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vendettaparker · 3 years

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Reckless [T.H]

Summary: In a fit of jealousy, Tom embarrasses you in front of your new friend and the entire pub, leaving you heartbroken at his reckless actions.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, slut-shaming

a/n: hi! sorry this took so so so long for me to get out! i got super busy with other works, but i’m super happy with how this turned out :) i hope you enjoy this, and don’t worry, i know how scary those warnings look ^ but this ends happy, i promise! as always, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom was an idiot. He was an actual fucking idiot. He now realizes that as he watches you run out of the pub with hot tears streaming down your face. He watches as Harry runs after you, your bag in his hand, probably to make sure you make it back home safe since there was no way you’d return to the crowded bar, where Harrison and Sam were giving Tom death glares, the same little pub where Tom had made a complete fool out of you.

The few months Tom came home to London were always the setting of your most cherished memories. Sometimes it seemed like when he left so did the whole group of friends you surround yourself with.

There was no doubt in your mind that Tom was the life of the party. He had a certain aura about him that caused some of the most fucked up, but amazing situations to occur. That was probably one of the reasons you loved him so much.

When he was in town, his brothers, Harrison, and Tuwaine all joined together to make the next few months memorable before he had to leave again, and you were always included, but when he was gone, Harry usually went with him, Harrison focused on work for himself, and Sam focused on his restaurant. The world slowed down after Tom left, and so many times, you were left to wait for his return; alone.

Tom hated leaving you behind every time he went back to the states, but you had such deep roots in London, he didn’t want to pry you from your family for months on end. He loved you too much to constantly subject you to his hectic lifestyle. He spent as much time with you as he could when he saw you, but the second he had to go, it was all tearful goodbyes in a crowded airport.

You and Tom had been best friends for decades at this point. You supported him no matter what it was that he wanted to accomplish. He’s even said in interviews that he credits a huge bulk of his success to his friend back home, then he’d give a wink to the camera, and you always knew it was for you.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Tom came home after filming Spider-Man: No Way Home, you practically tackled him to the ground in a hug.

“You div,” You mumbled into his neck, “you forgot to let me FaceTime with Zendaya.”

“Oh, shit!” Tom gasped, finally remembering your request to talk to your favorite actress, “my bad.”

You looked at Tom incredulously, “I don’t think I can be friends with you anymore.” You feigned hurt, clutching your hand to your chest, “it just hurts too much.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Tom frowned, “I mean, I could just FaceTime Zendaya now, but if that’s how you—”

“I changed my mind,” You smiled sweetly, cutting him off, “love you, bestie.”

Tom rolled his eyes and pulled you into another hug, “Missed you, bestie.”

“Um,” Sam, Paddy, and Harrison stood behind you, clearing their throats.

“Missed you guys too,” Tom sighed, and he rushed over and gave his brothers and friend a hug.

You gave Harry a hug while Tom chatted with his brothers, quickly catching up with him.

“What’s the plan for tonight, guys?” You spoke up.

Every night after Tom got back, he’d go back to his flat and take a nap before a night out on the town. Usually, you’d bar hop a bit before going to a club, so tonight wasn’t likely to be any different.

“I was thinking we could get dinner at Lorenzo’s,” Harry said, “then maybe hit the pub on Ashford?”

You and the others nodded in agreement as you made your way out of the airport.

“Can I invite my friend Avery?” You asked.

Tom nodded, “Sure, I didn’t even know you had any other friends, (Y/N),” he joked.

“Haha,” You laughed sarcastically, “gee that was a good one, Tom. You really got me.”

“What can I say?” He smirked, “I’m a comedian.”

“Is that the guy you met in your philosophy lecture?” Harrison butt in.

“Yeah,” You nodded, “he’s really sweet, so be on your best behavior guys, and maybe don’t be yourselves, just this once?” you suggested with a slightly teasing tone.

“Are you trying to impress him or something?” Tom inquired.

“No,” You scoffed, “I’m just trying to not throw him to the wolves.”

Tom laughed along, but it was strained. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of adding a new member to your friend group, and the little glint in your eye when you talked about Avery made his heart tighten.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Okay,” You smiled as you set the last of Tom’s luggage in his living room, “I’ll let you get some sleep then.”

You gave him one last hug and a kiss on the cheek, “see you later.”

Tom reciprocated and inhaled the sweet smell of lavender in your locks of hair, “mhm,” he sighed, “see ya.”

Harrison was about to walk out after you when Tom grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back, “Mate, what the fuck.” he grumbled as he stumbled over his feet, “I thought you wanted to take a nap?”

“I slept on the plane,” Tom explained quickly, “you’ve been here the whole time, right?” Harrison nodded, “so you know this Avery guy, yeah?”

Harrison shook his head, “I haven’t talked to (Y/N) much this past month, but he’s probably on her Instagram.”

Harrison pulled out his phone and looked at posts you’d been tagged in, “Ah, here.” He handed the phone to Tom and pointed to the tall blonde guy in a group photo with you and some other friends, “He’s the tall blonde.”

Tom studied the picture with a small frown, “They’re not dating though, right?”

“She said he was her friend,” Harrison shrugged.

“You know what I mean,” Tom rolled his eyes, “do they look really chummy to you?”

“His hand’s kind of close to her butt, but other than that I don’t know.” Harrison pointed it out, causing Tom’s heart to momentarily stop.

“Ok, new plan,” Tom announced, “I’m going to ask (Y/N) out tonight.”

Harrison scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What?” Tom wondered.

“You’ve said that almost every single time you’ve been home and you always chicken out.”

“No, I don’t!” Tom gasped in offense, “It’s just hard to find the right time.”

“You’ve literally had hundreds of opportunities to tell her how you feel, Mate.”

“It has to be perfect.” Tom insisted, “I can’t just ask her out of the blue, I have to butter her up first.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom groaned, “get out, I changed my mind, I’m going to sleep.”

Harrison rolled his eyes and chuckled before giving Tom a pat on the back and leaving. Tom waved goodbye as Harrison drove away, and then rushed to his phone.

“FaceTime Zendaya,” he instructed Siri. The call went through and soon Tom was met with Zendaya's tired eyes in a dark room.

“Hey, Z!” Tom said cheerfully, “best friend, bestest pal in the world. The person that never wants to see me fail ever, my greatest companion—“

“Tom,” Zendaya groggily cut him off, “what the fuck do you want, I’m sleeping.”

“How do you ask a girl out?”

Zendaya sat up a little more and turned on her bedside lamp, “What? You don’t know how to ask a girl out?”

“Well I do,” Tom backtracked, “but I want it to be special. I’ve been in love with this girl for nearly two years now and every time I go to ask her out, I chicken out.”

“I don’t know, what does she like?”

“Well one time she told me her favorite animal was a sea otter, should I get her one?” Tom pondered, hand resting in his chin in thought.

“Um, no, what the fuck?” Zendaya squinted her eyes at Tom, “have you gotten any sleep yet?”

Tom shook his head, “This is important, Z, now help me!”

Zendaya rolled her eyes, “I’ll text you some ideas, but for now just go get some sleep. With how tired you are now you’d probably call her the wrong name or something.”

Tom rolled his eyes, but the action caused his eyelids to droop even more, “Fine, fine,” he conceded, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Okay,” Tom announced at the restaurant before you arrived, “I’m going to ask (Y/N) out tonight so I need you all to shut up and not distract me or make me nervous.”

Harrison, Harry, and Sam just stared at Tom. Tuwaine, for some unknown reason, started clapping.

“Tom,” Harrison began, “no offense, but—“

“Ah ah ah,” Tom stopped him, “is what you’re about to say going to bruise my ego?” Harrison thought about it for a moment before slowly nodding, “okay, then shut the fuck up, respectfully. I don’t need any bad juju tonight.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mate,” Tuwaine nodded. He was the closest to you after Tom and he knew all about your crush on the brown-haired Brit. You might’ve let it slip once when you were drunk, and since you didn’t willingly tell Tuwaine, he was sworn to secrecy. “I’m positive she’ll say yes.”

“Thank you,” Tom smiled at him, sending a slight glare to the others for their lack of faith in him. “As for the rest of you, I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

You walked into the restaurant with Avery hunched over from laughing so hard. Tom smiled in your direction and waved you over, “Hey, (Y/N/N)! Over here!”

“Wow,” You chuckled, “must’ve been a good nap. Little energetic there, huh?”

Tom went in to give you a tight hug, holding you close, “Just missed you,” he mumbled into your hair.

“I just saw you a few hours ago?”

Avery stood by you awkwardly, waiting for Tom to release you. Tom reluctantly let you go and pulled a chair out for you, next to him.

“Thanks,” you smiled at him, motioning for Avery to sit next to you, “hey, everyone,” you smiled at the group of boys that were properly about to piss themselves at Tom’s over-the-top behavior, “this is Avery.”

“Hi,” He waved at the group as a small chorus of ‘hellos’ rang across the table. He turned to Tom to shake his hand, “I’m a big fan, Mate. Love your work.”

Tom smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “Thanks, it means a lot.” smiled politely, shaking Avery's hand.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Dinner went off without a hitch, at least in your opinion. Avery was melding well with your friends and he was cracking jokes like he’d know the group for years.

The boys seemed to enjoy his sense of humor and what he added to the conversation. Sam and him even found that they shared an interest in cooking, which led to them having a slightly heated discussion about how real Gordon Ramsey’s cooking skills are; which ended in laughs.

However, Tom was probably having one of the worst nights of his life. Every time Avery playfully shoved you while you two laughed he wanted to wring his neck. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t find the perfect time to ask you out. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to ask you out with all of his mates around.

Tom smiled and laughed along with the jokes, but once you looked away he was back to frowning.

“Tom,” Harry nudged his brother, “wipe that scowl off your face.”

“I’m not scowling,” Tom grumbled, “this is my normal face.”

Harry rolled his eyes and kicked his older brother under the table, “You need to ask her soon. I think Avery is trying to make some moves on her.” Harry noticed, seeing how Avery casually had his arm around your chair.

Tom rolled his eyes, “As if I can't see that for myself,” he scoffed. “I don’t want to ask her with all of you watching. What if she says no?”

“We can leave you alone for a bit when we go to the pub, but I’m not sure if Avery will go with us.” Harry shrugged, “you could always ask her out tomorrow.” Harry suggested.

“No!” Tom exclaimed, causing everyone to look at him and Harry, “Sorry, I—um, I just don’t really like that shirt on you Harry; it makes my eyes hurt.”

Harry looked down at his shirt for a moment and then frowned, sending a light smack to Tom, “You bought me this shirt you div.”

Everyone went back to their own conversations so Tom leaned in to talk to Harry some more, “I can’t wait for tomorrow. What if I chicken out again?”

“Then you’re an idiot.” Harry deadpanned with a shrug.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The pub was way more packed than anyone expected. The new addition of live music to the outside patio definitely livened up the place and more customers went to see what local band would be playing next.

The pub had a classic English pub feel, with the wood flooring and the yellow-tinted walls, but it also had a modern twist with a back patio and outdoor seating with fairy lights, and the lights that illuminate under the bar itself.

“I’m gonna go check out the band,” Harry announced after he came back with your drinks, “you guys should all come with me.” He said with a slight side-eye to Sam, Tuwaine, and Harrison.

“Eh, I’m not really into—” Sam began, but Harry sent him a quick kick under the table. “Ow! I mean, I love music.” Sam smiled enthusiastically.

“I’m gonna stay back and finish this beer,” Tom said, holding up the large pint of beer he was already a quarter of the way through, “(Y/N), wanna race to see who can finish first?” He suggested trying to get you to stay behind.

“Oh you’re totally on,” You smirked, “but I am going to take a quick peek at the band. We can race after I get back.” You got up from your seat and began walking away with Harry and the boys. Tom pouted at how horribly that plan worked. Harry looked back at Tom apologetically as he held the door open for you.

“Wow,” Avery smiled beside Tom, scaring him, “she really is something.”

“Holy shit, Mate,” Tom held a hand to his heart, “you almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you went with them?”

“Nah,” Avery shook his head, “I’m not really into music,” he shrugged.

“Oh, okay,” Tom nodded. “What were you just saying?”

“(Y/N),” Avery looked towards the back patio exit dreamily, “she’s amazing. I mean I would definitely ask her out, but probably not at a pub surrounded by her mates, y’know?”

“Mhm, yeah,” Tom said quietly, his heart already beginning to shatter into millions of inconsolable pieces. “I mean, she’s alright.” He said with a forced laugh, trying to fend Avery away from you, “she definitely isn’t really your type, though.”

“What do you mean?” Avery asked, taking a sip from his beer, “she’s perfect, mate.”

“I mean,” Tom racked his brain for an excuse big enough to make Avery not want you, “you don’t think it’s a little weird she’s in a friend group with all boys?”

“No,” Avery said slowly, skeptically looking back at the exit, “she just clicks with boys, I guess. Girls and guys can just be friends.”

“Not her,” Tom scoffed, “I mean, it’s just a little obvious, y’know?”

You and the rest of the boys were heading back in, seeing as the back patio was completely overcrowded with patrons.

“What’s obvious?” Avery asked, raising his voice slightly due to the volume in the bar.

“(Y/N)’s only friends are guys!” Tom nearly yelled over the volume of chatter, not realizing that the surrounding customers could hear him, “makes me wonder how many she’s slept with! I mean, that’s not a coincidence to me!”

The surrounding customers halted their conversations, leaving only Tom’s voice filtering through the air and into your ears.

“That’s crazy,” Avery chuckled awkwardly, “I don’t think she’s like that.” He shook his head, annoying Tom. In a final last-ditch effort to get Avery off your back, he said the worst thing he could, loudly, into a quieting pub.

“Well, she hits on me all the time,” Tom shrugged, “she’s just a bit whorish, I guess.”

“Tom,” Tuwaine cleared his throat, interrupting their conversation, “what the fuck, mate?”

Tom looked at all the boys next to Tuwaine, and behind them was you, teary-eyed with harsh sobs racking through your body.

You whispered something to Harry, and then all but ran out the front door. Harry walked over to where Tom was sitting and picked up your purse.

“Harry I—” Tom tried.

“Shut the fuck up, Tom.” Harry snapped, “You're an idiot and an asshole, just leave things be.”

Harry ran out the pub entrance, following you to give you a ride home.

Tuwaine, Sam, and Harrison shook their heads once the shock ebbed away. One by one they all left Tom sitting in shock and agony at the bar. Avery, not knowing any of the group, barely knew what was going on or if Tom’s accusations were correct, left the pub and went home without another word.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Harry,” Tom whined into the phone, “please tell me how to fix this, please I’m begging you.”

Harry sighed, now properly regretting lifting his silent treatment from Tom, “Tom, there is absolutely nothing I can do to help you, and even if there was, I wouldn’t. You called her a whore in front of a crowded pub—”

“I know!” Tom yelled, “And I’ve been living with that guilt for three weeks now! Please, Harry. I-I messed up so bad.” Tom’s voice cracked, “I tried calling and texting, a-and my texts started turning green. She blocked me,” Tom sobbed, “I’m in love with her, and I never got to tell her. I ruined our relationship before it even began.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “you did.”

“Harry, I just want to apologize properly, please.” Tom begged, “I tried going to her house, but her roommate threw a drink at me and told me she went out of town. Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Harry,” Tom sighed, “I’m trying so hard here, I don’t care where she is, I’ll go anywhere for her. Please, I just can’t keep waiting in the dark for her to talk to me.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead, “Okay, fine, but don’t tell her I told you where she was. And if you get your face clawed off, just know that you deserve it.”

“Okay, okay, now tell me.”

“She’s been staying with Tuwaine and his girlfriend.”

“Okay, thanks, love you, bye!” Tom said through the phone, already grabbing his keys.

Harry sighed and began texting Tuwaine,

Harry: Tom’s coming over, don’t snap him in half, he just wants to talk to her.

Tuwaine: I’m not home right now, but I'd be more worried about her snapping him in half…

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom pulled up the Tuwaine’s flat and pounded at the door. He didn’t see Tuwaine’s car in the driveway but he saw yours parked on the street so he knew you were in there.

“(Y/N)!” He desperately called, “Come on, I know you’re in there!”, his pleas were met with silence and he rang the doorbell on repeat, “(Y/N), please! I just want to talk!”

The door opened to show you standing there with your messy hair and stained sweats, still looking overwhelmingly perfect in Tom’s eyes. He noticed the dark circles and the dried tears and his heart broke, even more, knowing he caused this. He loved you so much and he caused you some of the worst pain imaginable. All he wanted to do was hold you and kiss your puffy cheeks, desperately whispering praises into your ear. You were perfect in every sense of the word, and he let you believe you were anything less. He was an idiot—the biggest idiot in the world—for making you cry.

“What do you want?” You snapped with a sniffle, pulling him back to reality as you rubbed your red eyes.

“I just want to talk,” Tom gave you a small smile, “please.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” You scowled, “You need to leave.”

“No, (Y/N), please.” Tom begged, “I’m sorry. I’m so so so fucking sorry. I was being an idiot and—please, (Y/N), you’re my best friend. I don’t wanna lose you.” Tom’s voice cracked, but you remained stoic in the doorway.

“I’m your best friend? Really?” You scoffed, “I thought I was just some whore you let hang around you?”

Tom winced at his words being thrown back into his face, “I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he promised, tears glistening in his eyes, “I don’t even know why I said that. I was being so fucking stupid—”

“No,” You interrupted his rambling, “you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say that it was just you “being stupid”. Who the hell says that about their supposed best friend? Why would you even think that? You don’t just get to call me those things in public, and then say that you don’t know why you did it. You can’t even give me a reason—”

“I’m in love with you,” Tom blurted out, blowing out a puff of air in stress, “I’ve been in love with you for the longest time, (Y/N). And Avery was saying how he wanted to ask you out, and I couldn’t lose you. I didn’t want to lose you. I had so many plans for us, and I wanted to be with you—to be yours—more than anything, and I let my jealousy get in the way. I’m sorry because if I deserved you I wouldn’t have done that.”

You stood in the doorway of the flat, arms crossed over your chest. “I can’t believe you’d be so reckless.” You said after a moment of silence, “I would’ve been yours if you had just asked me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom cried, reaching out to hold your hand, but you backed away ever so slightly, “please, I would do anything to fix it if I could.”

“You don’t understand anything, Tom.” You frowned.

“Help me understand.” He begged.

You pondered it for a moment and then released a sigh, coupled with a few tears, “I loved you,” you admitted. Tom’s heart did a leap, but then he realized that you were talking past tense as if his chance with you was gone.

“And I would spend months and months just waiting for you to come home so I could spend time with you. I was so lonely when you and Harry left; I always am. Avery offered to spend some time with me after class one day and I agreed because I don’t have anybody else when you leave. And it was fun, but he wasn’t you. He’ll never compare to the place you had in my heart, but at least I wasn’t alone anymore.” You sighed and began closing the door again, “Now, because of you, I have no one again.”

The door was about to slam back in Tom’s face, but he shoved his foot in the threshold, “(Y/N), wait,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how important Avery was to you. I can never undo what I did, but please let me make it up to you. I just need you to understand how sorry I am.”

You opened the door again and looked at Tom’s sad eyes, boring into you, “I do understand how sorry you are, but I don’t know how I can trust you again. You said awful things about me without even batting an eye or taking a breath—”

“I know,” Tom sighed, “I know and I’d give anything to take it back. I just want you back (Y/N). Even if you don’t want to be my girlfriend, I can’t leave knowing I’ve lost my best friend.”

“As much as it hurts,” You caved, moving from the doorway to let Tom in, “I still love you, and I don’t want to lose you either.”

Tom smiled and walked into the flat, immediately pulling you into a hug, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” You hugged back and sniffled into his hoodie, before pulling away with a sigh.

“I know,” You nodded, “I forgive you. But next time, just be honest with me and tell me how you’re feeling. I’d give you the world if you asked for it.”

Tom smiled and stroked your tear-stained cheek, “I’ll just settle on your heart for now, if that’s okay?”

“That’s so fucking cheesy.” You giggled, wiping the tears from your eyes, “I love it.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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afro-elf · 4 years

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fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on.

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent!

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

#me #taylor swift meanie hour #long post

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

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What if Lily in ‘lily and the art’ was born at the same year as Tom Riddle, and for some reason, Lily and James die young again and Lily is sent to Wools?

Anon is referring to "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus" a fanfic that in and of itself once spanned a multiverse and I'm sure whose mention confuses this blog endlessly.

I think this is a more complicated question than you intend, anon.

It also is more or less requesting I write out the story which I'm in no mood to do. So, you just get my meandering thoughts instead.

A Lily Born in 1926 to a James Potter and Lily Evans

Lily's background is so different she might as well not be born to James and Lily at all. What do I mean by this?

The circumstances in which James and Lily got together, and then died, were extremely specific and very much shaped who Harry Potter and any iteration of him (including Lily) became. They were very young, literally just finished with their primary education, they were part of an illegal resistance movement run by their principal against the dark lord who was an imminent threat to their country/a domestic phenomenon that the legitimate powers of the country (aurors/government) seemed disinclined to do anything about. They quickly went into hiding where they were then betrayed by a close friend, murdered, and little Ellie Potter then became the close equivalent to that society's messiah.

Well, what if we put them in 1926?

The times are different, there's been no dark lord (Grindelwald himself is not in power and very likely not making any waves whatsoever even if we take Fantastic Beasts seriously). Anti muggleborn sentiment is still rampant but we're in a time period where a Potter marries a Black, it's very unlikely that James Potter's current family would approve him pursuing muggleborn Lily Evans. The depression has hit England, but it's unclear if it ever really effected the wizards who, at least economically, are effectively quarantined from the muggle world. Dumbledore is only a professor who has not yet built up his network of moles/spies/fighters that he had by the early 1980's (though per Fantastic Beasts, if we take it seriously, he does seem to have employed a reluctant and somewhat witting Newt Scamander as his agent).

My point is this world is extremely different and that Harry Potter's backstory was very important. Perhaps not so much for the showing up at Wool's bit, but certainly in being introduced to the wizarding world.

If Lily's father was a pureblood who impregnated her muggleborn mother whose family then forced him to spurn her/place their bastard child in an orphanage for the shame of it, that's a very different story.

Similarly, if both died and Lily... somehow ends up in a muggle orphanage. In this world, that's a sign that her surviving pureblood relatives were all too eager to get rid of her and chances are she'll never find out her heritage. Unless her overwhelming talent is so overwhelming that the family seeks to get her back in the fold. She may be the daughter of a mudblood, but who cares when she's the next Merlin? (Though Lily being a girl rather than a boy, makes me have my suspicions about her talents ever being widely recognized period.)

Do it Anyway, Muffin

Fine, fine, we'll do it anyways. Honestly, to save myself a lot of trouble, I'm going to say that the Lily born in 1980 does it to herself. One moment, Dumbledore places her on a doorstep, the next, poof, that baby is on the doorstep of Wool's orphanage in the east end of London.

Why does she do this? Well, she's now caught unwittingly in a paradox where if a future Lily doesn't do it to herself then she radically changes the universe she knows, rids Tom Riddle of a very important figure in his life, and the universe itself may actually collapse. In other words, she doesn't know why she does it either, she just knows that she does.

Which, of course, is Lily's constant battle with time travel and why you shouldn't do time travel, kids, rids you of all sense of free will and determinism.

Right, so Lily and Tom both show up at the orphanage in 1926. Given Tom was right at the end of the year, December 31st, that means that Lily appeared sometime before him and is weeks/months/at most one year older than him.

What Happens?

I imagine, at first, the pair don't pay that much attention to one another. Lily herself is a rather odd duck, a girl, and more than likely keeps to herself/is a bit of a space cadet. Initially to Tom, who is a hate filled ball of rage, she's not going to be that interesting. She doesn't give him any trouble like some of the other orphans but she also doesn't do much of interest either. (Remember that initially, before dying in the original story, Lily wasn't all that blatant with her godlike abilities/even used them at all. She was making a point of playing nice with reality, and reality proved to be patchwork garbage she threw all of that out the window.)

Tom, of course, discovers his own talents, though when is unclear except that we know that it was likely at least a few years before Dumbledore showed up, and I imagine Lily looks at him and thinks "huh". Now, it boggles her mind why the universe should treat one person differently than any other. Tom, of course, believes he has a gift and is superhuman but Lily would more likely believe that the universe has, for some inexplicable reason, chosen him. After all, how could a single person possibly break the laws of thermodynamics. This, I imagine, would prompt her own exploration of the decaying universe and she likely decides a lack of imagination is the problem: anyone can do this, reality itself is the problem, it's just that the other orphans accept the Matrix and Tom Riddle is only so clever as to shout "fireball, fireball, fireball!"

Well, this is a big deal, Lily says to herself. The ability to play fast and loose with the universe like this is a) terrifying b) has a lot of interesting implications. Why, for example, do people die? They could rewrite the universe such that death is simply a non-concept. Why do people have to travel through time and space to get from point A to point B? Time and space mean nothing and can be squeezed together at will. In other words... the universe doesn't have to be the way it is and perhaps there could be a path to world peace.

If, of course, human beings could get along/not abuse this tremendous power and accidentally will the universe out of existence.

(Lily then has the terrifying thought that the current universe she lives in is some wise man's compromise. The world might have once looked very different and worked in a very different way, that it has so many laws and so many internal consistencies to her now points that this was planned. Which means that whatever came before... may have been worse.)

After a few sleepless nights, Lily decides to start a religion. And a young Tom Riddle, who had previously thought he was quite grand, suddenly takes acute notice.

Lily (Master of the Universe) and Tom (Master of Fireballs)

In a single morning, Tom is completely and utterly upstaged. This girl, who he has been completely ignoring and always assumed was something of an idiot, is now claiming to be Jesus' second coming and from the looks of it she's probably right.

Mrs. Cole, who had previously thought Tom was the devil's child, changes her mind. It's this other kid, it's probably always been this other kid, and holy god she is terrified. As are the other children.

Well, Tom takes off his white glove, slaps her across the face, and challenges her to a duel.

Lily... Did not expect any of this reaction. Sure, it's a little alarming and took her a bit to get over as well, but this just appears to be how the universe works and they'd all better get used to it because it's not going to change just because they dislike it.

As for Tom, she's not even sure what his deal is. After a bit of thinking she realizes that Tom had thought he was special, that it really was him at the center of all of this, and that this was very very very important to him and Lily... sort of just spat in his face and went "EVERYBODY CAN BE A WINNER".

Woops.

On the other hand, if she does duel him, well she's pretty sure she can crush him.

Right about then I imagine the aurors show up as Lily has been making terrifying, magical alterations, to the orphanage that have got to be noticed by somebody.

In an effort to be nice, Lily blames Tom, who will surely feel special that all these funnily dressed clowns are showing such interest in him. This, of course, backfires as it turns out the clowns are there to erase everyone's memories.

"Oh dear," Lily says, and decides this whole day has been a wash and forces time and space to unwind itself such that the day never happened and she starts it lying in bed again.

She starts over and she does so by deciding that, if nothing else, she's got to be nice to Tom and maybe, uh, help him progress a little beyond fireballs.

Tom Makes a New Friend

Much as in the original fic, Tom is not a fan, especially when Lily casually reveals that he's not even a big fish in a small pond. He was a small fish in a puddle, the pond contains a whale known as Lily.

This causes him much angst and he seeks to both a) show her up b) put her in her place. This doesn't work and only convinces Lily more that he needs help. (Also, every time they go too far the clowns show up, you don't want the clowns showing up.)

I imagine eventually Lily decides that she has to offer him something useful/interesting. So she decides to take him on vacation. There's so much world out there beyond London. They take trips through time and space where Tom learns a lot of life lessons that a) he is actually quite talented, Lily's just a god b) he enjoys being friends with Lily and the most painful c) people will try to use him to get to Lily.

Tom realizes that, painfully naive and optimistic as Lily is, people will try to take advantage of her and her unlimited power (as Tom effectively has now been doing for years), and that it seems to fall to him and him alone to protect her.

Dumbledore Shows Up

What does this mean? Well, it means that Dumbledore's visit becomes very interesting.

A funny man in a yellow suit shows up at Wools. Coincidentally, he wants to meet with Tom Riddle. He tells Tom that Tom was registered to attend a magic school for extraordinary people at the moment of his birth. Unlike canon, where this was Tom's first-time meeting someone like him, he just stares. And keeps staring.

He asks where Dumbledore was a few months ago (at Lily's eleventh birthday). Dumbledore has no idea what he's talking about (Lily, being an unwitting time traveler, was born in 1980 and thus not yet recorded in Hogwarts register).

Oh, Tom sees where this is going. Dumbledore is clumsily trying to tempt Tom to attend this school, leaving Lily alone and vulnerable, and while Tom is distracted thinking mighty well of himself, someone will swoop in, run off with Lily, and convince her to rewrite the universe in their favor.

Tom laughs in Dumbledore's face and tells him to get the fuck out.

Dumbledore... is very confused, and alarmed, he writes this off as Tom Riddle being an evil gremlin. An evil gremlin he must, nevertheless, convince to attend Hogwarts.

He tries to tell Tom that magic, indeed, is real and that Tom is special. Tom presses, just how special is Tom here? Dumbledore reluctantly admits that Tom is phenomenally talented.

(Right, Tom saw that coming, this is classic 'butter Tom up to make him stupid' which has been done several times before by this point.)

Tom still isn't interested, good day, Mr. Dumbledore, now please leave.

Dumbledore then drops the bomb. Tom really doesn't have a choice here. As a magical orphan, even muggleborn, Tom is considered a ward of the state with no guardian. Tom must pursue a magical education, he has no parent to deny him admission (Mrs. Cole doesn't count and has just been obliviated downstairs), and while he can choose any alternative of magical schooling, Hogwarts is his best and easiest option.

Sorry Tom, my dear boy, you're going to Hogwarts.

Tom reads this as "you're being kidnapped" and this starts to get very real. He decides to summon the clowns (who oddly enough only ever appear to show up in London). Unfortunately, Dumbledore himself seems to be a clown (Tom should have known from the suit) and Lily is forced to unwind time.

Lily notes that it looks like Tom is going to this school. She decides that she likes this magical boarding school aesthetic and she'll accompany him. Dumbledore suddenly finds, when he arrives at Wool's, that he has two letters in his hand (which is very funny as he only left with one this morning). He meets with both Lily and Tom. Tom glares daggers at him while Lily just says, "Oh hello, Mr. Dumbledore, we'd love to attend your clown school!"

Dumbledore decides that they're both the antichrist and lights Tom's wardrobe on fire. Tom officially hates this man more than he's hated anyone in his life (and that is a high bar).

Lily and Tom Go to Magic School

Neither are impressed. Lily had always thought that Tom was on the less talented end of the spectrum. Oh sure, he's leagues ahead of people who haven't figured it out at all but-- Well, there's a lot Lily can do that he just can't wrap his head around. Tom is very much the apprentice to her mastery.

Well, these people are ten thousand times worse. They rely on these wooden sticks, and even with those, can't do half of what Tom can do (who over the years has been undergoing Rocky IV style training to keep up with Lily and not feel so incompetent/embarrassed).

Tom votes they leave: this is the dumbest waste of time they've ever embarked on. And they've done some very dumb things. Lily's curious though.

Well, Tom is undoubtedly very bored and cries at the fact that he's made top of the class (what did he expect? What did he even expect? This is just embarrassing at this point and he wishes they all would shut up and get on with it) while Lily is dutifully ignored for being weird/a woman (also expected as if they're trying to butter Tom up then they're going to do so by making him feel artificially superior to her AND GODDAMMIT DON'T THESE PEOPLE HAVE ANY NEW TACTICS?)

Now, why his roommates keep trying to steal his things and beat him up, he doesn't know. Except he assumes they're just so dumb they honestly don't know what to do with him. That or they're a sad attempt at realism to make this not look completely fake. (He still beats them up, it's the principle of the matter.)

I imagine Tom lasts until Christmas at which point he very dramatically disavows Hogwarts and tells them they should all be ashamed of themselves and dramatically drops out at eleven years old.

And Then?

Tom and Lily continue on derpy adventures, running obliviously from the law/formal education, Lily eventually realizes her time travelling past and has to send her baby self back in time to Wool's.

Lily and Tom probably save the world from Grindelwald at some point, are declared national heroes, and Dumbledore just dies inside. He just dies.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #lily and the art of being sisyphus #meta #headcanon #opinion #tom riddle #albus dumbledore #lily #ellie potter

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kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 7

Severus looks back on everything that went wrong.

tw: non-consensual kissing/harassment, trauma responses

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 7 .:Things Unforgivable and Things Left Unsaid:.

Graduation day at Hogwarts was supposed to mark the beginning of a new adventure for you. Instead, it marked the day you decided that whatever it was between you and Severus Snape, friendship or otherwise, it was over.

Or at least that's what you had thought. Of course, the universe just loved making things more complicated for you. You were working with Charlie in Romania when you had gotten word that Severus defected from the death eaters and was now working as a double agent at Dumbledore's behest. He continued teaching Potions at Hogwarts, and was even indited as a member of the Order. If anything, that only solidified your decision to go to America instead of staying in London. You didn't even know what to think. Of course you trusted Dumbledore, confusing as the man was, but you didn't know if you could really trust Snape again. You had worked towards forgiving him; over time you moved past what happened, but it was difficult to really say it was 'resolved' when you quite literally haven't spoken a word to each other in over a decade. You didn't even know where to start.

For the entirety of your seventh year, you didn't speak a word to Severus. It was hard to imagine that such a tight knit trio like the one you, him, and Lily had formed could crumble in an instant, but that's exactly what happened.

The end of your sixth year at Hogwarts was a quarter Snape would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. It was when everything fell apart. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1976 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James!” you yelled, running to the top of the hill where he and the rest of the Marauders had Snape held upside down.

“What are you doing?” you said, immensely hurt and trying to keep your voice steady, “You said this would stop, you promised. . . you swore.”

“(Y/n), I. . .” James trailed off, immediately feeling guilty. As he turned to you Snape dropped to the ground, attempting to scramble to his feet but finding his ankle twisted.

Sirius moved towards you to say something but you put your hand up firmly.

“No,” you said, “not a word out of you, Black.”

Sirius stared at you, wide-eyed, shrinking back as you called him by his last name for the first time in a long while. Not Sirius, not Pads. Black. As if your whole friendship had just been reset.

“And you two,” you said, addressing Remus and Peter, “how could you let this happen?!”

All four boys looked at you in shame, none of them daring to verbally respond.

Suddenly, Lily came running up the hill, having fallen behind you in your quick pace.

“Severus!” she panted, rushing over to him, “are you alright?”

Snape was in an angered daze, not even registering the words being said around him. The blood rushing through his veins felt like lava, his heart pounding in his ears, his chest, his tongue. His face burned with humiliation and hatred. Pure fucking hatred for James Fleamont Potter. For Lily to see him like that. . . for you to see him like that, pathetic, helpless, in need of your help once again. He wouldn't have it. He was a master of the dark arts now, he didn't have to fucking take this. He would curse Potter into the next century, he would—

“Severus!”

Snape's eyes snapped open, not even realizing they were closed. The world came rushing in around him and he was suddenly acutely aware of Lily's hand on his arm. He reeled back at her touch as if he'd been burned.

“Don't touch me!” he screeched, startling the redheaded girl. Her eyes were filled with concern, but all Snape could see was pity.

“Sev—“

“I don't need any help from you, you filthy Mudblood!”

And everyone in the clearing stilled.

The color drained from Snape's already pale face as he realized what he'd just said.

“Lily. . .” Severus whispered; pleading, desperate.

“Don't come any closer,” Lily said, her voice stone cold as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I'll kill you,” James said lowly.

“Prongs, no—”

“I'll kill you, you slimy bastard!” James growled, Remus moving quickly to hold him back.

You stood in the middle of it all, staring at Severus. Severus, who'd always told Lily that blood status didn't matter. Severus, who you and Lily always stood up for no matter what. Severus, who you thought you had feelings for up until this exact moment.

Without even thinking you stepped forward, grabbing Lily's hand.

“Let's go, Lils,” you said, your expression unreadable as you looked down at Severus. Lily squeezed your hand back gratefully, fighting the sobs racking her chest as she turned around and took off with you.

“(Y/n), wait—” Snape tried to get up but found himself shoved back down to the ground by Sirius.

“No,” he said sharply, “you don't get to say anything to either of them, you hear me?”

“I—”

“What?” James spat, “you're sorry? Well sorry doesn't cut it! You say a word to her after what you called her and you'll wish you'd never have been born.”

Snape's head hung low, that wish already present in his mind.

“Leave him,” Remus said, this time not out of mercy, but malice; letting Snape wallow in his own misery as he left with his friends, looking for you and Lily.

Soon, Severus was left alone. Just as he began, and just as he should have never hoped for anything different. Was this it? That's how it was going to end? One mistake, and the only two people he'd ever cared about were ripped away from him.

No. He decided he had to apologize properly, consequences be damned. If those Marauders wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp afterwards, that was fine by him. He just needed to talk to Lily one more time. To tell her how deeply sorry he really was.

He took off down the hill, sprinting towards the castle and completely ignoring the burning pain in his ankle. He rushed through the grass, ignoring the looks he received from the other students walking by. He ran past the oak tree, through the castle gates, flying through the corridors and cutting across the courtyard when he skid to a stop at what he saw.

Lily and James stood in the center of the garden, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips captured hers. Her eyes were still wet with tears, the tears that he had caused. Severus didn't do a thing. His presence remained unknown to them as he slunk away back to his common room, heart silently breaking.

He was too late.

Nothing was the same after that.

Lily insisted that if you wanted to remain friends with Snape, as she now referred to him, she wouldn't hold it against you, but she made it very clear that she would never forgive him herself. But it wasn't as easy as wanting to stay friends with him or not; he'd changed that day.

After some time to let things settle down you tried to approach him, but he only became more and more hostile towards everyone, including you. You hardly saw him anymore. The only time you occasionally spotted him was when he was walking around school with Malfoy, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Avery, unable to look you in the eye lest you see the utterly crushed expression on your face as he fell deeper and deeper into the dark side.

You held your books tightly to your chest as you made your way to Hagrid's hut for one of your last Care of Magical Creatures class. You were being paired up with a few lower classmen to teach them the ropes for feeding all the creatures Hagrid kept in the meadows. You were a tad late, having been preoccupied at lunch, speedwalking to try and arrive on time when you saw a flash of silver-blue light emit from inside the forest. You could hear warbled shouting and laughter coming from the same direction, and your instincts told you to run.

However, because your nerves were on high alert, that also told you someone in there was in danger, and you couldn't just walk away from that. You drew your wand, abandoning your books by a rockface and moving towards the commotion, the distorted shouting soon becoming words.

“Oh come on, you little runts, you lot can do better than that!” you recognized Mulciber's voice.

A young girl shrieked as a giant acromantula barred its fangs at her, its front legs raised and poised to attack. Her friends were huddled in a corner, more students who couldn't have been older than second or third years, being forced to watch by Avery and Wilkes.

“How's this for Care of Magical Creatures, eh?” Mulciber taunted as he walked over to the other students, pulling a young boy out from the group.

“No!” the girl cornered by the spider cried, “please, don't!”

“Aw, how cute,” Mulciber drawled, “is this your little boyfriend, huh? Shame.”

The boy screamed in fear as he was suddenly lifted into the air by his ankles, forced to hover right above the spider just out of its reach. You wanted to wretch as you watched the scene unfold, unable to keep yourself hidden any longer.

You leaped into the clearing, a quick flick of your wrist relieving Mulciber of his wand. You did the same to Wilkes as he turned to you.

“Well well, why am I not surprised?” Avery scoffed. Right behind him stood Severus, his expression vacant.

“Grab this, and get to Professor McGonagall immediately,” you shouted to the younger Gryffindor students, tossing them a gold galleon. As soon as they touched the coin, the portkey shot them all back to the castle.

“Why are you always the one spoiling our fun?” Mulciber sneered.

“Someone's gotta do it,” you said, putting up a brave front although you were under no illusion as to your situation. You weren't fourth years anymore, and you were alone this time. They'd been studying the dark arts for the past two years. You knew you were outmatched, even with your dueling skills.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n), don't be a bore.”

You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice to see Rosier, an easy grin set into his face. Your heart dropped.

“So you too, huh?” you chuckled bitterly, “and here I thought you were one of the few good ones left.”

“You're not really that naive, are you?” he tutted, “you had to have known I would be inducted eventually. Might even get Barty to join us, even if he is a little nutty.”

You went for a stunning spell but found your wand spinning out of your hand before you even saw him move.

“Not so fun to be on the receiving end, is it?” Rosier said, “you're not the only one versed in non-verbal magic, (Y/n). In fact, I'd even go so far as to say we've surpassed you. Lucius will be furious, but I like you a lot, so I'll re-extend his old offer for him. Join us.”

You had no wand, no backup, no way out of this, but you stood your ground nonetheless.

“Eat shit,” you seethed. Rosier glowered at you, taking a few menacing steps forward. He grabbed your jaw firmly and you grit your teeth.

“I don’t think you heard me—”

He reeled back as you spit right in his face,

“You bitch,” he growled, wiping his face in disgust, “clearly no one ever bothered to train you.”

Without your wand you were really only left with one option, ready to defend yourself by revealing your animagus form, but you never got to take the first step forward.

“Imperio!”

You stopped in your tracks as a veil of what could only be described as pink fluff drifted over your mind. A smile immediately appeared on your face, and a giggle rose in your throat.

Severus looked at Rosier with horror, the rest of his crew looking among themselves uneasily.

“What do you think you're doing?” Snape hissed, “are you trying to get us all expelled?”

“So what?” Rosier said, “we've used the killing curse loads of times.”

“On insects, you loon,” Snape shot back, hoping his concern for you was masked enough.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt your precious (Y/n), Sev.”

The nickname made his stomach churn. You used to call him that. Lily used to call him that. No one else did. No one else got to.

“Release them,” he said, raising his wand, “now.”

“Put that away,” Rosier's eyes narrowed, a smirk sliding back onto his face as he got an idea, “hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes?” you answered, your voice dripping with honey.

“I don't think Severus likes you being under this spell,” Rosier said, “but you like it don't you?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded, your head feeling like it was floating, “it feels so nice.”

“You know what else would feel nice?” Rosier goaded, “if you gave our friend Sev here a kiss.”

Severus' heart dropped to his stomach.

“You're sick, Rosier,” Snape said, his voice close to tremmoring.

“You don't have to act like you don't want it,” Evan chuckled, “we've watched you putz around (L/n) like a fool for years. Besides, they want to. Isn't that right, (Y/n)?”

“He's right,” you said, your voice deceptively melodic, “I love you, Severus. I've always loved you.”

And in that moment, Snape had never hated himself more. Because he didn't care that Rosier was making you say the things you did. He didn't care that you were under the influence of a curse. All he could hear was the words he longed to hear spill from your lips, over and over like a skipping record.

I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus.

He played the words on repeat in his head. His heart was beating almost painfully in his chest, so much so that he hardly even noticed you slowly walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck like Lily had done to James. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, his selfish desires held him in place.

It had lasted a fraction of a second, but he didn't pull away. It was the greatest regret of his life that he didn't walk up to Rosier, break his nose, and curse every single person in that clearing instead of doing nothing, knowing full well you had no control over your actions.

When his eyes drifted open and met yours and his stomach twisted into ugly knots, fear and panic wracking through his spine. Your eyes were completely empty, irises a vacant white, and in that moment it felt as if he were kissing a corpse.

Suddenly the color returned to your eyes, and fear immediately filled them. Snape grunted as he was shot away from you, unable to move when he hit the ground. The other Slytherins looked around for the assailant, but they had no time to react when every single one of their wands was pulled from their hands. McGonagall stood there, expression the same as ever but clearly brimming with fury.

“(L/n), come,” she said, ushering you over and taking you protectively in her embrace, “we'll get you to Madame Pomfrey.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she regarded Snape and the rest of their group, “As for you,” she said, “Mr Filch, secure them in the dungeons until the Headmaster calls for them. And put all of their wands in the lockbox.”

“With pleasure,” Filch said, almost blending in with the trees behind her.

“Are you alright?” McGonagall asked you as she helped you back towards the castle.

“No,” you said, honestly, “n-no, I don't think I am.”

“No amount of apology could ever equate to the remorse I feel that this happened to you, (L/n),” she said earnestly, “I am truly sorry. This was completely unacceptable, and I will see to it that the proper measures are taken for their punishments. Expulsion would suit just fine, but even if the Headmaster disagrees, I will personally ensure you never come into contact with any of those boys again.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice sounding hollow in your own ears.

You didn't remember walking the near half-mile to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey's words felt so far away, as if she were speaking underwater. You just remembered laying down in the hospital wing bed as she checked you for any lasting damage, and as soon as she'd turned her back you'd just wept.

________________________________________________________

That night, Snape found himself in the Prefect's bathroom, leaned over the sink and watching the water rush into the drain. His hands clutched the marble sides of the basin so hard his knuckles turned white, every breath catching painfully in his chest before he forced it out to take another shaky inhale. He was an idiot, he knew. There was no fixing this. Not really. First Lily, now you. Was he just predestined to lose everyone in his life?

He paused. No, he didn't deserve to think like that. Everything that had gone wrong was his own doing.

When he heard the door to the bathroom open he whipped around, ready to curse whoever dared to interrupt him until he saw you standing there, your eyes red from crying and the Marauder's Map clutched in your hands like a vice. He was half certain you were a hallucination, but as soon as he pulled himself to the present, he rushed to apologize. You had to know how horrible he felt about what he did, even if you would never forgive him. He made the mistake of being too cowardly to properly apologize to Lily, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

“(Y/n), I'm—”

“I know you're sorry,” you said callously, “and I know you mean it. That's not the issue.” you took a breath to collect yourself before you continued. This was so much harder than you thought it would be. Maybe this wound really was too fresh right now. You thought you'd be able to handle this conversation, but your prior feelings weren't making this any easier.

“Why did you do it?” you asked quietly, “Better, why did you do nothing? You were my friend, Severus.”

Whatever was holding back the flood of emotions in him, it snapped at your words.

Were. Past tense.

“I don't know what I was thinking,” Snape said in exasperation, though it came off more as anger directed at himself. His hands threaded through his messy black locks, his eyes nearly manic. You'd never seen him unravel quite like this. He was desperate to fix this, to keep you in his life. “No, I wasn't thinking at all, (Y/n). I couldn't, not when you were . . . not when I. . .”

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it—

“Not when I've fancied you for years.”

Snape knew immediately that he had made a mistake. The expression on your face made his stomach twist, and he knew there was no taking back what he said.

“No,” you said, tears welling in your eyes, “Severus Snape, don't you dare say that. What, do you think that just makes this all okay? You're an oblivious idiot, you know that?”

Your heart ached so bad it felt as if you couldn't breathe.

“Do you know how many times I wished you would have kissed me?” you said shakily, not bothering to hide the hurt in your voice.

Snape was sure his breathing had stopped, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't have heard that right. Did you really feel the same way about him? But reality hit him in the face when he saw your expression. This was no heartfelt confession on your part.

“For you to just. . . for it to happen like that,” you said, still struck with betrayal and disbelief, “If you've ever respected me, you never would have let that happen. I was under a curse, Severus. And you took advantage of that— of me. All because you were too much of a coward to just tell me how you felt. And then you go on and say you've liked me this whole time as a last ditch effort to save our friendship? How the hell did you expect me to react?”

He had nothing to say to that. He blamed himself entirely. Every verbal blow you struck he gladly took, he would have sat there still as stone if you hexed him, but you refused to draw your wand at him. You just stood there, staring straight through him with unbelievable hurt in your eyes.

“I can't do this, Severus,” you said, “please, just. . . just leave me alone. I'm not saying I'll never forgive you, but right now I can't even begin to think about that. Not now.”

You looked like you wanted to say something more, but your mouth snapped shut, and Severus saw the finality in your eyes. He stayed glued to the spot where he stood long after he watched you leave, his eyes trained on the door you'd slammed shut.

If you thought Snape had made himself scarce after what he said to Lily, after what he did to you he practically vanished. He no longer sat underneath the tree that had become so symbolic of your former trio. He no longer roamed the Slytherin common room, or even the Great Hall for meals. Instead he would walk through the forbidden forest alone, or hole up in some empty corridor purposely hiding but hoping you would walk up to him. You never did.

The people who did find him in the few days that followed were the newly named Marauders, though incomplete as they arrived without you. As he glanced down at the parchment in Lupin's hand he had no questions about how they'd located him. Snape grimaced, not bothering to get up from his seat beneath the stone pillar. Anything they did to him was what he deserved.

James stepped forward from the group first. His expression was unreadable, but Snape saw the way his jaw was set firmly in place, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The Slytherin had expected Potter to come at him guns blazing, sending a flurry of verbal attacks and hexes his way. However, James Potter simply stared down at his former enemy with a look that met in the intersection of barely contained anger and utter disappointment.

“You didn't deserve them,” he said coldly, his voice oddly level.

“I know,” Snape glared, but not feeling very self-righteous.

“No, you don't,” James said, his voice rising steadily, “you will never know what you put them through. You sat there while your lunatic friends used an Unforgivable Curse on them, and you took advantage of them. I don't care if you know, I'm going to throw it back in your face, because it's what you deserve.”

“I think it's clear that (Y/n) doesn't wish to speak with you any longer,” Remus said, “if for some inconceivable reason they want to in the future, they'll approach you. Don't you even think about going about it the other way around before they're ready and willing to talk. If they ever are.”

“It's settled, Severus,” James said simply, “you're officially not worth our time anymore.”

Snape blinked up at him, trying to recall a time when Potter had ever called him by his actual name.

“Don't get us wrong,” Sirius glared, “the only reason we aren't throwing you to the Womping Willow is because we know the last thing (Y/n) would want is her friends getting expelled because of them.”

“We'll leave you alone now,” Peter said grimly, “just like you've always wanted.”

And they were telling the truth. They left him completely alone, not speaking a word to him after that; 'they' now including you and Lily, which destroyed him more than any amount of bullying had before. He watched from afar as you grew closer and closer to the Marauders. . . no, you were a Marauder. It was only natural that you became almost like a family in your seventh year. You, James, Peter, Sirius, Remus, and Lily had become as inseparable as Snape thought you, him, and Lily were, but he'd ruined that. He had ruined every good thing that had ever happened to him and pushed away every important person in his life.

The last time he saw you was graduation day. Everyone was running around excitedly, dressed in the ceremonial jewel-toned robes of their respective houses as they awaited Dumbledore's speech. You had been sitting with your group as usual, now having carved out your own spot at the Gryffindor table, when you noticed that Snape was nowhere to be found.

You frowned, wondering why he of all people had to slip into your mind on a day like today.

“You alright, Fangs?”

Sirius' voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I'm fine. . .”

His handsome features contorted in concern, but that easy grin slid back onto his face as he nudged you with his shoulder.

“What, you worried you're gonna miss us?” he smirked, “this isn't goodbye, you know. We'll all see each other at the Order meetings—”

“Which you always seem to talk about at an extraordinary volume,” Remus shushed him pointedly. Sirius brushed him off with a roll of his eyes.

“(Y/n), are you sure nothing's wrong?” James asked from across the table.

“I'm alright, Prongs,” you said, “I just. . . you know what? I just remembered I left something in my dorm, I'll be right back.”

Your friends exchanged worried glances as you got up from the table, taking off towards the Slytherin common room. It wasn't a total lie, but your intentions went against your better judgment. After today there was a very, very good chance you would never see Severus again. What he did wasn't okay by any means, and it would take more than an apology or a simple conversation to forgive him, but you needed closure at the very least. Not for him, but for you. You deserved that much.

You swiped the map off your bedside table and opened it fully, your eyes quickly picking out Severus' name near the cellars only a few rooms away from where you were. You took off quickly down the hall, reaching the intersection where all the dungeon's corridors converged when you spotted him. Your heart stopped.

His left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, as was the person's standing across from him, their back to you. Even though you couldn't see the second person's face, you recognized who it was immediately.

Evan Rosier.

He wasn't on the map before. . . how had he gotten in?! He'd been expelled after the day he cursed you. Did he somehow find a way to bypass the anti-apparition charm?

You felt your breathing hitch, fear creeping under your skin. There, on both of their arms, was a tattoo of a skull, a serpent weaving its way through the mouth and eye sockets in an undeniable pattern. You stopped breathing all together. You knew Severus had fallen into the dark arts, but to actually be a death eater? To be proudly showing off that awful display of radicalism along with the person who had used an Unforgivable Curse on you, who had invaded your free will and taken over your body. . .

Severus must have felt you even from the opposite side of the hallway, because something pricking at his skin told him to look up, and when he did he wished he never had. You were looking at him for the first time in over a year, your eyes full of terror. Rosier followed his gaze, but when he looked over his shoulder there was no one there.

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

Severus sighed, trying to push the less than pleasant memories out of his head. He knew by now he was likely the last person left in the house besides you, Harry, and Sirius who were all staying here. Something like hope had sparked in his chest when he saw the faintest ghost of a smile on your lips as you saw him for the first time since graduation. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you he knew he deserved nothing from you, but he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right if you would only give him a chance after all this time. In truth, he missed his friend. With Lily gone, you were one of the closest things he had to that left.

Against his better judgment, Severus made his way up the stairs, silent as a thestral as he headed for your room, but he stopped in his tracks when he reached the top. Sirius' door was cracked open the slightest bit, and what Snape saw inside made his blood run cold. You were sitting next to Sirius on his bed, your head resting gently on his shoulder. As you craned your neck to look Sirius in the eyes, that's when Severus saw it— the way the Marauder looked at you. The way his face seemed to light up, the spark that returned to his gray eyes, the utter adoration in them.

And just like that, Snape was a seventeen year old boy again, transported right back to that courtyard garden, watching Lily and James share their first kiss on the day he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. His heart shattered silently, though his departure was not so quiet as he took off down the stairs as quickly as he could. He grimaced at his own feelings, ones he knew he had no business owning.

As he was about to open the front door to leave, his instincts suddenly screamed at him to turn around, and he was just barely able to cast an invisibility charm as you began to come down the stairs. He held his breath as he looked at you. He knew he had no right to think so, but you were still beautiful like this; dressed in pajamas, hair disheveled, eyes still sightly puffy and red. He saw you look around, knowing you had no doubt heard his rather noisy descent of the staircase, and he cursed himself for not leaving sooner. Your eyes searched what should have appeared to be the empty space in front of you, but he saw you look him in the eyes, and he knew that you knew.

“Severus?” you called his name out softly, and the sound felt like a strike to his face.

He wanted nothing more than to say something to you, talk to you, hold you. But his mind flashed back to the way you had been with Sirius, and his words died in his throat. He said nothing, trying to remain unphased at your hurt expression as you turned around to walk back up the stairs. As soon as your back was turned to him, he left, unable to bring himself to do anything more.

Once again, he was too late.

Read chapter 8 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius

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heavenlyholland · 3 years

Note

so like I don’t really send in concepts or requests so this is a first for me, but like tom and the reader being separated during all of quarantine (aka 2020) and not seeing each other but once people are able to fly again the reader gets on a plane and flies to surprise tom and it’s just pure fluff and cuteness. Also maybe include first ‘I love you’ in person after an entire year?? 🥺🥰

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it !! not beta’d so i’m sorry for any mistakes

warnings: mentions of the pandemic, but it’s very light

pairings: tom holland x reader | word count: 1.3k

reblogs are greatly appreciated! requests are open!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After almost a year away from each other, the moment Tom and you would be in each other’s embraces, was right around the corner, figuratively and literally.

You had spent the last ten months away from family, and your boyfriend, being stuck away in another country. At first, when the pandemic first hit, you were fine. You had expected yourself to be out of there quickly, but a few weeks turned into a few months, and now, almost a year.

It wasn’t like long-distance was unknown to you, you had to go through it when your boyfriend, Tom would be away filming or on press tours for his films. So, the endless facetime calls and countless amounts of text messages weren’t unusual. However, after a certain amount of time away from him, and your family, it started to take a toll on you. Even though you were able to adapt and accommodate yourself to the lifestyle around you, it started to eat away at your skin, not being able to physically be with the ones you loved the most, because a phone could only do so much.

But, after a long-awaited time apart from your boyfriend, who you had started dating only a few months before the pandemic hit, you were able to safely book a flight back home- into the arms of your loved ones.

The flight from where you were stuck for the past months, to back home in London, wasn’t extremely long, but it still was long enough for you to rest your eyes- although, it was pretty hard knowing you’d be in the arms of the one you loved most again.

Since Tom and you were apart from each other for the majority of the relationship, and you never had the chance to see each other, you didn’t have enough memories or experiences with him to say the big three words, however, there was no doubt that you loved him. Being able to stay together, even though you were thousands of miles away, showing you that the connection between you was strong, and you had something special, that you couldn’t take for granted.

After successfully landing in London, just after nine at night, you grabbed your carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment and followed the crowd out of the plane and into the airport, which buzzed with adrenaline and excitement. Your heartbeat began to quicken as you saw the signs directing you to the gate, pass by. You smiled under your mask, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. You were walking along the carpeted path, following the curves and turns, turning to your left the one last time before the sliding glass doors came into sight. You inhaled excitedly, knowing you were only footsteps away from the brunette you were dying to see. As the doors slid open and closed, every so often hearing the sounds of families, friends, and couples all greeting each other for the first time in so long, you honestly had felt like crying because of how deprived you were from your loved ones.

You were now only steps away from walking through the doors, adjusting your purse on your arm and the small suitcase you dragged behind you. As you walked through, your head was held high, looking around in the crowded area for the certain boy.

It wasn’t long before you spotted the one brunette you were in search of, meeting eye contact and seeing both of your eyes light up. You start jogging over to where he was, fastening your speed to run over to him. When you got over to him, you dropped your purse and let go of your suitcase, practically jumping onto Tom as you embraced each other in the biggest hug you might have ever experienced. You sucked in your lips to hold in your tears as you tightly held onto each other, both of your heads tilting into each other’s necks.

“I missed you, so much, y/n, you have no idea.” Tom mumbled into your skin, his voice vibrating your skin, leaving goosebumps on your skin.

“Mm, I think I do,” you giggled, “I’m so happy to see you, baby.” You said, pulling back from the hug to get a proper look at your boyfriend, only before pulling him into another hug, holding each other just as tight as before and swaying side to side.

Tom pulled away, holding your biceps and looking at you with watery eyes. “God, I can’t believe you’re in front of me right now. It feels like you should still be on my screen.” He laughed, making you tilt your head back and laughing along with him.

“I know, I can’t believe we’ve been apart for so long.” You said, reaching to intertwine your hands with his. “But, let’s go to the baggage area so we can pick up my suitcases and get out of here.” You said, reaching to grab your belongings from the ground, Tom insisting that he took your carry-on luggage, leaving you with just your purse- much to your dismay. He took your hand, dragging you down the open hallway towards the pick-up.

It didn’t take long for your luggage to come off the conveyor, and so before you knew it, you were walking to where Tom’s vehicle was parked, taking in the surroundings that you seemed to have missed so much while gone.

When arriving at the car, Tom unlocked it for you, letting you get in and sit in the passenger seat while he lifted your luggage into the back of his vehicle. Once he shut the door and slid into his side and started the vehicle, you both took off your masks and look at each other for the first time in months.

You both were quick to bring your lips together, Tom bringing his hand up to your cheek, and your hand to reach over to his free one, holding your fingers together. Pulling away from a kiss that felt like your first all over again, your lips swollen and bright, cheesy smiles on both your faces as you looked at each other like two teens who were up to something.

“I’m gonna be telling you how glad I am to have you back for- like- ever.” Tom chuckled, making you smile even more, enough that you could feel your cheeks and face muscles beginning to hurt.

“I know, same. Facetime calls just weren’t doing it anymore towards the end,” you said as Tom began to back up out of his parking spot, “I love you too much that it wasn’t cutting anymore.” You said nonchalantly, not hearing what words had fallen out of your mouth before the vehicle all of a sudden stopped and you looked over to your side to see Tom already looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“You love me?” He asked in shock, not being able to process what you had just said.

You, yourself was still processing what you said, not knowing if you should say anything, too scared that you’d mess up.

“And you don’t?” You laughed nervously, trying to make the situation less awkward than it already was, not daring to look up from your feet.

“What? Of course, I love you- fuck, yeah.” Tom assured you quickly, finally getting you to look up at him. His nervous face relaxed into a proud smile, eyes glassy with tears as he came to his realization.

“I love you.” Tom confessed through a laugh, making you laugh along with him, leaning over to give him a quick kiss to the lips. When you pulled away, with your heads only inches apart, you held such a strong, loving stare into each other’s eyes.

“I love you so much.” He said, coming to terms with it, and wearing it like a medal. He knew that if the two of you were able to survive that long of a time apart, that you were invincible, and I love you was just the beginning of how he was going to cherish you and your love.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem #tw: covid mention #tw: pandemic

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justkending · 3 years

Text

The Number One Rule. Chapter 25.

Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 2300+

A/N: Ok this one is really cute and comedic. I thought seeing these two would be adorable as well as a great step into my next chapter! In saying that, the next one is either going to be the last or second to last! Thank you all once again for the undying support and love with this series:)

Chapter Twenty-Five:

“Thank you guys so much for babysitting tonight,” Wanda gushed as she ran around grabbing things last minute. “Vis and I have had very few moments to actually go out. Pietro was a huge help while he was staying here, but had to go back to training. Then mom and dad had some business back in Sokovia, so getting a second to breathe after 2 weeks of never leaving the house with these чудовище, monsters, has been near to impossible.”

“Wanda, really no worries at all. I promised I’d help you guys out, and,” Y/N paused as little Tommy squealed in joy in her arms. “That’s a promise I am glad to keep.”

“You say that now, but wait until their moods change. We had them crying for a total of 5 hours straight yesterday. Changing the diapers, bottles, pacifiers, non-stop rocking, nothing worked,” she huffed, grabbing a light jacket for the spring air outside.

“Darling, I believe we are supposed to be convincing them to stay, not scaring them away,” Vis said, coming out of the room with a soft smile.

“Right, right,” Wanda chuckled bashfully. “They’re a breeze,” she tried to quickly offset.

“A little late on that cover Wands,” Bucky chuckled, standing with Billy in his arms as he rocked him back and forth.

“It’s fine, you guys,” Y/N laughed looking up at Bucky as he started making faces at the little guy in his hands. “I babysat all through highschool, and nannied overseas to make some money on the side. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary for me,” Y/N reassured. “Plus, Bucky seems to be doing great by the looks of it.”

“I’ve been holding him for 5 minutes,” Bucky said, never breaking his eyes from the baby. As if if he were, it would combust if he didn’t pay attention and it would be on him.

“I’ll make sure we’re fine,” Y/N laughed. “Now you two get out of here before I kick you out and lock the doors so you’re forced to enjoy your evening.”

“Ok, ok!” Wanda put her hands up in defense. She moved, grabbing her purse and Vision grabbed the keys. “Bedtime is at 6:30, if you can get them down. If not, the sound machine really helps. A bottle before bed luckily is the one saving grace for us, as it has yet to fail but once in getting them to knock out. Oh, and-”

“Wanda, dear. I think they have it under control,” Vis chuckled, putting his arm on her shoulder. “We really shall go before they give our reservation to someone else.”

“Ok,” she sighed, going back to the boys. “Mommy loves you two. Be good and don’t scare these two off. They may be our only hope in having nights out again.” She gave each of the boys a kiss on the forehead getting a coo from each of them in Y/N and Bucky’s arms.

“Don’t hesitate to call if anything happens. Emergency numbers are on the fridge, including doctors and neighbors. But knowing this one,” Vis pointed to the redhead who was double checking everything around her to make sure they were set. “Our phones will be on loud and we will be picking up within 2 seconds of you calling.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Y/N laughed before shooing them out of their own house. Eventually succeeding and joining Bucky back in the living room where he hadn’t halted his rocking with Billy still happy in his arms.

“Why do babies go to bed so early? I never understood that,” he noted, slowly moving to sit on the couch as delicately as possible.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked with a laugh, repositioning Tommy to one arm and moving toys on the counter around while also moving the bouncy seat over to her spot on the couch with the other arm.

“How do you do that?” Bucky asked, impressed with how easy she made holding and working around a baby look.

“Do what?” she hummed, finally sitting by him and placing Tommy in the rocking seat.

“You just grabbed a heavy form of equipment and a 2 month old baby while also reorganizing a table full of toys,” Bucky nodded his head. His arms around his twin tight to make sure no harm could come to him.

“It’s called having done this more times than I could count,” Y/N laughed. “And as for going to bed early, babies literally only sleep, poop, eat, and cry. They tend to go to sleep early on their own so it’s just working around their sleep schedule on finding a bedtime.”

“Ok, but if all these parents complain about waking up early with their kids, why don’t they put them to bed later?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t really know. I’m sure there’s some science and routine behind it, but I’ve never really had a kid of mine own, so I couldn’t tell you,” she joked as she watched Tommy gurgle with his spit in the chair. She grabbed a blanket and wiped his lips, getting a giggle out of the little boy.

“Do you want kids of your own?” Bucky asked a little more timidly.

She turned over to him and smiled. “I do. I would love some little monsters of my own.”

He couldn’t help the lovestruck look on his face as he watched her go back to Tommy as he babbled to her.

Don’t get him wrong. He had thought about it before in the past, but hearing her confirmation meant something else. Seeing little mini-Y/N’s running around made his heart warm. I mean, he had witnessed a little Y/N himself growing up and though she was a handful, she was a cute little stinker. Then you add in the fact he could be part of that equation… Well, it made his heart practically melt inside.

“What about you?” Y/N asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“With my special someone? Yeah, no second thoughts about it,” he grinned at her as she started making faces at the baby. He laughed with Tommy at her before she looked back and relaxed into his side. She looked over and down at Billy who was falling in and out of sleep himself.

“You’re pretty good at this you know,” she remarked.

“I haven’t moved besides sitting down. I don’t think you can mess anything up doing that,” he laughed.

“Oh, trust me. You can. You’d be surprised just how picky babies are about every little detail and movement,” she laughed, placing a kiss to his cheek.

“We only have really an hour of them being awake before we put them to sleep and relax until Wanda and Vis come home,” Bucky took a breath, leaning his head on top of hers that was on his shoulder.

“Please tell me you’re not that naive with babies. You do realize just because we put them to sleep doesn't mean they’ll stay like that,” she giggled.

“I know, I know,” he laughed with her. “But I’m hoping for the best.”

_________

Well, the best did not happen. It took less than 45 minutes after that comment before the boys decided to do an Act 2 of their crying scene that Wanda described earlier.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bucky groaned, bouncing in a harsh manner with his knees as Tommy cried in his arms. Y/N was across the room in the kitchen making bottles with Billy crying as well, but not near as loud, in her arms.

“No one ever does. We just have to pull out all the tricks and one of them works!” she yelled from the other room. Quickly she ran in with the bottles, one already propped under her chin feeding Billy who was now content, and the other she was handing off to Bucky who was scared to adjust to one hand with a baby in his arms.

When he did give Tommy the bottle though, the baby kept moving his face away from the nipple.

“I don't think that’s the trick for this one,” Bucky said in defeat.

“Here let me see,” Y/N said, trying to feed it to himself.

“Wait,” Bucky said, pausing his bouncing. “Do you smell that?”

“What-Oh…” Y/N noticed. The two scrunch their nose in sync. “It’s diaper duty time.”

“I’ve never been on diaper duty…” Bucky replied softly, fear clear in his eyes.

“You’re about to learn today then,” she said with a wicked smirk. “Here, you take Billy and I’ll take Tommy. I’ll show you how to do it, and then next one is on you.”

“There’s not way I can opt out of it?” Bucky tried to joke as he followed behind her with a face of disgust from the smell.

“It’s funny you think that’s an option,” Y/N remarked before turning a corner.

Once in the boys room and at the changing table, she set a crying Tommy down and started unbuttoning his onesie and noticed they had a bigger issue than they had hoped.

“Oh God,” she gagged some. Bucky hadn’t looked at the damage since he was just coming in the room with a newly adjusted baby in his arms.

“What? Wha- Oh God,” he repeated. “Ho-What-How do you fix that?” he pointed at the now laughing baby on the changing table.

“Well, what we have here Bucky is a classic case of a blow out.”

“A blowout?”

“A blowout.”

“What’s the solution?” Bucky questioned, pinching his nose with the same hand that was propping the bottle into the other twin’s mouth.

“Well, I would tell you but instead, we’re going to have to use a hands on form of assessment,” Y/N laughed, motioning him over, which he hesitantly did. “Little stinker here thinks this is funny, don’t you?” Tommy laughed in response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Ok, you stand here to make sure he doesn’t move around in it much more, and give me Billy.”

“I think I prefer the clean baby,” Bucky hesitated.

“Bucky, I’m putting Tommy down so we can clean Billy up together. It’s easier with the method I’m using,” she chuckled, switching positions with Bucky.

“Oh God, it’s everywhere. How is it everywhere?” Bucky covered his nose as he held Billy from rolling in his own mess.

“Like I said, a classic blowout.” Y/N put Tommy in his crib who was luckily already getting sleepy for the night and went down easily while they took care of the other twin. “Ok, pick him up and let’s go to the bathroom.”

“Bathroom?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, bathroom. This is going to be a heavy duty diaper duty,” she laughed. “Now grab him big macho man. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little bit of poop.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Bucky stuck his tongue out at her.

She laughed before heading off to the bathroom herself.

“Ok, but really. Not that I can’t handle it, but I’d rather not get crap on me little guy. Try not to wiggle,” Bucky took a deep breath before going in.

So heavy duty clean up involves taking the shower head off of the wall and just completely hosing down the baby like a dirty dish plate apparently. And in the process, with him being a little boy, there was also a round of pee coming out like a jet stream.

Lucky for the two, they didn’t get in the line of fire, but that doesn’t mean the surprise didn’t end up with them getting almost as wet as little Billy. After that, he was a happy baby and took a bottle with ease.

The two boys ended up settling completely asleep right at 6:45. Just over 15 minutes of their normal bedtime.

So, a little wet, very exhausted with just an hour of fun twin festivities, and with the baby monitors on and showing a live feed, Bucky and Y/N collapsed on the couch.

“I bet you the spy’s who do fight scenes for hours on end in movies, can’t do that,” Bucky groaned. Y/N laughed as she fell into his lap.

“I don’t think they could,” Y/N agreed.

“How the hell do Vis and Wanda do that all hours of the day?” he sighed deeply, moving his hands to her hair to wipe it off of her face in reflex.

“It’s not always like that, but I do agree. That is some exhausting stuff.”

“Still want monsters of your own?” Bucky teased.

She paused before answering and looking up at Bucky. He noticed the silence and looked down at her.

“When it’s your own kiddos, it’s a whole different kind of mess. One that you’re a lot more willing to endure.”

He smiled at her sweet notion and ran a thumb down her cheek.

“I guess you’re right about that,” he grinned.

“Although,” she huffed, getting comfortable as she laid her head in his lap. “I can gladly wait a few more years before I add that kind of chaos to my life.”

“I think I can concur with that,” Bucky chuckled, slumping back in his stance. “Hey when you’re ready to move again, want to put on a movie?”

“Always.”

They sat like that taking a second to breathe in the calm. Before Bucky broke it.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah, B?”

“I love you, you know that right?”

She sat up some and actually sat in his lap now. She leaned her forehead on his and smiled as they both closed their eyes at the intimate gesture. Their intimate gesture.

“I know Bumble Bee. I love you too.”

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pleasereadmeok · 3 years

Photo

This ‘Wonderland’ Interview to promote A Single Man is a gem. Matthew Goode is a bit of a handful and swears his way through this interview with his mate Nic Hoult. It’s very funny. It’s often quoted (including his description of Colin Firth’s kissing technique!) but it’s difficult to find a clean scan of the whole interview. This scan (from Natalie/ Fairchilds on ohnotheydidnt) isn’t very clear to read so I did a transcript several years ago - here:-

Wonderland Interview

Based on the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man marks the screenwriting and directing debut of fashion icon, Tom Ford. Having debuted earlier this year at the Venice Film Festival to a standing ovation, the film has continued to impress audiences during screening at the Toronto and London Film Festivals.

Joining lead actor, Colin Firth, on screen are fellow Brits Matthew Goode and Nicholas Hoult who discuss the film, Tom Ford and being British in LA.

ON A SINGLE MAN

Nicholas Hoult: The only time I saw Matthew was when we were getting our spray tans.

Matthew Goode: Which were more regular than we were expecting. I got on a plane with Colin [Firth] and then literally the moment we arrived, got in the car together, went to the hotel and suddenly – it’s like ten thirty at night – we have to go to Colin’s room where we’re having our spray tans . Colin Firth is in his pants, I’m in my pants and it stays that way for an hour whilst we wait for this stuff to set. He’s fucking great. I love Colin.

We [Nic’ and he] never had a scene together but we were there the whole time. I was only really fitting in around these guys. Nic had a damn sight more to do than I did.

NH: No I just did more.

MG: [Laughs] It was a really fun shoot. I mean, maybe I’m looking back with rose tinted spectacles, but …

NH: It was a good fun shoot. Everyone enjoyed it. I remember the night in Venice after seeing it in front of all those people and just lying in bed thinking ‘that’s something I’m proud of’.

MG: It’s seriously impressive. You watch it and you care and, it doesn’t happen to me a lot, but I watched it and thought ‘I’m in something that doesn’t stink!’. I’m proud of that.

NH: That’s a nice feeling when you’ve done something and you can say ‘yeah, proud of that’.

MG: Fucking hell – sorry to interrupt – but I was reading a magazine or a paper or something the other day and it said “A Single Man obviously being screened and whenever Nic Hoult was on screen there were gasps over his beauty” [laughs]. And I was thinking, fucking Hoult is going to LA and get so laid! [Laughs]. He is going to be turning bush away left right and centre!

NH: It’s all down to the fake tan again. That’s where the performance stems for me.

MG: That is a review!

NH: Nothing about the acting, right?

MG: They didn’t review the film. It just said “I saw it. I’m going to be reviewing it at some point, but let me tell you there were gasps over Nick Hoult’s beauty!”

ON TOM FORD

MG: Tom is immediately interesting. If it’s all about someone’s cannon of work then most of the time you wouldn’t work with a first ime director, but if the script is good and you have a chat with them and they know which end is up and which is down, then great.

NH: I didn’t know who Tom was when I met him.

MG: Nick “fashion forward” Hoult!

NH: I’d gone over to LA got off a plane and had dinner with him. And I asked him how he’d got into directing and why he was doing this!

MG: I love that. Isn’t that great? And that’s also like Tom. He’s not the sort of person who is like, ‘well fuck you!’.

NH: He explained very humbly what he had done and I thought OK. And then I looked him up after dinner and was ‘oh jesus! He’s actually accomplished quite a lot’ so probably quite a stupid question, but he was very honest and modest and made a great director.

MG: It’s so good. And so good for Colin. And Julianne [Moore] is bloody great in it as well. But the real star of it, it has to be said, is Tom. It silences immediately the people who were going ‘you self indulgent cunt.’ It’s like two massive fingers up to them as it is very, very accomplished.

NH: It’s very personal to him as well.

MG: Hugely personal as the main story sort of mirror images the relationship between him and Richard. There’s a similar age gap.

NH: He would always say my character is him when he was 18. He’s connected to every character and he knows them.

MG: And he wrote the screenplay and it’s starkly different from the book.

NH: Matthew’s read the book, so –

MG: That’s right! I have. It is different. I am always about the script, really. But one of the really nice things about being involved is that it is a love poem to Tom’s partner, Richard.

NH: Tom is very good in the sense that he is an actor’s director and knows what he wants you to do but is very giving to let you go off and explore things and try stuff out. And you don’t feel too much pressure of failure.

MG: That’s very true.

NH: ‘Cause the second you’re on set – especially when there’s only 20 days to shoot – to not feel the pressure, that’s a good atmosphere he created. Something his assistant was saying the other day was that he’s very good at holding his hands up and would admit when he wasn’t sure what he was doing and kept everyone on side and made it a really great team effort.

MG: I love it when someone’s like that. It’s so far away from self indulgent as well when someone’s shooting into the 19th hour of the day and the ship isn’t sinking, but there’s a leak and it’s far better to say we do have a leak and I’m trying to sort it out rather than leaning on one side and saying everything is fine. He is fucking great.

ON COLIN FIRTH

MG: Colin was great. I knew he was going to be good. The moment I read the script, I was like, ‘this is something you haven’t done in a long time’ – just something he could really get his teeth into. He’s such a subtle actor and it’s been a long time since I can remember him having something that central and serious.

NH: It was a great moment when we went to the Venice Film Festival and got the message Colin was winning the best actor award.

MG: I know. The previous evening we had sat there and we knew it had gone down well because there was a NINE minute standing ovation. And particularly when you’re not in the film as much as I am, then I feel like a fucking charlatan. I stood there and am looking down and smiling and embarrassed. Colin’s quite emotional and I tell you what – four minutes of a standing ovation gets a bit uncomfortable, but NINE? ‘OK, Colin… fucking move. Let’s go. Let’s leave.’ And he couldn’t tell us that he had won and so he was being shy about it.

NH: Yeah, he kept it very quiet.

MG: The moment we found out and we were on the boat we were like ‘What the fuck? You’ve won and you didn’t tell us!? And he was like ‘ I know, I didn’t wanna.’ He was humble.

NH: It was great. It was a bit of an odd first day like you had in the sense that I had to strip off in front of Colin on my first day. It sounds a bit seedy when I say ‘strip off in front of him’.

MG: It does!

NH: It’s part of the film, I swear! And it’s handled a lot more tastefully that that might seem, but yeah it was a bit of an odd first day.

MG: Everyone is going to say ‘oh it’s a gay movie’ which we then counteract with ‘no it’s not, it’s a film about love.’ But there is nudity and a bit of man kissing. Frankly Colin kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row, but it was a real pleasure!

NH: He’s got a lot of love!

ON JULIANNE MOORE

MG: She’s a fucking hero. She’s lovely. I didn’t have any scenes with her. I mean I’m only in flashback, so all my stuff was with Colin.

NH: All my stuff is with Colin as well. The first time I met Julianne was in Venice.

MG: Yeah, she was probably in the middle of juggling six projects or something, you know, she never stops working. She came in and shot two scenes, which were about 20 odd minutes of the film, and they did that in two evenings so she was in and out. I never got a chance to meet her until I was at some party in LA and she is just fantastic. And she’s married to a guy called Bart Freadlich who is a director in his own right.

NH: He’s a hero.

MG: He is actually fabulous! My girlfriend spent the whole evening calling him Bert instead of Bart and he was like ‘you know, actually I prefer Bert! Don’t worry about it’. He’s lovely. They could throw their weight around, but they are actually family people and live in New York – they’re kind of anti Hollywood.

ON THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR

MG: There are a lot of Brits and Aussies at the moment who are working. I don’t know what that means. But we never think of ourselves. When you get off the plane and you’re in America they ask ‘what’s the best thing about being a movie star?’ I am a jobbing actor, they have no idea! They make it sound like I get 500 scripts and am sitting there going through them all. If something comes up and they are stupid enough to give it to us or you love the script and audition but someone of a huge stature can come in and take it like Brad Pitt. Or Judi [Dench] – we’ve been up against each other a couple of times.

NH: I’ve never lost out to Judi yet.

MG: Only in a drinking contest! The vicious alcoholic that she is!

NH: Sam Worthington was telling me when he was in LA someone asked him why there were so many Aussies over there doing so well and his response was that it’s an awful long way to go to fail and not give it your best shot, basically.

MG: Oh. I was expecting some sort of knob gag in there, but yeah.

NH: It’s very true. I just got back from LA and every TV series has an English guy in the lead. Joseph Fiennes, Matthew Reece [RHYS]

MG: We’re good. We’re quite good…

N H: I can’t say it’s the training, because I don’t have any.

MG: You’re doing well! You make people gasp! You complete cunt. I hate that!

NH: You’re coming across very eloquent.

MG: That’s very nice of you. OK, who used to live with Ewan McGregor and Jude Law and he has a TV show? You’re right about that. Though it makes it sound like ‘Oh you’re English. Have a TV show’. I’m sure they all have about ten auditions.

NH: I had an interesting day recently when I was at a BBQ and Jimmy Page and Roger Daltrey were there.

MG: Wow!

NH: I sat there and was very quiet because I thought if I speak to them I’ll make a fool of myself so it’s best to keep out of the way and then they can’t have any bad thoughts although they probably didn’t know I was there. But I knew they were there so it was a good BBQ for me.

MG: I’d love to learn guitar. It’s one of those things I’d love to do. Though it’s not like I don’t have the time…

NH: [Laughs]

MG: I’d like to know all the chords.

NH: It’s difficult to get the fingering right… That’s what she said.

MG: And back to Dame Judi!

NH: [Laughs]

MG: It depends if you have a high action or a low action in terms of the strings. It hurts. You’ve got to build up the calluses. If you get a low action one that would be easier.

NH: Are we still talking about women?

MG: Yes! [Laughs] I remember Billy Crudup got the part in Almost Famous and he had lessons with Peter Frampton but had to have lessons on the side because Peter was like ‘you are fucking terrible’. But that’s one of the nice accidents of the job is you can get training in things. And random travel.

NH: I got to do archery.

MG: You did! That was The Weatherman!

NH: No, for Clash of the Titans. I didn’t use it once.

MG: Oh yes, it was the daughter in The Weatherman.

NH: Yeah man, keep up.

MG: Sorry mate. That’s how pretty you are. I confused you with the female lead.

NH: He’s seen all my work.

MG: I have! I’ve got to learn how to do it. You are a master. I did a Spanish film and it was all in Spanish [!] – I learnt it phonetically. Jesus, that’s my only skill. The major skill I picked up is I can pay my rent. The older you get the more you realize there are a lot of people who hate their jobs. I’m so glad I’m not – ha! Famous last words! – it does seem to be going OK for now. But bringing it back to what do you like about acting – to be honest, everything.

ON BRITISH TALENT

MG: I think there is an element that we’re just so happy to work. Certainly as for getting into film it was such an accident because I hadn’t worked in front of a camera. For a while it was like what is the secret code to working on screen? I have no idea what it is… but even ten films in I’m still sitting here renting and not owning a house. I think that keeps you grounded. As opposed to some American actors who are on a hundred thousand dollars doing some TV.

NH: You don’t get comfortable so you feel you’ve got to keep on striving.

MG: I think we’re overrated. [Laughs]. There is an element over there if you walk into a room of Americans that they’re suddenly like ‘oh fuck they’re British and we’re steeped in tradition.

NH: It’s odd that Tom got so many English actors for the film – we’re both playing American.

MG: And Julianne is playing English.

NH: it’s good he trusts in us to pull of the American accents.

MG: Yeah, I mean – idiot! In fairness you’ve done it before and I have done it a couple of times. But it is odd. If you think who he probably could have had –

NH: He probably could have done better than us!

MG: I’m sure he could have convinced someone with a much higher stature. I think it was just we were willing to work for free, effectively. And that’s also what makes Britain great. We want to work and we want to please the director and often at times, yes we might have strong thoughts on character and script, but we turn up and are like, this is your vision and you are the director and we know where we fit in. Certainly the Brits, I find, we want to be told what to do or how it’s going to work rather than, ‘I’m the fucking star!’ I tend to find we leave our ego at the door. We tend not to pussyfoot around. We all like a drink. We’re steeped in that tradition as well. There’s a certain forbidden thing in America if you drink you’re an alcoholic. No I’m not, and I generally wait until at least half past one.

NH: On weekends. Weekdays, 11.

MG: There is a reason pubs are opened at 11 and it’s because you are allowed to start drinking at that time. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it! Christ, can you remember back to when – you might not remember, actually. I gasp at your beauty as I try to remember!

NH:[laughs] I’m never going to live this down!

MG:Do you remember when pubs shut on Sundays at, like, 1 for two or three hours? Maybe I’m showing my age now. That is fucking madness. There would be a riot now.

NH: So basically, we haven’t found a conclusion to what makes Britain great… You’re a big X Factor fan though, aren’t you?

MG: My girlfriend loves it. She’s got me into it. I mean it’s fucking hilarious. You literally sit there and you don’t know any of these people but the music comes up and they get selected and you can be in tears and so happy that these people have been selected for the live shows. I really like the over 25’s this year. They’re fucking great.

NH: Matthew Goode on The X Factor!

MG: ‘He’s very much into the over 25s and what is funny is they are all male’. But it is great. But then it’s such a machine. There is such a turn around. Sometimes the winner gets completely forgotten and they have no career and then, obviously, sometimes they go shooting up. But it is great telly! Saturday night, a couple of beers and The X Factor.

[Pics - My edit of Ben Rayner photos/scan by Natalie Fairchild.]

#matthew goode #nic hoult #a single man #a discovery of witches #adow #just in case ADOW fans are interested - it's a stretch I know.........

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lottiebagley · 3 years

Text

Till forever falls apart- Fred Weasley

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

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

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

He never really noticed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You alright? You- well-"

"Showed up a sobbing mess?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he is madly in love with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"George?"

"Yes, Fred."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks Freddie," She grins happily

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

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

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

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

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

"Looking gorgeous," Lee compliments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened?"

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

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

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

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

"It's Fred," he calls back

"Oh, do you need anything?"

"Just wanna see you sweetheart," he responds gently

"You should be at the ball,"

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

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

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

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

"You look beautiful,"

"I look a mess," she responds

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

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

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

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

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

"It's your one ball at school,"

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

And they do.

He steals snacks from under Ron's bed and they sit up in her bed eating them. He makes her laugh and she cheers up a little. He catches Bertie Botts every flavour beans in his mouth and smears Cauldron Cake filling on her nose.

He talks her into dancing around her dorm with him. It's fast at first, music playing from her friends record player. When a slow song comes on he holds her close and strokes his hand up and down her back, she rests her hands on his shoulders and stares up into his eyes with a too quick heart beat and a need to kiss the boy she's head over heels for.

They drop to her bed, laying up as she explains what happened. She tells him that she never really liked Cormac all that much and it was the shame and embarrassment that hurt so much, it was the feeling of worthlessness.

Her friends filtered back from the ball one by one, finding them fast asleep in their ball outfits, her head on his chest and his arms holding her close.

So this is it, that's how it ends I guess there's nothing more romantic than dying with your friends And I'm not sorry for myself I wouldn't want to spend a minute lovin' anybody else

"Where too next pretty girl?" Fred questions with a smile, his arms wrapped around her shoulder, holding her to him as they walk through the warm streets of Hogsmeade, the first drops of summer warming the couple.

"Three Broomsticks?" She suggests, taking a lick of the caramel ice cream Fred had insisted on buying her in Honeydukes.

"Sure," He nods, beginning to walk in the right direction, swinging his Zonko's bag in his empty hand "How's the ice cream?"

"As good as ever, you wanna try some?" She questions, taking another lick before tilting her head upwards to look at him, he shrugs in agreement before a smirk takes over his face.

Her eyebrows raise in question before his thumb comes down, hand cupping her jaw, the thumb swiping over the corner of her lip and collecting a smear of ice cream, he pops it into his mouth, sucking the caramel flavour off as she stands staring up at him, eyes a little wide and mouth a jar.

"It's good," He nods, casually dropping his arm back around her shoulder and continuing on his was towards the pub. She allows herself to be tugged along, slightly in awe and massively in love as he somehow manages to act nonchalant, in reality his insides feel like they're on fire.

"Hey, Fred?" She questions as they walk, he hums gently in response, eyes flickering down to look at her

"Why no date this weekend?" She questions casually.

"Haven't been on a date in a while if I'm honest," He admits casually. It was true, for a while Fred was serial dater, she was so unattainable and so he occupied himself, tried to find someone who would make his heart beat just as fast as she did. That was until George informed him the more girls he dated who weren't her the less likely she was to admit to liking him if she felt the same, George knew she did, he could tell, not that Fred believed him.

"Very out of character," She teases, a smirk falling to her face "You lost all your game?"

"Why don't you consider how much you blushed when I tried your ice cream and answer that yourself?" He smirks, watching as she blushes once more but rolls her eyes at him.

The afternoon passes pleasantly, harmless flirting that makes them both overthink carrying the conversation.

It was a joke at first.

He had snuck into a small florist whilst she was talking to a girl from her year.

When he had returned to her side, the flowers held behind his back until the girl was gone, he smiles politely along with the conversation.

She had turned to him, ready to ask where he wanted to go next, and blushed madly when he held out a bouquet of sunflowers to her, he knew they were her favourites. She had taken them with a bashful smile and a teasing 'what have you done wrong to butter me up with flowers'

And it had been a joke when he responded.

"Nice guys buy their dates flowers Wood,"

The reality of what he said hit the pair hard as his eyes widen at the realisation. He can practically see the cogs turning in her head before she whispers

"Is this a date?"

He almost lies. Tells her she's insane and that she's like a sister and he had just been messing with her.

But then he sees it.

The flicker of hopefulness in her eyes.

"I hope it can be," He admits, breathless although he's not quite sure what from.

"Okay, date it is," She confirms, tugging the flowers to her chest in one hand and taking his hand in the other.

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

Fred's foot taps loudly on the floor, a rapid beat ringing through the kitchen.

"You're up early," Molly comments as she enters the kitchen, she's unsurprised by her son's presence in the kitchen even though it is hours before he would normally wake up.

"My girlfriend gets here today. Merlin, mum, you didn't forget did you?" He questions.

It had taken hours and hours for Fred to be able to convince his mother and all the other adults involved to allow his girlfriend to stay for the last two weeks of summer given the location of the Order was supposed to be a secret.

It was eventually Remus' declaration of trust for the girl over dinner after a meeting one night that forced the adult's agreement. "Of course not sweetheart," His mother assures, a loving smile on her face as she watches her son who she's never seen happier. "You know she's not getting here until the afternoon though and that Remus is meeting her in Diagon Alley and he hasn't even woken up yet, let alone left,"

"I know. Just couldn't sleep," Fred admits, rolling his eyes at the beam that overtakes Molly's face

"You really love her?"

"I do. If it means anything I think you will too,"

"I'm sure I will dear," Molly smiles, squeezing her son's shoulder before moving to prepare breakfast.

6 hours later the door is pulled open and Fred feels his heart practically double in size. She hadn't been expecting her boyfriend to be sat on the stairs staring at the front door waiting for her, he had been there since his old professor left. She had been talking happily with the older man, something about her brother's new quidditch job from what Fred heard before she's silenced.

She let's out a mildly shocked laugh when two arms wrap around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around in circles. He places her back to the ground, staring down at her with a bright grin that's mirrored on her face as she stares back up.

Half the order and all the kids have now made their way to the front door to watch the couple's reunion. No one can deny that the entire house seems warmer now that their love is filling the walls. No one can question that it's love to the very truest form as they watch the couple stare at each other.

"You're entire family and a load of people I don't know are staring at us," She whispers, only he can hear and he chuckles a little, his arms still wrapped around her waist as her hands rest on his chest.

He can faintly hear the scream of Walburga Black's portrait followed by Tonks shouting 'shit I tripped, did I miss it?', her question answered by Ginny's laughter and a 'They haven't even kissed yet'

"I'm going to kiss you anyway darling, because it's all I've been thinking about for the past four weeks an-"

He's cut off when her hand tugs him down by his shirt, his lips meeting her for the first time in a month. It's not the most magical of kisses, a little toothy from both their wide grins and ruined by the onlookers and Ron's dramatic faux gags.

She pulls away quickly, not wanting to seem disrespectful and giggles when his lips chase after hers "Next time don't talk so much and just kiss me," She teases in a quiet whisper, just for him, he lets out a breathy laugh as she pats his cheek before squeezing past him in the corridor, approaching Mrs Weasley with a tentative smile.

She's pulled into a hug by the woman before being lead into the kitchen. Fred watches from the doorway as she's introduced to everyone and happily greets his siblings, a lovestruck smile on his face.

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

Fred sits on the cabinet, his legs open as she stands inside them.

"You really need to stay out of trouble," She comments quietly, trying to be gentle as she dabs the open wound on the back of his hand clean.

"Better it's me than the 11 year old she would have given the detention too if I didn't take the blame," Fred responds, trying not to wince at the sting of the alcohol on the cotton pad.

"I hate seeing you like this though," She sighs, he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead "You were very brave though," She compliments, throwing the red stained cotton pad into the bin as she grabs the ointment the twins made a few weeks before from the cupboard. "We're running low," She comments quietly

"I'll make some more in the morning," Fred sighs, letting his head drop back against the wall "Is there enough for George too?" His voice sounds tired but she knows if there wasn't he would stay up to make his twin more, it was the quickest way to heal the scars of Umbridge's quill.

"Yeah," She sighs gently. "Freddie?"

"What's wrong darling?" He asks, one eye fluttering open to look at his girlfriend. Not liking the anxiousness of her voice.

"I was just thinking that tomorrow I could go to Umbridge and tell her the other night was my fault, your hand is practically raw and-"

"No," He doesn't mean to snap at her but he would never, ever, let that toad of a human lay a hand on his girl. He'd take any punishment she has a thousand times before he let her take it even once.

"Fred, you can't just-"

"I mean it. I'm not letting her hurt you, alright? 'M your boyfriend, it's my job to keep you safe so no. You aren't taking the blame for her finding us kissing in a broom cupboard," He demands, she sighs as she grabs a bandage to wrap up Fred's hand

"You're killing yourself slowly Fred and I won't let you. I was just as at fault as you were and you've taken the blame for every slip up I've made all year. Even when you weren't there," She argues, her voice is soft though, not wanting to fight with him.

His hand that's not being bandaged rakes through his hair in frustration. "Please, please just let me keep you safe?" He's speaks so quietly, so full of nerves and love and every emotion in between that her heart melts a little

"You-"

"I swear to you right here that I'll start being more careful and I'll stop taking the blame for other people if it makes you worry, but, please. Angel, please, just let me look after you,"

He's practically begging and she can't help but agree, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Just start being careful alright?" She whispers the question

"Promise," He confirms quietly

"I love you Fred,"

She had been in love with him since her first year and it was the first time she ever said it to him.

She wasn't nervous though, not even for a second, she knows he loves her back, he may not have ever said it but he tells her in his own way a thousand times a day.

"I love you too sweetheart," He smiles gently, reaching his none bandaged hand to her jaw to pull her to him.

He kisses her soft and slow before she pulls away, moving her head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand that's moved to cup her cheek.

"George! I'm ready to do your hand!" She calls, turning away from her boyfriend to blink away her tears, her anxiousness for his well being feeling overwhelming. George enters the small bathroom, cradling his own bleeding hand.

Neither twin mentions the redness in her eyes.

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

"I need to tell you something," Fred had spilt the words out over dinner, interrupting his friend groups story. She immediately turns to him, eyebrow raised in concern. She had joined his friends for dinner at his request, he'd been clingy fort he past month but she thought nothing of it until that very moment.

His brown eyes that usually held so much love and mischief seemed consumed in guilt.

"Alone," He adds hastily, trying to ignore the questioning look from Angelina Johnson across the table who had been talking about her Potions essay.

He stands, his girlfriend following behind wordlessly. Normally, he would reach out to grab her hand but he could feel the cold stare of Dolores Umbridge.

By the time he pulls her into an empty class room, too anxious to go all the way back to his dorm, he can feel his heart in his mouth.

He knew, realistically, that he should have told her months ago. Told her when the idea was first born. Not now, less than 24 hours before it happens.

"I swear to god, if you've cheated on me Fred I will cut you-"

"No!" He's quick to defend himself "Of course not. I would never, you know that," He sighs, still not sure where to find the words. "I have something to tell you but please don't be mad,"

"You can tell me anything Freddie," She reassures, sitting down on a desk as he stands in front of her

"I'm leaving," He speaks lowly

"What do you mean leaving?" she questions, eyes scrunched up like she's concentrating.

"I mean Harry gave George and I his tri-wizard cup winnings and we are dropping out of school to open a joke shop. I'm leaving tomorrow,"

"I- I don't know what to say," She admits quietly

"Well, what are you thinking?" He promts, trying to gauge her reaction

"I'm- I'm kind of mad that you didn't tell me you were leaving. That you've undoubtedly known for a while and you didn't bother to tell me. I'm worried because I'm so in love with you and I don't know what happens to us when we aren't both here, I mean I knew next year everything would change but I thought we had time to work out what we are doing. I'm sad cause I'm going to miss you like crazy, but, if I'm honest more than anything I'm so unbelievably proud of you and happy for you,"

"I should have told you. I know that. But I promise that nothing has to happen to us, I love you, not being here won't change that,"

"And you'll write?"

"Everyday," He assures, standing between her legs to press his lips to hers.

We never had it from the start 'Til death do us part

"So, what do you think?" Fred's voice questions, his hands that had been clasped over her eyes nervously ringing by his sides.

She was the first person to see the inside of the shop and both the twins, who stand on either side of her, were nervous about it.

She looks around with wide eyes, her feet spinning her in a slow circle as she takes in the bright colours of the store.

"Jeez woman, say something already," George groans, his anxiousness getting the best of him

"It's perfect," She grins, turning back to the two boys

"You really think?" Fred questions

"I do. It's like you two in shop form. I love it," She grins, flinging her arms around her boyfriend's arms as he lifts her up into the air, spinning her around as his loud laughter of excitement mixes with her giggles

"You love it?" He asks, excitement evident in his voice

"I love it," She confirms as he places her back onto the ground. She turns to hug George, smiling a congratulations.

Fred tugs her by her hand around the store, giving her the guided tour and pointing out every single product, explaining ones she hadn't seen before. She listens attentively, her heart swelling in pride and she swears she falls in love all over again as he grins at her, eyes shining.

If the tide takes California

I'm so glad I got to know ya

Fred's arms hold her close to him, her's looping round her neck as he sways them gently to the music playing through the marquee, her head tilted up to look at her boyfriend who smile back down.

"When we get married-" Fred starts, rolling his eyes when she immediately rolls her eyes

"Did you just say we?"

"Obviously we are getting married you idiot," Fred huffs, she smirks, reaching onto her tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek "As I was saying, when we get married, it's not going to be this fancy,"

"No?"

"No. Not worth the stress, unless you want a big fancy shindig, if you do obviously we can have one, we will just put a full body binding curse on mum," He chuckles at his joke but she can hear the sincerity in his voice

"Fred Weasley I would marry you with a piece of string for a ring and only one witness,"

"So a small wedding?" He smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head

"Small wedding sounds good. You'll have to ask Oli for permission before you ask me though, otherwise he'll genuinely murder you,"

"I'll do that," He grins down.

She laughs it off, no idea there was a ring in his bedside draw since his first pay check at the joke shop, that he was just waiting for everything to calm down to ask.

And if the sky falls from Heaven above Oh, I know I had the best time fallin' into love

Fred feels like he can finally breathe again when he hears the door of the flat swing closed.

"Hey, I'm back," Her voice rings through the home above the joke shop.

"In the living room," He calls back, he hears her drop her keys onto the small table by the door before she arrives in the door way. Staring at him from the door way

"Thought I told you not to wait up?" She questions

"Couldn't sleep, hated not knowing if you were okay," He admits, she let's out a sigh, crossing the living room to sit next to him on the sofa.

"I know what you mean. Spent the whole day worrying if anything had happened to you," She admits, he sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"How was work?" He asks softly

"Busy. The world is a mess out there," She admits, her job as a healer seemed to only get crazier with each passing day, the war raging on the streets.

"I know," He hums gently, "Did you see Oliver after you finished?"

"I did, he's good just worried about everyone," She shrugs, it was how everyone seemed to be recently.

"I'm glad your home safe,"

"I'll always get home safe to you Freddie, as long as you promise to do the same?"

"I promise angel,"

We've been livin' on a fault line And for a while you were all mine

She feels like she can't breathe when the door is pulled open, she had the address on a piece of paper in Hermione Granger's neat cursive.

For a second, as selfish as it makes her feel, she allows herself to pretend. Pretend the man standing in the doorway is him. Allows herself to pretend it's the love of her life staring at her, and, for the second she does she can almost kid herself into thinking everything is okay.

"You want to come in?"

She feels the world crash around her as she nods, allowing George Weasley to lead her into his house. He offers her a drink and she politely declines, taking a seat in his living room.

"You're staring," He comments, he doesn't seem angry, nor does he seem hurt to see her. Instead, he watches her with pity.

"Sorry, I just-" She sighs, not bothering to finish

"I do it too. I stare at my reflection and trick myself into thinking it's him,"

"I'm so sorry, that you've had to go on without him. George, I'm so, so, sorry,"

"The same to you," George smiles sympathetically. His eyes scan her, trying to work out how she is without asking. "So, that's why you're here?" He questions, nodding towards the ring that sits on her left hand.

"It is. I need to talk to you about it. I'm sorry, because I know we said that we weren't going to speak but it had to be you,"

They'd both agreed it within a few months of the war ending. Being around each other was too hard. They were the one person who reminded the other of Fred the most.

"Okay," George nods in agreement. He watches as she eyes the framed photo of his wedding day on the mantle piece before letting out a deep breath.

"I moved away, to America, after the war- I just- I needed to get away. It was 5 years before I went on a date, it was 6 before I had sex it was 7 before I had a boyfriend. I didn't want to have a relationship, not when it would never come close to the one I had with him, and it doesn't, you should know that it doesn't, but Daniel, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. But- I can't go through with it, not if you're mad at me for it,"

"I'm not mad," George speaks gently, he has a feeling that in this moment it isn't him she's speaking too at all. If it were anyone else he would be angry, but for her, he is prepared to be the bridge to Fred, because he knows the one person who loved his twin more than George himself, was the girl in front of him.

"I know. I knew you wouldn't be I just-"

"You aren't asking if I'm mad. You're asking if I think he is," George comments, he reaches across the coffee table to squeeze her hand gently

"I know. I'm so sorry George, it's not fair to you and I know that. The thing is- You knew Fred better than anyone and you- Oliver keeps telling me that it is okay. That Fred would want me to be happy and to have a husband and kids and- I want to believe him but- I need to hear it from you. From you who knew him so deeply. Wherever he is does he hate me right now?"

"Fred would want to be the one who made you happy,"

"Look, George, I believe in love. I believe in one grand love, a soulmate, a forever. I believe that Fred was mine. He was the one. He was the sun and the moon and the stars. He is the love of my life. But I want kids, George, I always wanted that, and he is gone. I believe that when you die, the person you loved most in life is waiting for you and no matter what I believe it'll be Fred who greets me. I believe that he's watching over me and every decision I ever make I can practically hear him telling me what to do. I have love for Daniel but I am not in love with him, I will never be in love with anyone like I was with Fred, he was it for me. But I can't have him. I think he knows I would always pick him, I would still pick, I wish it were him. So, George, would he hate me for having a life without him?"

"You had a forever with Fred. It wasn't your forever, but it was his. I never saw him so happy. He wouldn't hate you. Just, for me, don't forget him,"

"I won't George. Nothing else comes close. It never will,"

I've spent a lifetime givin' you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever 'til forever falls apart

Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley #fred #weasley twins #weasley #harry potter fanfiction

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1ddotdhq · 4 years

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🍌Wed 2 Dec ‘20💚

Harry Styles Reacts to Banana Innuendo Rumors by Making EVEN MORE Banana Innuendos part TWO

Good morning/evening/night to Harry’s post and Harry’s post ONLY! (Okay that’s not true but it was definitely a highlight of my day). In case people haven’t seen it yet, it’s Harry in a light blue custom made suit putting a penis banana in his mouth. The picture is captioned “Bring Back Manly Men” so take a suck on THAT Candace Owens! It was only one of many great pictures in his variety shoot (including another, um, fruity picture of him biting into a pomegranate okay Persephone we get it), but Harry did indeed choose That One to post on This, the day after banana necklace dickscourse, BLESS. Harry’s interview was a little more in depth than they have been in the past, touching upon his feelings on race (“Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music. There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change”), as well as his tattoos (the only time he regrets them is in the DWD makeup chair), his love of reading, fashion and art, his exercise routine (Kid Harpoon couldn’t keep up!), and his feelings on success and acclaim (“It’s never why I do anything...it's always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff...Fans are the best A&R”).

The problems arose - as they so often do - when One Direction was mentioned. The article said that “The proof [of the band’s benefits] is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members- Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles- each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond”. Leaving aside the bad math (that's 4 people!) one name, of course, is notably missing: Louis has in fact enjoyed quite a lot of success both with Walls (remember when his album went #1 on iTunes in the UK AND the US literally 2 months ago?) and his pre-Walls singles like “Back To You” and “Just Hold On”. It got worse because the author tried to back up her claim with Harry’s quote, “When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band...but we loved being in the band...I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it”. By linking her own words with Harry's quote she made it seem as though Harry said it to agree with her biased take, which we'd know he didn't even if we hadn't heard him say this exact quote without that slant multiple times before. Fans were quick to point out both to the author and to Variety that they were wrong (to describe the reaction mildly), and the author rather than fixing the mistake, doubled down and began blocking fans. Plenty of people were quick to say that of course HSHQ and Harry had approved this content, despite more knowledgeable fans trying to be heard protesting that that is not how it works. (Remember how just recently Vogue got Harry’s whole ass FAMILY situation wrong and it was not corrected until after print, for example?) In fact, even the magazine didn't really proofread this- the print version of the article is different and says, “The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members - Styles, Malik and Horan”, effectively erasing both Louis AND Liam. It's an annoying take either way, but it's one the author more than likely picked up by doing her research on harrie twitter, not on orders from Jeff.

And because we DO NOT STAND FOR LILO ERASURE ON THIS BLOG, let’s talk about Liam’s Web Summit panel! It was 25 minutes of Liam and Marian Dicus (VP of Spotify) being interviewed about the current and future state of the music industry. Both of them, of course, noted that things had changed very quickly in their careers back at the beginning of lockdown, and how it had seemed surreal, at first, but that Liam had found that the way he was operating now (with Veeps and Tik Tok and Instagram lives) had made his platform a two way interaction with his fans. “For a long time I've been living in a dream world where I thought I was speaking with my fans but really I was just talking at them whereas we as artists ask a lot of rhetorical questions... I wanted to start a conversation”. Marian discussed how engaging fans differently WAS one of the most difficult things to puzzle out at the beginning, but that as months have passed, it seems artists like Liam have found a viable virtual future in the music industry (Liam tells us that he's been doing “stadium size shows” on Veeps which is an exciting clue about the mystery of how many tickets they're selling). They also went into the way music trends change as a response to social and political occurrences, how comfort songs gave way to protest songs this summer. Liam said, “People want their artists to have an opinion nowadays it's not that we can stay out of the conversation anymore-- and nor do we feel that we should in many places-- but for me it's a fine line because I realize what I do for people is an escape, people don't want things rammed down their throats every day and news messages from me about things that they don't want to hear about if they've come to listen to music, so its a real fine line that we kind of teeter on”. And about his opening acts, he acknowledges that his fanbase are mostly young women (based on the data breakdowns he gets from his team), and so he feels a responsibility to mentor young female artists in the industry so that more people like his fans have a voice. In an interview full of really fascinating music and technical discussions, this remained my favorite moment from Liam. Just like we won’t erase HIM, he refuses to erase US! And let's not forget our Liam alarm of the day-- it starts out absolutely adorable (“good moooorning!”), is hilarious in that apparently he just rambled completely unscripted and then they awkwardly cut it into 25 parts, but today's installment is frankly not relaxing! “only 23 sleeps til christmas have you done your shopping are you prepared” excuse me Liam YOU ARE STRESSING ME OUT. The promised relaxing sleep story affirmations are still 'coming soon'-- hurry up please I need them to decompress after that alarm!

Now for a lightning round of epic proportions: DWD darling pictures and vids keep comin’ and Harry and Florence are both looking GORGEOUS as Jack and Alice, after the Variety shoot dropped ‘THE CAPTION’, ‘BRING BACK MANLY MEN’, and ‘LOUIS IS SUCCESSFUL’ trended worldwide on twitter, Tan France said “yes please” to Harry's banana post, Harry reiterated that London was home and he didn’t want to be in LA for longer than he needed to,Variety has its virtual show tomorrow at 5 pm PST so see you there! Veeps is sending out emails promoting Louis’ show to people who bought LP show tickets, fans have already started to receive their Louis Tomlinson Live From London merch, Trinity College in Dublin’s Law society presented Niall with an award for, uh, his Irishness, I guess? (Just kidding, it’s for “his incredible talent and work ethics which is famously underscored by a distinct humility despite unthinkable success”). It looks like he will be giving a talk when he’s presented with it, and I’m honestly really interested to see what it’s all about - is he...gonna be talking to law students? Idk but tune in on December 7th at 12 pm GMT to find out!

#harry styles #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #also i am seeing discourse about H's COOP and how he loves the Manchester music scene #but that this stadium will be changing it irrevocably #i mean it will be adding jobs (4000 of them!) but it will also be pushing out the small music scenes that benefits small independent artists #who are trying to break through into the indusrty #*industry #and i think thats a really interesting and important convo #of which i dont have any knowledge but i did want to shine some light on it #also!! tumblr has finally recced me something that i like! a store called 28cultures.com #and its NOT larry merch but it COULD BE its SO COOL!!!!#this isnt spon con i just thought it was so funny!#anyways!#song of the day~#savior complex by phoebe bridgers #(and rob moose!)

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years

Text

“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me?

Special thanks to @shineestark for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected.

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood.

~Enjoy, little peaches~

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules.

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved.

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without.

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home.

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her.

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together.

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night.

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever.

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract.

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked.

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind.

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do.

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye.

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind.

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened.

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one.

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for.

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all.

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her.

Without her.

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most.

You were hurting alone.

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces.

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface.

They asked if you wanted to see her.

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking.

And you kept saying no.

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor.

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this.

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve.

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long.

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately.

“She’s... back?”

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible.

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks.

Billie had been back for two.

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half.

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not.

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no.

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory.

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life.

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe.

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had.

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away.

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning.

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could.

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time.

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep.

Over and over again.

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern.

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating.

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face.

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing.

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth.

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying.

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed.

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move.

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss.

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to.

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes.

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you.

Billie Dean Howard.

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped.

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before.

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend.

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart.

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket.

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch.

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her.

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room.

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone.

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer.

Time passing. A cruel joke.

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink.

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence.

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said.

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life.

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were.

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life.

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before.

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up.

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch.

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else.

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up.

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken.

“How could I be, when you’re here?”

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together.

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile.

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her.

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.”

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket.

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface.

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking.

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.”

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!”

“And then you came home.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said.

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her.

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off.

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left.

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking.

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again.

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again.

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch.

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly.

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.”

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all.

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place.

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again.

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped.

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing.

Except you didn’t.

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream.

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window.

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt.

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to.

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself.

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...”

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before.

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.”

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not.

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth.

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand.

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what.

She watched you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend.

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you.

It was easier.

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest.

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.”

“She was the one who told me to come over.”

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.”

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,” Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face.

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.”

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared.

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place.

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again.

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move.

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare.

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched.

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her.

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything?

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes.

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours.

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were.

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking.

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you.

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization.

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!”

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding.

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone.

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.”

And that’s when you moved.

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone.

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know.

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could.

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth.

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again.

You couldn’t lose her again.

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide.

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently.

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts.

All from her.

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen?

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one...

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god...

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you.

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor.

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie.

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her.

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her.

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline.

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain.

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear.

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony.

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep.

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived.

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her.

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home.

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds.

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt.

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair.

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream.

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air.

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way.

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault.

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost.

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out.

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away.

You just wanted to look at her.

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love.

A world of forgiveness.

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze.

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up.

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly.

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair.

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.”

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her.

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?”

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet.

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone.

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk.

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal.

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear.

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her.

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up.

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat.

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you.

If that isn’t love.

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again.

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving.

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful.

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours.

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight.

Her mouth.

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake.

“Ow, fuck, shit.”

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed.

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?”

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower.

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?”

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered.

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone.

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper.

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her.

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg.

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you.

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago.

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed.

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking.

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?”

Her heel tapped. Once.

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain.

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics.

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help.

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you.

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain.

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered.

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form.

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut.

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment.

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.”

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue.

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected.

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling.

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay.

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go.

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you.

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart.

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you—

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously.

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.”

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath.

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there.

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in.

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished.

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head.

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes.

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely.

But it was always gone as soon as it came.

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later.

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed.

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie.

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep.

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes.

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself.

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together.

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that.

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts.

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers.

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far.

Billie. Your Billie.

Over and over and over.

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed.

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation.

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even—

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there.

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric.

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach.

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back.

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone.

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later.

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous.

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think.

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks.

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it.

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall.

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten.

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts.

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again.

Ever again.

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness.

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her.

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal.

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave.

The floor creaked under your foot.

Shit.

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched.

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope.

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps?

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet—

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long.

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant.

And now she was here.

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds.

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time.

One step at a time.

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner.

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words.

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you.

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way.

And here she was, doing it again.

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness.

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night.

You swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say?

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask.

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before.

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch.

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes.

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked.

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you.

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.”

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now.

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked.

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again.

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her.

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you.

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile.

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back.

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company.

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head.

You scoffed.

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare.

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it.

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came.

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you.

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing.

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything.

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away.

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you.

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked.

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently.

Her pants.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes.

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom.

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed.

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once.

She was afraid you were going to change your mind.

That’s why she was rushing you to bed.

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip.

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.”

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency.

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were.

You could never forget how beautiful they were.

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check.

You nodded.

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse.

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets.

Billie hummed.

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry.

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by.

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep.

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess.

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets.

You startled, whipping your head around to face her.

But no, she was asleep.

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep.

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin.

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did.

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this.

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before.

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before?

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up.

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point.

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth.

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say—

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg.

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force.

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it.

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her.

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of.

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed.

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you.

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting.

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers.

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs.

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again.

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up.

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down.

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth.

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp.

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you.

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest.

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours.

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.”

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore.

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart.

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides.

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation.

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together.

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world.

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying.

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before.

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away.

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.”

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back.

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try.

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.”

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step.

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched.

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs.

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands.

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip.

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.”

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?”

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs.

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand.

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.”

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her.

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool.

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you.

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers.

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours.

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.”

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip.

“Shit.”

“I told you.”

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.”

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will.

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.”

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter.

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t.

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar.

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to.

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...”

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat.

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there.

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion.

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers.

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried.

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool.

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer.

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her.

“Shut up.”

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours.

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips.

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance.

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck.

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings.

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.”

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly.

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones.

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides.

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you.

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading.

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch.

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you.

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs.

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently.

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong.

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer.

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra.

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh.

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here.

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up.

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra.

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance.

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.”

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove.

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?”

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh.

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.”

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room.

“So you got her to eat?”

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip.

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle.

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow.

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added.

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly.

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her.

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist.

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door.

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?”

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point.

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist.

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin.

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends.

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave.

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.”

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you.

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck.

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach.

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you.

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly.

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there.

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off.

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door.

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers.

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up.

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?”

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different.

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled.

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time.

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey @mssallymckenna + @raleigh-ocean (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

#billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #billie x reader #ahs #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #american horror story #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom #ahs imagine #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic

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teddy-bear-surprise · 3 years

Text

𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞

You can read this story on AO3 or Wattpad too!

Peter Parker X Fem Reader

Description: A Pinch of Angst, Soft Peter Parker, Wholesome Peter Parker, Comforting Peter Parker… It’s a cute story, that’s basically it. Based on post-Far From Home but without the Daily Bugle incident. Spoiler alert: you’re Peter’s girlfriend… Just kidding that wasn’t a spoiler. But that’s basically all the backstory you need. Pls enjoy

Word Count: 5.6K

I would also like to take a moment to recommend the song "Down The Line" by José González since it's what inspired this story.

Before Peter left for his Summer class trip, he was the happiest kid in the world. Or, as happy as any kid whose father figure just died in an intergalactic battle could be. He could barely go one sentence without mentioning how “awesome” it would be to visit Europe. He and Ned had literally stayed up until 3 in the morning– more than once –because they couldn’t stop talking about Europe. He wanted to go on this trip so badly that he packed his bags a week early, which you and May knew was unprecedented for Peter.

Honestly, everything seemed perfect. You and May dropped him off early at the airport, he remembered to bring his passport, and Ned brought snacks for the both of them. It all went as smoothly as it could, especially considering that you all woke up half an hour late because Peter made (and presented) a 59-slide Powerpoint presentation about Europe the night before his flight.

The second Peter passed airport security, he started sending you photos of him hanging out with Ned. You saw the airport, and Europe, through Peter’s eyes. It was like seeing the world painted with brighter and newer colors, but it also could’ve been that hideous filter he puts on all of his photos. Still, you had never seen him so excited to be outside of Queens.

Almost immediately after he got to Europe, Peter’s photos started coming in less frequently, his texts grew shorter, and his voice wavered on the phone. You knew all about the battles against inter-dimensional monsters, the entire world knew. He was undoubtedly tired after such big fights, and you stupidly thought that was the only reason he had been acting differently. You thought he was just tired. You thought he was just busy. You thought he was just having fun. It turns out, you were just plain wrong .

The airport doors slid open, and you saw Peter walk out as he waved goodbye to Ned. Aunt May stood excitedly beside you and waved her homemade sign at Peter who would never need any sign to recognize the two of you. He jogged over, and you rushed to meet him, embracing him in a tight hug. He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck and held you for what felt like an eternity. You rubbed small circles on Peter’s back, beyond relieved to see him again. May walked up and tapped Peter on the shoulder, giving him a playful look that said, “I can’t believe you hugged your significant other before you hugged me.” The two reunited, and May pestered him with a neverending stream of questions. Peter answered each one as vividly as possible, leading you to think that the change that happened while he was in Europe was all in your head.

But when May joked about Peter’s lost luggage, you noticed something. He flinched. For a second, you couldn’t understand why Peter would be so upset about some lost luggage, but then you realized it. He had taken his Uncle Ben’s luggage with him to Europe, one of the last memories he had of Ben, and now it was gone. So though May couldn’t seem to care any less, you acknowledged that grief looked different for everyone.

Admittedly, Ben’s burnt bags weren’t the only thing bothering Peter. He seemed to let his guard down every few minutes, and the exhaustion, sadness, and despair would seep from his wide eyes. Peter didn’t seem to care that you could see, and maybe this was his way of asking you for help. But whenever May would glance at Peter through the rearview mirror, his walls would build right up again– turning him into a hollow, empty puppet with a smile plastered on its face.

The whole ride home, you had to sit there and pretend you couldn’t tell. After May dropped you off at your house, you weren’t sure if you should text Peter or not. You wrote and rewrote a dozen messages to him, but none of them felt right.

“Peter, are you okay?” Nope… too short.

“Hey, Pete do you need to talk? I’m alwa–” Definitely not. Way too direct.

“I noticed you seemed a bit down. Is everything alright?” You sound like May. Ew.

Ultimately, you never sent any of them. As much as you loved Peter and wanted to help him, you knew it wouldn’t do any good to rush him. So, you gave him some space and time.

Shockingly, for the first time since you had gone to pick him up at the airport, Peter asked you to come over. During the past two weeks, you had always been the one to initiate dates or conversations. And even though it felt like Peter had stopped loving you, you persisted, never confusing his pain for the loss of love.

As usual, you and Peter invited May to join in on your movie night. And right on cue– only twenty minutes into the movie –she said she never wanted to watch another Star Wars film again and went to bed, leaving you both alone in the living room. After you finished watching Phantom Menace for the dozenth time, Peter laid out his collection of Star Wars DVDs, trying to decide if he wanted to watch the rest of the prequels or skip to another one of his favorites.

Deep down, you felt like Peter had invited you over for a reason. That his intentions included more than a movie, that it meant he was ready to talk. You leaned down and laid a hand on his shoulder, and he froze, holding A New Hope tightly in his grip.

“Pete… Are you okay?”

He glanced back at you with confusion, “What do you mean? Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know, Pete. All I know is that you’ve been acting different since you got back from your trip.”

“Why would I be different?” He replied defensively, as though you had offended him. “I mean, i-if anything, you’re the one who’s being different.”

You saw tears well up in his eyes as he turned his back to you. “Peter, please just talk to me. I can tell that something’s off. I’m your girlfriend, for gosh sakes! I can tell! And you might think you have everyone else fooled, but….” You took a second to breathe, “but you can’t fool me.”

He shifted his weight and turned to face you, opening his mouth to speak. Still, nothing came out. Peter looked back at the ground, his silence prompting you to continue.

“I’m not sure if you wanted me to notice– or if you just didn’t care that I noticed –but I noticed. I gave you time, I waited for you to talk to me, and I thought that you inviting me over tonight meant that you were ready to talk.” Tears rolled down your face as you lowered your voice. “I’m sorry for caring, Peter, but I can’t pretend that you’re okay anymore… because you are clearly not okay.”

He fiddled with his hands, still avoiding looking at you. “I just wanted to watch a movie. I-I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but all I wanted was to watch a movie with my girlfriend a-a-and have a good night….”

Peter’s voice trailed off, and you chimed in. “It’s not just about a movie, Pete. And I can’t let you act like it was ever just about a movie. Let’s just talk for a bit and see what happens. I might not know what happened out there, but the one thing I know is that you’re a hero, Peter. You’re my hero. So please, just tell me what’s bothering you, and then we can move on.”

“Nothing. Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Don’t lie to me, Peter. Something isn’t right and you can’t keep it inside forever.”

“I-It’s really nothing. There’s no use talking about it anyway, it won’t change what happened.”

“That’s a start… What happened then? What’s so bad that you can’t even tell your girlfriend?” He shook his head and you asked again, “Peter, c’mon. You can tell me. What happened?”

“Can you please stop asking?” He played with his fingers, his eyes still fixated on a dent in the floorboard.

“I can’t stop. Because if I stopped, that would mean I stopped loving you. And I don’t think that’ll ever happen. Not in this lifetime.”

Peter looked sadly at you, tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks. “I did everything right. I tried to do everything right. And I still… I messed up so bad. London would still be fine if it wasn’t for me. Did you know that?” He let out a sad, sarcastic chuckle. “London was all my fault.”

“Peter, you saved London. You di–”

Peter cut you off, running his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t have had to save London if I hadn’t given E.D.I.T.H. to Beck.”

You looked at him in disbelief and it finally hit you how little you knew about the situation. But before Peter could see the shock in your eyes, you changed your expression, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Quentin tricked me. I-I guess I was so stupid that I let him trick me and I gave E.D.I.T.H. to him and that’s why he was able to attack London. A-and I’m the reason that attack happened in the first place! I’m the reason a hundred people died! I’m the reason th-that Beck almost tricked the whole world! Tony never should’ve given me E.D.I.T.H.… Beck could’ve killed like a million peo–”

“Peter.” You squeezed his shoulder, “You can’t blame yourself for this. You didn’t let him kill a million people and now he never will, because you stopped him. Tony gave you E.D.I.T.H. because he trusted you, and he was right to do so. You figured out that Beck was bad before Paranoid Fury even doubted him, just think about that. You figured it out before Paranoid Fury. That’s incredible. And I know you think you don’t deserve E.D.I.T.H., but no one else could have taken down Beck on their own. Not like you did. So, like it or not, you’re kind of the best superhero we’ve got.”

You opened your arms, beckoning for him to sit back on the sofa with you. Peter gave you a teary smile and climbed onto the sofa, leaning into your arms. You cradled his head as he cried into your shoulder, his tears staining your sweater.

“It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay.” For almost ten minutes, he lay in your arms as you repeated the reassuring phrase.

His breathing slowed and his eyes dried once more, though they were still red and puffy. Peter released himself from your embrace and laid across your lap, looking up and into your eyes.

“I gotta go hit the head.”

You looked at Peter with confusion, “I’m sorry, what? Did you really just say ‘hit the head’?”

“What? It’s a totally normal phrase.” He pouted at you.

“Just say you ‘need to go to the bathroom’ like a normal person… Oh m-you totally stole that from Fury or Cap didn’t you? Which one was it?”

Peter suddenly seemed very embarrassed, “Fury…”

“I knew it! Now go to the bathroom, weirdo. I’ll be waiting for you so we can choose our next movie.”

“‘Kay. Be right back”

Peter rushed out and somehow came back from the bathroom within a minute.

“I think I know which movie I wanna watch.” He flashed a shy smile at you.

“I don’t care what you wanna watch unless you washed your hands.”

Peter whined, “But I did wash them.”

“There’s literally no way you washed your hands and went to the bathroom in less than a minute. That would be impossible.”

“I totally did wash my hands, but I guess I could wash them again.”

“Good to hear. So, what movie did you wanna watch, Parker?”

Peter handed you the same A New Hope DVD that he had dropped onto the sofa ten minutes prior. You rolled your eyes at him, holding the movie from the corner using only your pointer and thumb. As a condition, you told him he had to wash his hands in the kitchen sink (so you could watch him) before you would start the movie. After he did his part, you placed the disc into the DVD player and looked back at Peter while you waited for the film to appear onscreen.

“Hey, Peter.” He lifted his head from the sofa’s cushions and propped it up, on one hand, waiting to hear what you had to say. “I know I was just joking around a few minutes ago, but I have to say something serious again. Next time something like this happens, you have to let it out. Whether that means talking to me, May, or Ned, you can’t let this-this darkness eat you up. Because, frankly, there’s a whole lifetime of darkness down the line and that’ll be the case for the rest of eternity. But what always made you different from Bucky, or Tony, or Cap, or any of them, is that you’ve never let yourself get caught up with that ‘darkness’. So don’t give up now. I know it’s a tough fight– well I’ll never know– but still, you can’t let the darkness take your shine away. You are the funniest, most intelligent, and kindest person I’ve ever met. Please, just don’t let anyone or anything ever take that from you.”

You had been staring at the coffee table between you and Peter this whole time and when you tilted your head back up in Peter’s direction, you noticed how shocked he seemed. His mouth hung slightly agape and his eyes maintained a soft gaze as if he was struggling to process this information. Peter sat up and grabbed a pillow from beside him, hugging it tightly to his chest.

“I-I–” Peter was on the verge of saying something but was cut off by the film’s characteristic intro music.

As the movie started, you crawled back up onto the sofa with Peter, and this time you rested your head on the pillow in his lap. You grew tired after the first hour and drifted to sleep, though Peter was still wide awake by the end. He let you sleep comfortably, still resting your head upon his lap as he stroked your cheek. Soon after, Peter dozed off as well, still sitting tall.

The next morning, May saw that you were both still sound asleep and since it was already close to noon, she thought waking you up would be a great idea. She crept up behind the sofa, walking slowly and quietly until she was right behind both of you. May leaned over the sofa, peering down at your sleeping figures, and yelled while waving her arms wildly.

“WAKE UP! THERE’S ALIENS AGAIN! LOKI IS HERE! AAAHHHHH!”

Peter jumped up, knocking May over and dropping you onto the ground where you woke momentarily before closing your eyes and rolling under the coffee table. He turned left and right looking for aliens and destruction, still in a half-asleep daze.

“Where are they!?!” He ran into his room, slamming the door open and throwing his belongings everywhere. “I can’t find my suit! MAYYYYYY! Where– Ohhhhh.”

He calmed down the second he took a look outside, realizing that May had just pranked him. “Haha. Very funny May,” said Peter sarcastically.

He walked back into the living room where May was still sitting on the ground and you had fallen asleep again. May laughed at Peter and gave him a pat on the back as he helped her up.

“I thought that was pretty funny, didn’t you? I mean, definitely not my best work, but not bad for a prank that only took five seconds of planning.”

Sass dripped from Peter’s words, “Mhmm. Sooooo funny, May. That totally wasn’t cruel at all. If I didn’t know any better, I might even say that was borderline emotional abuse.”

“Oh hush, Peter. You know it’s all just jokes and love with me.”

Peter laughed at May and went around to the other side of the couch where he had dropped you on the floor. You were a deep sleeper, both a blessing and a curse in a city that actually got attacked by one of the big three every other week. Peter crouched down, lowering himself onto his hands and knees until he came face to face with you.

He set a hand on your back, shaking you gently. “Hey, sleepyhead. Do you wanna wake up? It’s almost lunchtime… I know how much you love lunch.”

Your eyes opened slowly and a smirk appeared on your lips, “Did you say ‘lunch’?”

You and Peter were getting ready to go out with May for a fun Sunday brunch-lunch. While he and May had inherited some money from Tony, they only let themselves spend it on Sundays. They decided they wanted to try out some weird and somewhat fancy French restaurant in Chelsea and invited you to go along with them. The only problem was that you forgot to pack an overnight bag and had nothing to change into.

“Uhhhh, Peter. You wouldn’t happen to have any extra clothes lying around that I could borrow? Maybe, just like for today? Pants and a shirt would work just fine, like literally anything.”

“I have to-uhhhh I have to check. Yeah. I have to check… Just give me a minute here.” Peter started pacing around his room, digging through piles of unfolded laundry. “Change of plans, I’m gonna check with May. I can’t seem to find anything nice.”

As Peter walked out of the room he placed his cell phone on his bedside table. A horrible idea flashed through your mind and before you could think it through, you already had Peter’s phone in your hands. You racked your brain trying to remember his passcode until you remembered what a fanboy he was. The passcode was 1999, the year The Phantom Menace came out. And while you didn’t agree that it was the best of the Star Wars movies, you let him think that you did.

You scrolled through Peter’s contacts, looking for Happy Hogan, but unfortunately, he had replaced everyone’s names with emojis. Basically, he had made it impossible for anyone other than him to access his contacts list. Remembering that the text app would let you search for keywords from old conversations, you typed in “Hi, Happy. It’s Peter.” knowing that there was an extremely high chance that Peter had sent his first text to Happy in that format. Just as you had suspected, one conversation appeared. The contact name had a smiling emoji followed by a little house and a wrestler. You clicked on the contact info and it displayed Happy’s phone number. Grabbing your own phone from your pocket, you copied down the number before exiting out of the text app and placing Peter’s phone exactly where it had been before.

You sat down on Peter’s bed, surrounded by his laundry, and waited for him to return. While you waited, you started drafting a message to Happy.

“Hey, Happy… it’s me, Peter’s girlfriend. I kinda need a favor so if you could maybe give me a call sometime that would be really great. Thanks!” It looked and sounded horrible, but frankly, it was the only thing you could come up with.

Four days later, Happy called you, and he wasn’t very happy about it.

“Okay, kid. What do you want? And make it quick because Pepper’s got me working way more than I get paid for.”

Despite your preparation, your anxiety got the best of you when you realized you would actually have to speak with Happy. “Oh, um hi Mr. Happy. So basically I need your help to surprise Peter–”

Happy interrupted you, “What? Why do you need my help?”

“Well, you see, Peter lost his uncle Ben’s luggage when he went to Europe, and Peter has a very strong emotional connection to the bag because Ben is dead. Oh gosh, that sounded really bad. But what I’m trying to say is that I need your help to recreate uncle Ben’s bag so I can surprise Peter for his birthday!”

“That’s it? You could’ve just texted me and I would already have the bag in production. Geez. I’ll see if I can find any photos of the bag in the Stark Database, but send me over what you have to speed things up, alright? Talk to ya later, kid.”

He had hung up before you could even thank him. His bluntness made sense considering he had a lot on his plate, grief included, so you decided to find as many photos of Ben’s luggage as you could to make his job easier. You texted May asking about the bag, saying that you were just curious, and omitted your secret. To your surprise, May actually had detailed photos of the bag from when Ben bought it to take on their honeymoon. You thanked her repeatedly and immediately sent the photos to Happy who merely replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

August tenth approached quickly and before you knew it, Peter’s birthday was there. Happy had someone drop off the replica at your apartment and you were suddenly very thankful that Peter was too busy to randomly swing by anymore. Whoever wrapped the suitcase made sure that it was very obviously a suitcase, they even wrapped the handle separately from the rest of the bag. Who even does that?

You hauled the luggage up the steep stairs leading up to your apartment, wondering why Peter would take such an inconvenient item with him. Then, it hit you again. First, he’s Spider-Man so the bag probably felt light as a feather to him. And second, emotions influence people into making weird decisions. You ran to unwrap it as soon as you shut your front door. Ripping off the thick brown paper, the luggage’s natural, and beautiful, navy blue shone through. You marveled at the leatherwork and the shiny “B.F.P.” embossed between the buckles. This bag was something you had seen time and time again at Peter’s apartment, yet it wasn’t until now that you realized just how beautiful it was.

After heading out to a local craft store to get some nicer wrapping paper and a real box, you returned home to wrap up Peter’s present. Despite your best efforts to not wrap his present up the same way as the idiot who wrapped it the first time, your wrapping job ended up looking minimally better. The only redeeming part was the wrapping paper. Unfortunately, you had mismeasured and just the handle did not fit into the box, sticking out ever so slightly and creating a noticeable lump in the wrapping paper. You brainstormed for nearly an hour, testing out a dozen different ideas before you realized what you needed, was a bow. You returned to the craft store, digging through bins of bows, ribbons, and yarns until you found a giant blue bow made of at least thirty thin ribbons. The finishing touch fixed all of your worries and made Peter’s present look like a really showy box, which was exactly what you were going for.

On the day of Peter’s birthday party, you had to drag his huge gift box across five blocks, through two line changes, and in the dark. Peter decided that since he was turning 17, though he would have been 22 if he hadn’t blipped, he deserved a “big boy” party, and apparently, that meant having a party at night time. By the time you arrived at Avenger’s Tower, where he said would “be the absolute best spot to have a birthday bash”, the bottom of the wrapping paper had gotten ripped off and only the cardboard remained. For a split second, you wished that you had kept the bag’s handle outside of the wrapping paper, but ultimately, you knew that wrapping it the way you did would make surprising Peter much more fun.

You took the elevator up to one of the top floors, accompanied by Ned and Bruce Banner. The entire ride up, not a single word was spoken, and the corny elevator music served only to intensify the awkwardness. The three of you rushed out when the doors opened, not even waiting for the elevator voice to finish telling you what floor you were on. Banner went straight to the sofa area where Thor and Valkyrie were talking. You and Ned, however, teamed up to look for Peter.

“So, uh, what’s in the box?” Ned pointed to the present you were dragging across the smooth tile.

“It’s just Peter’s present.”

“Well, yeah. I know that, but like,” Ned lowered his voice and covered his mouth, “what’s in it?”

“It’s a surprise, Ned. I can’t tell you because then you’ll just tell Peter and then it won’t be a surprise anymore.”

“Ooohhhh, gotcha. Gotcha. Surprise, huh? Are you sure you can’t tell me? I promise I won’t tell Peter.”

You looked at Ned, “I’m sure, Ned. Now help me figure out where to put this box, it’s kinda heavy and I don’t like lugging it around.”

Ned helped you with the box, carrying both his and your presents until you came across the present table. May was in charge of the table and took the presents gladly.

“Hi, May! Have you seen Peter around?” You asked her.

“Sorry kiddos, I haven’t seen him since Thor got here. Did you check the lounge area? That’s where Thor always hangs out so he might still be over there.”

Ned chimed in this time, “Nah, he’s not there. Mr. Thor was though. I’m sure we’ll find him later. Thanks, Ms. Parker!”

The two of you left May at the table, looking all over for Peter. Finally, you found him on the upper level of the room talking to Shuri. He waved at you and Ned to join him, motioning to the stairs to his left.

You started a conversation as you climbed the stairs, “Hey, Pete! Hey, Shuri! How are y’all doing?”

“Good! Hurry up or you’ll miss the fireworks,” Shuri urged you and Ned to hurry up.

Peter turned to Shuri and rolled his eyes, “Dude! You weren’t supposed to tell them, I wanted them to think it was a surprise, not that we planned it!”

Ned chimed in, “What? Did you want us to think you had a secret admirer? Because we all know that Flash is your only admirer.”

You high-fived Ned for his great comeback, though you couldn’t help but correct him. “Excuse me, but I like to consider myself the best Peter Parker admirer. Flash is only a Spidey admirer. There’s a difference!”

The four of you hung out on the balcony for the rest of the night, occasionally chatting with other Avengers or friends that happened to pass along. You could tell that Peter and Ned were missing MJ at the party, but her parents had decided to move to a more rural area immediately after the trip, making it near impossible for her to come to the party. Still, along with Shuri’s help, you were able to keep Ned and Peter happy and entertained until it was time for cake and presents.

Everyone gathered around the long, glass table with Peter sitting at the very front. You and Ned each stood on either side of him, while May stood immediately behind him. Barton walked into the room carrying a large, two-tiered cake that was decorated like Tony’s arc reactor. Peter had asked for it specifically, as one last tribute to Tony. Originally, Scott had offered to bake the cake, claiming that baking was one of the many talents he acquired while on house arrest. It turned out, that Scott only thought he was a good baker because he was the only one eating his treats and had grown accustomed to the bad tastes and textures. Luckily, May had asked Scott to bring her a sample a week before the party, so we still had enough time to ask Clint’s wife to help us instead.

Sam lit the seventeen candles on the cake quickly, only stopping when Bucky added an eighteenth candle for “good luck”. Leading the awkward celebration, Scott began singing “Happy Birthday”; the other Avengers followed awkwardly. Thor sang louder than everyone else despite not knowing the lyrics, and Shuri joined him. Barton, Fury, Hill, and Bucky all stood awkwardly while lipsyncing the words. You, May, Sam, Ned, Bruce, Hope, Happy, Pepper, Morgan, and Strange were the only ones singing normally, though normal was never a great descriptor for any of Peter’s “coworkers”. Peter blew out his candles shyly as the song came to a close and muttered “thank you” under his breath when he realized they hadn’t put trick candles on his cake this time.

Thor’s booming voice cut through the chatter, “Well, Midguardian, when can we see these gifts of yours? I am quite interested in knowing what marvels lie on that table.”

“Oh. Ummm. Sorry, Mr. Thor, I wasn’t really planning on opening those at the party. It was going to be more of a private thing… like just me.”

“Nonsense, young one! You should open them all here. In front of your friends! We will not judge if you receive odd gifts, why that only makes it more exciting!”

Peter looked anxiously between you, Ned, and Shuri, trying to see if any of you had gotten him embarrassing gifts that might require privacy. Ned and Shuri shook their heads reassuringly, and although your gift was not embarrassing, you weren’t sure it warranted an audience.

You leaned down to Peter’s ear and whispered to him, “My present isn’t really embarrassing or inappropriate or anything, but it’s a bit special. So, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take it off the table and hide it so Thor doesn’t make you open it. Is that alright?”

Peter looked up at you, grabbing your hand, “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. To be honest, I don’t feel like opening any of them in front of a crowd. But go do what you have to, I’ll keep him distracted for a minute.”

You thanked Peter and slipped away. As you were walking towards the gift table you heard Peter yelling something about cake, followed by Thor, Scott, and Sam cheering. Whatever it was, it was probably going to distract them for longer than you needed. You dug around looking for your box, finding it hidden under a dozen gift bags. Carefully, you moved each gift bag to the side until you could pull the box from the pile. You fixed the table, leaving it almost the same as you had found it, and looked around for a place to hide your present. Towards the end of the hallway, you found the perfect hiding spot beneath a wide leather chair. You hid the box and returned quickly to the party, hoping that no one noticed your absence.

After everyone had gone home, and May had fallen asleep on Thor’s favorite sofa, you finally gave Peter his present. He ripped the torn, dusty, and grimy wrapping paper away from the gift, pulling chunks of the cardboard box along with it.

The second he laid eyes on the dark blue leather and brown handle, he knew what you had gotten him. “Oh my… No way…”

Peter didn’t even wait to finish opening the present before pulling you into a warm embrace. He hugged you tightly and you felt a tear hit your back.

“I’m really hoping those are happy tears.”

Peter pulled back, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Definitely happy tears.”

“Good, because I really wasn’t planning on this being a sad moment.”

“How? W-How did you even get this? I thought I had lost it, or-or gotten it blown up! Oh my gosh… I-I still can’t believe this. Thank you so much! Really. Thank you.” Peter released his grip on your shoulders, moving his hands up slowly until they cupped your face. He looked solemnly into your eyes, waiting for a look of agreement, before kissing you softly.

“You’re welcome, Pete. But just so you know, it's just a replica. I'm not quite sure what happened to the real bag… you should thank Happy too, he helped me figure this all out.”

“I’ll definitely thank him later. But seriously, this might be one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.”

You smiled at his giddiness and joked, “I would hope so, I’m the one who gave it to you!”

“I don’t want to get all sappy, but thank you for not letting the darkness get to me. If it hadn’t been for your little pep-talk, I might still be letting that darkness eat at me, and I’m guessing that wouldn’t be great. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. No matter how much bad there is down the line, I don’t ever wanna feel like that again. I love you so much, and I’m so thankful that you’re in my life. I mean it.”

“I know, and I love you too, I love you through the Blip and back.”

{can someone lmk if this story is any good? I’m having some doubts 😭}

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