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bts-0t-7 · 8 months

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Slithered | JJK | Chapter 1

Pair: Mafia Jungkook x F Reader

Summary: Jungkook was wandering the streets in the middle of the night and coincidentally passed the little flower shop you work at. Due to your odd working hours, you don’t have much socialising on a daily basis much less customers. So just imagine your shock when a handsome man, clad in all black, entered your shop in the ungodly hours of the night. Never would you have thought that the polar opposite of the worlds would collide and cause such a trouble.

Genre: Fluff, mafia au, soft reader

Chapter Warnings: mild violence, mildly creepy JK watching reader close up shop (if anybody does this irl, please smack the living shit out of them. Stay safe!), rape (I won’t go much into detail of this during the scene but it is implied. Do not be insensitive on this topic. For those who are sensitive on this, please do not continue reading)

A/N: Bold is for flashback.

WC: 2579

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Jungkook didn’t know how he ended up in an alley that sells flowers in the dead of the night and neither did he know why he was here. He was taking a stroll in, spending some time to himself when he smelt the citrus scents of the flowers, following them to where it currently led him. Most of the flower shops in this area are closed for the night or temporarily not receiving walk-in customers.

However, there are some shops where they are open and busy. There may be no customers in the shop but orders seem to be piling on the desks where the arrangements are made. Jungkook spotted a swift-moving medium, constantly running from place to place in the shop. He stopped right outside it. The interior was made in a way where the arrangements of flowers made the whole shop seem like a home.

A home full of plants.

But even from outside, Jungkook could clearly see the neat arrangements and lining of the labels. You, on the other hand, were running around the shop, trying to get the necessary flowers and stocks to make the last arrangement before the driver arrived and collected them. This project was big on money and your boss would be furious if you were to ‘fuck it up for him’.

Jungkook entered the shop, doorbell chiming as he pushed open the door. Your head whipped up from your working station, instantly greeting him at the front door.

“Hello! Welcome to Fior Arrangements!” You chirped. It may be two in the morning but you worked the night shift while your other colleagues work the morning and evening shifts. Most of them did not want to work night shifts so you took on the initiative.

Not that you minded.

You never had much of a social life due to your personality and you had always been quite a night owl. Most of the time, there were fewer people at night, which means that packaging orders would be easier than in the daytime.

“Hello.” The young man bowed.

“What brings you here?” You asked, honestly curious as to why a man wearing a full suit with a coat over, would come in the middle of the night. Anybody could see that he was stocked. His boots were, his hair slicked back, and the material of his clothes looked soft to the touch. “Any flowers in mind?

He shook his head.

“Well, every flower has a meaning.” You pointed to the labels on the walls. These are the names and meanings of the flowers. Feel free to look around and call me if you need help!”

Jungkook nodded at you.

As he walked around, reading the labels, he spied a few blurry-looking men walking into the shop. Instinctively, his hand shot to the gun hidden under the lapels of his jacket only for you to cheerily greet them. It shot a pang of jealousy through him.

Why was he jealous? He just met you!

Jungkook silently shook his head to clear his thoughts. With half his attention to his surroundings, he overheard the conversation between you and the men. You seemed to know them very well, conversations easily flowing between you.

“Yep! There are more at the back. You know where that is.” You laughed and Jungkook’s heart felt like it stopped. And started. And stopped and started again. It was so pure and melodious that he would do anything to keep you laughing like that.

“How are your kids, Peng?”

“Not too bad. Just refusing to study as usual.” The guy in the black shirt and oversized jeans told you.

“I mean… It’s kids these days. Plus, I’m sure when we were at their age we didn’t want to study either.” You snickered.

Peng laughed. “True, true. Very true.”

The four men spotted Jungkook walking towards the cashier as you signed the papers and stamped them. Handing them the customer copy, you waved them goodbye and finally headed over to Jungkook.

“Hiya, need help?”

Jungkook nodded.

“Well, what is the occasion?” You asked.

Jungkook didn’t come here for a specific reason. In fact, he didn’t even come up with a reason. So he just shrugged and answered, “Just wanted something calming in the house. It’s far too empty.”

That could by far be the worst lie he ever came up with.

But all you did was nod and head over to the pails of flowers, picking up stock after stock. You then carefully cut off some of the stems and plucked some leaves, arranging them in a glass bottle. Your body covered most of the work at times and Jungkook stayed at where he stood. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise for himself.

You didn’t take long, expert hands moving nimbly to arrange the flowers prettily. You turned over to him with the glass bottle in front of you, walking over to give it to him.

“How’s it?” Jungkook could see that you were nervous. The little ticks of indication like the furrows of your brows and wringing of your fingers behind your back.

“Do you always do this for customers?” Jungkook gently smelt the flowers. Lavender was the most prominent scent.

His favourite and you didn’t even need to ask. The scents weren’t strong and it did was already doing wonders to calm him.

You looked back at him, humming and shaking your head. “Just you and a few other more privileged customers. Seems like you’re one of them on the list now.”

Your eyes sparkled as you turned to him. Perhaps you knew the brands he wore or perhaps you guessed that he was more than rich. But as he brought out his card to pay, you declined him.

“No need. You looked like you needed this. So it’s on the house.” Your smile was blinding and at that moment, Jungkook knew that he would have you even if it took years and years. He would protect you.

You were closing up that day. Usually, the shop is 24 hours and the next colleague of yours who would be doing the morning shift would be the one to clean up the place. However, it was a public holiday and the flower shop was closed. Your boss had given all employees two days’ break so after your shift, you had to tidy up and ensure that all the flowers are placed in their exact locations a the back of the store so that they do not wilt by the time the shop re-opens.

Honestly, you couldn’t be happier. While your job was fairly simple and relaxed, going without a day’s break even on the weekends can truly drain your energy. You don’t have much time to yourself and it can affect you when you are overloaded with your senses.

Turning off the lights, you shut the door and lock it, the door code being with an indication that it has been locked. Scanning your surroundings and patting yourself down, you hummed, glad that you did not forget anything.

As you started to walk back home, you felt an eerie feeling in your gut. One that warns you that something is most certainly not right. The hair on your neck started to stand as you got goosebumps, making a sharp 180-degree turn to walk back to the store. You were instinctively aware that there were more than three pairs of footsteps following you. And every time you sped up or slowed down, they would keep the same pace.

So you did the next best thing your overdriven brain thought.

You ran.

Jungkook was driving his car up the little hill to visit the flower store. He wasn’t sure if you were still on shift then. He knew from silently watching you the past few days that your shift ends at five in the morning. And currently, the time was 5.30 am.

The road got too narrow for Jungkook to continue driving up so he threw his car into parking mode and left.

He was only going to take a while.

But as he got out of the car, he sensed that something was wrong. The air did not feel right and as much as he wished that his sensitivity would not follow him when he was off work, life has its way of throwing stones at him.

A shrill scream broke him out of his trance. If it was anybody else’s scream he probably would have just continued with his plans and walked up the the store. But he recognised the voice - the sound.

Yours.

Your scream - filled with terror and pain.

Without thinking, Jungkook ran towards the approximated direction where he had heard you. Your second scream for help was abruptly cut off making him pump his legs and arms faster. He didn’t want to think of all the horrid things that you might be going through right now. He needed to get to you.

Jungkook came to a stop the moment he saw you, held by your throat, against the wall. Your hair and clothes were in a mess, eyes bloodshot, and valuables strewn everywhere. But the most avergrating thing was the six males standing there, choking you as tears streamed down your cheeks, laughing.

Blood rushed to his head.

How dare they.

How dare they touch you.

Jungkook didn’t care for consequences as he pounced on the men.

You tried to run but they were too fast and too silent for you. You were pinned against the wall and stripped down against your own will.

“Now pretty lady, how about I do the talking and you do the answering?”

You didn’t want to but all you could do was struggle and struggle as they manhandled your body, stripping you bare of your own dignity. You cried and struggled as they took their turns, your body betraying you.

“Hey now, why are you crying, pretty?” They laughed, gagging you. “You’re enjoying it, see?”

Tears streamed down your face. You weren’t. You weren’t.

And yet, you knew that nobody was going to come help you. To come stop these men from doing more than they already did. You were so close - so close - to resigning to your fate when you were suddenly dropped to the ground.

Too tired to keep your eyes fully open, you watched through hooded lids as a mass of black pounded onto the males. You should’ve been scared - you should’ve cowered back, pleading with him to not come for you as well - but you didn’t.

Especially as that mass of black picked you up into his arms, snarling and hissing words that seemed incoherent to you, you felt safe. Perhaps it was the adrenaline doing the job but you curled yourself deeper into him. His hands were gentle, unlike the ones that handled you earlier. These hands were calloused - probably seeing worse days as they skimmed over your naked body - but they were respectful. They did not venture where the rest did and you found yourself wrapped up in a jacket before being lifted up once again.

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, your head rolled to the side as you blacked out.

Jungkook has seen many things in his short life. Twenty-six years and he has seen death one too many times. But nothing has scared him more than seeing you black out and going limp in his arms. Pressing two fingers on your neck, Jungkook confirmed that you were still breathing. In shock you most certainly were but now Jungkook needed to bring you home and he did not know your address. So the next best thing was to bring you to his home.

As Jungkook’s black Mercedes Benz GT63S pulled up to the front lawn, he hurried out, passing the car keys to the butler and carrying you into the house.

In the midst of the whole case, it completely slipped his mind to inform his family that he was bringing somebody home. All he had done was hurriedly call the group’s private doctor, not caring what the guy was up to.

“Kook, what the hell! You can’t just bring a random person home like this!”

“Oh shit -”

“Fuck that girl is naked!”

“Jeon Jungkook, what the shit is wrong with you?”

“Did you fuck a girl out?”

“JUNGKOOK!”

Jungkook couldn’t be bothered. He’ll explain later. Right now, he needed the doctor to check you over and ensure that other than the physical and psychological trauma you’re going to have once you wake up, you were fine otherwise.

“A little bit of a bump on the back of her head, scratch marks and bruises. That’s about all.” The doctor placed some pills on Jungkook’s bedside table. “I suggest you give these to her, twice a day after meals. Antibiotics. You can give her paracetamol if needed. Ensure that she is kept hydrated.”

Jungkook thanked the doctor and leaned over to cover you with the sheets when the doctor stopped him. “It would be best to clean her up first.”

With that, the doctor left, leaving the six men standing at the threshold of his bedroom door. They watched as he got a few clothes, cleaning you up, making sure to use soft cloths so that you would not wake from the oversensitivity. Only after Jungkook deemed you clean enough did he take out his silk pyjamas and tug them over you.

The boys had silently excused themselves, only leaving Jimin as he helped Jungkook dress and tuck you into bed. Closing the curtains, he turned off the lights, leaving the moonlight on so that the room would not be encased in total darkness with the possibility of scaring you if you woke up without him there.

Jungkook knew that the topic at hand would not be easy to talk about and he most certainly knows that he was in the wrong as well. Well, a little bit in the wrong.

He would never apologise for bringing a person in need home, much less you. So as Jimin and he entered the living room, the boys were all seated, faces holding stoic glares.

“Jungkook -” Hobi hyung started.

“She works at the flower shop. She was the one I told you about - the reason why my room has a glass of flowers.”

“Still, you cannot just bang her up and -”

“She was raped.”

The silence in the room was pregnant and suddenly everybody’s breathing sounded too loud.

“I parked the car in the middle of the hill as it was getting too narrow for me to pass through. I couldn’t get there fast enough. By the time I reached, she was already taken.” Jungkook harshly rubbed his face with his hands. He wished that he could’ve been there earlier - faster. If only work hadn’t kept him up, the whole situation wouldn’t even have happened.

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, patting him gently. “Don’t beat yourself over it, Kook. It was good that you made it there.”

“But I couldn’t stop her from -” His throat choked up. He just couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Some things are inevitable.” He looked up from his crouched position to look at Namjoon Hyung. “What matters is that you got there.”

Jungkook nodded.

“I think today was more than enough of a fulfilling night. Let’s go to bed.” Seokjin Hyung called out and grunts of agreement were heard as everybody got to their feet.

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skazoo · 10 months

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fire to the rain.

↳ min yoongi x f!reader x jung hoseok

a crime lord, a mental hospital escapee, and a sociopath detective enter a bar.

length. 2.3k

genre. angst, thriller!au?? i REALLY don't know how to label this, agust d and jack do their own thing ig

warnings/tags. language, mention of mental illnesses, murder, arson, implied organized crime, dark themes overall. in this fic's seoul mental hospitals still exist, like arkham asylum/ahs: asylum stile idk it doesn't really serve anything but i imagined it this way.

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. i finally get to publish this fic after soso long can i get an hallelujah?!?! also jack and agust d need to be in a movie together i really need it.

last but not least infinite thanks to the best beta reader i could ask for <3 @l00pyluluo7 MY angel 🫶🏼

hope you like it!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

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a crime lord, a mental hospital escapee, and a sociopath detective enter a bar.

you think back to yesterday and you have a hard time recognizing which part of the so-called joke is funny but it was one of the rare times yoongi laughed when hoseok said it so you guess it’s just a you problem.

rain falls relentlessly on seoul’s concrete streets, the raindrops biting into your skin like needles. you walk slowly, hands in your pockets and the hood of your jacket pulled over your head, almost covering your vision. you let your eyes scan the dark alley you’re about to enter, but you see nothing other than a few plastic bags from the restaurant in the front of the building and a stray cat looking for something to eat.

according to the message you received in the dead of night from a —ironically— familiar unknown number, the meet-up is supposed to happen early in the morning but as of right now the sky is dark, the rising sun completely hidden behind a thick layer of ominous clouds. a milky mist bathes the city that has yet to wake up in a gray hue and morning seems nowhere to be seen.

you grimace.

if anyone were to ask you, seoul doesn’t deserve anything.

the freezing cold in winter, the scorching hot summer, the rancid smell, its unforgiving nature, the city you were born in has never done anything for you. not when you grew up in foster care, not when you were denied the same opportunities as your peers because of your ‘slightly disturbing’ nature, not when you joined the police. if anyone were to ask you, in all the years you’ve been alive, seoul has never shown kindness and you’ve come to the point you’d rather see it burn than be a silent victim of its cruel ways.

no one ever asked you, though. not until you met him first and the other second.

they knew what you were talking about when you told them what went on inside of you and be it in loneliness or personal gain, they enabled you in the only way they knew how. with gasoline. setting fire to the rain.

the phone in your hand says it’s 5:26am. you still have time.

you fish for the unopened pack of cigarettes in your pockets.

it’s weird how the first thing you think about is sergeant kim and his passionate hate for your addiction. sergeant kim and the conversation you had almost four hours ago.

his voice was a quiet thing when he found you outside of the police station when it still wasn’t raining.

“detective L/N.”

“sergeant kim.”

“the fires are getting more frequent.”

you let the smoke wash soothingly over your lungs. kept it there before lazily pushing it out. “they are.”

he stood in silence, leaning on the other side of the door, looking at you with a grave frown.

“it’s dangerous, detective.”

you buried yourself further into your jacket and turned your head in his direction, a minimal movement that spurred him to go on.

“and it’s arson,” voice low as he looked around the outside of the station. it was late. uncharacteristically so for him but your case must have been keeping him up at night more than you thought it would. maybe you underestimated his love for the job or his fear for his failures, you don’t know. you don’t particularly care either.

“i thought we’d already agreed on it when we took the case, sergeant. it is malicious. it is arson.”

he frowned and shook his head.

you’ve noticed he often gets these fits of frustration in which he struggles to make you understand exactly how certain things make him feel, as if he needs to explain the reason he’s not comfortable. you think he does it unconsciously but you wonder if sometimes he catches a glimpse of what goes on in your head and his desperation it’s just him trying with all his might to pull you away from something you both know is not pretty. something he knows would put a premature end to whatever relationship he created between the two of you.

“it’s murder,” just above a whisper. “Y/N, we’re looking for a single man, a madman, a psychopath that uses the same brand of matches every time he burns something down but i’m starting to think it might be a group? do you think it could be possible? i just can’t think about the actions of a single person causing so much pain i–”

“what? so it would take this case from having a chilling lack of ethics to just being ethically questionable? would it make you sleep better at night?”

he stared at you as you let out another puff of smoke that curled around itself and vanished in the night air. it smelled like rain. you thought you saw a gust of lighting from behind a building.

“Y/N, i’m worried about this. i’m worried about you.”

that was a weird thing to hear, naive too, you thought.

sergeant kim namjoon. you’ve known him for years. polite, respectful, driven, maybe too driven. your partner in this last case. he took a particular liking to you after you helped him catch an abuser his first year of being sergeant and as much as it was inexplicable to you it was very easy for him to consider you in no time something more than a mere coworker, a friend, even. you realized with time that he craved human connections no one around the station or the city was eager to give him and he found in your uninterested passivity a sign of acceptance of a new friendship. but you don’t think he’s the clueless, clumsy man he portrays himself to be most of the time. you think he’s just a person who’s so desperate that he’d turn a blind eye, a deaf ear to the wolf in sheep’s clothing working alongside him if it meant he could keep someone close to his pathetically lonely heart. you think he’d be considered wretched and rotten and insane just like the rest of you.

when you didn’t answer he shook his head again. a slow hand passed over his tired face as if to wash away the stuff of nightmares you both have to work with.

“whatever organization or– or crazy person– i don’t know but whoever is doing this knows we’re looking for them. you and i, Y/N. and i’m used to your indifference but i’m worried you’re not taking this seriously. they’re getting closer, i can feel their eyes everywhere i go and i– this group is–”

“sergeant…”

he squeezed his eyes shut. to avoid tears from falling from his watery eyes? to ground himself in the shitty reality he’s cursed to live in?

“will you ever call me by my name?”

fuck, he really was naive. still is. always will be.

“sergeant,” you smiled more to yourself than anything but you saw him clinging to it as if it was his lifeline. “don’t compromise yourself over things you wish were true because they’re easier to come to terms with.” he hung from your words. he alway does. “don’t compromise yourself. you’re all you have, sergeant.”

on that occasion you don’t know why you said those words if to really speak to him and reassure him or to drive him away from your business. you just know you did and it seemed to free him of something and burden you of something else. you just know that sergeant kim namjoon passes through your mind numerous times in the weeks that follow the conversation.

you’re walking further in the alley when you’re forced back to the rainy present by the sound your ears capture in the drowsy silence of the early morning. you take off your hood to listen.

someone is following you. you can hear their footsteps, speeding when you are speeding, slowing down when you do the same. you stop in place. you can feel their presence, hear their breathing, their arms stretching out towards you, a hand coming from behind and reaching out.

a single lit match floats in front of you held by a bodiless fingers.

“surprise.” barely audible, whispered into your neck.

your mouth pulls into a small smile as you stretch your neck to light the cigarette you’re keeping between your lips.

“it’s 5:37.”

a silent kiss is placed on the exposed skin between your jacket and your hair.

“i know.”

“you’re late.” you muse. a drag of the cigarette and you gently blow the smoke in the dark in front of you.

the voice talking to you finally gets a face when the man behind you slowly circles you. he lets his hands travel from your shoulder to your waist as he comes standing in front of you. his eyes are crinkled with glee, his usually mischievous grin softens when he sees how you’re looking at him: amusement hidden by a thin veil of annoyance.

he takes your face in his hands, a rough thumb swipes over your cheekbone. the smell of sulfur hides his usually earthly perfume.

“seven minutes, love.”

“seven minutes late.”

he huffs out a laugh and lets his hands pass through the wet strands of his hair.

he looks good even with ash in them and eye bags under his eyes.

it makes you feel weird when you think about these things. when you find yourself admiring him as if you’ve finally found something worthy in the pool of mediocrity you’ve been swimming in since you can remember. it never occurred to you that people —insipid, dull, hypocritical— could make you feel like you didn’t want the world to end anymore.

they both made you change that about yourself and at first it was alarming how quickly you fell into them. you don’t know what it was but for the first time, you felt seen. not understood or full, no they couldn’t do that with you just as much you couldn’t understand or fill them, but you were visible. you were there, and they were too.

hoseok lazily looks around the dark alley one last time before taking your hand in his and gently pulling you along inside the building, to the flights of stairs that take you to the roof.

you know that with his silence he’s giving you the time to come back to yourself, to hide again what you know he’s already seen time and time again. it’s still hard for you to freely show what you feel but they’ve never pushed you and often you find yourself wanting to tell them how glad you are about it.

“he’s late too, you know. i hope he gets the same treatment when he arrives, mh?” he quips once you reach the roof and the other man’s dark mop of hair is not standing there, tapping an impatient foot on the cement floor.

“he has responsibilities. he’s gonna be late sometimes.”

hoseok gasps, “and i don’t?!”

“your only responsibilities are lighting a match and hiding from whatever mental hospital you ran away from, jack. stop whining, you know i don’t particularly like it when you do it.”

he pouts as you blow smoke in his face. you know he wants to argue against words that are nothing more than simple truth but he settles on whining more. “and i don’t like it when you call me jack.”

“i know.”

“then why do you do it?”

“you’re cute when you’re upset, hobi.”

he sputters out something about indulging crazy people just as the rusty door of the rooftop creaks open.

he stands there. the healed scar on his eyes casts a dark shadow on his porcelain skin. he looks the part, you think. born and raised in the same city that doomed you from the start. you also think that’s why you found him and he found you. you’re not that different.

you take the last drag of the cigarette and throw the butt on the floor, putting it out with the heel of your boots.

“did you finish the job?”

you look up at him as hoseok stands behind you. his hand sneaks to your waist. you know he’s sending a proud smile to yoongi.

“you know we always do,” you answer calmly, truthfully. it’s just facts. you always do. you always follow through with his requests. this time it was seoul police getting too comfortable snooping around his business, the next time could be one of his allies threatening his authority a little too much. he trusts you. you trust him. it’s a mutual act of something akin to what people call love. it’s not even that absurd if one thinks about all the things people say they do for love. you’re just humans like the rest of them. fragments of decay.

“and they said i had ‘behavioral issues’” hoseok scoffs from behind you.

yoongi smiles at the picture in front of him. he takes your hand in his, kisses your knuckles. does the same with hoseok. sweeps a thumb over a dark smudge of coal on his cheek.

the sun must have risen behind the thick layer of clouds —the bubbling of the tempest can be heard in the distance. the three of you stand there, huddled close, subtly holding hands. dark smoke, the blaring siren of an alarm, and faint screams rise from the police station in front of the office building you're in while the rain still cascades unforgiving from the heavens.

a crime lord, a mental hospital escapee, and a sociopath detective enter a bar.

you still don’t get it but you let out a silent chuckle anyway. if it made your partners laugh that much in bed last night then it truly must be funny.

end note. i didn't want to put this at the beginning bc i didn't want to spoil anything but i started writing joon's texts/ voicemails to Y/N after the 'incident' and if you're curious pls tell me i can finish them and maybe do a little drabble spin off on that! lmk <33

#hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #kflixnet #k-labels #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts angst #yoongi angst #hoseok angst #bts fan fiction #bts x you #yoongi x you #hoseok x you

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xmorguekittyx · 9 months

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Ever Unlocked

Part 3: Coffee & Mints

part 1: Grey Skies and Blue Eyes

part 2: Caution to the Wind

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: none so far! darker themes to come in time, be patient my children.

The next morning, rain still beat against the windows of Leon's apartment, the taps interrupted by his alarm, a blaring, teeth grinding sound as his face buries against his pillow. His forehead digging into the soft pillowcase. "shit-", the word is pushed through his teeth, muffled by the padding of his pillow. His hands slamming down onto the device, subsequently shutting it up. A defeated sigh left his lips, his body ached, his mind still fuzzed with the effects of last night. He could still feel what it was like to be in her home, still smell the sickly sweet scent of the peppermint tea, how after she returned from her room, clad only in some old RPD shirt and a pair of sleep pants. She looked even more stunning to him, so domesticated. He could almost imagine coming home to see her like that every night.

He wondered what she'd be like in that kind of dynamic. She was so careless, he'd have to fix that. She was too pure to have the decrepit hands of the impure world clawing at her, to have the same kind of people he put behind bars in her presence. He'd save her, she was too weak to be on her own. She needed a strong man like him to help her, to keep her nice and pristine, locked away for only his pleasure. His lips curled back, showing off his very white teeth, Leon was particular about his hygiene. He was a stickler, he wanted to make sure he looked good in front of his fellow officers. He needed this look about him, a gentleman, a good clean cut all around American man. He used his good looks, passed down from his mother and her Italian heritage. He kept a clean shaven look and made sure his uniform was always without wrinkle or spot. He was perfect, that's what he strived for. For this look of success and his boyish charm helped him get there, despite his love hate relationship with his youthful appearance.

As his thoughts streamed together, the blaring alarm popped the invisible bubble over his head. The words pouring over his face that now curled deeply into a frown. 7:15 am. He needed to get ready, he had to drive across town and pick up said, purity, as well as stop by the local coffee shop, Honey Hollow Coffee House, better known by locals as Honey Hollow. A sweet elderly woman owned the corner shop, always working hard behind the counter. Her sea green eyes always softened at the uniformed man, repeating phrases of "What a fine young boy." or "such a handsome man." as he checked over the glass casing of sweet treats.

Usually deciding on a chocolate glazed donut, but today, he'd eagerly order two, along side a mocha frappe and a single black coffee. Mocha frappe, he'd caught sight of the cup in her trash last night as he threw away the tea bag, opting to help her out in a small way to thank her for her welcome invite into her home, one that still irked him with her trusting nature. He had read the label, her name, followed by the Honey Hollow logo, a bear with his hand in a bee hive, honey running down the side and a double 'H'. Then, he saw it, m. frappe, he was not a coffee person, but everyone had heard of a Mocha Frappe before. He wondered if that's what she'd taste like, those pretty lips, just behind them tasting the bitter coffee and sweet chocolate. He'd bite back his distaste for the drink, if it was her lips he could taste it on.

His packet of mints secured in his side pocket, he hated the thought of talking with someone, maybe a retail worker, the same brunette woman he saw near daily at the gas station near his apartment, another officer and, god forbid, Chief Irons with the dreaded coffee breath. He wasn't even a fan of coffee, he kept the paper cup on his desk, the contents cooling with every passing tick of the clock. It made him fit in with his older colleagues. It gave a sense of normality to his desk, a sense of common ground. The older men had him feeling a bit insecure, he knew he was pretty, boyish and a newcomer, but the word "rookie" always left a bad taste in his mouth, worst than any mean coffee bean could.

The frozen coffee, slightly melted as he pulled up to the same dilapidated building, two tones and now familiar to his blue orbs. He scanned his eyes over the bottom floor, looking for the familiar number of 13. His fingers reaching for his phone, an older model, 'i'm here. got you a little surprise :).' a grin pulled at his lips, watching the message slide up, sliding across into her screen. A small ding caught her attention, eyes catching the message bubble that appeared at the top of her screen. 'for me? you didn't have to, Leon. :0', her fingers did a little dance before typing the message, her heart beat a little quicker, he was here. He went out of his way to get her something, no matter what it was, she was more than excited. The screen flashed once more as she places the small socks over her feet, a small image of a flower embedded into the cotton. 'i'm on my way out.', her fingers moved over the smooth screen with ease as she slipped on a pair of kitten heels.

He spotted her quickly, her door opening as he watched her quickly shut and step away from it. He noticed her lack of key, the lack of locking said door. He was going to fix that, one of the first things he'd warn her about once she was in a place where he could give her such talks. For now, he was simply trying to weasel his way into her life, into her heart. legs moving quickly as she tried to get to his vehicle and get out of the assaulting rain, she had just done her makeup and hair, now the cursed little droplets gave risk to her put together look. Her fingers slid under his door handle of his forest green jeep, popping the door open only to be met with a brown paper bag in the seat. "Oh, yeah.", Leon's fingers worked under the paper, careful not to jostle the two donuts inside or to press down on the glaze. "Got us a little breakfast.', as his sentence fell from his lips, the seat was filled with her thighs. Her face so close to his as he looked back up, he wanted to reach out and brush away the slightly dampened strands. He wanted a better look at the woman who, slowly, little by little ate away at his sanity. Her safety always now bearing weight at the forefront of his mind.

"You really didn't need to do that, Leon.", her voice was full of gratitude and a slight embarrassment. "You're right, wanted to.", he gave her a shy smile, his mind may have been made up that she was his and that she was a bigger part of his life, but she didn't know that, yet. She would, however, find that one of the coffees sitting in his cupholders bore some resemblance to her dearly beloved favorite. "That too-", he smirked, his fingers wrapping around the sweating, slightly melted drink. "I had to guess which you would like, i could've called and asked but i didn't want to ruin the surprise and we didn't really get to this topic in our, oh so daring, conversation, last night.", his smirk had melted down into a smile, watcher her eyes grow in excitement. "A mocha frap?!", she took the plastic cup from his hands, "That must've been a hell of a guess. These are my favorite-", the way her eyes squinted as she took her first sip has his stomach in butterflies, the soft painting of rose colored blush fanning her cheeks, he felt it rise to his as well. "There's no way, you must've known somehow.", despite the innocence that came from her comment, it had Leon's butterflies turning into flesh gnawing moths, his expression souring as he threw the gear shifter into reverse. "You're pretty basic, figured a girly drink would be something you like.", he hadn't meant for it to come out so bitter, but he didn't like the idea she assumed he was a creep, even though she hadn't so much as thought it so far... today.

The ride to the station was silent, Leon holding his donut in hand, resting his wrist on the top of the steering wheel. His jaw working on a piece he bit a little too big in a moment of annoyance. "Sorry, I didnt mean it.", his voice was softer than when the venom of guilt wrapped around them. "I've been a little stressed out, shouldn't have taken it out on you.", she didn't know it was her that made his stress level rise. Her careless actions and sweet character, it made Leon's blood pressure rise as he thought about something happening to her, a masked burglar slipping through that open window in her room. That same burglar seeing such a beauty wrapped in purple sheets, asleep and vulnerable to his dark thoughts- "- really, I get it. The increase in bodies has Rebecca and I near hair pulling.", she spoke softly, biting into her own donut, chocolate glaze left on the corner of her lips. Leon's tongue poked out of his own, licking any crumbs left, he thought about how hers would taste, about how he could easily reach his hand under her chin, lick away the sweet glaze that marred her perfect lips. "How is she, by the way?", he nearly had to manually force his eyes to fall away from that small speck of glaze. "She's good, she should be here today. Hopefully, we should get to that McGrath case you were needing. I can text you when the file is ready?', she glanced over, eyes taking in his uniform, the way it was slightly ill-fitted in some places, but was more filled out then when he first came to Raccoon City.

"I'd appreciate it.", he moved the steering wheel with his free hand, pulling into the large parking lot. Her car sat in the same spot as yesterday, his jeep taking up the spot next to hers. The station was nearly alive and bustling. A pair of officers stood outside under the awning, feet kicked back onto the brick wall, cigarettes hanging from their fingers as they mindlessly chatter. Thier uniforms darkening with stray droplets. "Would you like me to take you back home after your shift tonight?", his tongue brushed against his now empty fingers, cleaning away that sweet glaze. "I think I can manage as long as the rain lets up between now and then.", her eyes stared through the slightly tinted window, grey clouds swirling over the city. "Well, just message me. I wouldn't mind taking you back home.", had she looked away from the white and grey swirls she would've seen the puppyish longing that he watched her with. The glint of desperation and desire behind the boyish orbs. He was silently thanking himself for giving up his number last night. Using her lack of car as a reasoning.

"I should probably offer you my number.", his hands slipped into his uniform pocket, pulling out the older phone. "You don't have your car and I dropped you off so it's only right that I take you back to the station.", his eyes reflected her led lights, the blue lights bouncing off his orbs to give them a mesmerizing look. Not that she needed any more reason to get lost in his boyish charm. His charm was only broken by the odd behaviors he exhibited at a minuscule rate.

Yeah, he was glad, he felt like he was always arms length away, two buttons away. He assured that her message would never be a bother, that he was actually happy to have someone to talk to since he hadn't had the best luck meeting others in the area. The analog clock on his dash read 7:55am. "shit- we need to head inside.", he hissed, the moment gone now, sooner than he hoped it would be. His fingers quickly turned the key, turning off the Jeep's ignition. "Don't forget to message me once you're done with McGrath.", his hand wrapped around her wrist as she slid her legs to step out. His eyes resting on her profile, the curve of her nose the pout of her lips. Leon couldn't get enough of it. "I wont, I'll even have Rebecca pull her first.", she blushed, his rough finger pads unconsciously digging deeper into her supple flesh. "Okay...", his smile grew larger, he knew she was falling, all be it, slowly. He was patient, he could be patient...

67 notes · View notes

beautifulchris · 11 months

Text

love potion

pairing: seo changbin x gn!reader

wc: 4,9k

featuring: bang chan, lee minho, victon’s subin, the boyz’s haknyeon, i-dle’s soyeon, bts’ jeongguk, got7’s yugyeom, golden child’s donghyun

summary: changbin has been your best friend for years now, harboring feelings for you. on the other hand, you’re too absorbed by the cute hufflepuff quidditch fan to notice.

genres: hogwarts!au, best friends to lovers!au, slytherin!changbin, slytherin!reader, fluff, humor (i tried)

tw: swearing, food, jealousy

notes: moodboard made by me, pictures found on the internet. reposting works from my old blog

order of writing: chan - jisung - minho - hyunjin - jeongin - seungmin - changbin - felix

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @straykidsland @kwritersworld

tag list: @badwithten @soobin-chois @raethethey send ask/dm/comment to be added!

“BINNIE!!” you yelled as soon as you spotted your black haired best friend in the crowd at the train station.

Just when he was turning to face you, you crashed into him, and he had to use every strength in his body to not fall over. He held you tight while gently patting your back. Once on the train, you talked about your respective summertime until you arrived at Hogwarts. It was your fifth year for both of you, and you were excited.

“Class started three days ago and I already have four parchments to write plus two exams next week. I know the O.W.L.S. are important but this is straight up overworking poor fifteen years olds. I’m still not over my summer holidays.”

You let out a deep sigh, pushing yourself deeper atop the table, your left cheek on your crossed arms.

Changbin chuckled next to you. “I don’t want to imagine how you’ll react in a few months when we won’t be able to breathe because we’ll crumble under an astronomical amount of homework.”

You straightened your back, eyes wide, then whined and got back to your previous position. “I have astronomy class tonight… how will I survive?”

Your best friend scoffed while rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be there.”

“I won’t survive this year,” you mumbled, eyes closed.

“You’re being overdramatic.”

Of course, you were. People only needed to spend ten minutes with you to know. Changbin liked this side of you, it was always fun to him, how you could say dramatic stuff while looking this cute. You’ll never catch him say that out loud, though.

A few weeks later, Changbin was on his way to his first Quidditch practice with his teammates —you were accompanying them— when a group of Gryffindors came to him, fifth year Haknyeon leading.

“Hey Changbin,” he called, “I bet I’m faster than you on a broom.”

“Is that why I’m on the Quidditch team and you’re not?” he retorted. A few teammates laughed.

Haknyeon scoffed, visibly upset. Then shrugged. “I’ll try not to humiliate you too much.”

“Why don’t you let your broom do the talking? I’m ready to fly whenever you are,” Changbin smirked.

“I’ve seen Haknyeon practice for hours on the Training Grounds,” Yugyeom, beater of your House, whispered to the team.

“Come on, you can win this with your eyes closed,” a Gryffindor encouraged his housemate.

“If the referee asks, I don’t condone this,” Soyeon, captain of the Slytherin team, warned with her hands up.

Changbin and Haknyeon prepared for the race, getting on their brooms.

“Loser buys the butterbeer. That’s you, Ju.”

Ju Haknyeon tsked and you approached your best friend. “Please, don’t end up in the Hospital Wing, Binnie.”

“I thought you had more faith in me,” he winked.

You moved back, rolling your eyes amusedly as they started the race.

“This is the race I didn’t know I wanted,” a Gryffindor said excitedly.

It was tight, until Haknyeon decided to push Changbin. They were going straight to a statue and didn’t seem to realize it. Changbin avoided it with ease though, while Haknyeon wasn’t so lucky, his robes getting caught in the lance’s statue. He kept flying and his robes ripped apart. Your best friend arrived safely on the ground and a few moments later, Haknyeon arrived as well, throwing his broom on the floor in frustration.

Changbin’s teammates were laughing, even Soyeon was giggling. “It was really fun to watch, but we have practice,” Jeongguk, the second beater, announced.

“It was a good race,” Changbin proposed his hand for Haknyeon to shake, which he did.

“It was. Next time I’ll win, though.”

“We’ll see about that. Don’t forget you owe me that butterbeer!”

You all left for the Quidditch Pitch; the team for practice, you to cheer on Changbin from the stands. He always said it helped him do better. So you used practice to do your homework, but always ended up sidetracking, due to a fervent Quidditch fan going to a lot of practices from every house. You often wondered if Subin was twenty four hours in the stands. I mean, you wouldn’t complain, because Subin was a pretty cute Hufflepuff that was always cheering on everyone.

Second Saturday of December, you went to Hogsmeade with your best friend.

“Binnie,” you called from the scarves alley, “how about this one?” He was sitting on a fir green leather bench next to the fitting room in Gladrags Wizardwear, the clothing shop of Hogsmeade.

“Now that is a pretty scarf. Emerald and silver stripes, nice and simple. You see, the purple one wasn’t really going well with the green of your tie and robes.”

“You’re right, I’ll take it,” you smiled.

You turned around and when your eyes landed on someone outside, you stopped yourself and stared, a shy smile on your face. Changbin curiously got up then followed your gaze but, upon seeing nothing, was confused by your behavior.

“What’s going on?”

“Subin walked past and smiled at me,” you beamed.

“Oh, I see. Better pay for the scarf and go if you want to talk to him, then.”

Yes, you had an embarrassing crush on the cutest Hufflepuff ever. Have you talked to him before? Eh. Made a whole conversation? Now, let’s not get over ourselves. He just always smiled when he caught you staring or when you bumped into each other in the hallways. He was just so sweet.

“I still can’t believe you fell for a smile.”

“Those are powerful things, you know?”

Oh, he knew alright. He fell for yours.

“I can’t believe this guy! Five gallions a scarf? It better lasts until the end of my school years,” you huffed loudly, putting away your wallet.

“Stop whining, you bought it anyway.”

“Well yeah, I need to stay warm this winter.”

“Remind me again why you’re buying it now?” His tone was teasing, making your eyes roll.

“A crup destroyed it yesterday during care of magical creatures class but I’m sure you don’t need a reminder,” you answered bitterly. You remembered how his laugh was louder than everyone else’s.

“You’re right. That was so funny.”

You had the urge to smack him but stopped yourself. “Stop mocking me, it was the scarf or my face!”

You didn’t spot Subin again that day, but Haknyeon did buy Changbin butterbeer like promised.

Classes were hard, but you were holding up just fine, compared to your whines the first week. Sometimes you were even a little too enthusiastic, like with the crup.

Now, the only pet that terrorized everyone but Changbin and you is his scops owl, Yogi. He loved you, somehow, while he could tear apart another student just because he walked too close to it for comfort.

Actually, it happened before.

Once.

First year. Yogi was on Changbin’s shoulder as he was walking to the owlery, when a student —was he a Ravenclaw? Probably a 3rd year at the time— bumped into his shoulder by accident. Right before Changbin could do anything, Yogi flew to the guy, lacerated his clothes and skin while giving him pecks, all the while flying around him. The poor Ravenclaw tried to cover his head with his arms.

After a few seconds, Changbin realized the gravity of the situation. He called Yogi who flew right back on his owner’s shoulder, not without barking in the boy’s direction.

The latter slowly dropped his arms on his sides and got up, visibly upset. “He tried to kill me!!”

“Yeah he does that, sorry! It’s nothing personal,” Changbin shrugged. “I suggest you go to the infirmary, dude, it’s not looking good.” He gestured to the upper body of the 3rd year who left in a hurry, a big frown on his face.

Since that day, Yogi stayed in the owlery to avoid having the whole school at Changbin’s throat because of his tiny and aggressive pet. He was happy, though, he could make friends and leave whenever and wherever, instead of being kept in a room full of hormones and sweat. I mean, the choice was quickly made.

The fifth match opposing Slytherin to Hufflepuff was coming soon, and you knew Subin was going to be there. So, as the skilled-at-potion-teenage-witch-in-love you were, your great idea was to induce chocolate chip cookies with a love potion and offer them to him after the match.

“It’s a love potion, what could possibly go wrong?” you whispered to yourself over your cauldron.

I could give you a list.

You purposely kept your plan to yourself, knowing what your best friend would say —and rightfully so, might I add— about the dangers of love potions, but really the most dangerous was amortentia, which was why you chose another one. The potion you decided to make was supposed to bring to the surface already existing feelings, not create an infatuation or obsession. You knew love couldn’t be created by a potion, and you didn’t want that either. Also, it wouldn’t last really long, just two to three hours, enough time for someone to confess their feelings.

Thinking about your best friend, though, you decided to make regular cookies to congratulate him on his next win —you were persuaded Slytherin would win. Once ready, you put them in different bags, naming them ‘S’ for Subin and ‘Q’ for the Quidditch team.

On the day of the match, you walked proudly in the direction of the Quidditch pitch with your potion-induced cookies in one hand and the normal ones in the other.

Arriving at the changing room, you entered with your eyes closed —who knew what you could witness— and called for Changbin.

“Scared of seeing a few muscles, Y/N?” You recognized Jeongguk’s joking voice.

A hand took your wrist and gently pulled you outside before you could reply.

“Is that cookies? For me?”

As you opened your eyes, you saw Changbin reaching for one bag, but you were quick to dodge his hand. “You’ll have to win first.”

“See you soon, then,” he spoke to the cookies with a smirk.

“I came to say good luck. You’re gonna win easily.” He thanked you with a hug.

“Who’s the second bag for?” your best friend asked, and you turned your head in embarrassment. “Let me guess. Subin?”

“Not so loud!” you whisper-shouted as you put your hand over his mouth, having now both bags in the other one.

“Too late.” You turned around super fast, losing your grip on the bags in the process. But no one was behind you. “I was joking,” he laughed, “your face was priceless. We’ll definitely win this match.”

He left you to join his team who was calling for him and you picked up the bags, realizing some cookies were broken. “I should be hexing you!” you shouted but wasn’t sure he heard. You walked up to the stands, searching for familiar faces.

The cookies safely installed in your robes’ pockets, you sat next to your Slytherin friends and watched as the Hufflepuff’s team came flying on the pitch. Next was your house. Changbin was already showing off his flying skills by swirling and spinning around the area. He stopped in front of you and gave you a thumbs up, which, despite the trick he pulled only minutes prior, you mirrored. You could never hate him, even if you tried.

Ten minutes into the match, Juyeon, one of Hufflepuff”s beaters, sent a bludger to your house’s keeper, San. Changbin was quick to borrow Yugyeom’s bat to send the bludger away before it could touch San. You heard someone in the crowd say: “Wow, Changbin is not only fast, he’s pretty strong too.” Damn right.

Your house won 190 to 140. It was time Changbin caught the snitch, or it would’ve been embarrassing for everyone. As promised, you went back to the changing room to deliver the cookies.

“You did so good,” you excitedly said as Changbin took the bag from your hand. “You can share with everyone, I made a lot.”

“Thanks Y/N, you’re the best.”

“You are!” Soyeon chimed in.

“Come on, go talk to your crush. I just saw him leave,” he urged you, pushing you out of the changing room. When you turned around, he wasn’t there anymore.

Subin was walking back to the castle, a little pout on his face. You ran up to him, and called his name. When he saw you, he smiled. “Y/N, hey. What’s up?”

“I, uh, wanted to give you these cookies,” you sheepishly said as you handed him the second bag. He reached for them as he thanked you. “And I’m sorry you guys didn’t win. But, for what it’s worth, you’re first in the course for the House Cup.”

“Thank you, Y/N, it’s really kind of you. Your house team played well, and Changbin is a really skilled seeker.”

“He is,” you acquiesced with a proud smile. Finally, Subin opened the bag and took a relatively complete cookie. “Sorry, I dropped them earlier…”

“No problem, they still look good.” Ah, this smile. Pretty cute. He started chewing, and you kept your eyes on him, waiting for a reaction. “Wow, it’s fantastic!”

“You think?” Your cheeks felt hot, he loved your cookies. One win.

“Really, it’s the best cookie I’ve ever tasted. Which oddly reminds me I have to talk to someone. Thank you again for the cookies, Y/N!” With that, he accidentally dropped the bag and ran to the castle. With fast reflexes, you caught it before it could reach the floor.

You were confused. Did it not work? There was still the ‘S’ written in black on the transparent bag. Did you make a mistake when naming the bags? A vision of horror crossed your mind as you sprinted back to the changing room. You prepared yourself for the worst when entering the room, but nothing seemed weird. Everyone was finishing changing in a good mood. So, either you didn’t exchange the bags and Subin felt nothing for you or no one here liked anyone—you lowkey preferred this second suggestion.

When Changbin saw you, he frowned and approached you. “Are you okay? How did it go?”

“Good, he liked my cookies,” you tried to smile but after running so much, you puffed a bit.

“Then why do you still have them, then?”

“Oh? Right, he, uh, gave them back.”

“That’s not polite,” he said without a shadow of a smile. Was that a clenched jaw?

“He didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.”

“What do you mean? How can you not give back a gift on purpose?” Great question, funny story.

“It’s… complicated.”

Your best friend huffed. “I’ll show him.” He took his stuff and left the changing room under the whole Slytherin Quidditch team confused eyes, and you followed him closely.

“I assure you, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” He stopped in his tracks and faced you. “Can I have a cookie, please?”

“No?” You nervously laughed as he raised a brow.

“Why not?”

“Because, uh, the… chocolate is melted. Yeah.”

“I don’t mind.” He extended an arm, palm up to receive a cookie. Refusing meant telling him the truth… “Thanks.”

Like with Subin, you waited for a reaction. “So, what did you want to prove?”

“A point.”

“Which is…?”

“That you put something in these cookies,” he said calmly.

Saying you were shocked was an understatement. “How did you know?!”

“Come on, Y/N, you’ve never baked anything in our five years of friendship and suddenly it’s a whole batch, plus you didn’t want me to touch it before the game. Felt suspicious. But the biggest clue is that you still have the bag.”

“As always, you have an amazing sense of observation,” you muttered, quite embarrassed.

“Yes, and I’m far from being a potion expert, but I honestly believe that your love potion works perfectly.”

What?

He smiled faintly and turned back to the castle, leaving you puzzled and pensive. You didn’t say what kind of potion it was… How did he know?

Lost in thought, you barely reacted when the Slytherin team patted you on the back, thanking you for the cookies, on the way back to celebrate their victory.

Then, it hit you. You ran past the team when they arrived at the stairs, almost tripping over your feet. In your search for your best friend, you bumped into Subin in the Entrance Hall, walking towards the Great Hall.

“Subin?” you called, stopping in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Never better. You?” Here it was. The genuine and cute smile.

“I’m okay. I don’t really know how to say this but… um…”

“You can tell me anything,” he assured.

“O—okay. I like… you.”

“You mean…” You nodded. He was confused for a few seconds. “Oh. I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m flattered but I don’t feel the same way.”

“Oh, I thought, you know, because you’re always smiling at me…”

“I’m a smiley giggling idiot, that’s for sure. But I’m like that with basically everyone. I’m sorry.” You knew he was genuine, and it somehow made the rejection more bearable.

“It’s alright, I feel better now that I told you.”

Awkward silence —especially on your part.

“You remember earlier when I said I had to talk to someone? Well, it was Chaeyoung. I like her and I don’t know, I just felt the urge to tell her.”

Oh.

“About that…”

“Yes?”

“It’s my fault. There was a love potion that makes you realize your feelings of some sort in the cookie. I wanted to see if you liked me without creating any false feelings. I’m so sorry, I… I shouldn’t have done that,” you muttered, staring at your shoes and picking at your clothes.

“… I see. Thank you for telling me. It’s unconventional for sure, but, thanks to you, I shot my shot.”

You felt like he only reacted that way because he was still under the effects of the potion and you hoped he wouldn’t hate you once it wore off.

“How did it go?”

“She said she liked me too. We’re going on a date tomorrow at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.”

“I’m happy for you. Honestly,” you smiled. If he wasn’t going to be happy with you, at least he would be with Chaeyoung, and who were you to hate them or try to change that?

“Thank you, and I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings.”

“No, please, don’t apologize, no one can control those.”

“Not that it changes anything, but I always thought you and Changbin were a thing.”

Wha–

“We’re just best friends.”

“I believe you,” he smiled then reassuringly squeezed your shoulder before finally entering the Great Hall.

You stayed there for a hot minute, mindlessly staring in the distance. Then did the stupidest thing you could do: avoid Changbin, and clearly not tell him about what just happened with Subin.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

A week later, the last match of the season opposing Gryffindor and Ravenclaw ended with Ravenclaw’s victory 420 to 310. Despite this win, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup with 910 points. Ravenclaw was close behind with 880 points, Slytherin next with 770 and then Hufflepuff with 470.

Chan made sure to tell Changbin how he was right about his house winning (see Jeongin’s) and when Changbin didn’t seem to hear, he asked what was wrong.

“Y/N is avoiding me.”

“What? Why?”

“Last week, they made a potion… for their crush, and I tasted it. It felt like my love for them only grew stronger —which I thought impossible—, and it made me want to scream how much I loved them. I stopped myself, of course, and that’s the last time we spoke.”

“Tough. Have you tried speaking to them?”

“You’re asking this as if it didn’t cross my mind in a whole week.”

“Mh… Bitter failure, then. Well, you’re in luck! I know a guy who knows a friend of Y/N.”

“I’m afraid to ask where this nonsense is going.”

“Hush. Just say the word and Y/N will probably listen to you.”

This was awfully mysterious. “Probably? How would you do that?”

“That’s for me to deal with and you to be ignorant about. So?”

Changbin sighed deeply, wondering what he did in his past life to deserve such a weird friend. “Okay. Thanks, Chan.”

“No problem, man. Just be in your common room before dinner tonight.

A whole week without speaking to your best friend was pretty hard, but trying not to crumble under tons of homework was harder. To this, Donghyun was a valuable friend. He helped you with every subject you had in common, which was really thoughtful of him.

“So, that’s why reparo can only work on non-edible objects,” your fellow housemate finished as you wrote down the end of his speech.

“Donghyun, you have no idea how thankful I am.” You put down your quill and threw your head back under the laughter of your friend.

“You say that every day.”

“And I mean it every time!”

“That’s kind of you. Tomorrow, same time?” he proposed as he suddenly got up, putting his stuff in his backpack.

“Sure…” you replied, looking at him suspiciously. He never acted like this before.

“Sorry, I have to go. Bye,” he waved at you then left the common room quickly.

Wondering why he left so abruptly, you didn’t notice someone else sitting next to you.

“Hey… Are you mad at me?”

The question taking you aback, you didn’t have it in you to flee again.

“Of course not, Binnie. I’m just embarrassed.”

“Why’s that?”

“Do I really have to remind you?”

He gave you a weak smile. “No…”

“I’m sorry for avoiding you. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said as you played with the hem of your robe.

“Why did you, then?”

You sighed. “Subin doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t be. Some people are meant to stay unloved.” Changbin would’ve laughed at your dramatics, but it was a serious matter —for him at least.

“Uh, that’s not true. I believe everyone’s loved, it’s just that some don’t act on it.”

“Why?”

“… They’re scared of rejection. Or they have too much pride. They don’t want to ruin a friendship. They’d rather see the other happy with someone else than try to change how the person they love feels about them.”

Suspicious.

Oh, right. The reason why he knew it was a love potion: he liked someone.

“You seem to have thought about it a lot. Do you have feelings for someone, Binnie?”

“N—no, of course not.” The red of his cheeks told a different story.

“And you never knew how to lie. I’ll find out, loverboy.”

“I don’t like anyone!” he tried.

“Nah, I don’t buy that.”

“Would you look at that,” he looked at his watch, “it’s time for dinner.”

He regretted saying that the second he sat at the Slytherin table.

“Minho, do you know who Binnie likes? He denies it but I know he does.”

Minho gave a pointed look at your best friend but the latter just looked away.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Someone from your year probably.”

Changbin widened his eyes at Minho who didn’t give away any expression because you were looking at him.

“I knew it! Binnie, you sneaky imp, you won’t even tell your best friend!”

“I have my reasons,” he muttered as he avoided your gaze.

“What, is it Tzuyu?”

“No, no.”

“Wooyoung, then?”

“Uh, no.”

“Yeonjun?!”

“No!”

Minho deadpanned as you kept throwing names. You were so oblivious that it was painful for the two boys. Changbin was stammering but you could tell he was being sincere.

“Which house?” you asked Minho, knowing Changbin wouldn’t tell.

He hesitated. Their eyes met and they had a whole unspoken conversation. Finally, Minho turned to you.

“Slytherin.”

Happy, you scanned the table to see who it could be. “I’ll find out sooner or later!”

“Try a mirror,” Changbin wanted to tell you.

Desperately wanting to change the subject, he announced: “I think I’ll try out for the beater position next year.”

Right, it was Yugeom and Jeongguk’s last year at Hogwarts.

“It’s true you’re getting buff,” you commented, mindlessly feeling his arm with your fingers.

His face became so red, Minho laughed for a good minute after that, much to Changbin’s embarrassment and your confusion. “What did I do?”

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

On a warm day of June, Changbin finally had enough. He had to let you know about his feelings.

He lowkey regretted not making you eat your own cookies back in May, and he couldn’t brew the potion himself, because he wasn’t fond of that subject. You were the genius there, not him.

The best way to make you realize your own feelings —friendship or love for him, any was fine but he had to know— was to ask you.

What, you thought he was gonna give an elaborate plan?

Changbin wasn’t the type to plan. He would cut to the chase and be honest. He hoped you would be too.

He had a small smile on his face while waiting for you in the common room. It widened when his eyes fell on your frame, then fell seeing Donghyun walking through the door after you. It wasn’t part of the plan image of your conversation he created in his mind.

To be fair, when asked to come, you said you were coming soon, but didn’t specify with who or what you were going to do. Now it was clear that the subject of your ‘visit’ was working on essays with your favorite tutor.

Fighting it was useless, Changbin’s jealousy was here to stay. He watched as you both sat at the large table in the middle of the room, putting your stuff out and starting to work on defense against the dark arts. He came closer, until you spotted him and shot him your best smile.

His heart pounded at this simple gesture. “Binnie! Come, we’re doing our essay on ghouls. Have you finished it?”

“Of course,” he answered, trying to sound smug, but the look of adoration you gave him weakened him, and he swallowed with difficulty.

Donghyun chuckled a bit at the scene, resulting in your best friend shooting him a glare. You could only amusedly smile at Changbin before reporting your attention to your parchment. He sat across from you, handing you his own neatly written essay.

“Don’t copy word for word,” he demanded as he crossed his arms over his chest before resting them on the table.

“I will only add the few facts I missed,” you promised, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and ears. Your parchment seemed not filled enough.

You worked for about two hours with Donghyun and your best friend was there the whole time, watching you guys write and helping here and there when he could. After your friend left under your thanks to go with other friends, Changbin took his place next to you, and fixed his robe’s sleeves.

“I need to ask you something.”

He seemed nervous, you noted. “I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing.

“Do you still like Subin?”

Sorry, what? “Huh? Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” he shrugged, but you noticed the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“No.”

“Okay… do you like anyone else?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed audibly. “Who is the lucky one?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” Here was your chance to discover if your early conversation with Donghyun was true.

“Tell you what?”

“Who you like.”

There was no escaping this, so he gulped and nodded, “Okay.”

You counted to three, and both said: “you.”

“Me?” Changbin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“How thick is your damn skull? I mean I love you.”

“Wh– You…” You used the L word!!!! “You’re one to talk! I’ve loved you for years and you’ve never figured it out!”

“It’s true, I’ve been pretty clueless. But! Donghyun and I–” Changbin slightly grimaced at the name. “talked on our way here and he told me how everyone around us thought we were together,” you pointed a finger to the both of you, “him included.”

“Oh…”

You faced the table, reflecting on your oblivious actions.

“Subin too, by the way.”

“Y/N,” he softly called.

“So yeah, I guess I’m the last person to realize my feelings like a stupid kid.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry it took me this long, but hey, at least now you know.”

“Y/N!” he said firmly.

“Yeah?”

“Everyone is watching us right now…”

Indeed, as you looked around, you saw Slytherins of various years talking to each other, their eyes on you both. Your dramatic self had to say something.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you guys think this was a reality show? Are our lives that interesting compared to your boring ones? You better go elsewhere before my boyfriend and I hex the shit out of y’all!”

They quickly cleared out the room, some rolling their eyes and others with an amused smile on their faces. Minho came into view, displaying a knowing smirk as he walked to you. Changbin was as red as a rubis, shocked by what you just called him.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.”

Realization hit, your face and ears burned as you avoided facing any of the boys.

“Shut up, Minho.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please let me know <3 and here's the masterlist!

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mxpseudonym · 2 years

Text

Indignation

Pairing: Dark Finn Shelby x OC (Evelyn)

Reader Gender Expression: she/her pronouns, femme

Summary: After 18 months of Finn’s torment, Evelyn attempts to seek help only to find Finn’s influence runs much deeper than she realized.

Length: 2431

Warnings: Psychological torment, verbally and mentally abusive relationship, nose bleed, Finn is OOC (though you could argue he doesn’t get enough screen time to know for sure)

A/N: So, I wanted to try my hand at a dark fic. Tbh, this didn’t go how I expected, but I do like it. I wanted Finn to have this relationship that’s essentially an abusive power flex that’s driven by spite and hate, but not in a “because I actually love you” way. In the way love and hate are two sides of the same coin, meaning you can hate someone so much they’ll always be part of your life in this toxic version of commitment.

There’s definitely a part II coming by the way that I’m super excited for.

Indignation ĭn″dĭg-nā′shən

noun. Anger, especially anger excited by that which is unjust, ungrateful, or base; anger mingled with contempt or abhorrence; scornful displeasure.

---

The truth - it was so hard to decipher these days when she couldn't quite decipher what had even transpired. Evelyn simply had to work backward and think sideways. It was nonsense but the only way to maneuver the way her life seemed to work now.

She had to think differently, and that's how she concluded the Shelby family was made up of fools. That was why she was here. Thomas Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray, all of them had to be completely ignorant. Or else, they were infinitely more insidious than she could have imagined, in which she would face defeat and lay down and die. Because they presented their youngest, untouched by war, proudly as their weakest link. He didn't have to do anything in the business. He could go ahead and be respectable, if not rightfully entitled to reap the benefits of the Shelbys' efforts.

But they were wrong, that's why she was here.

The Shelby family was made of fools because their youngest was a terror, the worst of them likely. He'd built an invisible cage like those mimes she'd seen once when she was eight at the carnival with her sister...

An invisible cage made of blue violets sent to her desk at work each week and rent paid on her behalf and free groceries when she went to the market, letting her know that there were eyes everywhere. There were custom-made dresses of the best fabric and expensive jewelry on the inside, but a cage was a cage was a cage. It was tall and vast, and someone knew where it began and ended, but it wasn't her. She didn't even know when she'd stepped inside or if she was always there. No, Finn wasn't the mime. She was the mime. Finn was the ring leader and the magician. Finn. Finn Shelby. Shelby.

The Shelby family was made up completely of fools, and that was why she was here. To tell everyone how capable he was. Because if she didn't, she may as well lay down and,

"Miss?"

The man before her came into focus. Her fingertips delicately held her forehead, and she had a cup of water now in her shaky hand resting in her lap. He must have gotten for her at some point. How long had she,

"Help me understand." He brought her back again, back to the noisy bustling of the Small Health police station. Phones rang, papers shuffled, and eyes, no doubt, watched. "The whole city knows you're sweethearts."

Bile rose in her throat. She raised the small cup to her parted lips, chapped from licking and biting, and reached for her handkerchief. His handkerchief. She couldn't feel the coolness of the water, but she swallowed anyway then put the cloth there. If she didn't cover her mouth, anything could come out.

Sweethearts? The label was a life sentence. She closed her eyes again and rubbed her forehead.

"I told you, didn't I? I told you," she whimpered. "I'm here because, the Shelbys."

"'I need to get away from Finn Shelby. He's everywhere,' is what you said. Those are some dangerous words. Are you saying that you aren't sweethearts?"

Evelyn looked at him, then looked away, out the glass of the office window and into the bullpen. He already knew she was there; she could feel it. A sharp headache came on strong, and she winced when she looked back at him. Her eyelids fluttered, but the pain was familiar enough to sober her up.

"You're so stupid you can't even save yourself," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes her head as she let out a watery laugh. She tapped her temple with a perfectly manicured nail. "That's what he said, just now. I can hear his voice like he's speaking directly in my head with a megaphone. There's an echo."

"I don't, um, help me understand?"

"He's just driving me insane, that's all, sir."

She took in a shaky breath and looked up at him. Evelyn felt like it had been ages since she'd sat down and tried to develop what she wanted to say and what she wanted to happen. It hadn't been even ten minutes, yet the young officer was already giving her a look of pity but also annoyance. She probably deserved that.

"That's all?"

"I'm just muddled, I think. Sorry to barge in," Evelyn mumbled, making her way out of the police station that she'd entered on a whim just a few moments before.

What could she say exactly? Finn hadn't said a decent word to her the whole time she'd known him, and he often bullied her to tears. But he never hit her and made sure everyone knew she wanted for nothing. In a place like Birmingham, where nothing good ever came, she'd be reduced to a spoiled brat for crying about her problems in the middle of her well-decorated apartment. And it was all on purpose.

The Shelby family was made up of fools. Completely ignorant or more insidious than she could ever imagine. Or.

Or.

Or they, too, could not find the words to string together properly. Evelyn wondered if they also were reduced to being overlooked, even when pointing out the devil in broad daylight. That's why she was there.

Days where she was so overwhelmed her mind simply went blank weren't uncommon for her. She went through the routine of the day, and she couldn't tell you what she'd typed in a memo at work or which route she took to get home. She thought the body was kind of amazing for being able to pull that off as she smoothed on lipstick in her mirror. But today was a little different. She had a sobering headache.

Her front door opened, and the sound of fancy shoes against the floor floated through the apartment. Finn didn't come into her bedroom; he never did. Evelyn wondered about it, but not too much in case God thought she was asking for it to happen.

Evelyn stood and smoothed her dress down before padding across the floor in stockinged feet. She was putting in her second earring when she managed to stand across from him. Finn sat against the back of her sofa, legs spread and hands folded in front of him.

He was as boyish and handsome as the night she was first fooled by the face he put on. He looked tired today, she noted. His usual fresh face was tainted by under-eye bags. The harder he was on her, the better he seemed to do at work, so she assumed he was successfully doing important things at the company. That was her purpose after all, a place to focus his insidious tendencies away from his family so he could work better. An outlet, he called her. But there were more important things to worry about.

For instance, one of Finn's hands contained a bouquet of lilies, the other a revolver. His eyes trailed from her stockinged feet upward, taking in her outfit until he met her eyes. He brought the barrel up to his temple, scratching the area nonchalantly before pointing it at her to motion to her legs.

"Take off your stockings."

"You know, Evie, it was more intuitive when I called you an idiot before. That mug of yours, those eyes, they scream dumb cow, you know? But going to the police?"

Evelyn couldn't remember if she'd ever seen a genuine emotion from Finn in the 18 months they'd known each other. It made her sick knowing his belly laugh and a natural smile came from her thwarted attempts at seeking help. He wiped his eyes and looked down at her. "Up."

She straightened her back and took a sharp breath in. On the floor of her apartment, she worked through her act of penance that was fit for a child. All of his punishments for her usually were reminiscent of the disciplines that scarred most catholic children for life. Kneeling over rice was no exception. Christ, her head hurt. There was a whirring that was making her nauseous.

"You're so goddamn stupid. You know Inspector Moss, one of our men at the station, pulled me to the side on my way here? Said, your girl came in this morning saying she needs to get away from you and that you're everywhere."

"You are. Can't get you out of my head."

"Careful, you sound smitten."

"Smitten? Who taught you that word?" She snipped, but he ignored it.

"Pol says it about me when she mentions you. Maybe she's right. You should be dead, but here you are. You disrupted our dinner, but it's for the best. You look a wreck anyway."

Evelyn's cheeks went hot as she looked down at her dress. It was one of the ones she bought when she first got her job. She was only supposed to wear what he bought her, after all. She wanted to ask who cared about such a rule when she'd broken a bigger, unspeakable one, but Finn walked around her and dug her fingers in her hair. His grip forced her off balance, forcing her whole body to move wherever he dragged her by her scalp.

"You know I hate these curls."

"I don't look a wreck."

"You tryin' to fight with me today or what?" Finn asked. His glare was cold, but his eyes were fiery as he looked down at her from his full height. Finn didn't put on much of a show; he never did. She'd know he was weaker than he let on if he had. But he was always right, and he'd always win, so she never saw him anything less than certain. It made her shiver.

"No, I just... no."

"Full sentences next time, can you manage?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

Finn released her head and let her gasp for a moment before gripping her face, squishing her cheeks until her lips were like a fish. She glanced to the side and saw the flowers in her peripheral. He'd put the gun away. She could say she was relieved, but she knew Finn pretty well at this point despite herself. No part of her feared he'd actually kill her. She was best alive, after all. Or maybe she was naive, and he really did just change his mind on a whim.

"You know what I told Moss? I said, don't you know I can't fucking stand that woman? I'll marry her just to shut her up."

Evie dry heaved as her blood ran cold. She was searching for the edges of the cage and began wondering if it was a bottomless pit instead.

"What?" she asked, though incomprehensible in his grip.

"I hate her so much. It's shut up in my bones like she's a part of me, so I can't get rid of her. I'll have to keep her next to me. And then Moss laughed, Evie. He laughed at you."

Finn shook his head and finally released her. The stinging of her knees competed with her jaw for which would be the sorest. Neither would overcome her blinding headache as she watched Finn dig into his box, though. He tossed a velvet blue box at her, and she grunted when she had to shuffle to catch it in time.

"I should punish you more, I really should, but I think you're just somehow not aware of your situation."

She understood her situation clearly, actually. So clearly, she could feel her head splitting half. Finn wouldn't stop her if she left him. But where the fuck would she go? No person in their right mind would date her now. Her sister was her only family, and she lived far away now, but Evelyn could only imagine that Finn would trouble her.

Evelyn did have friends, though. Friends she could never involve in this because she loved them dearly. It wouldn't surprise her to lose her apartment, and no one would serve her at the shops anymore. Her job would vanish, and rumors would spread about her cheating on him with a Blinder- no, Finn would choose something to give himself sympathy. She was pregnant, but she got an abortion even though Finn would marry her. That was it. That was a good story with a ring to prove it.

She opened the box to reveal a ring that, under any other circumstances, would make her heart flutter beautifully. It was stunning and surprisingly her taste. She always wondered if he knew her taste or if they just had the same. It wasn't a diamond, but a gold band with emeralds and pearls and an intricate band encrusted with gems. The whirring in her head got obscenely loud. She would have covered her ears if Finn hadn't grabbed her hand to shove it on her finger. It was all too much, but she stopped just short of crying out once the ring was on and Finn let her go.

For a moment, Evelyn couldn't tell if she was numb or feeling everything at once. She could hear her breath, the dripping of her sink, the crunch of her grains under her. A drop of red appeared on the back of her hand between her knuckles. Another drop fell onto the ring. She brought her fist closer to her face to get a better look. Blood.

"Oh," Evelyn gasped, then blinked up at Finn with a steady line of blood coming from her nose like a faucet. The only time she caught Finn off guard was right after they met. She'd stalked into the betting shop before it opened one morning, demanding to know why he ended the group gathering by singling her out and saying to her, only her, that she was a "stuck up, bitch." It had eaten at her for weeks, and she needed closure.

Finn was surprised she even had the guts to talk to him the way she did. He did have to punish her, though. And that punishment turned into a purgatory that took her 18 months to wrap her head around it. She didn't cover her mouth this time, letting whatever in her that wanted to come out, come out.

"Oh, I see. It's not a cage, and it's not a pit. You just brought me to hell with you. That's all," she said with a soft huff and a laugh.

Finn's eyebrows raised in surprise the way they'd done all the way back then. Evelyn sat back on her heels and looked down at her hand. There was a sigh, and she heard shuffling until her chin was tilted up. Finn's eyes were level with her, and she was almost pleased to see the surprise wore off, and he looked at her with the usual disdain.

"Remember what I told you the last time you asked why it's you I bother with?"

"Yes," she said, though there was no way she'd recall the words at a time like this. Finn ran his thumb over her face, smearing red onto her cheek and chin.

"I'm pretty sure you chose me. Now sit up. Ten more minutes."

#whew that was a lot #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Finn Shelby #Dark!Finn Shelby #Dark Peaky Blinders #Finn Shelby x OC #Finn Shelby Imagine #Finn Shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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nixll · 3 years

Text

venice for one

pairing : harry styles x reader

summary : after getting broken up with and struggling with your own insecurities, you make the split-second decision to take a solo trip to venice. you expect the week to be a fun-filled adventure, but when you accidentally have a run-in with a famous popstar, things don’t go quite as you expect them to.

word count : 9.5k

warning : smut, 18+

“you don’t ever do something just because it makes you feel good?”

paris for one by jojo moyes

The moment you step off the train and onto the platform, you feel a sudden urge to turn back around, toss your bags back on the bench you had been seated on, and make the same exact trip you had just taken again, only backwards this time.

Instead, you force your feet to take one step after another, your suitcase dragging noisily behind you against the concrete platform as you lug your tote bag higher up on your shoulder. In your hand is a note scribbled with the name of the bed and breakfast you booked yourself into, and directions written neatly with bullet points, but as you enter the city of Venice, Italy, you know finding the place you’re looking for is going to be much harder than you had first thought.

The city, as gorgeous as it is, is a slightly confusing maze of sidewalks and canals, and there’s people everywhere. The anxiety you had managed to push away when you got off the train is slowly returning as you look at your directions and attempt to find your way.

This trip had been a split-second decision, one made by your irrationally, heartbroken brain only a few hours after your boyfriend had dumped you. The breakup had come as a surprise to you, especially after many of your friends had brought up the idea of marriage after several years together, but your now ex-boyfriend had thought otherwise.

“You’re not the girl I fell in love with,” he had claimed in an uproar as he threw a suitcase together, “you’re not the fun, outgoing person I used to know.”

You had tried arguing against his claims, but it had done no good, and in the end, he had walked out with nothing more than a promise to come back to what had been your shared apartment to get the rest of his stuff over the next few days. When you called your friends to tell them what happened they had done their best to fill your head with encouraging words and stories about how you were still a fun person to be around, but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized your ex was right.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with, and you hadn’t been that person in a long time. In some ways that was okay. You had fallen in love young and where you grew up, he still acted like the immature college student you had met years ago. He partied constantly, going out with friends at all hours of the night, and you honestly don’t remember the last time the two of you hung out somewhere other than the bar down the street. Nice restaurants had never been his thing, and in wanting to make him happy, you had never opted for anything but what he suggested.

You knew he wasn’t happy anymore, and neither were you. You were getting older and concerning yourself with your job and what your future looked like, not when the next time you could go for a cocktail hour was. You had settled into a routine for yourself, one that required no more effort than you needed, and in having that, your now ex-boyfriend decided you were a prude.

After a while, though, you wondered how much of what he had said to you was true. You don’t remember being much of a party girl when you were younger, but you definitely had your moments, and you definitely hadn’t had one of those moments in a long time. You knew if asked what word could describe you the best, adventurous or outgoing wouldn’t be the first word, or second or third to pop into anyone’s head, but maybe you wanted to be those things.

Maybe you wanted a stranger on the street to look at you and wonder what kind of adventures you had been on because just by looking at you, they can tell you know how to have a good time. Maybe you wanted to be that pretty girl in the room, the one that nobody could take their eyes off of.

Five hours after your relationship had ended, you decided you didn’t need your ex, but you did need a change of pace.

You were going to take a trip to Italy by yourself. You hadn’t told anybody, not even your friends, and had only left a brief voicemail to your workplace calling out sick for the rest of the week and no other explanation. It had taken you an hour to book all the tickets needed for travel and to find a place to stay that would take you with such little notice, but in practically no time at all, and with two haphazardly packed bags, you had been on your way to Italy for what you hoped would be a fun adventurous few days.

So far, the idea of a fun filled week had completely escaped your mind and your first day in Italy had started out with a drag.

You had yet to find the Bed & Breakfast you had booked yourself into, and with a sore shoulder from carrying your bag and your hand growing increasingly sweaty as you gripped onto your suitcase, you were beginning to think about what your best bet would be on getting home.

Not a single person you had managed to stop speaks English, and even after you show them the name of the place scribbled at the top of your sheet in Italian, nobody is seemingly able to help you. Venice is not the biggest city, and you remember briefly reading about how it is possible to walk the entire city in the matter of an hour. With a glance at the watch on your wrist, you’re ready to turn around and make your way back to the train station in the hopes of catching a ride back.

That’s when you spot it: the barely-there sign with a name on it that matches the one on your paper.

Vera Ospitalità.

It’s a cute little blue building, looking exactly like it did when you were Googling places to stay in Venice. It hadn’t cost very much, and the lady had sounded sweet over the phone when you asked how soon she would have a room open.

“We always have a room open, cara.”

You hadn’t quite understood what she meant at the time, but the sight of those two Italian words fill your body with a jittery joy as you let out a shout, catching the attention of a few people walking past you. You pay them no mind as you pick up the pace, not taking your eyes off the sign until you’re standing in front of the door and pushing it open.

The bell above lets out a delightful jingle as you walk in. You can only imagine what you look like to the lady sitting at the desk as you walk in with sweat dripping down your forehead and a slightly rumpled paper stuffed in your hand, but she offers you a cheerful smile.

“Are you Irene?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you step up to the desk, letting your bag fall from your shoulder. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”

“Yes! Hello, cara,” Irene says, standing from her seat and reaching for the guestbook she keeps under the counter. “I am happy to see you made it. How was your trip?”

You smile, trying not to think about the want to turn back around and head home you felt only minutes ago. “It was good! Happy to finally be here.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Just sign these forms and I will get you your key.” Irene pushes the book your way and you easily sign your name on the dotted line. “There is only one bathroom upstairs, but you get the room directly across from it.”

Your head snaps up from the book. “One bathroom?”

“Yes,” Irene nods, “but it has a tub, and the water runs perfectly. And there is only one other guest staying here this week, so there should be no trouble.”

“There’s only two of us here?”

Irene pauses. “You ask many questions.”

You offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“There is a young man staying here also, about your age. I only have four rooms and I don’t get many guests.”

You briefly wonder if you should have chosen a slightly more expensive place to stay, but your expectations hadn’t been very high coming in and how bad can it be when there are only two of you staying?

Irene hands over your key, directing you up the stairs to where your room waits for you. “Breakfast is served at 7 if you would like some, otherwise I have a list of places around the city you can visit.”

You give Irene one last thank you before you’re heading up the stairs, your suitcase and bag in hand. Your room is immediately at the top to your right, with the door across from yours labeled bagno with a cute little wooden sign. There are two more rooms a little further down the hall, and then one at the very end with the door open enough for you to glance inside.

There’s music playing – something you’ve heard on the radio a million times before but can’t remember the name of – and you can make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a small desk next to a window. With the way the setting sun is shining through, you can’t make out any of the figure’s features, but you know that this is the man Irene mentioned downstairs.

You wave a hand. “Hi.”

You can see him turn his head, but can’t make out any features still, nor an expression, as he stands and shuts the door without a second thought.

You frown, deciding not to dwell on it as you unlock your room and step inside. It’s small, and you know your friends would try and make it sound better by calling it quaint, but you decide that it’s not any more or any less than you need for the week. There’s a small desk and dresser off to the side, and a twin size bed with a side table sitting next to the headboard. The sight of the small, but very neat room is comforting after the mix of emotions you’d spent your afternoon with, and you find yourself wanting to just fall against the comforter and end your day there.

So, you do, quickly changing into your sleep clothes and doing your nightly routine, you let all the anxiety and the interaction with the man down the hall fall from your mind as you slip under the covers and rest your head against the pillow. It’s early, but you figure you’ve had enough adventure for the day. Plus, you still have the next few days left to spend in the city.

Sleep comes easy to you, so easy that you’re shocked awake the next morning at the sound of loud footsteps coming down the hall, and then a slam of a door. Lifting up from your bed, you glance at the clock on the table next to you and let out a small groan. You hadn’t been planning on taking up Irene’s offer of breakfast at 7, but now that you were awake you figured you might as well do exactly that. The grumble your stomach lets out seems to further settle the idea to get ready and go downstairs into your head.

The banging across the hall continues, and you know the sound belongs to the man from down the hall. Not wanting another interaction like the day before you decide to wait for the sound of the door opening and steps retreating down the hall, knowing the man has returned to his own room before you head into the bathroom with your things to get ready. You throw on a simple outfit for the day, doing all your daily necessities. The smell of cologne fills the small space, and normally it would be something that would irritate you – someone else treating a space as only their own with no other thought of anyone else who might occupy it – but the scent is pleasant enough and you decide to leave it be. When you’re done, you listen again for the sound of footsteps, but there are none.

Opening the door, you peak down the hall. The door at the end is shut, but you still cross the space to your room quicker than normal, opening the door and slipping inside. Just as you grab your shoes and anything else you plan to use throughout the day, your phone finding its spot in your pocket, you hear a door open again. You listen quietly as the man moves down the hall to the stairs, only slipping into the hallway when you know you won’t run into him. He’s already disappeared into the front room when you yourself reach the stairs and start the trek down.

When you reach the bottom floor, Irene stands just across the room in what you realize is the dining area. There’s a jingling as the front door opens, and you look over just in time to see a head of dark brown hair escaping through the entrance.

There’s something odd about you and this stranger avoiding each other, but you don’t let it cloud your thoughts. You don’t even know the man, and don’t have any care to get to know him.

Irene spots you lingering by the stairs and waves you over. “Have you met the other guest yet?”

You smile as you walk over to sit at the table situated in the room. The space isn’t very large, only big enough to hold the essentials of a kitchen and a table that seats six, but the feel of it all is very intimate. It also smells terrific, the smell of sausage and pastries filling the room. You’re suddenly grateful that you chose this place over any of the others, weird neighbors be damned.

“He’s nice, is he not?”

You purse your lips as Irene places a plate loaded to the brim with various breakfast items. The sight makes your stomach grumble again and you laugh in an attempt to conceal it. “I haven’t exactly met him yet.”

Irene frowns. “You haven’t?” She tsks. “He’s very friendly, but he never eats breakfast here.”

“Never?” You glance up from your plate. “How long has he been here?”

“Only few days, but he comes once a year and stays here rather than big fancy hotel.”

You nod, taking a bite of the croissant on your plate. You close your eyes giving a small hum of pleasure at the taste of the buttery pastry. “He’s missing out.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough, I think.” Irene waves her hand around as she takes her own seat, carefully digging into her own plate of food.

You continue breakfast with polite conversation. Irene asks why you decided to come to Italy, and you fib your answer a little, explaining it was just a need to get away for a bit. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to reopen the fresh wound that was your current relationship status.

When you’re done, you bid Irene farewell for the day and head out on your own. The sun is warm as it beams down on your face, the air slightly cool from the canals. You plan to just walk around the city for most of the day, not having much else to do until the afternoon when the gallery you had opted to go to opens.

For a few hours you simply meander around the city, stepping into shops with clothes that cost far too much money, but you try them on anyway. You find a nice place for lunch, deciding you’ll come back to try something else for dinner after the gallery. The day all goes fairly quick, but you head back to Vera Ospitalità with a grin permanently etched into your features.

Irene is not at the front desk when you walk in. It’s getting fairly late in the day and after the large and filling meal you had chosen to eat for dinner, you decide that you’ll end your day with a nice bath and then head to bed, excited for the boat ride you had booked for the next day.

That plan is immediately foiled when you climb the stairs and hear the shower already running. You don’t have any idea how long it’s been occupied, but you figure he has to be done sometime soon and choose to wait in your room until he is.

Fifteen minutes pass before you realize it, and the shower is still going. It occurs to you that all of the hot water must be gone now and you feel a bit frustrated at your thought of a nice night being ruined by a man who doesn’t know how to shower quickly. Trying not to let your frustration get the best of you, you snatch up your towel and storm out of your room to stand in front of the door across from you. There’s some steam coming from the crack between the door and the floor, but you ignore it as you knock on the door.

There’s a noise that sounds something like a grunt, and then the shower shuts off. You listen to shuffling, a rumple of clothes, and then the door swings open and there, for the first time since you arrived in the tiny hotel, you finally come face to face with the stranger who’s been living down the hall from your room. It suddenly hits you why he had been so eager to avoid you the day before and ;told you that he must’ve been trying to avoid you this morning too, obviously trying not to make his presence known.

Harry Styles stands in front of you in a pair of loose shorts with a towel hanging from his hand, his hair dripping down onto his forehead. His tattoos are on full display, the pair of ferns peaking up from his waistband, and his skin is glistening from all the water he hadn’t been given the chance to properly wipe off. Steam pours out through the doorway and the sudden heat of it sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t realize you’re staring until your eyes meet his and he cocks a brow. “You’re not going to be a creep and ask me for a photo, are you?”

His tone is dangerous, and he’s got an accusatory look plastered on his face. It makes something in you want to snap back, that anger from not being able to take a bath like you wanted still lingering a bit, but instead you stand there, trying to think of the best words to say back to the man in front of you who clearly thinks you’re here for something other than a nice vacation. Every possible thing you had wanted to say before the door had opened has suddenly disappeared from your brain, only to be replaced with the slight shock of your current situation. Your mouth opens and snaps closed one time, then again, as the words you want to say struggle to fall from your mouth.

Eventually, you hold up your towel.

Harry’s head tilts to the side, his gaze curious. “So, you’re not just renting the crappiest hotel in the entire city in order to get some sort of insider photos?”

You frown, the shakiness you had felt disappearing as you think about Irene and her hospitality. “It’s not a crappy hotel.”

Harry smiles, but you’re sure it’s just because he’s amused and not because you’re doing a nice thing by defending Irene. “No, but it sure isn’t popular and nobody ever comes here. I’m always by myself when I come – Irene makes sure of it.”

You remember what Irene had told your over the phone when you asked about booking.

We always have a room open.

You purse your lips and try holding your head a little higher. “I’m not some crazed fan. I’m just here for a nice vacation.”

Harry looks you over. “Nice vacation? You don’t seem like the type.”

“It…” You stumble over what to say, trying to get a grip on the current situation you’re in with a half-naked famous popstar standing in front of you. He leans against the doorway, an arm propped against his head, and you swallow. “It was spontaneous.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “You still don’t seem like the type.”

“You don’t know me,” you manage to say, feeling slightly offended by his words, but Harry just grins.

“And I don’t care to.” He claps his hands together, the sound muffled by the towel still gripped in his hand. “Pleasantries aside, I’d appreciate if you didn’t interrupt my shower next time, and also if you continued to not take photos of me whatsoever.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Harry has already pushed himself off the doorway and is marching down the hall before you can even think of what to say back to him. He doesn’t even bother turning back to look at you, just walks into the room and slams the door shut.

You wince at the sound, trying to still get a grip at what just occurred. You step into the still hot bathroom with its steamed-up mirror and slightly wet floor, but you disregard it as you move to the tub. You turn the handle for the hot water and aren’t surprised to find that it’s ice cold. You let it run for a minute, trying to see if it’ll warm up even the slightest, but you give up and shut it off when it remains cold.

You realize that not only had Harry left you with no hot water to take a shower in, but he also hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. When your head hits the pillow minutes later, choosing just to settle in for the night, you let the exhaustion of the day wash over you and fall asleep easily, though the irritation with Harry settles in well into the early morning.

Your alarm goes off early after a couple of hours, waking you up well before you know Harry will be awake. You quickly gather up your clothes and head to the bathroom, turning on the shower and hopping in before another second passes.

You take your time getting ready, lingering under the hot water for as long as you can before getting out and slowly going over each of your tasks in your morning ritual. You’re in the middle of finishing up your hair when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yes?” you call out, already knowing it couldn’t be anybody but your neighbor down the hall.

“It’s Harry,” he says, muffled through the door. It occurs to you that he never actually told you his name the night before, but you know he’s assumed you already knew who he was before. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong in that assumption. “Are you almost done?”

You grin at the turn of events. “Almost.”

It’s another ten minutes before you’re done. You had expected Harry to have turned around and headed back to his own room to wait, something you would have done if you had been in his place, but when you open the door he’s standing there across the hall, leaning against the wall next to your own room. It takes you by surprise, seeing him standing there. He’s already dressed for the day, a nice, knitted shirt on with brown shorts to match and checkered vans decorating his feet. The only thing out of place is his hair, still a mess of curls from where he hadn’t had the chance to comb them down yet.

You offer a smile as you step out of the bathroom. “All yours.”

Harry has a sour expression on his face as you pass by to get into your room. You don’t bother giving him any more attention than that, though, not keen on him accusing you of anything else.

At 7 you head downstairs. Irene is already settled into the kitchen with a plate full of food waiting for you. She smiles when she spots you. “Sleep well?”

You nod. “Finally met Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Irene claps her hands together. “Isn’t he so lovely?”

You hum in response. “Lovely,” you try to hide the sarcasm in your voice, “that is definitely the word I would use.”

Irene’s eyes flicker behind you, and she brightens at the sight of Harry coming down the stairs. “There he is! Harry, come have breakfast.”

Harry appears, hair now perfectly in place, walking around the table to greet Irene with a hello and a kiss to her cheek. “Can’t, love. Have places to be.”

“Oh, stay for a bit. It’s too early to have anywhere important to be. Talk with us,” Irene urges, gesturing to you already seated at the table.

You give an exaggerated nod. “Yeah, talk to us, Harry.”

Harry forces a smile onto his face. “Only for a bit, yeah?”

Your frown is immediate as Harry takes the seat across from you. You had remembered what Irene had said the day before, about Harry never joining her for breakfast, and that had led you to expect him to decline Irene’s offer and head out for the day, but now you were stuck with him sitting there in front of you.

“What are the plans for today?” Irene asks, seemingly unaware of the tension at the table.

Harry gives her a genuine smile as he steals a roll from the plate she had placed in the middle of the table and takes a bite. “Goin’ to wander the city a bit, might take a nice boat ride.”

“I’m doing a boat ride too,” you chime in. The look Harry throws you is something similar to a glare, but you just smile, knowing you managed to get under his skin already this morning before he had even tried to touch yours.

The rest of the conversation is tense, with Irene staying blissfully unaware to the dirty looks you and Harry throw at each other. A part of you wonders how you can act like this with a complete stranger, but when you accidentally kick his shin under the table, and Harry returns a swift kick of his own, the thought is completely overshadowed by the irritation you feel when you look at him.

When Harry finishes his roll a few minutes later, he delivers a quick peck to Irene’s cheek and heads out, offering no goodbye to you. When he’s gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and stand from your chair.

“Thank you for breakfast, Irene.” You make to move for the stairs, planning to take a little time to yourself before your planned boat ride later, but Irene stops you.

“He is better once you get used to him,” she tells you.

Your nose crinkles at that, wondering how much she actually had caught on to when it came to you and Harry. “I just think he doesn’t like me very much.”

She waves her hand. “He did not like me very much at first either, but he warms up in time.”

With a final nod, you head upstairs. The hours pass quickly as you find random things to do – playing games on your phone, reading a book. You had briefly wondered about calling your friends back home, curious if they had thought about you since you had last spoke to them, but you eventually decide against it when it’s time to head out for your boat ride.

The air is warm when you step outside, and the place where you’re supposed to go is only just down the block. There’s a delightful breeze that blows through your hair as you walk down the sidewalk, admiring the city as it moves through its daily ventures. You reach the dock you need to go to much easier than you had the Bed & Breakfast, but your stomach immediately drops as soon as you step on the pier.

Harry is standing with who you assume is the skipper of the boat you’ll be on. He has an impatient look on his face and his arms are crossed as he taps his foot against the wooden planks. When he spots you walking down the pier, a look of realization crosses his features.

“You’re going on a boat ride?” he asks, his brows raised above the rim of his sunglasses. “This boat ride?”

You look at the skipper and give a not-so-confident nod.

“Ah! You’re the girl who booked me so late the other day!” he announces almost proudly, and you offer an apologetic smile, choosing to ignore a clearly frustrated Harry.

“I’m so sorry about all that, it was so last minute—”

“Do not worry, darling. It seems to be my fault.” He gestures between you and Harry. “I seem to have made the mistake and made a double booking on accident. Either the two of you may ride the boat together and I’ll give half off, or one of you can leave and I’ll give full refund. I am booked full rest of day.”

You can feel Harry glaring at you through his glasses. “I’m not giving this up,” you tell him, feeling your own irritation grow at the sight of his.

“Well, neither am I.”

The skipper glances between the two of you before giving a delightful shout. “Two of you it will be! Let’s get going.”

You and Harry give the same exasperated look to the skipper, but he’s already climbing on the small speed boat, waving for you to follow.

Harry looks to you. “Ladies first.”

You don’t bother with a thank you as you climb onto the boat, Harry not far behind, and find a seat on the small bench available. With no other place to sit, Harry is forced to sit next to you on the bench clearly fit to hold two people intimately. Neither of you say anything as the skipper starts the engine and pulls away from the pier and into the lagoon you were meant to be traveling.

For a moment, you regret not just walking away and letting Harry have the boat ride to himself. You can’t imagine being able to enjoy it when he won’t even look at you even though his shoulder and thigh are flush against your own as you both attempt to fit on the bench. You still want to make the most of it, so you turn to look at Harry, deciding to attempt to show some of the same hospitality you had been experiencing so much of in Italy

“Do people really stay in the same hotels as you to get photos?”

“What?” His sunglasses have fallen slightly down his nose, and his eyes are visible just over the rim.

You swallow down any frustrating feelings you might have against Harry right now. “Last night, you accused me of being in the B&B so I could get a photo of you—”

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbles out, pushing his glasses back in place. “Shouldn’t have come at you so quick.”

You can tell that some of the tension has left his body and that makes you feel a bit better about being stuck with him now. “Do people really do that, though?”

You wish he had taken the glasses off now, just so you could see the expression hidden behind them. You can’t tell what he’s thinking with his eyes hidden behind the dark rims.

“I’ve been doing this for over ten years,” he finally says, “I’ve had people break into my home, fans have snuck into my tour bus, and I’ve been chased down the street. You checking into the same place I am staying, a place that is normally empty year-round, and trying to snap a cheeky photo would not surprise me in the slightest.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I see that now.” Harry smiles as he stands up and leans against the boat, looking out over the water. You look over the design on the back of his shirt, the image of a horse clearly visible. “Sorry for using up all the hot water last night.”

Your eyes flit to the skipper standing at the wheel, but he pays neither of you any attention as he hums to himself. “It’s okay.”

“Also sorry for not asking for your name since you clearly already know mine.” He looks back over his shoulder at you. “So, what is it?”

“What?”

A smile. “Your name, love.”

“Oh.” You give up your name, falling from your lips as you remember the bit of hurt you felt the night before upon realizing he hadn’t asked for it then. It had been a strange feeling, wanting a complete stranger to know your name. especially when you and said stranger hadn’t gotten on so well, but now that he had asked for it you felt a sense of accomplishment.

Harry repeats it, his accent lilting something sweet. “S’a lovely name.”

He’s still looking at you when you say nothing, and it leaves you with a strange feeling. You try to think of what to say next, and when it comes to you, you almost laugh.

You hold out your hand. “Truce?”

The smile Harry gives you takes up the entirety of his face, dimples proudly displayed on his cheeks. He takes your hand in his own, his palm warm in yours. “Truce,” he confirms.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for the rest of the ride, only interrupted by the sounds of the boat on the water and the skipper’s humming. Even with all your misadventures, you couldn’t deny that the city of Venice was gorgeous. And in some way, everything had seemed to work out for you so far, even creating something that resembled the beginnings of a friendship with Harry after a rough start.

When the boat pulls up to the pier, you realize that you feel more comfortable around Harry. No longer does he intimidate you like he had when you first laid eyes on him, but rather you feel easier with him, like you’re able to strike a conversation with him with no worries at all.

So, you do try to talk to him as you step off the boat, but he apparently had the same thought and the two of you laugh as you talk over each other.

“You first,” you tell him, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“I, uh,” Harry stutters over his words as he removes his glasses, looking up and down the pier to keep his eyes on something other than you. “I was just going to ask if you had eaten lunch already.”

“I think it’s well past lunch time.” You look down at the watch adorning your wrist. “But no, I only ate breakfast.”

Harry’s eyes flash to you, and the green of them is startling under the sunlight. “Would you like to go for a late lunch?”

You much prefer this friendly Harry to the one you had first been introduced to, and you understand that there’s a garner of trust between the two of you now. “I’d love to.”

Harry leads you down the pier and back onto the concrete sidewalks around Venice. It’s settling well into the afternoon, the sun beginning to drift just below the tops of the buildings around the city. You don’t bother asking where you’re heading off to, trusting that Harry will have a great choice in wherever you go.

Eventually, after walking a few blocks, still basking in that comfortable silence from the boat, Harry stops at a door with a sign overhead that you don’t understand. He opens the door and waves you in.

The moment you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of pasta and bread hitting your nose. You breathe it in deep and the hostess at the front smiles as she watches you do so.

“First time?” she asks, her accent thick.

You nod, jumping a little when Harry appears next to you and places his hand on your arm.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he tells you, gesturing with two fingers to the hostess. “They have the best spaghetti.”

The place isn’t as packed as you would expect it to be, most likely because of your arrival between lunch and dinner, but there’s still enough people for it to feel a bit crowded. The hostess walks you over to a booth in the corner, a bit hidden away from the other patrons in the restaurant, and you know it’s because of who you’re with.

The popstar in question sits across from you but doesn’t bother grabbing a menu for himself. “Wine okay with you?”

You nod and wait for the waitress to come over. When she does, offering up her name in a sweet lilting accent, Harry orders the wine and you give a thankful nod as she walks away before turning back to Harry. “So, the spaghetti?”

Harry lets out a low moan. “It’s the best. I come here every time I visit. Practically a regular when I’m in Italy.”

“It’s that good?”

“Better than good.”

You leave your menu resting in front of you, untouched until the waitress returns with a jug of wine and two glasses. She hands one off to each of you before topping them off with the jug.

“Your usual, Mr. Styles?”

The question sends Harry beaming. “Please. And she’ll have the same,” he gestures to you, and you give a soft confirmation.

Once the waitress has left, Harry takes a long sip of his wine before clapping his hands together. “So, what brings you to Italy?”

This Harry sitting in front of you is much different than the one you had met face to face for the first time the night before. There’s something softer about him, as if the edge was taken off the moment he put his hand in yours earlier. You like this Harry more, you think, with his giddy smile and soft giggle.

You remember how you had lied to Irene when she had asked you why you had traveled to Italy, but something tells you not to do that with Harry. “My boyfriend dumped me.”

Harry’s face drops, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you wave a hand in front of you before he can get it out.

“I’m already over it, but there were some things he said that made me rethink a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” His gaze is curious, and it makes you want to tell him everything going on in your brain, how you’re still upset and hurt, but want to feel free while you still have the time to here in Italy.

Instead, you sugarcoat it a little. “Just stuff about how he missed the girl I used to be – more fun and care-free.”

“Are you not that girl?”

You shrug, your hand playing with the stem of your wine glass before you lift it to take a sip. “I don’t know, but I liked the sound of being adventurous and doing something unexpected so—”

“So, you booked a trip to Italy?” Harry grins. “That’s quite impressive.”

“What is?”

“Deciding to just up and go to a different country for no other reason than you want to. I think you’re a bit more outgoing than your boyfriend gives you credit for.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Harry smiles into his glass. “Right. Ex-boyfriend.”

Your food arrives not long after that, two giant plates of spaghetti with pieces of garlic bread on the side. Harry laughs at your surprised expression at the sight of the amount of food now sitting in front of you.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to feed an army.”

Harry picks up his fork, stabbing it into the noodles and twisting it around. “Try it.”

You follow his lead, picking up your own fork. When you take a bite of the pasta, you shut your eyes as the taste coats your mouth. “Oh my god.”

“I told you.”

The two of you eat practically in silence, savoring the taste of your meal and not letting the flow of conversation interrupt your eating. Neither of you finish your plate, Harry coming much closer to doing so then you are and you’re left trying to finish the still half full jug of wine in the middle of the table.

You don’t know when you start feeling like telling Harry more about yourself, maybe after your third glass of wine, but eventually you’re telling him all about the fear you had of coming to Italy.

“What do you mean you almost didn’t come here?”

You giggle a little. “I stepped off the train and almost turned right back around to get on.”

“Why?”

You give an exaggerated shrug. “My own brain? I don’t know.” You look down at your glass of wine. “Sometimes I feel like everyone’s opinions of me are right, y’know? Maybe I am that girl that just doesn’t do anything except work and go home.”

“I get that feeling.”

Your eyes shoot up to look at Harry. “You do?”

Harry gives a lazy raise of his shoulders. “Of course. I have reporters and paparazzi up my ass at practically all hours of the day. Sometimes I wish I could scream at them that I’m not everything they think I am, nor do I want to be.”

You let out a snicker and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I almost forgot I was sitting with a famous popstar.”

Harry groans, but there’s a playful look on his face as he wags a finger at you. “That’s cheeky.”

You decide to keep going, seeing how far you can push it. “My friends are going to love it when I tell them that I got to hang out with the Harry Styles. I’m pretty sure one of them used to have a poster of you in their bedroom.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Another had the cardboard cutout.”

That sends Harry into a fit of giggles, causing you to follow his lead. You both are a little too tipsy by this point, and the jug is nearly finished.

It doesn’t occur to you how long you had been inside the restaurant until you walk outside and see that the sky has turned dark. The blocks are lit by streetlights, and under them Harry looks like something out of a dream. You don’t mean to lean into him as you walk back to the B&B, but you do so in order to try and keep your balance and Harry doesn’t seem to mind with the way he tosses his arm around your shoulders lazily.

“Tonight was fun,” he tells you, trying not to walk faster than you do. The position is hard to keep as you walk, but neither of you pull away. “’S been a while since I’ve done something with someone like this.”

You smile at his admission. “You mean you don’t go out somewhere with a complete stranger at least once a week?” You tsk. “You’ve gotta get out more, Mr. Styles.”

The B&B is quiet when you arrive back, and you feel like a teenager again as you sneak past the front desk and up the stairs, trying your best to keep quiet since you both know Irene has already gone off to bed. Your exe’s words briefly flit through your brain, and you wonder what he’d say if he saw you now – drunkenly stumbling around in a mysterious city with a man you’ve known barely longer than a day.

When your foot catches on a step, Harry is there behind you to steady you before you can fall forward. His hands catch your hips, helping keep your balance, but rather than it be something that would send your stomach in knots, the gesture makes you laugh out as you think about how funny it would have been to fall face first into the carpeted floor.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, staring behind at Harry who looks like he’s barely keeping himself from laughing. You maneuver your hand so it’s just your index finger pressed against your lips, a soft shhh falling past them. Harry nods, pretending to zip his lips shut and locking them, before throwing the pretend key over his shoulder. The action threatens to send you into another fit of giggles, but you manage to hold it in as you take the rest of the steps two at a time.

The boards creak beneath your feet as you walk to your door. Turning, you just about run into Harry, your hands flying up to press against his chest in an attempt to keep from stumbling into him.

“Sorry,” you stutter out, taking a step back and resting your back against your door. “Wine’s getting to me.”

Harry smiles, and in the barely-there light of the hallway, you think you can see something playful glittering in his eyes. “S’getting to me too.”

You suddenly remember the feel of his hands on your hips moments earlier, and the way he had kept his arm wrapped around you the whole way back. There’s that knot in your stomach that hadn’t appeared before, slowly making itself known now as you try to think of what to say next.

Harry speaks first, his voice low and his words slurred. “I had fun tonight.”

“So you said.”

“How long are you staying?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Tomorrow is my last full day. I leave the next morning.”

Harry looks a bit disappointed by that, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. “Y’know, I think I have a terrific way for you to prove to everyone when you go back that you still know how to have a good time.”

You swallow when Harry takes a step closer, your back pressing further into your door. “And what’s that?”

A smile, one that’s devious and just a little bit convincing, “Let me kiss you?

You bite your lip, trying to get ahold of the situation. This is not at all how you expected your vacation to go, but you can’t help but agree that it is the best way to prove to everyone and yourself that you’re not who they think you are.

You realize that this is it – your moment to prove to yourself that everyone else was wrong. How could you not be adventurous when you’re in a random country all by yourself, about to kiss a boy you’ve never met? That’s the perfect thing to do to prove everyone wrong.

And maybe there’s something in the way that Harry’s advances make you feel that adds to you giving a soft yes.

When Harry kisses you, it’s just as you would have imagined it. And then somehow, it’s more. His lips are soft against your own, the distant taste of strawberry chapstick and the wine from earlier lingering on them and you want to savor that taste, burn the memory of those flavors together into your brain. His hands find your hips again, pressing into them unlike he had earlier. There’s intention behind the grip, the promise of something more to come.

You clumsily reach for the doorknob behind you, not daring to move your lips away from Harry’s. The door falls open and almost takes you with it as you stumble back, barely catching yourself by gripping onto Harry’s shoulders. You press your mouth back to his, feeling like he could swallow you whole in that moment.

You reach blindly for the zipper on his shorts, your hand brushing over the tent forming there and causing Harry to let out a hiss at the friction. You smile against his mouth when he reaches down, taking the matter into his own hands and unzipping his shorts as he kicks off his shoes. You follow his lead and let your shoes meet his own in a pile on the floor. The pile only grows as you both precede to strip, and when you’re left staring at Harry’s naked body, a small gasp falls from your lips.

You reach out to run a hand across the butterfly inked into his stomach before letting it trial down to tease one of the ferns against his hip. You remember them from the night before, half concealed by the shorts he had kept on, but now having them on full display sendsa shudder through you.

“You’re pretty,” you tell him softly, and he laughs.

“So are you,” he replies, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, gently pushing you back onto your bed.

You had almost forgotten about the twin size bed in your room until you fall against it. You want to laugh at the size of it compared to your two bodies collapsing onto it, but Harry rests himself on top of you and attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep mark into your skin.

One hand finds his hair, raking your fingers through it and tearing a groan from Harry’s chest, while the other scrapes at his back, your nails threatening to leave red scratches all over his skin. Harry lingers against your neck for only a moment before he’s trailing down your body, planting kisses against your skin as he goes.

When he reaches your hip, he digs his fingers into your stomach as he leaves a kiss in the curve there before he plants himself between your thighs. The bed is squeaking in protest to all of this movement, but it’s not bad enough for you to want to stop.

Harry kisses at your folds before bringing his fingers up to spread them. Both your hands are tangled in his curls now, tightening their hold as Harry’s tongue finds your clit. You squirm as he presses his mouth against you, coaxing a few moans from you before you remember that you’re not alone in the building.

“Harry,” you gasp out as your hips buck against his mouth, “the bed.”

You don’t think he hears you at first, the squeaking growing louder with each move he makes that causes your hips to come up off the mattress, but then his hands are under your thighs. Slowly, without moving his mouth away from you, Harry slides you off the bed. He meets the floor first, a bit more gracefully than you do as you slip off the bed and onto the floor. Harry laughs when you let out a yelp as your ass hits the carpeted floor.

You’re face to face with him now, and there’s slick covering his mouth. Without thinking, you grab his face and kiss him, letting your own taste wash over your tongue. Harry groans into your mouth, the vibration moving through your chest.

“I wanna taste you,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“Swear I won’t be able to hold it in much longer.” He’s breathing heavily and that only makes you smile something wicked that sends Harry’s brain into overload.

“Just a little taste,” you mutter before pushing at his chest so he falls back onto the carpet. You move between his legs like he had only minutes ago, your hand coming up to grip the base of his dick.

Harry lets out a hiss as you wrap your hand around him, giving a slow pump. When you lick the tip, though, he can barely hold back the moan he lets out and you laugh a little.

“Good?” you ask, taking him into your mouth finally and Harry feels like he’s slowly losing the will to function, wondering if he can even get the words out.

“Good, yeah. Yeah. S’good.”

You give him a few more pumps, moaning against him when he brings a hand up to wrap in your hair, but you don’t want him to lose control before he can get inside of you, so you restrain yourself and pull back.

Harry gives you a pitiful look when you pull away, only to be replaced with something much more eager when you begin to climb on top of him. He lays back against the carpet, grabbing your hips as you guide yourself onto his cock.

You both let out a mixture of sounds as you slide down onto him, letting yourself get used to the feel of it. After a minute, you rock back onto him, and Harry takes that as a good sign. Before you know it, he’s lifting his hips off the floor to fuck up into you, turning you into a whining mess as you chase your orgasm. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you’re sure that Irene must’ve heard you at this point, but you don’t care anymore as you press your hands down onto Harry’s stomach and try to meet the pace he’s set.

“Gonna cum,” he tells you, but you could already tell with the way his thrusts have become more frantic and sloppier. You can only nod, falling against his chest as you feel the beginnings of your own orgasm start to take over.

When yours hits, you cry out into Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t stop, though, instead wrapping his arms around you as he chases his own. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he’s pulling out of you and moaning into your hair. You can feel the hot spurts hit your stomach, dripping down onto his due to your position. The two of you stay like that, his arms still wrapped tight around you, holding you to him.

“Harry?” you finally say after a few minutes of you trying to catch your breath. You can feel the effects of the wine from earlier still mixed with the aftermath of your orgasm, and it’s all making your brain feel a bit hazy.

“Yeah?”

You roll off of Harry, the heat of being pressed to him becoming a little too much, but he doesn’t let you go, and you find yourself laying sideways, Harry’s arms still wrapped around you as you lay face to face. “Do you usually fuck random strangers you barely know in Italy?”

Harry lets out a soft giggle, one of his hands beginning to rub at your back. “You’d be the first.”

You reach a hand up to run through his curls, pushing them back off his forehead. “Glad to know I’m not alone there,” you mumble. “So, what do we do now?”

Harry shrugs the best he can in his position on the floor. “We clean up, try to fit in your tiny bed, and figure it out in the morning?”

You hum in response. “I don’t think I can face Irene in the morning.”

“Oh, that woman sleeps like the dead. N’way she heard.”

“Still.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “How about I go downstairs in the morning, grab us some of Irene’s lovely breakfast, and convince her to go out for the day so you can be free of the embarrassment of her hearing us having really amazing vacation sex?”

You roll your eyes. “Then it’ll be obvious what we’re doing.”

“Yes, but I think Irene would appreciate the heads up before she’s wondering why the boards are creaking so badly the whole day.”

You smack your hand against Harry’s chest and a laugh bubbles up from it. “Are you saying you’re going to have me spend my last day in Italy locked away in a bedroom getting my guts rearranged?”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he laughs.

You hum again. “Y’know, I thought I hated you this morning.”

“That was kinda evident by the way you kicked me under the table at breakfast.”

You gasp. “That was an accident!”

“Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to play footsie, huh?”

You hit him again. “An accident, Harry.”

Harry laughs, pulling you further against him. You let out a yawn as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. “We should probably get up. I feel a bit gross.”

You hum in response, tickling Harry’s neck with the vibrations. You hear Harry say your name in an attempt to get your attention, but you’re already drifting off against his chest with the promise of him etched into your brain for when you wake up.

Harry figures he’ll get up in a bit rather than disturb you now, letting himself relax against you. He means to only lay there for a few minutes until he knows he can remove himself from you so he can clean up, but soon enough his eyelids are falling shut as he too drifts off to sleep.

#completely obsessed with jojo moyes and her books #so im happy i had this idea #italy!harry is a fucking babe also #harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #one direction imagine #my fics #italy!harry

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violetnotez · 4 years

Text

HC: The Boys Taste Their S/o’s Chapstick

Anonymous: could I request headcannons for shinso, mirio, denki, sero, and bakugo kissing their s/o and tasting their chapstick ? Or if you want or when they realize their s/o takes care of them in really subtle ways that they didn’t really notice it at first ? i love your blog so much 🥺❤️

Hey babe omg Im so happy you like my blog!!!! Also this ask OMG I have been wanting to write it for so long!!!! Im a sucker for these super cute and fluffy headcanons, so thank you so much for the idea!

Pairings: Shinso x reader, Mirio x reader, Denki x reader, Sero x reader, Bakugo x reader

Warnings: some might get suggestive, but none of these are full blown NSFW! Just a sprinkle of spiciness, thats all!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

S H I N SO U

Flavor: Cherry Vanilla

Your currently trying to get ready for bed with Shinsou, his purple hair cascading against the pillow as he’s scrolling through Insta

defintely looking at cat vids

Youre just BEAT from the day- work, school, practice, whatever your life entails it just felt so incredibly tiring today

Of course, Shinsou seems to have other plans

Once he sees you come out of the bathroom, your hair wet, your skin dewy from washing, your body only wearing one of his oversized shirts and some small shorts....

man is gonna wanna be allllll over you

“Damn, kitten who allowed you to look that hot,” he’d purr, his eyes drinking you in as he propped his body on his elbows to get a better look

You’d roll your eyes, a smile on your lips-

Lowkey a perv for his s/o fight me on this

Once you sit down on the bed, its over

Shinso’s hands are all over you, his palms trailing under your shirt as he leaved lazy kisses on your neck

“Cmon, baby, lets have a little fun before we sleep....”

Just tell him your tired, and he’ll comply, turning super fluffy and cuddly in a matter of minutes

Reluctantly tho this boi is horny when hes horny

“Ahh my kitten’s tired? Fine then, you need your rest.”

He’ll lean in to give a sweet kiss, unknowingly of how flavorful you taste now with your chapstick

And OHOHOHO after that its OVER

The taste of vanilla bursts in his mouth, the scent of cherry becoming more prominent-

When did you start tasting so good?

He honestly wont know how to react- he’ll shake his head and blink a few times, “The hell-?” spilling out of his lips

He grabs you buy the chin, his thumb swiping against your lips gently

Once he sees the faint red sheen on his digit, it kinda dawns on him whats going on

You catch on to his confusion, a small giggle spilling out of you as you tell him its just chapstick you bought since your lips felt dry

He’ll just give you a lazy smirk, his lilac eyes a royal purple as he eyes you

This man cant HELP HIMSELF

He’ll lean in for another kiss, this one lasting much longer and more passionate as he tried to capture that taste again

“Do me a favor and keep wearing that kitten,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

M I R I O

Flavor: Birthday Cake

Im so proud of fidning this picture im sorry it just matches so well

Anywaysssssssss

You had just gotten out of the locker room, your UA uniform a little wrinkled from being balled up while you were training

You walked out the metal doors, your lips feeling much softer than usual- you were in desperate need of chapstick after that particular lesson

Thanks UA for having training grounds that blow up every 5 seconds and spray dust everywhere

But thankfully Neijire is the best person ever and hooked you up with some super cute chapstick

Since it was new and just sitting in her book bag, she just told you to keep it

NEIJIRE WHY YOU GOTTA BE SO SWEET?

You had to admit though, you really liked it- the packaging was pretty cute, it was nice on your skin, but the SMELL

OMG

You felt like a bakery was near you every step you took

And everytime you licked your lips it tasted like sweets, which was an amazing addition

Makes ya wonder how safe it is to consume makeup 👀

Mirio is the cutest boyfirend though-wherever your class is, he waits for you outside and walks with you until you have to go your seperate ways

So, as usual, he’s waiting for you outside the locker room, a wide grin plastered on his face

Once he sees you walk out of the doors, he’s already bounding over, his arms swinging cause hes always just so happy to see you

“Hey sunshine!” he greets you like any other day, his voice just radiating happiness

Some days though, Mirio will kiss the top of your head as he grabs your hand and walks you to his class

Other days, he’s a little more bold, instead leaning down to give you a kiss on your lips as he snakes his hand around your waist

TODAY BABE

IS THAT DAY

You can tell he’s feeling a little more *frisky cause he’s got this mischievous glint in his eyes

ehhhh why not indulge him?

So you get on your tippie toes, leaning in to him and planting a quick kiss on his lips

But thats when Mirio gets confused- did you eat something?Is it cake? CInnamon roll? Cookie? But whatever it is, it tastes GOOD

“Sweetie, did you buy something from the vending machine?” he asks, a confused grin on his face as he eyes you

You laugh, not realizing that Mirio would be affected by your new chapstick too,

“Oh no, its just a chapstick Niejire gave me, I think its cake batter flavored- do you like it?”

Mirio licked his lips , savoring the lingering flavor on his skin

“You batter belive it!”

*cue the groaning

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

D E N K I

Flavor: Pina Colada

So Mina, bless her little music crazed heart, somehow won a pack of tickets from a radio station to a new water park opening up not too far from UA

It was superrrrr expensive to get in, but the music station hooked all you guys up with VIP tickers, a private cabana, food, THE WORKS

You had been running around with the group all day

(except Bakugo- he either went to the lazy river or the surfing simulator thignie cause Kaminari said he would wipe out and wanted to prove him wrong)

Everybody else wanted to do everythingggg, from ride the craziest rides to trying all the food the park had

By the end of the day, you were completely beat and just wanted to rest

Mina was sitting beside you in the cabana (again, thank you radio station for hooking some teens up!), just searching it for snacks the boys hadnt eaten

“Aww cmon, really?! We have chapstick but no food?!”

Your head instantly perked up at the sound- chapstick? God, you could deifnitely use some right now from all that chlorine and sun...

You asked Mina to toss you one, the pink skinned girl throwing you a tube as she grumbled about how “piggy” boys were

You checked the flavor on the tube, the fruits on the side label instantly telling you it was something tropical

As you were putting it on, the boys of Bakusquad were bounding up the steps, their feets covered in sand-

“Guess what?! We got Bakugo to go in the wave pool! Isnt that crazy! It had sand on the bottom, like a real beach-”

Kirishima was just gushing and super excited, Bakugo looking like a pissed off wet cat next to him

You sat up quickly, happy to see your boyfriend, his spiky hair all wet from the day and his boxers dripping

As Kirishima and Sero were messing with an extremely annoyed Bakugo, you went and grabbed the boys some towels, giving the last one to your boyfriend

“Aww thanks babe,” he gushed out, his hands grabbing the towel gingerly as he leaned to kiss you

But wait- you tasted- really sweet?

Kaminari pulled back slightly, a small smirk on his lips, cause damn, that tasted really good

“Did you eat some fruit or something? Cause you taste super yummy babe-”

You pointed to your lips as you told him how Mina found some free chapstick lying around in the cabana

Kaminari just gave you this really blissed out stare as he sneaked one more peck from you- he was kinda wishing his friends weren't here, cause hed totally be making out with you with that yummy stuff on your lips...

“Do me a favor and dont take that stuff off, okay? Until we get back to the dorms,”

He sent you a small wink, weaving behind you inconspicously, and giving your bottom a playful pinch

WHY YOU GOTTA BE A FLIRT KAMINARI

(Also before you left Kamianri most definitely dumped the whole jar of chapsticks into his backpack)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

S E R O

Flavor: Peppermint

You and Sero had just gotten coffee from a little cafe when it starts to rain

Like alottttttttttt

And of course it happens when your right outside, waiting for your ride to take you back home

So you two are just standing there like weirdos with the rain POURING, Sero holding up his jacket over both of your heads

But honestly, it’s not doing much to block out the rain, so honestly-why not have some fun?

You run out of the fabric, instantly feeling your whole body get drenched as you start twirling and laughing

“He-hey wait, babe!”

Sero’s gonna be laughing, and now y’all playing a wierd game of tag

Aghhhhhh so cute tho 🥺🥺

He catches you pretty quickly, his tape grabbing your waist and pulling you to him,,,

You instantly collide with his chest, your cheeks rosy from running around so much and your hands resting on his chest

Sero gives you the biggest grin, his finger under your chin and raising it to look at him

“You know your the biggest tease I know?”

“Yup!”

He laughs, placing a kiss on your lips-and omg why are you minty? and it feels soooo good to him, cause honestly mint isn’t a bad flavor-

“Hey babe whatcha got on your lips? Did you eat-gum or something?”

You just laugh and tell him it’s some chapstick you got (imagine the mint eos U KNOW THE ONE)

He asks if it’s the egg chapstick OML 💀

Yes Sero the egg chapstick

His lips are parted a little, his eyes wider than usual cause he’s lowkey confused on how he liked that so much

But he send you another huge grin before he kisses you again-

“I think your gonna need to wear that more for me, yeah?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

B A K U G O

Flavor: Cinnamon

Bakugo has ben practically forcing you to wake up at ungodly hours with him to train

He says its cause “youre getting weak” but really he’s a total simp for having such close contact with you

Also he’s a little brat and put his all into it so you cant ever beat him, which boosts his ego for some reason?

“Hah, that really the best you got?” he scoffs down at you, his calloused hands pinning you to the ground as his body cages you in for the umpteenth time

Honestly, its hard to fight when your 1) annoyed about loosing and 2) have your hot as hell boyfriend pining you to the ground

But thankfully

THANKFULLY

He was starting to overheat, his breathe coming out in low pants as strands of hair began sticking to his forehead

You felt one of his palms begin to slip ever so slightly near you, and on instinct you knew you had to do something, you finally had an opening-

so you caused a distraction

Your hands quickly flew to the nape of his neck, pressing his head down to your so you could kiss him square on the lips

Bakugo was completely confused in the best way possible- he didnt expect that to happen, but hell, hes not complaining-

until his lips start to tingle

“-the hell?!” he sputters out, his mind trying to figure out what was going on just before you successfuly flip him over, with you now on top

You stared down triumphantly at your boyfriend, not knowing how well that worked- until you noticed how shiny Bakugo lips look

He begins mashing his lips together, trying to rub it off since you had his hands pinned down

“The hell is on my lips? Agh, dont tell me its that weird ass lip stuff that supposed to make your lips bigger or something-’’

Ummmmm how does he know about lip plumping lip gloss? Question for a another day-

“Its chapstick silly,” you giggle, “-cinnamon”

Honestly, he’s gonna like it-this boy likes spicy things and the fact that “spicy” sensation came from his s/o....shoooottttt he is in love

But

Of course

He’s gonna act like it’s wierd or something, cause HES wierd

“Cinnamon? You couldn’t get something normal like cherry or grape?”

You scrunch up your nose, cause yeah your not for those flavors AT ALL, and Bakugo finds his chance

He quickly flips you over, your back now against the floor and his body on top of yours

“Cmon, baka don’t tell me thats seriosuly all you got-“

Don’t remind him that you were able to flip him over tho he’ll turn red and tell you to shut it

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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everyonewasabird · 2 years

Text

Brickclub 4.6.3 “The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Escape”

In days gone by these austere places where prison discipline leaves a prisoner alone with himself consisted of four stone walls, a stone ceiling, a flagstone floor, a camp bed, a barred window, and an iron-clad door, and was called a dungeon; but the dungeon was judged too horrible; now the cell consists of an iron-clad door, a barred window, a camp bed, a flagstone floor, a stone ceiling, and four stone walls and is called a correctional chamber.

I love when Hugo is angry enough to get sarcastic. I hate when everything he says is just as true now as it was then.

Nothing about the prison is remotely competent at keeping experienced criminals prisoner. While the prison system is effective at traumatizing people new to it and turning them into repeat offenders, to the experienced criminals it’s ludicrously porous. Members of Patron-Minette are placed together in crumbling buildings with scaffolding already on them and implements of escape readily available. The prison hardly even seems to be trying.

Indeed:

There are traitors employed in lots of prisons, half jailors, half thieves, who help in breakouts, who sell their disloyal services to the police and make a fair bit on the side out of the rotten eggs thrown in the police wagon.

The ways of escaping prison are baked into the prison system.

What was it we said about how the purpose Patron-Minette serves to the government is in making sure the forces of disorder have the most frightening face possible? It’s to the government’s advantage to ensure there are people to give criminals a bad name, frightening the bourgeoisie into barring their doors and locking their shutters when they hear chaos in the streets.

That’s fundamentally what P-M is, as we’ll see it reach its worst effect on the barricade. And what use would such people be to the government if they were all behind bars?

That was the argument Hugo seemed to be making in the Noxious Poor digression, and now we’re seeing it play out on the page. They’re about to escape the prison, but they won’t escape the grand pantomime the justice system has set up to justify its own existence.

The passerby who stops at the rue Culture-Sainte-Catherine, after the fire station, outside the porte cochère of the bathhouse, sees a courtyard full of flowers and shrubs in tubs, at the back of which sits a little white rotunda, with two wings, brightened up by green shutters, the bucolic dream of Jean-Jacques. Not more than ten years ago, towering above this rotunda, was an enormous black wall, bare and ghastly, which it rested against. This was the wall of the covered way that encircled La Force.

Damn, that image of prettifying the literal prison wall is grim.

The wall behind the rotunda was like Milton glimpsed behind Berquin.

Rose’s note:

John Milton (1697–74) painted a vision of hell in Paradise Lost; Arnaud Berquin (1747–91) wrote sentimental and moralistic books for children.

And--we’ve seen these ideas juxtaposed before?

From the chapter where Valejan and Cosette see the chain gang:

An old woman in the crowd pointed them out to her little boy five years old, and said to him: “Rascal, let that be a warning to you!”

Rousseau, for all his (many, many) faults, advocated serious and much-needed reform to childhood education. According to the image above, that’s gone nowhere. The “bucolic dream of Jean-Jacques” is an almost-literal fig leaf over the cruel systems we’ve been seeing grind people down all book. There may be better ideas about how to raise children out there than are currently being implemented, but they sure aren’t accessible to all children.

Or most children.

Or, as Courfeyrac has pointed out, Rousseau’s children.

Brujon and Guelemer escape easily and we switch focus to Thenardier, who has been chained in solitary under constant watch and labeled as capable of murder.

I imagine that’s specifically the cost of his attempt to shoot Javert.

And all that is actually really new for him? Obviously he’s been shifty and criminal for a while, but as far as we know he’s never been in prison before, and certainly not for this level of crime. Everything I was talking about before, about the new prisoners vs. the experienced ones--Thenardier is making his transition to the latter category right now.

I think Thenardier’s roof adventure at the end of this chapter is teasing two possible redemption stories.

The first is raised and then knocked down easily: it’s Thenardier. We see him in the position of Jean Valjean, we’re even in his head a little as his flight for freedom approaches the sublime, and then he’s trapped on the top of a three story wall too cold and tired to move. That’s as sympathetic as he’ll ever be. But as soon as he reaches the ground again, it all vanishes, and he asks who they’re going to devour next.

And, most damningly, he fails to recognize his own son (though Babet does), who waits a moment for Thenardier to turn towards him before shrugging and going off to take care of his own children.

The second possible redemption, teased for longer and more convincingly, is Montparnasse. We saw him receive a shock and a lecture from Jean Valjean and go away thoughtful. He was still mulling it over when he talked to Gavroche, whom he treats with a notable amount of respect. And in this chapter we see him show genuine loyalty, willing to risk himself to try to get Thenardier out of this. His loyalty is linked to being Thenardier’s son-in-law “to some slight extent” which has to be one of the worst possible ways to say that he’s been hooking up with Eponine.

But it’s also instructive. We don’t yet have an answer to “will Montparnasse redeem himself” but we’re going to get one soon.

Because it’s in the chapter where Eponine defends the Rue Plumet that he shows what he’s really made of.

#brickclub #lm 4.6.3

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amymel86 · 3 years

Text

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @vivilove-jonsa !!! A little Vampire!Sansa and Vampire Hunter!Jon for you...

Day 1

Sansa hisses at the man who holds her captive. She cannot remember a time in which she has been so maddeningly angry.

His solemn face betrays nothing and the layers of spells cast in this little bedroom is making it hard to read the thoughts of his mind – not that Sansa ever had perfectly crystal clear clarity on that ability anyway. It was more like snatches of information, radio stations tuning in and out. Either way, what with how so vehemently enraged she is feeling right now, Sansa doubts she could read his driver’s license let alone his mind – all she sees is him... and all the ways she’s going to kill him.

Once she gets out from under these silver chains he has at her wrists.

“Let me go and I won’t hurt you,” she demands, trying not to move where she lays, arms bound above her head.

The man’s grey gaze flickers up to her bindings. “We both know that’s a lie.”

He doesn’t underestimate her then. And he knows far too much about what she is for Sansa to feel any semblance of comfort in his presence. She tugs her arms, wincing at the pain when the silver sears her skin.

“If you don’t move, it won’t hurt,” her captor offers. “That’s why I put the bandages on your wrists.” He nods his head to where she is bound.

“Oh, fuck off!” In her days as a human woman, Sansa never would have dreamt of using such profanity, but she’s heard enough modern girls using filthy language on her television box to know that it is not so frowned upon today. Besides, it felt right... for this situation at least.

Her captor raises his brow and somehow Sansa feels like this should make her blush – if she could blush.

“What do you want with me anyway?”

“I hunt your kind.”

This makes her scoff. Her left wrist moves causing the chain to come into more contact with her skin. She hisses and whimpers, trying to catch her breath. The man – the hunter – he steps into the room now, where he had been looming in the doorway. Reaching over her, he fixes the silver so that it rests securely on the bandages, saving her from further wounds. Her flesh begins to heal, to knit back together until there is barely a scar left behind to tell a story.

Her hunter is still leaning over her. She could try to surge up against her bindings, lunge at his throat. But it would hurt – it would hurt a lot. Besides, she’d still be bound to this bed.

Sansa can feel her fangs slowly protract against her better judgement.

“Vampyre hunters kill my kind.”

The man grunts and straightens. Staring at her a little while longer, his gaze begins to drop down her body before it snaps back up to her face. “How is it that you select the ones you feed on?” he asks, ignoring her statement. “And the ones you completely drain – the ones you kill – they’re all...”

He’s searching for the right label.

“Bad men,” Sansa offers, raising a brow of her own.

Her hunter snorts. “A vigilante vampire? That’s a new one on me.”

“Why don’t you let me go and I’ll show you how it works.”

His gaze is intense for a moment or two as he maps out her face before turning, leaving her with a quiet chuckle.

Day 4

“I’m not feeding on that.”

Her captive looks down at the bag of blood he holds in his hand. “Do you want to starve?”

“Do you actually care if I starve?”

He huffs and leaves the room.

Day 5

She is in a half state of dozing when he enters the room this time, roused by his agitated tone.

“Alright, look. Just drink the fucking blood, ok? If it’s the wrong blood group, I can get a different one, but can you just-”

“It doesn’t matter what group it is, idiot,” Sansa says, shifting on the bed, uncomfortable. “It’s of no use to me if there’s no life in it.”

“No life in it?”

She nods. “If it’s not coming from the source then I might as well be drinking red food colouring for all the good it’ll do. I need lifeblood to sustain me.” The hand holding the bag of blood slowly lowers as her captive’s jaw clenches in discomfort. “Don’t you know anything, oh mighty vampire hunter?”

“Our training centres around killing, not sustaining your kind,” he says, irritated, almost spitting those last two words.

“Then why haven’t you? Why am I still here? Why are you trying to feed me?”

“I-”

He shakes his head and leaves.

When he comes back, much later, he’s dressed in only his undergarments and his hair is wild and messy. He wears eyeglasses on his troubled face. If he was not her captor Sansa could quite easily imagine herself deciding the sight of him was quite becoming really.

But he is.

So she won’t.

“Alright, don’t try anything,” he warns, coming nearer. He looks at her, assessing. His chest is moving up and down with every breath. Reaching up behind his neck, he unclasps a silver chain that he wears, making sure she sees what he holds and the threat hanging in each link of that necklace. Wetting his lips, her hunter juts out his wrist so that it’s offered right in front of her face. “Feed,” he says, the other hand gripping the silver chain. “But don’t take too much.”

She wants to refuse but she hasn’t fed in over a month.

His skin smells like sweat and bourbon – a hint of a spicy cologne. Sansa licks at his wrist. She’s so, so hungry. Their eyes remain on each other and her captor’s lips part as she continues to lap at her chosen patch of skin.

She can smell his arousal. His undergarments are beginning to tent.

“I- what are-”

“Shhhh,” Sansa coos. “This will stop the bite from hurting and make it heal faster.” He looks mesmerised. “You know, the best way to do this is while making love. Humans say it’s euphoric. Wouldn’t it be so sweet to be completely wrapped up in one another, writhing in ecstasy? Why don’t you...” Sansa tugs slightly on the chains at her wrists, making the suggestion.

Her captor swallows and blinks. “Stop it,” he says, though his voice is quiet and hoarse. “I know how your kind like to tempt your victims so just stop it and feed.”

Sansa huffs from her nose. “Suit yourself,” she says, returning to licking at his wrist.

He hardly flinches when her fangs pierce his skin, but the moan he lets slip when she begins to suck sends tingles all over her body.

Day 6

“Is it uncomfortable?” His eyes focus where her wrists rest above her head.

“What do you think?”

A nod of his head and he leaves. Sansa can hear his apartment door close, the lock clicking into place after him. There is no sunlight trying to streak through the blinds when he returns.

“Ok,” he says, standing beside the bed, though Sansa suspects he’s talking to himself in reality. He scratches at his head, turns to walk away only to return.

“Decided to kill me now?”

He actually does walk out of the room then, only to spin at the doorway to face her. “I should kill you. I should’ve fucking killed you a week ago. My superiors think that I have. It’s what I was ordered to do.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“I-” His hand raises to absentmindedly rub at the back of his neck. “I don’t fucking know. I just...” His mind seems to change track and he’s striding into the bedroom again. “Ok, I have this-“ he fishes an item out of his pocket and holds it out for her inspection. Sansa hisses instantly, the object making her feel queasy. He pockets it again.

“What is that?!” She’s never experience anything like it but she could barely stand to look at it.

“It’s a talisman, a seven-pointed-star with a bloodstone in the centre that’s been blessed numerous times by some holy-man in Asshai or some such shit, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s never left HQ since it arrived and it’s meant to ward off your kind.” He stands there, assessing her once more.

Fuck, her head hurt.

“Seems to me that it works,” he says. “Now, if I untie you, you shouldn’t be able to touch me so long as I have this talisman on my person, and if I hang it above a doorway, you shouldn’t be able to cross that either.”

“Just get on with it and get that fucking thing away from me!”

Her captor takes a deep breath before beginning to make quick work of her bindings. “Right, right, sorry.”

Day 7

His stupid talisman hangs above her open prison cell doorway. Try as she may, she cannot go through.

At least she’s no longer tied to the bed.

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really plan it.”

Sansa scoffs. “That’s evident.”

Her captor scowls at her over his folding computer thing.

Pacing the little room back and forth, Sansa comes to a stop as close to the open doorway as she dares. “What is your name anyway?”

His mouth twitches before he answers. “Jon,” he tells her. “Jon Snow.... and you are Alayne Stone, though you changed your name to this after you were turned. Your human name was Sansa Stark.”

Her hands had been on her hips.

They fall now.

“How do you know that?” She hasn’t heard someone say her real name in over a century. She feels light headed.

Her captor – Jon – Jon Snow – shrugs a shoulder and taps on his computer thing. I was assigned to exterminate you. I have your files. The human name wasn’t in there but I did some digging, found out what I could which lead me to a bunch of stuff about Winterfell, and then when I came across this old family photograph from a Northern genealogy site, it was easy to put two and two together.” He swivels his screen around to show her.

Their faces.

A sob leaves her throat.

Day 8

“You really can let me go now, Jon. I won’t hurt you.”

He looks pained. “I... I want to believe you but-“

“But?”

“But I know what you are.”

Sansa feels her lip curl. Maybe she would hurt him. A little.

“Besides, as far as my superiors know, you’re already exterminated. If they catch wind that I let you go –“

“How will they know? I’ll be out of the city before anyone knows it.”

“The Organisation is everywhere, Sansa. They’ll know.”

Huffing, Sansa shakes her head. “So you’ll get a tap on the wrists and-“

“Oh it’ll be more than that-“

As if the universe was trying to prove his point, an almighty crash made Jon spring up from his place on the couch. Somehow, he had a gun already in his hand. “Rast,” he says, his jaw clenching. “If you wanted to come hang out, this isn’t the polite way of going about it. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

The man who had broken down Jon’s door has an answering gun in clutched in his fist as he steps over the threshold. He grunts at Jon’s humour before laying eyes on Sansa in the doorway of his spare bedroom. A rancid grin stretches across his face. “I fucking knew it. I knew you were up to something. Old Mormont said you wouldn’t pull any tricks on us like that but I fucking knew! First I see you comin’ outta that blood bank lookin’ all shady, then the Shielding Star goes missing from HQ, then that fat piggy, Tarly says you’ve been interested in readin’ some of his old dusty books on fangers. I just knew you were up to no good and lookee here.” He flicks the barrel of his gun towards Sansa. At that, Jon starts to shift, moving to put himself between Sansa and his unwanted guest. Rast lets out a horrid chuckle. “Whatchu been doin? Fucking ‘em before you off ‘em?” Sansa hisses, her fangs jutting out sharply. Rast laughs. “Mind you, I wouldn’t mind a go on this one before you stake ‘er. She looks a feisty sort. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this myself.”

“Rast,” Jon warns.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like sharing?” he laughs darkly. “Aw, that’s too bad, Snow, it really is.”

BANG!

Jon’s body jolts back and a grunt leaves him before he falls to the ground.

“Jon!” Sansa cries.

“Looks like you won’t be having a say in it anyhow,” Rast says, grinning. He walks over and kicks Jon in the shoulder making him roll onto his back.

His shirt is rapidly getting soaked in a bloom of wet crimson. Rast puts his boot on Jon’s wrist, pinning the hand holding the gun to the floor. Jon looks over at her, wheezing and coughing up more lifeblood. She feels helpless. He’s going to die.

Turning his wrist as much as he can, Jon takes aim in her direction.

BANG!

Something shatters above the doorway to her little prison cell bedroom and as soon as Sansa can feel it – that sense of freedom - she knows he’s destroyed and dislodged that fucking talisman.

She feels alive.

Before Rast can even fucking blink she leaps onto his back and snaps his neck. His body falls like a sack of potatoes.

She’s in a state of triumph that crashes rather quickly when she hears Jon coughing and gurgling on the floor beside her. When she kneels down, she can see his life leaving, that light in his grey eyes starting to ebb away. He laughs a little though it seems to pain him. “You lot always were so fucking fast.” He struggles to swallow without spluttering. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“No, no, no.”

He’s gone.

“No, no, no.”

She cradles him now, feeling grief for the first time in years and years. Looking around, panicked, Sansa’s not sure what she’s looking for.

She knows what she’s going to do – even though she swore to herself she would never.

Biting down hard on the fleshy pad of her palm, Sansa squeezes and squeezes until her own blood begins to drip and dribble from the wound. She reaches for his mouth, praying to Gods she does not believe in that this will work.

Fuck, what if this does work?

Five, ten minutes pass when a wounded sounding groan comes from Jon’s throat taking Sansa by surprise. A shocked sort of laugh escapes her and she opens her wound with another bite, squeezing harder over his mouth. “Come on, moron, drink,” she says, chuckling. He begins sucking sleepily like a babe.

Lifting his bloody shirt, Sansa can see the wound on his chest mending, his new body pushing out the bullet before it completely seals over anew.

That should be enough. His body is already changing. She should leave. He’ll need to sleep for a few hours before he can fully awaken in his new form and she should get herself miles and miles away from here. Besides, that’s what happened to her when she was turned – she woke up alone and very confused.

She should go.

She really should.

Sansa strokes Jon’s hair, the bitemark on her hand now fully healed as she pulls away from his mouth.

... so what’s making her stay?

#jonsa #jon x sansa #vampire sansa #vampire hunter jon #vivi's birthday!#tw blood #tw violence #tw rape threat #just to be safe

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pan-fangirl-345 · 4 years

Text

Meeting the Team

Summary: You’re out with your boyfriend, Tsukishima, when you run into his team unexpected. You were not prepared for this.

It was supposed to be a calm walk through the park. You really weren't expecting to be introduced to your boyfriend's entire team at once.

You and Tsukishima had been walking through the park after spending the day window shopping. You had finally managed to convince him to go shopping with you. Even though it was something that neither of you particularly enjoyed, you need some new school supplies and maybe a few new sweatshirts and Tsukishima liked to point out the weird things that people bought so you could ponder what they were using it for.

It was a nice day, the skies were clear, there was a nice breeze, and it was cool enough that you weren't overly hot.

Kei had told you about his team before, obviously, and you and Tadashi had known each other since middle school.

"Hey, (Y/F/N), heads up," Kei murmured, nudging your side as a group of boys headed towards you.

"Isn't that your team?" you asked, letting Kei, nudge you behind him slightly. Kei's hand slid into yours, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. You wrapped your arms around the arm Kei was using to halfway shield you from the rest of the boys.

"Yes, unfortunately," Kei muttered.

"Oh my god! Is Saltishima with a girl?!"

The small red-head that had spoken was clearly Hinata, and he was just the way Kei had described him.

"What else would she be, dumbass?"

That was Kageyama then, if the stoic face and the dark hair were anything to go by.

"It's good to see you again (Y/F/N)," Tadashi said, giving you a small smile.

"Who's your friend Tsukishima?" the silver-haired male asked, giving you a warm smile. That must've been Suga.

"This is (Y/N), she's my girlfriend," Kei admitted, glancing back at you warily.

"I-I can go," you whispered to him, starting to back away from them all. It wasn't that you or Kei were ashamed of your relationship, if either of you were it wouldn't have gotten this far, but neither of you were ready to tell his entire team at once.

One of the first things that you had told Kei was that you and crowds didn't tend to mix. You sometimes got overwhelmed when you had to remember so many names and faces. And Kei had told you enough that it was better if you met the team in groups or one-on-one.

"How did Tsukishima get such a pretty girlfriend?" You looked to see a short boy with spiky hair and a blond tuft. That would be Nishinoya then.

"Guys, let's give them some space, she looks like she might puke." That was an older boy, with short brown hair. That was probably Daichi.

"Damn, she's almost as pretty as a Kiyoko and Yachi. You never told us that you were a player Tsukishima." Loud, buzzcut, looked like someone you would avoid in an alleyway. Tanaka then.

The three standing back and watching looked like Narita, Ennoshita, and Kinoshita.

"It's nice to meet you."

Tall, long hair, looked like a tough guy. Asahi then.

"It's nice to meet you too Asahi," you murmured, giving him a shy smile.

"Y-You know how I am?"

"Kei's told me about all of you," you admitted. "I think I can name all of you. Maybe."

Kei glanced back at you, running his thumb over your hand softly.

"Aw, so Saltishima does care about us!" Hinata chirped, practically vibrating.

"Hinata's as enthusiastic as you said he was Kei," you murmured, stepping out a little bit.

"You got my name right!" Hinata said, giving you a bright smile, one you returned slowly.

"It's nice to meet you (Y/L/N), I'm assuming you're the reason Tsukishima is always smiling at his phone during practice lately," Suga said, smirking at Kei, who glared at him.

"You told me you weren't doing anything!" you hissed, pinching Kei in the side lightly.

"I said that what I was doing wasn't as important as talking to you," Kei replied, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"I-I'm really n-not that important! You should be paying attention to practice," you told him, glaring at him weakly.

"Good to know you'll call this stick out on his shit," Nishinoya mumbled.

"Noya, language," Suga hissed.

"It's alright Suga, that doesn't bother me."

"You should hear her when we study together," Kei muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose again.

"You aren't any better baby," you informed him.

"You really aren't Tsukki," Yamaguchi pointed out.

"Baby? Never knew Tsukishima would be into pet names," Kageyama said.

"You're never gonna here the end of this, are you?" you asked Kei, who shook his head.

"This is one of the reason I was hoping to delay telling them," Kei confessed.

"Hey, (Y/L/N), do you want to play with us?" Hinata asked, throwing a ball into the air.

"I . . . um, I don't really play. I come to your games and everything, but I'm more of a softball person."

"You likes hitting things with a metal bat, you mean," Kei said. "Since you can't legally do it to the idiots in our class."

"Maybe, but I also like the feeling of a ball hitting my glove, the sound it makes, the way it feels when you catch a pop fly no one thought you could catch and the ump yells 'you're out'!"

"What position do you play?"

"Outfielder, I have an arm apparently."

"She's one of their strongest batters," Kei boasted.

"What's the point in you boasting about my abilities, Kei?" you asked.

"Because you won't do it yourself."

"I do too!"

"No, love, you don't."

You pouted, but it was true. You never really saw a reason to boast about how hard you could throw a ball, or how far you could hit one.

Your phone ringing saved you from any comments.

"Mom?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm out with Kei, I told you that I was going out with him today. What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing, I guess I just forgot where you were."

"Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"No, just be home before dinner."

"I always am," you reminded her.

She hung up, making you tear a hand through your hair.

"I need to leave a note or something next time," you muttered.

"Your mom?" Kei asked.

You nodded, intertwining your fingers together.

"Need me to take you home?"

"No, I just have to be back by dinner, so I'm good until about five-thirty."

"Wait, were you on a date?" Daichi asked, raising an eyebrow.

You glanced at Kei.

You were definitely dating, but you had never really labeled the outings that took place. They didn't feel like dates.

"Yeah. I told you guys I was going out with my girlfriend," Kei muttered, pushing his glasses up his face.

"We thought you were joking man!" Tanaka bellowed.

"Yeah, we just thought you were trying to get out of team hangouts."

"You should've gone, we could've done this another day," you told Kei.

"I wanted to spend some time with my girlfriend, is that too much to ask?" Kei asked, tightening his grip a little bit.

He was clearly getting exasperated with everyone, and the lines on his face said that he was getting irritated too.

"No, but don't you guys have your tournament coming up?" you asked. "You should be practicing. I can wait."

Kei frowned, and then you realized your choice of words.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," you muttered.

"Love," he whispered, a low warning.

"Look, all I'm saying is that you should be practicing. We can go on all the dates you want when your tournament is over."

"If you don't go out with her Tsukishima, I might," Noya teased.

You couldn't help the heat that flushed to your cheeks.

You had never thought of yourself as particularly pretty, you were intelligent, sure, but you weren't what most people would describe as crush material. It was one of the reasons it took you and Kei so long to get together, you had thought it was a prank.

Kei sighed, deep and long-suffering and you stifled a giggle.

"I think we better get going guys," you admitted. "I think Kei might pop a blood vessel if we don't."

"Or commit murder," Kei grumbled, but he shot you a grateful look.

"You love them too much for that and you know it."

"End me now."

"Imagine how bad it'll be when I finally meet your brother," you pointed out.

The blood seemed to drain from Kei's face and Yamaguchi snorted into his hand as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"We're breaking up," he deadpanned.

"Not until I meet your brother," you told him, shaking your hands for emphasis.

"Yamaguchi, help me out here." He must've been desperate.

"Video tape it for me so I can see how it goes," Tadashi replied, making you laugh.

"This is why we're friends," you told him, fist bumping him.

"They're plotting against me I swear," Kei muttered, tearing a hand through his hair.

"Okay, let's go then Grumpy Pants," you said. "It was nice to finally meet all of you," you added, heading for the train station so you could head home.

"Did . . . did you like them?" Kei asked.

"Of course I did, honestly, with some one-on-one time with them, I would probably like them a lot more."

"I'm sorry that it happened like that," Kei admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"It's alright, I handled it a lot better than I thought I would. I think it's because you told me so much about them. I felt like I knew a lot about them before I even met them."

Kei nodded, kissing the top of your head.

"Why are you so different around me, Kei?" you asked after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I see how you act around the others. I know that everyone else sees the- what did you call it?- bastard act. I rarely ever see that. I know it's only been a few months and this phase," you pointed out every point of physical contact, "will probably wear off eventually, but . . . you don't act like that around me."

"I act like this around you because you're different," Kei muttered. "You seem to have the ability to read me like a book. It's aggravating, but it also means that I don't have to put up the wall. You see everything, and you seem to like it anyway."

"Does . . . does it bother you? That I know you so well?" you inquired, taking a not-so-subtle step away from him.

"Get back here," Kei muttered, tucking you neatly into his side again. "I said it's aggravating, and I said that because you know how much I don't like talking about things. And you always know when I'm hiding something that's bothering me."

"You don't always have to talk to me. You could talk to Yamaguchi," you suggested.

"I talk to you because I trust you. If I didn't want to talk to you, we wouldn't be dating," he told you. "We wouldn't be dating if it bothered me that you knew me so well."

"I just . . . I've never really been in a serious relationship with someone who actually liked me."

"What do you mean?" He paused, and looked down at you, frowning.

"I've gone on dates and everything before . . . but most of them were dared by friends to ask me out." You shrugged, toying with your hair. "It's just that I want to do things right."

"You are," Kei assured you. "Have . . . have I ever made you feel like you weren't?"

"No, baby, you have never made me feel like that," you promised him, turning so you could cup his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "I would have told you if you had."

Kei nodded, bumping foreheads with you.

"C'mon, let's get you home before your mother has an aneurism," Kei muttered.

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand as you walked together.

"I would literally pay to see my mother pop a blood vessel," you told him, smiling at him as he smirked.

"Your parents don't like me, do they?" he asked after a while. "That's why she keeps pretending she doesn't know where you are."

"They just have a hard time trusting anybody. The last couple of times I tried to bring a boy home they confessed that it was just a dare," you admitted, attempting to hide your face with your hair.

"They don't know what they're missing," Kei snapped, stopping you. "You are amazing, and beautiful, and you're smart, and you know me well enough to know that it's just the bastard act. Anything they told you about how much you are worth is wrong."

"I know that," you answered, the silent 'sort of' not needing to be addressed. "But Kei, you have to remember, it takes a toll on a girl when the only reason she gets asked out is because of a dare. Why do you think it took me so long to get together with you?"

Kei frowned, but you knew he got it. Didn't mean he was happy about it though.

"We got off track," you muttered. "My point, is that they don't trust you yet. I do, and they'll come around eventually, I did, didn't I?"

Kei nodded, giving you a small smile.

"Do you think your team liked me?" you inquired as the train bumped along.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they asked you to start managing," Kei muttered. "Yeah, they liked you. A lot."

"Don't go getting jealous Kei," you teased, wrinkling your nose at him playfully.

"'M not," he grumbled, but the slight flush on his cheeks told you otherwise.

"You know you'll always be my favorite volleyball dork," you said, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

PDA was never something Kei had ever really been against, the most he usually went with was an arm around your shoulders or waist, holding your hand, but other times he would allow things like this.

He always had a protective arm around you when you were on the train since he knew there were all sorts of creepy people, mostly men, that might try something.

"Kei, you know you don't have to introduce me to your brother right? You seem a little on edge about it."

"No, I want you two to meet," he admitted, toying with a small piece of your hair absentmindedly. "It's just going to be chaos when you do. Akiteru can be . . . a lot sometimes."

"And your team isn't?" you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You . . . have a fair point," he confessed.

"I tend to," you teased.

"Okay, don't get too cocky, that's my job," Kei replied.

"I thought it was your job to be pessimistic."

"I'm a realist," he retorted.

"Keep telling yourself that babe," you said, patting his shoulder lightly.

Kei snorted, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You loved bickering like this with Kei, it was never hurtful, it was playful teasing, and it made you both smile. You were both very good at it too, which meant sessions could go until someone stopped you.

Many people had asked if you guys were having an argument the first time you did it in school, and you had just giggled and said it was how you communicated.

When you got off at your stop Kei slipped his hand into yours, interlacing your fingers together.

"Text me when you get home alright? There's been some sketchy stuff going on," you tell him as you walked down your road.

"I will," he assured you, kissing your forehead before you slipped inside.

"Bye Kei," you called, waving.

"Bye (Y/F/N), I'll see you tomorrow."

You smiled as he strode down the street toward his own home.

Yeah, he was definitely different from the others.

(A/N I’m such a simp for this boy! Oof.)

#tsukishima fluff #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #fluff #tsukishima x reader fluff

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

countdown (f.w.)

prompt: a new year on the horizon. new plans, new start, new love? maybe for some, but fred weasley is absolutely hung up on the girl he’s fancied since he graduated from hogwarts years ago.

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

warnings: drinking and just some cute fred fluff!

word count: 5.5k

a/n: honestly, the timeline of this is whenever fred and george graduated from hogwarts, but also the golden trio?? but also i don't know?? amuse me and pretend like you know what’s going on because i sure dont LMAOOOO anyway here’s wonderwall...

The Burrow was at max capacity, housing not only the majority of the Weasley family, but Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and you, of course. It was holiday break for Hogwarts and Molly insisted on having over all of Ronald’s friends as well as friends from Fred and George’s time at Hogwarts. The gesture was more than kind, but it did make for tight quarters having four more extra guests in the house. However, the Weasley’s always found a way to make things work; Hermione stayed with Ginny in her room, Harry in Ron’s room, while you delightfully stayed in Bill and Charlie’s vacant room. It was a full house to say the least. And a full house meant lots of hustle and bustle.

Today was a rather special day, more so to Hermione than anyone else. It was New Year’s Eve. The most exciting of all holidays according to the young witch Granger. The holiday was celebrated in the Weasley household, but Hermione insisted that there should be a large celebration this year. Lots of lights, fun games, and the suggestion of a fire works show peaked Fred and George’s interest a lot more...

You weren’t going to lie. It all sounded fun to you. The only thing that made your heart skip a beat was the proposal of the New Year’s kiss. “It’s a tradition that you have to kiss someone when the clock strikes midnight. It supposed to be for good luck and happiness in the new year,” Hermione beamed on the couch, a blushing Ronald Weasley next to her. “I mean, I’ve never had a new year’s kiss, but maybe this year things may change...” she trails off, side-eyeing Ron as he shifts in his seat, uncomfortable about all of the eyes on him.

A new year’s kiss. How was this supposed to play out? Ron would surely kiss Hermione, Harry would kiss Ginny, and you? You were friends with Fred and George. Simply friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You became fast friends when you were at Hogwarts and kept in touch after your graduation, but nothing ever blossomed romantically from those friendships (unfortunately).

Although you were mates, Fred Weasley always did something to you. You knew he had the reputation of being the boy who played around with girls until he was done and you knew he had a history of romance with your close friend, Alicia, but still your feelings for him remained no matter how many signs pointed to no. Fred was quite the catch; charming, funny, handsome, witty, and clever. He was nothing short of what you wanted. But you told yourself constantly whilst in school with him, “If he wanted to, he would have.” Since Fred never made a move on you in school, you decided for the both of you that a relationship or any kind of romance wasn’t in the cards for you. Your relationship was strictly platonic much to your dismay.

However, you weren’t going to let the thought of you not having someone to kiss on New Year’s get you down. The celebration would be fun. You had good company, good food, and you were certain the twins had something fun up their sleeves.

New Year’s Eve rolled around quickly and preparations for nightfall were beginning. Hermione hung up shimmery gold and silver garland around the house as Ron blew up balloons, face growing red from blowing up so many. Harry tied strings to the balloons, laughing as Ron went red in the face from blowing them up. Ginny helped her mother in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the occasion. Fred and George on the other hand....

“(Y/N)! Could you come out here and give me a hand?” George calls from outside the Burrow as you follow the sound of his voice.

Outside, he stands around a troff of trunks, bags, and suitcases. Most of them labelled fragile or dangerous. Your eyes widen, “Woah, Georgie, where did you get all of this stuff?” you laugh, looking around at the mess of things in front of you.

George beams, “Storage from the joke shoppe. A bunch of this stuff is from overstock that Fred and I have. Lots of fireworks, gizmos, noise makers, etcetera. Fred is back at the shoppe gathering more things. In the meantime, I need you to help me sort through what we are using and what we can get rid of.”

You nod, knowing that you would certainly have your work cut out for you. George flings a trunk open which spurts out bright blue smoke and stinks of something absolutely rotten. The two of you exclaim, blowing away the smoke, coughing at its smell. “George, what exactly are in these boxes? A dead animal? ‘Cause that’s what it smells like,” you cough.

The tall ginger slams the trunk closed and turns to you. “Maybe let’s just work on the fireworks, shall we? Sort them by color and type?” he asks as you nod. “Brilliant. First pile,” he grabs a sack and dumps it on the ground as you two sit on the cold grass, sorting through multiple colored tubes of fireworks, each labelled differently. “So,” George huffs. “You looking forward to tonight?”

“I guess so,” you speak as you create a pile of fireworks labelled Big Ones Be Careful. “A new year. A fresh start. All very exciting I guess.” George laughs at your comment as he sorts other fireworks. “What? What’s so funny? Did I say something?”

George looks at you from under his eyelashes before shaking his head. “(Y/N), dear, I love you so much. But you are quite daft, aren’t you?” His comment makes you fling a firework canister at him as he yelps. “Careful with those! Don’t you see they are labelled Be Careful! Godric, you are daft...”

You groan, “Why am I daft? What’s the name calling for, you fatheaded idiot.”

Your best friend looks up at you. “Okay, first of all that was rude,” he states as you giggle, him soon joining in. “Second of all, you can’t tell me that you’re not excited about the new year and not the new year’s kiss,” he explains. You furrow your brows, confused about what he could be talking about. “(Y/N)...come on, you can’t be that blind.”

“Blind about what? There’s someone in that house that wants to kiss me on New Year’s? You’re out of your bloody mind,” you scoff, standing up to move to another pile of fireworks labelled, Fred--Do Not Touch. You laugh at the label before you sort them into colors.

George mumbles, “Well, he isn’t in that house at the moment.” You flip your head to look at him, knowing he said something facetious. “Losersayswhat.”

“What?” you say.

George laughs, “Hah, works every time.” You groan as you continue to make your way through the pile of fireworks, not wanting to get distracted by George’s side comments. This news of someone wanting to be your new year’s kiss was getting on your nerves. Who else was there? Percy? And Merlin knows that you could not be paid enough galleons to kiss Percy Weasley. “I’m serious, though, (Y/N), you can’t be telling me that you don’t know that Fred hasn’t fancied you since forever ago.”

This comment makes you stop everything you are doing and turn towards George. You let the fireworks fall from your hands as you stare at him in disbelief. “Don’t play with me, George,” you warn him as he holds his hands up in defense. “We have been mates since we were eleven and all of a sudden you tell me that your twin brother, one of my best mates, fancies me?” you slowly encroach onto George.

He rises from his place on the grass and walks to you. “I’m just trying to say that good ol’ Freddie always thought you were cute and he might make a move tonight. That’s all. I’m being my brother’s wingman and your best friend. Can’t I just do that?” he explains calmly.

You grab his arms, shaking him. “You cannot just drop a bomb on me like that and expect me to have a perfectly fine reaction, George!” you exclaim. “Don’t you know that Fred and I are just friends? I told you this multiple times! I told you that my crush on him faded as soon as we graduated from Hogwarts! That’s behind me.”

As you look at George desperately, he grabs onto your shoulders. “And you mean to tell me that you don’t fancy him right now? If Fred Weasley, my brother, came up to you right now and kissed you and told you that he’s fancied you for years, you would reject him?” George asks. Your face softens as you give his comment some thought. George was right. You would kiss Fred back with all your might and confess that you really liked him too and you were waiting for this moment for a while. Your silence explains everything that George needs to know. “Exactly. So when the clock strikes midnight and you see Fred next to you, don’t be a coward,” George teases you before walking back to his station of organizing fireworks.

You are left standing there, still processing what was happening. Fred Weasley was going to kiss you when the clock struck midnight. It was happening. This was really happening. And how romantic it would all be. New Year’s Eve, your first kiss with Fred, in the moonlight underneath a fireworks show. And then it struck you, “Hey George?” He hums in response. “The fireworks show tonight. You and Fred are putting it on still, right?”

“Of course we are. Who else would? Ronald? Could you imagine the disaster that would be?” George laughs at the thought of his childish brother trying to set off fireworks all while balancing himself on his broomstick. “Why do you ask?”

Taking a seat next to George on the grass, you say, “Then how is he supposed to get back down from setting off the fireworks to kiss me at midnight exactly?”

George’s face twists in confusion for a second before thinking out the problem. “Huh,” he speaks. “I mean, I’m not sure, but I’m sure it’s going to happen,” he assures you. “Fred always finds a way. Come on, it’s Fred. When he likes a girl, he likes a girl. And you, (Y/N), my dearest, he likes. I wouldn’t worry yourself sick,” he nudges your arm as you exhale the breath you were holding. “Now come on, we still have much more sorting to do before Fred gets back with even more garbage.”

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

Hours later and you’re in Ginny’s room, getting ready for the party. Hermione brushed through Ginny’s hair as she coated her lashes in mascara. You on the other hand stood in front of multiple skirts, dresses, and tops, struggling to decide what to wear. You groan in frustration as you peel off a glittery gold top of Hermione’s and toss it on the bed gently. “Nothing looks right,” you huff as Hermione turns around.

“I thought that one was lovely on you!” she exclaims as you flop on Ginny’s bed, staring at the ceiling. It may have been lovely, but it was perfect. If tonight was going to go the way George had described, you needed to make sure that you looked outrageous in the best way possible. You wanted Fred counting down the minutes until midnight. “Something’s wrong, I can see it on your face,” Hermione points out as Ginny turns to look at you. “You can tell us if you’d like.”

You offer them both a small smile as you run your fingers over your face and through your hair. “It’s honestly stupid,” you chuckle. “George has, um...informed me...that I might be receiving a new year’s kiss this year...from Fred,” you confide to the girls in a hushed whisper.

You expected both of them to freak out with excitement or exclaim how exciting it was. Instead they looked at you, confused as to why you were just figuring this out now. “Well, yes, we all knew this. Fred’s had a massive crush on you for years,” Ginny simply states before sailing back into the mirror, reapplying her mascara.

Mouth agape, you exclaim, “Does everyone know about this and not me?!”

Hermione sadly shakes her head, “Even Ron knew about it. And that’s saying something.” You groan and flop backwards again on the bed in frustration. How come everyone knew about this and you didn’t? How come you had to surprise and hide your feelings for Fred for years when in reality he felt the same way about you all this time? “Well, we didn’t know for sure if you fancied him too since you were always so adamant that you two were just friends...so that’s good news!” Hermione tries to lighten the mood, unsuccessfully doing so as you still remain on the bed. “Alright, well, enough of that. It’s exciting, (Y/N)! You and Fred’s first kiss!” she sits on the bed next to you. “Now I see why you are so nervous about what to wear. Let’s raid the closet and luggage, shall we?”

You let out a light laugh and sit up, watching Hermione raid Ginny’s closet and your luggage, trying to find something for the occasion. “Hmmm,” she peels back hangers, pulling out pieces before putting them back, sorting through the clothes to find the perfect outfit. Suddenly, something catches her eye in your suitcase. “Oh!” she exclaims as she picks up a white and black plaid mini skirt. “What do we have here,” she laughs as you blush. You had bought that skirt on a whim on a shopping trip with Angelina. The skirt was a little short, but cute nonetheless.

Ginny takes a look at the skirt and chuckles, “Naughty, naughty.” You shake your head and roll your eyes. “I might have the top to go with it,” she speaks, rising from the chair and pulling a black, shimmery, long sleeve cropped shirt. She held it up to the skirt. Perfect match. “I’m not saying that you should dress up for Fred because that’s just gross,” Ginny states as you laugh with Hermione. “But...you’d look hot as hell with this on.”

You get up from the bed and huff, “You two are trouble.” The girls laugh as you begin to change, trying on the clothes to see how it looked.

As you straightened out the shirt and skirt, you looked in the mirror in front of you, Hermione and Ginny hovering over your shoulders. It was perfect. The top hugged your feminine figure perfectly and the skirt hung from your hips like a dream, falling just above mid thigh under your bum. The material of the top glittered in the light as you twirled in the mirror. It wasn’t too much, it wasn’t too little. It was simply perfect. “If you don’t wear that, I am,” Ginny speaks as you laugh. “You look incredible.”

“Breathtaking,” Hermione adds. “If Fred doesn’t kiss you tonight, damn it, we will.”

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

Another few hours pass before the sun sets and the music starts. It was 9pm and the festivities were just beginning. Everyone was dancing, drinking, and laughing in the living room, celebrating the holiday. Slowly, you, Hermione, and Ginny all joined the party, earning a few stares from the boys. “Nicely done, ladies!” Ron smiles as Hermione rolls her eyes. “You all look lovely,” he retaliates as he looks at his friends, eyes landing on Hermione. “You look lovely,” he repeats quietly to Hermione as she blushes, holding onto the skirt of her pale blue dress.

Ginny pays no attention to Harry’s gawking eyes as she passes him, wearing tight black jeans and a silver cowl neck top. Ginny had every intention of making Harry a murmuring mess. And it was working.

You on the other hand, poured yourself some punch (that the twins had most definitely spiked) and happily stood around your friends. But you couldn’t help yourself wanting to look at Fred. There he stood in the middle of the living room, blue jeans and a navy blue thermal t-shirt. He was dressed simply and plain, but Merlin, he looked good. You let yourself sneak a peak at him, but you catch his eyes. You stand there frozen as he smiles as you cheekily. “Nice skirt,” he compliment.

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you simply state as George just smiles and sips his punch. Clearing your throat, you start, “Alright, we got three hours to kill. What’s on the agenda?”

Hermione shoots up, “Yes! Okay, so I thought to start we could play Never Have I Ever that way it’ll loosen us all up and we can make it a drinking game if we want.”

“Hermione Granger suggesting a drinking game? New year, new Hermione,” Ron laughs as Hermione rolls her eyes. “Sounds good to me. Everyone circle up.”

Everyone sits on the floor in the living room around the small coffee table, drinks in hand. You were sandwiched between Ginny and Hermione, clutching onto your cup, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. You could feel Fred’s eyes on you but you didn’t want to look at him. It felt like you had a dirty secret when clearly his plans were not a secret to anyone except you.

Harry begins in the game, “Never have I ever broken someone’s arm in a game of quidditch.” Everyone laughs and looks at Ginny and Fred as they roll their eyes.

You remember during one of Fred’s games when Gryffindor played Slytherin, Fred knocked someone clear off their broom and they fell on their arm, a clean break. You remember Fred proudly walking the halls, knowing that he broke that poor bloke’s arm. Even though it got him suspended from the game, Gryffindor still won the match. Many people thought that Fred’s move was unfair or stupid of him, but when you watched it happen, you couldn’t help but think about how attractive Fred looked as he flexed his muscles and literally threw the Slytherin player off of his broom.

Ginny sips her drink and then says, “That was completely targeted, Harry.”

Harry shrugs, “No rules to the game. I say we can be as blunt as possible.”

Everyone looks around at the group as you just sip from your cup, needs the effects of the alcohol to give you a confidence boost. Was it hot in here? George claps his hands as Fred oooohs, making you sweat. “Alright, Potter, now he’s playing with the big boys,” George pats Harry’s back.

“It’s all fun and games now,” Ron laughs. “You’re up, George.”

George rubs his hands together, concocting a statement as your heart races. George was going to be ruthless you knew it. There was so much he could say right now that could make you embarrassed. George was your best friend, he had so much dirt on you. Especially after today. Finally, he was struck with an idea and your heart sank. “Never have I ever had an intricate plan to kiss a girl I’ve fancied since fourth year on New Year’s Eve,” George simply sates.

As soon as the words fall out of his mouth, Fred’s cheeks turn bright crimson red and you almost spit out your drink. You cough a little bit as Ginny and Ron laugh wildly at their older brother, George smugly sitting there, watching the mess he created unfold.

Fred glares at his brother and shakes his head. Slowly, Fred grabs the cup and takes a long sip from it as your heart races. This just got very real. “You’ve made a grave mistake, brother,” Fred states as George laughs. “Grave.”

You uncomfortably shift in your seat as Fred looks at you from across the table a little smirk on his face. Without anyone seeing, he drops his left eye into a wink and then goes back to the conversation. Your heart skips a beat and your face turns beet red. Tonight was going to be a night to remember for sure.

----------

Time flew by and it was a quarter to midnight. The twins had evacuated the house and ran to the backyard to get the fireworks ready. “We’ve got it all settled, not to worry!” Fred called out when Molly expressed her concern for the boys’ safety.

The twins darted into the backyard, laughing happily as they jumped on their brooms and set off into the sky. The rest of you made your way into the backyard slowly as your race was beating a mile a minute. The time was approaching. Fred was going to kiss you in ten minutes. It was all happening so fast, you couldn’t keep up.

“Ready?” you feel Hermione’s hands on your shoulders as you roll your eyes, running your fingers through your hair. “It’ll be great, I just know it.”

You give her a hopeful smile as you stand next to her the backyard, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep you warm from the brisk January air. “I still don’t understand how Fred’s going to pull it off. Going from the fireworks in time to come down here and kiss me? I don’t know,” you ponder.

Hermione smiles, “It’s Fred. He finds a way.”

You nodded your head, smiling. She was right. Fred would find a way. He always did.

Disrupting the silence, Ron speaks, “A minute and thirty seconds, everyone!”

Hermione gasps in excitement. “Already? Alright everyone! Get ready we’re going to start the countdown soon!”

Your heart is still racing as you look around you and up into the sky. No sight of Fred or George. Where were they and what were they doing? “Don’t over think it,” you whisper to yourself as you look around at your friends. Everyone stood around, looking up at the sky, waiting.

And then, “In 10! 9! 8!” Hermione starts counting down.

“7!”

Your heart is pounding against your chest, you feel like your heart is going to leap out.

“6!”

Your mind is reeling and racing with so many thoughts. You are in overdrive.

“5!”

Was Fred going to kiss you? Or was this some sort of sick prank that he and George were in on?

“4!”

Where in the bloody hell was Fred? He had four seconds!

“3!”

Your mouth goes dry.

“2!”

Ron looks at Hermione, Harry to Ginny. It was happening. And Fred was nowhere to be found.

“1!”

Times up.

“Happy New Year!”

And with that, bursts of multicolored lights erupted in the sky, popping and blasting off. It was so bright and colorful, starting off the new year in a decorative display. As you watched the fireworks, you turned around and saw the couples all in each others arms, sharing sweet kisses as the fireworks went off in the background. And you stood there, no Fred. No George. No one.

Your heart sank into your stomach as you realize what was happening. Fred wasn’t coming to kiss you. Not now. It was too late. You both missed your chance. Did George make this up? Was everyone in on it? Did Hermione lie to you? They wouldn’t dare toy with your emotions like that. Or would they?

Instead of dwelling on the questions, you just stared up at the sky, small tears welling in your eyes, but you quickly swallowed them away, feigning happiness. “Happy New Year to me,” you whisper to yourself.

The fireworks blast off in shades of red, blue, green, and orange, illuminating the sky with such joy. You had to admit, Fred and George knew what they were doing when it came to things like this. No matter how much you wanted to scream at the two of them, Fred especially, you kept it in. You were supposed to be happy right now.

As the couples pull away from their embraces, you feel eyes on you in excited anticipation, hoping to see Fred holding you and kissing you. But instead, they see you, looking up at the sky alone. “What?” Hermione whispers. She starts to walk over to you, but Ron stops her.

“Give her a second,” he speaks. “Maybe Fred will come down in a second.”

The couples return their gaze to the sky, but the fireworks don’t stop. They keep coming. Which meant Fred had no intention of coming down anytime soon.

You know that your friends are looking at you, but you refuse to look at them, far too embarrassed. Fred made a fool of you tonight. And that was something you weren’t going to forget.

Slowly, the fireworks stop as you sigh. “What a show,” you try to lighten the mood as Hermione stares at you sadly. You couldn’t look at her she just made you feel bad. “Happy New Year!” you smile to your friends.

Ron is the first one to embrace you, picking you up and spinning you around as you giggle. He always did know how to make you feel a bit better. You held onto him tight as he spun you around. Slowly, he placed you back on the ground. “Happy New Year,” Ron whispered in your ear as he squeezed you. “My brother has always been a moron, no need to worry.”

He pulls away and gives you a smile and a wink. You just shake your head knowingly and shrug. “It is what it is. My resolution is that I’m going into this year with no expectations at all. Even if someone tells me something, I’m not going to expect it. I’d rather be surprised,” you sigh as Hermione hugs you tight.

You walk inside, arm in arm with Hermione, small chatter entering the Burrow as you walk in together. “Are we going to stay up a bit more a play another game?” Ginny asks.

“You all can, but I’m actually quite tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you tell the group as they all protest, wanting you to stay. “I know, I’m a party pooper, but I am. I’m usually not up this late,” you lie through your teeth, knowing damn well you were up until sunrise yesterday with Fred and George talking about the shoppe and the future for it. “Goodnight, everyone. Happy New Year.”

The group watches you as you ascend the steps to the room you were staying in before they all look at each other, disappointed in tonight’s events. Before anyone can say anything, Fred and George come bumbling through the door, laughing and holding onto each other. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” George laughs. “The fireworks looked insane from up there! How did they look down here?”

Everyone just stares and doesn’t say a thing. “Geez, tough crowd,” Fred laughs before Ron slaps him upside the head. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Ron scoffs, “Didn’t you forget something? You proper git!”

Fred looks at his younger brother confused. “I didn’t forget a thing! I mean I wished I could see what it looked like from down here, but oh well...anyway, whose up for a game?” Fred asks as everyone looks baffled. “What? You guys look like you saw a ghost. And where’s (Y/N)? She’s missing.”

And that’s when it hits him.

George is just as shocked as everyone else, covering his hand with his mouth.

“Oh, bloody hell...” Fred trails off. “I planned a whole fireworks show for the girl and I forgot to come back down to bloody kiss her.” Everyone just shakes their head and disperses throughout the house, Ginny and Hermione disappearing into Ginny’s room, Ron and Harry trudging up the stairs. “Wait, wait, where did she go? I need to explain what happened to her.”

Ginny groans, “If you had just stuck to your plan like before and not got distracted by the shiny lights, you wouldn’t have to explain anything to her!” This just makes Fred feel worse as he should. He made a promise and convinced everyone to tell his crush about it only to not follow through. “She’s back in her room. You better have a good explanation for all of this.”

Meanwhile, you stood in the bathroom, brushing your teeth in your pajamas shorts and jumper, getting ready for bed. Your glasses hung on the bridge of your nose as you stared at yourself, disappointed in how the night unfolded. Tonight was supposed to be special, but it ended up extremely ordinary. But this is what you should have expected.

You spat the toothpaste in the sink as you stared in the mirror. Huffing, you shake your head, “He’s just a boy.” That’s all Fred Weasley was. A dumb boy. A dumb idiot boy. A cute, funny, sensitive, witty, charming, flirtatious dumb idiot git moron boy. You groan, knowing that the feelings you have for Fred were stronger than ever at this point after the hype of today. “Why me, Fred Weasley?” you groan. “Why me.”

Swinging the bathroom door open, you step outside, unknowingly bumping into someone. “Oh,” you look up and there he was. The culprit. The man of the hour. Fred. “Oh.”

“Can we talk?” he asks as you just stare at him.

He looked at you with such guilt in his eyes, it was palpable. His face turned downward, feeling so stupid in this moment. He disappointed the girl he cared for most since they were children in school. It was embarrassing for him more so than you.

You snapped back into reality and simply said, “Talk about what, Fred?”

With that, you made your way down the hall to the room you were staying in as Fred followed you. “Oh, don’t play this game, (Y/N). We both know exactly what this is about and I just want to apologize,” Fred pleads as you enter the room quickly, attempting to shut the door on him, but he stick his foot in the doorway. “Not so fast, tiger. I need to talk to you.”

“And I need to go to bed. It’s late,” you reply, but Fred forces himself inside the room as you groan. “Fred, it’s not a big deal. All is forgiven. Blah, blah. I’ll see you in the morning. Go on,” you shoo him away.

Fred grabs your arms, “No, it’s not alright. (Y/N), what I did was wrong and no one should ever leave someone alone like that after I promised you, and everyone else did, that I would come down and kiss you. I got caught up being an idiot with my brother and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for the night to go like this for either of us. I wanted it to be special.”

Fred’s words make your heart flutter, but you don’t let your heart get in the way of this situation. “You made me look like a fool,” you cooly speak, maintaining direct eye contact with Fred.

“And I feel like a crap person because of it. I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Fred grabs your hands as you huff. “I’m sure George already flapped his big mouth about it, but I’ve fancied you since we were in fourth year and you sneaked into George and I’s dormitory to tell ghost stories to Lee. I thought you were the coolest girl I had ever met. I still do. And when we graduated, you were so ready to help George and I start the joke shoppe and help us get on our feet. You have been so supportive and loving and kind to me. And I want you to know that I think you are the most incredible woman I have ever met. You’re smart, kind, generous, and good Godric, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he sighs as you blush gently. “I wanted tonight to be a memory that we could have forever. Because I care for you so much, (Y/N). I wanted to do it so badly. And I still do.”

Your heart is racing again and you feel your mouth run dry again. But you muster up enough confidence to say, “Do what, Weasley?”

A small smirk appears on your lips as Fred lightly chuckles, “Cheeky.”

He wastes no more time, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close and dipping his head down to connect your lips in a gentle kiss. His lips are warm and taste of cinnamon. You sigh into his touch and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Fred smiles into your kiss as he holds onto you tight, not wanting to let go. He missed his chance once tonight. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Gently, you pull away and look at Fred who is smiling from ear to ear. “Worth the wait?” Fred jokes as you roll your eyes, him kissing your lips again swiftly.

“Well worth the wait. Only four years late,” you tease him as he laughs. “Happy New Year, Freddie.”

“Happy New Year, darling.”

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasley smut imagine #fred weasley fluff #Harry Potter #HP #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

BGDC: Stay Down

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini-series

Featuring: Female Hunter!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Chuck and Jack

Written for: @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo

Summary: Everything comes to a head. Can she do better this time? Is there anything worth salvaging? Chuck has his own thoughts.

Square filled: In Vino Veritas

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: THIS HURTS, Flashbacks in italics, canon-ish, verbal arguments, that pesky motherfucker HOPE, Chuck is still a dick.

Series Masterlist

Inherit the Earth con’t

It had taken Sam two weeks to get out of Dean what happened, why she left. It was not his proudest moment, but the thought of her in their home made him sick. So, he had shown her the door. He thought he was her hero, he’d never imagined she’d treat him like a piece of meat.

There were some lines that you shouldn’t cross and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive her that.

The drive to Sam and Jack feels like an eternity, even ignoring all traffic laws. The day is bright, but the impala rumbles garishly, a black omen. The static hiss of unmanned radio stations gives her something to do. She diligently sorts the tapes, finds something to fill the void.

Melody as white noise. A band aid on a bullet wound. Dean can’t fix what’s been broken. But she never even tried.

Sam cries at the sight of her. She runs into his arms and he squeezes until he can’t any longer. An ounce of redemption in the ocean of guilt. Sam glances over her head to his brother, he feels the other shoe drop.

“Where’s Cas?” Jack’s obvious question echoes the shame in the new arrivals’ eyes. She holds her breath as Dean explains, like she’s waiting for his story before she can move on. Like he didn’t tell her either.

Sam aches with what he’s allowed to happen. The old internal rage gnashing at his gut as he screams in an abandoned restaurant. They’re what was left behind. All they have left to do is give Chuck what he wants.

His ending, at last.

Dean didn’t tell her what he and Sam were doing. Didn’t need an outside opinion on this one. Instead he asked her to keep an eye on Jack, knowing she’d say yes. He guessed he wasn’t done asking for things. The sight of Chuck makes him see red. But this was it, he’d die with his brother beside him. For the world.

When Chuck blows off their offer, he can’t say that he’s surprised. Disgusted, angry, regretful maybe, but Dean’s not surprised.

The house always wins.

They crash at a motel for the night, everyone gets their own rooms for a change. She knocks on his door just after midnight with a bottled peace offering and her ratty sleep clothes. Dean doesn’t need this right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to be cruel.

“Where’d you get this?” Dean holds the amber liquid up to the light to read the label.

“Liquor store down the street. Don’t even feel bad for taking the five finger discount anymore,” she sighs and drops on the spare bed. “You gonna tell me about your little side mission or do I just get to guess at the outcome?”

Dean cracks the bottle open and sighs. “Bupkis. So, nothing to tell, really.”

She’s watching him for signs of lies, at least she’s not overtly antagonistic with her appraisal.

He offers her the bottle and she shakes her head. ‘Maybe she learned her lesson,’ he thinks and then takes a long pull off the glass rim.

“So, the Empty, huh?” Dean grimaces as she closes her eyes, taken aback.

“What makes you think I want to talk about it?” Her faces pinches and he is just too fucking tired.

“Because you always want to talk about it. It was kind of a thing.” Dean shrugs.

“I came to check on you, dumbass,” she mutters. He sits on his bed, leaves the bottle between them on the nightstand.

He doesn’t stop the sour hum that claws up his throat. He was trying to play nice, but she just had to keep on being the tough guy. “Funny, didn’t think you cared much what happened to me anymore, or how I feel about things at least.”

She has the gall to look surprised, but underneath it he sees she’s almost as tired as he is. “I did not come here looking for a fight. If you’ve got something to say to me--- Maybe you should remember who called who. And who dropped everything to help.”

“And I don’t seem to remember you doing too much of that,” Dean snaps back, turning his head only.

She pauses and Dean feels a little smug that he’s getting to her. But not nearly as much as he should. He cocks his eyebrows, waiting for her obvious answer.

She shoves him back on his proverbial heels instead. “We both know you were just keeping tabs on me. There wasn’t anything for me to do. And then I became a fucking bargaining chip. So screw you, Dean. I’m not here for a performance review.”

“I think we already established, no one is screwing anyone here,” Dean mutters, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Is that what this is about?! You are honestly bringing that shit up now?!”

“So what if I am? Better than acting like it never happened. Playing the fucking martyr,” Dean bites back. “I, at least, own my shit. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“You kicked me out! What was I supposed to do, wait on a damn cross until you finished your case?!” She still doesn’t get it. Dean’s chest is writhing with all the things they never buried.

“It doesn’t matter. We were family. And you threw it all away,” Dean lays it out.

“ME?!”

“Yes, you!” Dean’s standing, hunching over her, unleashing. “You had to make it about your feelings and the crush you had on me when we were kids. Don’t you see? It was more than that. We WERE more than that. But you were lonely, or horny or needed to drown your feelings. And you cheapened everything. And now---- we can’t even have a real conversation.”

It’s like he’s looking at a completely different person. He doesn’t even know her anymore.

“Dean, I---” He cuts her off, this was entirely pointless.

“Don’t, okay? Just--- leave it. I’m gonna get some air.” Dean starts towards the door and slumps, half turned he continues, “Look, I’m glad you didn’t get stuck in the Empty. But Cas did---- And to be clear, this wasn’t ever about rebuilding bridges, it was about stopping Chuck. And we couldn’t manage that.--- But we can’t just go back to the way things were just because we’re all that’s left. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be--- for everybody.”

The heaviness of wasted effort sinks into his shoulders. Dean closes the door behind him with a gentle click. They both know she’ll be gone before he gets back.

No one left in the entire world and one of my oldest friends still doesn’t want me around. This wasn’t humble pie, it was a goddamn humility infused vat of pie filling. Not a spoon in sight.

Fuck him. Fucking pie metaphors even. Fucking brain.

I leave the damn whiskey, but I really want to throw it against the wall. Dump it in his boots. Bath in it. But I don’t. I give him his twenty paces and I duck out, bypass my room, Jack’s, and head back towards the liquor store. There was a pick-up I might be able to hot wire, if I remember where I saw it.

I mash my lips together to stop their quake, but everything keeps clawing its way up, centering itself in my way. I did this. The one person I needed to believe in me and I fucking ruined it. It was never about Amara, or Cas or him being too good for me. I just wanted what wasn’t there.

The dirtiness slides down and clings to me, like a wet coat. An unwashable stain, that’s all my presence is anymore. I don’t want to be where I am unwanted, unneeded, unuseful. Well, useless really. But, I can’t lose Sam too. Not again and definitely not now. I stop when I spot the truck.

Running isn’t going to mend what running severed.

Know better, do better.

I creep back to the motel and pretend to sleep. There are salt lines dried across my skin when Jack knocks on my door.

The sun still rises. Dean tosses his things in his bag, even the whiskey. Waste not want not. They’re heading home to regroup or to hide or just for something to do. He doesn’t care, but being out in the open feels like he’s leaving them open for an ambush, or Chuck’s prying eyes at the very least.

He knows they’re not safe from that anywhere. It just feels safer somehow.

Dean feels good in motion. Sam’s at his side, while she and Jack sit in their own quiet corners in the back. The looming reality of an empty planet unnoticeable on the backroads. Denial is a helluva drug.

So is hope. Good thing he kicked that one.

When they pull into the garage, he doesn’t even bother grabbing his duffel from the trunk. Dean bee lines for the hard stuff and no one even bats an eye.

Maybe he has always been that predictable. Maybe he no longer cares.

I’m sitting on my bed, flipping through an old photo album when Sam finds me. It’s been three days and the bunker just keeps getting hollower the longer we stay inside. It’s like Chuck is slowly strangling the oxygen from the air.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be the first one to break.

Dean’s too far into a pity party at the bottom of a bottle to be pushed off any one edge and Sam’s too good at keeping on. Of course, Jack is getting by on sheer purity of spirit.

“How you holding up?” Sam’s voice is scratchy, but familiar, I don’t know the last time we actually spoke. I don’t really make eye contact, but shrug all the same.

“You?” I ask, unnecessarily.

He sits down beside me, looking over my shoulder. He huffs out a laugh at one of the pictures.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep all of these,” Sam says as he reaches over and slides his finger tips over the poorly taped Polaroids.

“They were at Bobby’s for a while, but I dug them out of a storage unit after--- well, after I fucked things up with your brother. Figured they were all I had left after that.”

Sam inhales at my bluntness, cocks his head because it hurts to hear, but also doesn’t sit right. What a doof.

“Spit it out, Legs, I know you wanna say something,” I goad.

“I guess I don’t really--- what happened?” Sam’s eternal need to know things going for my weak spot. “I mean, Dean said you tried to put the moves on him, but I guess, why was it so horrible?”

“Well, I actually have some new information on that front,” I offer, turning to face him and placing the memories on the far side of the bed.

Sam’s brows pitch.

“Apparently, I--- cheapened everything. Dean thought whatever our relationship was, was more important than hooking up. And I made it all about me.”

“He said that?” Sam asks in a hush.

“Yup,” I huff out. “And a very firm, ‘there is no rebuilding bridges’,” I say in my best/worst Dean voice.

“Wow.” Sam looks to the ceiling then scratches the back of his head. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, I mean, I did kiss him. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had psyched myself up that entire night, misread everything. I’ve never been the one guys willingly go home with. I shouldn’t have forced it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve had---,” Sam breaks off when he thinks about my asshole ex.

“I’ve had a couple of real winners,” I finish for him. “But it’s okay. Because now we’re the last people on Earth. No one left to break my heart.”

I slap the edge of the mattress and lurch to my feet, ignoring the pain in Sam’s eyes. He just lost Eileen and here I am moping about something that happened over two years ago. Once a shitty friend, always a shitty friend.

“You can keep looking through that if you want. I’m gonna start dinner,” I add at the door.

Sam nods, but he doesn’t reach for the album. He just sits on my bed and chews the inside of his lips.

Jack’s feeling things and Sam’s looking at Dean with insistence, but Dean’s hungover-leeched brain is not putting things together.

“What?!”

Sam grimaces, heavy on the bitch factor. “I think you should be the one to tell her we’ve got a lead. Meanwhile, I’ll start packing the car.”

“Great. Sure.” Dean does little to hide his disdain. Sam doesn’t budge.

He grunts through an explanation as she cleans her gun. Luckily, she doesn’t ask too many questions because the vibrations of his own voice are adding to the throbbing at the base of his skull.

She slips him a bottle of painkillers before ducking into the back seat next to Jack. He doesn’t say thank you, but he knows she knows he’s grateful. They used to be able to do that, not as easily as he and Sam, but silent communication was possible, once.

He gets them on the road before noon, the familiar feel of the wheel in his hands steadies Dean until the pain starts to subside. The soft, yet urgent Jack-P-S guiding their way.

They stop for an inevitable pitstop and Dean gets hit with a pure dose of that damning hope. A white, shaggy dog is laying outside the men’s room and his face breaks into a smile for the first time in weeks. It’s the proof he needed aside from Jack’s fuzzy radar.

Chuck didn’t get everything.

He scoops the dog up and shows him off to Sam, forgetting entirely about his need to pee. He sets the sudden miracle in the backseat, promises there’ll be enough room for him.

That’s when Dean spots Chuck in the field, menacing and knowing. Dean straightens on instinct, facing the threat. As Chuck raises his hand to snap, a gushing voice rushes to Dean’s side.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?!” She doesn’t see their destructive creator waiting in the wings and Dean moves to shield her from Chuck’s gaze.

It’s too late.

Suddenly Chuck is standing beside the impala’s trunk.

“Now, how exactly did I miss you?” Chuck gapes, the disbelief and rage shifting across his once amiable face.

She chokes on her breath, freezes on the spot. Dean sees the power trip flash in Chuck’s piercing blue gaze. He likes when people are fearful, he likes to see them squirm.

“She wasn’t here when you iced everybody, Chuck. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s still just us,” Dean reasons, downplaying her worth.

“Nah, I don’t like it. It’s supposed to be you and Sam. Jack, fine. He’s just a pet anyway. But her? You guys get over your crap and suddenly there’s a whole new generation of thorns in my side. Sorry,” Chuck huffs and snaps his fingers. She disappears faster than Dean could take it in. “Not sorry.”

“What the hell?!” Dean barks. Panic, rage, and overwhelming sadness shoot through him as he dives towards Chuck. But he’s gone before Dean can get there. Falling to the gravel, gracelessly, Dean spins on his knees to see if Sam or Jack are still alive and accounted for. He spots their silhouettes through the convenience store windows. With that little platitude, Dean staggers over to soothe the dog’s sudden whimper. And then it vanishes too.

Maybe Dean never made it out of Hell after all.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @peridottea91 @fookinghelljensensthighs @cosicas-cuquis @flamencodiva @akshi8278 @dontshootmespence @smi727 @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @dolphincliffs @spnfamily-j2

Read On: Free Will

#bgdc #dean winchester fanfiction #tell me a story bingo #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean angst #s15 fic #platonic!reader #plussized!reader #reader insert #spn angst #the dog gets dusted #no beta I die on my own sword

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hurricanery · 3 years

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay- here’s part 3 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU - interns fic). It’s been a while since i’ve updated this so if you need a refresher, previous parts here: part 1 // part 2

If you’ve sent me a prompt recently, or even a while back, I promise I am starting to get to them. I’m on a break from school so I’m trying to write as much as I can <3 Also, I’m starting to switch around the POV for this story (this one is Link’s), and it’s very :) difficult :) to do :)

_______

It comes apart

The way it does in bad films

Except in parts

When the moral kicks in

_______

Link knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

That’s something he knows. The reason behind it though, is a little less clear to him. She’s unpredictable. And he thinks that that’s part of it. Part of the reason his pulse quickens when she walks into the room. Sometimes, he’ll bump into her in the apartment, and she’ll be all darting eyes and nervous hands wrapped around a mug of tea. But most of the time, it’s the opposite. It’s shameless, the way she’ll walk into a room and say something completely audacious. Unexpected. Is the way he wants to label it. And the anticipation of it, the anticipation of which Amelia he’s going to get, is what makes him the most nervous.

This morning there’s an edge to her smile. One that feels measured and purposeful. Link watches her as she enters the kitchen. He finishes pouring himself a cup of coffee and witnesses, just in time, for Amelia to survey Maggie and Winston as they innocently eat their breakfast at the counter.

The smirk that grows on her face causes Link to instinctively brace himself. Because it’s the same look she gives before she’s about to say something completely untamed. Untamed, yet at the same time, Link knows whatever she’s about to say, she’ll say it so unashamedly. But when the words finally drop from her mouth, Link still doesn’t feel prepared.

“I miss sex,” she announces, as her eyes dart amusedly between the couple at the counter. “And you guys are doing a great job of reminding me of that.”

Link has to stifle the coughing fit that threatens to overcome his body as he struggles through his first sip of coffee. And the startled look on Maggie’s face just adds fuel to the fire. Like Amelia somehow gains something from this type of reaction.

“What’s with the faces?” she adds, nonchalantly, as she reaches for a mug and turns back to Maggie and Winston. “I’m saying I feel inspired by you.”

“Okay…” Maggie gives a warning stare. “But we’re not-”

“No, I get it,” Amelia interrupts. Link shuffles out of her way as she reaches for the coffee pot, but he doesn’t miss the sideways glance she gives him. “You guys aren’t together together, you’re just…” She trails off as she focuses on not overflowing her mug with the hot liquid. Then she turns back around to face the pair at the counter. “Having fun?”

Winston shrugs at this, and Maggie refocuses all of her attention on the food in front of her.

“Like I said,” Amelia’s expression falters only slightly to incorporate some sympathy towards Maggie. “Inspiring.”

And with that she turns on her heels, ready to leave. Like she always does. After dropping a bomb of awkwardness amongst the group, she immediately fleas. And Link feels his heart rate slow at her absence.

His eyes shift to Maggie and Winston, eyebrows raised.

“She’s pleasant in the morning.”

There’s hums of agreement, and Maggie stands up, beginning to clear their dishes.

“We carpooling today?” Link inquires, as he starts to help Maggie clean the kitchen.

“Well, there’s that intern mixer tonight,” Maggie reminds him. “That thing Dr. Webber is hosting?”

“Right,” Link sighs.

“I was going to go straight there after my shift,” she adds. “So, we’d all have to sort of plan our timing with that.”

Link nods, stepping forward to set his empty coffee mug in the sink.

“Will you ask Amelia what she’s doing? If she’s planning on going?”

Link nods again at Maggie’s request, and begins moving slowly down the hallway towards Amelia’s room. It dawns on him that he’s never stepped foot in Amelia’s room, or even properly had a glance inside. So, it feels foreign to him that his fist is knocking against the wood of her door.

“Yeah?”

There’s music playing on the other side and Link clears his throat to compensate for that.

“Hey! Maggie wanted me to ask you-”

“I can’t really hear you, just come in!”

Link hesitates. And he doesn’t know why. But then he’s annoyed with himself for not knowing why, so he pushes forward. His hand wraps around the door knob and then it’s twisting and suddenly he’s standing in her bedroom.

“Hey.”

His head turns to follow the sound of her voice and his eyes settle on her, to where she sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a full-length mirror. She raises her eyebrows at him, through the reflection in the mirror. And when Link doesn’t speak right away, she reaches forward to turn off her music.

“Can I help you with something?” She sounds smug as she resumes her mascara application.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Maggie wanted me to ask what your plans are for the intern mixer tonight?”

“Shit. I totally forgot that was tonight,” she mutters, concentrating on what she’s doing in the mirror.

Link sighs, and he feels the inexplicable need to shove his hands in his pockets. He takes a moment to let his eyes wander around the room. He can’t help it. The new territory makes him curious.

The room is a mess, and that’s putting it lightly. It almost looks like she hasn’t unpacked all the way. There are clothes scattered on almost every surface, and nothing seems to be put away. He’d like to assume that it’s because she’s not moved all the way in yet, but the pictures hanging on the wall say otherwise.

It feels self-indulgent, as he lets his eyes scan the framed photos around the room. They mostly consist of what Link gathers to be college friends and travels. But, there’s also a significant presence of people that look extraordinarily similar to Amelia. Her siblings, he presumes. There are two photos in particular, that stand out to Link. One consists of a young girl, no older than 6 or 7. In the photo, she’s riding a bike, and there’s a dark-haired teenage boy gently pushing the bike forward from behind. Derek, Link imagines. And it makes him smile to imagine Amelia learning to ride a bike.

The second photo that catches Link’s eye is just a solo shot of a middle-aged man. He’s standing on the edge of a dock, holding up a fishing pole. The man in the photo has a striking resemblance to Amelia and Derek, and Link is inclined to conclude that it’s their father.

Link snaps back to reality when he hears Amelia clear her throat. His eyes meet hers in the reflection of the mirror and she’s sneering at him incredulously.

“Get a good look?”

“Sorry,” Link mumbles, shaking his head at himself. He struggles for a moment to arrive back to his reasoning for being here in the first place. “Uh, yeah. Party tonight, or….‘intern mixer,’ or whatever you want to call it….do you need a ride?”

“Ugh,” she groans, starting to stand up from her spot on the floor. “Derek requested Lexie and I on his service, again, so. If we’re not too late I’ll probably grab a ride with him.”

Link nods. He tries to suppress the sudden disappointment he feels. Because it makes no sense to him, that he should feel anything based upon whether or not Amelia would be in attendance.

“Okay,” he turns on his heels, deciding he doesn’t need anything more than that answer from her.

“Link?”

He turns around in the doorway, looking at her expectantly.

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he forces an element of nonchalance to his response. She’s staring at him with an expression of bewilderment and it only makes him want to rush his exit more.

He rips his gaze away from hers as he steps into the hallway, and when he pulls the door shut, he feels relief.

_______

Links knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

The second is that this party is lame.

“This sucks,” Jo huffs out a sigh, from where she’s standing next to him.

They’re stationed at one of those tall cocktail tables, in the middle of a decently packed banquet room. Link’s eyes scan the room, for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

“Who are you looking for?” Jo ridicules him. She smirks at him knowingly as she sips her drink and Link tries not to roll his eyes at her.

“I’m not looking for anyone….” He trails off, as his eyes roam the room again. Because although he dismisses the accusation of looking for anyone, he does find her.

She’s standing near the entryway with Derek. And they must have just arrived, because there’s a leather jacket still covering her frame.

He thinks for a moment that he should cross the room. Walk towards them and casually point out where the coat check area is, perhaps. But he doesn’t do that. Because the closer he looks, the more it becomes obvious that the two are arguing.

Amelia’s back is to him, but her body language, and the sharpness to Derek’s expression, are all the evidence he needs.

“You’re staring.” Jo’s voice breaks through his concentration, and Link glances sideways at her.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” she bites back. “And you’re boring me. I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”

Link shakes his head at the offer, his eyes returning to his current preoccupation. He barely notices Jo’s dramatic sigh, as she walks away. Barely notices, because now Amelia is crossing the room, her eyes narrowing in on his as she visibly tries to shake off her anger.

“You made it.” It’s all Link can come up with as she approaches the table.

Amelia huffs out an exasperated breath as she settles across from him at the table. She shrugs, her eyes dancing around the room as she takes in the atmosphere of the event.

“Of course I did,” she mutters. “I’m a blast at parties.”

Link frowns. Unsure of how to lighten the mood.

“There’s a coat check, you know?” He glances down at her, surveying the black form-fitting dress and leather jacket. He suddenly feels unimpressive in the dull grey of his suit jacket.

“Nah,” Amelia shakes her head, still preoccupied by the room around them. “I’m fine like this.”

Her eyes finally rest on his. And she breathes out again, but this time Link thinks it sounds more relieved.

“I really am a blast at parties,” she bites her lip, grinning slightly. “Or, I used to be.”

“I believe you,” Link offers a smile in return.

And suddenly there’s a sense of ease between them. One that Link wasn’t expecting.

There’s something about her, or rather about her demeanor, that makes him feel nostalgic. He takes in her energy and it makes him feel at home, but not necessarily in a yearning way. Because there’s an edge to it. Like the feeling he’s nostalgic for triggers an almost anxious familiarity in the pit of his stomach. Like home is broken.

“So, what is it?”

He hasn’t even realized he’s voiced the question out loud. It’s when her defensive tone kicks in, that he realizes what he’s done.

“What?”

Link groans internally. Because he hadn’t necessarily intended to speak on behalf of his revelation.

“You….remind me of….me, Amelia,” he mutters the confession, shaking his head at himself as he tries to make sense of the direction his thoughts are taking. “Like a sixth sense almost….”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t offer any words. The silence urges Link to continue.

“Okay, no. I mean, you don’t remind me of me, totally. I just mean….”

“We are very different people,” she interrupts him. And it causes Link to look up from the pattern of the tablecloth he’d forced himself to analyze while he stumbled through his words. But he locks eyes with her, and there’s a smug smile on her face. It basically grants him permission to move forward.

“Yeah,” he chuckles in agreement. “But there’s some common ground here. I can feel it.”

Link tries to match her smirk, but he knows he’s not doing it any justice.

“So, what is it?” He repeats his question from earlier, his tone playful. “That makes you this way?”

There’s a fraction of a second where her face falls, in reaction to the additional question. It’s so subtle Link thinks he’s imagined it. Because he’s looking at her now, and the smirk is still there. So he continues.

“Doesn’t seem like you get along with your family,” he nods towards Derek across the room, to where he’s now stood chatting with Mark Sloan. “And from my experience, that kind of thing usually happens for a reason.”

Amelia shrugs dismissively, and reaches forward for a handful of pretzels from the array of snacks on the table.

Link watches her, notes her form of deflection, and he takes it upon himself to start lighthearted. Because that’s where they are right now. That’s the stage they always seem to be stuck in. “You….what? Scratched your brother's car up? Forgot to feed the family’s pet fish? And everyone still holds it against you? What is it, huh?”

Amelia stifles a laugh around a mouthful of pretzels, and it urges Link on.

“I’m getting closer, aren’t I? Should I dive deeper?”

Link tries not to laugh at her, as she struggles to chew the pretzels in her mouth. He lets himself be relentless, continuing with the interrogation.

“Okay, so….some sort of chronic diagnosis tear your family apart?” Link glances across the room as he speaks, and his eyes settle on Derek. There’s a snide expression on Derek’s face as he talks to Mark, and all Link sees is Amelia in it. His eyes dart back to hers as potential realization hits. “Children of divorce?”

Amelia immediately stops chewing her pretzels. And this time around it’s not as subtle when her face falls.

“Children of divorce! I knew it! I told you I could sense that kind of thing.”

Link is proud of himself for a moment. Until he watches her harshly swallow. It’s the kind of action that makes him instantly retreat. Instantly regret his exclamation.

Amelia finally finds her voice. And when she does, it’s laced with irony. “I wish it had been a divorce.”

And now it was Link’s turn for the silence. For the lack of response that would hopefully urge her to continue.

“Your parents are divorced?” There’s something cunning about her tone, and Link can’t quite place why it’s there. It surely doesn’t sound like a question, when she asks it. It sounds like she already knows the answer, and she’s choosing to be sly as she witholds whatever she’s about to throw his way next.

But Link nods at her anyway, disregarding the non-question.

“Wanna trade childhood traumas?” She eventually mutters, a slight smile on her lips as she looks down at the bowl of pretzels. Link can see it in her face, the way she’s determining whether to abandon the conversation and reach for another handful. But she doesn’t do that.

He continues to stare at her, in a desperate attempt to decipher which version of Amelia this is.

“My Dad died when I was five,” her gaze shifts from the pretzels to his face and Link’s heart drops to his stomach. “So, he kind of missed out on the divorce stage....” She laughs under her breath, almost in disbelief. “Not that there would have been one,” she adds the after-thought.

“Amelia,” he murmurs. And he thinks he steps forward, but there’s a table in front of him, blocking him, so there’s really no point. “I’m so sorry, I-”

It’s her laughter that cuts him off mid-apology. Link doesn’t know if he can categorize it as authentic laughter. The bizarre reaction would probably be more accurately described as harsh exhales and another out of place smile.

“Amelia.”

She swallows her laughter a bit at the seriousness of his tone.

“God, I feel like an asshole,” he mutters.

“Okay, but don’t,” Amelia shrugs. “Believe me I’ve had years to process it.”

Link feels his eyes narrow at this.

“And honestly I’m pretty impressed you could sense the childhood trauma in the first place,” she adds. “Maybe we’re more alike than I thought….” She trails off, and there’s a softness to her next words. “And I don’t at all mean to downplay yours….I just….have a dark sense of humor. Sometimes I forget that it can put people off.”

“No, I get it.”

Link watches as a subtle grin take over her expression, and he sighs in relief. But he can’t help but to notice how distracted she is. How her eyes keep shifting around the room.

“This party is kinda lame, huh?” Link muses. “I was going to head home soon. Want a ride?”

For a moment her wandering eyes stop, and Link thinks her smile looks polite. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, distracted again. “I feel like I should make the rounds first though, right? Say hello to a few people?”

Link nods. Because this makes sense.

“Give me like 20 minutes, okay? And then we can leave?”

“Okay,” Link agrees, but she’s already walking away by the time he says it.

_______

Link knows a few things.

But there’s one fact at the forefront of his mind.

This party is lame and he wants to leave. He’s promised a ride home to Amelia, but it’s been over an hour and since then, he’s completely lost track of her.

He gives up. Assumes she’s gotten a ride home with either Derek or Lexie.

He makes his way to the parking lot and he hears her voice first. It’s low and it’s gravelly and it’s certainly Amelia.

But it’s perplexing, because the first person he sees is Mark, and not Amelia.

But then Mark steps to the side, and there she is.

He watches, and he hasn't realized that his feet have stopped moving. But his eyes are glued the same way his shoes apparently are to the pavement below.

She’s smiling at Mark, but the look she’s giving him makes Link feel gross. Because it’s almost performative, the way she gets into his car. And suddenly there's another thing that Link knows.

That being, that for some reason, this hurts.

_______

It’s more accurate to say that Link has learned a few things. Especially since moving in with 3 strangers.

He’s learned the separate soundtracks of each of his roommate’s arrivals home.

He can tell when Maggie is home, because she usually mutters to herself as she walks about, hanging her purse and coat up.

He can tell when Lexie is home, because the first thing she does is walk to the kitchen. Link will hear the distinct sound of the fridge door opening just after someone comes home, and immediately he knows that it’s Lexie.

He can tell when Amelia is home, because of the clacking sound her boots make across the tiled floor of the entryway. He doesn’t know why she always seems to be wearing the heeled boots, but he finds comfort in the association.

Another thing he’s learned is that he’s usually the first to wake up in the apartment. Especially on Saturdays.

He likes waking up early on the weekends, but this morning feels a little different. Definitely due to the lack of sleep the night prior. He wants to blame the restless night on anything else, besides the fact that he’s yet to hear a pair of heeled boots cross the tiled floor.

Link seeks distractions on this Saturday morning. He thinks he’ll make breakfast. But, the relative emptiness of the fridge causes a change of plans.

And so he distracts himself by going to the store.

_______

When Link returns home, he’s not expecting to see Amelia right away.

He walks towards their front door, arms full of grocery bags, and there she is. Leaning against the wall outside and watching him carefully as he approaches.

She’s wearing the same dress she wore last night, her leather jacket slung over her arm.

“Well, good morning,” he tries to mask the sharpness in his tone.

She looks at him tiredly.

It’s then that he decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d had a feeling in the pit of his stomach all night. He’d lost sleep over it. But he looks at her now, and everything he’s been feeling is replaced with one thing: concern.

So he re-routes his attitude.

“You waiting out here just so you could hold the door open for me?” He jokes, gesturing towards the bags in his arms.

“I lost my keys,” she admits.

Link notices the way she can’t seem to hold eye contact, and he decides to drop the joking manner.

“Ah,” he hums. “Here.”

He unceremoniously shoves a grocery bag into her arms, so that he can free up a hand to reach for his own keys.

He unlocks the door and Amelia basically darts past him, setting the bag on the counter and heading towards her room.

Link tries not to feed into his concern, and he busies himself by putting groceries away.

But, a moment later, he hears the familiar sound of her heels against the floor. The sound amplifies until she rounds the corner into the kitchen again, and Link looks up just in time.

She looks at him sheepishly.

“I, uh. I have so much stuff all over my bed….you don’t mind if I take the couch for a bit, do you?”

It takes Link a moment to process this information. He glances past the kitchen counter, to the living room area. It’s all pretty much one big room, an open floor plan.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs. “I was about to make breakfast though, so, hopefully I don’t bother you too much over here?”

Amelia shakes her head, as if to say she won’t be bothered, and she continues over to the living area.

“You should really….unpack all your stuff. Put things away,” Link jokes, recalling just how messy her room was as of yesterday morning.

“‘M too tired right now,” she slurs, as she collapses against the couch on the opposite wall.

Link attempts to carry on making breakfast. But he’s admittedly distracted by her presence.

She doesn’t look comfortable. She’s still wearing her dress from last night. And she’s sitting upright, her head tilted back against the cushions.

“I could help you, you know?” Link offers. “Put away your things and clear off your bed?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Amelia, it’s 9am.”

This makes her laugh.

Her eyes are still closed but she’s laughing under her breath.

“Oh!” Suddenly Link remembers. “I saw this loose tea variety at the store and it made me think of you and I bought it.”

Even with the length of the room, Link can tell she’s slightly opened her eyes, peering at him.

“How about I attempt to make some? And we do some unpacking?”

There’s brief silence. But then her head is lifting from the cushions.

“Okay, but make your breakfast first.”

Link breaks out into a toothy grin, nodding at her suggestion. He watches curiously as her head drops back against the couch.

_______

It’s about 20 minutes later when he’s eaten and decides he’s happy with his attempt at tea. He walks over to the couch, proudly balancing two mugs, but it’s obvious that Amelia is drifting off to sleep.

He places a mug on the coffee table in front of her and the sound of it causes her to stir.

“Oh,” she sits up. “This looks….decent. Thank you.”

Link sits on the armchair across from her and watches as she takes her first sip.

“You’re allowed to say if it’s shit.”

Amelia exhales a laugh before setting the mug back down.

“It’s not bad, honestly. I’ll have to teach you my ways, though.”

She rests back against the cushions, and this time she shifts her body so that she’s more comfortably laying across the entire couch.

Link sighs.

And it’s like she hears what he’s thinking.

“Just a few minutes, then we’ll start unpacking,” but her voice is laced with sleep. She turns to him, her mouth twisting up in a familiar movement, and her eyebrows raising almost provocatively. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Ugh,” Link groans. “I do not need to hear about you and Mark-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs a breath. “I had to.”

Link just shakes his head at her, not sure when he went from worried about her, to amused.

“I promise,” she adds, and the element of exhaustion is back in her tone. “Just 10 more minutes then I’ll be good to go.”

“Sure,” Link laughs.

Amelia still holds his gaze, and there’s an expression on her face that feels brand new to him.

There’s a hint of a smile. It’s barely there. But it’s different this time. It’s not the smirk he’s used to seeing, and it’s not in any way laced with mockery or self-doubt.

Link knows a few things.

But he learns a final thing by the end of the conversation. He learns that he’s going to do everything he can, to see the version of her smile that’s the most genuine.

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