#a common one is the one in the velvet bag on his table

[gardens-light]

The New Girl

Landing a contact at the Bureau was exciting and nerve racking. Hoping and determined your first day on the job goes smoothly as possible, and not setting any forms of bad impressions. But arriving a little late to your orientation wasn't such a good start...

And being assigned to Hellboy himself, just made your anxiety skyrocket through the roof. Let's just hope nothing else goes wrong...

Content: Y/T/N= Your Town Name. Y/A= Your Age. Nothing much just fluff.

Part 2

You walked into the foyer of black marble flooring and grand Roman pillars which outlined the main entrance. Your bags and suitcases felt heavy in your weak grip, only releasing yourself of such weight as you placed the bags down onto the floor. Stopping only a few meters in front of a man, dressed in a smart and expensive looking suit. You felt his gaze turn onto you, as your last bag touched the floor.

"Hello, I'm-"

"You're late. That's what you are." His voice was firm with a slight crude tone.

Biting your lip slightly, as he briefly looked at his watch. Before turning his unimpressed stare at you again. His posture returning to it's professional pose, and placing his hands behind his back, while standing behind an polished oak desk.

"By five minutes."

"Y-Yes, I do greatly apologize. You see, I'm going to-"

"Section 51. Yes, I know. Leave your bags there, someone will attend to them. Follow me to the lift, and we'll finally start your orientation."

Answering with a simple nod. You picked up your small backpack which contained your important documents, certificates and a copy of your resume. Leaving your heavy luggage behind, you followed the middle-aged man to the left side of the room. Entering into the lift which was hidden behind the pillars.

Turning a key and pressing the floor buttons five and one, you felt the lift shake and it's weight being pulled downwards into the unknown levels below. The man stood next you, but his eye contact was fixed firmly to the large metal doors.

Pulling a weak smile, you attempted to break the ice before the silence got too uncomfortable. "I-Is it common to proceed applications without an interview?-"

"Only speak when you are spoken too. The Professor is a busy man and doesn't have time for wasteful chit-chat"

"Oh... of course. My apologies"

Well that went well... A small sigh left your lips. I've really have left a bad first impression.

Watching the red numbers above the metal doors slowly count downwards to the designated floor. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as you realized the numbers were in the minuses.

-20. -25. -30...

It felt like an eternity passed before the lift stopped at your level. The doors opened and the man placed out an arm, the sensors reading his position and keeping the door open till you walked through. Muttering a "thank you," before stepping out into a fairly large room.

The whole space was furnished with grand furniture and statues, art symbolizing tribute to the past Renaissance. Almost every surface of the walls was adorned with books, shelves reaching from floor to ceiling. Ladders on every one. Books also littered the small desks and tables.

"Hello?"

Walking a little further into the room, a red velvet rug cushioned your footsteps against the dark wooden flooring. Beautiful classical music softly played over an surround sound system, almost creating a fanatical apposphere.

"Turn the pages please. If you don't mind."

An unfamiliar yet polite voice filled the room, looking around and peeping over desks, you raised an eyebrow.

Strange... There's nobody in here-

"The book in front of the window. Would you mind turning the page? I'm finished with this chapter."

Your brows knitted together, realizing the voice was coming from behind a window which looked into some kind of water tank. Stepping closer towards the window, your eyes looked at the opened book upon an alter. It's pages facing the window. Shrugging your shoulders, you gently turned the page of the book, exposing the next chapter.

"Thank you-"

"Oh!"

A unique aquatic creature of teal green swam into your view. Your eyes widened and your body flinched away from the window. Couldn't help but gaze that the mer-man like creature, who floated around elegantly in the water. His large black eyes staring at you with a studious stare, while placing a webbed hand against the glass.

"Four books every day. As long as I'm here to turn the pages."

A new voice startled you, but this time as you turned around. Seeing an elderly man of white hair and a trimmed beard looking at you, his gaze was soft and welcoming behind his circled spectacles . A warm smile greeting you, as he got out of an leather armchair and reaching for his cane.

"I'm Professor Trevor Broom" his voice gentle but you could hear the grasp of age within his tone. Somewhat reminding you of your grandparent.

Professor Broom extended a hand, and you shook it professionally. Returning his warm smile.

"Sir I'm-"

"Agent Ms Y/N. Currently residing in Y/T/N. And you are (Y/A). The scars upon you are childhood accidentals- such as the time you fell off your bike at the age of ten. Sometimes you wonder if they'll fade over time."

Your shocked expression turned to surprise as you faced the aquatic creature again.

"H-How did they-"

"He" Professor Broom gently corrected. Feeling appreciative that you called the individual an 'they' instead of an 'it', like most of the recent new staff has.

"His name is Abraham Sapien. Discovered alive in a secret chamber close to Area 51. His name was taken from this inscription stuck to the side of his tank." Broom gestured to the plaque, framed in a silver frame which hung close to the window of the tank.

A wrinkle scrunched up your nose, as a awful smell came from a bowl that Broom uncovered. You couldn't help but place a hand over your nose and mouth, as he picked up a green soft egg and placing it into a oversized fish feeder.

"Rotten eggs. A 'delicacy' if you will. Abe loves them."

Removing your hand, and turning your attention back to the Professor. "H-How did he?-"

"Abe possesses a unique ability which allows him to 'read' people." Broom smirked to himself. "'Unique'... now that's a word you'll hear around here a lot."

"Sir, if I may... what is this place?"

"Upstairs in the lobby there's an inscription above the main door. 'In the absence of light, darkness prevails.' As a child you'll probably believed in all sort of creatures that go 'bump' in the night, Agent Y/N."

You gave a nervous nod.

"Well there is. And we are the ones who 'bump' back. Anyways, on with the tour shall we?..."

You followed the professor after waving 'goodbye' to Abe. Broom lead you through a wooden door, which was at the back of the library. The door lead into a long corridor of concrete floors and metal walls, a display cabinet showing off pieces of historical artifacts of the long forgotten past.

Broom filled you in with the company's history and backstory, which both fascinated and confused you. Coming to an end of the hallway, you were greeted by a man in his mid-thirties. Dressed in a formal black and white suit, his brown hair cut short and tidy, revealing his stern expression.

"Y/N, this is Agent Clay. Take his lead. He'll make the introductions" Broom handed you two Mars Bars. Confused you accepted them anyway, but raised an eyebrow as Broom begun to walk back up the hall.

"You're not joining us, Sir?" You asked.

The Professor hesitated before turning his attention onto you for one last time. "I hand-picked you from a wide roster of over 70 academy graduates... Make me proud."

Broom walked further away, leaving you with Agent Clay who still stood in front of a large metal door, which looked similar to an underground bank vault.

"They're not on speaking terms" Clay simply spoke. "Professor Broom had him grounded."

A small chuckle left you, "grounded? Who's grounded?"

You watched Clay open the doors with an unusual pyramid like key. Witnessing the exposed cogs turn, as he grabbed a handle and pulled the door open. "You saw the fish guy, right?"

You nodded, "oh yeah. That was weird."

Clay pulled the door fully open and smiled at you, but it was more like a cocky smile. "Well then... Come on in. Meet the rest of the family..."

Following the Agent's lead, as he grabbed a food cart and walked into a large room. Your confusion grew even more, as you saw the abnormally amount of food upon the trolly. It was enough to feed two dozen people surely! And even have enough for leftovers.

"He gets fed six times a day. Has a thing for cats- for the love of God, don't ask. You'll be his nanny, keeper, best friend. And he never goes out unsupervised."

As you looked around the room, your eyes looked down, seeing a cute little kitten purring as they rubbed against your ankle. Bending down and gently picking up the cat, cradling it and using your index finger to fuss it's tiny tummy. "Who?"

Clay speechlessly handed you a comic book. Your eyes wondering over the vintage cover of a red ape looking character fighting some unknown monster.

"I hate those comics. They never get the eyes right."

Your jaw dropped as your eyes looked up to the individual in front of you. "Hellboy?... He's real?"

"Yeah. Sixty years old by our count, but he doesn't age like we do. Think reverse dog years. This man is barely out of his twenties." Clay explained, as he returned the comic back to its place upon the nearby table.

"What did you do with your hair, Clay? Finally got those implants, huh?."

The Agent turned to Hellboy, but you noticed he was avoiding eye contact. Clay nervously chuckled as he fussed over his appreience, "It will fill in."

You felt Hellboy's golden eyes look at you, "who's the squirt?."

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Clay's bottom lip curl slightly as he hesitated with the introduction. "This is Agent Y/N, they're your new liaison."

You flinched as Hellboy clumsily dropped the heavy dumbbell, that he used to do bicep curls. Hearing the solid metal thing, 'clang' to the ground, sending out slight vibrations throughout the floor.

"I don't want her."

Feeling a little hurt, you turned your attention back to the cat whom happily meowed and purred in your arms. While you continued to fuss its tiny belly, you felt it's paws trying to grab your fingertip.

"What's the matter? You've gotten tired of me already, Clay?"

"The candy." Clay whispered to you, "give him the candy."

Biting your lip in hesitation, putting a pause on fussing the kitten. You used your free hand to hold out one of the Mars Bars, Broom handed you earlier. "I uh... Have this for you."

Hellboy raised an eyebrow, as you watched him place a cigar to his mouth and lighting it casually.

"Father's back?" Hellboy completely ignored you, turning his attention back onto Clay. The Agent simply nodded, answering the demon's question. "He still angry?."

"Well, you did break out." Clay joked, still avoiding all eye contact with Hellboy.

"Yeah well... nobody can't go on a mission without taking my red ass."

"Dude, you got yourself on TV again."

"Y/N, huh?" Hellboy's attention turned back to you. This time ignoring Clay's statement.

You swallowed nervously as Hellboy looked at you again, closing his lighter and letting out a puff of smoke, before approaching you.

"Try not to stare. He hates it when people stare." Clay whispered.

But you couldn't help it. You thought picking up the cat would distract you a little, but it wasn't. All you could do was stand in front of this intimidating... demon, holding a cat who demanded fussing, and holding out a chocolate bar.

"Stare at what?" You lowly questioned Clay. As Hellboy got closer to you.

"His horns. He files them down to fit in."

Now standing in front of you, feeling his curious stare looking up and down at you. Breathing in the smoke from his cigar, as he took the Mars Bar from you.

"Lucky doesn't normally like strangers." Hellboy begun to fuss the kitten's belly, while it nestly happily within your arms.

Your eyes trailed up his arm, taking in his muscular frame and topless torso. Slowly gazing up towards his face, finally meeting eye contact.

"What you looking at, Y/N?"

"O-Oh nothing, Sir-"

"I can feel you staring. Why don't you tell me what you're staring at?"

You felt Clay gently kicking your ankle and shins, attempting to break your eye contact with Hellboy. Flinching as Hellboy placed a hand towards you.

"Your chest!" You blurted as he gently took Lucky, the kitten from your arms. "I-I was looking at your chest."

Oh shit!. Now I've really made a bad first impression.

Agent Clay face palmed at your lie, but Hellboy's chuckle gave you a slight ease.

"My chest huh?... Like what you see then?..."

A few days later...

"You were burned by some organic acid" you spoke, while carefully examining Hellboy's open wound upon his arm.

"Hmm, I'm lucky that way- fuck! Can you please, be a little more careful?"

"I'm doing the best I can, Red."

Your stomach turned as you pulled a strange mutated like leech, out of Hellboy's open wound. Opening the skin a little more, exposing more of his muscle. You carefully pulled out a soft shepire of orange colour, through it's jelly like texture, you could almost see the fetus of the creature, in the lab light.

"How long did you say this thing was attached to you?" You questioned, while allowing the Professor to look at the orange egg. As he peered over your shoulder.

"I donno. Roughly four or five seconds."

The Professor raised an eyebrow, as he used another pair of tongs to pull out a second egg. "Touched you five seconds, laid three eggs?"

Hellboy tuttered, "didn't even buy me a drink."

Pulling out the last egg, the Professor looked through the microscope, while you stitched Hellboy's wound close.

"The stinger detaches itself from the tongue, and injects the eggs. They appear to be very sensitive to heat and light."

"What does that mean?" you placed the used tools into a tray. And prepared them to be washed and sanitized.

The Professor took off his glasses, using his vest of his three piece suit to clean the lenses. "This creature needs a humid and dark environment to breed.

You turned your attention back onto Hellboy, "was there a time you lost track of it?"

"Well... let's see. There was that moment when I had the train on top of my head."

A frown came to your lips. Not approving of Hellboy's sarcasim.

"We can't risk it." The Professor interrupted, "tomorrow you'll head back to the underground tracks with a group of agents. Search the whole place from top to bottom. Find those eggs and destroy them."

You speechlessly nodded in agreement, while cleaning the last tool. But Hellboy got up from the metal, examination table and briskly walked out of the room. The Professor's eyes saw your body slouch a little in the chair.

"Go and follow him" he suggested. "He may not admit it. But the last mission took quite a toll on him."

"I think I should leave him be for a while. Hellboy doesn't seem to approve of me."

"He needs you-"

A scoff escaped your lips, "no he doesn't, Professor-"

"Abe and Agent Clay got badly hurt on the last mission, Agent Y/N."

Your eyes looked up at Broom's saddened face. Your heart sunk a little more into your chest.

"Hellboy may not admit it, but the job dose take a toll on him. The people whom work with him. He grows to care about them, therefore whenever someone is hurt. Hellboy loses a little piece of himself- possibly even blames himself."

The Professor placed a gentle hand upon your shoulder, "even you my dear. I know these past days has been trying for you, but please trust and believe me, when I say. Hellboy needs you more than anyone, right now."

You weakly smiled, "at least one of us thinks so..."

You left Professor Broom in the main lab, walking up the hall of metal walls and concrete floors. People walked past you, muttering and whispering among themselves. Most expressing concern for the agents whom got fatally wounded, or even killed on the last mission. With Broom's words echoing inside your head, your heart sunk a little more.

I... suppose the job can get a little too much for anyone. Including Hellboy...

Stepping towards the metal doorframe upon your left. You silently stood in the doorway, witnessing Hellboy gently place his forehead against the glass of a cylinder tank. Abe floated within the water of the tank, while a small touch screen upon the wall monitored his condition. Abe was unconscious, but stable.

"He'll make it."

Your brows knitted together as Manning's voice interrupted Hellboy's moment. The agent casually lit a cigar, as he blew out smoke with a sigh.

"Not everyone was so lucky. We had two agents die today. Agent Clay probably wouldn't survive the night."

Hellboy pulled himself away from the glass, "not now Manning... please."

You heard the hurt in his voice. The very suttle little hints of breakage in his tone. You understood what Broom meant earlier. Seeing Hellboy's towering height, hunch over as though he tried to make himself smaller. Golden eyes filled with questions. A stern facial expression, he tried so hard to maintain. Hellboy truly did care...

"That's my problem with you."

Your brows knitted together even more, a frown forming upon your lips. As Agent Manning continued to speak in a non-sympathetic tone.

"You're reckless. These men trusted you to lead them as a team. Where were you?-"

"I knew those men better than you ever did-"

"Oh, so that makes it alright, then?-"

"No. Of course it doesn't make it alright! But I stopped that thing didn't I?."

You heard Hellboy's tone change from masking hurt, to masking anger. His stern expression facing Manning, while his glare narrowed onto the agent, who still continued to stand in the lab smoking. Manning remained unfazed by Hellboy's demon like stare, but it sent shivers up your spine.

"Yes, you did" Manning admitted. "That's what you do, and that's why we need you. You have an insight, you know these monsters-"

"What are you trying to say?"

The tension within the lab almost became suffocating. You quickly entered the room, standing between the two. Your mouth opened, but Manning stole the moment before you could say anything.

"This whole thing is a... facade. Because in the end, after you've killed, and captured every freak out there, there's still one left... You-"

"Agent Manning!" your voice filled the air. The agent acknowledged your presence with a simple side glance.

"Something you wish to add, Agent Y/N?"

"Yes there certainly is! A miserable old git, such as yourself has no right to talk to Hellboy in such way!-"

"Gone soft on him already, huh? Trust me, Agent Y/N. The approach Professor Broom has doesn't do shit with this guy" Manning pointed at Hellboy. "Try mine. He needs to be put in line, and held responsible for his actions!-"

"Hey Manning..."

You and Manning faced Hellboy again, his voice in an unusual calm tone. "You're right."

A proud smile flashed across Manning's face,

"I wish I could be more gracious. Perhaps more understanding of your words. But..."

Your eyes widened, as Hellboy reached out for a metal canister, effortlessly ripping it off the wall and holding it above his head. Manning coward behind you, as you held out your hands.

"Hellboy! Stop!-"

"Move!"

"Hellboy, please-"

"Why are you protecting this bastard? You on his side?-"

"I'm not on any side! Now put that thing down!"

Smash!

With a frustrated yell, Hellboy carelessly tossed the metal canister aside, causing it to shatter the frosted glass which looked onto the hallway. Your fixed gaze didn't shift, nor did your body flinch as Hellboy released another yell.

"Just what was it that landed you this job, huh? Pushing pancakes and nachos. What was it exactly? Punctuality? The way you part your hair? What is your area of 'expertise?'" Hellboy used his fingers to heavily quote the last word.

All you could do was gaze at him with soft stare. Watching him casually walk towards Manning, whom was scattering to his feet within the hallway. His loud demands catching the attention of nearby agents, and Professor Broom. If they weren't already drawn to the chaos that was unleashed.

"I want that thing locked up! Starting right now! Right now! Do you-?"

Manning coward away from Hellboy, as he walked through the broken glass. Still ramping and raving about his demands, "Now! Do you hear me? Locked up!"...

Tag List

@veevoilet

[theaudacitytowrite]

Congratulations my dear 👏❤️

I would love a little bit of Angst with number 51 and 63 :3

💕

Thank you!💚

#51: "I thought... I thought I lost you."

#63: "How long have you been here?"

"Loki!" you screamed but too late.

You watched as an enemy ran full speed towards him, tackling him into the ravine. The last thing you saw was his eyes wide in horror as they searched desperately for someone to help. And just like that, he was gone from your sight.

"NO!" you cried out as tears shot into your eyes. You tried to get through to the edge of the cliff but the enemies enclosed you. You felt rage bubble up. You clenched your teeth as you switched from defending yourself to attacking your opponents. One after another fell to your feet as you swiftly worked through each and every one until there was no one left anymore.

With tears in your eyes, you slowly approached the edge of the cliff and cautiously peeked over it but the only thing you saw were wafts of mist obstructing your view. Loki was gone without a trace.

The flight home was silent. You sat in the corner sobbing as you tried to make sense of it all. Loki was gone. Just like that. Your heart clenched in your chest as grief took a hold of you. Your eyes wandered through the room. The remaining avengers sat quietly in their seats, no one had said anything. But something felt off. Yes, they were quiet but not out of sadness. It felt more like they were simply tired and couldn't wait to get off the quinjet soon enough.

'Don't they care?' you asked yourself quietly. You couldn't understand when they all had grown so cold. Loki had been a member of the team for numerous years now. You had always thought that the others had learned to like or even just appreciate him by now.

Once the quinjet landed you grabbed your stuff and headed inside. You wanted to be alone now. You went up the stairs and stormed into the common room towards the kitchen to grab some water before you headed to your room but you froze in your tracks immediately before you were able to cross through the common room.

"Oh hey, you're finally back! Took you long enough." his velvet voice chuckled. Your bags fell to the ground while your mouth gaped. In front of you on one of the couches sat Loki, unscathed.

"How long have you been here?" you whispered in disbelief. Were you hallucinating now?

"Well since I fell into the ravine?" Loki asked a little confused, "Y/N are you ok?" he asked worried as he stood up from the couch.

"I thought... I thought I lost you!" you sobbed as you stormed up to him and fell around his waist, burying your head against his chest as you breathed in his scent. You had thought you would never be able to wrap your arms around him again, nor listen to his steady heartbeat as you pressed your ear against his chest. New waves of tears rolled over your cheeks as relief gradually washed over you.

A *ding* announced the arrival of the remaining avengers. As the doors of the elevators opened the chattering inside stopped and a silence fell over the room.

"Great work on the battlefield, Reindeer Games." Tony commented as he waddled out of the elevator, "See I told you the plan would work. It was so believable that Thanos henchmen lost interest and fled ."

Your head snapped away from Loki's chest as you looked shocked at Tony as you processed his revelation.

"You knew about it?" you sniffled upset, "This was a plan?!"

"You didn't?" Loki asked shocked and his eyes wandered from you to Tony with a death glare.

"In my defence... we needed your reaction to be as real as possible. Which it was. So the plan was successful." Tony gulped hard, taking a few steps back as you let go of Loki, stomping towards him.

"Are you kidding me? That's the reason?!" you yelled at him. A bowl of oranges on a side table caught your eye. Without thinking twice you grabbed a handful before the first already flew through the room.

"Y/N, please." Tony begged as he ran away, "Let us talk about this like mature ad- OW!"

"When will she run out of oranges?" Natasha mused as she watched the spectacle attentively.

"If it is up to me, never." Loki grinned mischievously as new green gleaming oranges appeared in your hands.

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @darkacademicfrom2021  @lostgreekgod @tendertalesmain @donttouchmylaevateinn @asgardianprincess1050 @msturi2u @high-functioning-lokipath @elius-learns-to-write @plainlo-inthemorning @kokinu09 @midnights-ramblings @donaweasley @itsreallyjustmeh @sititran  @lindsey-laufeyson @ethanshide @delaber  @anonymousfiction211 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @iamalinarose @xorpsbane @vbecker10 @limiworld @ilovefanfiction  @crazzycrackers04 @tinctureofmaddness @marvelfanfn2187a113 @cosplayingwitch @sylvies4ever @tanushreeg27 @kellatron55 @loveshineslikethesky @scram1326 @camerons-specialinterest @mooncat163 @leucoratia @acefeather2002  @mochie85 @usagishira @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @lokidbadguy @ozymdias

[ferinehuntressmoved]

◈　@shimmerbeasts　[ ⋯ ]　unprompted Ask . 　☾ ⸻　"Have we found it yet?!" Wolf was impatient. Lamb could feel it, though she did not know what it was like to be impatient. She could only see it in Wolf's twists and turns as he circled her, jaws opening and closing like he wanted to eat the very air around them. "I am afraid not, my dear Wolf. It hides from us. Which is why we are here." On cloven hooves, Lamb approached the house. It belonged to one Caitlyn Lavender Mizuki of House Kiramman. A valiant and brave woman, yet with ferocity underneath her civil posture. She had long split free from the diplomatic order, which had shackled her and which had summoned them more often than not to swiftly end lives, whose final moments had been grievous and painful. Wolf had raged far more about the murderers than the victims for they hardly fled. He was certain the murderers would flee. Murderers always ran from them. Guilty conscience gave you a heavy heart but much faster legs. Lamb rose her slim hand about to knock before she lingered. "Wolf", Lamb said, "We must make ourselves look more common." Wolf chuckled behind her. "So she may not be frightened?" "So she may not be frightened. Remember. We are not here for her. We are here to locate it." Swiftly, Lamb transformed in her appearance. Her soft, silvery-white wool was replaced with pink skin, long, beautiful velvet robes, a thick fur collar, long purple hair, two horns spouting from her head and Wolf's mask morphed into something more resembling the moon with red highlights. Wolf shrunk in size until he looked far more like an ordinary dog, black pelt and silver muzzle. Even his legs made him seem like he wore silver shoes. Icy blue eyes met Lamb's barely visible behind her mask. Without further ado, Lamb knocked at the office's door.

"Are you serious?" Caitlyn's voice broke out, sitting at her desk as she looked toward the older man. The piltovan was finely dressed, in a white suit with his polished black hair glazed with creams and oils. The man stood pristine as if he owned the office rather than the Kiramman in front of him as she stood up, staring down at him now as she took over the power of her building. Her eyes narrowed, a slight sneer against the edge of her lips as she walked around the desk and sat on the corner of her desk. "You thought I would spy on your daughter?"

"Well, that's what you are here for, aren't you?" His arrogant tone left his lips as he smiled and put down the bag of money on the table. "I'm sure I can provide plenty of gold to convince you. You tell me who she is meeting with, what she is doing, and I can pay you a vast amount of gold," That was enough to set the nerve in the corner of her brow to twitch.

"Let me remind you, my name is Caitlyn. Kiramman, remember," Caitlyn stated firmly and pointed her finger toward him. "The amount of wealth you have is a penny-licking compared to what I own. So your money means nothing to me, and your arrogance doublefold. Perhaps  your tongue would be of better use licking the dirt off my floor than talking to me as if we have something in common,"

Suddenly the noble's eyes glared, and opened his mouth. "you dare tal--,"

"Oh, I dare. I could ruin you in two sentences, and my partner could ruin your face for added measure. So take your money and get out. Now!" Caitlyn grabbed the bag of coins and threw it into his chest as the aristocrat huffed and pocketed his money before walking out. Caitlyn let out a sigh, rolling her eyes as she pushed the chair in. "I bet his daughter is striking out because he's so damn paranoid she might have a girlfriend," Caitlyn half chuckled, hoping the girl continued her rebellious ways against this noble. She picked up the paper, tearing it apart several times before dropping it into a trash can and dusting her hands of the privilege some of the nobles thought they had that they could buy her to do things like this. She had far more important matters to deal with than their arrogance.

Moving over, she finished making her tea and poured it into a cup before hearing another knock on the door. "Oh bloody hell, it better not be that noble coming back to try and convince me more," Caitlyn set the tea down, dusting her hands against her pants as she moved over to open the door. What she spotted wasn't a noble but a young woman with purple hair (or at least feminine features) and a black dog. What stood out the most was the masks upon the two, brilliant red eyes from both that she swore looked not just at her but through her soul. Chills shivered up her spine and she opened up the door, sensing the presence of someone far greater than her own.

"Good afternoon," The pleasant tone left her lips, showing no disrespect as she pulled back the door. "Please, come in," Once the two had entered, Caitlyn shut the door behind them, and walked over toward her desk, waving her hand toward the spare chair for Lamb and settling into her own across from her.

"What can I help you with today?" A sense of awe lingered on Caitlyn's mind, a memory months ago she vividly could not forget. The gnashing of teeth, the tenderness of a voice. The feeling of ethereal essence whirls in the wind before her. She dipped in her chair, pushing the tea to the side with a little wisp of steam from the hot liquid. The aroma of spice and cinnamon filled the air, though Caitlyn's attention fully concentrated on the two masked individuals before her.

Could it be?

[unlust-fvck]

hi

wolfstar. very sad. then happy ending. NOW.

— 🐰

p.s i love you

ever so lucky || wolfstar

word count; 1,190

pairing; remus lupin x sirius black

description; remus’ emotions are at an all time high and sirius is forgetful

warnings; angst to fluff, remus lowkey mean, poor baby siri

a/n; i love you so so much <33333 and this is not proofread

remus woke to the feeling of familiar weight leaving the bed. though his eyes were closed, he could decipher what was going on. he felt a small peck on his forehead and the sound of the velvet curtains screeching closed.

his body rolled over before he could even think about it; inhaling the scent of sirius as it wafted away with each step the said boy took.

before he knew it, he was fast asleep yet again.

his body suddenly bolted upright, not aware of how much time had passed.

shit.

remus quickly jumped out of bed; his mind playing a game of ping pong as he grabbed his uniform and threw it on, not even caring his tie wasn’t even tied.

he didn’t even bother to brush his teeth as he grabbed his messenger bag and hurried down the steps into the common room. from what he could gather, it was roughly noon and he had missed his first five classes of the day.

and sirius didn’t even care enough to wake him, knowing full well remus’ energy was depleted due to the full moon drawing near. it was typical for him to need to be woken up several times this time of month.

oh, and isn’t that swell? remus ran right into sirius as he sprinted to breakfast— well, lunch.

sirius jumped back, his hair disheveled as always.

something spewed up in remus’ throat. perhaps it was his primal instincts waxing; maybe the rough start to his morning. remus couldn’t control the venom as it poured out of his mouth.

“you didn’t even bother to wake me? really, sirius? you know how important it is for me to get to my classes, especially with O.W.L.S soon.” he spat

sirius looked uncomfortable; tail between his legs was the best way to put it.

“moony— i’m sorry i didn’t—“ sirius started but remus cut him off sharply.

“don’t fucking ‘moony’ me. you knew, and you chose to just go about your day.” he said fiercely as he shoved past sirius, leaving him at the steps outside the common room.

remus’ anger quickly waned as he stepped into the great hall; the smell of lunch hitting him like a cool breeze. he made no effort to greet the others sat at the table as he grabbed a biscuit and sat down himself.

they all just stared, begging remus to start so that they could diffuse the tension before it got to be too much.

james eyed remus until he couldn’t take it anymore. he slammed his hand onto the table which caused the hall to quiet down significantly.

“well are you going to bloody say something or gawk at me like i’m some lab experiment?” he snapped.

before anyone could build up the courage to respond to remus’ sudden outburst, he grabbed what remained of his biscuit and dashed out of the great hall.

he knew it wasn’t their fault. he knew it wasn’t his fault either. they all knew how his outburst played out around the moon.

it’s funny; like clockwork.

as remus stormed back up the stairs, he decided he wouldn’t even bother with going to his classes for the rest of the day.

the rational side of him was whispering at him to take time to cool off.

so that’s what he did.

as he laid in his curtain-covered bunk, unable to focus on a single subject in his mind, one stuck out in particular that he kept looping back to; he was a puppet and the moon was his handler.

he hated this.

he was surprised he hadn’t suffered deeper consequences from his outlandish behavior this time of the month. maybe that was karma on his side; he was surrounded with an incredible group of people.

just as he was nodding off, the door to the dorm opened and a set of feet walked in timidly. remus didn’t even bother to yell or let his anger bubble up inside of him.

he was just so tired.

the curtains screeched slowly and remus’ head ached as his eyes screwed up in pain and turned to face away from the open curtain. “d’ya mind?” he whimpered, the scent of sirius filling his bunk almost immediately.

there was no response, just a dip in the bed and arms around remus’ mid-section. a face tucked itself into the crook of the lycanthrope’s neck and exhaled gently.

“i’m so sorry.” sirius whispered after a few moments. it was so quiet and so sincere remus wasn’t even sure if he had actually said it.

remus’ heart ached as the absence of his nickname or a pet name filled his ears.

the silence was so loud that it burned.

“no,” he heard himself say gently as he turned to face sirius.

before he could finish, his eyes scanned sirius’ sullen expression. thank merlin his eyes were closed. remus was positive he would’ve broken down then and there if he saw those oceans staring at him with sorrow.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have taken anything out on you. you don’t deserve that.” he whispered as his hands slipped under sirius’ uniform shirt.

it was quiet for a long time; just the sound of remus’ fingers dragging back and forth on sirius’ hips filling the bunk.

eventually his fingers found themselves on either side of sirius’ jaw and he gently placed his lips on the latter’s. it was timid and sweet, but over before remus could even close his eyes.

sirius inhaled through his nose and his eyes finally fluttered open.

“i know you don’t mean it, but that dosent mean it still hurts. i just wanted to tell you that i love you; no matter what you say to me,” sirius was sitting up now. “and i can leave if you’d like to be left alone.” he whispered ever so gently.

remus immediately shook his head before even processing what had just been said to him.

“please,” he whispered. it came out more broken than he intended. “don’t go.” he added after internally cringing at himself.

a ghost of a smile played on sirius’ features as he laid back down, forehead resting on remus’. “i didn’t want to wake you when i woke up to fly with james this morning because i knew how tired you are around this time,” he started carefully, feeling as though he was walking on eggshells.

“and we stayed out longer than we intended to and i had just figured you were already at class when i came back inside.” he explained as remus just took all of it in, feeling and increase in guilt as sirius continued.

“and then i saw you outside of the common room and i just didn’t know what to say.” he finished, his voice now in a whisper.

remus just sighed, filled with guilt, and nodded. “it’s okay sirius, i forgive you. it’s not even your fault.” he whispered. he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “could- could we just not talk about it anymore?”

sirius let out a puff of relief, nodding almost immediately. “yeah, i was thinking the same.” he said gently, his eyes now open, gazing into remus’.

and they stayed like that for awhile; still in their school uniforms, foreheads pressed together, and hearts ever so close.

“i love you, moony.” sirius whispered

remus smiled for the first time that day and crashed his lips onto sirius’.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Destiel Month, 10 Nov.: Date

Cas kept sorting canned goods on the map table. "In Sam's defense, it is a little early."

deancas, established relationship; three 100-word drabbles to tell a tiny story 🎄

i.

"No," Sam whispered, looking out the windshield. "Oh god, no." 

Cas kept his foot on the brake at the stop. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Did we forget something?" Cas glanced into the backseat at five bags of groceries.

Sam smiled in a pinched way. "Everything's fine."

This was obviously a lie, but Cas decided he'd address it when they were home. He kept driving.

One block from the bunker, glitter lit up his peripheral vision.

"Fuck," Sam muttered.

Cas turned and beheld the full vision. "Maybe he hasn't seen it."

Sam covered his face with his hands.

ii.

"We were gone for one hour," Sam said. "Possibly not even that long!"

Dean grinned like a maniac. "Cas, back me up."

Cas kept sorting canned goods on the map table. "In Sam's defense, it is a little early."

"For merriment? For joy? For some goddamned childlike wonder?" Dean scoffed.

"It's November 10th." Sam sighed hugely. "How did you get this tree decorated so quickly?"

Dean's eyes twinkled like the thousands of little lights on the fake spruce in the room. "Started sorting ornaments a week ago. If the neighbors can be decorated already, so can we."

Sam sighed again.

iii.

"Ta-daaa," Dean said as Cas stepped inside. "Ho ho ho and fa-la-la-la-la."

Cas began to smile. Fresh greenery, pine cones, velvet ribbon, and delicate candles were all placed throughout the room, transforming it charmingly. "This is much more sedate than I expected."

Dean ducked his head. "I didn't think a bedroom needed to be tricked out like common areas. We're going for different vibes here."

"Are we?" Cas angled closer. 

Dean's eyes were dark as he reeled him in. "Cozier. Quieter." He lowered his mouth to Cas's.

Cas decided that regardless of the date he could appreciate an intimate setting. 

[prismartist]

burier of hatchets in the ground

Several lies Grian tells.

Ao3

–––

This is intended to be an exercise on the types of lies, explained through different scenarios. Read through them, and see if you can identify each type. It should be easy for you.

1.

You get up while it’s still dark out. Your soulmate snores into the fur of a panda that—he insists—wandered into the Red Velvet Keep. You aren’t exactly planning on hiding the gift from Scar, but there’s something fitting about baking under the cover of night, the scent of fresh bread rising with the sun. The pre-prepared dough bends easy under your touch as you tear it apart, shape it to your desire, and then stick it into the furnace, turning golden-brown from the inside out as they were meant to.

It’s nice, you muse, being in control. 

It’s dawn when Scar stirs, just as you’re packing the last of the bread into the bag. You turn to see him staring and don’t flinch. You only greet him good morning with a temperate smile and a tilted head, the bag hanging in a tight grip behind the crafting table. 

Scar studies you, eyes glittering green.

“Where are you off to so early in the morning?” A friendly, robotic tone, infected with a sleepy croak, a voice trying to sell the idea that he knows less than he does. 

You won’t tell him your entire timetable, of course, that would bore him. You know that. So you run a tongue over your teeth, tasting the mint you’ve rubbed on, and say through them, “Nowhere in particular. Just gathering resources.”

Scar nods, and rolls over. It’s only then that you pocket the bag in your inventory. “Have fun.”

You turn away, but can’t help leaving a promise. It’s something you seem to do a lot with Scar.

“I will.”

Lies of omission: withholding important information that could potentially harm.

2.

“I can talk to other people, Scar.” 

Scar only turns away, muttering something about darkness and sunsets and romance. He’s always on about that. Silly Scar. He’s just like BigB, really. BigB, who fidgets with his sleeve as you watch Scar trot off. When you look back at him, he grins nervously, and you can’t help but return the gesture. When he smiles and stammers like that, it’s hard not to. It’s just common sense at this point.

Later you keep talking. Keep assuring Scar. Soulmates need to stick together. You’ve stuck with him before. Really, Scar, has there ever been a moment where you betrayed him? Come on now. There’s nothing to worry about. 

To be fair, it’s all true. What reason do you have to lie? So you keep talking, and talking, trying to drill it into his brain. Truths are easy to meld. They bend under your tongue, like sweet and sticky candy, like dough under your palm. Maybe that’s why you keep telling them. 

Character lie: deflecting the question by relying on your reputation and accomplishments, embellishing yourself in the process. More refined people would call this ethos. To you, ethos is just a friend. 

3.

“You smell like bread.”

You look at Scar. “Is there a problem with that?”

“I don’t remember you making bread.” He pouts, childish and theatrical. “Don’t tell me you’re not sharing your food, G.”

It feels like your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. Too much candy. “It was a truce gift,” you eventually say, mint still lingering in your words, “for the Ranchers. To solidify our alliance.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, and your shoulders lower in response. “Oh, that’s great! Where is it then?”

“Where is what?”

“The bread.”

“Oh. I gave it to them already.”

“Aw, what? Grian, I swear—” The smell of bamboo grows stronger as he wraps an arm around you, and Scar sighs all the warmth out of his voice, leaving a steely mutter, “—I feel like you’re leaving me out more and more.”

“Now,” you respond as easy as breathing, “what makes you say that?”

Lies of commission: inventing a story to cover up a more unpleasant one. 

Speaking of unpleasant stories.

4.

Your nail is chipped. It had broken when you hit the dripstone. There’s dried blood under it. There’s fresh blood under you.

You take deep, shuddering breaths. You tell yourself, in this order:

It was an accident.

Now it’s not so complicated, and that’s good.

This stupid world forced me to. 

It was for Scar. 

Lie of denial: to convince one that you do not know of the truth, though you very, very much do. 

You say it often so that you don’t hurt someone, though you very, very much did.

Take another breath.

I killed him. 

Good. That’s a step forward. Now, let’s face the facts. 

It wasn’t an accident. An accident implies that there was no cause, or that no one is to blame, and that is simply not true. The fact of the matter is, it was you.

It’s still very much complicated. Especially when Scar’s Red eyes sometimes glimmer a dangerous green. Especially when you still hide. 

BigB never killed you as a Red. You didn’t have to kill him either. 

You love Scar, you really, really do, but it’s been made clear since the beginning that your kills have never been for anyone except yourself.

You are laying BigB’s armor in front of his headstone. You carved it with your own bloody hands. Seems appropriate. You were responsible for his death, you might as well be responsible for his resting spot.

“I’m so sorry,” you shakily write, and say, and think, to empty air. That much is true. 

You’ll say it again later when someone can hear you. You’ll say it even if you won’t be forgiven. You’ll say it to Scar later.

Lie.

[poirott]

Hercule Poirot + magnifying glass

[quindolyn]

Hey I was wondering if you could write a sub!regulus X Dom!fem reader fic?

One where it’s angsty as Regulus had been acting different around the reader, and eventually after being questioned about it alone, Regulus breaks down and admitting his parents forced him to get the dark mark (there was nothing he could do about it), and the reader comforts him while they fuck. Regulus had been through a lot and the reader wants him to know that they love him.

Including: praise kink, subspace regulus, scar/mark kissing, aftercare for regulus, riding, and anything else you think would suit this situation <3

Resilience || Regulus Black

Word Count: 6154

A/N: Do I hate this? Yes, most definitely, without a doubt. Did I only proof read 5/15 pages. Yes, again, certainly. But I'm tired and I'm with my friend so it's not gonna get better than this. I love you all and hope you enjoy it

warnings: pretty much included in the ask, can't really think of anything else

Being light on your feet it doesn’t appear as though Regulus notices you tip toeing your way across the Slytherin common room. As you come up behind him you peer over his shoulder; he has his legs tucked beneath him with what appears to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook resting in his lap. Standing over his shoulder you let your eyes scan across the pages laid open and what you first believed to be a chapter on counter curses you realized was actually detailing how to cast the curse.

Realizing what you’d just read you let out a small, involuntary gasp that catches the attention of the boy sitting in front of you.

“(Y/N)!” Regulus quickly exclaims, glancing over his shoulder before slamming the book closed and sliding it into his book bag which sits next to him on the plush, green velvet sofa.

“What was that Reg?” You ask, brow furrowed as your eyes lock onto Regulus’ grey ones.

“Just a book love, that’s all.”

“Your Defense textbook?” You ask, hoping he would slide it back out of his satchel to show you the familiar scarlet cover you’d scratched your initials into on the bottom right hand corner.

“Something of the sort,” He answers vaguely, pushing himself off the couch to face you. Instead of making his way around the couch to meet you he stayed on the other side of the piece of furniture. Feet planted, hands fiddling with each other while instead of making eye contact with you his gaze seemed to be directed just past your right ear.

“Don’t lie to me Regulus,” Your voice is clipped, when you’d come to check in on Regulus after he’d come home from winter break at his dreaded family’s house this wasn’t what you had expected.

Regardless, it was what you’re met with, “What the hell is that book?”

Your voice jumps and you can hear the panic rising in it. Regulus had spent the weeks up to his departure date dreading the time he would have to spend at the Black Mansion. You’d stayed up countless nights, wishing you could somehow keep him from having to go to that hellish house but when it came down to it there was nothing either of you could do.

Finding him pouring over some dark arts book the first time you saw him after nearly two weeks apart wasn’t exactly the reunion you’d been picturing in your head. Nor was it comforting.

You can barely make it out but you believe you hear him whimper something about “it’s nothing” as his gaze drops from just over your shoulder to his toes.

You two stand there for a minute, then two, each waiting for the other to say something, anything to break the tension currently hanging heavy over the room. Regulus silently begging you to let it go, to leave the room and give him some time to stash the book before coming to find you to act as though nothing had happened and it was all fine.

Unwilling to yield, you hold your ground, maintaining your silence while your eyes bore into the top of his head, awaiting his explanation as to what you’d walked into.

You’re the one to finally break the silence.

“If it's nothing, then I’d like to see it Regulus.” It's the second time in the span of five minutes you opt for his full name instead of one of the nicknames coined by his brother, who he’d recently mended things with, and made popular by yourself. You knew it would strike a cord for him but you were scared, you were on the offensive.

With a deep sigh Regulus retrieves his bag from the spot it’d fallen to on the floor, pulling the book from the bag, bound in emerald green, Regulus hold it both far from his body and with a surprisingly tight hold, somehow both wanting it as far from him as possible and not wanting it to leave his grasp.

Though visibly ancient the book appears to be in remarkable condition, engraved on the front cover in gold leaf reads “Mendel's Most Malicious Curses”.

Studying the cover you don’t recognize the book’s title but based on what you’d glimpsed inside of its pages you hadn’t expected to. Even as a fifth year you doubt this would ever be included in O.W.L. curriculum.

Despite knowing better you can’t help but feel a strange, strong attraction to the book, an overwhelming urge consuming you to take that book. Your fingers itch at your sides as you imagine getting your hands on the book, wondering how hard Regulus would fight before relinquishing it from his grasp.

Somewhere in your subconscious you register that these thoughts are not organically your own, that somehow that book is influencing you and that in reality you want nothing to do with it. Frightened thoughts simmer at the back of your mind but they are lost in the shadows of your curiosity regarding the secrets that lie beneath the ornate designs swirling over the cover.

Expectantly you extend your arm, a nonverbal signal for Regulus to hand you the book but your movement throws him into action and has him clutching it close to his chest, both arms cradling the text.

“No no no no no,” He chants frantically, shaking his head as though to shake off the thought of relinquishing the book to you. “I can’t give you this (Y/N),” He swallowed deeply, shining silver eyes seaking out yours, ablaze with conviction.

“And why’s that?” You challenge with a raise of your brow.

Inhaling deeply he seems to be bracing himself to respond, “Because you’re a muggle born, it’s not meant for you to touch.”

You can feel rage bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to spill out your mouth in a flurry of angry words admonishing Reg for his remarks, “What? Is my simple muggle born mind not worthy enough to read words in that precious little pureblood book of yours? Do I need my pedigree intact to understand what it says? Not meant for mutts, is that it?”

You thought you were past this, you thought you’d left the aloof little third year you’d first met who’d called you a mudblood and asked you to move to a different table in the library because he didn’t want you looking at his charms homework behind.

Had the past year and a half of apologies and growth on Regulus’ part all been a lie? Was that hate not as small a part of your boyfriend as you’d thought? Did it really only take just shy of two weeks back with his biggoted relatives for him to start spewing this pureblood nonsense again?

Bouncing around in your head those questions overwhelm you as you try to ignore the most pressing one, pushing at the forefront of your mind.

Does he even love you?

“B-because you’re not a pureblood, this book (Y/N), it can’t be held by anyone not of pureblood,” Reg’s shaking voice broke through the flurry of questions wreaking chaos in your mind.

“God damn it Regulus! I thought we were past this! I thought-”

“It’ll kill you (Y/N)!” His voice is frantic and you pick up on the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over.

Those words that seemed to carry a fatality in themselves cleared away the din clouding your mind, everything went silent. Too silent even as the implication of those words wash over you.

That book may as well be a gun, cocked and being held steady at your temple as you feel tears of your own begin to well in your eyes, distorting your vision.

The mess of questions doesn’t return to your mind, instead they begin thumping one by one at the base of your brain though they all carry through the same theme.

How could he have brought that near you?

“Kill me?” You curse yourself for how obvious your voice is shaking but the book that just moments earlier you were dying to get your hand on seems to have cast an oppressive air over the room and has you recoiling away from your boyfriend.

Regulus nods, holding eye contact with you as he slips the book back into his bag, sliding it under the sofa before cautiously striding towards you.

“That's why I can’t give it to you to look at, it's cursed and if you so much as bump it you’ll…” His voice trails off, the words too terrible to speak aloud.

Your arms wrap around yourself, clutching as hard as they can as you fight to wrangle your thoughts under control. His response revealed to you that he doesn’t intend to hurt you, not with the book anyways which has dozens of other worries popping up in your head. You’re desperate for answers as to what happened to Regulus at his house. He seems ready to give them to you as he offers to take you back to his dorm away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk about in the Slytherin common room.

You’d both agreed to arrive back at school two days early hoping to get some alone time in but that didn’t mean that the castle was empty and that anyone couldn’t walk into his common room at any moment.

You stall as he lets you into his dorm, you’ve been there a thousand times, often under the mask of night but your usual spot, atop his always made perfectly bed, seems wrong now. Without answers to your countless questions the entire room feels foregin to you and leaves you standing by his desk, not quite leaning against it but also not quite supporting your own weight.

Regulus seems equally awkward but eventually settles on his bed, perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, he barely looks comfortable.

You stay there so long in silence that after a while your breathing syncs, the singular sound becoming the only noise in the drafty room.

Long after it becomes clear Regulus isn’t going to speak first and you finally tire of the silence you find your voice, somewhere deep inside of you summoning the words to your most pressing worry; “What happened at your house Regulus? What did they do to you?”

Your words have him crumbling, your usually stoic boy folding in on himself until he is but a ball hanging off the bed.

You hesitate for a single second before you’re racing towards him, dropping before him at his knees to cup his face in your palms. Directing his visage upwards to meet yours you feel your heart wrench in your chest as you take in his puffy, red eyes, red nose and flushed cheeks already marred with twin trails of salty tears cascading down his face.

“Regulus,” You choke out feeling tears from earlier resurface as you push yourself off the ground to take your place next to the scared boy beside you.

Pulling him into your lap as much as his size permits you too you take great care in cradling his head, clutching him to your chest as your rock gently back and forth humming into his hairline in hopes to calm his sobs. Raw and ragged they each tear at the fragile, brave exterior you’ve erected in hopes of comforting the boy, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Whispering sweet nothings into his ear you feel him melt into your touch, slowly the breathing becomes stronger and his sobs quiet to weak sniffles swallowed by the occasional gulp.

Feeling him shift under your touch you can tell he’s working himself up to something, he always gets fidgety when he’s trying to summon the courage to do something hard, his movement triggers a memory.

It floods through your mind as you’re reminded of a similarly terrified Regulus, knees bumping against the table at breakfast one lazy Sunday as he repeatedly bounced them, seemingly unable to sit still. He’d spent weeks working himself up to speaking to his brother for the first time in far too long.

The memory of him being so strong and brave even as the entirety of the Great Hall tracked his movement from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor had you drawing a deep breath. The strength the memory provides you has you summoning the breath to prompt Regulus into some sort of explanation, anything.

“Reggie, your mother gave you that book didn’t she?”

He goes still at your words and even involuntary actions seem to still, his lungs draw no breath and his pulse seems to fade away under your touch.

“Bellatrix,” His voice is hoarse from crying, “Her idea of a Christmas gift.”

“That bitch,” You spit.

“Walburga’s was worse.”

You pause at the mention of her name, there is no doubt in your mind that he is the one who’s actions have sent Regulus into this downward spiral of despair and fear. You’re not even sure if you wanna hear what he has to stay but what you want stopped being important a long time ago.

“Do you wanna show me Reg?” You ask, breathless.

“No,” Comes his meak voice, “But I need to.”

You nod understandingly as you regrettably allow him to slip from your grasp so he can turn to face you, one leg tucked under his bum and the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

His eyes are downcast before he peaks them up through thick, dark lashes to meet your gaze, “Do you promise not to hate me (Y/N/N)? I don’t know if I can do this if you hate me.”

Your brows are drawn together as your response comes emphatically, “I could never hate you Regulus, I could never and I will never.”

“You can’t make that promise,” He says through a watery chuckle, leaving you wondering where the hilarity in the situation was. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Regulus,” You latched onto his hand before he could turn away from you, “I am incapable of hating you my love, please. Tell me what happened.”

Silver eyes locked with yours as though they would reveal the solidity of your promise. You’re not sure what answer he found in them but regardless he broke your gaze as he snuck his hand out of yours.

You watch as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and an idea as to what he’s going to show you begins to form and you find yourself regretting ever demanding to know what’s going on. You quickly shove those thoughts back down, there's no use in even entertaining them, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away.

Your worst fears are confirmed as Regulus rolls the sleeve of his black sweater to reveal swirling black ink sunk deep into his skin. Even just by looking at it you could feel the permanence of the ink, the meaning behind it causing a chill to shoot through your bones.

In the back of your head this had always been a possibility but not one you’d ever truly considered. You always thought that you would be able to get yourself and Reg away from everyone, from everything. Blood purity, the ministry, his family.

You were going to get out and you’d thought you’d have plenty of time, half way through his fifth year neither of you ever expected him to be forced to take the Dark Mark before his eighteenth birthday.

You were supposed to have until his eighteenth birthday.

Staring at the ink that seemed to pulse with life against the pale white of Regulus’ skin you suppose that it doesn’t really matter what you were supposed to have, what was supposed to happen. Regulus has taken the dark mark.

Godric, Regulus has taken the dark mark.

“Y-Your mother did this to you?” Your voice wobbles, anger, confusion, and terror evident in your voice, each betraying the strong front you’re trying to keep up for Regulus.

“She came for me in the middle of the night, (Y/N/N). First time I’ve ever been woken by her instead of Sirius or a house elf and she forced me up, made me get dressed before taking me downstairs and they were all there,” His voice cracks as a silent sob racks his body, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to relive the horrific events of that night. Hoping to provide him with any sort of comfort you inch closer to him, throwing your arm around his shoulder allowing him to rest his head on yours before continuing.

“They were all there (Y/N), not just her and Father. Bellatrix, Cissa and her husband, the Lestranges,” He pauses to swallow, “ And him. He was there.”

Regulus needn’t clarify who “he” was. The idea that he had even been near Regulus made you sick to your stomach and you could feel the distinct sensation of bile rising tickle at the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it's okay Reg,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as sobs shake his body, “It’s going to be okay Red we’re going to figure this out.”

“He did this to me,” He sobs as he shakes in your lap, letting the enormity of his circumstances finally sink in after suppressing it for the past week, the fear of your response keeping him occupied.

To say you aren’t scared would be a lie, you’re fucking terrified but holding Regulus’ trembling form you know that this decision was not his. He would never swear allegiance to a group hell bent on destroying you and people like you, a few years ago maybe but not today. Not the Regulus you’d come to love, even if it began despite yourself.

Without hesitation you reach out, wrapping your hand around the skin now stained by dark magic.

Regulus let’s out a hiss at your touch and you feel him tense under your hand, afraid you’ve hurt him you start to pull away, “Does that hurt Reg?” You ask warily.

“Yes,” He spits out through gritted teeth, “But don’t let go please,” He pleads, raising his gaze to meet yours, “Please don’t let go.”

“Not gonna let go,” You promise, keeping your hold on his forearm tight.

Dipping your fingers under the strong bone of his mandible you turn his visage upwards to meet yours, heart breaking at the sadness and pain swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of his. Slowly you lean in before your eyelashes are brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks and your eyes flutter closed as you watch his do the same.

Your lips brush each other’s gently as your hand cups the side of his face, giving you complete control of the kiss as you keep the swipes of your lips light, you can just barely make out the taste of the pomegranate lip balm you’d given him as a part of your holiday gift to him.

“I didn’t wanna take it (Y/N/N),” He sniffles against your lips, “I don’t wanna be a Death Eater, I don’t wanna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice has more tears welling in your eyes, you just can’t bear to see your beautiful boy in so much pain.

“Oh I know you don’t bubba I know,” You calm him, throwing a leg over to the other side of his lap so that you can perch yourself atop the hard smooth surface of his thighs. Gently pressing kisses along the canvas of his face you feel his arms wrap around your waist and the tips of fingers graze against your ass as his hands hover above it.

“Can I touch you please?” His words are barely audible but his desperation is loud and clear.

You grant permission as you lean forward to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. Posing little, if any, challenge before letting your tongue delve into his mouth, quickly claiming dominance over his as you feel his palms clutch the globes of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he holds onto you as tight as possible.

With care you slowly guide him onto his back as your lips trail from his down the column of his throat, in your journey down you leave sloppy hickeys along the delicate skin of his neck. Pulling away slightly you smile to see the various shades of purple and blue painted along his pretty ivory skin.

You know you’re going to have a real conversation about this later, what it means, what the two of you are ready to do about it but right now all you can think about is how you can make your pretty boy feel better, how you can show him that your love for him hasn’t changed. And there’s one way you know how to do that best.

“Do you want me to make you feel good Reggie?” You whisper against his skin as your lips ghost over his collar bone, drinking in his scent.

“Please,” He whimpers, “Need you.”

That’s all you need to hear before your hands are delving under the hem of Reg’s sweater, hands sliding against the smooth planes of his abs, your hands gliding over the occasional ridge of a long healed scar.

Sliding the hem up all the way to his collarbone you look down to see the beautiful lines of his chest and stomach. The scars you’ve become used to seeing a dark but faded pink now shine an almost brilliant purple as though the dark magic imprinted upon his arm had somehow interfered with scars caused by Walburga, most of them when he was much younger. You know for a fact that there are more ones on his back, deeper and darker from taking longer to heal.

“Come on pretty boy,” You coach, propping him up so that you can slip the soft sweater over his head before discarding it over your shoulder, “There we go, that’s a good boy.”

He lets out a low whine at your praising words as his hips thrust up towards yours which are perched directly atop them.

While removing your own sweater you smile, realizing it’s actually one of Regulus’ old Quidditch jumpers from the year prior. With no bra beneath your top your tits are left bare for Regulus’ viewing. His eyes gloss over as lust creeps into the stormy grey of his irises, they’re locked on your tits as though they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Do these hurt more than normal baby?” You ask as your fingertips graze over the raised scars on his chest, if the dark magic of the dark mark made his scars more sensitive you wanna be careful not to hurt him.

“A little.”

Frowning you lean down to press your lips against the puckered scars, your kisses light and fleeting as you trace the dark lines with your lips.

Dancing from one scar to another you hear him exhale deeply and the tension seems to be slowly leaving his body as he settles into the mattress and he becomes malleable under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful Reg,” You praise against his scarred skin, needing him to understand just how much you love him.

“I love you so much,” You look up through your lashes to see Regulus’ eyes already locked on your body.

“I love you too.”

With that your lips are ceasing his once more as you feel the overwhelming need to comfort your boy. Gently, you grind your hips up against his as you become lost in the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours before you feel a familiar bulge pressing on you.

Your hand ventures back down the hard muscle of his stomach before you bump against the bulge of his erection, straining against the soft material of his sweatpants. You palm gently over his cock as your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, giving him sweet, light kisses while teasing his throbbing member.

“Please,” Comes his choked pleas at being teased, “Please, need more.”

“Of course pretty boy,” You promise as you lift yourself off of him, giving him one last kiss at the waistband of his sweatpants before helping him ease off his bottoms and boxers.

Once he’s devoid of all clothing you too strip down so that you’re both bare naked, your eyes are fixed on the red, weeping head of his half hard cock, sitting against the inside of his muscled thigh.

He whimpers as your hand wraps around his member, pumping up and down his hardening length, brushing your thumb along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Wanna be inside of you,” He whimpers, hands grappling for your wrist to stall your movements and pull you on top of him but all he succeeds in doing is making you stubble closer to him.

You release your right hand from his cock, instead taking his hand in yours while your unoccupied hands resumes stimulating his member.

“I know you wanna be inside of me, pretty boy, but I gotta get you hard first.”

“But I am hard,” He argues in a pretty little whine, and now that he mentions it you realize that he is harder than he was when you’d pulled him from the tight confines of his pants.

“Your cock’s so gorgeous,” You murmur watching the way he twitches in your hand, “Think you’re hard enough now, yeah?”

He nods his head, squirming as he fights the urge to buck up into your hand.

Making sure that he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillow at the head of the bed you brush away the hair that’s fallen into his face as you straddle his lap, the shaft of his cock pressing against the warmth of your cunt.

Lifting yourself a few inches off his thighs your help guide his prick to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him you allow yourself to take your time accepting each and every inch of him inside of you.

Reg’s eyes are glued to your pussy as he watches himself disappear inside of you, all the way down to his base. His eye brows furrow from the overwhelming pleasure that swims through his veins, sinking deep into his every nerve at the bliss of being completely surrounded by your warm pussy.

Pleasure shoots up your spine at the sensation of slowly becoming full, once you’ve finally taken every inch of him inside you you throw your head back, mouth dropped open as the breath is stolen from your lungs. It feels so good to be so full with him you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Good boy,” You say breathlessly, rubbing your arms up and down his flexing arms, fists furled with the sheets between them as he too adapts to the sensation that comes with being inside of you.

“You ready for me to move?” You ask once you finally become used to the full feeling.

Desperate nods answered your question, it takes you a minute to find your rhythm but soon you’re grinding his hips against his, lifting yourself slightly off his cock before grinding back down onto him.

Your movements are slower than usual when you fuck Reg, but after the terror he’d gone through in the past weeks you’re deliberate in your gentle movements.

As your hands grip the muscles of his arms you hear him take a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, landing on his face, your movements stalling before you realize that you’re clutching the newly marked skin on his left forearm.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” You apologize, loosening your grip on him as your lips frace the dark lines of the ink against his skin.

Seeing that mark on anyone else would’ve made you recoil, have ice shooting through your veins as fear petrified you. While you would’ve preferred never to see that symbol of hate tattooed into Regulus’ skin it didn’t evoke its usual reaction from you. The only fear you have is fear of the future, fear of what lies in wait for the two of you beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is comforting your boy, all you think about as you press your lips to his mark.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear sobs break through Regulus’ lips, quickly you abandon the stain of ink , moving to cradle his head so that your tits are right in his line of vision.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” He cries into your chest, tears wet the soft skin of your tits.

“No baby, I’ll never hate you, not ever.”

You feel the wet warmth of his mouth brush against your right nipple, gazing down you see his tongue lazily circling the pebbled flesh and you’re reminded just how cold the room actually is but pressed up against Regulus it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You wanna suck on my titty Reggie?”

He responds with a weak nod and quickly you’re easing your nipple into his mouth, helping him find the correct angle all the while stuttering your hips against his.

“You fill me up so good Reg,” Your praise, fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls.

At your praise he begins lifting his hips in times with your thrusts, helping you as you fuck youself on top of him, wanting so desperately to make you feel as good as you make him.

“There we go, that’s a god boy.”

“M’getting close,” His words are muffled by the soft flesh of your tit stuffed into his mouth.

You too are nearing your orgasm as your clit brushes against the hard bone  of his pelvis pulling a sharp whimper from you. To better grant Regulus access to your breast you’ve settled on rolling your hips in circles, ceasing the up and down movement from earlier so as to not disturb him.

A familiar tightness is brewing in your belly as Regulus’ hands run up and down your back before gripping the globes of your butt, maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

“Go ahead bubba, go ahead and cum. Fill me up pretty boy, want your cum. Need your cum. Godric I love you,” You ramble, seizing his lips again, needing them against yours as you feel him cum inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters as your cunt grips around him with the tell tale signs of your quickly approaching orgasm.

“Y’gonna cum with me baby?” You ask as you press your lips to his forehead, his mouth having once more found the plush of your breast.

“Yes,” He nods, “Please.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave of pleasure racing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm, continuing to move your hips as you simultaneously help Reg through his. Stars flash behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure building up finally releases, sending you into euphoria so intense it seems to cloud your every sense.

The second he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock it tipped him over the edge and as he lost himself in pleasure, rope after rope of cum releasing inside of you, he tried his best to match the movement of his hips to yours.

You flutter your eyes open as the warmth of his cum floods your pussy as you come down from the height of your orgasm, letting yourself collapse so that your chest is pressed up against his.

With your chests pressed so close together you notice the exact moment that your breathing syncs, feeling as Regulus’ arms wrap around your bare torso keeping you close to his body.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur against the ivory skin of his chest, keeping your voice hushed.

“Better. A little happy.”

Glancing up you catch the smallest smirk slink across his lips as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Happy?”

“You make me happy,” His eyes flicker to yours as he pulls you closer to him causing his softening prick to slip out of your tight hole. You both hiss as the cool air hits his cock and the cum he’d emptied into you begins flowing out yout pussy.

Regrettably you push yourself off of him, pulling his sweater over your head before waddling into the connecting bathroom, being ever so conscious about the sticky white mess between your legs as you wet a washcloth using warm water from the sink before applying it to the insides of your thighs. Ginger touches hastily cleaning up the excess cum before rinsing the wash cloth to take it to Reg.

“Hey pretty boy,” You coo upon reentering the room to find him in the same position you’d left him in, “You ready for me to clean you up?”

“You look so beautiful in my clothes (Y/N/N),” He responds instead of answering your question, pushing himself onto his elbows so that he can watch you, his black sweater enveloping you all the way to your lower thighs.

“And you’re just beautiful,” You smile, sitting next to him on the mattress. You aren’t lying, he looks absolutely gorgeous leaning back, mop of dark hair in tangled tresses, grey eyes glossed over, abs sheening with sweat as are his equally toned thighs. Merlin bless the poor bastard who invented Quidditch.

Dragging up his muscled legs your eyes settle on his softening member, just as pretty as the rest of him.

With care you make quick work of cleaning the cum off his cock, resting your hand on his thigh when he tries to squirm away from your over stimulating touch.

“I know baby, I know but I gotta get you all nice and clean for me.”

“Hurts,” He mumbles in a pathetic pout.

“I know it does pretty baby but look,” You say, pulling the cloth from his skin, “All done already.” Pressing a kiss to his temple you go to stand but you’re quickly pulled back down to the mattress by cold hands wrapped around the warm folds of your waist.

“Don’t go,” He mumbles into your hair as he keeps you tucked into his side.

“Just gotta go put the washcloth back Reggie,” You explain trying to slip from his hold but he’s not having it and just tugs you back against the hard planes of his chest.

“No,” He says simply before reaching over to the bed side table where he’d set his wand, mumbling a quick banishing spell the rag flew from your hand before flying into the bathroom.

Resting your head against his strong shoulder you yank a blanket from the end of the bed up to throw it around your bodies, nestled close together.

“You said you were happy Reg.”

“Mhm,” He responds with a noncommittal hum.

“What else are you feeling, love?”

You hear him take a deep inhale, as his own answer seemed to overwhelm him, “I don’t know. I’m scared, I’m really scared but not so much now that I know that you don’t hate me.”

You nod against his chest, you can only imagine how petrifying that thought must’ve been for him and you can’t deny the tug you feel in your chest at the idea of Regulus ever thinking you would hate him.

“I’m still terrified but I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’re gonna be okay Regulus, you are capable and strong and smart and the bravest boy I have ever met,” You can feel the blush radiating off of him at your words.

“Thank you (Y/N/N),” He mumbles bashfully into your hair once more.

You were telling the truth, if there was one thing that you know for certain its that Regulus is just as resilient as he has proven to be and if Walburga, or anyone else for that matter thought he was going to take this lying down. If they thought you were going to take this lying down, they have another thing coming. There is no doubt in your mind that Regulus will fight for what he knows to be true and if there was ever a point that he would have obeyed his mother’s every command without question that time was long past.

Reg isn’t to be underestimated. He’s just as every bit courageous as he’s proved to be over and over again. To underestimate him is to dig your own grave; and unlike Walburga you aren’t ready to count him out quite yet. On the contrary actually, your boy wasn’t about to take this lying down and even if it meant total self destruction, the two of you are about to raise hell.

taglist: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @thatvenusbabe @zzzfour @temporaryissue @gubleryum @msmb @marauderswhore07 @st0nesnglitter @priii @miraclesoflove @shadesofvelma @drachoesimp @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @ohwowimlonley @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore @swearingsolemnly @teenwolfbitches28 @lilypad-55449 @jamespotterslover @wh0reforthemarauders @myalupinblack @ashesandstars @daisyyy2516 @remugoodgirl @itzstacie @planet-wolfstar @steveharringtonswhore @saintlike78 @i-love-scott-mccall @thatdummymarie @trashyvicks @sprucewoodlover @slut4drvc0 @pagesbetweensheets @locnylupin @mjoubertt-1@blowing-mikey @slvt4fakerealities @kaqua @pottahishotasf

[earlgreydream]

blindfold.

| draco x reader x Theo | smut | fluff |

anon requested. Draco, Theo and reader where it starts with a smut, but then the reader has to say the safeword and the boys are so sweet to her

a/n: I want something soft, so here’s a sweet little d x t x r blurb

“I read about it in a book,” you whispered to Draco, sitting on a table in the common room. He stood in front of you, between your legs, hands resting on your thighs.

“My naughty girl, what kinds of books are you reading?” He teased, kissing and nipping at your jaw. You giggled softly, squirming away from your boyfriend.

“I’m a good girl!” You insisted quietly, keeping your conversation private.

“I don’t know about that,” Theo spoke, walking over and setting his bag down beside you. He pecked your lips, earning an adoring smile.

“Our sweet little Y/N read about blindfolds in a novel, and suggested the idea to me,” Draco filled Theo in on your conversation, making you blush.

“Blindfolds? That’s something you want to try?” Theo asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I don’t know, we’d been talking about trying new things. I thought that one would be easy.”

“We can try it, sweetheart,” Theo concluded, giving you another kiss.

They dropped their things off in the prefect dorm and hurried to quidditch practice, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You slipped off of the table, walking to Draco’s dorm. You worked on a charms essay and tried not to let your mind wander too far while you waited for them to come back. The two hours felt like a lifetime, and you were relieved when they entered enthusiastically, happy to be home to you.

“How was practice?”

“It was great, everything went really well.”

The boys kissed your head before going to clean up, and you undressed while you waited for them. They returned and Draco smiled, wrapping his arms around your bare waist and kissing you deeply. You carded your fingers into his hair and moaned into the kiss, feeling him slide his tongue past your lips. The kiss was possessive, wrapping you in the feeling of being his, offering protection and safety. Theo pressed kisses along the back of your neck, lifting your hair and finding the little places that made your knees weak.

“Let’s experiment, shall we?” Theo asked, and you nodded breathlessly.

“I’m a little nervous,” you confessed as you climbed onto the bed, sitting up.

“We’ve got you, you’re entirely safe with us,” Theo reassured you, his lips brushing yours.

You settled down, reaching out to hold Theo’s forearms as Draco gently secured one of his green silk ties around your head, blindfolding you.

You had been curious to try something new, but you were now a little unsure about being unable to see what was coming, or what the boys were doing to you.

You certainly trusted them, though you were uneasy with one of your senses taken away. You jumped a bit as Draco’s fingers trailed down your spine, making him laugh.

“Be gentle, please,” you practically begged, clinging just a bit harder to Theo.

“We will, sweetheart. Draco and I aren’t going to hurt you,” Theo promised, kissing your cheek.

He lowered you to lay down on the sheets, keeping one of his hands in yours. Draco admired you, smiling as he ran his hands up the sides of your body, gently fondling you. Your back arched, pushing your chest into his touch, an action Draco appreciated.

He knelt between your legs, prying your knees apart and exposing you to them. Theo smiled, his free hand trailing between your legs and finding your clit, rubbing your sensitive skin and pulling a whine from you.

You jumped as Draco began to ease into you, quickly enough that it was one fluid motion. Theo kept moving his fingers in tight circles, kissing up the sounds you were making.

Your heart started to race, and you were feeling overwhelmed by their movements, especially when Draco’s hands returned to exploring your body. You tried to relax, but it all got to be a little much for you.

You pushed your blindfold off, gently shoving Theo off of you.

“Slytherin!” You gasped your safeword once your kiss was broken with your boyfriend.

Draco immediately eased out of you, and Theo took his hands off of your body.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Draco’s worry was written all over his face. You sat up, drawing in sharp breaths.

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t like that,” your voice trembled and Theo opened his arms.

“We never have to try it again, never.” Theo promised, kissing your head as you climbed onto his lap.

Draco agreed, squeezing your hand and kissing your shoulder. You mumbled out an apology, your cheeks pink with embarrassment over getting so upset over nothing. 

“Don’t apologize, ever. We want you to feel comfortable. Your safeword is there for you to use, love. We will never be upset with you for being honest,” Theo promised, gently grasping your jaw so you were looking at the boys. He leaned down and kissed you, feeling you relax against his arms. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?” Draco asked, earning a nod from you. 

You let your boyfriends care for you, showering with them and squealing as Draco sprayed you in the face with water.

“Draco!” you shrieked, putting your hands up and smacking his chest. 

Theo laughed, returning the showerhead to its place before turning the water off and ushering the two of you out. 

“Enough causing trouble, Malfoy,” Theo scolded lovingly as Draco tried to tickle your sides. 

“But-”

“Go be useful, get Y/N something to wear.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo before kissing your cheek and grabbing one of his jumpers for you. You ran your fingers over the stitching that said New York, a souvenir of one of Draco’s many trips abroad. He rolled the sleeves up so your hands were free before kissing your palms, making you smile. 

You sat on Theo’s lap in a green velvet chair, enjoying the feeling of him gently dragging a brush through your locks. You watched Draco sway to the music playing from his record stand as he changed the sheets. His silver eyes met yours, and he blew you a kiss, making you giggle. Theo’s gentle hands in your hair calmed you into feeling sleepy, and you slid off of his lap. He caught your hips and kissed the base of your spine before letting you go, following you to join Draco in bed. 

[rogue-durin-16]

UNSURPRISING

Summary: There were a few moments during Fred's friendship with Y/n's in which they were a bit too close to kissing. Then, there was that one time they did.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Genre: fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn @meph1stophelian

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: language maybe, murder

A/N: this one was not scheduled for tonight but I wanted to cheer @meph1stophelian up because she deserves it, so enjoy your dose of Fred fluff <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Okay, Y/n," Ginny grabbed a pastry from the platter which we had stolen from the kitchen and that now laid on a small coffee table in the middle of the Room of Requirement. "truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to... Wait." She thought about it for a second before leaning on Luna to ask her something. "I dare you to kiss Fred."

"Uh-uh." Fred, who had just moved to the higher table where the drinks had been laid, was quick to respond, "Not happening." shortly after followed by me.

"I'm not doing that."

"You can't skip a dare!" Ron exclaimed outraged.

"I can if I'm over eight years old." I replied, leaning back on the couch with my arms crossed.

"What she said." Fred agreed, raising his glass at me before drinking.

"Since when do you two back out of a dare?" Ginny questioned with a frown.

"Since this girl here" he motioned at me "started dating Pucey."

"What?" Harry asked in shock. "Pucey? Pucey as in Adrian Pucey?"

"Yeah?" I replied.

"You and Pucey?" Hermione raised her brows and gave Ginny a confused look. "I don't quite see it."

"Oi, what's there to see? I'm the only one who has to see it, don't you think?" I responded, slightly annoyed. "And why is no one talking about this bloke's love life?" I pointed at Fred who now stood behind me. "He's dating that Hufflepuff girl too!"

He tsked his tongue. "Not anymore."

"That's... unsurprising." George commented.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fred questioned suspicious, kicking my leg for me to move aside so he could sit.

His twin snorted. "You know what's supposed to mean." He took a sip from his drink before nodding at Ginny. "C'mon Gin, change the dare— for Pucey's sake." George scanned us both with analyzing eyes before adding, "we don't want Y/n to end up ditching his boyfriend for this twit, now do we?"

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

"YEEEEH" I was already down on the arena, clapping, when Fred landed with a wide cocky grin on his face, his breathing ragged due to the match's intense last few minutes.

I had rushed down the moment the snitch was caught to be the first one to congratulate him, so I was quite breathless too.

"Did you see me up there? Saving the bloody match!" He exclaimed, tossing his broom and bat on the ground in order to catch me when I threw myself to him.

"You were brilliant oh my gosh!" I let out a surprised laugh. The match seemed pretty much lost until Fred's performance came into play. "Oi, don't let it go to your head!" I was quick to add, pulling away from his embrace.

"Y/n Y/l/n just said I'm brilliant," He stated, the grin not leaving his face. "it's definitely going to my head."

I groaned, letting my forehead fall against his chest. His heart was beating fast, but I blamed it on the adrenaline of the match.

But what was I supposed to blame on the way my own heartbeat picked up when his hand found the small of my back and casually pulled me a tad closer?

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

"Oi," I slid open the door's compartment and scanned it briefly before saying, "everything's full, do you mind—"

"Not at all." Fred rapidly answered, sitting up slightly but quickly returning to his laid back position after I had taken a seat by his side.

I had a brief exchange of words with George and Lee before silence fell upon us; it was quite unsual, yet understandable due to the exhaustion we had been put under during the last semester.

It was because of it that Lee fell asleep, shortly after followed by George. I took the chance to grab my book to avoid giving in to the sleep, though my reading was soon disturbed by Fred's foot tapping over the upholstery of the seat.

"What?" I questioned quietly, my brow quirked at him while my eyes peeked over the book.

"What are you reading?"

"Advanced Potion-Making— what do you want?"

"Rude." I rolled my eyes, making a smirk dance on his lips. He seemed to weigh what he was about to say. "I got you something for Christmas."

"Wait— you what?" He got up, ignoring my shock, and, stretching his hands to reach his bag, he pulled out a small package. "I— you—"

"Speechless, I see." He pointed out amused, handing me the package before plopping back down, his gaze trained on me. "C'mon, open it." His teeth trapped his lower lip in anticipation, and I felt how my blood started to pump violently through my veins before I unwrapped the present. "A little birdy told me you liked... What's it called? Chokers?" I could only nod, speechless at the delicate choker in my lap. "I mean, my hand would have been just as good but you can wear this one in public too."

My face flared up at his words and astonishment was replaced by the usual need to fuck that little bastard up. "I hate you."

"I'm kidding, love." He chuckled, tugging on his sleeves and nodding at the jewelry. "You like it?"

The softness in his gaze made my anger go away as I took another look at the choker. "I love it, but you didn't have to." I scrunched my nose. "it looks very—"

"If you say expensive I'll shove it up your arse so watch your tongue." He warned me, half jokingly and half serious.

"What a way of ruining a sweet gesture." I pointed out, feigning a pout.

"Don't worry, I'll make it sweet again, you'll see—" he pushed himself away from the wall and scooted closer to me, tending his palm. "Give it to me." I obeyed and shifted my position so I would have my back to him. His fingers moved my hair away before his hands carefully placed the strap of velvet around my throat and clasped it. "There." He whispered, putting my hair back in place.

I turned around again without any clue of what to tell him. "I-I'd have gotten you something—"

"Y/n, it's a gift, not a trade." He gave me a warm smile, one that anyone rarely got to see, and my face heated up once more. His eyes seemed to flicker to my lips just for an instant, but he soon averted them from me to check on our peers. "Don't tell them, I won't hear the end of it."

I too peeked at them before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on Fred's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Fred."

The little smile grew into a wide side grin while he casted his face down, fixing it on his hands. "Merry Christmas, Y/n."

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

I was out after curfew, yes, but I wasn't doing anything bad, just visiting my friends in their common room; I only had to be careful and no one would notice me.

Or so I thought.

To my luck, while I was tiptoeing through one of the halls, none other than Fred Weasley bumped into me.

"Shit!" We both took a moment to observe one another. "Alright, sorry in advance." He apologised, taking a peek at the path he had taken before grabbing my hand and pulling me with him.

I didn't hesitate on running with me; I knew he had brought trouble directly to me, and if I didn't follow, I would get detention and, with Umbridge in control, I had to avoid that at all costs.

"Wait wait— Here!" He tapped what I assumed was a camouflaged door and pulled me inside before it could open completely.

We both reached for the door at the same time, shutting it as fast and quiet as possible and stepping back right in time to hear what I assumed was a part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad.

Fred was so close that I could feel his heavy breath tickling my neck while we stumbled back into the pitch black darkness of the narrow passage.

"Well, that was close." I commented, trying to keep my pants at bay; it was the only sound heard —our pants.

His hands left my biceps to presumably fall limply on his sides, but he didn't step back to put some space between us. I couldn't see anything, but I still turned around and instantly knew his eyes were trying to find mines, just like my fingertips attempted to intertwin with his.

It was a bad idea, but no one had to know; the lack of light in the secret passage would prevent anyone to witness it, even us.

No one would see it, I thought, trailing my fingers up his arm until I reached his cheek.

His own hand made its way to my waist, giving it a squeeze and pulling me to him.

I pushed him away as soon as we heard Filch's cat miaowing at the hidden door, followed by the erratic running of the caretaker.

Fred grunted in frustration. "C'mon!" He rushed me, taking my hand once more and running down the ginnel.

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

We were running breathless, hands held, casting spells left and right.

'Don't stop moving' Arthur had said when the part of the castle we were defending fell into the Dementors' claws.

One of the Carrow apparated a few feet ahead of us, sending a Cruciatus in our direction even before we came to a halt in our running.

Fred raised his wand, quick as lightning, shielding us from the curse, and I didn't miss a beat before hexing the death eater, hitting her right in the chest.

Fred spun around to guard my back from another death eater that stood behind us while I, seeing that the Carrow sister attempted to get up, casted another stunning spell at her, only that this time it hit her shield.

Both Fred and I duelled the two Voldemort's acolytes until we managed to take them out almost simultaneously, yet in very different ways.

"STUPEFY!" Fred yelled out loud to enhance the spell's effect.

I did the same, knowing I needed that extra push to take Carrow out only that my spell was way more harmful. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Fred turned around, still gripping my hand, to see the death eater's corpse on the floor. "Fuck!" He exclaimed.

"Was that a good 'fuck' or a bad 'fuck'?" I inquired, adrenaline pumping through my veins when I turned to meet the redhead's eyes, sparkling with excitement.

"Definitely a good 'fuck'." We both let out a laugh as if I hadn't just murdered someone. "Kiss me." He demanded; fortunately, I was thinking that same thing, so my lips crashed against his in a rough kiss right after he had finished the sentence.

We both tried to pour into the kiss as much sentiment as possible to let the other know how much we had craved to do that for the last three years. Our hands and arms were wrapped around each other, pulling our bodies as close as possible in the now empty corridor as if the world was about to end; it most likely was.

"Being realistic," I began speaking against his lips, once he had pulled away only enough for us to breathe. "we might be dead by tomorrow," if the situation was a bit different, we would probably be crying, but our little victory had made euphoria flood our hearts. "so know that—"

"I love you too." He finished with a nod.

I nodded back, pecking his lips before untangling by limbs from his and pulling him with me in order to resume our jog away.

[rumblelibrary]

Okay this may sound like an oddly detailed request but can you do a Laszlo x reader where Laszlo has been courting the reader for a while and has never met her father, because her father is dead or abandoned her at a young age or something like that and she never told Laszlo, but Laszlo is instant on meeting him for some reason or something like that?

Sorry if thats a weird request

Unofficial Meeting [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit angsty, mention of old fashioned ideas

Author’s note: I hope you will like it and I respected your wishes <3

"Miss?"

The voice of your chamber maid called you distracting you from answering some correspondence.

"Yes?"

She smiled so widely as a bouquet of white roses and peonies was presented in front of you. She giggled as she was just so happy for you. You have been courted by Dr Laszlo Kreizler for some time now, but he never missed to send you flowers on a Saturday morning, it was his ritual since you two became serious.

"Those are so beautiful, miss"

She said excitedly before leaving you to read the note, she was probably living the romance through you which was quite weird but cute to witness.

You opened the card, Laszlo usually was a brief but intense poet, but this time the message was clear. Can I tempt you with a lunch at Delmonico's?

You frowned lightly before looking out of your window, his dark clothing making him strikingly visible in the greenery of the park in front of your house, he raised his hat for you and smiled.

Damn him and his top level courting.

You put your letters away and got ready spraying some perfume on you before going out, your maid helping you with your coat and hat.

When you stepped out of the front Door Laszlo was waiting in front of your gate.

"You could have called"

He smirked at you "it wouldn't have been a surprise" he concluded simply.

You smirked as it was true and you have also learned to admire the extent of Laszlo'd courtship. He was attentive and respectful, he knew when to trace a line to forbid any kind of bad talks. He was already famous for being a maverick and he didn't want to put that stigma on you too.

You obliged him as you walked your way together to the restaurant, he never failed to ask you about your day and your plans. he was very attentive and you reserved him the same tenderness asking him about his patients or latest articles.

Once you arrived at the restaurant you were brought to one of the best tables, Laszlo taking upon himself the honour to move your chair back behind you and then back toward you for you to sit comfortably.

"Thank you Laszlo"

He smiled proudly taking it as a compliment, but he looked rather stiff and tense for his usual mannerism toward you.

Once you ordered your meal he toyed with his glass of wine a bit attracting inevitably your attention.

"What is wrong?"

He looked at you surprised by your question, but he smiled because you sort of alleviated him from the weight of beginning what he wanted to ask.

"I was just wondering when I will be able to meet your father" he said just as directly as your question was "I met your grandmother and your uncles and aunts, I am missing somebody"

He said it quite easily as your mother had left this earth early for the standard and you regret she won't be able to see what an amazing man you met.

"You don't need to meet him"

He stared at you puzzled, what really concerned him wasn't your refusal, but more the hardness you showed into expressing it.

"I think I do"

You glared at him, your conversation briefly interrupted by the waiters landing the plates in front of the two of you.

He thanked them before looking back at you, your stern look still there.

You had discussions before but never of this size and also as much as he tried before to hint the theme of your father he wasn't acknowledged at all.

He also noticed how the rest of your family followed that same guideline, acting like they found you under a tree.

"I think it is something I have to do sooner or later"

You glared at him again.

"Stop it"

It was hard for him to stop. He was already launched on the theme and he was worse than a wild animal when he got fixated over a theme in particular.

You pushed some common ground theme while you ate. Like John or Sara's agency or other mundane things, but you hated to see the intensity in his look.

That question over and over into his mind.

You never hated to be with him as much as you did now.

You declined the offer of a dessert pretty quickly just wanting to go away.

Laszlo obliged and lead you back outside escorting you to your place.

"I don't mean to be invasive.."

"But you're" you confirmed to him "thank you for the lunch, I can walk myself home on my own”

You left him there moving after your house's gate.

He stood there biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You didn't contact him any further on that day or the ones that followed, to be honest you avoided him and his flowers and attentions. You even stayed at home instead of attending places you were supposed to be, but where he also might find you.

Until your grandmother called you and you furiously ordered your maid to call the doctor and make him come at your place.

He arrived quicker than you expected. He was worried something happened, maybe you were ill and nobody told him.

When your maid showed him the way to your study and closed the door behind him he tried immediately to politely ask you about your state but your eyes burned holes like bullets in him.

“How dare you?” You growled at him. He stood still in front of you, his back straight even if you didn’t fail to notice the frown on his forehead.

“How dare you to call my grandmother? To ask her something I specifically told you I don’t want to share or talk or even mention? What is s hard about it? What makes you rightful to come bashing into my life asking for answers? “Y/N”

“No, no Y/N, you doctor, should learn to put a line between when you’re an alienist and when you’re a decent human being” you were being extra hard on him, but just earring your grandmother worried voice was enough to make you snap his neck.

He took your rage like a champion, even if he clearly was suffering it.

“Why is so important Laszlo? Why to see your mind at ease? It is just a man, somebody that doesn’t belong to my life, why you have to push it? Why you always have to push it?” “I just hoped..” “Hoped what? Hoped that a man that abandoned a pregnant woman while courting her was worth my time and thoughts? That I need to share my own life with somebody that wasn’t there? That never asked to meet me, or even see the woman he swore to every wind that he loved? That put my mother in the position of being considered a whore? How my grandma had to pretend I was hers to try give my mother a good shot at life?”

All those truths hit Laszlo like a bag of bricks, he was overwhelmed and saddened. Those situations were the ugliest in those times. Women always paying off the debts of the lust of men. The simple promise of a marriage just to gain something that could be tasted forever with a little more of wait. Just the human need to break a rule, just one, that revolutionary feeling that only losers at heart have. Because nobody makes a revolution over the expenses of a loved one.

“I had no idea” he concluded

“I hope you are satisfied now, your scientific mind has now all the puzzle pieces, now leave and let my family alone”

You could see his shoulders fall as you said that to him, his face paling in fear and sadness. He pressed his lips tight against each other, his jaw hurting as he didn’t know if at this point was really worth it to explain why he insisted so much. He ruined it, he tried to treat you with the white gloves and instead he hurt you even more.

“I apologise” he said staring at you, you letting him speak for the first time “I never meant to put you in such a position, I really just meant to be close to your family and I couldn’t see the fault in my own desires”

He admitted it but you didn’t wince, he crossed the line, he went too far and he needed to learn to respect the limits of others, not everyone needed to be under his care.

“I said you may leave”

He looked out of your window searching for words. Your anger was waving down as he looked so upset, and he should be.

“I am also a victim of our society in my own means, even if my behaviour is not excusable in any way, I stupidly fixated on the idea of doing things right with you and some things… Well, they teach us boys some things have to be asked to a father first”

You looked at him with a frown, you shook lightly your head as you didn’t understand his point and you were five seconds away from throwing him the vase with the latest flowers he sent you when you looked at him pul out a little velvet box from his inner pocket.

“The times are modern now, it was silly of me to try move past you like that” he leaned the box on your desk. He nodded at you respectfully leaving. You were left alone with that little box, you stared at it for a moment before moving closer to it.

You looked out of the window as you heard the gates closing and you watched Laszlo’s figure walk away.

Your eyes darted from his back to the box in front of you slowly opening it to find the ring of the dreams of any girl.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

[mctherofdragons]

from the ground up // s.r.

summary / you and spencer just moved into your brand new house, and you figure this is the perfect time to tell spencer the news that you're expecting. coincidentally, spencer already had a different surprise planned.

pairing / spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

warnings / pregnancy, mentions of food, cohabitation, engagement/proposal, brief mention of Spencer being autistic. other than that it's just really sticky sweet fluff. :)

author's note / i'm feeling really bummed today for no apparent reason, so i figured some dad!spencer fluff was in order.  the title is from the song "from the ground up" by dan & shay. ps: my tag list is open! please join my taglist using the link in my nav. <3

You placed the final box onto the floor, looking over at Spencer with a happy smile gracing your features. He took the lapse in the labor of carrying in boxes to sit next to you on the floor. With his own grin, he pulled you into his side, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

"Sorry I'm sweaty and gross," you laughed, acknowledging how exhausting it had been to carry furniture and bulky belongings since early that morning.

Spencer chuckled, tossing his wavy, brunette hair out of his face. He looked at you for a moment like perhaps you had hung the moon. He did this often, simply taking in how beautiful you were and half-pinching himself that he was so lucky.

"Love, are we just not going to talk about the fact that I did most of the carrying? I damn near broke my back carrying that side table on my own."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if this would be the right time to tell Spencer why exactly you had declined to carry anything heavy that day.

Your doctor had told you to be careful during the move. You were just through your first trimester, after all. It was still early enough that no one would know you were showing, and at this stage of pregnancy, things were still touch-and-go. You didn't want to risk losing the pregnancy, so you'd come up with the excuse of your ankle hurting to avoid doing any strenuous activity.

You took a deep breath before beginning to speak. The joy and hope in your voice were evident as you quipped back to Spencer with the news.

"Well, the doctor told me not to lift anything too heavy...because of the baby."

Spencer stopped for a moment, his mouth falling open akin to a fish. "The...what?"

You took Spencer's hands into your own, which were warm and slightly shaking. You pressed them to your abdomen. Spencer felt the vinyl lettering of your Federal Bureau of Investigations tee-shirt beneath his fingertips.

Spencer had fallen in love with you fast and innocently. It started when you'd helped him with his fitness test, and he helped you with the applications for your doctorate. You'd become a part of the BAU family in no time, but a part of you clung closest to the boy wonder himself.

As your relationship progressed, you realized you had more in common with Spencer than you had differences. You bonded over your love of Russian literature, Doctor Who, and sweets. You accepted him fully for who he was, so much as carrying fidgets in your go-bag, just in case Spencer needed them on the jet.

He felt the tears brimming his eyes as the realization hit him that you were carrying his child.

Spencer looked up and cupped your face in your hands. You giggled loudly as he pulled you into a deep kiss. You could feel his elated tears on your own cheeks, which caused you to tear up, too.

He pressed his forehead to yours. You reached up and cupped your hands around his large ones that were still holding your face affectionately.

"So you're happy Spencer? Really...truly happy?"

Spencer nodded, pulling you into another small set of peckish kisses. You laughed again, letting him pull away from you.

You watched as he rearranged himself, getting onto one knee. You looked stunned, trying to figure out what was happening. By the time your brain caught up, it had dawned on you that Spencer was pulling a small ring box from his pocket.

"We've both b-been keeping something a secret, I guess, y/n," He smiled, opening the box slowly.

"Spencer..."

The ring was absolutely stunning, sitting among the black velvet lining of the box. It was a simple - yet clearly expensive - diamond set upon white gold. It was timeless and felt like a beautiful representation of Spencer's love for you.

"I love you...more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. Will you...marry me, y/n?"

"Spencer...," the tears were falling down your faster than you could stop them. You took a shaky breath and stuck your hand out, nodding frantically.

"Of course, of course, I'll marry you!"

You both laughed with relief as Spencer slid the ring onto your finger. He pulled you by your hips into him, letting your lips crash together. You took a moment to relish in the kiss, feeling your lips move against Spencer's soft plush ones.

Just then the door swung open, revealing Rossi, who was carrying a large dish in his hands. Behind him stood the rest of the team, awkwardly illuminated in the light of the doorway.

You wiped your tears away as both you and Spencer stood up.

"Interrupting something? I brought my famous chicken parmesan," Rossi said, lifting the dish up to show you both.

"We wanted to come celebrate your new place!," Penelope gleamed, holding up two bottles of red wine.

"We both have news. But, come on in. It's a lot. I won't be able to have any of that wine, Penny," you grinned, walking over to take the dish from Dave.

Penelope's mouth fell agape as she watched you place a hand on your tummy. She let out an excited squeal, eliciting a loud laugh from Spencer.

"Come on, come on, we have the dining room set up already...," ___________________________

criminal minds taglist / @hufflepuffhaze @ssavanessa22 @omghufflepuff @txtdreamss @awritingtree​ @sweetandsunny​ 

[thatfanfictionchick]

Mom Friend™️

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

Mother's Day for Ruggie! feat. Val[OC], Leona, and Jack

Rating: E for Everyone

Warnings: None

Word Count: 921

Notes: Did I take my own idea, run with it, and schedule it for Mother's Day? Maybe, you can't prove anything.

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

Ruggie heaved a sigh as he paused in the middle of the bridge spanning Savanaclaw. Usually Sundays were for sleeping in, but with the interscholastic Spelldrive tournament coming up every day meant rigorous practice. He was up before the sun, cleaning up the dorm commons areas before going to Leona’s room and stirring the ever ungrateful lion. He’d dragged Leona out of bed and forced him to the couch, lecturing his senior on how important practice was while brushing and braiding the thick dark hair before twisting it into a high ponytail. Then it was a dash to the kitchen to get breakfast made. On the way back to Leona’s room he crossed Jack, who had popped a seam on his jersey. Ruggie told him to hang tight and, leaving Leona with the lingering threat of dousing him with cold water if he fell back asleep as he hastily dropped the tray of food on the table, hurried back to his own room to retrieve his sewing kit. Jack’s shirt expertly repaired, he dashed back across the dorm to change his clothes, stopping for a moment on the bridge to critically eye a splintered board. He sighed, thinking about how he’d have to arrange for it to be replaced, when a ruckus from behind caught his attention.

“Ruggieee!” It was Val, darting down the hall and leaping onto the bridge, making it bounce as she positively sprinted towards him. He grunted, grabbing the rope to keep his balance. She’d caught him off guard with the jump. Her arms were bursting with various packages and bags and before he could ask what was up she’d stopped, slightly out of breath. Her wide eyes glittered in the early morning light. “Happy Mother’s Day, G!”

“Happy…what?!” His brow furrowed and his ears flicked back in confusion, but Val was already shoving things into his hands and he squawked in surprise. She was talking a mile a minute and he could barely keep up.

“Trey made the donuts, Cater got the dried salted plums, the apples are from Epel, Ace and Deuce picked out the shirt and pants, yes they fought about it, the gift receipt is in the pocket if they don’t fit -“

“Oh, is that today?” Jack’s head poked out of his room and Val huffed in his direction, whining ‘Jack!’ in an exasperated tone. Jack shrugged and disappeared, reappearing a moment later and tossing something across the open area. Val snagged it, as she now had one free hand, and glanced at it approvingly before shoving it too on Ruggie’s pile. It was a small hyena pendant carved out of a dark marbled stone, threaded on several looping strands of leather.

“What’s all the noise for?” Leona came swaggering down the other side of the bridge, yawning widely. Val bristled in his direction, glaring and hissing a low ‘Leonaaa…” Leona looked from her to Ruggie, who was still swimming in confusion, and flicked his arm offhandedly. “Oh, that, huh.”

That’s when Ruggie noticed Leona was tossing a fist sized velvet sack in his hand. With the air of someone offloading an unwanted gift, Leona dropped the sack on top of the other packages. “Here,” Leona said with all his usual lazy disinterest. “I got too many shiny little trinkets cluttering up my desk.”

Ruggie’s tongue felt too big. From the sudden weight of the sack he knew they weren’t just ‘little trinkets’. What Leona had given him would probably be sold on the next trip home for enough to keep his grandma and the neighborhood kids well fed for half a year. Before he could utter out a thank you Leona was ruffling his hair and pinching his ear for good measure. “Also told Sam that whatever you got for the next week was on me.”

Ruggie made a sound like he’d been punched and Val laughed. “Well, that’s hard to beat!” she said, shoving several more brightly wrapped boxes into his full arms. “There’s cards attached to everything, you’ll figure out what’s from who.” There was only one thing left in her hands: a crown woven from white and yellow flowers of various sizes with shapely green leaves. Ruggie looked from her to Jack, who was leaning in his doorway, to Leona, and back to Val.

“I’m…I don’t understand.”

“Well seeing as how you’re just about single-handedly responsible for keeping like, at least 40% of the school population alive and well, we thought we should show you our appreciation.” Val, reached out, carefully maneuvering the flower crown around his ears and letting it rest on his head. “Let’s face it, you’re the closest thing to a parent this school has on hand.”

“I don’t see it, personally.” Leona added with a smirk.

“That’s a nice ponytail there Leona, do that yourself?” Val teased. Leona growled and she shrugged, lifting her hands and looking around innocently.

“Hurry up and go get changed,” Leona said suddenly to Ruggie. “You wanna be practicing in the middle of the day? Move it.”

Ruggie bustled off, barely managing to open the bedroom door and trying his best to gently deposit the pile on his bed. He looked down at the glittering hoard before catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. He slowly lifted the crown off his head, taking care not to crush any of the flowers. He didn’t want it to get ruined during practice.

“Mother’s Day,” he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. But the smile on his face was radiant. “How ridiculous.” 

[hello-everyfandom]

"For a moment, listen silently, what does your heart say?”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Words: 4k

Summary: Suffering lovers and hearts to be mended and stitched back together

Part One “I love you more than the sky and the ground but I can’t do this anymore.”

Part Two “No, it’s over. She ended it.”

(This one is quite long! How hopes and dreams turn into the most painful writing one could ever print. Please, I wish for my own heart to mend as Sirius’ will.)

The next few weeks were nothing but tragic. Lily could barely get you out of your bed nevertheless to class. It seemed that the fight, the breakup, the hurting wore down your stamina until you were not able to stand. It was worse after the party. Before, you could numb the pain of losing Sirius by distracting yourself with rewriting notes and organizing your room. But after the party, after seeing the love of your life lip-locked with another girl, kissing her the way he should kiss you, something in you broke.

Lily sat gently on your bed, placing the cup of warm tea on your table. She whispered kindly, “We have class in an hour, you missed breakfast but I brought you a cuppa.” She moved the duvet that covered your face to see your innocent watering eyes looking up at her. She sighed and smoothed out your hair, feeling the shutters of cries leave your lips. “You need to go to class, Y/N. I can’t keep telling McGonagall you’re sick without her sending you to St. Mungos.” 

“I don’t want to go.”

“Think about it this way,” Lily continued to run her fingers through your hair. She was thankful she had been able to get you to take a warm shower yesterday and change your pajamas, “If you go, you get it done and over with. Then you can come back and we can lay in your bed all afternoon.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s why I brought you tea. Come on, love, it’s really time to get up.” Lily said gently, pushing the duvet so it was only covering your torso. Instead of sitting up, you blinked back tears before sputtering out.

“I made a mistake, didn’t I?” you covered your mouth, clutching your eyes shut to let out a cry. “I made a mistake breaking up with him. I’m an idiot. I’m a fool.”

“No, no,” Lily cooed, moving your hand from your mouth and petting your cheek, “No, you didn’t. You did what you thought was right at the time.”

“Then why does it hurt so bad?”

Lily didn’t have the answer, she could only reply with the utmost sympathy, “because you still love him.”

“Get up, you sad sack of shit. We’ve got charms in twenty minutes.” James flung the covers off of Sirius. His nose wrinkled at the sight of crumpled tissues that littered his bed. “That’s disgusting. Those tissues better not be from what I think it’s from.”

“You’re a right prick,” Sirius tried to smile, his lips cracked and chapped. 

“You’re not staying in bed anymore, and frankly you smell like shit.”

“It’s true,” Remus chimed in, straightening his tie and his hair. 

“So what? Leave me here. I don’t want to go anyways.”

“Right. Listen, Pads, we’ve been kind to you for a while now, but now, and I say this as sweetly and as loving as I can, we’re getting quite sick of your sulking.” James rolled his eyes.

“Oh wow, thanks,” Sirius said sarcastically, buttoning his shirt up. “You really know how to rip the plaster off, yeah?”

“Maybe if we obliviate you, you’ll become yourself once more,” Remus said wittily.

“I’ll permit it if it allows my memory to forget kissing that girl at the party.” Sirius nearly threw up at the memory of that girl’s lips on his.

James shrugged, throwing a tie at Sirius, “Well, we mean it with love and we know the break up has been hard but-”

“But?”

“But we miss our friend.” Peter finished. Remus nodded in agreement.

“It’s not easy, is all,” Sirius mumbled after brushing his teeth. 

James slapped his hand on his shoulder and said confidently, “No, it’s not. But that’s why we’ll all go through it together, as brothers.” and swiftly lead him out of the dorm room.

As Lily locked her arms in yours and the two of you walked from the Great Hall to class, you were distracted by the open windows of the corridors. The courtyard, which had just been littered with brown, orange, and red leaves, set a moment of comfort in your bones. You always enjoyed autumn, mostly because it was in fall when Sirius had first told you he loved you. You shook that memory out of your mind and looked at the hallway instead. Coincidentally, much to both Sirius and your demise, the marauders and Lily had accidentally crossed paths with each other on the way to class. Eyes like magnets were drawn close together as Sirius looked at you with storming emotions. He looked as if he hadn’t slept, and if he did manage to close his eyes, nightmares in the forms of memories followed him. To be fair, you didn’t look all that right either. Though you didn’t have as prominent bags under your eyes, underneath your loose clothing was skin and bone. Your appetite had lost you and eating became difficult as most of the time you felt sick to even think about food. Sirius looked at you, lost and longing, and you stared with the same intensity, wishing to be in his arms, to sleep for years and kiss until the sun explodes.

“Ms. Y/L/N, will you please stay after class?” McGonagall’s voice rang out in her sharp tone. You froze and looked at Lily worriedly who shrugged.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Meet me in the common room after,” Lily whispered, squeezing your arm before leaving the classroom. It was loud and full of chatter from the students who excitedly were headed to dinner. You waited, pushing hair behind your ears nervously as the students collected their things and filed out of the room. Then, it was silent. You approached McGonagall’s office in the back of her classroom slowly, dreading whatever scolding she would give you. As you pushed open the door, you thought in your head quickly, you had handed in the homework, taken notes in class, raised your hand when asked a question, you couldn’t place anything you did particularly wrong and yet your palms began to sweat.

“Yes, Professor?” you asked with a small voice. McGonagall looked up from her desk and peered at you from her glasses. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Do you think you have done something wrong?”  

“I don’t reckon so, but I’m open to hearing any criticism if need be.” you focused on keeping your voice steady.

“Although, I’m sure you know the answer already, do you know what my particular job is here at Hogwarts?”

You bit your lip, “You’re a professor, perhaps one of the best ones here, of my favorites as well.”

“While I enjoy your compliment,” McGonagall sighed, “I am also the head of the Gryffindor house.”

“Yes, of course.” you nodded.

“And, with such a job comes the responsibility of looking after my students as if they were my own.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Professor.” 

“Sit, please, Ms. Y/L/N.” McGonagall motioned to the seat in front of her desk, a nice plush armchair with maroon velvet. “Despite the belief of my students, I do care, and I notice especially when a particular student seems out of place.” 

You sat on the edge of the seat and played with the threads of your sweater. “If it is my work that is not up to standard, I am sure I can revise or revisit whatever it is that has gotten low marks.”

“Your school work is hardly of the matter here,” Professor looked at the small girl in front of her. Once fiery and loud turned into a pebble on the floor. She admired and quite enjoyed having you as a student and took great pride in knowing you wore the Gryffindor sigil on your robes. But, like your friends, she had noticed an extreme change in demeanor in the past few weeks. “Are you doing alright, Y/N?” she asked kindly.

You looked up in surprise, “Yes, Professor. Though I will say, I will be disappointed if any of my homework or essays have been less than acceptable. I seem to be going through a little bit of a rough patch, I suppose.”

“I noticed,” you froze as McGonagall spoke, “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Black?”

“I-” you couldn’t think of an excuse. McGonagall put her hand up to stop your from speaking,

“Please, I may be older and I may be a teacher, but the students here seem to forget the Professors hear everything.”

You began to beg, “Professor, please, I promise whatever had happened will not affect my school nor my studies-”

She cut you off, “Have a biscuit, Y/L/N.” she motioned to the biscuit tin in front of her desk. When you showed signs of being wary, she opened the top of the tin and pushed it closer to you. Your hands shook as you took one and began to nibble on the edges.

“I do not speak of this, and I trust whatever I tell you and whatever you tell me stays in this office,” she started, you nodded furiously and she continued, “when I was younger, much much younger, perhaps about your age, I too fell in love.”

Your mouth fell agape.

“Dougal McGregor. I met him after my years at Hogwarts before I began my position at the ministry. It was, as most would say, a teenage love affair. We were much like you and Mr. Black. We argued senselessly, but we nevertheless loved each other. When he proposed, I was delighted. I accepted immediately.” your eyebrows rose to ask questions, however, McGonagall merely pushed the biscuit tin towards you again. You complied and took another.

“However, at the time, marriage between a muggle and a witch was proven more difficult than current times. Spouses of magical descent were forbidden to tell anyone of their skills in the wizarding world, and it. Well. The idea of living in a world without magic was unbearable. I had to make a decision.”

“What happened then, Professor?”

“I thought rejecting his proposal would be right for both of us, Dougal and I. I thought it was unfair to be kept in a magic-less marriage whilst Dougal would, in turn, be lied to every day. I made a decision and as a result,” her voice became low, almost sensitive, “I broke his heart and mine as well.”

“Oh Professor, I’m so sorry.”

“While it is in the past, I do think about him often. But, I suppose the feelings you are currently experiencing are what I felt when I left for the last time to London.”

“I see. Forgive me, Professor, why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I want you to know the consequences of decision making. The difference between truly thinking with your head and with your heart.” 

“Did you regret leaving?”

McGonagall pursed her lips in thought, the wrinkles shown prominently near her eyes, “Yes and no. I am overjoyed and proud to stand as the witch I am today. Becoming a professor and working with students, no matter how particularly unenjoyable some are, is a passion. However, it would be ignorant to say I did not frequently think about if I had stayed and married Dougal.”

“What happened to him?”

“I received a letter numerous months later, my mother had told me, Dougal married and was expecting his firstborn.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

“I find it humorous to sit here,” McGonagall gave you a wrinkled small smile.

“How so, Professor?”

“Because when I was heartbroken, the first person I told was my own teacher, you may know him now as Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Really?” you asked in surprise.

“Yes, we sat here at my desk whilst I told him of my heartache. And now, I sit here, with my own favorite student, discussing hers.”

“I’m not sure if I would call it heartache, Professor,” 

“Then what would you call it?”

In class, Professor McGonagall was strict, sharp spoken. Instead, in her small office, she wore a sympathetic smile and her gaze was warm. You felt as though life and its troubles would cease their crimes against your broken heart the second you stepped in the room. But, still, you looked at her with lost sights, emotions swarming in pupils.

“I don’t think there is a word to describe it. All I know is I ache tremendously and nothing seems to fix this pit in my stomach. I. What do I do?” you begged for an answer.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. What I can say is, you’ve been thinking your entire life at Hogwarts with your head. You are a bright witch with a wonderful future ahead of her. You are hardworking and studious, and kind. But, you only seem to listen to your head for answers, you look for the logical position for your chess pieces. Stop your thinking. For a moment, listen silently, what does your heart say?”

Professor McGonagall looked at the time before sighing to herself, “I do suppose I’ve kept you too long, I trust you can find your way back to the common room?”

You nodded and stood, brushing off your skirt. “Of course. Thank you Professor for the biscuits. If it means anything, I’m sure Dougal loved you very much.”

“Y/L/N,” Professor called before you left, “You are welcome any time here, I was not lying when I said you were one of my favorite students.” 

You smiled back, “And I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of my favorite Professors.”

As you walked back to the Gryffindor common room, Professor McGonagall’s story repeated in your head, pounding against your brain and begging to be analyzed. If you thought carefully, letting go of Sirius was equivalent to McGonagall’s separation with Dougal. If you chose your studies and your career, Would you miss out on a life with your soulmate? There was no doubt in your mind that your heart belonged to a certain long-haired beloved. As the Fat Lady looked at you with great pity, you entered the common room, peaking around for Lily. The fire seemed to be the only source of warmth as it lit up the room, leaving shadows cast along the walls. You figured Lily must still be at dinner considering the common room was empty. You rubbed your tired eyes and sat on an armchair facing the fireplace. 

Sirius had decided wallowing was doing nothing but driving him across the wall. He threw a shirt over his shoulders and bounced down the stairs to meet the boys at dinner when he saw you. He could spot you from miles away even if he were blind to the bone. He recognized the old sweater you wore, one that had previously been owned by him. You loved the sweater despite threads coming loose and the smell of Sirius’ cologne fading away. He saw your hands curled up in fists, something you did when you were quite emotional or tired and the low messy bun you had pulled your hair into.

“I thought you were at dinner, Lils,” you spoke quietly, making him freeze. It had been so long, so many minutes and hours since he’d last heard your voice. “If you are here to drag me to the Great Hall, I have to decline as I’m morbidly exhausted from that emotional conversation with McGonagall.” 

Sirius attempted to find his voice, begging his vocal cords to say anything to you but all he could do was stand there, dumbfounded and aching to hear your voice once more. 

“Lily?” you expected to see your red-headed friend but instead made eye contact with him. “Oh.”

“Just Sirius,” he said awkwardly. You stood so you could face him, holding your hands in front of you.

You swallowed harshly and wished you had at least looked somewhat more manageable. “Sirius.”

“Y/N.” he answered. It was hushed, noiseless, painful. “Say something,” he begged.

“What do you want me to say, Siri?” he flinched when you used his nickname. You hadn’t even meant to use it, it just slipped off your tongue before you could realize it.

“Just. Say anything, yell at me, anything. Be angry at me!”

“Why would I be angry?” You weren’t angry. You were hurt.

“For...”

“For what?” you creased your eyebrows. 

“For kissing that girl at the party.”

You pursed your lips and Sirius only held sadness in his eyes. “Sirius...”

“I kissed another girl that wasn’t you, and it is absolutely tearing me apart. I want you to be angry with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Be mad! Yell at me!”

“Sirius,” you stopped him, putting a gentle, small hand on his arm, “We broke up.”

Sirius threw his arms in the air and ran a finger through his hair frustratedly, “that doesn’t make it okay.”

“Doesn’t it? We broke up,”

“No! It doesn’t because I told you, I promised you, I swore I would never kiss another person. I promised I was yours and yours only. And I am. I mean... I was.”

“Sirius, please,” you choked, “It’s hard enough to be around each other already.”

“Don’t you miss me? Miss us?” Sirius had to stop himself from gathering you in his arms and rubbing the small of your back. Biting your lip and eyes beginning to water, you said as quietly as you could,

“Of course I do. I miss you more and more every day. And yes, it... it hurt to see you with that Ravenclaw girl, but it doesn’t matter. We aren’t dating anymore.”

“I don’t know. I think.” He laughed humourlessly, as if the air escaping his lungs were nearly painful to feel, “I think I would’ve gone mental if I had seen you kissing someone.”

“I...” you stopped and sighed. You sat down on the couch, moving slightly to the left. Sirius looked cautiously before sitting next to you, facing you as you looked towards the fire. 

“We can still talk, can’t we? We used to talk all night until Moony would shush us like an old librarian.”

“I don’t know, Sirius. It’s hard. Isn’t it? It’s hard.”

“I know. But, I miss talking. Won’t you just tell me how you’re doing?”

You debated on lying, telling him you were fantastic, but something in you begged you to tell the truth even if it felt like magma on your tongue. “I’m not doing well.”

“Are you stressed about school? I’ve told you many times, you’re the smartest witch in our year, I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

“That’s not it.” you bit your lip, turning from the fire to look at those eyes you so deeply longed for.

“Then what?”

“It’s difficult.”

“Try me.”

“It’s difficult... with us, or without us, I should say.”

Sirius slightly flinched hearing those words and swallowed harshly, “I get the feeling.”

“How have you been?” you asked curiously, studying the way his eyebrows creased and his fingers threading through his hair.

“Same as you, I suppose.”

“Really?”

“Prongs and the boys, they’ve been on my back lately. Say I’ve been moping too much, I’m a downer it seems.”

You giggled under your breath and wrapped your arms around yourself, “Lily says the same. Though, I guess she’s just worried.”

“Worried?”

“I haven’t been sleeping as well, I’m sure you’ve noticed the bags under my eyes,”

“No,” Sirius said truthfully, “I think you still look as beautiful as ever.”

Your lungs stopped breathing, every airway and vein in your body closed as you began to shut down. You stood abruptly and began racing towards the dorm staircase.

“Stop!” Sirius shouted making you freeze, your hand still on the banister. “Stay. Talk to me.”

You wiped angry tears from your face that you didn’t even notice dripped down your cheeks, “And say what? It. it’s torturous, it’s beyond excruciating to be around you.” You thought about your chat with McGonagall, begging your heart to speak, scream anything to make to stop your head from making decisions.

Sirius’ lips frowned, hurt at your tone and your words. “Baby...”

“No! I. It’s too difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because when I look at you, when I see you, when I feel you around me, everything tells me I’ve made a mistake. Is that what you wanted to hear? I made a mistake. I fucked up. I fucked up because I was terrified of us. I was scared of driving you away, scared of you deciding you didn’t love me anymore. And I can’t. I can’t do it! I can’t. I made a mistake.” you spat out breathlessly. Sirius watched in horror as you began to hyperventilate and dove to put his arms around you. He had seen your panic attacks and held you through every one, but this time it felt different. Your breathing began to rapidly increase as you couldn’t hold back broken sobs. 

“Breathe, breathe, love. It’s okay. It’s all okay.” he held your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks like he used to. Your eyes searched his desperately for any buoy that could save you from the drowning you felt. As he blinked, you found your life vest, holding on for dear life as you breathed fresh air into scattered lungs.

“Breathe, okay? ‘M right here, not going anywhere.” he whispered low, kissing your forehead and wiping your tears.

“I’m sorry.” you sobbed, “I made a mistake. I love you. I do. I’m so sorry. What have I done? I love you. I love you more than anything, and I’ve ruined it all.” you threw yourself at him, arms gripping tightly as he caught you. Sirius’ arms snaked around yours, pulling you back to life, back to the earth. He was yours. He knew it. He’s never been anyone elses and he never plans to. How stupid he had been to let you go, to kiss another girl, to pretend he was okay when he was truly devastated. 

“We’re okay, yeah? Take care of each other, now, yeah?” Sirius rocked you slowly, feeling your cries die down in the comfort of his arms. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, darling.” Sirius guided you slowly to the couch, setting you comfortably on the cushions, “sit for a while,”

You nodded loosely as you leaned on his chest, hiccuping with cries. “I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving you. Had I known how wrong it was, I would’ve thrown myself off the Astronomy tower before ever breaking up with you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Sirius hushed, “I know, you thought it was the right thing. You were trying to protect yourself and me.”

“I’m a fool. A stupid, foolish girl.” you muttered, still catching your breath.

“Don’t say that either. I made mistakes too, perhaps one I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, Sirius.” you began to cry again, “I don’t care if you kissed another girl. I don’t. I just care that I’m the girl you want next to your side.”

He turned your limp body so he could cup your cheeks again, rubbing with the pads of his thumbs. “You will always be the girl. Always. Nothing will change that.”

“Sirius,” you whispered, looking at his lips.

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.”

That was all Sirius needed to hear. For days, weeks, endless hours, the two of you, broken hearted souls walked the earth wondering when the pain would end. Sirius tried drinking, you tried swallowing textbooks whole. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing seemed to mend the hurt you felt panging your insides, sending waves of heat down your spines. Nothing could distract you from the absolute shattering sadness that your bodies felt. Two broken hearted souls. Two souls joining for a kiss. A kiss that would last centuries as Sirius vowed to marry you the minute your lips connected. Togetherness, the touch of a soulmate. He moved his lips against yours slowly, tasting, memorizing and wishing this moment would never end. Salty tears and content smiles, at last, the two broken souls found what truly mended, what stitched your hearts back together. Each other. Forever in eternity, never drifting apart for long as fate, the universe and every good hearted soul brought you two together. 

[myelocin]

ij(y)&m | miya a., akaashi k.

synopsis: love is enough, until you think that it isn’t. to love and to lose; then whether to dive into the sea of ocean eyes or look into the skies in search of the sun.

genre: hurt/comfort, slice of life, longfic, happy ending, love triangle

wc: 17,500+

characters: miya atsumu, akaashi keiji

a/n: this is a commissioned piece by @23soong | i still can’t believe u trusted me w this giant fic but ilu i guezz

commissions | ko-fi

(April 16, 2021 | New York City.)

You like to eat cake.

The color lilac, ocean eyes, and the sky. The lyrics to Ayahuasca, and the hidden metaphors where the poem you uncover always looks like a different scenario than the next person. You know what you like, and it’s only this and that. Other days, when your reasoning is a little swayed, you suppose you can afford to think that you like this plus that.

It was a difference only you understood.

(—understand, you mean.)

(You always know what you understand.)

You like cake because you enjoy sweets, and that one shade of violet that borders right in between periwinkle and lilac, because it never looked like it was too much. It didn’t blend into the background like some of the warmer colors, nor make too much of a bold presence like the depth of scarlet. You suppose you like where you’ve always been, after all.

Being content with your own security had always been one of your stronger suits. There wasn’t a wall, nor a fortress around you, but even when you’re out in the open you felt okay. The shade in between lilac and periwinkle was enough because it was you.

Chocolate over cheesecake, because you’ve never been much of a fan, and that bakery down the end of street fifteen minutes away instead of the one right across where you lived. The windows were always tinted in the shade that gave away its age, but you suppose it was its charm. The old auntie who sits by the counter always wears her apron, even if all the pastries to be sold for the day were already prebaked and arranged on the front for display.

There’s an old comfort found in that auntie’s bakery, you think. You still don’t know her name, and you know she only smiles at you because you’re probably a regular by now. You know the pen she’d had clipped to her apron is the same one from eight months ago, probably never used, because the seal’s still intact by the cap. There wasn’t a table that you could call yours, nor a spot in the fall you would stare at and daydream on your rougher days. There was no music, to dull out the sounds of the world outside—but now that you actually give it a little more thought—that’s what gave you the most comfort.

It’s a known fact that when people tend to slip into a state of reclusion, they would search for a space in a world that they can cocoon themselves in. External factors, there, but ignored. Phone often switched to silent, where the spot they stared at along the cracks of the wall would show them a world they could live in—momentarily.

(And that was the problem—at least you think.)

A safe space, they say. And it had always been valid. When your sister would talk about the boy in her dreams who loved her under the rain, you can tell that she felt safe. Sometimes she looked a little farther away despite physically being with you in the moment, but she always looked warm—so you would just choose to sit shoulder to shoulder beside her, and let her be.

People worked differently; a simple this or that situation, and it’s always going to be like that.

Your comfort is just this.

Auntie’s bakery fifteen minutes away, where you’re some random seat inside because in all the years you’ve been coming here, you could never really pick a spot. The table by the window was nice, as was the one by the shelves. The AC hit you in the way you appreciate the most wherever you chose to settle, anyway.

A slice of chocolate cake on Mondays, then maybe again on Wednesdays, but Saturdays could also mean red velvet if you were feeling like it. The bells by the door sound out your entrance every time too, but even if one day there were gone, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Having a constant was okay, but not necessary. You’re here because you liked their selection better than the one closer to your place, and that was that.

Auntie’s bakery wasn’t your cocoon that kept you away from the world, but you liked it that way.

You found comfort in taking a seat in one of the ten tables inside, and setting your bag on the chair beside you as you got comfortable. You liked moving your hair to the other side, and slumping your shoulders because you know you'd enjoy this little break you decided to give yourself.

You had chocolate two days ago, and even if there was a new option for carrot cake today, you still bought chocolate again. You can hear the conversation from the group of teenagers outside the window every time the doors would open and the sounds of the world outside would filter in. The sound of traffic and life was dulled by the walls, but not muted. There’s still no music in the bakery, and you can sometimes hear every time the auntie behind the counter would shift and tap away at her phone.

This was your slice of comfort.

You didn’t escape the world, but you find yourself still. There was an underlying of connection that you found with the world when you’d have your one slice of cake after a job well done.

So you like to eat cake, because you deserve cake.

You finish the schedule you’d set for yourself, written in bullet points from top to bottom—additional notes scribbled in the margins so you wouldn’t forget, and spreadsheets written so that you keep yourself in line.

You like to eat cake, because it’s a reminder that you’re doing your part as a little cog in the machine that is this world. It’s not escaping that gives you comfort, but rather, the reminder that you’re still in this world, and you’re doing just fine.

(So you deserve your cake.)

-

Until some days where you feel like you don’t.

-

Your childhood looked something like this:

Air conditioned rooms, sniffling instead of crying, and the lilac blooms outside your window. There’s a sky, infinite as she’s always been, that watches. Sometimes she cries, but in your corner of the world, it’s more common to see her smile. Sometimes you wonder what she smiles about, but 7 year old you liked to think that she smiled for the same reasons you do.

A cool breeze in the summer, and paper kites folded every sunset. Your dreams of ocean eyes every time you’re close to the shore, as if it’s a foreshadow to the future still to come, but you’d always only stand by the edge and watch—never wading too far in.

It wasn’t a fear of the water, nor the depth, but you just always had a nagging thought behind your head that the waves would never truly be for you. You loved the sun, and the sky too much to give in to the waves.

Perhaps it’s a metaphor for something later on in life; perhaps it isn’t. You’ve never been curious enough to try to think much about it.

Ever since you were young, your idea of love never changed much from your initial thoughts.

Love felt like it should just be what’s written under the bullet points of your life schedule. Love, supposedly, looked like ocean eyes and dark roots for hair. He’d be a little more on the reserved side, and would conquer the world with you.

People always tell you that love should conquer the world for you, but it felt like too much of a selfish dream. Your whole life, you moved with a sense of purpose in mind. You buy cake after a job well done, because you know you’ll only deserve it by then. You do things only because you’ve done certain things, and it’s always been as black and white as that.

(It works.)

You’re in high school and you sit next to your best friend’s boyfriend from seven to five. You have a circle that loves you as much as you do them, and you still treat yourself to slices of chocolate cake from a bakery down the street. Their cake has a generic taste, you think, but it could be better.

Still, you settle. Settling is okay.

The idea that things would always be just okay in the black and white was okay. Your everyday life, and routine, looked like this. The people around you act like this, and you—in return, feel like this.

You laugh when things are funny, then cry when they aren’t. You appreciate the notes you’d find in your locker: the doodles and scribbled reminders alike. The difference in the handwriting and color choice of the sticky notes only reminds you that you’re part of something that isn’t just you.

You will always love your shade of lavender, or lilac, or periwinkle, but you found sentimentality and love in shades of peaches, scarlet, greys, and serenity blue too.

Routine is the kind that looks more lax than rigid, because bursts of serendipity still find you anyway.

-

(March 13, 2015) Hyogo

Because it’s in your final year of highschool, where the idea of what it initially was is thrown right out the window.

Miya Atsumu.

Brown eyes that are the complete opposite of every hue of the ocean, and his god awful piss yellow hair.

When you meet him, there’s not much to romanticize about it. He sat a few seats away from where you are, and parked his bike purposely close to your sister’s by the gate. He raised his hand to the questions he didn’t know the answer to and would drag his chair beside your desk to say hello even when you’d turn away to focus on your paper during breaks.

Love was an abstract sort of thing, so you could guess that his peculiarity fits.

You were all the shades of lilac while he offered you the pale yellow of every sunshine you found solace in ever since you were young. The color on the opposite end of the color wheel, Miya Atsumu truly was your contrast.

He ate cheesecake and didn’t hide his face when he sneezed. He’d roll up his sleeves and fight the next person without thinking to talk it out first and scribbled his ideas from the center of the paper instead of listing them out from top to bottom, or left to right like you always did.

But he was the start.

“Hi, Len.” he said instead of the standard “hi, hello; what’s your name?” greeting, and it even if it baffles you how he got your name before you even had the chance to introduce yourself—you didn’t think you had it in you to be mad about it.

Third year highschool Miya Atsumu with the god awful piss yellow hair and black undercut smiled in the way that had the left corner of his mouth rising just a little higher than the right, and you were fucking hooked.

You didn’t show it at first, but you were hooked. He had the kind of lilt in his voice that you always thought was more endearing than attractive, and would often lean back in his seat with one arm slung over the back of his chair as he waited for you to finish up with your review for the day. He liked all the things you thought were okay at best, but he was who stayed.

Libraries were for those who found a little comfort and familiarity in the silence, and he was a wildfire. He fell asleep waiting for you as you studied, but would always have a whole lunchbox of soft snacks for you to munch on while you did your thing, checking off the bullet points of your list.

On Saturdays, he was the person waiting for you at the bleachers by the track field with a towel and water bottle, cheering you on as if he understood the sport. When you’d pass him, he’d wave, and holler at you like you just won even if you’ve just been running laps for warmup.

He was never a hello, because he was a whirlwind that caught you off guard straight from the start. Some would say this is like serendipity, and perhaps it is—he is—but you like to think that maybe he’s just part of the black and white of your life. You liked what you liked, whether it correlated with your plans or not, and it really was as simple as just that.

-

In high school you always liked to eat cake after exams. You liked chocolate because it was sweet, and you’ve always been the person who had a sweet tooth.

You write left to right, from top to bottom and keep your letters beside to eachother in print, because it makes sense.

Miya Atsumu, the boy who was the pale yellow to your lilac, was the one who offered you a pen when you’d misplace yours, even if he only had one with him in his bag.

And you liked him, you suppose, because you just do.

-

(March 13, 2020) | Tokyo

Miya Atsumu was blunt, and freeing.

He was the sky, and not the sea, but love—later on, became the realization that you’re just freefalling.

After the initial introductions, there wasn’t a point where either of you felt like you were still supposed to be somewhere else. Like something you didn’t know had even been out of place sliding into it, instead of clicking. The skies would open, not just for you but for him as well.

While you saw all the colors of the sun and of the golden hour, Atsumu saw the shades of lilac in the earth.

What becomes is the love that’s felt in the silence, and on the way home.

It’s your voice that he hears chastise him to put down the donut and share it with Osamu when he’d been planning to leave him a third of the last at best. It’s the four letters of your name that he scribbles in the corners of receipts mindlessly, but would still fucking deny it every time he’d get caught.

Atsumu and his bike rides to school, along with his habit of catching up to you just to get off and walk beside you if he sees you nearing the gates.

A silent sort of company in the morning beside someone who was basically known at the most perfect personification of what noise would look like if it were to be redesigned into human form.

True love, and serendipity he thinks, is this. It’s you and all the witty remarks you’d make towards him, telling him to go away, that he never ends up taking seriously because you’d be blushing red before he even gets a chance to react.

The reaction he comes is delayed, but the epiphany that it’s you who becomes the face to love, isn’t.

You were the who when it came to answering the who, what, when, where, why, and how of love.

The what was answered love. The when, is yesterday, when you spilled a little bit of your chocolate milk on your desk and cursed in the way he never would have figured you saying, and today, when you looked out at the skies and smiled your private sort of smile towards the palette of the sunset.

The where was everywhere. Love, as you, in the sidewalks leading up to the gates, and on that desk on the row ahead, diagonal to him.

The why, was this. (It was everything.) (Running, then leaping. Flying, then soaring.) (Everything.)

He finally finds truth to the poems he usually tended to ignore in love songs, but it was great.

And the how, finally, was answered with a shrug.

How did he love you? Atsumu would always shrug because he just does.

Always, always does.

-

Along with the high, comes facing the reality that you must also fall. For the longest while, you’re climbing, climbing, climbing¸ until eventually, there’s nowhere else to go but down. The real face of love looked somewhat like that.

It’s one foot after the other, and steps towards the sky. There’s no staircase with a solid ground leading up, nor wings clasped behind you to lift you up even with through the absence of a breeze. (But love had you flying.)

It’s seeing the sights you’ve seen your whole life not with a new set of eyes, but a new vantage point. Atsumu’s the sun, all the while you still felt as if you were the child forever glancing up towards it. They tell you to never look at light straight on, but his glow never had you blinded.

Atsumu gave you clarity, showcased on a silver platter.

You understood all the priorly misunderstood parts of your life, where it felt like a new kind of exhilarating. Like having knowledge at the palm of your head, the world became as infinite as it became yours.

(And yours alone.)

Your hands that only grabbed just what was yours were suddenly reaching too far in the cookie jar. Greediness has never really been you, but eventually the fall—your fall—from the high looked like crumbs on your hands and shirt, and the absence of what once was where it should still be.

Atsumu never said a word, because it never was that way.

Still, you closed your eyes while still in the air. The view was right there, and Atsumu was beside you through the climb, the high, and the period where you just glide, telling you to open your eyes and look but you only did—for just a fraction of a second.

It’s the heaven that sits above the clouds that terrify you, you think. The unspoken truth that was kept as a hush is suddenly right in your ear screaming.

“He’s holding you to the clouds,” it taunts, then continues, “—But what have you given him in return?”

Atsumu’s never heard the demons in your head, nor was aware of its presence in the first place, but he always seemed to just have a way of knowing what to say, exactly when to say it.

Like now.

He’s sat in the bleachers, high on life, while you’re high on adrenaline. Six thirty in the summers meant the sun was just beginning to set, so he smiles, knowing that you’ve always thought of this moment as yours.

(And his, he adds mentally, a whisper to himself—a validation that you are his as much as he is yours.)

Truly.

“Hi Lena,” he grins; one side quirked up higher than the other, and under the bloom of scarlet and amber, he’s beautiful. “What’s your name?”

You’re laughing, as if you don’t carry the weight of all your demons on your shoulders. Amber against your deep brown eyes, and he’s caught. Like always. Fucking entranced, like always.

“Hi ‘Tsumu,” you voice back, leaning close and laughing at the way he scrunches his eyes close at your sudden display of brevity. It catches him off guard every time. He loves it, as much as he does you—but he’s still a boy inside.

You laugh anyway, pressing a kiss on his eyelids when he keeps his eyes closed, and you smile, softly, when you notice the way his shoulders relax.

“What’s your name?” you echo, then you’re both laughing at the inside jokes that you admittedly could never get sick of.

“I really don’t know,” he stretches further, enjoying the ay the moment became not just yours, but also truly his, with just a couple of words and some laughs. “I just can’t remember, Lena, but what’s your name?”

You laugh, throwing your hair up in a quick bun, before taking the seat beside him.”Atsumu we sound stupid.”

You don’t turn to return his stare, but you feel his eyes on your profile before he even tries to make something off of it. He smiles, and you feel that too.

You’re beautiful, he thinks to himself. A thought that comes to him more frequent than remembering the kanji for his own name, and Atsumu knows he’s rooted himself way too deep to even try to think of letting go.

“Fuck the status quo or whatever that shit says babe,” you hear him laugh in return.

You’re both sat shoulder to shoulder, eyes towards the sun, and the world feels like it only exists to be yours. (and his.)

A moment, where in your eyes, it feels like it’s just (him) and you.

Just him.

Love, as just Atsumu, because he has a way of being your forever anything and everything. A whirlwind of some sorts; a spontaneous wildfire wrapped with the pretty shades of serendipity, and it feels so right.

It’s quiet, but it’s the nice kind of quiet. The demons in your head are hushed, but if you know they’re probably just slumbering, you’re still overwhelmed with a newfound sense of comfort. The source feels like it’s meant to flow infinitely, and you smile—until you don’t. You remind yourself the virtue of never taking more than you can bother to use, so as you turn your head, watching him soak in the light once again, it takes so much inside you to remember that and fight back the urge.

“Don’t you have practice tonight?” you ask, curious.

His sports bag was placed beside him, and it takes you a little while to notice that he’s decked out in his training gear. The time on your clock tells you it’s six forty five, and you’ve always known that practice started at five.

“I do,” he hums.

You turn in response, poking his cheek before pinching it. “Then go.”

Atsumu sighs, in a too-dramatic-voice for a man who was well beyond those years, but you suppose that that was just one of his charms. “Wanna stay actually,” he pouts leaning his weight against yours, to which you’re quick to groan at, nudging your shoulder to try to get him away.

His chin settles on your shoulder anyway, but his other arm is quick to anchor you around the other side, making sure that he’s still holding you up, more than you holding him up. Atsumu’s face is close to yours, as is yours. It’s a position he’s always liked. When he looks at you, he can see the little dots on your face that other people never could get to see unless they were this close. When you blink, you do it slow, like you’re savoring the sight in front of you, and his heart thrums in a tender sort of happiness because even if you never looked much like the sentimental type, he knows you well enough to know that you really are that.

Atsumu juts his bottom lip, like he’s tired, and you laugh.

“Tsumu, go.”

“Tsumu,” he counters. “—stay.”

“Actually,” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “Lena,” he smiles. “Stay.”

-

“You don’t have to do anything,” he adds. “Just stay.”

His words hit you before you could even try to pull your walls back up, knowing that it’ll hit a spot you aren’t exactly keen on confronting just yet.

Just stay, his words echo in your ear, and you suppose that that’s really all you could do. Moments like this where love overwhelm you the most has you fearing love the most, if you were being honest with yourself. There was a fear that comes with love, because at the root of it all, love will always just be a risk.

The higher the climb, the harder the fall they say. The more you give, the more the world will take. You look at Atsumu, who faces you with his pouted lips and sunset painted across two pools of baby brown. He closes his eyes and leans forward, knowing that you’ll kiss his eyelids before you even say it. Like the earth letting itself pulled by gravity, you’re beckoned towards the sun, falling into orbit as time—the human concept of it anyway—begins to move slow and all you can do is spin in circles and marvel at the being that is the light.

“I love you,” he says, and he’s honest.

What terrifies you is the honesty in your voice too, when you reply with an “I love you,” of your own.

The higher the climb, the more painful the fall, you think. When Atsumu opens his eyes and allows for the silence to remain and blanket the piece of the world that is yours and his, you see that you’ve already made it to the highest summit.

The more you give, the more the world will take.

But the thing is, you don’t know what you’ve given him. Your hands are empty beside his, but he holds them anyway. You’re so fucking in love and it terrifies you because what is the earth next to the sun? It stays in a distance so it doesn’t burn, but now, even as you’re face to face with the being that embodies the essence of the light and life itself—you aren’t burning.

Then it hits you.

He is your everything.

You gave yours, so what else could the world take other than him?

-

And because love also wields the power to make you more fearful than you are in love, you admit to yourself that you’re fucking scared. Atsumu says “I love you,” again, and holds your empty hands in his that holds nothing but still feels all the ways full at the same time. It’s suddenly hard to swallow, and you’re cold.

The summit is beautiful, but you are cold.

You close your eyes, walk forward, lose your footing, then just freefall.

The scary part is, even if you do that, you know Atsumu will just think of it as an adventure and jump right after you—riding the current with you, even though you’re venturing into what’s unknown.

Still, you close your eyes.

You pull the parachute first, imagining that you’ve hit the ground before the winds would even get to you.

-

(March 13, 2021)

The funny thing about heartbreak is, Atsumu thinks, is that you recognize its presence before you see its face.

He felt you fading.

Fading from something, but it never fathomed to him that it was from him. You never pulled away when he held his hands, because he made it a point to consciously remind himself to wipe them clean beforehand every time so he supposes it wasn’t that.

“Are we okay?” he asks anyway, when you’re in his car, staring out the street that’s a couple ways from your house. Six-thirty’s already passed, and the skies are in shades of grey instead of the marmalade and amber the sunset always brings.

Atsumu’s voice is a break in the atmosphere, that you think wasn’t tense, but the way his voice quivers in the way only you can point out has you thinking otherwise.

You swallow.

“We are.”

Atsumu exhales, and at the way his voice seems to sound a little more amplified than usual, you realize that the engine’s turned off. Regardless of the nagging voice in your head to stop dragging this out, you turn away anyway.

You love him, and love to love him. You love kissing his eyelids when he naps on your thighs and associating him with the little things just because.

(You turn away, prolonging the inevitable, because you don’t want to associate him with the end—just yet.)

You think to yourself that you don’t deserve this—him—because he deserves better, but you want to have just one more bite. Fists clenched in the pocket of his hoodie you wear that still smells like him, and you want to cry.

Atsumu sighs again, tired. When you look at him, he’s already staring at you, for god knows how long now, and you wince because he looks exhausted.

“Are we?” he asks again, and when you open your mouth to try to find a couple words to string together as a reply, nothing comes out.

“Lena,” he says, and his voice is loud.

He’s only been whispering this whole time, and you’re aware of that, but it’s still loud. His car’s in park; the engine’s off, and when you shift your position from side to side to try to find your place, you can hear the fabric ruffle against each other.

“Len,” you hear again. “Lena.”

“Talk to me,” Atsumu says, and you’re baffled at the way that his voice sounds like a plea.

“I am talking to you,” you mumble. You shift again, but you’re still not comfortable; you don’t want to look at him. You don’t think that you deserve to look at him.

But his voice still comes to you, soft. He’s saying your name; again and again, but it still sounds like a fucking plea. Your shoulders shake, but you still it before he notices. The bullet points that come after the list you write left to right, from the top going to the bottom doesn’t give you an answer as to why he’s fucking pleading.

“Please look at me,” he’s whispering now. (Still loud.)

What is there to plead for?

“What’s wrong, Tsumu?”

“Babe, you gotta talk to me.”

The zipper drags across the plastic of the door, and makes a sound. Internally, you flinch right as you shift your position again because you’re still not fucking comfortable.

You look at him, then blink. He’s staring at you, desperate for words you don’t have, and suddenly your hands feel so empty.

What do I give you?

He shivers when a breeze floats in through the window, while you don’t. Then you blink again. Right, you think. This is his jacket that he gave you. He’s sitting beside you, at 23:10, half an hour away from his apartment, knowing full well there’s traffic in Tokyo regardless of the fucking hour.

Your thoughts, a battle between what can I even give you? and look at what you’ve given me.

“Tsumu I think this is it,” you suddenly whisper, the feeling of being so out of place finally dawning on you.

You keep shifting, uncomfortable in your position, because you’re not supposed to be here. You buy yourself a slice of cake after a job well done, but when you look at Atsumu—what have you done?

What have you given for you to receive so much?

His hoodie’s still warm, and your fingers clutch onto the fabric.

Atsumu stares at you, and even if you want to look away, you can’t. He holds your gaze like he’s held your heart for years now, and you know this won’t be a situation easy to break out of. His grip had always been solid despite the lack of bruises that tell the world of its presence.

“I think,” you sigh, swallowing down the urge to say it’s a joke, to take back your words.

“I think—“ you say again, but hesitate. Atsumu watches you nod your head, the look in your eye so far he doesn’t know if he can catch up by now. You’re whispering your words, the most of what you say phrases he can barely even understand, but he listens to you anyway.

You want to cry again, the tightness in your chest increasing tenfold, and the feeling of discomfort reminding you that you’re not supposed to be here. You don’t deserve this slice of cake, but you’re greedy.

Balled fists, hazy thoughts, and you’re cracking. You aren’t breaking, but you’re cracking.

The fallout is the same.

You nod your head again, and Atsumu watches, his eyebrows scrunched up and drawn together, as you seem to arrive at a conclusion without even letting him in the conversation. The haze clears from your eyes, and by the looks of it you’ve already rooted yourself someplace you don’t even want to stand in.

He tries to say your name, but you’re still shaking your head.

Then you’re shrugging off his jacket. Atsumu opens his mouth, still fucking confused because what are you doing?

You held his hand yesterday and kissed his eyelids goodnight three fucking hours ago.

“What are you doing?”

You hear him, but that’s all there is to it. You know you should be listening to him, but only the definition of the words register in your head. The meaning to be deciphered in the situation remains unseen, when the only thoughts in your head revolve around the fact that your hands are still so empty.

You think about what he says, though.

What are you doing, Lena?

He watches you unzip the zipper from the front, and hear the audible click when you unbuckle your seatbelt. He’s still watching, mouth parted in the silence in disbelief at what he thinks is the goodbye scenario he’s always avoided thinking about. You’re leaning forward, then it’s the left arm out before the right.

A breeze comes again, and even if your eyes are elsewhere, you catch a glimpse at him from your peripherals as he’s shivering—again. Frustration bubbles up in your chest, welling up into tears, but you don’t cry.

You remind yourself that you shouldn’t cry.

Balance was what kept the world in orbit, so therefore, you must only take, if you give.

Rewards are reserved for accomplishments, but what have you fucking offered?

Atsumu’s given you the world, but you still face him with empty hands and just an I love you.

Love was your certainty and your lifetime kind of truth, but what else is there? When Atsumu tells you he’s all yours, it’s enough, but when you do—why does it feel so little?

You take the risk, then the plunge, and look at him. When he blinks, and keeps his eyes shut just that while longer, you have to fight the urge to kiss his eyelids like you’ve always done. His hoodie’s folded on your lap now, but you still smell your honeydew on it.

How many times does he have to wash it to get the smell out? you think.

Atsumu swallows his words, his retaliations, because he knows you’ve anchored yourself before you even hit the water. If you had always been anything—other than the fact that you are always his everything—it was the fact that you are resolute.

So he lets you speak.

He already offers you his love even though he looks at heartbreak in the face.

And it’s your face he sees. Faraway eyes, your shoulders tense, and a shiver that makes your fingers tremble in the slightest. He sees every detail play out in slow motion, and even if his heart is hammering in his chest, just as yours probably is, he thinks to himself—you’re beautiful.

You, as the face of love from the hello, and still you, the face he puts to heartbreak as he listens to you say, “I think I have to let you go.”

‘Let what go?’ he thinks. When you let go of something, it’s to get rid of the bad—the dead weight.

Was he the dead weight?

“It’s for the best,” you say. (For your best, you think.)

“I don’t think we can keep doing this anymore.” (I don’t think I can keep doing this to you anymore.)

“I think this is the best for us.” (For you.)

“What—“

“Tsumu,” you say, cutting him off. Your voice doesn’t quiver but your hands hidden from his point of view clench then unclench.

“Atsumu,” you say again, this time with a smile. It isn’t forced, because you don’t think that you ever had to force a smile for him, but at the sight of him watching you, heartbreak written across his face, your heart can’t help but crack in the same pattern.

It runs a little deeper, you think. The kind of deep where you aren’t sure if even the scars will fade overtime.

“Lena—wait—“ he tries to interject, but you’re already opening the door and walking outside.

He knows your look when you’ve decided, and he knows that it looks something just like this. Still, he bites his lip, hoping that this would just blow off come daylight. He knew you had always been the type to feel the things that come, but never really dwell on it enough to process it. There was hesitance when you accepted things from others, and it never escapes his line of vision when you’d just duck your head a little lower when you didn’t have anything to offer back.

When he says I love you, he means it in both the verbal and in the silent way he tries to communicate with you.

Like leaving traces of himself in every little piece of everything, so that it’s there for you to have and just know.

“I love you,” he says again, and again.

In the silence, but you don’t hear it. On the walk home, you feel it but you turn away.

 -

This is the painful part of love, you think. You know that you’re frustrated, and that everything you hate which unfortunately comes with love is brewing so strong in your chest, that no words come out.

You tell yourself that you’re mad, but when you look at the mirror you turn away.

“My name is Lena,” you say, and you begin. In the world—or your world at least—chaos is swirling so in order to find organization for it, you close your eyes and center your thoughts on the first fact to keep you grounded.

“I like to eat cake, when I deserve it, because I still am victorious,” you say, then add, when a flash of pale yellow comes to mind, “—sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you say, then turn the corner to walk into the kitchen so sit at the table. You remember the slice of cake you bought this morning, meaning to save it for tonight, remembering that you just finished your exams after cramming for nearly two weeks.

In hindsight, you really should have expected it though. Your sister did mention that she just started her period the day before, and usually you never minded when she ate a couple of stuff that wasn’t yours—and you know this is isn’t the reason why you’re crumpled down on the kitchen floor with one fork in hand and no cake in the fridge, but you are.

You’re crying, and flustered, and the words that come out of your mouth sound more gibberish than coherent. You think that you’re saying Atsumu’s name, beside an apology, but truth be told you’re letting yourself go and blank out.

The cold air from the opened fridge hits you on your knees, and you really should be getting up by now to shut it close before your sister comes home and pokes at you for it, but you really can’t be bothered to think about caring.

This is the fall that comes with love, and what was taken was what you were given.

It’s you who gave him back, because the thoughts in your head are busy telling you that even if love was enough—was it really?

Were you enough was the ugly question you don’t face, so you close your eyes and convince yourself that you’re crying because of a fucking slice of cake and not because of the sun.

You ignore the memory of walking home, and still feeling Atsumu’s presence watch you with eagle eyes as he slowly drove with you down the sidewalk – “just so I know you’re home safe, at least give me that.”

-

Give, you think.

There was nothing that you had given him, and Atsumu had deserved something even greater than eternity itself.

-

It’s in the same hour of that same night where Miya Atsumu, who wore red eyes and slumped shoulders, that was standing outside the bakery an hour and fifteen minutes away from his place, wondering which kind of cake you’d like the most out of the thirteen in the display.

-

(September 13, 2021)

Time moves at a weird pace.

Yesterday feels like yesterday, and today feels just like today. It doesn’t move slow, because you know the clock keeps ticking, but still you move. Sunrise comes before sunset, but you stopped looking up and watching the in-betweens colors before that final stroke of marmalade, or even five thirty’s golden hour.

Gold reminded you of the sun, so you looked away. Love had you blinded, and you wanted to look at the world with the lens of practicality instead of the colored ones this time around.

Atsumu was still around, for the most part of it.

Graduation came, then summer, and you know even without you he kept blooming. Towards the end of the year, right before graduation, you still saw the posters on the wall, and heard his name in the announcements. There was always a congratulations right before, followed by a “we’re proud of you,” that never flew past your line of attention.

He deserved it, you think.

Miya Atsumu deserves the whole cake, and not just a slice, because he continuously still gives—his good deeds going well past just the title of a job well done.

You, on the other hand, both kept your distance and thoughts in order in the beginning.

He still said hello when you passed by him in the halls. The awkward timeframe right after a breakup didn’t spare either of you too. With you, opening your inbox and rereading the old messages; debating whether you should just archive the whole conversation or delete it altogether, then seeing Atsumu typing something for a whole five minutes before the indication stops and a message is never sent.

Where you’re stuck wondering what he could have said, because you know Atsumu’s always been the type to not only wear his heart on his sleeve, but rather, shout it out instead.

You never fit that bill, but you (love)d him anyway.

If you were being honest—at least to yourself—it took long, before Miya Atsumu became just the name of a contact in your phone, the text history buried at the bottom. Seven months’ worth of texts piled above his last, “hey, i’m outside,” that you never could bring yourself to delete.

For a while, you think, you deserved that slice of cake.

Just a slice, and not the whole thing, but for that while—it was all yours.

-

(December 2021)

Akaashi Keiji didn’t come into your life until another three months after you shut the book and pretended you never read its contents. You say you know the end, but really, you never flipped past page 223 despite the book ending at 416.

The end was a page that was skimmed over, and never really read through. A dog eared fold on the corner, instead of a bookmark, for the sake of it sitting on the shelf, looking finished. In the moment, you know it isn’t finished, and you’ll probably stumble upon the book again at some point, later down in time, but perhaps if you give yourself enough patience, you’ll forget that it was left to be unfinished in the first place.

Miya Atsumu was a story you started, where you read the start in a third person POV, then left it midway when you took the reins and rewrote what you think the ending would be from a first person perspective.

I am not enough for you, you said. I will take off this jacket and leave it here, because I haven’t offered you anything.

I will leave, and let you go because you deserve more.

(But it’s I love you, as the thought, that still will always remain.)

-

You have your books and bullet point notes, the days after today written in a list: from top to bottom with just a couple of scribbles along the margins. Akaashi met you like serendipity used to dictate, and this new book started like how it should have.

“Hello,” because that’s how it should start. Followed by a “how are you?” because that’s usually the next thing to say.

The conversation’s light before it dives deeper, and you think to yourself that you like it like that because it follows order. Atsumu gave you half his bento box two hours after you first met, while Akaashi offered you a napkin and his extra fork when yours fell.

Often, your friends would tell you that it probably wasn’t a good idea to compare the dynamic of the two, and you agree because if you were outside this situation you would be advising the exact same, but when you do things from first person, a lot of things become that much harder just because.

This wasn’t love, nor was this the replacement of love, but you can’t help but admit that Akaashi Keiji was the prince charming you wrote about in your diary when you were a kid. He was the ocean eyed prince charming every teenager dreamt of, and this was the slowburn kind of pace that love should be.

Atsumu barreled into you and made himself be known as the yellow in the color wheel opposite of your purple, and even if it didn’t clash, nor blend, it had a presence.

You think to yourself that Akaashi was all the shades of ocean blue, while you were that kind of purple right in between lavender and periwinkle.  You could stand next to him at the train station, or be squished next to eachother in the train during rush hour, and people would take one glance and assume you’re together.

Situating yourself beside the shade next to yours in the color wheel felt right. Blue to purple, or purple to blue. It worked. Neither of you had to jump far, or take a leap across the wheel, but only take a step and you’re right there.

He wasn’t love, but you didn’t let yourself think that he could be.

It’s two more years of this until your master’s is done, so you suppose reading a side story wouldn’t hurt much.

Only that this side story was getting a little more complicated than you initially just planned out. You jumped into this story without the thought of grabbing a bookmark, and Akaashi Keiji had been the type of person you knew hated dog eared bookmarks.

“What are your thoughts about this?” he asks you one day though, so completely out of the blue that it has you whipping your head to the side to stare at him, wide eyed. You’ve known him for a while now, and he was okay. Perhaps just the word great, at best, because whether you looked at this from a first person point of view or a third, your words would still be the same. Objective thoughts led you to thinking of coming to a conclusion based on the rubric of your childhood, and Akaashi fit the bill.

Maybe not your bill now, but he still fit it.

Akaashi Keiji was who your should have been prince charming looked like, with the ocean blue eyes and poetry for words.

Even though he asks you that now, when you’re seated in the passenger seat of his car parked outside your apartment building, you still can only bring yourself to just blink. You stay true to the fact that you are surprised, and you do admit that, but that’s all there is to it. Nothing feels like it’s leaping out of your chest, and there’s no flutter of anything in your stomach.

His words register in your head, but so does confusion.

“This?” you parrot, trying to find meaning through the limited context he provides.

Akaashi nods, hands still at 10 and 2 on the wheel, while his foot hovers over the brakes. You can see that the car’s in park, but he’s tense. He lets a couple more seconds pass—that felt like it was stretching a lot longer than what it really is—before inhaling and turning to face you.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking like he’s saying it to himself rather than towards you. “This,” he confirms, then after it looks like he convinced himself, he looks at you, and nods again.

You stare at two pools of the sea, that immediately has you wondering if it’s either the Atlantic or the Pacific. Your feet that had long been digging into the warmth of the sand on the shore are suddenly hit with the first cold kisses of the water, and you’re caught.

“This,” you sound out, and by now you’re already well aware of where the conversation’s headed. The both of you still skirt around the words anyway, the silence quickly settling in.

He’s breathing in and out, steady, and tapping his finger against the steering wheel—steady. You’re sat beside him wearing a jacket that’s always been yours, and the AC in his car is just the right kind of cold. When you shift, you’re not exactly comfortable enough to want to stay, but you aren’t uncomfortable to the point of wanting to leave right away either. The space between the both of you feel appropriate, and you know even if he leaves later, his place is only a ten minute drive away.

Convenience, you think; it’s an appropriate word to describe this.

So you turn to face him.

Ocean meets earth, and you’re aware of the cold waves touching your ankle now. You’re nodding your head when you hear the click of his seatbelt unbuckle, then keep your eyes on him when he leans close.

It’s like staying on the edge of the shore, hesitant for the long while, before the moon beyond the daylight loses patience and calls for the tide to favor the yearning of the sea as it grants the tips of its waves to reach further inland.

From your seat, you watch as the ocean comes to you.

Your hands are empty, still, but you did finish that paper two days early so you suppose a slice of something is okay.

“This is convenient,” he finally hears you say, and Akaashi wants to say something else, but he shuts himself up when he sees you finally look at him, like you found an answer to a question that’s boggled with your head for a while now.

He knows there was always something unanswered that bothered you, but he never had it in himself to breach past the boundary the both of you had situated right in the middle just for the sake of asking.

He was curious, but they did say that curiosity had its ways of killing the cat.

Akaashi doesn’t want to be killed—and because he didn’t want this to be killed either—he chose to keep his silence.

Still, he still has it in him to hesitate. The moon can only push the tides so much, and the water will only go so far to where it rarely ventures before it must recede back to where it should be come daylight.

It’s daylight that you yearn, and he sees that.

A faceless kind of sun—that he can only guess is the answer to all the questions he knows you still have.

What’s above the both of you is the gleam of moonlight now, he reasons, so he goes as far as he can and waits. You’re still standing by the shore—still sitting completely still—until he watches you break out of the hesitation laced with your thoughts, right as you move.

“What are we doing?” he hears you whisper, so Akaashi begs for the moon to push him forward just a little closer.

(He hopes you don’t pull away.)

“We’re doing what’s convenient,” he offers, a set of words strung together at the very last second that he knows is just a crafted lie, then prays for the best.

You’re nodding your head, and you give yourself just those few more seconds as you weigh your thoughts, deciding what’s still okay and what isn’t.

You think back to the bullet points of your journal, and mentally recite the facts written in an organized list.

You like to eat cake, and treat yourself a slice after a job well done, because that’s only when you deserve it. You (love)d Miya Atsumu for a whole novel of your life where the reason fell under just because instead of the specifics you try to fit in places for the sake of accuracy and detail. Miya Atsumu was the sun that was always with the sky, and you were never blinded even if you did always stare at him directly in the eye. (Next to that part is always a quickly scribbled why—but you don’t know the answer to it just yet.)

(You say you should really be getting back to it later, to fill in the blanks, and give it some closure—but you aren’t ready for a closure.)

(You aren’t ready to open page 223.)

Then next on the list is Akaashi Keiji. You had two classes with him and went to the same university for your masters and the most you know about him is that he likes his coffee with just a splash of caramel. He lives just a ten minute drive away from you, and he’s okay enough to share a laugh with on weekdays and breakfast with on weekends if you had class together that day. He’s okay with 7am lectures, even if he did have bags under his eyes, and he’s the type to always carry a bookmark with him or at least just a scrap of paper to fit in between the pages because he hated the idea of just folding the corners as substitute instead.

It’s not that he’s convenient, but rather this is convenient.

You got along well, and you suppose that you’re comfortable enough with the ocean to wade deep within it and still not drown.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you hear him murmur, so you take a step and wade in a little deeper.

Ankle deep, and you’re unbuckling your seatbelt as you shift and fully face him.

Ocean blue, and the waves are swirling, swirling, swirling—you’re pulled in. Waist deep, and the water’s cold enough to wake you up and remind you that it’s fine. You’re fine, and you can breathe; you aren’t overwhelmed, and when you stretch your fingers and try to feel for the sand beneath the waves, you can still feel it. There’s a certain security found in being grounded, then you’re thinking to yourself that whatever this is, is okay.

You try to stare down, and face the waves, and will yourself to not think of the sky.

There’s no daylight, and the sun slumbers, so the waves around you heed to the call of the moon and move back and forth, in motion, but still, around your waist.

So it’s you who buckles your knees in waist deep water and pull yourself under.

It’s the feel of the water, cool and not exactly cold that greets you, as you push yourself forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt before pressing your lips against his.

Akaashi sighs against your lips, as if he’s already discovered the ending to a story he conceptualized himself but never really had the courage of writing out.

He’s kissing you right back, and it feels good—for the moment.

You try not to think of the nagging feeling that pokes at you again and again, saying that the warmth of the sand under the sun in daylight feels much more like home than the cool feel of the water.

-

You’ve always known to yourself that there was the undeniable contrast between Akaashi and Atsumu.

Comparing the two wasn’t a bright idea—it was stupid, if anything, and didn’t help with shit, honestly speaking. (You always were honest to yourself.)

Akaashi hummed his praises, and never was the type to really shout them out. He called you when he’d pull up to your building, instead of wait outside the door and surprise you with a couple pieces of chocolate and a cheesy grin that you swore to hell and back you hated to boot.

Atsumu was everything unpredictable and freeing, but Akaashi was predictable in the way that eventually grew sentimental. He, alone, had forever been great. You knew well that there was so many things he could take pride in, and never bothered to hide your compliments when it came to his achievements, because you knew he deserved the recognition.

Akaashi spoke to you in metaphors, while Atsumu told you like how it is. You admit to yourself, that even if there were some days where you liked the challenge of trying to understand what was written underneath the underneath—the days where you just wanted to hear it as it just is were just as equal.

For the next few months after the first, time still moved okay. Sixty minutes was still an hour, while twenty four hours was still one whole day. Whether Akaashi’s hand was on yours, or if his lips were on your neck in the car, time still just moved.

Your heart skipped a couple beats, when his thumb would always caress the corners of your lips before and after he kissed you, and your cheeks would bloom into all the shades of scarlet when he’d whisper your name in between the kisses that never felt rushed.

But it was just that.

You felt the rush of what love was supposed to be—the hype that it never failed to bring—in the car.

At 11PM, in the parking lot of your apartment building, the height of love thrived on the fumes of serendipity for an hour or two every couple of nights, and would trickle fast when you’d open the door and tell him goodnight.

Atsumu was goodnight, my love, with the cheesy smile and your montage of eye rolls but secret blushes when you’d turn your back and make your way inside your house. Akaashi, on the other hand, you think is just your goodnight, then go, because at the end of the day—because of convenience—the both of you are somehow dragging out the goodbye.

So you part from him, wipe your lips, and try to ignore the way his thumb lingers just a little longer on the corner of your lips. You turn away when the look in his eye turns softer, because it shouldn’t, and pretend like you didn’t just see the shift the both of you have been trying to get away from.

Just two years, then goodbye, you tell yourself.

This isn’t love, Akaashi thinks to himself, hand on the wheel and foot on the gas pedal instead of the brakes. He watches you walk past the hood of his car, the hand that was just balling up the collar of his shirt only moments ago raised to give him a goodnight wave as you walk past, and shit, he thinks.

He still smells honeydew even after you’ve shut the door, and he can’t help but notice how silent the car feels despite the low hum of the air conditioner blasting inside his car.

Akaashi sinks into his seat, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, before he sighs his deep exhale.

“Ah,” he mumbles. “Shit.”

This wasn’t supposed to be love.

-

If there was one thing he excelled at above the rest, and kept as a constant since day one, for Akaashi it was playing it safe.

This route was set to be the one he’d take when he’d drive home, because it was safe. Traffic was inevitable in the city, but this on had the least turns. A couple stoplights, and some convenience stores would be in every corner as well as a gas station at every couple of miles was convenient.

Safe, like choosing just plain vanilla for his cake flavors ever since he turned old enough to pick out his own cake, and safe, like just a splash of caramel in his coffee to lessen the bite of espresso.

You were what challenged him to walk a little ways outside the circle he’d always deemed as safe.

He didn’t run away from it, on the other hand, because he realizes that it’s curiosity that made him take the bait. You weren’t just the girl who shared a couple subjects with him and wrote her notes in the same order, the letters written in print instead of scribbled with questionable cursive.

Truth be told, it was before he even took the risk that night and begged for the moon to let him reach just a little further in the shore for him to unconsciously begin redesigning the face of love into the contours of your face.

You looked like love.

What it could just possibly be at the start, until he waded too far into the shore for that thought to turn into the beginnings of certainty.

And when Akaashi Keiji was certain, he took no time in looking for somewhere to bury his roots as deep as he can possibly go in.

It started with noticing that some weeks you prefer red velvet over chocolate mousse, then making a mental note to himself that you prefer the bakery on the east side of campus than the one on the west. You never made too much conversation with the teenagers that worked there part time, because he understands that there’s never really a point in doing that when you could just be on your way, but he took note of how you’d smile a little more towards the uncles that trimmed the hedges on the garden outside.  

In his eyes, not only did you look like the textbook definition of love, but you also looked like his dream of what love is supposed to be.

It’s supposed to be looking at someone, doing something so mundane, and realizing that having a name beside you written in a book that was supposed to just tell your journey wasn’t all that bad—at all.

And all it took was a Sunday morning, on the twenty first of some month he can’t quite recall in the moment, for him to catch a glimpse of you making your way to the library with a cup of what he knows is just boba in a coffee mug in hand. The sky behind you looks like it opens, as if there’s something with it that’s always been with you, and even though you’re at a distance—in his eyes, you’re glowing.

You smile at the uncle who’s trimming away at the hedges to your right, then right before you make a turn, you’re raising your hand as a good morning and giving him a smile.

And fuck, Akaashi thinks.

He holds a heart that beats, where for the moment it’s not because of the fact that he still needs to breathe.

He’s okay, and this is okay.

He thinks to himself that there’s a chance, because the both of you work. So it just means to say that this, can too.

“Okay,” he exhales, the whisper more as a reassurance to himself than to anyone else. The world covered in daylight slumbers at his words, and as he stands, his own schedule in place, he wishes for the blessing of the moon to push him with the tides back into the shore again.

“Tonight,” he texts you, instead.

“I’ll pick you up tonight.”

-

(March 13 2022)

In shades of grey, Akaashi Keiji loves you.

Grey car, oceanic yes that look grey under the stormy nights you’d always meet him in, and the rainclouds of tonight blending the skies into the muddled shades of one palette. Making out in his car, a couple times a week, because even if he wanted to hold your hand and kiss you out in the world—you always did pull back.

But he has this, and for an hour and some minutes, has you.

Your palms on his chest, where his breaths are huffed out and fucking heavy. There’s smoke out the engine, the air conditioner’s blasted in just the way he knows you like, but it’s those hazy eyes of yours he could never read that stare at him.

Or towards him, rather.

Akaashi thinks to himself that it’s always looked as if you mean to be staring at someone else other than him, living through the moment that was somewhere else but here. He knows love is meant to be screamed at the top of his lungs, so he tries to at least do that.

He’s never really thought the rest of the world should know, because all he really wants is for you to know.

Words don’t come out, and his hands are under your shirt before they even try to run through the skin of your neck like he usually does. Cold palms flat against the curve of your back, and you’re confused. Akaashi’s staring at you, breath held as he holds onto your smell of honeydew for as long as he can like it’s the lifeline he needs. Your eyes are even hazier, looking like you’re even more lost, and he’s frustrated.

He kisses you again, pulling you flush against him, until eventually you’re pushing at his chest when the center console begins to dig into your skin a little too much.

“We can go upstairs?” he usually tries to suggest, and now, looking at your red lips and mused hair, he wants to ask the same question again, but because he thinks he knows you like the back of his hand, he also knosws that you’ll just wave him off with a half hearted no chuckled out instead.

This is just a pit stop, and he knows. He is just your pit stop, and even if the agreement was the same on the flip side, it bothers him that he fucking knows.

“Someone will see us,” a thing you say, because he’s just your for now.

Akaashi Keiji, in your head, is going to be your almost mistake, almost enemy.

(And you don’t want to hate him. It’s not that his limbs have been too entangled with yours for you to come up with that decision, but rather, it was just how you just didn’t want to hate someone you shared slices of your truest you with.)

“Someone will see us, Keiji,” you warn again, ducking a little when a group of people make their way out of a building and head in the general direction of their car.

Akaashi knows that you’re aware of the tinted windows he had installed just two weeks before, and that they fucking worked, so why were you still hiding?

What is there to hide?

So it’s him saying, “I don’t care,” that lights a kind of flame in his gut. They travel up to the veins, reminding him of their existence.

It’s a risk, he thinks. He holds your face in between his hands, shaking. You allow yourself to finally tremble with him, because broken has been the only side of you that he’s ever known.

Akaashi’s frustrated, again, because watching you watch him in the dim—despite the haze of your dark brown, he still tries to jump at the chance that perhaps this could be love.

He wants to know what you look like in every shade in between black and white. There’s a lot of pastels and violet blended in with your choice of wardrobe, so it fits.

Akaashi wants to hear the sound of your voice at twenty three, and not just at a zero or a hundred. He knows your heart breaks a little more when October 5 around the calendar, but he wants to know why.

“Someone is going to fucking see,” you’re hissing now, but you still don’t pull away.

Akaashi knows he’s just the getaway car, but he still keeps his foot on the pedal, always ready to go when you are.

He sees the look in your eye and recognizes the tendrils of goodbye before it’s even completely thought out from your end, but he shuts his mouth, swallows his own doubts, and kisses you like you’re his.

(For tonight, you are.)

(Under the moonlight; away from daylight; within the waters, ever drowning in the depths—you’re his.)

So Akaashi locks his doors, starts the engine, and kisses you again and again and again and again like the world within this little space is all the world will ever be. He drowns out the voice in his head that tells him to pull away; to push you and himself away, because this isn’t okay—but tonight he is selfish.

“I don’t fucking care,” he repeats; in between the kisses and the façade.

“Lena I don’t care.”

You don’t understand, but at the same time you do.

You’re still kissing him anyway, and leaning into his touch. You only look at him when he opens his eyes, to pull yourself back into the water and away from the memory of daylight and sun and fucking sand because not yet—you think. You don’t want to think about the word deserve, just yet. There’s a fire that’s been lit in your veins, and the world feels like it’s kicking you off of somewhere again so you could just soar.

It’s not the same, the voice in your head cries.

And it’s not.

Love, is Miya Atsumu and daylight. He’s the whole tier of cake always put on display that you mean to buy, but never do because you feel like what you carry with you would never be enough. He’s the masterpiece against the skies, against the backdrop of your world, and he deserved nothing short of the greatness that he is too.

Akaashi’s lips are on your neck, where he mumbles your name, once, then twice, but never enough to feel like he’s endgame. There will never be a number to match to that what could be enough, you think, so you let it be and leave it at that.

Akaashi Keiji isn’t a secret, but you still shield whatever you have from something. You think you shield it from the sky, but some days has you feeling like it’s really meant to be understood as working like the other way around. He’s kissing you, still, then when his lips move to kiss the side of your forehead you still.

You know he means to leave a kiss on your eyelids, but you keep your eyes wide open—staring at him. It’s the ocean blue, but you’re not being pulled away, swept out to sea this time, because there’s no current. Within the depths, you see a reflection of the skies that always watch, and the clouds above look like they mean to weep.

Your toes hit the sand underneath the waves, and you take one step back—closer to the shore.

You’re not there, yet, but you’re headed there. Akaashi looks at you, looking a little more broken than whole, and while there’s an apology at the tips of your tongue, he beats you to the punch by saying “What’s wrong?”

He knows he’s asking a question he knows the answer to, and he probably shouldn’t be doing that, because it will only bring more harm than good at this point, but he says it anyway. At every chance that falls on his hands here he can at least try to make his presence be known, to root his name and him into the grounds of your earth, he’ll do it.

Pinpricks that poke and prod at his chest before they dig a little deeper, and a whole lot fucking deeper when you turn away from him and pull away, taking with you your traces of honeydew and love.

“Nothing,” you answer. A lie. You both know, but neither of you confront the clear sins of the other. “Nothing,” you say again, solidifying your answer.

The list comes reappears in your head, and the facts that you’ve been gathering lay themselves side by side beside you in the most cohesive order.

You like to eat cake when you did something worth celebrating for. Fact.

Your name is Lena, and there’s a lot about the lyrics to Ayahuasca that sends you spiraling. Fact.

Fruit tarts over cheesecake, because even if you didn’t mind cheese all that much, cheesecake felt weird. Fact.

Miya Atsumu, forever and always; spring to winter, will always be love. Fact.

You let him go because he deserved better. Fact.

You mark the pages of a book you haven’t finished reading by folding the corners of the pages into the little triangles resembling dog ears instead of buying an actual bookmark, while Akaashi Keiji, does the same. Fact.

Your truth is that even if he stares at you right now, with the eyes of a man in love, you know that the sinking feeling in your stomach is the fact that you think as if he’s just meant to be with you in the moment, but not after it passes.

“Keiji, I’m sorry.”

-

It’s the way you looked as you said the words instead of the words itself that sticks in Akaashi’s head the most. He’s up, awake at 2 in the morning, tossing and turning in bed, frustrated. There’s a misplaced sense of anger inside, but he knows it isn’t towards you.

He isn’t angry at himself, nor you, nor the two fucking words that sounds like a consolation prize if anything.

Akaashi sits up, back against the headboard and ponders to himself if this is the kind of extremity Bokuto had to face whenever he was going through the motions. It’s the kind of fire that bubbles up but never explodes. First, he remembers. Then, he’s angry. Next, he’s swallowing down the words he wants to say because the problem is—he doesn’t know who to say them to.

He could call you and ask what your fucking deal was, but he knows that’s out of pocket. Your deal had always been the black and the white. He knew you as someone who appreciated it most when things fell into what was in accordance to the list you always write in order. It’s always been either this, or that, and he should have drilled it into his head at the very least.

Then after those thoughts eventually settle into his head and accumulate into a pile in front of him, the anger that already had rose to the neck area suddenly simmers down.

Then, finally, Akaashi realizes, as the exact moment settles in—he’s just tired.

He’s a little sad, and tired. Slumped shoulders, tired eyes, and thoughts a whirlwind of just you, you, and you.

This wasn’t part of his norm, he thinks, but he thought you were. He thought all there was to you were boba or juice shoved in a coffee mug and friendly hellos to the uncles who trimmed the hedges. You were the color lilac despite having a love for all the shades found in the rainbow. There was probably a semblance of love, in your life, before him, but he knows that inn this part of your life—he was bound to meet someone who’ve had endings of their own.

He sighs again, realizing the truth that he doesn’t want you to be just an ending for him to reminisce over with a group of strangers some time later.

And of course, Akaashi Keiji was the type to demand answers, because it’s only minutes later here he finally makes up his mind, standing up in a rush and picking up his phone as he dials your number, the digits memorized despite your contact having been long saved.

You don’t pick up after the first ring, but it’s only two am and he sees your game activity on discord so he knows you’re up. He’s tapping his foot, a little impatient, but because tonight he made the abrupt decision to suddenly be selfish—just this once—he didn’t care.

The second ring still rings, but there’s silence. Your status changes from online to do not disturb, and by the third ring, he hangs up, and grabs his keys.

-

To be fair, you did count down from ten to one.

Akaashi’s at your door before you can even say hello. He doesn’t look like he’s lost much sleep, taking into consideration the fact that you already are well aware of how little he even sleeps, but it’s you who leans by your door and says hello anyway.

He shifts in his place, left leg supporting his whole weight before the other. You watch, somewhere between amused and indifferent as he parts his lips once or twice, shutting them close each time before he eventually just settles with looking away and murmuring, “Wanna go for a ride?”

“To make out?”

He looks at you, then sighs. “Just wanna talk.”

-

And to be fair on your end, even if he did say that, there really isn’t much talking going on. The both of you are only wearing your pyjamas, just a couple hops away from going to bed—until this—obviously. He’s driving around the street of the neighborhood park nearby in circles; the one with the two stoplights on either ends, and just one corner as the only way that lead to your house, while his route was the turn a couple more ways ahead.

He misses the turn to your home every time. It’s a fifteen minute walk at best, and truth be told, if you were already sick of this, you would have long gotten off and started walking already, but you suppose that tonight you were a little more patient.

There’s a lot of factors that have to deal with Akaashi being patient with you too, so you could guess that it’s safe to assume that this was just a give and take situation.

You give him your words, while he gives you his.

He gives you his time, then you give him his.

There’s a balance that needs to be maintained, so while he gives you silence, in return, you do the same.

Until he breaks it, saying, “What happened back there?”

“It is what is is, Keiji,” you hum, head turned to face the window to your right.  

“We were working out,” he reasons, and you widen your eyes, looking at him, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had an agreement, Ji,” you retaliate.

“We didn’t say anything, Lena,” he scoffs.

Scoffs, you think. Then it fucking dawns on you that he was actually already wading in the deep end, too fast, too hard.

You shake your head, always having been resolute with your decisions, as you were transparent with your intentions. Akaashi, on the other hand, seemed to just squint right through it and look at the mirage instead of the actual desert that was right there.

“But it was still said,” you tell him, and when he stops the car near the sidewalk just to gawk at you, it really fucking hits you that he was way too deep in something that was only waist deep in hindsight.

“That’s what you think,” Akaashi tells you, but he doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound tired either, so it messes with you in a weird way to realize that this is just his truth.

“I can’t tell you what you can and can’t think just like how you can’t be putting words in my mouth that I never even said, Keiji,” you bite back, flustered and frankly a little appalled at the bluntness off his words. When you stare at him, you try to give it some reason that maybe he’s just tired, or maybe he just had a bad day and was spewing shit out of his mouth at best, because at the moment, absolutely nothing is making any fucking sense.

But then he’s sighing, tired. The back of his head thumps the car seat headrest when he leans back and loosens his grip on the wheel. The streetlights flicker, but stay, while the stoplight with the corner that has your turn on it signals yellow.

You bite the bullet and turn to him, but still slow yourself down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean—“

From his peripherals, Akaashi sees the stoplight further up ahead that leads to his turn blink from green to red.

He pauses.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m—fuck. Fuck, okay,” he continues, pausing to rub his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Len, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

“I think,” you begin, exhaling, and frankly feeling a little more worn out. “I think we were looking at different stoplights this whole time.”

Akaashi laughs, finding it a little out of your character to be speaking in metaphors, especially knowing that that was always his sort of thing. He nods, anyway, a little past worn out, and just fucking tired at this point. It dawns on him that it is three in the morning, and he’s pulled you out of your apartment just to try to find a common ground in something that had been completely one sided from the start.

You’re yawning, in your spot just beside him, but you still look at him anyway with blinking eyes that look more sleepy than anything, but he supposes he’d rather take that kind of look over frustration or sadness.

He fights the urge to tuck in the strand of hair behind your ear, looking away when you blink a little too long, because he knows that his lips will never find a home against the skin of your eyelids he knows he’ll still periodically think about from time to time when nostalgia decides to visit him a little later down the road.

He remembers his stoplight’s at red.

“This kinda feels like a breakup,” he laughs anyway, giving himself this little bit to stay in the moment and pretend like car rides with him, and you, will still be an okay thing for tomorrow.

“Does it?” you smile, slowing down, and thinking of yellow.

Yellow.

He smiles, but doesn’t say a word, and the conversation ends just like that.

“Let me drop you off at least,” he says, and you shake your head, eyes cast towards your stop light as the countdown to green begins to tick.

“I think I wanna take a walk.”

“At three AM?” he prods. “Alone? In Tokyo?”

It hits green, and you stifle a laugh, a little drunk on the kind of adrenaline that doesn’t make you feel like running, but rather, soaring, instead.

“Yeah,” you snort. “At three AM, alone, in Tokyo.”

He knows he probably should have said something to at least get you close enough so that your building can be seen, but by the looks of it, your mind’s already long made up as you open your door, and walk out, shutting the same door softly behind you. Akaashi’s quick to lower the windows on that side, tilting his head as you do the same, leaning down give him a little smile.

“I really don’t mind dropping you off just so that I know you’re safe,” he says.

“And I really am okay,” you laugh, waving him off. “No need to be so nice, I just probably broke your heart.”

“Probably’s an understatement,” he laughs, but waves you off when you look like you’re about to say something.

“Why are you being nice to me? I didn’t do anything to you,” you laugh again.

Then you watch as Akaashi shrugs, smiling the kind of smile that you think he does when he’s alone as he looks at your stoplight turning to green ahead instead of the one on his. “You don’t need to do anything for anyone to get stuff, Len.”

“—You really don’t.”

-

It isn’t as much as looking at heartbreak straight in the face, Akaashi thinks to himself. It was really just a matter of pulling his head out of his own ass and realizing that the first look of a break of his mundane isn’t what fate has in store. Serendipity works weird, he realizes. People say it’s the happily ever after you’re supposed to be craving for, but he realizes it’s a lesson.

You were a lesson, to which the exact words he can’t exactly have a solid grasp of as of now, but he knows in time he’ll find them.

The reality of heartbreak is that it just comes, for the sake of being there. It doesn’t trickle slow, or give a warning. In his case, Akaashi realizes that it’s just there because it’s the result of something.

He’s driving down a street, passing your turn, where he has to peel his eyes away at the sight of you walking past a no U-Turn sign, because it just hits him that you were never for his to cradle to begin with.

There’s not much about you, but he can just about tell that you look like the kind of woman who holds on to the best kind of book, shoving it away during the best part, because you’re afraid of the inevitable that the story will still end.

He taps at his steering wheel, coming to another stop at the red light of his street, where he turns on his signal to turn to the right when he’s given a go. For a moment, his eyes flicker towards the passenger seat, where you were just hours ago, in the exact same moment where he was high on something and thinking that the world was just made of 2.

Akaashi looks at heartbreak in the face, but it’s just fragments of you, and a couple sentences he can’t connect to each other, and just like that he knows that this little slice of your life will just be a piece of a puzzle he isn’t a part of.

It’s okay.

It will be okay.

But right now the light’s red, and he allows himself to feel that it isn’t. He tells himself that it’s not because he isn’t enough, but rather, he’s not enough for the kind of fulfillment you were looking for. Perhaps love and happiness looked like the skies, and not the seas, because that would explain why most of his memories with you always involved you facing the clouds, as if caught in a daydream.

Akaashi laughs to himself, a little dryly, when the lights turn green and he’s easing off of the brakes. His world will always be in motion, and he’ll always be headed towards something—but right now he thinks of the moment as a metaphor that he’s heading out of something.

Out of the first phase of love; where it’s just an idea and not exactly it.

He was the getaway car, but it was okay. In shades of grey he supposes he’ll always see you, but perhaps one day he’ll find the perfect shade of orange to let the blue in his eyes finally come into a full bloom.

-

It’s in the exact same moment that you pass by the no U-Turn sign that you’ve always just ignored on your street, where a lot of things hit you.

First is the memory of Atsumu.

At first, you feel bad, because you know you probably just walked out of a situation that had to deal with you breaking a heart instead of healing it, but your truth had always been your truth and there was no point in sugar coating something whose end was prewritten right from the start.

So you shake away the thoughts, and remember Atsumu again.

It’s undeniable, that who he was had always been your truth regarding what love would always be. Miya Atsumu as the gold to your lavender, and even if the color wasn’t just your neighbor in the palette, standing beside him fit.

It fit, but just saying that it does doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

The No U-Turn sign stares at you in the face, so you stop.

You’re standing in the sidewalk again, like all those years ago, and even if you’re pretty sure that you just broke a heart only some moments ago, the only name running through your head in the moment was Atsumu’s.

Love was as ugly as it was beautiful. Selfish as it was selfless.

No U-Turn, so you keep walking.

You pull back from the waters, and ignore the moon, and stare at the skies, pretending that you’re in the presence of the sun where the sky that blankets your side of the world is bathed in the colors of daylight. Every shade of the sky saturated, where the sun looks more of a gold than a blinding yellow.

You laugh, briefly recalling the time when he decided to let you be with the spiral of your thoughts, and it’s tonight where you come into a full realization that he only did that because he knew this was the something you needed to go through yourself before even letting him in.

Your thoughts drift, and you look up to the sky, searching for the big ball of light, because in your heart, you’re calling for love. You’re alone in the streets, at three in the morning just loitering around in your pyjamas that don’t match in any angle, but love is what drives you to keep walking home.

No fucking U-Turn, and it hits you like a damn truck.

Miya Atsumu will always be the love that you’ll still find in the silence. In every shade of yellow and gold, and every walk home. He’s the presence—or a fucking entity, you laugh to yourself—that drives slow next to you who decides to take it slow and just walk home, talking the long route on the sidewalk.

There are streetlights that glow in the distance like fireflies, and you’re suddenly thankful for the burst of light.

Light, like your Atsumu, who will always be the face of your love.

You don’t know if you deserve it, but it truly had to take reading a damn side story and coming into terms that the most you could ever give the rest of the world was an honest I’m sorry.

“You don’t need to do stuff for anyone to get stuff,” you hear Akaashi’s voice chorus in your ear again, so you smile to yourself, not exactly changed, but a little enlightened at most.

Change and acceptance doesn’t happen overnight, but like love, who came into your life like a rush, epiphanies also held the nature of just arriving without warning.

The tears that begin to dribble down your face afterwards worked sort of like that. You recall sitting on the floor of your kitchen, tears on your hands, down your cheeks, on the floor, and on your shirts. You told yourself again and again that you were crying because of the cake and not because of how unkind you were to yourself, because even if your hands were empty—you know that word is only subjective at best.

You’re walking down the streets now, along the streets with the lights that look like fireflies at three am and you could just feel Atsumu smirking beside you if he was here.

Tears that feel warm, but it’s liberating.

Nothing strikes you one minute, only to change you a whole 180 in the very next because it just doesn’t work like that, but what does stay is Akaashi’s words. They swirl in your head again and again, like a broken record that has you realizing isn’t playing such a bad song at all.

Love is as selfish as it is selfless.

You loved Atsumu selflessly, but now you want to hold on to a semblance of him again—albeit it just being a memory, for now, and love with the intention to take.

It’s to accept, he would correct you, if he was there, but then again, those will always just be the words that you are yet to hear.

But for now you walk along the sidewalks and reminisce. You reminisce the view of the summit, and the feeling of being so high up. You think of Akaashi and the ocean blue eyes you thought were just great at best, and whisper another apology into the universe you pray will deliver your words to the rightful ears, because right now, you just want to love selfishly.

There’s a book on your shelf with a dog eared bookmark on page 223, and you think that tonight you’ll pull it out and at least dust the cover.

When you look in the mirror, you know that you’re in love and that fact alone is as undeniable as the truth that your name is Lena.

It’s okay to be in love, and a little broken, and it’s okay to eat a slice of cake just because.

You’re crying still, when you stumble out your door again, Atsumu’s hoodie around your frame, as you drive to that only bakery in town, forty five minutes away, because you know that they sell the best kind of red velvet.

The funny thing about epiphany is that once the smallest bit of it strikes you, it keeps coming. Reality is messy, you think, and your eye opening moment doesn’t happen like how it does in the books where every moment plays out one before the other in perfect order.

There’s a method to the madness that is life, where the order is called spontaneity because the very nature of it is to defy just that.

Serendipity that’s always found you through the face of Miya Atsumu and the amber skies that were yours and his every six thirty. Eyelid kisses and I love you, just because. Climbing from one straight to a hundred, and even a fucking thousand that quick because love is as much of a whirlwind as it is a slow burn.

You tell yourself time and time again that all you do is take without giving, but at this point it’s the universe that wishes for you to understand that there is no such thing as ever giving too little.

Love, as selflessness and purity will keep giving because even if you open your hands and offer it nothing, it will only smile back fondly, telling you that you are always deserving—as you are.

You surpass the word enough—as you are.

You are loved—as you are.

There will always be someone who will sit behind the door and eat cake with you in the silence.

-

Right now, it’s just you, but you make do anyway.

You’re in the driver’s seat of your car, frankly a mess, primarily because of three things.

The first, you’re finally feeling everything you’ve told yourself you shouldn’t be feeling—all at once. Second, the cake is really good, and you don’t feel guilty about eating it this time around.

And third, the auntie selling you cake commented that there was a gentleman just last week who wore the exact same kind of jacket that you’re wearing, buying all thirteen flavors of cake and taste tested each one on the table by the window. She asked him if he was waiting for someone, and apparently he’d always say that he is, but she was just taking her time getting caught up in a little something, but “she’s worth the wait,” he’d repeat.

“She’s worth a lot of things, so waiting a little bit is okay.”

Apparently he would buy everything but cheesecake, even if he did stare at the piece a little longer, looking like he wanted to try.

You’re crying at the thought that there was still a piece of him that was all you, even after all the one sided conclusions you didn’t even talk him through with.

“Okay,” you say, whispering to no one but yourself in particular. The container with your one slice of red velvet is on your lap, while there’s an unopened one that’s the mango cheesecake you would never in a million years order, in the passenger seat of your car.

“What do we do now?” you say again, looking at the reflection of yourself in the reflection of your windshield.

You’re nodding your head, the words to write beside the bullet points in your head already listing themselves out in a neat line, written in print. You shake your head afterwards, for the first time without the presence of anyone really, overwhelmed with all the things you thought would be your end, showing you all the epiphanies you’ve been pretending you never saw all this time.

There’s a comfort found in listening to the sound of your own sniffles in the car, your own arms around you like the anchor Atsumu’s have always been, and just like that you break down again because not only are you in love with him, you’re also giving yourself the kindness your soul has been needing to realize that you need to love yourself just as much too.

It’s not easy, but it’s tangible.

Accepting love, as the selfless something, and not just a factor that worked like the give and take system was also not right here, but in time you’ll be right there with it where it’s tangible.

“I’ll eat cake today, just because,” you finally say, and at your first bite of red velvet, the weight of your demons lessen just a little bit.

 -

April 16, 2024 | New York City, USA

-

Miya Atsumu has always thought to himself that love worked in an oddly sadistic way. It came without explanation, stayed without boundaries, then would just fucking up and leave like it didn’t just build a whole world and there would be no consequences.

Thankfully for him, love was the one thing that never left.

He saw you through a myriad of what you think are your lessons, and Atsumu smiles at every candid memory of you.

He saw you think to yourself that you were falling for ocean eyes, then saw you again, a few months after what he assumes was the fall out, at your graduation.

You wore your cap the other way the first time, and he chuckles, snapping a photo from the distance—to which you rapidly turn your head towards his direction at—a feat of yours that he can never guess how it was made possible. He was there, from a distance, cheering when your name was called, and you walked to the stage. Lilac flowers and every slice of chocolate was something he dedicated forever to you, and every time he’d close his eyes before a serve he would lightly tap at his eyelids reminding himself that that will always be yours and his.

-

The future is where time moves slow, and then it doesn’t.

The demons are there, but you suppose that it’s because they’re sort of a lifetime deal. Somedays you’ll still look away from the slice of cake you’ve been meaning to eat after a job well done, but the better days also come right after the plunge where you’ll drive yourself to the auntie’s bakery located in the OK part of New York at three in the morning just because.

You were connected to the world, despite your demons, and it was okay.

New York had went from just a postcard on your wall to the skyline that greeted you every morning before you went to work.

The smell of coffee and the feel of sunlight at 9am. Love, as the something you can still hear in the silence, because it works just like that.

Silence, as the word that’s nothing more than the absolute contrast to what New York is, but it was you dulling even the noise that comes with Time’s Square to realize that this is the kind of atmosphere good for you.

-

And because serendipity works like a bitch, it really shouldn’t have surprised you when through the crowd, it’s still Miya fucking Atsumu who you see staring back at you like he’s found you far longer than you found him.

(Perhaps there’s more than just truth to that.)

You don’t think you want to cry, because the love that’s always been there still feels the same, and when you walk towards him, a pace like your usual, you feel weightless.

There’s a comfort about meeting smack in the middle, and you think that this is it. You gave your twenty steps while he gave his. Maybe some days he gives you a little more than just twenty, and maybe some days you’ll find yourself in bed, taking zero steps while he’ll go as far as flying some thousands of kilometers just to be with you.

You let serendipity be, as you stand before him, feeling like no time has passed.

A little over three years has passed, but see the same streaks of amber in his eyes of earth, and you think that love, also has a face that looks timeless.

And it’s this.

It’s you, and it’s him—in a city that uses noise that works like silence.

It’s New York and the sea of lights. Miya Atsumu and his dopey smile, that somehow still crossed more than just a couple oceans to a land foreign to him, and he still managed to come to you halfway, like a whirlwind.

An unprecedented presence that you welcome anyway, because love, you suppose, will forever be so many things.

It’s one face that one name that holds all of that though, Atsumu thinks.

He’s looking at you, where in his head he’s already laughing because your lipstick’s smudged on the left side, the culprit obviously being the piece of croissant looking a little lame in your hand.

“I love you, still, but I think you know that,” he says immediately, as if he’s just continuing a conversation.

(In a way he is; the last you talked to him, you never really heard a reply. You said goodbye and then you left, and Atsumu never got a chance to get a word in.)

And as if he read your expression, he laughs, hands low on his waist as he stands in front of you, present. “I wanted to tell you that then so I’ll say it now too I guess. My voice has got a little deeper so it probably has more effect now.”

You shake your head, already past the state of disbelief considering the rollercoaster that is your life. “It still has the same effect,” you mumble, croissant long forgotten.

You think that you want to cry again, but Atsumu’s grinning and you feel breathless.

It’s like mercy that greets you after you think you’ve done nothing but sin—you’re breathless but your lungs feel full.

So it’s Atsumu walking up to you, looking at you like you’re his daydream, saying “Hi Lena, what’s your name?” that grounds you back to the earth after freefalling from the summit.

The world has always looked different from the view at the very top, and even if you closed your eyes throughout the fall, there was a certain comfort you realize only now and that’s the fact that the whole time you were falling—it was the sky that held on to you and never let you go since.

“Hi ‘Tsumu,” you say back, closing your eyes when you lean in halfway as he reaches forward and pulls you the rest of the way, towards him—towards love, and towards home.

“I’m sorry I don’t have something with me right now to give you,” you mumble out anyway, and your heart bursts at the feel of his hand stroking the back of your hair, as his voice anchors you down again to keep you from floating right by your ear.

He kisses your eyelids, then your forehead, and the white noise of New York has you feeling both connected and safe.

“You’re okay,” he says. “You’ve always got me like how I’ve got you, and I’ve never thought there was anything more that I could try to ask for other than that.”

“You are everything that love will always ever be and that’s it for me, Len.”

He smiles, and while things still don’t fully click into place because healing has a habit of doing just that—you also let yourself feel the lightness of just this.

“You don’t need to do anything. I got you,” he says. “You got me too,” he reassures, and you believe him.

[wreckofawriter]

Best Not To Cry Over Spilled Milk

Pairing: James Potter x Sirius' twin!reader

Warnings: A shit ton of angst, a little swearing

Word Count: 3,779

Request: @rini-scallison: May I request something? If I may I would like to request something like not so perfect sister but instead it’s with Sirius as the brother (a twin if you may) and the reader is like the perfect daughter and Sirius hates her but she tries really hard for him to have a happy life and there’s a bunch of angst and stuff ! You can add a romance in there if you would like too ! Thank you!

A/n: Okay sooo I'm not sure if this is exscatly what the request was but it's how I interpreted it, I really like it at least, I hope you guys do to. I'm hoping to bang out my last few requests, I'm quarantined till April 12th sooo... (stay safe everyone, love you all <3)

Sirius liked to believe he was a pleasant person. At least for the most part, and considering his background, he thought he did pretty good. He may not have been an angel but he had good friends, he helped those around him and unless your name was Severus, he was usually kind. Usually. Unfortunatly there were two people in this world that could break his carefully crafted exterior in a matter of seconds. They both shared his name.

The first was his mother, someone who in all honesty he saw as less of a human and more of a grotesque creature from a child’s nightmare. In his mind, her black heels were replaced by sharp talons. Her long fingernails were claws of obsidian and her dark eyes had the ability to turn you to stone. She had spent her time in Sirius’ life diminishing him to nothing more than a clone of her terror as he tried to make himself anything but. 

The second was a success story. The clone of his mother’s terror. His beloved twin, y/n Black or as many had taken to calling her recently; the Slytherin Queen. And boy was she. She followed every order dispatched to her, obeyed every demand, bowed before the monster that had raised her. She had kept on her blindfold her mother had placed on her the minute she had entered the world. Maybe it only took the twelve minutes which y/n had emerged before Sirius for her to fall under a spell which even the youngest black had started to break from. 

    Sirius was never sure what happened to you. You always sat with your back straight at the dinner table. You never complained about the corset which was always sinched too tight, you would just let your vision go dark from the lack of oxygen. And it completely infuriated him. 

    Sirius really wished he hadn’t cared when he had gotten the letter. He really wished he had thrown a party and done something stupid like set off fireworks in the common room. But he hadn’t. He had instead demolished an entire bottle of fire whiskey crying because, fuck it hurt to be tossed aside by the people who were supposed to love you most.  The next morning he dragged you into an empty classroom hungover and still smelling of liquor and asked you what he fuck had happened. 

    You had told him you begged your mother not to, you told a sob story about a sad little argument in which you- the obvious victim -had fought for his place on the banner in your living room. 

The truth had been very different, his mother had exposed the fact that it was indeed your idea to kick him from the family, that you were convinced he was a disgrace, nothing more than a bug to squash under your boot. He wished he could believe you not his monster. But he knew you. He knew you so goddamn well. You were his twin. His other half. He saw the way your eyes darted away from his own, you shifted on your feet, how you bit the inside of your cheek. You had lied. You had lied to him and he would never forgive you for it. 

    “And what is the M.O.M classification of the Phoenix?” Merrythought asked. Your hand shot in the air. “Ms. Black?” 

    “An XXXX professor, although it did not earn this rating from its aggression but only because so few wizards have been able to domesticate it.” You explained and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

    “Correct Ms. Black, five points to Slytherin.” The teacher praised, you beamed still sitting straight as a board.  

    Sirius let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like the words ‘Kiss ass’ earning a few giggles from the surrounding students. 

    You pretended you didn’t hear him, hand tightening around your quill. 

    James watched as your knuckles went white, How did your brother still bother you? He wondered. 

    Sirius leaned back in the chair next to him mumbling something unnecessarily rude. James fought the urge to roll his eyes. When class was dismissed Sirius made a point to pass you as you packed up. 

    “You’ll make an excellent death eater sis.” He taunted and you paused for a moment but refused to comment. 

    Sirius left the classroom James followed risking a glance over this shoulder to see you being joined by a blonde boy and the Lestrange sisters. Sirius caught him looking and sneered, “A bunch of future murders. Fuckin’ assholes.” 

“You know you could give her a rest, you haven’t even spoken in like a year,” James suggested. 

Sirius scoffed, “And who’s fault is that?” 

James shrugged, knowing the awnser. 

“You know she’s ghosting Reg too?” Sirius glowered, “He always looked up to her too, I have no clue why, but he did. And now she won’t even talk to him.” 

Remus and Peter joined the pair as they made their way into the Grand Hall. 

“Talking about y/n?” Remus inferred.

“Hard not to when she’s such a bitch.” 

James cringed at his friend’s choice of words.  “I’m hungry, let's get some food.” He spoke attempting to change the topic. 

“Why else would be in here?” Remus laughed. 

James cracked a smile opening his mouth to speak but was cut off. 

“Oh shit.” Sirius cussed. 

“What did you do?” Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything but can you get me food and meet me in the common room, I may or may not be avoiding Marleen,” Sirius spoke ducking behind James.  

“Sure, just get out of here, I really don’t want to hear her voice right now.” Peter cringed at the memory of being yelled at by the sharp toned girl. 

“I’ll get food, you guys ditch,” James suggested. The other three agreed to leave the hall as the fourth grabbed four plates filling each and flicking his wand causing them to float in the air surrounding him.

James then made his way from the hall. As he turned out of the door he ran straight into someone, stumbling backward a bit he straightened his gaze to see you, your group of what he supposed were friends sneered at him. 

“You guys go on, I’ll catch up.” You spoke, voice monotone. 

They silently agreed, leaving you with the curly-haired boy who now pushed his glasses nervously up his nose. 

“Hey Potter, I need to talk to you.”  James would never admit he was scared of you but he did feel his heart leap to his throat at your words. 

“What’s up?” He asked hoping you didn’t catch as the sentence wavered slightly. 

You bit your lip glancing down at your feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “I wanted to thank you.” 

That is not what he expected you to ask. 

“I can’t even begin to say how relieved I am that you took Sirius in. Please thank your parents for me as well.” You seemed almost nervous, “I actually have something for you.” 

James could not believe that the words you were saying were actually coming out of your mouth. He had expected you to cuss at him, call him a blood traitor amongst other names and then follow your friends into the hall. But you were thanking him instead. 

You rummaged in your bag before removing a red box about the size of a wide bookmark. You held it out to the boy. 

James stared at you half expecting you to break out laughing and reveal the joke. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumbled shoving the gift at his chest. 

“Sorry.” James murmured opening the box eyes widening. Inside was a watch, a damn nice one. It looked to be at least plated with gold, if not solid. Its inside was a scarlet red with three different faces, one of which instead of showing roman numerals around the edge showed the phases of the moon. The strap was a reddish leather, clasp gold as well. 

“Here, watch this.” You spoke stepping closer and carefully removing the watch from its velvet cushion. You held it delicately, pressing an almost invisible button on the side. In a flash two delicate golden wings erupted from the sides of the device and James realized in fascination that the watch now appeared to look like a snitch, you paid no mind flipping it over to reveal a small square gap on the back. “It’s enchanted with an undetectable extension charm so you can put just about anything in it.” You explained clicking the small button again. 

James watched in marvel as the wings fluttered closed closing the gap seamlessly.  “This is amazing y/n,” He whispered looking up at you only to realize you were centimeters away. He could feel your breath fan over his cheeks. It was cold and minty.  

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me.” You reasoned sliding the watch back into its case and stepping backward. “And before you say you can’t accept it remember that I have plenty of money.” 

Those were going to be the next words out of his mouth. 

“I have one more thing to ask you, James.” You seemed really nervous now, you hoisted the strap of your bag back up over your shoulder. “How’s Sirius? Is he okay?” 

You had baffled him once again. 

“I know I should be asking him that but ever since last year he would sooner light me on fire than have a civil conversation with me.” You sighed.

The Chaser stared at you, this is not how he thought your conversation would go.

“So is he okay?” You asked again, almost urgently. 

“Yeah, he’s fine.” James assured you, “He’s a little moody but overall he’s good.” 

“Have his panic attacks stopped?” You questioned.  

James who had no clue he even got those nodded, “I think so.” 

“Mental breakdowns?” 

James ran his hands through his hair, “He gets them every once and awhile, Moony and I help him through though.” 

You gave a weak smile and stepped forward wrapping your arms around his neck, placing your forehead on his chest. James froze, slowly letting his arms hold your waist, “I honestly can’t thank you enough. You’re a godsend Potter.” You mumbled. You stepped away a few seconds later crimson kissing your cheeks. “Don’t tell Siri we talked. He’ll be pissed.” And with that, you left. 

James felt his heart hammer as he sucked in the air he didn’t realize he had stopped breathing. What just happened?

James had had a crush on you the second you locked eyes centuries ago on platform 9 and ¾. You were the main reason he had looked so long for a certain compartment. A compartment that contained a set of twins, one of which would become his best friend. You had always been very pretty, your strong attitude had aided in that conclusion as well. He thought you were going to be very good friends with him. That was until you were sorted into Slytherin and Sirius soon revealed his rivalry with you.  

He had still harbored feelings for you, small ones he chose to ignore most of the time. He never told a soul, passing his feelings from girl to girl. He proved to be quite good at burying them. You also showed just how good you were at unearthing his secrets with a laugh, a wide smile or the save of a quaffle. The feeling of you in his arms rested in his mind for a long time. He dreamt of you, yearned to hold you again. You had smelt like caramel and cinnamon, you fit into his chest as a puzzle piece did to its neighbor. He really wished you hadn’t hugged him. 

As your sixteenth birthday approached both twins appeared to be more and more on edge. James was dead set on throwing a massive party but Sirius didn’t seem into it. As the day loomed closer he got jumpy, almost paranoid; as if someone was going to lean out from behind him and throw a bag over his head before dragging him away. 

James also began to notice your absences from classes. More and more often you were simply gone, not being anywhere for days before appearing out of nowhere. You always looked so pale when you got back from wherever you had gone, the circle under your eyes always looked darker. He had asked Sirius what was up but got nowhere, he would just lick his lips and say nothing was wrong. A blatant lie. 

You disappeared four days before the 3rd and was gone the entire week. Sirius refused to go to classes that week as well, claiming to be sick, which was fair considering he looked white as a ghost most of the time. 

When you finally returned it looked as if you had been kissed by a dementor. Your face was vacant of any color, your usually vibrant eyes looked pale, bags underneath them bruised brown. 

Both James and Sirius simultaneously tried to convince themselves you just had a stomach bug, that your sunken cheeks were nothing to be concerned about. Both knew they were wrong. 

Sirius found you easily. He knew you too well. You always snuck outside, even when you were younger you would always sneak to the park a few blocks away to escape your mother’s rage. Until you learned to play with fire rather than run from it.

He followed you to the greenhouse. You had always liked herbology. 

You turned at the shuffle of feet to see your brother, he looked almost as terrible as you did. 

“Did you do it?” He asked, his voice sounding so empty as muffled chirps of crickets flowed through the cold November air. 

You refused to look up, You sat in the corner of the cold glass house, your knees pulled to your chest, eyes cast on your dress shoes.  

“Did you really go through with it?” His voice cracked, he stumbled over his own feet. 

You still didn’t answer. Tears had built so thickly in your eyes you couldn’t see. You blinked and they went cascading downwards, raindrops leaking off your chin. 

“Answer me y/n!” Sirius cried through gritted teeth, tears of his own threatening to spill. 

“We have to get Regulus out of that house.” You spoke so plainly it was hard to believe that the words had come from you. “Fuck Siri they have a new initiation ceremony. He can’t go through with that.” 

“Shit y/n/n, what did you do?” His voice was a mix of disgust and despair.

“I don’t fucking know.” You answered honestly.

“Did you kill someone?” He hissed. 

“I wish I did Siri, I really wish I did.” 

Sirius dropped his shoulders a defeated sigh coming from his lips.

“We have to get him out soon Siri. He is so much more stubborn than you were too.” You whimpered. “I mean you practically disowned yourself, mom just needed a push with you.” 

“Why did you give her that push?” Sirius gasped, “Why did you do that? I could have helped you.” 

“I saved you, Sirius.” Your sentence broke in half, “I know you hate me for it but I saved you.” 

Sirius wiped his eyes furiously, “How did you possibly save me y/n?” He seethed.

“What do you think mom would have done if you were still in that house four days ago?” You asked. You knew he already knew the answer. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you save yourself?” Sirius hollered, “Why did you follow every rule she set? Every fucking order she gave you?” 

“The Black family needed an heir.” You shrugged tongue darting out to collect a tear from the corner of your mouth. “I knew it had to be one of us, if not you or me then Reg.” you paused, “So I decided it would be me.” 

    “How? How could you possibly decide that?” Sirius sobbed now standing in front of you. You still didn’t look up. 

“It was easier than you would think.” You chuckled darkly.

“It’s not fair y/n.” He stated, “We can still help you. Dumbledore will help, you can stay with James and me. Please y/n.” 

“It’s too late and you know it.” You spoke, “Best not to cry over spilled milk.” 

“But your life isn’t spilled milk!” Sirius shouted. 

“Might as well be.” You shrugged finally meeting your brother’s eyes. They matched your own, puffy and red. 

“How can you say that?” The boy spat, “It’s your fucking life!”

“Not anymore.” You sighed. “Look, Siri, in all honesty, I don’t give two fucks about my life right now, we have less than 13 months to find a way to get Regulus the fuck out of that house and then boom he turns 16 and none of this shit matters anymore. So stop worrying about me and start realizing we can still save him.” 

Sirius had never felt so incredibly selfish before. You had given away your life for him and for Regulus. What had he given away? He had gotten the life he wanted while you would suffer for the rest of yours. And all you said was ‘It’s best not to cry over spilled milk.’ He suddenly remembered every jibe and comment he had said to you. You had done nothing but bite your tongue as he taunted the nightmare you lived him so he could bask in a daydream. 

“I need you to start hanging out with him.” You mumbled, voice raw, “I have been avoiding him, hopefully, it will help. I’m gonna start making up lies about how his grades are slipping and he’s hanging out with mudbloods, maybe dating one.” You sighed, “Reg still wants to impress mom, I need you to get it into his mind how twisted she is. Make him hate her. Make him hate me too, use me as an example.” You paused, “Can you do that Siri?” 

Sirius didn’t speak for a long time. You didn’t pressure him to. You stared straight ahead tears still leaking from your eyes. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Sirius finally spoke. He sounded half-dead, deflated. He sounded like you. 

“Good.” You didn’t waste a second. You got to your feet wiping your tears and then you walked away.  

James sprinted down the halls. He has his eyes peeled to the two names in the greenhouse. He made it free of the castle and saw a figure making their way towards him. He glanced down at the map and saw that it was you.  

As he neared you he was finally able to drink in your appearance. Your eyes were bloodshot, you were attempting to dry never-ending teardrops, dragging your forearm repeatedly over your face. When you looked up at him his heart broke. Your bottom lip was shaking eyes so glassy it must have stung. 

You dove into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and you began to cry. Your body jumped with sobs as James pulled you closer to him. 

He forgot about everything but you as you nuzzled closer to him. He forgot about Sirius, about the tears soaking through his shirt and the dew that had dampened his robes. He only cared about you. You and the fact that you still smelt like caramel and cinnamon, you and your overly soft hair, you and your cold hands wrapped around him.

James nestled into your hair inhaling its intoxicating scent. He then hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you so your hands were wrapped around his neck. You understood and wrapped your legs around his waist your head becoming buried into his neck. He placed one hand under each of your thighs and began to carry you inside. As you made your way through the castle your tears began to slow, sobs turning to whimpers.

James felt his face bloom with deep red roses. His heart was thumping far too quickly. When he reached his destination he only had to pace twice before the door showed its self. The inside of the room was relatively the same as it always was except for the large brick fireplace and massive couch filled with large pillows. 

The Chaser attempted to set you down on the couch but your firm grip on his neck and the legs wrapped around him forced him to follow downwards. A fresh blush coated his cheeks. You burrowed back into his embrace and it was quiet for a long time. The only noise coming from the crack of the fireplace and the sound of a faint wind blowing outside.  

“Y/n what happened?” James finally asked and you pulled a bit away from him so you could look him in his eyes. 

He looked so handsome, his deep chocolate brown eyes were wide with worry, only more magnified behind his round glasses. His cheeks were painted with poppies, his lips plush, and pink. His unruly thickly curled hair framed his face perfectly, a small strand falling between his eyes. 

“You know I always had a thing for you.” You smiled weakly, “From the moment I saw you on the platform I thought you were the cutest thing I had ever laid eyes on.” 

James wasn’t quite sure how to respond, he assumed he was dreaming. 

“I never wanted to tell you, James, I never thought I would. But I need to.” 

The room fell quiet again. 

“Can I kiss you y/n?” James finally asked his heart near shattering. 

You nodded slowly and he let his eyes flutter shut, yours doing the same as your lips gently met. The kiss was so fragile you were afraid it may break. He tasted like pumpkin juice, his tongue slipping into your mouth seconds before you pulled away. 

“Y/n let me help you.” James pleaded as you swung your feet off of the couch, sitting upright as you mumbled ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ quietly to yourself. 

“Just.. take care of Siri for me.” You could feel tears beginning to climb back upwards. 

James sat up beside you, “Y/n please.” He begged. 

“It’s okay James.” You assured him with a watery smile. “You’ll get over it.” 

“But y/n-” 

You shushed him placing your pointer finger on his lips. He blinked a small tear falling down his flushed cheek. You wiped it away with your thumb. 

“You’ll be okay James.” You paused standing swiftly, “Best not to cry over spilled milk.” You murmured over your shoulder as you left the room. 

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