscle.

I couldn’t breathe, Harry. You were so close, your breath warm against my neck. For a split second, I thought if I just turned my head, I could kiss you.

I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Even if you do.

. . .

Now — 2000

Dylan and Harry were in their dorm room, preparing for the party. Harry stood in front of the mirror, anxiously gelling his hair back.

“I think I’m going to do it,” Harry said suddenly, turning to face Dylan. “I’m going to go all the way with Y/N.”

Dylan froze, his heart sinking. He lit a cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant as he perched on the windowsill. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice betrayed him, tinged with irritation and jealousy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, are you sure it’s the right time to sleep with her? After... what happened?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that,” Dylan said, standing now, his voice rising. “Like you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I imagined it. But I’ve imagined kissing you enough times to know what’s real and what’s not.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching. “I was drunk, and you took advantage of me.”

The words hit Dylan like a slap, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Don’t try that with me, Harry. It might work in your petty arguments with Y/N, but it won’t work on me. You’re the one twisting the truth to fit your narrative.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Harry snapped. “I only care about Y/N. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you need to step away—from both of us.”

“Step away?” Dylan said incredulously, his voice breaking. “You want me to walk away from the only two people who’ve ever cared about me? You want me to walk away from you?”

Harry hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “You know how I feel about Y/N. I love her. I’m in love with her. Even if I felt something for you, it would never compare.”

“You’re lying,” Dylan whispered, his eyes glassy. “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.”

“You don’t know anything!” Harry exploded, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what would happen if someone found out? What it would do to Y/N? To us? I felt nothing! It was a mistake!”

“Harry—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Whatever feelings you have, whatever intentions, you need to get over them.”

“That’s not as easy as you think—”

“You have to.” Harry’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Dylan stared at him, shattered, as Harry turned and stormed out.

He left Dylan standing there, broken, feeling like Harry had taken his very soul with him.

. . .

Then — 1999

Dear Harry,

We’ve been assigned as partners in media class, and now we have to make a music video. Naturally, you asked Y/N if she’d star in it. You told her she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and that she’d be perfect for it. She blushed, of course, and said yes. Then you kissed her—so long and so deeply that I had to look away.

I imagined myself in her place, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in public, to have the world see how much I adored you. If it were allowed, I don’t think I’d ever stop kissing you.

Today, we filmed the music video. You wanted it to feel like a coming-of-age story. I’d wanted something more abstract, but I agreed to your ideas, nodding eagerly at every suggestion, whether it was brilliant or terrible.

We filmed in the gardens—my least favorite place in the entire school. That’s where you kissed Y/N for the first time, and if I could erase that night from my memory, I would in a heartbeat.

The sun was shining as you whispered into Y/N’s ear while I set up the camera. I tried to block out the sound of your laughter, the sight of her hand on your shoulder.

“Are we ready?” I called, my voice louder than I intended. You straightened up immediately.

“Dylan, why don’t you be in the video with me?” Y/N smiled warmly. She had that rare ability to make everyone feel seen, like she was radiating sunshine. It was impossible not to smile back.

“My darling, you know I’m not nearly as perfect as you,” I teased, watching her blush.

I don’t even remember when I started calling her “my darling.” The first time, I remember catching the flash of jealousy in your eyes. I liked that. I liked seeing you react to me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. You’re used to it now, but sometimes, when I say it, I still see a flicker of something in your gaze.

The music video took all day to shoot. Every time Y/N nailed a scene, you rewarded her with a kiss. I worked hard too, Harry. Shouldn’t I have been rewarded in some way?

When Y/N left for her library shift that evening, it was just the two of us. You wanted to capture the soft glow of the sunset, so we stayed behind to get more footage.

“My mother wants me to go into politics,” you said as we sat cross-legged on the grass, the camera between us. “But I’d love to do this—be a director. I’ve always wanted to be an artist of some kind. It’s a silly dream, but I think about it all the time.”

I could imagine it. You had a way of leading people, commanding attention without being arrogant. You cared so deeply—for the art, for the people—that it would probably destroy you someday.

“It’s not silly,” I said. “It’s never silly to dream. My God, Harry, we only live once. Might as well do everything we can to feel something in the little time we have.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me. For the first time, I thought you might be feeling a fraction of what I felt every day. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Y/N knows.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could’ve sworn you glanced at my lips.

Then, just as quickly, you diverted the topic. Grabbing the camera, you aimed it at me lying in the grass. “Looks like Y/N’s not the only model anymore,” you teased.

I tried to act indifferent, but I would’ve stayed there all night if it meant seeing you laugh like that.

It makes me wonder, Harry—do you know how much power you have over your friends? Do you know that you have two people who worship the ground you walk on? How does it feel to be desired? How does it feel to have a choice in who you love?

. . .

Now — 2000

“You’re here!” Y/N beamed, running into Harry’s arms and wrapping her hands around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple before setting her down.

The party was already in full swing. Students from across campus had crammed into Ellis’ dorm, the air thick with music, laughter, and the faint smell of alcohol.

“Hi, Dylan,” Y/N greeted, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re dressed pretty smart. Planning on impressing anyone tonight?”

“Only you, darling,” Dylan replied, forcing a wink and a smirk despite the ache in his chest. Harry’s words from earlier still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside.

Harry’s eyes darted to the cup in Y/N’s hand. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his tone light but concerned.

“It’s water,” she whispered with a smile. Harry relaxed. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and he knew that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, marvelling at her dress. It was the one she wore for special occasions—one he had once told her was his favourite. A pang of guilt pricked at his heart as she looked back at him, her doe eyes filled with love.

“Come dance with me!” she said, pulling him toward the living room. “Both of you! My boys!”

Harry and Dylan followed her to the dance floor. The song Love My Way blared through the speakers, and Y/N moved between them, carefree and radiant.

At first, Harry danced with her, his focus entirely on Y/N. But then his gaze shifted to Dylan, who was swaying along with the music. Something unspoken passed between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer.

Harry laughed when Dylan moved towards him and for a moment they had forgotten everything around them. Dylan was just Dylan and Harry was just Harry, two boys who felt something they weren’t allowed to feel in the eyes of everyone else.

Harry was so close, their faces almost touching and for a moment Dylan thought they might kiss. But the blissful moment was broken as Harry stepped away, shaking his head, “N-No.” He whispered, “No, No, No.” He shook his head, his eyes frantic in search of Y/N.

“O-Oh, Harry,” Y/N yelped as he grabbed hold of her hand and lead her out of Ellis’ dorm and over to her own, three doors down from where the party was happening.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” She cups his face in her hands and he exhales, trying to regain composure. This was the girl he loved, the only girl he could ever love and being in her hands felt like home. Didn’t it?

“Y-Y/N, I-I think I’m ready.” He presses his forehead against hers, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Her lips part in shock. She hadn’t been expecting this tonight and she wasn’t sure where Harry’s sudden desperation was coming from. He kissed down her neck as she tried to speak to him, “H-Harry, a-are you sure?” He nodded, his mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the sincerity behind them but also a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

He started to peel her clothing off, his fingertips gently brushing against her soft skin. She tried to steady her breathing but her chest caved in and out as the oxygen in the room seemed to be escaping as he moved down her body. “Harry,” She whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Y/N was stripped down to her bra and underwear. This was the most skin she had revealed to anybody but she trusted Harry with everything in her, he was her best friend. He blew warm air over the thin material of her bra and her nipples hardened, an overwhelming sense of desire and lust flooding her insides. It was so new and overwhelming, her hands shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on the roots.

“Baby,” He whispered, his hands cupping her thighs as he pressed kisses down her body.

“Harry, wait.” She murmured, his eyes looking up from where he was laying between her legs, “You’re still dressed.” She sat up and tugged on the hem of his sweater.

He laughed softly, as she struggled to pull the sweater over his head. She marvelled at the sound and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and she grinded her hips against his, “God look at you.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me Y/N. You can never leave me.”

“I’m never going to.” She said it like it was a promise.

His hands hooked the straps of her bra and he gently pulled them down, her breath hitching as the pad of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he inhaled her.

This was going to be perfect, she thought, nothing could go wrong.

She grinded her hips against him again, a groan eliciting from his lip and a name escaping past the lips he had kissed her with so many times.

“Dylan.” Y/N froze. Her blood ran cold, and she pulled away as though Harry’s touch burned her.

“What did you say?” She pulled away, suddenly being naked in front of him didn’t feel right, being in a space alone with him didn’t feel right, everything she had ever felt for him before this moment didn’t feel right.

“Y/N,” He reached for her but she slipped away from him, slipped out of his touch, a touch she begged for just moments ago.

Harry’s heart no longer existed, wherever it was it had abandoned him and left him here in this terrible moment to fend for himself. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he watched Y/N try to pick up her discarded clothes. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she was suppose to be picking up his clothes after a night making love to each other.

“Y-You said his name.” Y/N whimpered, she was panicking and Harry could do nothing but watch.

“Baby I-”

“NO.” She spat, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Harry watched as she turned around and clutched at her head, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She sobbed and sobbed, his hear wrenching at the sound of it. He had never heard a sound so painful in his life and he wanted to die in this very moment.

“No, No, No, No.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N please just let me explain.” Harry tried, crouching down in front of her and trying to place a hand on her now clothed shoulder.

“NO.” She pushed him away and leaped back, her back hitting the wall.

Harry was broken. He was truly broken. This was something well out of his reach in fixing and nothing he could do or say could make up for the fact that he had hurt the two people he loved and cherished the most in this world, in the span of one night.

“Get out of my room!” She began to scream, “Get out of here!”

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

“Hey, you guys in there?” Dylan’s voice called from the hallway.

Before Harry could respond, Y/N lunged for the door, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Get out of my room!” she screamed, her voice raw with betrayal.

Harry caught her before she reached Dylan, her fists pounding against his chest. “I’m broken,” she whimpered, her strength fading. “You broke me.”

And for the first time, Harry knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless.

. . .

Then — 2000

Dear Diary,

You know those secrets so big they feel like they could swallow you whole? The kind you promise never to tell a soul for as long as you live? At first, they consume you, taking over every thought and breath. But over time, they settle into the corners of your mind, a quiet part of you that only stirs when something triggers it.

Well, today I made one of those secrets.

It was a Tuesday, the day I volunteer in the library after school. There’s something peaceful about wandering the empty halls when no one else is around—a stark contrast to the chaos between periods. Mrs. Ableton asked me to deliver a stack of books to the English Literature cupboard. Our copies of The Catcher in the Rye were practically falling apart, so we’d ordered replacements.

As I walked through the hall, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye near the classroom where Harry and I have English together. Curious, I paused, almost dropping the books in my hands.

Harry was leaning against a desk, and Dylan stood in front of him. At first, I thought nothing of it and smiled, reaching for the door handle to make myself known. But then Dylan stepped closer, touched Harry’s hand, and kissed him.

I froze.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The same lips that had kissed mine were now kissing the lips of my best friend.

I wanted to cry, but I was too shocked to do anything but stand there, watching. A part of me hoped I was trapped in a nightmare—that I’d wake up, call Harry, and laugh about how silly it all was. But when Dylan pulled back, Harry grabbed his arm and kissed him again.

That time, I couldn’t watch.

I backed away, the tears finally falling. My mind raced as I searched for somewhere—anywhere—I could cry louder, scream even, because this wasn’t something I could cry about quietly.

Harry was mine. But he was also Dylan’s.

By the time I went to bed, I’d convinced myself I would confront them. I’d tell them I saw what happened and ask if we could move on, pretend it never happened. But as the hours stretched on, I realized I didn’t want to speak about it. Talking about it would mean reliving it, over and over.

I didn’t want to remember.

I just wanted Harry.

So, this is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’ll never tell a soul I watched Harry kiss Dylan in a way he never kissed me.

Even if it breaks me.

. . .

Now — 2000

“What happened?” Dylan asked. They were back in his dorm now, Harry pacing the room like a caged animal.

“She knows,” Harry muttered, his fingers pulling at his hair—a habit whenever he was upset. “She knows about us, what we did.”

Dylan collapsed onto the bed, his face pale. “How?”

Harry stopped and turned to him, shame written all over his face. “I said your name.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands. Images of Y/N, broken and sobbing on her bedroom floor, flashed through his mind. She had begged them to fix her, but they were the ones who broke her.

“It’s fine,” Harry rambled, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll give her some time, however long she needs. Then I’ll explain. I’ll explain it was a misunderstanding.”

“Harry,” Dylan said gently, standing to take Harry’s hands in his own. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Y/N to get over this.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and a sob escaped him as he crumpled into Dylan’s arms. Dylan ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his cheek against Harry’s head. “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

“I hurt her so bad, Dylan,” Harry cried. “I love her, and I hurt her.”

“She was always going to find out,” Dylan said softly, the truth cutting deeper than any lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

Dylan sighed. “Why do you always talk about how things are meant to be? You act like your life was mapped out before you left the womb. Was it ‘meant to be’ that the three of us became inseparable? That you fell in love with both of us because you care so deeply? That I fell in love with you because you see art in everything? None of this was ‘meant to be,’ Harry. It just happened. And now we deal with it.”

Harry pulled back, tears streaking his face. “You still love me? Even after I pushed you away?”

Dylan smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek. “I love you despite everything.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Dylan’s, and for a moment, it felt like all their pain had been lifted. “Dylan,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he said the name again and again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You can say my name as much as you want, love,” Dylan murmured. “I’ll always be here.”

. . .

Three weeks passed and the friends were no longer talking to each other, instead they acted as though they didn’t know each other as they passed each other in the hallway.

Harry had to try and not flinch when he saw Y/N scurry pass him, her eyes red and bloodshot as Ellis comforted her, glaring at Harry as they did. He wanted to speak to her but he was never given the chance to, rightly so considering what he had done to her.

Dylan and Harry, mostly Harry, thought it would best to keep their distance for a while. It killed them both to not be around each other but for the sake of their friendship with Y/N, they shared small moments of brief eye contact and touches throughout the day. Neither of them knew what was to come for the both of them but this limbo was enough for now.

Dylan ate lunch alone and as he did, he listened to the conversations of everyone around him. He wondered what it felt like for them to go about their day feeling like they belong in their own skin and not feel ashamed over who they love. He had never felt so alienated and so out of touch with himself.

He had been given an after school detention for an hour with Mr Henley after calling him sexist in front of the class. No one was around when he left the classroom until he saw a group of girls walking across the field.

At the end of the line was Y/N, wearing her netball uniform.

She must have caught sight of him because the next thing he knew, she was walking up to him. He had to check behind him to see he was seeing correctly.

“Hi Dylan,” She keeps her distance for reasons unknown to him but being around her again made him relax, he missed the friendship he shared right at the very beginning when they were thirteen and picking each other up from class to go to the sweet shop after school.

“Hey Y/N.” He offers her a smile.

“How are you doing?” He didn’t miss the way she gripped her bag like she was trying to stop herself from saying anything she really wanted to.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Y/N huffs, “I’ve had better days.” “Y/N-”

“Just tell me this,” She starts, “H-How long?”

Dylan decided he would be as honest and as straight to the point as he could be, it was what she deserved at least.

“Y/N the only thing we did was kiss one time. Harry stopped it because he’s in love with you.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

“Y-Yes.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, “We could never just be three best friends could we? It was always going to be complicated.”

“We could still be best friends Y/N.”

“But it’s not the same now is it?” She bit back and Dylan realised he needed to be careful with what he said. “Is he sad?”

“Terribly. Sometimes I hear him crying in his room at night.”

A silence fell between them which was strange. Y/N and Dylan has always had a brother-sister relationship, Dylan was always one to tease Y/N and make her laugh but right now it seemed all he was doing was making her upset.

“I’m moving schools.” Y/N confessed, “At the end of the term, I’m moving to Bridgewater. Mum’s moving in with her fiancee, and she wants me to be closer.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Dylan was shocked.

“I was given the choice. I could stay here or move to another school but if I stayed I’d have to stay at my dad’s during the holidays and I’m not in the mood to be lectured during my time away from school.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t fathom the three of them not being together for such a long period of time. “I know what you’re thinking. I know I need to tell him but if we are going to have a shot at being friends again, I need to be away from you both.”

“Y/N,” Dylan shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to be like this,”

“You know I saw you when you kissed each other in the English Literature classroom?” She confessed, Dylan’s lips parting. “He kissed you in a way that he never kissed me. Everytime we kissed afterwards all I could think about was how different it was, how I desperately wanted him to kiss me the way I had seen him kiss you. I used to write in my diary about how I would die if I didn’t have him near me. I thought he would be the end of me but I didn’t realise you would be too.”

“I know he loves you Dylan and... I’m happy for you but I’m not selfless enough to stand beside you both and watch you fall in love when I so desperately love him too.”

“Y/N,” Dylan reaches out for her hand and takes it, “I’m sorry.” “I know Dylan, I know.”

. . .

Now — 2000

Harry’s leg wouldn’t stop jittering as he sat outside the school library on a Tuesday evening. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, replaying it over and over in his mind. He had spent countless hours rehearsing his apology to Y/N until it became a permanent loop in his thoughts.

When the library door swung open, he shot up immediately, brushing down his school trousers and running a hand through his hair. Y/N stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She looked better than she had in weeks, and Harry’s heart ached at the sight of her. He would have carried her bag for her if they were still together.

Her expression changed when she saw him, her voice barely above a whisper. “H-Harry.”

“I came,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I-I couldn’t believe it when I got your text. I’d have waited here for hours if you hadn’t shown up.”

Her face softened briefly, but she walked past him. “Follow me,” she said simply.

He trailed behind her as she led him to the gardens—the place where they’d shared their first kiss and filmed the music video for his and Dylan’s project. It was a space filled with memories of the three of them: Y/N doing homework, Dylan reading, and Harry strumming his guitar.

They sat down on the swinging bench, a familiar seat now heavy with unspoken tension. Harry noticed she kept her distance, and though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her close, he knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Who gave you those?” Harry finally asked, nodding at the flowers in her hand. A flicker of hope crossed his face.

“Debbie,” she said, referring to the school librarian. “It’s my last day working at the library.”

“You quit?” Harry frowned, his gaze flicking from the flowers to her face.

Y/N inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m leaving, Harry.”

The wind seemed to leave him. “N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You—you can’t. You can’t just leave. I won’t let you—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently in her lap. “It’s what’s best.”

“How can you say that?” he asked, trying to pull his hand away, though her warmth made it impossible. “How can you say it’s what’s best? The three of us—we’re supposed to be together.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. He looked thinner, more tired than she’d ever seen him, but she couldn’t help him—not anymore.

“Y/N, the thing with Dylan...” Harry began, his voice cracking. “I-I never meant for it to happen. We were just alone, I was stressed, and my emotions got the better of me. But I don’t feel the same way about him as I do about you.”

She shook her head softly. “Maybe that’s true, but not in the way you think. Dylan has always been there for you, Harry, in ways I never could. The way you look at him... it’s like he hung the stars in the sky just for you, like he tilted the sun so it would never blind you but still brighten your world.

“Maybe you do love me,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but love isn’t just about taking care of someone. It’s not carrying my backpack because it’s too heavy or doing my homework when I’m too tired after netball. Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about being taken care of, about laughing and crying and feeling like your heart is burning, and nothing can put it out.

“Now tell me, Harry. Did you ever feel that way with me? Were you ever vulnerable with me?”

Harry’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

“Please, Y/N,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I can’t be without you.”

“You have Dylan,” she said, trying to be the bigger person even though it shattered her inside. “It was never going to be me, Harry. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for him?”

Harry looked down at the ground, his silence all the confirmation she needed.

Her heart broke all over again, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Why do you have to go?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

“Because, Harry,” she said gently, “what good would it do for the three of us if I stayed? You need to find out who you are, and so do I. Before me, it was you and Dylan. Now, it will end that way - with you and Dylan.”

“And what about you?” he asked desperately. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m grateful for what I’ve had. You and Dylan will always be a part of me. I hope one day we’ll forget this pain, and everything will be okay again.”

She reached out, brushing his hair back the way she used to. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much, I feel like I could burst.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. For the first time, he meant it in a way that felt true—not as a lover, but as a best friend.

“Be brave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And tell him you love him.”

Harry nodded as the tears fell freely, clinging to her like a child who didn’t want to let go.

She was going to love him forever. She now knew he wouldn’t.

. . .

“She’s gone,” Dylan said softly from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Harry sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand though it hovered, unmoving, above the page. “Was she alright?” he murmured.

“She was better than we probably thought,” Dylan admitted, realizing how much they’d underestimated Y/N’s strength. They’d always thought it was their job to protect her, but she’d always been stronger than the two of them combined.

“Right,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow.

Dylan moved to sit on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. “I was thinking we could have the leftover soup for dinner instead of going to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied—a rare admission from someone who was always hungry.

Dylan frowned. “How long are you going to wallow in this? Can’t you see we’re both trying to do the right thing for your benefit?”

Harry turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what exactly are you doing?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” Dylan snapped. “Acting like we’re strangers when we’re the complete opposite. Do you know how much it kills me to not be near you? To have to hide from myself?”

Harry stood abruptly. “And you think I’m not struggling? You think I haven’t been grappling with everything I feel?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Dylan shouted, standing to meet Harry’s gaze. “You had someone who loved you for two whole years. You have everything, Harry—loving parents, the best grades, popularity. And you act like it’s all been taken from you because I kissed you!”

“Y/N is gone because of us!” Harry yelled back.

“No,” Dylan said fiercely, his voice rising. “She’s gone because of you! Because you’re too afraid to be honest about who you are! Because you care too much about what everyone else thinks. That’s why she’s gone!”

Their faces were inches apart, their anger radiating in the small space between them.

“How dare you? Can’t you see this is difficult for me to accept?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

“What is?” Dylan snapped back, stepping closer. “What is so difficult, Harry? What’s so hard that you have to sit in the dark and ignore the only two people who’ve ever truly cared about you? Huh? What is it? Tell me. TELL ME.”

“I am in love with you!” Harry yelled, the words ripping out of him like they had been clawing to escape for years. “I am a fool, and I am in love with you.”

Dylan froze, stunned. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Harry’s confession settled over him. The words he had dreamed of hearing for years hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

“What?” Dylan managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you,” Harry said, his voice softer now but no less raw. “And it’s been killing me every day since. I think of you—daily, nightly, every moment in between—and it tears me apart. Kissing you was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and denying it afterward made me a coward. But here I am now, standing in front of you, a man stupidly, hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

Harry’s eyes were red and glassy, the weight of years of unspoken emotion etched into his every feature.

Dylan stared at him, speechless. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, the depth of Harry’s vulnerability left him breathless.

“Kiss me,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking. “Kiss me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping Dylan’s face in his hands as though it had been crafted to fit perfectly in his palms. Then he kissed him—fervent and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that singular moment.

Dylan’s world ignited. A piece of him that had been dormant for years finally came alive. His heart and mind, long at odds, now burned in harmony as Harry’s lips moved against his. He felt consumed, but in the most beautiful way, as if he could lose himself in Harry forever and never once regret it.

“I love you too, Harry,” Dylan whispered when they finally parted, their foreheads resting together.

“I bloody well hope so,” Harry murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks.

. . .

Now

Dear Harry,

I’d like to tell you a story that will more than likely make you happy.

One day, I was sat in a café, only a twenty-minute walk away from Southend Park School, which is closed down now and turned into a factory to fix airplanes. I bought my usual order of a decaf cappuccino and a slice of toffee apple cake. On this particular day, they added more sugar to my cappuccino, so I knew it would be a good day.

Across from me, a woman sat, her dog lying down at her feet as she read The Catcher in the Rye whilst sipping on a fruit tea. I didn’t think much of it, but I found it interesting the way she would read something and then shakily jot something down in the little notebook on the table.

Anyway, I had originally come to the café so I could write about our trip to Brighton. You were still complaining about the sand in your clothes just last night despite the fact that Brighton has no sand.

“It’s alright, love,” I comforted you, helping you put your pyjamas on.

“It bothers me, Dylan.” You responded, coughing into your handkerchief.

We don’t leave our small bungalow very often because you don’t like to leave the dogs and I don’t like change, but this trip to Brighton was one we had been planning for a year or so, so we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

We spent a lot of time sat on the beach in the evenings whilst we were there, a blanket wrapped around the both of us as we fed the seagulls. I remember you saying you liked the sound of the ocean because it made you feel like we were seventeen again, running into the ocean without a care in the world.

You then proceeded to mention how worried you are about our Y/N, “I hope she’s doing alright, our Y/N.” You said and then went back to talking about a programme you watched the night before.

You had always worried about Y/N in the years after she left, always asking where she was or what she was up to despite the fact we never got in contact with her again. I also wonder whether or not she is okay, and I knew that if I were to see her again, I would thank her for allowing us the space to fall in love.

It was awfully difficult those months after we kissed in your bedroom. We were constantly berated by people we had never spoken to before, and I knew it bothered you for a while, but we overcame it just like we did every other obstacle in our lives... together.

Anyway, as I continued to write about our trip, the door to the café opened again and three middle-aged people walked over to the elderly lady in the corner. “Come on Mum, we’ve got to say goodbye to Dad now,” the man spoke to her, and she swatted him away. Something about that small action gave me a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Give me a moment,” the woman responded, and the three children sat at the table in the chairs around her.

Eventually, they managed to get her standing up. One of them placed her coat around her shoulders, and another handed her her walking stick. When she turned to look at me, I saw a familiar set of eyes looking straight at me.

The three people aiding her walked to the door and held it open for her. As she was about to step out the door, her walking stick fell out of her shaky hands and right at my feet. I quickly picked it up and handed it to her, her face brightening at the sight of me.

“Thank you.” Her voice still sounded the same all that time ago.

“No... Thank you, my darling.”

[abbystromboli]

ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕪𝕛𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 - 𝔻.𝕄 (𝕡𝟙)

AN: so when I was younger I wrote this and posted it. Now I rewrote it bc it SUCKED when I first wrote it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor reader (year six!)

note: Y/n is Harry's only sister <3

genre: fluff!

Draco Lucius cutsie patootsie malfoy: green

y/n Lillian Potter: orange

others: blue

warnings: this is the first chapter so its really just for the plot, nothing big here! maybe swearing. lmk if theres anything I missed!

Summery: when Ron and Harry and Y/n get bored and decide to prank Malfoy via. polyjuice potion and Malfoy accidentally says something incriminating about his romantic life, things between Him and y/n take a turn away from the norm...

"get your asses out here... I can't believe I let you guys convince me to do this..." you mutter, slumping against a cold tile wall in moaning myrtles bathroom. you'd just finished taking your dosage of polyjuice potion, turned into the pug-faced form of pansy Parkinson, and are starting to question your decision to help your brother Harry and his best friend Ron prank their least favorite sixth year, Draco Malfoy. Personally, you don't have any problem with the guy, other than his constant asshole-ery, his bullying of your brother, and the way he disrespects muggleborns, as long as he stays in his lane, you stay in yours. Nevertheless, Here you were. No going back now.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

"pureblood" Ron muttered to the painting of a snake that sat at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and as it swung open, so did Harrys mouth, about to inquire as to how Ron knew the password, but he was interrupted by Ron,

"I kind of.... well, fucked a Slytherin, just a little bit! it was super low key and.... and.... oh for gods sake harry don't look at me that way... Y/N I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING AND IF YOU TELL HERMIONIE I'LL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN!"

the Slytherin snake hissed down at them, clearly annoyed at their delay at entering. stepping in they were greeted by Daphne Greengrass, who muttered something about Draco throwing some sort of fit and being in his room.

"wow" you murmured, walking into the massive dorm that Draco's father had acquired for him by donating an insane amount of gold to Hogwarts. your thought was cut off thought, by Draco groaning from a sofa in the corner.

"where the fuck where you guys? you seriously aren't even concerned at my condition?!?" although you hadn't ever felt any sympathy towards Draco, something about the idea of him being sick stressed you out.

"what? you didn't get a full eight hours of beauty sleep?" snapped Harry before he could stop himself.

"Goyle. get your idiot self out of here right now, you looked just like Harry Potter when you said that." spat Draco, his insanely pale self burning red in anger. Harry slowly got up, clearly shocked on how he'd just been cheated out of his own prank within the first minute. It caught you off guard, the way he said Harry Potter instead of the usual "Pottah" that you constantly heard Draco yelling at your brother whenever the Gryffindors and Slytherins shared classes. Anyways, you were glad he didn't have any problem with you, he definitely didn't seem like a fun person to have a feud with.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

after a long rant about how he thought that only Purebloods should be admitted to Hogwarts, you could barely stifle a gasp, seeing that even though the hour was only half over, Ron's hair was turning ginger again. Nudging him, you whispered your concern into his ear, quickly making him stand up and mutter something to the effect of "I gotta shit."

once Ron had waddled out, Draco turned his attention to you for the first time.

"that prat probably ate something those Weasley twins are selling. Now, I wanted to talk to you about... you know, my condition" your breath hitched, you hoped that it was an ailment that you could help him with, because if not, your cover would be blown.

"oh yeah, anything new?" you ask, praying to Godrick that he'd say something that'd make you know what his sickness was. fortunately, he did say something pretty easy to decipher, although it make you sick to your stomach with guilt that you'd done something wrong.

"I swear to Salazar, if that...that... Potter girl has the audacity to talk to me, look me in the eyes, breath my air, or be in the same room as me one more time, I'm Avada Kadavraing myself."

"Remind me again why she upsets you so much, Draco?" you asked, earning a quizzical glare from Draco.

"Pansy. we've been through this, don't make me repeat myself again. I bet you love seeing me suffer through this, don't you? But you wont be earning more satisfaction from me talking about it anymore. Im not giving you that joy anymore."

Determined to get the information as to why you are so unbearable to him, you decide to dive more into Pansy's personality. Grabbing his arm with a jerk, you raise your voice.

"Draco Mother fucking Malfoy. you tell me right now, or I'll spike your goblet, and no one will ever find your body."

" My god Pans, why do you always resort to threatening me?!?! my father its going to hear about it if you do that ever again, anyways... I guess its just..." your breath hitched with anticipation, even though you dreaded hearing what Draco hated about you, it had taken so much prying to get this answer that you couldn't help but be excited for his answer.

"her hair, her eyes, her voice, her entire demeanor really, the way she stands apart from Potter, (I mean, I didn't know they were siblings until Mcgonagall shouted her name at our sorting) She spends so much time with guys, too much. I doubt that her friendships with Longbottom and the Weasley Twins are actually platonic... at least I don't see how at least one of those whores couldn't love her... I fucking swear, if they try anything with her, Ill pull the same stunt I did with Mcglaggen in fifth year"

Your breath hitched. Damn. Last year Cormac Mclaggen had made, well... unreciprocated advances on you. You'd been so pressured that you'd agreed to go on a date with him to Hogshead, just to shut him up. By some grace, (Which you now knew to be Draco,) he had been struck by so many jinxes from all angles (probably the work of Draco's Slytherin friend group) that he wasn't able to leave the hospital wing for a month.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

it had taken a while to get out of his dorm, once he opened up about how much he couldn't stand you, he went on a roll, micromanaging everything from your hair to your bloodline. Finally you left, and with very little time to spare, as the polyjuice potion was already wearing off.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy has a crush on me.... why?" these where the thoughts that you fell asleep to that night, after having a laugh with Harry and Ron about how stupid Malfoy was (in which you conveniently left out the fact that he had accidentally told you that he fancied you.)

the next morning, after breakfast, You and the Golden Trio headed to Herbology, the only class other than potions that you shared with the Slytherins. You had made up your mind that morning while eating your breakfast that you'd make a definite point to make Malfoy's life a living hell today.

"you all will have to take a partner to help re-pot these astounding plants." announced Professor Sprout, and you immediatley take the opportunity to scootch into the seat next to Malfoy, greeted by an expression on his face that was a mix of hate, admiration, and confusion.

"Potter, shouldn't you be over with your Gryffindors?" he started, in an attempt at a sneer but with his voice softer than usual, even though he was attempting to make it come out as a snide remark. His eyes were wondering over to where Hermione, Ron, and Harry were all looking at you confusedly.

"Can't Malfoy, everyone else is taken!" you chirped with a grin, setting your bag on the ground next to you. The whole class was amazing. The pleasure of seeing his pale face burn red whenever he passed you anything, or if you accidentally touched hands. He did, however make many snide remarks, but you were able to fight back via giving him butterflies in every way possible. It was almost good enough punishment for his six years of being an asshole to you.

after an hour, you were finally dismissed. as you stuffed your belongings into your bag, a hand larger than your own rested on your waist, pulling you in so that you could hear a whisper that was so faint it was barely distinguishable.

"Potter, are you aware of how pissed your brother is? We're going to need to do this again, soon," you looked up into his gray eyes, and smiled to yourself at how amused he looked. Sure, he was using pissing harry off as an excuse, but I dont really care, do I?

[incorrectbatfam]

Finals Season

Batfamily Week 2023 day 6: Body Swap | Hugs | “You owe me big time.”

Summary

Steph and Cass switch bodies.

Any other time, this wouldn’t be a big deal. They’d lay low while they figure it out like they always do.

This isn’t any other time, though.

It’s finals season.

Everyone had a thing. 

Some cooked. Others composed music or made scientific breakthroughs. Dick swung from chandeliers. Damian drew pets napping in sunbeams. Jason quotes Jane Austen in the mirror. Tim took photos and Duke wrote stories about them. Bruce was Dad. 

Cass fought. That was her thing, as decided before she was born. Running along rooftops, swinging through the city, and giving enemies a taste of her batarangs. She stopped bad people from doing their things. It’s fast, it’s nonstop battles where she barely got a breather between the rushes of adrenaline. 

Steph had a lot of things—purple, breakfast food, randomly breaking into song. But right now, her big thing was school. 

School wasn’t Cass’s thing. David Cain deprived her of anything that would help her remotely succeed in it, and even though the Wayne family helped her recover some of those abilities, she couldn’t compete with the way Steph grinded through college on top of her other responsibilities. 

But now, Cass had no choice. It had to be. 

(Long story short: magic villain, the usual ordeal. They gave their case to Dick and Jason because of it.)

Steph (in Cass’s body) paced around her apartment panicking on the phone while Cass (in Steph’s body) tried to decipher the hieroglyphic study guide. This test was supposed to be about humans. Why were there pictures of dogs and rats?

“Harper, I’m telling you, there’s nothing left to do but wait,” Steph said from the other room. “The Batcomputer already ran a full analysis—twice. It should wear off in forty-eight hours, which isn’t enough time to make my final.” 

Cass turned back to the study guide and squinted. 

How was this guy’s name pronounced? Fred? Frude? According to this, he was the first person to analyze psychos. 

“I called the office, but they said the last day to reschedule was two weeks ago. How does that even make sense? What if I came down with salmonella the night before?” Steph sighed. “I’ll probably just spam the dean's email again. It worked for my student loans.” 

She hung up and flopped onto the couch next to Cass. “You already know the bad news.”

Cass nodded. 

“I can’t afford to fail this test,” she groaned. “It’s a required class and it’s supposed to be the easiest.” 

Cass looked at the guide. It still didn’t make sense. But then she looked at Steph, head in her hands mumbling to herself. 

“I can take it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“When’s the test?”

Steph pulled the syllabus out of her backpack. “Noon, day after tomorrow.”

Cass counted on her fingers. “That’s thirty-six hours.”

Steph looked at her incredulously. “You want to cram a whole semester of Intro Psych in a day and a half?”

She shrugged. “I can try. If you don’t take it, you fail. If I take it, you might fail less.” 

Steph bit her lip. “It’s better than nothing.”

Cass beamed. “Where do we start?”

.

.

.

Read the rest on Ao3

@batfamilyweek

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

[meddow]

Fic Author Q&A

Thank you for tagging me @curator-on-ao3!

1. Why do you write fanfic?

It’s a bit of a combination firstly wanting to share a plot idea I have with others, secondly, wanting to see something happen which I know won’t happen in the original source, and thirdly, it can be a bit of a fun puzzle – I don’t like this canon, how do I fix it.

2. Which of your posted stories do you think about the most, even though the story is “finished”?

Lately, First Solitary Separate Singular Complete. It was the first fic I wrote after a long break and I was a very rusty when writing it, so mostly what I would have do differently.

3. If you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

There will be times when you feel you’ve lost the ability to write. It will come back. It never strays that far away.

4. What’s your relationship to fic stats?

I do check them and quite often, but just for hits. I like seeing the hit count on my WIP steadily head up and like to interpret that as it has found an audience.

5. Is there a pairing or scenario or friendship you miss writing? If so, why? If not, why not?

I wouldn’t mind revisiting Lix/Randall (The Hour) a bit more. I still occasionally find myself coming up with AUs for them. I had half a Victorian detectives AU plotted out in my head back in the day and I wish I'd had the energy to write it. Anyway, it was six episodes over a decade ago and yet they still reside in my head.

6. What motivates you to write?

Partly it’s a race against time to get things down before my inspiration runs out. Partly is that writing for me is like cooking. It’s lovely cooking for myself, but its extra special getting to share what I’ve created with the world and seeing other people enjoy it

7. Why do you write for the fandom(s) that you write for?

My muse is very much motivated by newspaper articles and non-fiction and basically shit I see in the world which pisses me off, and Star Trek remains the ultimate franchise for being able to discuss contemporary issues with a shielding layer of fiction over the top.

For example (spoilers for the next chapter of The Endurance of Light) the villains I’m writing at the moment have an ideology which is based of a whole bunch of anti-master, anti-vaxxer and anti-science rhetoric I’ve seen around – and I’m getting to show how the ruling class of that planet use that ideology to oppress the masses and keep themselves in power, while finding and exploiting loopholes that benefit themselves. I don't know if I'm weird, but writing that kind of stuff for me is oddly fun.

Strange New Worlds in particular hits that sweet spot as it has a great set up and characters I adore, but never seems to have enough time/a high enough episode order to really explore the characters and I want to fix that.  

8. If you’re stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

Go for a walk. I get all my best ideas either wandering around the local park, or in the shower.

9. What do you wish people knew about comments?

I can’t speak for any author but myself, but I’m happy to answer questions about future developments (or the general direction at least, I won’t give a blow by blow) if someone asks me in a comment. I don’t like tagging my fics with whether it’s a happy ending or not or whether a pairing is endgame or not because I feel that ruins any tension and/or mystery I want to build for everyone, but in the comments, I can put details below a spoiler cut.

10. Maybe there’s a question you wish had been on here. What’s that question (and answer)?

As a person who has aphantasia (the inability to picture things in my mind), I’d love to know what other people see when they’re writing, and how much detail. For me, I feel like for a scene I get enough in my mind to create one blurry film still per scene. There's no movement though. I can’t picture things like facial expressions changing or what characters are doing with their hands. Often I feel like I’m just writing off vibes.

I've seen a lot of people I follow tagged already, is there anyone who has missed out that wants to be?

[insomniac-jay]

Ik I joke about Shoei's egregious love life but I'm not kidding aka a masterlist of who, when, and how long Shoei dated a woman*

*this is not all of them

Tsumi Kibuichi: #1. Met in their first year of middle school/junior high and dated up until their sophomore year of college; so they dated for 7 years. It was actually her who broke up with him but he refuses to admit it. Probably the longest he's ever been in a relationship pre therapy.

Selena Gutierrez: #2. Had a few of the same classes together then started dating two weeks after Shoei broke up with Tsumi. Only lasted five months.

Elin Taylor-Blake: #3. Had one class together and started dating literally a day after Shoei broke up with Selena. Didn't even make it to a month.

Senka Kotomi: #4. Debatable if she counts since she was using him as a beard when she was a closeted comphet lesbian. He was very bad at that job since people immediately clocked her tea plus she ended up cheating on him with a girl (which ultimately made her come out).

Mio Iruma: #5. Met at a party not even 24 hours after Senka cheated and ended up sleeping together after said party. Dated for two months before he cheated on her with the next ex.

Sigourney Blackwell: #6. Sigourney had a crush on Shoei for a while and was delighted when she got to meet him at a local bar during spring break. They dated for a mere three days. She wasn't aware he had a girlfriend and when she found out, she ran away from him. She's hated him for it ever since.

Hikaru Sawayama: #7. After being dumped by both Mio and Sigourney, Shoei decided to focus on himself and his career like a normal person who has had six failed relationships up to this point. Unfortunately it would only lead him to his next victim: Hikaru. She was an upcoming jrock star and him an up and coming duelist, perfect fit. Hikaru will be the first to admit that it was a publicity relationship. They dated for a year and a half before breaking up. Unfortunately for Shoei, he ended up catching feelings after they broke up. When he went back to try to ask for a second chance, Hikaru moved on.

Kamala Singh: #8. Kamala, poor girl. She was genuinely in love with and interested in Shoei; but he was only using her as a rebound. They dated for a year. Shoei broke up with her during their one year anniversary by not only not showing up to the party but leaving her a letter that admits she was just a rebound.

Mami Kibuichi: #9. Met in Las Vegas at a casino and hit it off right away. They dated for two and a half years and were actually engaged until Shoei realized that his fiancee was the triplet sister of his very first girlfriend. He broke up with her by not showing up to the engagement party and returned his ring.

Tsubaki Chisaka: #10. This was the closest Shoei ever got to having what he did with Tsumi. When Sabrina Carpenter wrote "Please, Please, Please" she had these two in mind. They privately dated for three years before, once again, Shoei messed it up and broke up with them.

Michiru Noro: #11. The queen of toxicity herself. She broke this man more than his father could've ever dreamed of. They dated for just five days before Michiru called it quits and the whole time she was using him and manipulating him for her own pleasure.

@shinkai14 @yukii0nna

[fleshengine]

You click the button and hang up. Dead air fills the car, silent as we rumble down the freeway. A minute later you remember and go to plug your phone back in to get the music going to push back those thoughts another half hour until we get home and you can decompose in your room. Before you can hit spotify I poke the button to turn off my little Fiat's stereo. As you start to react,

"You know it's not your fault right?" I say, more as a statement than a question.

"What?"

"It's not your fault, what was done to you, what IS done to you every time you answer your mom." There's an edge to my voice that you haven't really ever heard before in our year of living together and years of being friends. Something almost mean stirs in me.

"Yeah I know, can we turn the mu-"

"I don't think you do dude." I interupt you, I feel terrible about it later. "I think you've convinced yourself that you do these things of your own free will."

"Look, let's talk about this later I'm tired."

"No, if I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve." It's true, I've thought about having this conversation a half dozen times this week alone. "I can't put up with it anymore."

"You don't have to put up with anything, I'm not asking you to."

"I care about you." My voice breaks, I pause, you see something there, a glint behind my eye, I'm holding so much back. "I care about you okay, and I can't take seeing the way that you look after she calls you, or when you ask me to come pick you up from her house."

"You don't have to pick me up..."

"Someone does! Someone has to help get you out of there when you finally can't take it. I don't care about how long the drive is, I care that I can't get there immediately. I know you don't like people feeling responsible for you and that you're your own person and all that but I do. I do feel responsible for you. I feel responsible because as far as I know there isn't anyone else who will wake you up on time for classes in the morning, who will cook you breakfast, who will hold you when you finally convince your mom to let you hang up the phone, when you ask for a ride home after things go south up at her house."

My fingers grip the wheel, only breaking to wipe tears from my eyes. The freeway extends before us, thousands of cars between us and home. The car trundles over a rougher section of pavement as we sit in silence. You don't know what to say, scared from me raising my voice. I'm afraid to keep talking, having run out of the scripts I wrote to myself in the shower.

"Look dude, I feel responsible for you because you have like the same problems I did years ago. I want to help you, in every single way I can because I'm probably not going to be there for you much longer. We've got a year left before I have to try and get my life together and you follow A to their medschool."

"I've gotta step up now because I don't know who will have the time or energy in your future. You'll have them, but med students are notoriously busy. I need you to know that there's love in the world outside romantic partners. Because I love you. I love you and I want to help you fix your problems before you move away and stop talking to me forever. I won't be able to manage if all I get is an update about how terrible your life is every six months."

I've run out of steam. The car's gas gauge ticks down another pip. A chevy merges ahead of us without signalling. I tap the brakes and sigh heavily. It's my normal heavy sigh, you used to ask me if something was wrong every time I did that sigh and every time I told you everything was fine and I just make that noise sometimes. I've since learned it's a self soothing method.

"We can turn on the music, we don't have to keep talking but like... I love you dude, you're one of my best friends and I couldn't ask for a better roommate. Please let me help you in a way that matters one of these days."

I click the button on the stereo, and your phone starts in the middle of a Chappel Roan song. I watch the road, you watch your phone. I get us home, we cry in our rooms.

[ddanthedumbass]

Day off || Lily Evans x fem! Reader

Author note <3

Hiiiiii Lily just has my heart like🙄 im in science class rn (im supposed to b playing blooket but it sucks dics) 

THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING GRYFFINDOR X READER LIKE I ONLY DO SLYTHERINS (and my first time doing marauders era)

I always accept corrective criticism, spelling correction, grammar correction, and requests. 

I appreciate your support 💞

Sé onr sverdar sitija hvass!

-Arii💕

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You were tired and your eyelids were heavy, but you ran your hand through your H/L H/C hair and turned your attention back to the piece of parchment in front of you, the lamp by its side casting it a warm glow.

You sighed and looked at the pages filled with writing, scribbling, and a few doodles in the corner, all written in black ink.

This is only two pages….. It should be five! You thought, sighing deeply and dipping your quill back into the ink.

Paragraph 4 — Werewolf lore, You wrote on your third piece of parchment, and though you only used two pages, your handwriting was small and if anyone else copied it onto their parchment, it would most likely take up five or six pages.

You scribbled with your quill for a few couple hours before your eyelids felt heavier than ever, like they were made of metal.

One more page… you thought encouragingly to yourself.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Y/N?”

You groaned and ignored the voice.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!?” YOur eyelids fluttered open and you lifted your head abruptly, causing your vision to temporarily blur and your head to temporarily spin.

“Y/N, why were you sleeping in the common room with your quill?” Lily asked you with a look of concern on her face “Were you staying up to do your homework again?”

You flinched slightly as her tone suddenly went from worried to stern. “Uh” was the only thing you could say.

“Y/N, overworking is not good for you.” Lily said, knitting her eyebrows with a look of mingled concern and distress.

“It’s oka–”

“No, it's not!” Lily cut in, her eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on her face “What time did you go to sleep, Y/N?”

You thought for a moment, biting your lip “I don’t know..”

Lily huffed and put her hands on her hips “You're not going to class today. I am going to get your absence excused and you will not do anything related to homework, school, or studying.”

YOu stared at Lily with a look of disbelief “But… My essay is due tomorrow and I only have four and a half pages done and I still have to do my essay for professor Slughorn and professor Dippet!”

Lily shook her head “No.”

You sighed and gave up trying to change Lily’s mind, since anyone who’s talked to her would know, if she decided on something, that decision is final and nobody can do anything to make her change her mind. “Okay. Fine.”

Lily’s expression became brighter immediately “Okay!” she said, beaming and pulling you up onto your feet.

You couldn’t help but smile at Lily’s adorableness. “Okay, Evans.” you said, rolling your eyes.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You sat on your bed, your sketchbook in your lap, doodling absentmindedly.

“Y/N!” Lily plopped onto the bed next to you “What are you drawing?”

“Uh,” You looked down at your paper “I’m just doodling… you were gone for a while and I got bored.”

Lily laughed, “It wasn’t that long! It was only like twenty minutes!”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Twenty minutes is a long time when you're sitting on the floor doing nothing!”

Lily pulled a look of fake consideration “Yea, sure.” 

You smiled and looked at Lily, your E/C eyes locking with Lily’s green ones for a split second before you looked away, feeling flustered for no reason. Get yourself together, Y/N. You silently chided yourself, ashamed of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“You Okay?” Lily asked you, the smile slowly disappearing from her face, being replaced by a look of concern.

“Yea, I’m fine, just spaced out for a second.” You gave Lily a reassuring smile. “What do you want to do for the whole day without class?”

Lily’s smile reappeared immediately “I planned the whole day earlier!” She said excitedly, practically jumping with enthusiasm.

“How much earlier?” 

“When I was walking to Professor Dumbledoor’s classroom.”

You sighed, a smile on your face “I’ll trust you planned well in like, five or less minutes.”

“I did, promise.”

You nodded and rolled your eyes “Okay, what’s the plan?”

Lily grinned and smiled coyly “It’s a surprise!” 

“Humph.” You fake-glared at Lily “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Lily rolled her eyes and grabbed your hand, hauling you up off the bed, causing your sketchbook to fall with a thud off your lap and onto the ground.

“Lilu!” You protested as the sketchbook lay open on the ground, showing a page on which you drew Lily’s smiling face.

Lily also stared at the book before saying: “You drew me in your sketchbook?”

You felt heat rush to your face. “Yes..”

Lily grinned “It’s really good!”

“It’s not that good, it’s just a sketch.” You said, rubbing your burning neck in embarrassment.

Lily laughed and patted your shoulder. “Come on, Y/N! You don’t have to be so modest all the time!”

YOu frowned “I’m not being modest! The sketch is not that good!”

Lily sighed “If you say so,”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You followed Lily through the deserted hallways, passing classrooms with class in session, making you feel a little uncomfortable, since you were so used to being one of the first people in the classroom.

Lily walked out of the door, holding it open for you as you followed her out.

“Where are we going?” You asked, jogging to keep up with Lily.

“It’s a surprise!” Lily said, spinning around once excitedly, smiling at you. “Close your eyes~”

You blinked and stared before closing your eyes. “Make sure I don’t bump into anything.”

“Okay!” Lily said. You felt her hand around yours and she pulled you behind her, walking slowly and carefully.

“You can open your eyes now!” Lily said after a few minutes of walking blindly.

You opened your eyes, the light blinding you at first, but as your eyes adapted to the light, you saw a pretty garden, a big water fountain and many multi-colored flowers, green grass cut neatly and small green shrubs lined up perfectly along the cut grass,

“Wow.” You said, looking at the garden with awe in your eyes.

“I know right!” Lily said excitedly, grinning and hopping up and down on her heels.

You nodded and took a second to admire Lily’s smile then turned your attention back to the colorful garden.

“Come onnnn!” Lily gushed, grabbing your hand again and pulling you to a small bench and sitting down. You sat down next to her.

“Why are we here?” You asked LIly after a few seconds of admiring the scenery.

Lily smiled and turned to you, her emerald green eyes gleaming, “It’s called mindfulness, Y/N.”

“Why mindfulness?”

“I think you need it,”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Lily smiled. “Close your eyes and listen.” 

“What?” 

“Close your eyes and listen.”

“Why?”

“Just shut up and do it.”

You closed your eyes and listened to your surroundings, hearing the soft buzz of bees, and leaves rustling in the wind.

“What about it?”

“Just listen,” Lily said quietly “It’s called mindfulness.”

You sighed and listened again, thinking of nothing but the calming sounds around you.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you felt Lily’s hand on yours. “You can open your eyes now,”

You opened your eyes, feeling refreshed and calm. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Lily rolled her eyes “Do you not trust my mindful exercises?”

“It seemed stupid at first.” You admitted.

“Rude.”

“Whatever.”

Lily laughed and scooted closer to you with a coy smile.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and your heartbeat quickened by six beats.

Lily noticed your blush and grinned “Why are you blushing?~”

You blushed harder “Uhm..” 

LIly smirked “Hmm?”

“It’s- it’s just.. Hot out here, you know?”

“You sure?”

“Y-yea..”

“Mmm, It doesn't feel hot,” 

“Maybe it’s just me.” You shrug.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You turned and looked at Lily’s perfect face, her wavy red hair was flying in the soft morning breeze and her freckles were as perfect as ever, sprinkling her nose and cheeks.

“Yes?” You asked, locking your eyes with her’s.

Lily’s eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again in a second, and she smiled. 

You tilted your head “Yes?” You repeated, ignoring Lily’s eyes flickering down to your lips from time to time.

“Can I kiss you?” LIly asked finally, looking at her knees, smiling shyly, and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?” You looked at Lily with a look of surprise. “Can you what?”

Lily looked up at you, her big green eyes sparking, “Can I kiss you?”

You looked at Lily then smiled “Okay, Evans.”

Lily’s face lit up and she smiled, caressing your forearm. “Thank you, Y/N” She whispered, moving her face closer to yours.

You blushed and put your hand softly onto her’s.

Lily put her hand on your hip and pressed her lips on yours, smiling.

The warm taste of chocolatey sweetness filled your mouth. Your hand went up Lily’s waist and to her neck, brushing your hand through her hair.

Lily pulled away after a few seconds, a warm blush sprinkling her freckled cheeks.

You smiled, also blushing lightly. “Wow..” 

Lily grinned and stood up, holding her hand out for you and you took it, grinning.

“I’m going to take you somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I told you! It’s a secret”

You rolled your eyes “Whatever.”

[sleekervae]

Dripping | Remington x Vera

Masterlist

A/N: Happy Friday everybody. My depression streak has reemerged, but I'm trying my best to come out of it though. I wrote and edited this after the first instalment and it's been kinda nice to focus on something new; kind of wanna' treat it as a series of short pieces as opposed to a longer whole. So if you wanna' you can consider this part two.

Warnings: smut, pure and unadulterated smut

--

When the crew weren't heisting and pocketing jewels, they had to lay low. And the best way for them to lay low was stay stuck in middle-wage, go no where jobs so they wouldn't blow their cover. It would still be a while before they could move the diamonds and get their payout, anyway.

Vera worked ten hours a day, six days a week at a higher-end retail boutique in the city. She loved to pick through the products they'd ship in, as well as listen in on some of the events the upper-class ladies would gossip about. They had no idea that they just added to The Bastards' list of probably targets.

She was the last person to lock up and leave on a dusty weekday evening, changed out of her dress shirt and slacks and comfy in shorts and a band shirt. The back way of the strip was a quieter, not very popular way for tourists to take of course, though Vera had learned long ago it made for a better shortcut for her to catch her bus home. However, on nights like tonight, when the prospect of the bus just didn't sit well with her, Vera was delighted when she stepped into the empty street and spotted Remington and his car.

The headlights cut through the dimming desert horizon, illuminating him from behind. His long black hair fell tousled around his shoulders, matching the worn Iron Maiden muscle-tee he wore so proudly. Remington lit up as soon as he saw her and he hopped off the car hood.

"Hi," she drawled as he walked towards her, "What're you doing here?"

"I got off at the garage early and thought to myself -- you know what?" he replied, his dashing smile plastered to his face, "My girl does so much for me, I should really go and pick her up from work tonight,"

"That's very sweet of you," Vera smiled. He took her by the waist and pulled her in for a kiss, closing out as much space as he could between them. Vera wound her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair and the sharp smell of engine oil and his cologne stung at her nose.

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips, his hand slipping down to her butt. He gave her an affectionate squeeze and Vera shivered.

"Was it really just me you missed?" she giggled.

"I missed all of you," before she knew it, Remington lifted her up and placed her on the car hood, nearly falling into her as he slammed his lips against hers. He revelled in hearing her moan against him.

"Let's go," he murmured softly, stepping back so Vera could hop down. She hopped into the shot gun and he started the car, pulling into the street and barrelling down the road. The Vegas strip dissipated into the desert horizon, the rocky sand filtered in the gorgeous hue of golden hour.

The windows were cracked and a Chase Atlantic record was playing through the radio set. Vera loved feeling her long hair bluster through the wind, but even more so she loved watching Remington drive. He was always so concentrated, his knuckles were tight around the steering wheel and he sometimes liked to sing along to the music. Vera always mentioned that if they'd gone down a different path of life, he would've done so well as a singer. He didn't half believe her sometimes, but he couldn't deny he did like to sing.

Vera's daydreaming was interrupted however, she looked down when she felt a gentle tickle crawl up her leg. His palm was warm on her thigh, his thumb gently caressing her soft skin. Another aspect she admired about Remington was his ability to multitask, her excitement hiking as his hand crawled further up her thigh. Vera was tentative as she looked up at him, it was clear he was trying to bite back his smug smirk. She shook her head.

"Remi,"

"Yes, Vera?"

"... Pull over, please?" she mewled like a bratty kitten, her top teeth butting down on her lip.

His smile held the glimmer of the devil, his hand squeezed soothingly over her inner thigh. He obliged her with glee and pulled over into the desert. He drove a little ways away from the highway, being sure no lookie-loos would catch them.

Remington lit up a cigarette while Vera raided the glove box to flick through his stash of mini liquor bottles. He always liked having a few on hand should the occasion to celebrate arise, even if it was as small as making it through a tough work day. Vera stopped however when she found a velvet bag tucked off to the side, a sharp tinkling emanating as she nudged it.

"What is this?" she asked as she pulled it out.

Remington nearly choked on his puff of smoke, coughing and waving his smoke billow away, "Fuck. I forgot about that. I wanted to surprise you," he admitted.

Vera eyed him skeptically as she drew the drawstrings apart, her eyes blew out wide as she pulled out the sparkling jewelry piece. The Warhol necklace, twinkling and casting iridescent patterns across the car interior.

Her breath hitched in her throat, "How -- oh my God! Remington!" she laughed, somewhat baffled but she knew how brazen Remington liked to be. He smirked coyly.

"Don't tell Sebastian," he giggled, "C'mon, turn around,"

Her eyes widened, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! C'mon!" he took the necklace and Vera turned in her seat, holding up her hair. She shivered as the diamond crackled across her neck, the cool a welcome relief to the thick humidity slick on skin. Vera pulled down the visor mirror to admire the gorgeous piece. It clashed with her high-neck t-shirt but she couldn't find much to complain about, it was easily the most beautiful thing she had ever worn.

Remington meanwhile sat back in his seat, admiring her natural beauty being accentuated with the dripping jewelry. The unease in her eyes told him she was unsure, but he would do everything in his power to convince her how stunning she looked.

"What do you think?" she asked, biting her lip now for an overall different reason.

He shook his head in near disbelief, "You are so fucking beautiful," he gaped.

Vera broke out into a blushing grin, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mired, "But then you make everything beautiful,"

"Oh, shut up," Vera giggled, stroking her fingers across the diamonds, "The guys are gonna' kill you if they found out,"

"Emphasis on if," he took another drag from his cigarette, "Because if I have it my way, they're not gonna' find out,"

"Oh?" she popped a brow, "And what does your way entail, exactly?"

Her smirk grew dark, licking his lips hungrily as he crushed the cigarette swiftly in his hand and tossed it out the window, "You sitting on me, for one," he replied coyly.

"Which part of you?" Vera smirked back.

He swore he would melt on the spot when she smiled like that. He gasped dramatically, "Naughty girl!" he moved across the console to kiss her, needy and breathless as he seemingly drew the air from her lungs.

In an instant her hands were in his hair, his thick locks curling through his fingertips and she scratched across his scalp. He pulled away from her momentarily so he could move his seat back and give her plenty of room to crawl over and straddle his lap. He was becoming hard beneath her and her need for him to take her grew with each passing second.

Remington moved his hands along her waist, slipping under her shirt and roaming across her warm skin. He made quick work to clip off her bra and moving to massage her soft boobs. Vera had always been a little self conscious of them, she always thought they were too saggy and too small. Her opinion on her body changed after she met Remington, he worshipped every single inch of her body, told her over and over again how beautiful she was. She supposed it was a concept of repetition; hearing positive reinforcement over and over again you may begin to believe it. Feeling his caresses across her burning skin also certainly helped.

He looked up at her through dark lashes, lifting her shirt and pressing his lips to the lowest part of her ribs. She gasped as he bit her softly before licking across the same spot. Her hands left his hair to reach behind her to unfasten the necklace.

Remington pulled away from her, "What're you doing?" he asked.

"I'm taking off the necklace," Vera replied matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, reaching to pull her hands away, "Don't, leave it,"

She thought he was joking at first, chuckling under her breath, "I have half of last week's lottery on my chest, are you out of your mind?"

There was this wolfish grin he aced every time, something that was very much his, and it made Vera shiver with desire every time, "Absolutely," he pulled her closer to him, shifting so his erection bumped against her thigh, "I'm so fucking lucky right now,"

The prospect of wearing this million dollar necklace frightened her a little, knowing they had to sell it off in a few months. At the same time, it was so exciting. Vera was becoming lightheaded, either from the heat or the adrenaline and power coursing through her but she didn't care. She didn't hesitate as Remington pulled her shirt over her head, careful not to tangle up the diamonds. She shivered again as the cold stones rested on her bare chest, a sharp, delicious contrast to his warm lips wrapping around her nipple. Her own hands made quick work of his belt and unfastened his jeans.

He swore he may have jumped out of his skin as she grasped his length, shivering when her tongue debuted the first stroke under his ear lobe. It was that special spot she knew so well, the intoxicating taste of his skin crawled over her taste buds.

"You're so good to me," his grin was lopsided as she whispered in his ear between kisses, her teeth biting at his earlobe.

"You're so quiet now," she chuckled softly, "So full of talk until I touch you," She refused to move her hand, just warm skin playing on warm skin and keeping her teasing delightfully playful on his erection.

Sneaky whispers made him aware of how amazing it would be to feel himself slip down her throat. He moaned, loudly, his back rolling against the older leather seat.

His hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing gently as he pinned her against the steering wheel. Remington loved the devilish smile that mirrored his, the rings on his fingers made her shiver under his touch.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" his lips brushed hers with every word he spoke, "Do you like making me suffer? 'Cause it's working, you little shit," his tone was serious, though his mellow, chesty chuckle made it far from a real scolding.

"Should I be sorry?" she pouted, her forehead resting against his.

His lashes tickled across her cheek as he murmured, "Absolutely not," though he pushed his hand over hers, still resting over his pulsing cock, "But if you don't do something about this you're going to be,"

Vera giggled like a brat, finally moving her hand up and down his throbbing length. She swallowed his relief-filled grunt with a hungry kiss, lips were swollen and tongues teased in between. His own hand slipped down her belly and to the zipper of her shorts. He wasted no time tracing over her panties, his desire fueled to feel her so wet already.

"How badly do you want this?" his lips pecked her jawline tenderly, one, two, four times in a row, "Tell me what you want," she nodded with a devious grin, squirming as she felt two fingers toy at the crease between her pussy and her inner thigh.

"I need you -- please, Remi," she begged into his mouth.

"Words, V. What do you need?" his teasing almost physically hurt, tantalizing her ear.

"I need you to fuck me," her voice fizzled out softly as her cheeks burned an overwhelmingly sweet red.

Remington tensed at the needy tone in her voice, his mind foggy with lust, "Yes ma'am,"

He loved watching her bite down on her lip as his fingers slithered under her panties and making circles over her clit. He had finally taken back his control, his wolfish grin enriched by an attractive chuckle.

He adored feeling her slick slip over him, almost as much as she loved his calloused fingers toying with her most sensitive parts. The friction was illicit, almost unreal. His eyes welcomed every single reaction and contortion her face made, the way she looked almost as if she was about to burst into pixie dust.

"Look at you, dripping wet," his whispers only incite more warmth to burn in her gut, and his eyes flitted to the necklace, "In every single way," she chuckled softly, feeling she was wet enough to create a puddle on his jeans, though he couldn't care less whether or not they were ruined. Like, at all.

He actually fucking loved her for it.

"I'll make you feel so good, they'll hear you from the strip," his voice dropped an octave, completely captivating as he squeezed her throat again. The pressure was sinfully delightful, her own work on his cock sloppy as she tried to keep her concentration sharp and her pace steady. The whole time, Remington imagined how pretty her mouth would look wrapped around his twitching cock.

"Stop with the teasing," her sharp tone made him wobbly.

The hand on her throat slipped to her nape and pulled her in for a kiss. She mourned his grasp until he pinched her thigh.

"Watch that tongue,"

Expert fingers knew exactly what she needed, to finally put her out of her misery. Remington took her by the hips, helping her discard her shorts and underwear. He too removed his own shirt, loving every second of finally feeling her bare chest against his. He basked in every second, loving it just as much as Vera did. Probably more than she did.

Their proximity was such that at any moment she felt they may melt into one being. She could feel how his lips mimicked the arrival of a smile, swallowing her mewls, and she wished for so much more. She wasn't oblivious however to the ecstasy he experienced under her touch.

Despite his excitement, he did his best to control her stimulation. He had been too rough before and he'd hurt her back when they were young and still understanding the way their bodies reacted.

He adjusted until he had pushed his pants and boxers down his knees and she sat comfortably over his cock; his lips on her shoulder making up for any second she missed his touch.

"Remi, I need --"

"I know," she didn't have to tell him twice, not wasting another second as he brushed his length through her slick. He fought through his own euphoria to tease her just a little bit more, to bask in her sweat-slick skin rubbing against his own. And he loved watching her jaw slip open as he slid inside of her.

The well known, blissful sensation built up in her lower belly, expert fingers moving over her clit as she bouncing in his lap at a delicious pace. It burned in the best way possible, her walls contracting around him sent shockwaves up his spine. He kissed her chest, panting just beneath the glinting diamonds of that necklace. Their close still wasn't close enough for them.

"You gonna' come for me, baby?" he kept his fingers spinning steadily over her clit, so enamored with her heavy breathing, how her hair clung to her slick forehead as she nodded. His breath hitched as she squeezed around him, his cock sliding over that perfect spongy spot that palpitated around him, "You're so fucking hot, I can't wait to --"

Her sharp gasp cut him short, panting a flurry of yeses and she shook like a leaf in his lap. A blank delight ripped through her body as her orgasm coated his cock.

And he loved every second of it. His hips still rolled hungrily beneath her, his raspy voice mumbling sweet nothing that flitted past her ears in her haze. He leaned into her, his body shivering as he released an unrestrained groan and his own orgasm flooded through him. Vera could feel it, a white hot sensation filling her and a merciful whimper of breath on her chest brought her back to reality.

She collapsed into him, her head burying into his neck and his hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. The silence that followed was cozy, the music still playing softly in the background.

They settled down together but Remington didn't have it in him to pull out of her yet. His thumb caressed under her lips, and he was smiling all of the sudden. That charming, boyish smile that she was still so enticed by.

He brushed the tip of his nose over hers, "I love you, Vera,"

"I love you, Remi," she smiled back.

Finally though, Vera had to pull off of him, she blushed hard as a hot mess slid out over her inner thighs and over his lap. Nevertheless, Remington reached down the side of the door to grab the tissue box he had ready -- silently confirming to her that he had had this evening planned -- and he cleaned her up with an admirable gentle touch. He had truly perfected making her feel gooey and dizzy inside, moments like these when he was so vulnerably real, so bluntly himself, he always reminded her of how much she truly loved him. She kissed him tenderly, the cascading diamonds swarming them in twinkly iridescence.

Not thirty minutes later, Remington's dusty chevrolet pulled into their driveway, both of them redressed and refreshed as best as they could manage. Vera had made sure to slip the necklace back in the velvet sack and she hid it in her bag, as sure enough Sebastian was in the front yard, firing up their grill for dinner. They both were praying he hadn't checked up on their safe.

"Well damn, it took you guys long enough," he gaped when he finally laid eyes on them.

Remington slammed his car door with a little flourish, following behind Vera up the walkway, "Traffic was shit," he replied simply.

Sebastian flitted his gaze between him and Vera, who of course feigned complete innocence as she hopped up the two-step porch.

"Yeah. They're still fixing the road for the Grand Prix in November," she added, the mouth-watering smell of burning charcoal wafting through the air, "What's for dinner?"

"Hamburgers and vegan sausages. You're welcome," he nodded to Remington.

The younger brother winked and clicked his tongue, "Sounds great! I'll whip up some potato salad,"

Sebastian glowered at him, "You don't know how to make potato salad," he pointed out.

"Fine, then I'll pull the McCain Super Fries outta' the freezer and call it a day," he took Vera by the hip and lead her inside, none the wiser to Sebastian shaking his head.

Vera made quick work to return the necklace to the safe, hoping and praying she had cleaned it out enough so nobody would be the wiser. She leaned against the wall when she finished, laughing in Remington's direction.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked quietly.

"That we fucked in the desert? Probably," he chuckled.

"About the necklace, smart ass!"

"He doesn't know," he assured her, coming to stand before her so she stayed put against the wall, "And nobody's ever gonna' know. Now, if they happened to hear how loud -- ow!" he giggled as she pinched his arm, "And I came to get you from work!" he gasped, feigning offense.

"Trust me," she pressed up on her toes, "I'm very grateful," she kissed him in between each word.

Remington took her in his arms, holding her close as he kissed her properly, happily. He couldn't even give a damn as he heard Emerson gag as he walked by. He loved Vera so openly, his heart burned from craving her and he relished in the fact that he couldn't have asked for a better partner.

[ripeteeth]

fragments: 03 (fitzier)

[I'm clearing out my incomplete wips and posting fragments that might stand alone as a bit of an amnesty of old projects. This is part of that series.]

The porcupine quill of his pen poises over the questionnaire from O'Byrne, hesitating over his service history. Most of the questions were simple, just question and answer, but this one, this appointment to the HMS St. Vincent, that had been different.

He had travelled alone to Portsmouth, rattling in his carriage like bones in a coffin, arriving early one December morning. “How was your journey?” The captain had asked. Captain Hyde Parker, James had found, was an queer old man, bent and bulbous, with a great scar on his upper lip that marred his speech. What James wanted to say was ‘Rather tiresome. There were six of us inside all thirteen hours and every inch of the way and I was in between an old lady and gentleman who hardly let me have a wink of sleep all night by their fidgeting.’ But he did not. Instead, he only said, “It was well enough, sir.”

“Good.”

His things had been brought aboard. James found his sea chest; when he bent and opened it, the most horrid smell arose. Gingerly, James reached in, lifting out one of his old uniforms. The very wool had grown mold.

His first time aboard the St. Vincent would grow to be miserable. His mess was dark and lonesome, in a part of the ship where few went. Only the caterer spoke to him. He sat on the bench, hands in his pockets, numbering the spots in the suet pie. He thought of Rose Hill. Of William! What would William be doing right then? Perhaps packed in the halls of Eton, shoulder to shoulder with other friends? If I were a Midshipman, he had thought, I am sure this would not be the case, but because I am in the second class there is no one speaking to me. If I could I would rather begin over again than stay one day longer in it, but I suppose that it is quite impossible I should ever get into the first class. 

He had written to his uncle of his misery and, with the assistance of his uncle and a few vague and misleading letters to Sir John Barrow, second secretary of the Admiralty, had succeeded in resigning from Captain Parker and the St. Vincent and being appointed instead as a midshipman to Captain Senhouse of the HMS Asia. James shifts as he recalls the careful way he had worded his letters to Barrow, skillfully avoiding the bare fact that he had not completed the prerequisite year as a volunteer of the first class. Barrow had neither thought to check his service record nor to ask and James, as he reminds himself, could not be blamed for allowing both Barrow and Senhouse to believe that he had.

Any man would have done the same, he thinks. Though it had not been long before Senhouse had realized his mistake, it had been long enough to be an embarrassment if anyone were to find out. “Do not ever,” Senhouse had hissed, “ allow me to see your certificates. Let me continue in this, for if I were to know that you had not served in the first class, I could not be justified in giving you the rating.” When, three weeks later, the crews of the St. Vincent and Asia had traded places, James had counted it as a stroke of luck and never again listed the Asia on his histories. Instead, he simply wrote St. Vincent and Volunteer, as he does now, knowing that no one would ever ask. Volunteer of the first class, everyone would assume, and he would let them.

-------

“Do you not understand?” Francis chokes. God, how he chokes. If God were merciful, he would choke on his own spit and be spared altogether. 

“Let me go!” James yells. 

“No,” Francis says, dropping his hands anyway. 

James backs up, breathing heavily. “I’ll yell.”

“So yell. Who’s to hear you?”

“The men - “

Francis cocked his head to the side, half in amusement, half despair. “And they’re to what? Release you? Tie me up by my neck and drop me off a gallows of the mast?”

“Yes.”

A dry laugh. “So go on then, do it. Death comes already, why not hurry it along?” Francis drops into a chair and shakes the whiskey bottle, eyeing the little precious liquid they have left.

“By God, you’re sour tonight.”

“Seems to me, you’re not sour enough. Do you not comprehend our position?”

“I know our position perfectly well,” James says. “It’s just that I haven’t yet given up the ghost of hope.”

Francis shakes his head. He picks up a sextant from the desk, spinning it in well-worn hands. Verdigris now, the color of oxidized copper. Of impermanence. “This was brown once,” he murmurs. “But then again, so was my hair.”

“Copper never lasts out here.” James’ eyes take on an amused glint. “Was your hair copper too? Decades ago, old man?”

Francis smirks. “Something of the like, yes.” He sighs. “Christ alive, that was a long time ago.”

A long pause lays claim to them. 

“I dream of his death,” James says. “Every night, Francis. All nights.”

“As do I.”

“We should have buried him.”

“In what?” Francis asks. “A cairn of ice? There aren’t even stones to build a cairn to cover a body, bleeding black and blue.”

“It would have been better if we’d done something. Perhaps we should have built a pyre and burnt him.” 

“It would have taken our wood,” Francis mutters. But in private, he agrees. The way Sir John’s body was left to the open, to beak and claw, did not sit well with him. But wood is precious now. James does not know what is coming; Francis does.

“So we left him out there for what - the carrion eaters?” 

“Suppose if they come, we can at least follow them back,” he says, sighing. “It haunts me too, James. Truly. No man’s body should be left in the open. We’ve only done what we’ve had to do to survive.”

James stares out the window. “I wonder if God takes that into consideration.”

“From what I know of Him,” Francis says grimly, “He won’t.”

“I don’t like the way you speak about death.”

“What do you mean?”

“As if it’s inevitable.”

Francis raises a brow. “Has it ever been anything else? Sometimes one must cut off the leg to save the body.”

“How long do you suppose it might take to freeze to death?”

Francis breathes in. Look at James, bent in upon himself, his arms wrapping tightly around his own chest. Like an orphan, Francis realizes, an orphan trying to soothe himself.

“We will find a way, James. I will get us home.”

James smiles. It is bitter. “I trust you believe this. I think God has other plans.”

“God always has other plans. Have some little faith. If not in me, then in your own dogged persistence to cause trouble. Even God, I think, must reckon with one James Fitzjames.”

[shakespeareanwannabe]

One Hell of a Year: April

Summary:  When Molly Henderson makes the move from Chicago to Lockhart, Texas, she doesn’t expect much. A new teaching job, a new community, and maybe a few new friends, but what she didn’t expect was to meet Michael Perry, a man with a heart of gold, October eyes, and a smile that made her tummy do a strange little flip-flop. With Michael by her side, Molly finds that she may just be able to not only find a life in Lockhart, but thrive there as well.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, drinking, lemons, MDNI

Disclaimers: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

The rest of March dragged on like a baseball game where the home team is getting trounced. The home team fans walk into the game with such excitement, all wide eyed and innocent, championing their heroes…until they give up six runs in the first inning alone. Then the fear sets in. By the seventh inning stretch, the fans are either giving up and walking out of the stadium, or they’re sitting in their seats miserably, praying for a miracle, holding onto hope. Whatever fan you are, the fatalist who gives up by the time the score hits double digits, or the fan who prays to the baseball gods that their team will somehow, someway, turn things around, the dragging along of time is painful.

That was how the rest of March went for Molly Henderson and Michael Perry. The day after their fight, they briefly met eyes in the hallway as they brought their students inside for the first day back. That brief, seconds long interaction had Molly hiding her tears behind her book as she had her class silent read for the first half hour of the day, while Michael, for the first time in his career, demanded total silence while his class wrote in their journals.

Molly spent all her breaks in her classroom under the guise of catching up with her students after their weeklong break. Michael huddled in the corner of the staff room, the grey cloud surrounding him warning his colleagues away from any potential approach.

The last two weeks of March passed painfully slowly in that same way, with small, momentary glances sending both teachers into emotional head spins. They even went so far as to cancel all play rehearsals for the first week back, and Molly faked having after school appointments for the last week of March so that Michael would have to handle the rehearsals on his own.

It hurt. Though they knew it was temporary, both the growing pains and the separation, it didn’t stop the pain from searing their hearts like deep cuts from hot knives. Molly found herself almost crumbling every night as she poured herself into her car and wept.

In short, the rest of March dragged on to the tune of a lonely funeral dirge. But as always, the turn of the month brought a new beginning and a chance for change.

On the first of April, one of the most dreaded teaching days of the year, Molly found herself brandishing a stapler at Alex before the start of day bell had even rung. Of course, she had found it suspicious that he had been hanging around the staff room over 40 minutes before the staff had to officially be on the property, but she hadn’t questioned her friend for a change in his schedule…until she had added sugar to her coffee, tasted it, and promptly spat it out into the sink to the sound of peals of laughter.

“Oh my god, Molly, I can’t believe you fell for it!” Alex howled, clutching at his stomach. “Swapping the sugar for salt is a classic April Fool’s Day prank!”

With her frustration being elevated due to her lack of sleep (Michael hadn’t been kidding, it was really hard to sleep in an empty bed now) and now a lack of coffee, she had whipped her stapler out of her bag and held it threateningly in front of her.

“Alex, I swear to god, I could kill you right now!” she growled, storming towards him as he made a beeline for the door, almost knocking Michael over as he ran by.

“Jesus, Molly, can’t you take a joke!” Alex shrieked as he ran down the hall.

“Next time, don’t mess with a teacher’s coffee, Alexander Drake!”

Michael chuckled awkwardly. “I, uh, I hoped to warn you before you could make your coffee,” he murmured, holding out a cup of take away coffee from the little place down the street from his place. “Alex likes to switch the salt and sugar every year. Most of us avoid the staff room coffee maker today, but I guess Lauren forgot to tell you.”

Molly hesitantly took the cup from him and breathed in the scent, nearly moaning at the wafting cinnamon steaming through the hole in the lid. “Umm, thank you. For the coffee. And for warning me. I…appreciate it.”

He nodded softly. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I got here too late.”

She shrugged as they slowly started drifting down the hall towards their classrooms. “It’s not your fault. I…I couldn’t sleep. So, I decided to just come in early and plan for the next couple of weeks. I haven’t really gotten to plan much lately.”

Michael nodded. “I get it,” he murmured. “I haven’t gotten much done lately either. Every time I set my mind to do something, I end up getting distracted. Plus,” he smiled softly at her. “I’ve missed my planning time buddy.”

Molly felt herself grow hot under his gaze. “I’ve missed you too,” she whispered into the lid of her cup before taking a large gulp.

“Molly…” he stepped closer, not quite breaching her personal boundary but close enough for the hair on her arms to tingle. “We promised we’d be friendly at work until we figured this out, right? So why can’t we start that today? New month, new Michael and Molly? Would that be okay?”

She thought for a moment, sipping absentmindedly at her coffee. She had missed him. His laugh, the way he could so easily plan lessons that were fun and engaging and covered all the content, his smile, the way he would share his grapes with her. The way he held her while they slept, the warmth that he brought to her home. Of course, she had missed him. But she was so afraid of just falling into him and not facing the untruths in their relationship that she felt like she couldn’t let him back in.

And yet, she knew in her heart that this was only temporary. She loved him too much to let their relationship just fizzle out, and she knew that he was willing to put the work in. So, perhaps, letting him be her friend again would help heal those cracks in her heart so that she could let him back in.

She found herself nodding before her mind had even committed to the idea. “Of course, we can.”

The smile on his face became blinding. “Awesome,” he whispered, juggling things around in his arms until he could reach out and shake her hand. “Hi, welcome to Jefferson. I’m Michael Perry and I would love to get to know you a little bit better on our prep this afternoon.”

The grin tugging on the edges of her mouth was hard to deny as she returned his handshake. “Hi Michael Perry, I’m Molly Henderson. And I would love to get to know you better too.”

“Perfect,” he squeezed her hand tight. “I’ll see you then, Molly.”

He nearly skipped into his own classroom, giggles bubbling up in Molly’s throat at his enthusiasm.

As she retreated to her own room and started flipping lights on, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

Despite their agreement to be friends, the atmosphere in the staff room was…awkward, to say the very least.

They sat at the same table, across from each other instead of beside each other as they would have a mere month ago. But there was no easy, peaceful silence. There were no playful touches or giggles. The sound of scratching pens and flipping pages was all that filled the room until Michael looked up and sighed.

“This isn’t working, is it?”

Molly bit her lip. “No. It’s really not. I’m sorry. I know that I said we could, but…”

“But I fucked up and you can’t let it go,” he sighed, throwing his pen onto his book and leaning back in his chair. “Not that I blame you. But I don’t…I don’t know how to fix this, Molly. And I want to. I really want to. I don’t…I can’t lose you, honey.”

Molly rubbed her eyes, feeling the tears beginning to pool. “I can’t lose you either. You’re the most important person in my life, but…but I can’t help the way that I feel.”

“And I’m not asking you to change the way that you feel. I’d never do that,” he reached out and took her hand. “I’m just asking for some guidance here. I’ve apologized, and I’m probably going to apologize every day for the rest of my life. I’ve told you the truth. I just don’t know what else to do.”

Molly leaned back, folding her arms protectively over her chest. “Well, we said we were going to be friends, right?”

“I don’t know how to be just friends with the woman I’m in love with, Molly!” Michael rubbed his forehead. “You’re my best friend, yes, but there’s so much more that you are to me. And yeah, maybe that sounds like a bullshit line, but I love you so much. I feel like I’m going out of my mind without you.”

Molly sniffled. “If you think this doesn’t make me feel like shit, then you’re wrong. You think I don’t miss you too? But I have the protect myself, Michael! If you hadn’t kept secrets from me, then we wouldn’t be here!”

A loud screech cut through the growing tension as Michael stood up. “I’m not going to fight with you, Molly,” he quickly gathered his belongings, “Maybe we can try this again on Monday.”

Molly watched him through glassy eyes as he left the staff room before she buried her head in her folded arms and fell apart. Her heavy sobs shook her shoulders and she found herself grateful that Michael had the forethought to at least close the door before he left.

Molly knew she wasn’t being fair to Michael. He had lied and kept things from her, but he had been willing to try to sit and be her friend, to put in the work to make things between them better. All he had asked for was a bit of guidance, and she had shut him down. It wasn’t like she didn’t want things between them to get better. She desperately wanted to let him back in, but she wasn’t sure how.

“Uh-oh. What happened, Henderson?”

Molly quickly wiped her eyes and looked up to find Lauren standing in the doorway, a stack of artwork in her arms.

“Oh. H-hey. What’re you doing here?”

“I got an extra prep today, so I was gonna do some laminating. I thought I’d find you and Perry in here, canoodling, and was preparing all my best disgusted facial expressions. But it looks like I don’t need them.” Lauren sat down in the chair next to her and placed her stack of art on the table. “What do you need? Should I go beat him up? Get Ken to poison his drink the next time he goes to the bar?”

Molly sniffled out a small giggle. “N-no. It’s fine. We just…we’re taking a little break.”

“And you don’t want to?”

Molly shrugged. “I don’t think either of us want to, but…it’s necessary.”

“And that is unnecessarily vague. Tell you what. My monster-in-law insisted on taking the kids tonight for a Grandma Sleepover. Ken’s gotta do inventory at the bar, which will take all night. So, you and me. Margaritas and take out from that Mexican place Alex has been raving about, and you’re gonna spill the beans. Yeah?”

Molly cracked a smile and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good. Thanks Lauren.”

The other teacher nodded and stood, picking up her stack of work. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re bringing the tequila.”

Molly giggled. “Yes ma’am. I’ll see you tonight.”

(page break)

“Hold on a sec…” Lauren swallowed down her bite of fish taco and washed it down with her lime margarita. “He didn’t tell you about whatsherface from Pittsburgh? I swear to god, I thought you knew.”

Molly shrugged and bit into her crispy chicken taco. “Nope. I had no clue. I mean, he’s mentioned exes to me before, but never this ex. I just feel like, if she wasn’t a big deal, he would’ve told me, right?”

Lauren hiccupped before taking a nacho from the tray they were splitting between them. “But she was a big deal, wasn’t she? He was gonna marry this girl.”

Molly nodded sadly. “Why wouldn’t he tell me about a past relationship that he wanted to go the distance?”

Lauren scoffed. “Why do men do anything? He probably didn’t want to shatter his ego by saying that he got turned down and dumped.”

Molly was quick to shake her head. “But he dumped her. And he never even asked her. They fell apart before he could.”

Lauren took another swig. “Then maybe she really doesn’t matter to him anymore. Or maybe it just sucks to have to bring her up. I mean, the only reason I knew about her was because he forgot to log out of the school computer and I saw some chick named Malia emailing him, so of course it was my duty to give him shit about it. That’s when he told me she was the kid of some ex in Pittsburgh. He kept in touch because he still cared about the kid.”

Molly nodded. “I know. She seems like a sweet kid. Michael really helped her out. But why not just freaking tell me that, y’know?” Molly bit into her second taco angrily.

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can tell you one thing. He definitely didn’t do it maliciously. I have never seen that man as happy as he is when he’s with you.”

Molly pouted into her margarita. “I know. He makes me really happy too. I just don’t know how to get past this. I’ve been hurt in the past and—”

“Hold up,” Lauren leaned forward, an intense look in her eyes. “You can’t be about to say that you’re afraid of Michael hurting you. Look Molly, I don’t know what happened to you in your past, and, frankly, it’s none of my business. But Michael Perry would rather cut off his left arm and feed it to a rabid crocodile than lay a finger on you.”

“I know. I know, Lauren. But…I dunno, I guess I just have a blindspot when it comes to red flags with guys.”

“The only red flag Michael is waving is one shaped like a heart with your initials in the middle,” Lauren scoffed. “Look, I’m not about to get into the middle of this. But he loves you, and he’s looked miserable ever since y’all got home. You need to either reel that boy back in or cut him loose.”

Molly flushed. “I want him back. I just…don’t know how to let him back in. I told him we could be friends until I feel like I can trust him, but even that’s really hard.”

Lauren shrugged, reaching over for the blender and refilling both their glasses. “So, don’t be friends. Let him woo you back. Flirt with him. Do all the same shit y’all were doing back in September, except this time you know where it’s leading and preferably you’ll be flirting and shit anywhere I’m not, because I don’t think I can take the lovesick puppy dog routines again.”

Molly moaned pitifully. “I just don’t know, Lauren! I don’t know how to flirt with him. We’ve never purposefully flirted with each other, you know?”

“Okay! Then do whatever whacky mating ritual you did to land him in the first place, but make sure he knows that he only gets one more shot. No more secrets, not this time.”

Molly picked up her glass and clinked it against Lauren’s. “No more secrets.”

(page break)

Michael jumped as Molly plopped into the seat next to him at the planning time table and shoved her hand at him.

“Hi,” she gasped out, slightly out of breath. “I’m Molly Henderson. I moved here to Lockhart after my grandfather died and it helped me escape an emotionally abusive boyfriend. It was really traumatic for me, both dealing with that boyfriend and losing my grandfather. My grandfather and grandmother raised me because my mom was in no way, shape, or form prepared to be a mother, and…and she was never sure who my father is.” Molly blinked, her hand trembling in between them as Michael gazed at her with wide eyes. “N-Needless to say, I have a lot of baggage when it comes to growing up and relationships. But…but I really like you, Michael. And…I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t deal with secrets, even if you think they’re not important.”

Michael blinked at her before slowly taking her hand, cradling it between his two hands. “Okay, Molly Henderson. No secrets.” He smiled softly. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

They shifted over to the comfy loveseat in the planning room, their bodies turned towards each other intimately.

“Why did you want to become a teacher?”

Michael’s fingers drummed on the back of her hand. “I had this drama and music teacher in high school, Mr. Cooper. He was…he actually saw me, you know? I was a terrible student, I’m not gonna lie. I talked back, I didn’t do homework, basically just every teacher’s worst nightmare. But Mr. Cooper got me. He taught us real life stuff. You could tell he actually cared about us, not just our marks. He made me want to make that kind of difference.”

Molly smiled, squeezing his hand. “So, what happened?”

Michael shrugged. “I got my license at NYU, did a little bit of teaching in New York, then got myself a position with Teach for America, so I ended up teaching in quite a few low-income areas. I loved it. I actually could see the difference I was making. I happened to be in Pittsburgh when my contract ended, and I just searched for the lowest ranked schools in town, which led me to Adams. And…Jaime.”

Molly nodded. “How did you two meet?”

Michael shrugged with a chuckle. “She kept trying to recruit me to help take over the school. Malia was really struggling with her dyslexia, and her teacher was…well, she was a bitch. Everyone hated her, but she was tenured, so there was nothing we could do. Until Jaime decided that a take over was the best thing to do to save our school. She teamed up with Nona Alberts, and she kept trying to recruit me, but I wasn’t interested in the take over, only in her. I liked that she said what she meant and didn’t play mind games…basically, some of the same reasons that I like you.”

“Why weren’t you interested in taking over the school? That seems right up your alley.”

Michael chuckled. “I didn’t want to lose the protection of the union. I’d seen it help a lot of teachers, including Mr. Cooper. Taking over meant no protection, and I couldn’t see myself being okay with that. I wanted to protect the kids, but I also wanted to protect the good teachers that were working hard to make a difference.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I saw how badly those good teachers wanted it, and how much the bad teachers were reticent to the idea because they would probably be fired.” Michael shook his head. “They were all in it for the money, and I couldn’t even inadvertently support the teachers who were in it for a paycheque instead of for the kids. So, when I realized that I had to choose a side, I did. And it was great. Getting to teach the way I always wanted to, the way Renata lets us teach, was incredible. I honestly don’t know if I ever would have left if not for…”

“Your mom,” Molly supplied in a quiet voice, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

He nodded sadly. “When I got the call that she was sick, I knew that I had to come home. My siblings were spread out all over the place, my dad was working double shifts to pay for her chemo, and…and I felt like I owed her. She’d always been there for me, encouraging me to follow my dreams, and I…I couldn’t let her down. I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to take care of her.”

Molly slid closer to him on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I tried. I took the prep teacher position here so I could have mornings off to take her to her appointments. Plus, I was only in three days a week, so that was a benefit too. I helped pay for stuff around the house, which eased my dad’s burden a bit. I took care of her for as long as I could, until the cancer got to be too much for her. When she passed, I…”

Molly kissed his shoulder gently. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

“I thought about returning to Pittsburgh,” he whispered after a long moment. “But Jaime was so far off my radar by that point, and I had genuinely fallen in love with Jefferson and the kids. I felt like there was no going back. I was content with my life…and then you walked in that August morning and turned it all upside down. Because of you, I wasn’t just content. I was…I am happy.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the sound of the school bustling just outside of the locked door as they took in what had been said. Michael felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but his heart felt heavy, knowing that they could have avoided all this pain if he had just talked about it earlier. Molly felt relief, knowing that she now had the whole truth, that there were no more secrets between them.

Michael glanced over at the sound of her sniffle.

“Hey…” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’ve said it a million times before, but this time…this time it means so much more. I am so sorry.”

She nodded into his shoulder, swiping at her falling tears. “I know and thank you for telling me the whole truth. I guess I just…I expected to feel…different. Not so…”

“Angry?”

She nodded with a hiccup. “Y-yeah…I don’t want to be angry anymore, but it’s not a choice, you know?”

Michael patted her shoulder and pulled away slightly. “I get it. Believe me, I didn’t expect that just telling you the truth would magically fix everything. But hopefully getting it all out there helps a bit? Now, maybe we can get back on track and work on getting back together?”

Molly nodded with a small smile and kissed his cheek. “I’d really like that.”

Over the next few weeks, there was a marked change between Michael and Molly. Michael once again would greet Molly every morning at her car, a steaming cup of coffee in hand for her. They’d pass by their colleagues, who greeted them with knowing smiles, as they made their way to their classrooms. They’d giggle and flirt with each other while their classes put their belongings in their lockers and make their ways inside, all while Gillian watched them with a smirk. Lauren and Alex would roll their eyes at them as they sat together at lunch, lost in their own little world. They’d sit all cozied up together during play rehearsals and, at the end of the day, they’d stand beside Molly’s car, neither one wanting to go home. And yet, they kept their friendship to school hours, with a few fun texts sent throughout the night.

Until, one day…

“Hey, Molly?”

She smiled up at Michael as he stood in the doorway, looking more like a nervous student than her confident and cool boyfriend.

“Hey, Michael, what’s up?” Glancing up to check the time, Molly began packing up her belongings to head home.

“Umm…do you have plans tonight?” he blurted.

Molly froze. Things had been going so well between them, and she had been desperately waiting for him to ask her out. She knew that probably wasn’t fair, considering she’d requested for the dating ball to be left in her court, and she knew that he liked it when she took charge and said what was on her mind, but here he was, beating her to it.

“N-no…why do you ask?”

Michael bit his lip. “I called my dad and got my mom’s pepian recipe. I thought maybe you could come over tonight and I could make you dinner?” he gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. “You know, Johnny, Cash, and Spike really miss you.”

Molly giggled and nodded, butterflies flittering in her stomach. “Yeah, I…I’ve missed them too. I’d love to come over. I’ll bring the wine.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart,” Michael smiled. “See you at seven.”

Molly felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as she smiled widely. “See you then.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard, it shouldn’t be this hard…” Molly mumbled to herself as she stared at her closet.

It wasn’t their first date. It wasn’t even their tenth date. They had been on (an albeit disastrous) vacation together. He’d already seen her naked. But Molly could feel the pressure building around her. She wanted to look perfect, she wanted to be perfect for him. To make this thing work. To be with him for the rest of her life, if she was being perfectly honest with herself.

Scrambling, she dove to pick up her phone, searching through her contacts until she found the one she wanted, and dialing.  

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” she nearly moaned, collapsing back onto her bed.

“Something sexy so he takes you to his bed and ravishes you,” Alex replied dryly. “That should help keep the awkwardness at bay.”

Molly groaned. “Lauren, do you have me on speaker?”

“Duh, I figured this would require two friends instead of one, so I called Alex.”

“You knew I would need help?”

“Honey, you’re going on a date that will make or break your relationship. Of course, you’re going to need help.”

“Dude, right now you are doing the opposite of helping. Shut up and drink your beer while I talk. Molly, you’re gonna be fine. He’s already seen you naked, he already loves you, so don’t put so much pressure on it.”

“Easier said than done,” she mumbled. “What if I–”

“Molly, chill,” Alex called out. “Wear that cute little white dress with the blue flowers, some sandals, and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Molly sat up in her bed and chewed on her bottom lip, staring at said dress in her closet. It wasn’t a bad idea. The simple white sundress was cute and sweet, the blue flowers that decorated the thin material added a spring-y touch, and the thin straps and flirty neckline made it just playful enough to be considered appropriate date wear. Throw in her strappy white sandals, and it was a decent enough outfit for a home dinner date.

“Y-yeah…okay. That could work.”

“Go knock his pants off, babe,” Lauren chuckled.

Molly smiled in spite of herself. Her friends were overbearing, overly aggressive, and overinvested in her love life, but she honestly couldn’t imagine her life without them.

“Thanks guys. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Go get him, girl!”

Molly hesitated for a second at Michael’s front door. A month ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to use her key and strolled in, maybe trying to surprise him by coming up behind him and hugging him. But this was a fresh start and using her key just didn’t feel right. So, she did the next best thing, and knocked rapidly, her feet shuffling nervously.

“Come on in!” she heard a faint voice call. Biting her lip, Molly dug in her purse and pulled out her key, unlocking the door and stepping into the warm house that had been like a second home to her.

“Michael?”

“In the kitchen, sweetheart.”

Molly wandered through the living room, stopping to peek into the fish tank to greet Johnny and Cash, before stepping into the kitchen.

“Oh my god, that smells incredible.”

Michael turned to face her, tossing the dishtowel over his shoulder with a smile. “Mama’s cooking has never steered me wrong before. Hi…” He stepped closer and pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “You look amazing.”

Molly smiled brightly. “Thank you. So do you.” What else could she say? The man looked good in black. “I brought wine. The guy at the store said that white wine would go best? I hope he’s right.”

“White wine sounds perfect. I put the wine glasses over there…” Michael jerked his head in the direction of the counter, where two long stemmed glasses stood glistening in the setting sunlight.

Seamlessly, Molly glided over to the counter, stepping around Michael as he turned on the blender, and pouring two tall glasses of the pale liquid. Moving back to his side, he turned and let his fingers gently glide over hers before relieving her of the glass.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, staring deep into her eyes.

Molly smiled softly at him. “You’re welcome.” Stepping closer, she rested her chin on his forearm and stared down at the stove. “What are you doing?” she whispered quietly. “Or is this a secret family recipe?”

“Well…it kind of is. But Mama would’ve liked you, so I think she’d be okay with me letting you in on it.” Michael grinned, tilting his head down to nuzzle his nose against her forehead before kissing it gently and turning back to the hot pan on the stove. “I just finished blending the tomatillos, poblanos, jalapenos, toasted sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, cilantro, and chicken stock with the spices and the salt. Now, I’m just making sure that my chicken is cooked so I can pour the sauce on top. Can you check the rice in the rice cooker, please?”

Molly peeked over at the little machine. “Oh, the light just went off.”

“Perfect…” Michael reached for the blender and stuck his pinky in. “Want to test for poison?” he grinned, extending his pinky towards her.

“I’m sorry…what?” she laughed, stepping closer.

“It’s what we all used to say when Mama would tell us dinner was almost ready. Somebody had to check for poison, or make sure that the food was ‘good’. Usually, it was just a way to get a sneak peek at dinner.”

Molly giggled. “You guys were so cute. I’d be honoured to be your taste tester.”

Molly locked eyes with him as she lowered her head and sucked the red sauce from his pinky, unable to look away. She felt like she was breaking every rule in the book. They were supposed to be starting new, starting fresh, but they had always had that magnetic attraction, pulling them together even when they tried to force themselves apart.

Based on the rise and fall of Michael’s Adam’s apple, he felt the same way. “F-fuck…” he murmured; his eyes trained on her lips as she released his pinky.

Molly felt her cheeks burn under the weight of his gaze. “S-sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Michael cleared his throat. “H-how did it taste?”

Molly grinned. “It tastes amazing. I can’t wait to eat it all together.”

Michael smiled that proud smile of his, the one that stretched his cheeks and lit up his autumn eyes. “Perfect. Give me five minutes to mix it all up, and then dinner will be served.”

“I can’t wait. I’m starving.” Molly giggled as she skirted around him and pulled two plates out of his cabinet.

Michael smiled at her back, so happy to have her there. So happy to be feeling normal again.

Dinner was, surprisingly, a quiet affair. They made small talk, chatting about their days and the crazy things their students had said and done. Michael bemoaned having to send one of his kids to the office for almost getting into a fist fight, while Molly talked about the crazy conversation she had with a parent when one of her more difficult kids had told her to go fuck herself. But mostly, they reveled in the quiet peace that surrounded them. Michael had lit a few candles, the wine flowed easily, dulling the sharp edge of awkwardness they both felt at times, wishing things were as they had been. The homemade food was so tasty that Molly moaned in pleasure, and if she noticed Michael shifting in his chair at the sound, she didn’t say anything.

Of course, Molly insisted on helping him clean up the kitchen afterwards. Though there was no water fight as there had been on Valentine’s Day, the soft bumping of their hips against each other as Michael washed and Molly dried side by side at his small kitchen sink was just as delightfully intimate.

Unfortunately, Molly could not come up with any more excuses to stay, so eventually she donned her jacket, slid on her sandals, and moved towards his front door, Michael standing behind her, wringing his hands.

“I had a great time, Michael,” she murmured, smiling at him.

“Me too, sweetheart. M-maybe we could do it again next weekend?”

Her smile grew as she nodded. “That would be amazing. But it’s my turn to cook, okay?”

He nodded, stepping closer as she drifted towards the door. “I still have dreams about that jerk chicken chili you made,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Molly bit her lip to hide her proud grin. “I’ll have to come up with something to give you more good dreams then.”

Michael smirked. “You’ve never had to try at that.”

Molly felt the blood rush towards her cheeks as she cast her eyes down. “I…I should go.”

Michael nodded, his face the picture of understanding with a hint of something more. “Can…would it be okay if I gave you a goodnight kiss?”

Molly felt her heart start to pound in her chest as she found herself nodding. “I’d hoped you would,” she confessed, tilting her head up at him.

Michael moved even closer, so close that their chests were almost touching. “I’ve been restraining myself all night. I…I know we’re supposed to be starting fresh, but…”

“But it’s hard because it’s us?” she finished, tilting her head to nuzzle her nose against his.

“Exactly,” he breathed, raising his hand to cup her cheek. “It’s us and I’ve missed us.”

“I’ve missed us too…”

Molly nearly whimpered as Michael wound his free hand around her waist and tugged her closer, dipping his head and pressing a small, sweet kiss on her lips.

They hung suspended in that moment, the kiss so seemingly innocent but under the surface, Molly could feel every feeling, every urge she had had since March Break roiling in her veins. Every time she had seen him, her heart yearned for him. Every time she thought of him, her body responded with a smile, a pang, a deep desire to be with him, all wrapped up into one.

Tentatively, Molly pressed her tongue to his bottom lip, and the moment shattered. With a moan, Michael tugged her infinitesimally closer, their bodies pressed firmly together as they shared a breath between them. Urgently, Molly stripped her jacket off and tossed it to the ground so she could press even closer, her hands running through Michael’s luscious hair as he tugged her backwards until they fell against the sofa.

“Fuck…what’re we doing?” Michael groaned, his lips chasing hers as she broke the kiss to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” Molly panted. “But…I don’t want to stop.” She whimpered as he rolled her underneath him on the couch, attacking her neck with kisses.

“Are you sure?” he panted, skimming his nose along her pulse point. “Because if we start this…I can’t just go back to going slow.”

Molly bit her lip. When she had arrived in Texas, she had sworn to herself ‘no more new’. A new state, a new city, a new job at a new school was enough for her. But Michael had wormed his way into her life, not a parasite (like her ex) but like a warm hug, reassuring her and warming her from the outside in. Having Michael be the new new in her life was exactly what she had needed, and exactly what she continued to need.

She nuzzled her nose against his, pressing a soft, smiling kiss to his lips. “I don’t want to go slow anymore,” she whispered, and the look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face made her feel like she was orbiting the Sun, warm but knowing he would never hurt her. “I love you, Michael.”

He moaned, kissing her soundly. “I love you so much, Molly.”

In the blink of an eye, their clothing was tossed around the room. Molly would have to buy Spike a new pot, since her bra had lassoed the cactus’s current home and dragged it to the floor. Michael’s pants landed on top of his fish tank, a fact that he would later complain about when he found himself smelling like fish food. But at that moment, Michael was too busy to complain. His lips found her nipple and sucked with a grin, his fingers skimming down her trembling sides. Molly left scratches down his back as he pulled her apart again and again with his fingers.

When he finally pressed inside of her, Michael would deny that there were tears in his eyes, but Molly wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to convince him anyway, what with the way he kissed her tear tracks as he rocked his hips against her, feeling fulfilled for the first time in a month.

Molly gasped as Michael pressed against that spot deep inside of her that made her see stars.

“Is that the spot?” he murmured in her ear. “Is that the spot that makes my girl feel so good?” He ducked his head and sucked a mark onto the swell of her breast.

“Please, Michael…” she moaned, bucking her hips up against him.

“What do you need, baby?” he whispered, his hips working over her a little faster. “I’ll give you anything.”

She gasped, tears welling and falling from her eyes as she felt the pleasure build in her stomach. “You…I need you, Michael…”

He buried his head in her hair as his fingers found her clit. “You’ve got me, Molly,” he grunted, picking up his pace again. “You’ve always got me.”

With a cry, Molly’s walls squeezed around him, sending him into the white void of his mind, pleasure wracking his every nerve.

When they came down from their highs—whether it was five minutes or five hours later, neither were sure—Michael would tug down his throw blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around Molly’s shoulders, careful not to wake her from where she was dozing against his chest, his cock still buried within her. He knew he should wake her. Take her upstairs, cuddle up in bed so neither of their necks hurt the next day, but he couldn’t be bothered. He’d put up with the neck pain and the back pain and the ‘good God you’re getting too old to sleep on the couch’ pain for the rest of his life if it meant he could always have her cuddled against his chest like that.

“I love you so much, Molly,” he whispered before stretching out and turning off the lamp.

They both slept better than they had in a month, couch be damned.

Tags:  @budcooper @mattmurdocksscars @aellynera @beenthroughalot @itspdameronthings

[reefdabeef94-blog]

Manifesto of change

   As with all things in life, my postings throughout this semester portray many images of what I express in and out of this course. The dissection of my coursework is a drastic departure from what I typically would experience or identify with, but the work still symbolizes multiple instances of change. Whether that be changing emotional values, changing subjects of photographs, or changing values of artistic dissection, the directive of the work has been fueled by my varying mentality, and as such this manifesto coordinates change with the timestamps of my work completed over this semester.

  I am typically non-sedentary, and such is my mentality. That is reflected in this semester’s work. Not to say that each piece of work is directly in opposition to the previous, but rather that there lies no intentional continuity between each piece. I express this directly in some pieces, such as module nine assignment. Within this assignment lies six photos each with the same frame, but over different periods of time, highlighting different times of the day and the activity at the front door, particularly the actions of my dogs. This was the most literal interpretation of time's effect on things, with the only thing changed in those photographs being the time of day. Each point of interest in that photo was simple in the right place, at the right time.

   Another subject that expressed my personal emotional values is my musical anthem, or assignment 8. The day I wrote and submitted that work I was taking my lunch break at work and was running off of nothing but the emotional sentiment I found within myself. All of the songs were influenced by that emotion, as I work in a busy customer service environment. Most of the songs were very calming and slow paced, a direct and intentional contrast to my experiences before writing that assignment. I was drawn to the pleasant and paced songs. This highlights the point of my emotional values and objective reasoning deviating from what it was previously depending on my current mental and physical situation, particularly in reaction to excessive stimulus.

    For my submission for the assignment “Anatomy of a Scene” I chose the scene in which a major transition of the story had occurred. The scene in which Mr. Gatsby, of “The Great Gatsby” is revealed, exists as the transition between the introduction of the first character, Nick, and the introduction to Gatsby. The thematic change of the scene exists to draw attention to Gatsby’s character. The previous half hour of the film was spent building towards his reveal as an academic, an icon of mysterious wealth, and a man of lavish parties. These growing values of his character are then shattered after he is introduced, and we learn of his true nature as a charlatan who inherited his wealth. The introductory scene sets the image of him in an excellent tone, and can be seen as the height of Gatsby’s character in terms of renown. From that scene he gradually decays and changes his expression towards his inevitable death at the end of the film. 

    As humans do, particularly eighteen year olds do, I have changed over the short span of this class. The assignments I have posted serve as timestamps that allow me to observe unique changes in my observation, assessments of my observations, and expressions of those assessments. For example, assignment seven allowed me to write a short story. That assignment was my favorite by a long shot and I was quite passionate about it, but at the same time I was also extremely caffeinated, and I can look back on that assignment and my other works and compare certain things to draw conclusions to my nature of change. As such I can assume one thing from with certainty, and that is that no matter how drastic the change is, I will always be changing my expression of artistic intent, no matter the median.

[sapphicsoie]

i wish you would

tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: a tipsy game of 21 questions between you and peter turns heated after you make a snarky remark

based on a fic idea by @spidervee on this post (idea #2)

warnings: nsfw, this is literally porn with no plot, dom/sub, overstimulation, swearing, oral (fem receiving), dirty talking, penetrative sex, maybe a wee bit of degradation and praise kink, tbh never done warnings before so oop

author's notes: this is the first smut i've ever written that wasn't a blurb, i hope it's ok! accidentally turned it into a college au but i picture them in grad school. wrote the majority of it on an airplane. also- shoutout to my irl besties who beta'ed this for me, and to vee for the fic idea!

minors: do not interact. i know you're gonna read this shit regardless of what writers tell you, all i ask is that you don't interact with this post or my account. thanks 🫶🏻

word count: 2.1k

You, Gwen, Peter, and Harry were sitting on the floor of Peter and Harry’s apartment on a Friday night drinking the alcohol Harry had bought for tonight. The only reason the alcohol was any good was that Harry bought it. If you, Gwen, or Peter had bought it, you would have been drinking glorified rubbing alcohol, so once again, Harry and his wallet came to the rescue. You had all had a tough week. Peter and Gwen had to work long hours in the lab on top of classes and homework, Peter also had to do recon on an underground trafficking ring, and you had a midterm every single day that week. Harry was the only one that had a decent week, it seemed, but he was always looking for an excuse to drink with the three of you, so when he heard that you all had had a week from hell, he was more than happy to buy the alcohol and pizzas.

It was two in the morning, and the pizza had gone cold. Somehow you ended up playing 21 questions, and it started relatively innocent but quickly divulged into something much dirtier. Poor Peter was the victim of ruthless teasing between Harry and you, Gwen being too nice to partake.

Peter was getting asked questions like, “What’s the weirdest porn video you’ve gotten off to?”

“Peter, who did you lose your virginity to?” you ask, smiling, and you take a sip of your hard cider.

“Hah! I know the answer to that one,” Harry says, smirking.

Peter was the colour of a tomato.

“Harry, I swear to God if you say anything, I will murder you in your sleep,” Peter responds angrily.

“Oh, Peter! It’s okay if you’re a virgin. You can be honest. You’re amongst friends.” you say in mock sympathy. Harry doubles over laughing while Gwen sits there, unsure how to react.

“I have so many ways to make you shut up right now y/n,” Peter replies, staring you down.

“Yeah, well, I wish you would,” you challenge, rolling your eyes before looking him in the eye with a smirk as you take a sip of your drink.

Peter nods before standing up and announcing, “That’s it. Gwen, Harry, get the fuck out,” he starts to pick up the empty drink bottles and motions for Harry and Gwen to get up.

“Parker, what the hell this is my house?!” Harry yells.

“It’s two in the freaking morning! Where are we supposed to go?” Gwen adds.

“As your roommate, I’m asking you to get the fuck out” Peter pushes him towards the door.

Harry rolls his eyes and stands up, Gwen following suit.

“I need my shoes if you want me to leave! Have you seen them?” Gwen looks around the room frantically while grabbing her coat and bag while Harry slips on his shoes and takes a chug of beer before putting on his jacket and grabbing a half-empty six-pack from the coffee table. Peter opens the door and ushers them out quickly. You hear someone yell, “USE A CONDOM!” before Peter shuts the door and locks it.

You’re still sitting crossed-legged on the floor, shocked at the scene that just played out.

“Stand up. Now.” Peter says, warm brown eyes almost black, stalking toward you like your prey he’s about to catch.

You don’t move, giggling. You didn’t know Peter had it in him. He was the sweetest, most gentle person you knew. You couldn’t picture this side of him at all. You knew he was Spiderman and fought criminals regularly, but he’s never shown any anger or even passion aside from when he rants about scientific discoveries.

“Pretty sure I asked you to do something, Bunny,” he says, standing over you, looking down on you. That comment goes right to your core, feeling yourself growing wet at the look and tone of voice he’s giving you.

“And if I don’t? Get up, I mean.” You reply, looking up at him with a mischievous smile.

He scoffs, nodding while looking away for a second. “You have three seconds.”

Three seconds pass. Peter grabs you and throws you over his shoulder with the ease of picking up a bag of flour. You let out a surprised yelp, squirming a bit, putting up a fight to see how far you can take it as he carries you to his bedroom.

“You can act like a brat all you want, but you’re going to regret it just so you know,” he tells you, sounding carefree and unaffected by the situation the two of you were in, which is more than you can say for yourself. At this point, you were squeezing your legs together in an attempt to hide how turned on you were when you were interrupted by Peter telling you he could smell how turned on you were. Well shit, there goes the last of your dignity.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you let out an “oomph” as your back hits the mattress. You go to sit up, only to be stopped by Peter pushing you back down. He grabs your wrists, moving them above your head. You hear a “thwip” and feel something sticky on your skin. You look up to see your wrists webbed to the bed and your core pulses at the new kink you just discovered.

“What are you going to do?” You ask, your heart beating fast at the prospect of what’s about to happen.

“Making you shut up.” He replies, sliding your jeans and underwear off your legs, kissing you down your stomach, sucking a love mark onto your hip before opening your legs and moving to your inner thighs, leaving a bruise there too.

“I thought you were a vir-” you say, only to be cut off by sucking in a deep breath as Peter likes a stripe up your slit. He starts rubbing slow circles on your clit as he looks up at you to say, “Oh I’m sorry baby, were you saying something?” raising an eyebrow in question, feigning innocence.

You can’t think of a single comprehensible thought, let alone a witty comeback to say because you’re too lost in how fucking amazing you feel and how much you want Peter to put his mouth back on you, to make you come so hard you see stars.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks at you before going back to pleasing you. He starts licking gently at your clit as he slides one finger down your slit to your entrance, slipping one finger in and curling it, making you jolt.

“Fuck, P-Peter oh my god,” you say breathlessly as he starts sucking on your clit in earnest, slipping a second finger in your cunt, slowly scissoring in and out, stretching you.

He switches his fingers for his tongue, first lapping up your slick then moving to lick into your cunt as he circles your clit with the pad of his index finger. You genuinely think you just might see God because your whole body is tingling, and you can feel your thighs shake as you get closer and closer to your climax.

“Oh fuck, fuck! I’m gonna c-cum Peter please!” You whine, toes curling and tilting your hips up to rock into his tongue.

“Go ahead baby, you can cum,” he says while pressing harder into your clit and adding his fingers into your pussy, feeling you clench around them as you come.

You’re riding the high of your orgasm when you realise Peter isn’t stopping. The sharp feeling of overstimulation makes you try and close your legs, but Peter stops you, holding them open, licking up the slick from your orgasm.

“Peter, it hurts,” you mewl, squirming as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

“I’m sure it does, but this is what happens to brats who don’t listen, bunny. You’re going to come one more time on my tongue and fingers, then twice on my cock.” He responds.

You nod dumbly, too absorbed in the feeling of him licking into you to process what he says entirely. You let out quiet moans, rocking your hips to meet his fingers and tongue, feeling yourself get closer to coming again. You tug at the webs holding you to the headboard, but they don’t budge. As Peter makes figure-eights against your clit, you feel yourself push over the edge again, tensing your whole body as you come. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible.

Peter gives you a brief respite, slipping his shirt, sweatpants, and boxers off, revealing his dick which is honestly much bigger than you anticipated, and your mouth goes a little dry. Peter notices your nervousness.

“Hey, you okay? We can stop now if you want,” He asks gently, rubbing circles into your hip bone.

“No, I’m good. It just took me by surprise. I want you,” you respond, giving a small smile and opening your legs so they’re in a butterfly position. He grabs a condom from his bedside table drawer and slides it on. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. He lines up with your entrance, sliding in slowly until he bottoms out.

“You feel so good in me Peter,” you moan, closing your eyes and tilting your head back, feeling how full you are. He starts thrusting slowly, rocking his hips into yours, leaning down to kiss you. You stay like that for a while, slow thrusts with soft, tender kisses.

“I’m not made of glass. You can go harder,” you say, looking him in the eye, impatient now that you had grown used to his cock inside of you.

“Suit yourself,” he replies, grabbing your hips as he starts drilling into you hard and fast, leaving bruising touches on your hips. He then brings one of his hands down to circle your clit. You gasp as you feel sparks in your core from the attention to your clit. Your pussy throbs, and you’re overwhelmed by all the sensations so close to coming. You let out soft whines, clenching down on his dick, pushing yourself closer and closer to oblivion.

“Such a good girl for me y/n, all it took for you to shut up was a few orgasms and my dick,” Peter says, enunciating as he thrusts into you particularly hard. That’s what sends you over the edge, pushing your hips up to meet his as you ride your high.

Peter slows his thrusts for a bit, giving you a chance to breathe before starting to pound into you to chase his orgasm. Your limbs feel like they’re made of jelly as Peter fucks you, pleasure melding with pain until you can’t tell which is which. You can barely hear the sounds of skin slapping together, of you and Peter’s moans, over the sound of the roaring in your ears.

“Three down, one more to go baby,” he grunts, pistoning his hips at a new angle that feels like it’s practically touching your cervix.

“Holy f-fucking shit, P-Peter,” the words tumble out of your mouth, pulling at the webs in an attempt to grab onto Peter. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts into you at the new angle, cock scraping against your sensitive spot every time. You can practically feel his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so stuffed full.

“I’m gonna cum, I wanna feel you cum too, Bunny,” he says, circling your clit as he thrusts into you. You feel yourself come for the fourth and final time, and as your cunt clenches down on Peter’s cock, you feel him come too, slowing his hips as he rides out his orgasm.

He pulls out, sitting on the side of the bed and disposing of the condom, before kissing you on the lips briefly and walking to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth and grab the stuff to dissolve the webs.

“Such a good girl, did so good y/n,” He says, dissolving the webs before wiping you down, leaving kisses along the way.

You bring your hands up to his face, kissing him on the lips. You break away after a few seconds of gentle kisses, and he rolls over to lay side by side with you on the bed, the two of you looking up at the ceiling.

You turn your head to look at his face, and he turns his head to look at yours. “Guess you aren’t a virgin, after all, Parker!” you say, laughing as Peter rolls his eyes, giving you a light shove.

“You are literally the worst y/n.” He groans before joining in with your laughter.

[foli-vora]

greatest love of all

A/N: Heart crushing softness I half wrote while in hospital after having mini and felt gooey enough to finish today. 

Summary: Post birth softness with Frankie.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: brief swearing, heavy talk of birth & babies, sweet soft fluff, Frankie deserves the fucking world ok????

A brief note: I know healthcare varies around the world when it comes to giving birth, but I’ve written this based on my experiences in Australia so will be different to what is typical in the US and whatnot.

----------

“You’re incredible.”

You breathe a sleepy chuckle, eyes fluttering in exhaustion as you melt into the pillows supporting your back. The hand dancing along your hairline in soothing motions moves down your cheek, rough fingertips tracing over your skin until they finish at your chin, pinching it softly as lips ghost over yours.

A small noise of protest cuts through the moment of peace and your eyes open immediately, automatically falling to the small face creased and nuzzled into your bare chest.

Frankie laughs quietly, lips moving from yours to press tenderly into the flattened dark locks still damp from her arrival.

“Yes, and you, too.” He whispers, hand seeming so large in comparison to your daughter’s head as he caresses her gently.

It hadn’t been easy, and he could feel it now still, a slight tremble in his bones—true, sharp panic in the very core of him, burning through his gut and bringing out a long forgotten feeling pushed down by vigorous training and missions.

He thought he’d be okay. He knew everything about labour. He had been present for all the classes, he’d googled every little thing and read every book you had borrowed from the library. He’d felt stress before - he’d seen some heavy shit in the past, but this? Your obvious pain had pierced his very soul. It had crippled him, wrapped it’s horrific hands around his throat and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe, choking on each word as he tried to coax you into breathing better yourself.

The way you had cried out, the way you thrashed and arched and screamed… and yet, you still had the energy to smile, to laugh, giddy and practically aglow as a little squirming body was guided and pressed into your chest. Suddenly it’s like all of the pain and the tears and the suffering of the last twenty six hours had evaporated, leaving nothing but peace in your features, sweat still licking at your skin but tranquillity radiating from your pores.

He wishes you would share a bit.

He needs a cigarette. Or five.

“How are you feeling?”

He doesn’t know why he’s speaking so quietly. It’s not like the room is silent. Short alarms of various meanings sound out in the hallways beyond the closed door, machines beep and pagers sound out. The midwives move about freely chatting amongst themselves, cleaning away the bloodied sheets and checking your blood loss with calm, easy smiles every so often. They stay out of the way for the most part, content to let you both enjoy the new life cradled gently in your arms and give you time to breathe in the feeling of her skin on yours, so new and fresh and warm. It’s a good thing for you, he had learnt in his studies… this ’skin-to-skin’ thing. They’re right. You glow. He watches on with a whole fucking galaxy shining in his eyes. 

“I’m okay.” You answer after a beat with a sleepily wide smile, and he doesn’t know how you do it.

“You’re a goddamn machine.” He comments while running an anxious hand through his hair, truth hanging onto every word. “I was about to fucking pass out.”

Your body heaves with your laugh, your hand moving from the baby to trace along his jaw softly. He nuzzles into your touch, moustache tickling your skin. “Thank god you didn’t - the guys would never let you live that down.”

He grunts in agreement, breaking into a small grin before burying his face in your shoulder and breathing you in.

“Are you okay?” He can’t help but worry. “Really?”

You barely hear him with his face pressed so tightly against you. The birth had been a blur, but you do remember the pure panic shining in his eyes when you had looked up at him with the comforting coaxes of the midwives to breathe ringing in your ears, you had felt the tremble in his hold, you had seen the build of terrified tears when you cried that you couldn’t do it anymore.

You turn your head to press a series of gentle kisses into his hat flattened curls. 

“Look at me,” you breathe, waiting until he pulls a few inches away to speak, “I’m okay, baby.”

His pupils flicker between your eyes, searching the very depths of them for even the slightest trace of a lie. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he finds none, swallowing the last remaining trembles down before looking at his daughter, lips twitching at the puckered angry face frowning at the brightness of the room.

“She looks like a potato.” You mutter, finger tracing her little nose.

“Well she did just squeeze her way through your -”

“Please don’t remind me.” 

He chuckles lowly, resting his head on your shoulder and throwing an arm over the both of you. You snuggle into his hold and relax, content to lay and bathe in the warm afterglow. It’s easy to see how enamoured Frankie is with her already. He coos soft reassurances whenever her face deepens into an unhappy frown, his fingers trace her little features with such a tender fondness it has tears stinging the backs of your eyes.

“She’s beautiful - even if she does look like a potato and is covered in… whatever that is.” He mutters, grinning.

You hum tiredly in agreement. “She’s wonderful, Frankie.”

His eyes roll to your face, his lips pulling into a soft smile as yours flutter in your exhaustion. He tightens his arm around the both of you, murmuring that you can rest, that he wouldn’t be going anywhere and he would watch over you and your daughter.

Something sweet and electric rolls across his skin, seeping through into his veins and wrapping around his heart.

He’s finally found it.

He always thought a man like him would never get it. He didn’t deserve it after the things he’s witnessed, the things he’s taken part in, the things he’s done himself with his own bare hands—he had made peace with that long, long ago.

But no… here it is. Right here, and all for him and him alone. His own happily ever after. His own peace. His own love. His own home. You and her - it was everything he didn’t deserve, and yet here you were. Tears build again, and this time, he lets them fall, lips unable to let go of the smile still curling them.

Everything could wait. The world could wait. Pope’s endless, currently unanswered calls could wait. As of now, he was full. Content. Truly at peace—he had everything he needed, right in front of him.

+

Tags:  @julesorwhatever​ @ew-erin​ @sharkbait77​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @withasideofmeg​ @you-got-me-starry-eyed​ @ezrasbirdiealso​ @wyn-n-tonic​ @intu-witch-tion​ @amneris21​ @mad-girl-without-a-box​ @pinguinstudiert​ @sergeantbannerbarnes​ @betterthanbucky​ @kat-r-in​ @starlightmornings​ @randomness501​ @antisocialthat70sshow​ @buttercup--bee​ @sleep-tight1​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @hope-for-the-best-98​ @bunniwarrior​ @fangirl-316​ @acourtofsnakes​ @leaiorganas​ @princess76179​ @redriots​ @lv7867​ @doin-stuff​ @magpie-to-the-morning​ @pedritoispunk​ @lestradeslover​ @missminkylove​ @simsiddy​ @christina-loves​ @readsalot73​ @dihra-vesa​ @eri16​ @karolydulin​ @infuriatinglyoptimistic​ @h-hxgirl​ @stardust-galaxies​

[escapenightmare]

WHEN YOU CALL THEM PRETTY BOY.

— izuku, denki, bakugou, shoto x gn!reader

cw. cursing, mentions of eating, not proof-read note. this is to make up for the half-assed drabble i wrote at 6am yesterday <3

tokyo rev ver. | bnha ver.

—— IZUKU was sitting by his table, studying for the upcoming exams with his back to you. he’d been at this for quite some time and you were getting worried, he’d been studying for more than six hours straight, with no bathroom-breaks, snack-breaks, or just break breaks, even. you were on your fifth or so break, and wanted him to come lay down for a bit. sure, studying is important, so is passing your exams but doing it for a very long time was not at all good for you.

standing up from his bed, you go behind him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head on him, “hey pretty boy, take a break for a bit.”

“huh?” he stammers, placing his hands on your arms.

“a break. let’s take one.” you repeat.

“i meant the nickname,” he says, turning a little to see you.

“oh. pretty boy.” you smile at how his cheeks turn red, “you’re my pretty boy ‘zuku.”

“i’m your pretty boy,” izuku mumbles with a shy smile. “okay, let’s take a break.”

—— DENKI loved nicknames. he claims that he’d called you all the nicknames in the book, even the slightly gross ones, he had added with a gag. he was cheesy, but not thatcheesy. so, when he knocks on your door and you open it with a, “oh. hey pretty boy.” he can’t help but almost drop the bags he was carrying. he walks inside and places the bag on your table, turning around with a huge, infectious grin.

“new nickname?”

“wha—” you smile in realization. “yeah. you like it?”

“like it?” he questions in mock exaggeration. bounding up to you with that bright smile of his and wrapping his arms around you, placing his head in the crook of your neck, he mumbles. “i love it.”

“it suits you,” you mutter, hugging him back, running your hands through his blonde locks.

“i’m your pretty boy, right?” he brings up a hand and pokes your cheek. he didn’t look up but you could feel his cheeky smile.

“yeah, you’re my pretty boy.”

—— BAKUGOU lays with his head in your lap, scrolling through his fyp as you lean against the wall and do something on your phone. getting the sudden urge to go and get something to eat, you try to gently push bakugou’s head away and stand up, only to receive a glare from him as he plops his head back down on your lap. “katsuki,” you groan. “come on, get up, i want to go get something to eat.”

“no,” he grumbles. “stay here.”

rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “come on, pretty boy. move.”

“huh?” his shock gives you a few seconds to push his head away (again, gently) and stand up.

“what do you mean, ‘huh?’” you ask, going into the kitchen.

you hear a thud and hurried footsteps behind you.

“what the fuck did you just call me?”

—— SHOTO is the resident pretty boy of class A, and he really deserves the title. so many people call him that, but he just brushes their compliments off because he knew they weren’t really genuine. but when you say it, even if you say if for only one time, he still treasures the moment with his life.

he’d been looking something up on his phone, seated on the couch when you walk into the room, took a seat beside him and asked, “do you wanna go out for a walk, pretty boy?”

and he does a doubletake, his eyes go wide in surprise and he blinks once. twice. thrice, before he replies, “did you just call me…” he trails off, a red dust coating his cheeks.

“pretty boy? yeah?” you tilt your head, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling, “aw, you’re blushing.”

shoto grins softly. “it sounds, nice, when you say it.”

“i’ll call you that more often, then.” you stand up, extending a hand, “so, how about that walk, pretty boy?”

[remakethestars]

Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why. 

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia. 

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart. 

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school. 

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats. 

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions. 

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you. 

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.” 

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could. 

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow. 

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.” 

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break. 

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.” 

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up. 

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol. 

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia. 

“Brother?” 

“Tt. Obviously.” 

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba. 

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?” 

“How’d you know?” you asked. 

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!