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you talking about fragrances is so confusing to me,,, like as someone who has only worn a tocca 'maya' sample i got from sephora and then my mums clinique 'happy' when i was in middle school
i genuinely have no clue what bergamot is or what a woodsy scent means so like reading the a/b/o fic i'm just like "shit, sounds good enough for me"
You know what it really boils down to?
Mmmm. Big man smell good. Want to lick.
my new perfume smells so amazing i wish everyone could smell it. i knew jeremy fragrance wouldnt steer me wrong
Top 10 Best Women's Perfumes for Winter 2022
Paying attention to the clothes that we wear and the accessories that complement them is a necessity for creating an elegant and fashionable look that cannot be resisted, but what about your smell? Giving your body a good smell is not less important than the clothes and the accessories that you wear as all of … ... Discover More @ https://www.topteny.com/top-10-perfumes-for-fall-winter-2015/
And to All A Good Night - (Premium) Sugary and gently-spiced holiday cookies fresh from the oven and drizzled with caramel, creamy egg nog spiked with coffee liqueur and sprinkled with a dash of nutmeg and cardamom, & the smooth, pale, aged wood of a well-loved rolling pin.
Autumn Morning: Warm mug of hot chocolate, bowl of slightly spiced oatmeal, bouquet of carnations, and a cozy blanket on your lap.
Drunken Jack: Oak barrels, spiced whiskey, pumpkin, and vanilla sugar.
Embrace: A kindly kitchen witch who invites you in from the cold, feeds you pumpkin shortbread with butter, apricot preserves, and brown sugar & then sends you safely on your way.
The Phantom Room: Cherry tobacco, honeyed almonds, red currants, cocoa butter, & vanilla balsam.
When What to My Wondering Eyes: Peppermint candy stick swirled into a rich dark chocolate mocha, jazzed up with a festive splash of Irish cream.
everything you need to make your own personal beauty binder 🎀
disclaimer: this post is heavily inspired by @tomb-of-ligeia and @daphne-dauphinoise, and early 2010s beauty youtubers. it’s always kind to credit your inspo <3
inspired by the lookbooks and makeup charts used by makeup artists designers at high fashion runways shows and childhood bratz coloring and activity books. the law of attraction is at use heavily with this binder (writing down goals and wishlists)!
you should be keeping diy recipes you find in here.
*you don’t need a physical binder. some people function better with digital mediums. i prefer anything physical and concrete. but you can do all this in something like a notion, or your notes app, etc.
a cute girly hobby (esp for type A, anal retentive, or analytical personalities/extremely creative, hands on people) to keep track of your routines, motivate you to keep yourself maintained, and figure out what works best for you. it’s nothing too serious, just a girly pastime for people that maybe buy too many products, slip up on routines, or don’t what looks best on your features. have fun!
what to record in your binder? 🎀
an intro sheet 10 different topics divided by tabbed sections: your personal features, makeup, body, fashion, skincare, hair, fragrance, nails, treatments/procedures, salons/spas/referrals/contacts 🎀
intro sheet 🎀
here, you should keep your goals, desired look, and how you want to perceive yourself.
your personal features
a chart of your color season. mine is cool winter. you can use color season for whatever, i choose to apply it to my makeup.
your natural body shape. this will help you choose the best clothes to flatter your silhouette.
a close up, unfiltered clear photo of your bare face. note your skin type, color, undertone, and any other things that stand out to you.
note what you wanna enhance and what you wanna improve. this will help throughout your binder.
put on a light layer of every lipstick/lip gloss/etc. you have and make kiss shaped swatches in your binder. note the shade, brand, and finish. then the mood/occasion in which you’d wear it.
swatch all your lip liners, again leaving the details of the product.
swatch your foundation shades. note the finish, name and brand.
make a sheet dedicated to all your “holy grail”, essential products.
swatch your eyeshadow palettes. i have all my shimmer pigments swatches and it’s the prettiest thing to look at.
do you have any go to makeup looks? your casual look, going out look, no makeup makeup look, etc.? do these looks and take high quality pics. make personalized face charts by printing them out and noting the steps and products you used.
take c*nty pics of your lashes after trying on all your mascaras/falsies. note the effects and when you would be most likely to wear them.
print out any pics of interesting makeup looks and products you wanna try.
try on lip combos and kiss swatch them. i’m doing this because i do amazing lip combos all the time but i forget which products i used, and it’s hard to replicate the look.
take a stick figure-esque picture of yourself and print it out. any outfit you want to buy, print and clip it out first and see if it’s something you’d wear and actually like.
are you experiencing any skin issues on your body and trying any products? keep track of the issue and how the products are doing.
if you don’t already have one, brainstorm workout routines and general wellness/fitness goals.
what are your fav body products? what products did you buy, and hate? TRACK THEM!
any detoxes/diets you’re doing should be recorded in this section.
record “beauty enhancing” foods and drinks here. mine include matcha, lemon water and acv shots.
outfit planning! take pics of pieces you already have and clip them out. (i’m doing this currently and keeping them all in a little pocket in my binder).
make a moodboard of your personal style(s). how do you want your closet to look? try to see what details, colors, additions are consistent throughout. when shopping, these are what you should keep track of.
print out your signature clothing color palette if you want to have one.
dedicate a page to accessories you have/want, and how you’d style them.
*this can be expensive but the fashion girls will prob love this* go to the fabric store and buy little swatches that you like. take note of what the fabric is and why you like it.
dedicate a page to all your signature details. all the little specific things that scream YOU and NO ONE else! that means do not write pink, girly, etc. here. that is not exclusive to you, hun.
take a current filter free photo (make it glam! tie your hair up in a ballerina bun and put on some cute earrings) of the state of your skin. if your skin is perfect, i’m jealous and how does it feel to be god’s fav? if not what problems are you experiencing?
log your current skincare routines and how they’re working.
make a page for your skin type, how it feels when you wake up and how it feels and looks by the end of the day and research tips to deal with your personal skin type.
skincare wishlist! list any products you wanna try and what they are for. sample them from ulta or sephora if it’s possible.
dedicate a page to the skincare ingredients your skin loves the MOST! mine are retinol, bha, and vitamin c.
i have a page for all the extra cute little skincare devices i want. on it there’s a stainless steel gua sha, an ice pack, facial steamer, and pink foreo.
what’s your hair type, density, porosity and curl pattern?
write down any hair goals you have. mine is frizz free tailbone length caramel brown hair with honey blonde highlights by the end of this year.
what’s your signature hairstyle? do you have a signature? brainstorm here.
clip out hairstyle inspo from pinterest and insta and try to recreate all the looks!
what are your fav hair products? i keep track of the best curling creams and leave in conditioners for my hair personally.
take note of any trending products you wanna try.
make a moodboard of how you wanna smell. after this, research notes and how they work together.
now track your fav perfumes, your most complimented, etc.
note what fragrances go with what occasion and how they make you feel.
make your perfume wishlist! my fav part!
swatch all your polishes. label them and their finish.
what’s your signature/go to nail look?
do you have any pics of your fav mani + pedis? print them out and write the details you loved the most.
write down your at home mani and pedi routine and it’s frequency.
write your fav colors and styles to wear on your nails. mine are glittery pink, pale pink, white, cream, french tip and pink frenchie. a hyper girly twist on the classics.
take note of any surgeries or procedures you want done and what they do.
anything you leave the house to have done regularly, keep track here.
don’t limit yourself! forget your budget! what are some high maintenance treatments you wanna experience? manifest it.
write down the sources of which you find great info for beauty and fashion
keep addresses of your fav salons and spas.
keep business contacts of your fav estheticians, stylists, nail techs, etc.
𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
one | two
Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.
bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep and fruity fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is.
"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.
"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad."
"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself."
"I'd love to see that," Remus says.
"I'd look good in the uniform, right?"
James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt."
"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table.
"It doesn't hurt," you say to James.
You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek.
"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry."
You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw.
"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place, I– I couldn't sleep."
"If you want anything for it, let me know," Remus says.
"He's got, like, his own personal pain pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him everytime we fly for some of the strong stuff and he always says no, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says.
"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates.
"I don't need anything, I promise."
Some ibuprofen would be awesome but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it even happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears.
Getting hit in the face by a metal door handle hurts. Your reaction had been justified, but crying all over your handsome bodyguards nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing. Not 12 hours after meeting him.
"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks.
"How do you mean?"
Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia."
"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best."
He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, my love, it only enhances what's already there."
"Ten minutes," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?"
He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod.
"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything."
"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say.
"You're so sure," Remus says.
He speaks quietly but not timidly, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease.
"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean."
"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks.
"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it."
Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose."
Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from his big hand with an annoyed huff.
To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moons."
"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home."
Home for them.
Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is singing, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening. Your life could be more than mistakes.
You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud multiple times. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.
And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be the Princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true.
Much, much too good.
"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?"
Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”
“What a stupid question.”
Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of the SUV. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner and feel too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering behind your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedge behind, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, fingers curled around a small radio you’ve seen clipped to his shoulder. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound.
“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is the third team on call?”
You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”
“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”
“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”
“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”
He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. It’s rented, but Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to show you the drinks fridge.
“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”
“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”
You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”
“Probably not, my love.”
Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls shine, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James.
“Let me be very clear,” he says gently, turned in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as darling Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.”
You waver, and his cheerful smile fades.
He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can always try one first if you’re worried.”
The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”
“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says.
“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar.
“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot.
“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”
“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy jeep but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs.
“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks.
“What if this assassin is inefficient?”
“Assassin?” you ask.
James glares at Sirius. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?"
Your expression, a sickly grimace, has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night.
"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes."
"Okay," you say meekly.
James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever sat in and turning your face to the window. You look up at your flat building, and as the car starts to move, it shrinks. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view.
James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes — you rival Remus for number of tired smiles.
He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't the Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm that, and factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils.
As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy.
"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance.
He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport.
"I'm not sure," you say.
Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar.
Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological — James is an excellent judge of character, as his job requires, and he's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be. Any possible imposition is set aside, such as your refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt. You refuse to inconvenience others.
"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?"
You smile awkwardly. "Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness.
"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement."
He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know."
You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript.
"Do you need anything from me?" you ask.
He hides his surprise, eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour.
"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you."
"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is."
"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek toward the floor and away from view.
"That was my fault," James says. "Not yours."
He can feel the heat of your tears running down his index finger.
"That was my mistake," he reaffirms.
You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should.
This might be harder than I thought, he thinks.
"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up."
"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?"
He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me."
He says it sweetly, careful to ensure you understand. He isn't telling you off. He's teasing you.
He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head.
"I don't think you can talk about employee employer dynamics," you say, eyes flitting downward to your cheek's bruise.
He chuckles, eyebrows jumping up. "Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic."
"They? You aren't Genovian?"
"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers."
"You've always lived there?"
"Since I was two."
Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots.
"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it."
"You've met before? You all seem familiar."
"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We-" He feels heat crest at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates."
"And you all get to be together," you say softly.
"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin."
"The Princess' cousin," you correct.
"You brought us back together," he says. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are."
"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me."
"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for any other successors yet."
"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually."
"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess."
"And have a legitimate child."
"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one."
"Seventeen?" you ask.
"Lily didn't tell you any of this?"
"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't-" You clear your throat mildly. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired, you know?"
"You were overwhelmed at finding out you're apprincess."
"That I might be a princess."
"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction."
You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a professional.
Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a quiet comment on James' happy smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' curious glances. James moves your entourage to a small aircraft, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexi-glass.
You and James sit together.
He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't cut vigilance.
You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can. James knocks on the partition gently.
"You want the fan? The heater?"
"The fan," you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm at the collar. "Please."
He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off.
Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the overhead fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt. He stands quietly and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius inconspicuously.
"Anything for me to read?" he asks Remus.
Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper."
James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly.
Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate.
"What?" Sirius demands.
"Do you need anything?"
"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?"
"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone."
James swaps out with Mickey. Mickelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes boss. He returns, finding you aren't as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated.
"You alright?" he murmurs.
You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours, through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming pressure headache pinching behind his eyes.
The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands, you sleep on.
James whispers your name, quiet, speaking louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Heat radiates through the thick fabric of your hoodie. You hair is frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you.
You wake with a raspy cough. "James?"
"We're here, Princess, in Genovia."
"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast."
You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does this awful little flip. He ignores it.
"It was hours. You've slept the whole time– A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, an amicable gap between you as he squints at your bruise. He's close enough to share your breath. "Bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane."
He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on."
You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms.
"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks.
Remus has gone ashen.
"He has a migraine."
"Can you see okay?" James asks.
Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?"
"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add.
He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand.
"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says.
James coughs. "What?"
"I'll take Remus," James says.
"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain.
"No," they both deny.
Remus doubles over.
"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.
"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is."
"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush."
Sirius smiles at James. Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have often made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud.
Flying nearly but not quite privately means they can get off the plane whenever they're ready (within reason), and so James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you.
"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so. You're stuck with me on touch ups."
"Is it bad?"
"No. Does it feel bad?"
Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one."
"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily.
"Does he have a mirror?" you ask. "I can do it myself, if you want."
"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess."
James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands.
"Lean your head back for me," he says softly.
You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins.
He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much."
"It's only a bruise."
"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me."
"It was an accident."
"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise disappear under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed."
"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper.
"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation."
He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky, his cleanest finger, to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch.
"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?"
He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier."
You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed.
"How some girls do this every day," he mutters.
"It gets easier."
"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight."
He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has left, except for a pearly-smiled flight attendant, who's smile grows impossibly wider as they approach.
"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?"
James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you.
"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face."
"Is that… dramatic?"
"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially being used somewhere."
"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up.
"Yeah. Tell me if you're uncomfortable."
He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport.
"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks.
"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says, with little malice.
"You can fucking see them, mate," he says to James.
James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side.
"Fuck," he hisses, "what the fuck is that? Who fucking leaked?"
"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly.
"Mickelson, give the Princess your sunglasses."
"So yes, then," you say.
James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get." He holds out his arm.
You slot perfectly underneath it.
"Ready?" he asks.
You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!
Bucky Has a Girlfriend?
Summary: Sam is surprised to find out that Bucky has a girlfriend.
Sam was surprised when, after a mission, Bucky was instantly on his phone (on FaceTime!) talking to a girl. What surprised him more was the pet names that started leaving both of their mouths.
Had the former Winter Soldier managed to somehow find himself a girlfriend before Sam?!
Sam stood to the side watching Bucky hang up his phone as he let out a heavy sigh, glazed away into the distance for a second before blinking repeatedly and looking at Sam.
Bucky looked at Sam expectantly. Waiting for him to say whatever if floating around in his head.
"You have a girlfriend?" Sam asks, as Yelena (Natasha's adoptive younger 'sister', the White Widow) walked over to them.
"What's going on with Cap, dedushka?" Yelena asked. She had a habit of called Bucky dedushka (grandfather in Russian), the more she called him this, the more he would get frustrated and tell her off.
"He's just found out about Y/N," he states.
From the simple sentence, Sam knew Yelena already knew about this so-called Y/N.
"You know about her?" Sam questioned.
This spawned a look from Yelena. "I'm the one who introduced them," she replies, crossing her arms. "How's her new job going?"
Bucky smiled. Yelena knew this smile, it's the one that brightened his face whenever Y/N was mentioned.
"She loves it," Bucky tells the White Widow he used to train alongside Natasha. "She's always telling me about this new bed set or that new fragrance thing. But, her face just lights up."
Sam looks at Bucky as he continued to talk about his girlfriend. It was obvious Bucky was smitten.
"Did I just miss her?" Yelena asked, nosing to where Bucky had just slipped his phone into one of his many pockets - half of which are filled with bullets and knives.
Bucky nodded. "She's on her break," he tells her. He was then prodded by Yelena, as the White Widow demanded Bucky's girlfriend be called again. Yelena almost turned into a toddler as she nearly hung off Bucky's metal arm to get him to facetime his girlfriend again.
But she didn't really need to beg, as Bucky's phone started ringing again.
It was his girl.
"I know I was going to ring later, but you have to see what just came in on the delivery!" She exclaims once he pressed the green button - before he could even greet her.
She held up a shaped cushion. A penguin shaped cushion. The penguin had a yellow scarf and yellow earmuffs.
Her face came back into the frame, side-by-side with the penguin. "His name's Percy!"
"He's very cute, doll," Bucky replies, his laughter being joined by Yelena's as Y/N shook the stuffed penguin in her hand as if to prove a point about how cute said Percy the Penguin was.
"Y/N!" A voice called off camera. Her manager.
Bucky knew you had to go. "I'll talk to you later, doll. As promised."
She nodded, accepting this as she blew him a kiss and hung up the facetime.
"She didn't see me," Yelena said, sounding very resigned in this fact.
"She saw you," Bucky replied. "She was called back to work. She's unpacking a delivery. It was the start of all the Christmas stuff."
At the shear mention of the 9-letter C word, Yelena lit up. Compared to the last Christmas she spent hunting down Clint Barton. She hoped this year would be different. "Can we go spend Christmas with her?" She asked.
Bucky turned his head to Sam. "All depends on Captain America," he says.
"I want to meet this mystery girl Bucky's been hiding away," Sam said.
"She's not been a mystery. I knew about her!" Yelena said, almost stopping her feet on the floor like a child.
"I'll mention it tonight," Bucky says.
As he promised, he asked his girl if it would alright if the new Captain America, Yelena and himself could come over for Christmas.
She was nearly bouncing off the walls at this idea. Having one of her best friends, her boyfriend and her boyfriend's friend (Friend? Is that what they were? She didn't know) at her flat for Christmas.
She told Bucky he was more than welcome to come see her whenever he wanted (Bucky threatened he would never be leaving her place, which his girl giggled over but never said no to).
How she would use him to help with the Christmas tree, and give Yelena a proper Christmas.
A proper English Christmas.
"I'll have to get a turkey, and a piece of ham. Sam likes ham, right?" Which Bucky nodded at. "Mam's taught me how to make Yorkshire Puddings from scratch and Roast Potatoes. I'll have to get Christmas Crackers."
She continued to ramble as she quickly shuffles around the house, trying to get a piece of paper and a pen. Bucky smiled and silent chuckled to himself as he watched her flit around like a little hummingbird.
"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier? Do you know how quickly turkeys disappear from the freezers? Or Christmas Crackers?"
Bucky knew she wasn't truly angry, just frustrated with how little time she's has left.
"Doll, when we get over there. I promise, I'll make it up to you," he swears. And Bucky always kept his promises.
"You're carving the turkey. And the chicken. And the ham!"
Bucky's face scrunched up. "Why do you need three cuts of meat for Christmas Dinner?" He asks.
"Grandma always had three types of meat at Christmas Dinner. Granted there was more of us when we ate at theirs, but still, three piece of meat will last me ages!"
Bucky couldn't help but laugh at her slightly. He knew his girl better than anyone. She'd make it last.
"I'll see you in a few days," she smiles.
"I'm counting down the days."
It was 3 days before Christmas when Sam, Yelena and Bucky landed in England. They were containing some levels of excitement.
Sam was finally getting to meet this 'mystery girlfriend' Bucky had hidden away, and somehow Yelena knew her.
Yelena was finally getting to see her friend after too long spent apart.
Bucky was finally going to see his girl. He was going to spend their first proper Christmas together. Last year's Christmas was spent apart, with Bucky with Sam in Louisiana, and Y/N in England with her new niece.
But once they landed, they headed through the airport through to baggage claim to the arrivals.
"Y/N!" Yelena exclaimed, dropping her overnight bag for either Sam or Bucky to collect, and running over to her friend.
"This is going to be all week, isn't it?" Sam asked, watching as Yelena wrapped a young woman tightly in a hug.
Bucky sighed, not really knowing how to answer it. He picked up Yelena's bag and headed over to where the White Widow was.
When they got to the pair, they were animatedly chatting, not really paying attention to what was going on around them.
"Doll, maybe we should get out of the airport," Bucky mentioned. He was lucky she didn't tackle him there and then. But she nodded and they headed out of the airport and towards her car.
As they walked to the car park, Bucky took her hand in his (once it was freed from Yelena's luggage). "You must be Bucky's girlfriend then," Sam said.
"I don't know if I 'must me', but I guess so," she jokes, reaching into her pocket for her car keys.
"Shotgun!" Sam called, once the car was unlocked. He reached for the right-hand side door, opening in, climbing in. Only to be met with the steering wheel.
"Welcome to England, we drive on the correct side of the road. Now get out of my seat, put your bag in the boot, and get in the back. Bucky's in the passenger seat," Y/N tells him.
When Sam got out of the car, he saw that both Bucky and Yelena had put their luggage in the back of car, and were getting in.
Sam muttered to himself about how Bucky had to fall for a English chick, before shutting his mouth, putting his bag in the back, shutting the door. And climbing in. Behind Bucky.
Once they were all buckled in, Y/N started the car, and made her way out. One hand currently driving as the other dealt with her Sat-Nav, to take them back to her flat.
Sam watched as the country side rolled past, music played from the cars speakers, as Bucky's hand came to rest nearly on the back of his girlfriend's neck.
The pulled up to a block of flats, as Y/N seemed to take a particular spot, pulled the break and turned the car off.
"Right, come on. I've got the turkey to cook by the end of the day," she said, opening her door and climbing out. Bucky followed, then Yelena and Sam from the back.
"Why are you cooking the turkey now? Christmas isn't for another 3 days," Yelena asked, as Y/N used her set of keys to open the main door.
She made sure the door was closed behind them before speaking. "Because it's easier to cook it now, get Bucky to carve it and then just warm it up Christmas morning.
Using her keys, she unlocked the door - and the group of four where in her flat. There was tinsel, a Christmas countdown, her advent calendar nearly finished, and a half completed Christmas Tree.
"Are we decorating the tree?" Yelena asked, as the door was closed behind them.
"After you've sorted out you're belongings," she replied, only to watch Yelena run off her spare bedroom.
Bucky dropped his suitcase to the side of the sofa and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You have no idea now much I've missed you," he tells her.
"I think I have some idea," she replies, pressing a kiss to his stubble covered cheek, then turning to look at Sam. "You're sharing with Yelena."
Before Sam could protest, Yelena ran back into the living room, and grabbed the box Y/N had left on the table which contained all the Christmas decorations over the years since she moved out.
"Can we decorate the tree now?" Yelena asked.
"You two go put your belongings in your respective rooms, then we can decorate the tree," Y/N said, and watched as her boyfriend and Captain America were pushed to the rooms to dump their belongs in their rooms.
Y/N scrunched the tinfoil up around the turkey once Yelena, Sam and Bucky had finished decorating the tree hours ago, and had just finished the Muppets A Christmas Carol.
Bucky smiled to himself as Sam and Yelena argued who was more of a Scrooge, Ebenezer Scrooge or James Buchanan Barnes.
Walking away from them, he headed over the where his girl was turning off the oven after taking off her oven gloves.
"Is it done?" He asked, with his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder. Bucky started to sway them.
"Yeah, I'll give it some time to cool down before getting you to carve it," she replied, laughing when Bucky once again nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.
Unbeknownst to them, Sam and Yelena wandered over to the kitchen to see what was going on. Seeing the couple blissfully happy, slowly dancing around the the kitchen, after Bucky had spun her around.
all bets are off [2/3]
Lucemond High School AU drabble [part 1], She’s All That (1999)
Aemond Targaryen may be the leading man of Westeros, but Daeron is the man of the hour. His date moves timidly at first, but settles into the steps of a waltz as a swan does to water.
“You’re better than I thought,” he laughs, breathless and pretty. “Better than Jace, at least. He always stepped on my toes.”
“I hope you’d rather dance with me than your brother,” Daeron murmurs into the shell of his ear. “Besides, my mother may not pay attention when it counts, but she made sure we knew how to dance. We’re Targaryens, aren’t we?”
It’s when he swoops down to kiss him—or maybe when Valeryon tilts his head to receive it—that a sudden crash can be heard, followed by horrified—no, delighted—shrieks. Onlookers witness the leading man shoving through the crowd just to get to them. The drink table is overturned on the way; in retrospect, the table was already on its way down, overloaded with spiked punch bowls as it was, and the skirt of Maris Baratheon’s dress snagged on the hinges of the folding leg and helped it capsize once and for all.
Forget Maris, forget the dress, forget the table. No use crying over spilled vodka on a gymnasium floor. This is what matters:
Daeron jumps into action when he hears about the pig because that’s—that’s just fucked. Daeron heard it from Aegon who heard it from Helaena who didn’t hear it from Aemond because he didn’t tell her, but their sister must possess some form of clairvoyance because she always knows about these things. What kind of things?
Denial runs in the family; it’s in their blood. Having lived half a life with both, Daeron can guess which side. He’s the level one, the normal one. He spots the abnormal a mile away.
He sees it in the way their mother openly tosses Rhaenyra’s family holiday cards into the trash without even opening the envelopes, but must privately fish them out later in the evening. He found them all once at the back of her fragrance drawer, stacked chronologically by the year and tucked behind vintage perfume bottles, neatly out of sight.
He supposes Aemond is much the same. Aemond, the older brother he sparsely knows, has many tells. For example: two separate underwear drawers, a jar filled with hard lemon candies he himself doesn’t touch, a journal he once tackled Aegon for opening. With him, things stay out of sight, but never out of mind.
That’s why Daeron doesn’t rat him out when he first hears about the bet. From what Aegon has said, Helaena doesn’t contradict, and Daeron has witnessed, Aemond’s watched Luke for years and wants him in every possible way. Perhaps he is like Alicent, Daeron thinks, who lovingly files away memorabilia to dissect later. Perhaps Aemond will get the right of it in the end.
Then, Daeron catches wind of the blood and sees red. Right or wrong, plotting to seduce the object of your ire over the course of a school year and humiliate him come prom night by dumping him onstage, then dumping a bucket of blood suspended from the ceiling over him is—well. Aegon says it best.
“Pig’s blood? Really, Aemond? You’re like a cartoon supervillain.”
They all know Aemond never would’ve gone through with it. The Baratheon girls, save for one, are vapid creatures. Aemond never needed Maris’s favor to secure an internship with her father, but it was always an excuse. The moment she pointed out Luke—shy, wallflower freshman as he was—Aemond hatched his own plan. They’re Targaryens in name and blood, but they’re Hightowers, too. It’s in their conniving nature.
That summer, Luke should’ve taken one look at Aemond’s outstretched hand and taken off at a sprint. Daeron would’ve taken Luke’s hand himself and dragged him away, had he known.
Luke runs track in the winter and spring and hides himself away in the summer and fall, like an inverse of seasonal depression. Luke is a good runner. He’s skinny, but has strong legs and the instinct for it; the second the starting pistol blows, he jolts like a jackrabbit and covers the two-hundred stretch like it’s nothing. Daeron watches him run from the bleachers because he’s good at it, and because Luke sometimes wears these little shorts that barely cover anything. Aemond watches too, of course, stealing glances during lacrosse practice and nearly letting the ball get away from him. After the infamous breakup—which took place behind the scenes but played out in the aftermath for the entire school to see and speculate on—Aemond is even less subtle about it. A few times he moves to abandon the field, as if to run after Luke like a hound catching a scent. Then he’ll catch sight of Daeron in the bleachers and glower.
(“Who dumped who? It had to be Aemond, right?”
“No, no. Look at him. That’s not the look of someone who escaped a relationship.”
“What are they supposed to look like then?”
“Free, I guess. Liberated. I dunno.”)
Lucerys Valeryon pulls up the driveway in the dead of night. It’s the end of April.
Daeron watches for him out his bedroom window, then hurries downstairs and out the back door when he sees the Beetle convertible emerge, a baby blue blot in the dark. Luke called him beforehand, said he had to drop off Aemond’s things before he got too attached. Borrowed shirts, origami candy wrappers, a roll of photos sheathed in an envelope. A hardcover children’s book. It is a good thing Aemond and the rest of the household is asleep; he’d been in a black mood for weeks and knowing Lucerys was so close again would have him frothing at the mouth. Who knows what he’d be driven to do.
Daeron meets him at the edge of the lawn. Luke takes one look at him—his hair, the color of his eyes—and his expression crumbles. He cries on the curb. Daeron crouches down next to him. You’re my friend. You’re beautiful. You never deserved this, he thinks. Neither does Aemond. He never did.
“I have a suit,” Daeron says instead. And both eyes. “You were excited about it, right? Go with me.”
“Huh?” Luke wipes his face. It’s flushed red and splotchy. He is so lovely. “No, no. You don’t have to keep…” being nice to me, he finishes lamely, mentally. Daeron hears it anyway. Oh, you silly boy. He watched him before this summer, but they’d become true friends by the beginning of fall thanks to Aemond dragging him home every week, much to their mother’s despair and Rhaenyra’s clear delight. It might be one of the best things to ever happen to Daeron, besides his mother finally deciding he can come home. He knows what it’s like, then, that fear. Luke must think that once Aemond is no longer in his orbit, he’ll simply blink out existence like a star burned to a quick. It’s not true. It never was.
“I know. I want to.” Daeron hopes Luke hears his conviction bleeding through, and fears he’ll hear the love there, too. Luke is silent for a moment, turning it over in his mind.
“Okay,” he says wetly, finally. “I’ll go to prom with you. Pick me up at six.”
It’s a month to prom. Aemond’s stuff is packed in a box in the back of the car. It’s a date.
“Thank you for telling me,” Luke mutters against Daeron’s shoulder. “No one else did. They didn’t think I could handle it, I bet, but you—you knew.” A scaly beast that’s lived inside Daeron’s ribcage for longer than he can remember rumbles in agreement.
Luke rests his cheek against his collarbone and Daeron is sure that if he tried, he could hear the staccato of his heartbeat through the skin of his throat.
“Would you have wanted to know? Even if you knew it would make you unhappy?” It was obvious to anyone who knew them that Aemond never would’ve broken up with Luke in the end, not of his own volition. He’d die first.
“Of course.” Luke pulls back, offended. “How else would I—I would’ve never known it wasn’t real.” Daeron almost shakes his head. It was real, alright. Realer than Luke will ever know. But this—this can be real, too. This can be just as good. Better.
“I’m glad, then.” He dips him then, hand creeping down to plant against Luke’s lower back. The speakers continue to warble in the background, but Daeron doesn’t recognize the song; it’s something about moonlight, about fireflies dancing and the silver moon watching on.
“Don’t touch him.”
Ah. Speak of the devil. Daeron’s been touching their nephew all night, but Aemond probably knows that. He’s been watching them out of the corner of his remaining eye, jaw clenched in fury. His poor date—wretched girl she is—stands behind him, clutching at her torn skirt with a mottled expression. She’d scuttled after Aemond, to no avail.
“What are you doing?” Luke asks over Daeron’s shoulder. Everyone is watching. He is not as tall as his brother, but he’s taller than Luke and shifts to angle him away. Aemond, as expected, follows like a dog chasing a tail.
“You’re my boyfriend,” Aemond hisses, wounded, reaching out for Luke’s sleeve, “debasing himself. What are you doing?”
“Was.” Luke jerks away, clinging to Daeron’s arms like he’s a lifeboat at sea. Aemond flinches. “This is my date. I came here because I wanted to.” Luke’s fingers dig into the black fabric of Daeron’s tux. “Leave us alone.” At the mention of us, Aemond’s nostrils flare.
“Didn’t you hear him?” Daeron says blandly. “Leave us alone.” He doesn’t even need to turn to know there’s anguish painted on his face, in the tremor of his lip. You’re losing him, Aemond. One more strike, you’re out.
“How dare you?” Aemond grits out, snagging a fist in Daeron’s lapel instead, to the gasps of the crowd circling around the three of them. “You think you can come back here and help yourself?” You, who was born with nothing, for nothing, shipped away like nothing.
Daeron looks up at Aemond now, at the red rim of his eye and the brokenness behind the pupil. It’s been said that all men demand their pound of flesh. They’re not men, not yet, but Aemond’s been baying for Luke’s blood (and body, mind and soul) for the better of nine years. It’s a three-man play, and the spotlight is sweltering.
Daeron only smiles at the challenge. Maybe it looks sharp. Maybe it looks bloody. Maybe it looks like he has nothing to lose.
(Wrong. He has the audacity, actually. If he plays his cards right, he gets Luke, too.)
quiet promises (s.mg)
pairing: song mingi x black, gn!reader
wc: 800 (exactly ikr)
warnings: none, just soft. slight cursing and one sexual innuendo.
Mingi’s broad, naked back faced you from where he stood. You couldn't see his face as he mulled around the kitchen, attention on the burning stove. His long fingers were whisking around something in a huge pot as he hummed to himself. Savory fragrance filled the air and warmed the entire room. You recognized the music playing over his phone’s speakers to be one of your favorite RnB artists you introduced him to the night before. That kind of thing made you smile as you walked over to him.
The morning was still rising, warm sunlight slowly flooded the kitchen and rested on your lover. The shade of skin shone in the light, cresting on the growing tan he was finally letting peak through on his work break. Your head rested on his back, slowly breathing in his scent and his warmth.
“Did you sleep well?” Mingi didn’t turn around, not wanting to disturb you. He was sweet when he wanted to be. Soft when he felt like being kind. Relaxing mornings like these were the best. Beautiful days when you got him all to yourself for once.
Days crested and turned into many, some long and excruciating, and at the end of them all, he was still yours to end and begin with.
“As well as I can with a human furnace next to me,” You mumbled into his back, wrapping your arms around his waist as you felt his smooth chuckle.
“Is that why your cold feet were running up my calves at 2am?”
“Leave my cold feet alone!”
“Not my fault you freeze colder than a Siberian winter,” you felt Mingi’s shrug and groaned, “You’re almost as cold as Shoto.”
“You’re a fucking dork.”
“No cursing this early!”
“Literally, kiss my fucking ass, Mingi.”
You regretted it as soon as you said it since it led to Mingi’s giggling, “I did enough of that last night, don’t you think? Or should I kiss your great ass a little more?”
“Cringy,” you looked around his body to try to peer into the pot, but he blocked you, broad shoulders blocking your view, “What are you making?”
“Don’t play with my food, Song. What are you making?”
“I’m starving and yo ass is talking about a fucking surprise?”
“Cursing this early!”
Mingi sighed and put the spoon down before turning to face you. His morning face and sleepy eyes could heal a billion planets. Peace restored in your eyes after looking at his puffy, cute face and pouty lips that looked at you like you kicked him. His glasses were even on, it was way too early for contacts. And in days like this, he preferred not to wear them, spending the entire day in your arms. His hair was a mess of color, puddled over his head and curling cutely.
Mingi was the most beautiful thing in the world. And he was all yours.
“My love. My darling. My beauty. My dear,” Mingi grabbed your waist, pulling you so that you were chest to chest and looking deeply into each other’s eyes. A deep lake, dazzling and filled with love, awaited you. He pressed a quick kiss to your nose, soft and fluttering, before leaning back, “It’s 8 am. Please find a chill.”
You smiled softly as you thought about it, “Maybe a kiss can chill me?”
You puckered your lips, waiting for a peck, and Mingi giggled softly before kissing your lips. Deep and fully yours. Passion exchanged through your lips as the kiss traveled the boundary of a simple kiss to tongues darting out of mouths and soft sighs passing each other's lips. If it wasn’t for a loud popping bubble from the pot behind you two, you would have happily spent some time connected on the kitchen counter.
“Fuck,” Mingi darted back to the stove, leaving your lips cold and waist feeling empty.
You groaned, “No cursing this early.”
Mingi leveled you with a look before he pointed at the living room. You giggled before walking there, but not before feeling a large hand hitting your ass.
Breakfast was spent spinning jokes back and forth and watching an anime that Mingi was way too invested in these days. A bowl of a soup you never had between you, and some of the best rice ever. You made coffee for the both of you and bundled yourself in blankets. Your bodies blended together, not knowing where one began and the other ended. It was sweet and calming and a life you wanted forever. As the day faded to night and the both of you realized you hardly moved once, a giggle left Mingi’s lips before he wrapped around you tighter.
A quiet promise to never let go.
taglist: @choism @bunnypig18 @sunnytaes @hwatermelonsuga and @my-favorite-bangchan (since u gave me this ideaaaa)
The Oath (Yandere! Giorno x reader)
So I originally wasn’t planning on writing this but spur of the moment idea, for @mrsgiovanna Giorno Month, and I just wanted to add one final contribution!
Prompt: “You’ll learn to love me”
TW: toxic relationship/behavior, mentions of stalking and manipulation
He was watching you, like always.
You were walking through his garden. Or rather your garden, as he had told you, as whatever belonged to him, belonged to you.
He watches intensely. He loved seeing you around the flowers, and loved it even more when you had gone the extra step taking care of the flowers. Even though you didn’t realize how they last all year long, even in the winter, and didn’t understand the nature of their existence, it warmed his heart. Your dress swaying ever slightly in the breeze, as if the whole scene did it’s best to beautify you. Not that you needed it in Giorno’s mind.
He smiled as you walked along the path, slowly taking in the sights and smells of all the beautiful flowers that surrounded you on both sides. He was glad to see you out. After you arrived, (or kidnapped, as you often called it, much to Giorno’s disappointment), you weren’t doing so good. Spending most if not all days in your room barely eating, drinking, or doing anything. He did everything he could to get you back to yourself. Gentle coaxing, sweet words, strong promises, anything he could think of. You hated to admit it, but it mostly worked. You’d spend hours thinking of your friends and family. Giorno knew it too. He’d always tell you “wouldn’t they want you to live? To be alive, and well taken care of?”
It was hard to argue with that. Not to mention you didn’t exactly have the energy to fight back. So you caved in. You’d let him hold you, let him kiss you, buy you things. Whatever his delusional idea of love was. Some days were definitely hard. The need to leave. Not just this place, but your body, your mind. It didn’t take long to learn your mind was as dangerous as the gilded cage you were stuck in. Getting out of bed, and doing something was substantially better than living in the mind numbing roar that deafens your head and strangles you in its grasp.
The wind blows softly, tickling your face and arms slightly. The scent of the flowers are blown to you as well. The scent is almost…too perfect. You make your way over to a batch of roses, the fragrance so strong it almost suffocates you. Another irregularity: no thorns. You remember the bewilderment you had felt first seeing the odd flowers. It wasn’t until Giorno had explained everything that it all made sense: the flowers were for you. The smell is as amplified as possible, no thorns to prevent picking your fingers. The whole idea had made you uneasy. They looked so perfect, so beautiful, any gardener's dream. And yet, it wasn’t read. It was fake. You couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Giorno’s feelings were. Perfect and sweet on the surface, but ultimately a ruse. A clever trick crafted from an expert mummer, poised in the act of deception. You shook your head, not wanting to fill it with melancholy thoughts to further sour the garden visit.
You make your way to the end of the path, seating yourself on a stone bench underneath a weeping cherry blossom tree. You close your eyes, trying to find some form of relaxation in this prison. You feel the breeze softly moving the hanging flowers of the tree, tickling your upper arms and face. You tried to think happy thoughts. The flowers. Their smell wafting all around you. The sound of their swaying in the breeze. Or better yet, you tried having no thoughts at all. You’d learned to despise your brain and being in it for such long, silent, periods of time since living with Giorno. You take a deep breath, hoping to expel the already rising negative thoughts. You’d almost forgotten about your book you’d brought to read, sitting neatly beside you on the bench. You pick up the book, hoping to escape and find whatever happiness you could in this beautiful misery.
He saw that you were reading again. Finally, he thought, unable to stop the smirk forming on his face. He’d bought you all those books, since he knew of your deep love of reading from spending days watching you in detail. He was glad to see you finally using the countless gifts he’d showered you with since bringing you home. He loved watching you. Whether it was simply mundane tasks or a deep passion you had, he’d always wanted to keep as close of an eye as possible. Despite it, he knew it was creepy and invasive. But now that you were with him, he’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe and protected, even if it meant having himself or someone watching your every mood.
Truth be told, he was happy to see you outside. He noticed you were having a string of bad days, preferring to stay in your room all day, barely touching the food that was sent. The dark circles would be viable on your face, your eyes holding a weary frightened glaze to them. You did your best to put up walls around you, guarding your brain, and more importantly your heart from him. But Giorno knew you. He knew everything down to a T. He remembers his words to you upon your arrival: “You’ll learn to love me.” Not only a warning, but a promise. While not to the point he’d wish, you had grown more used to your home, and especially grown used to him and being with him. Sure, it was no easy task, but enough gifts, sweet, coaxing words, and subtle, pointed reminders of his power and your family you had become more docile. You had your…outburst every now and then but it was expected. Moving one into a whole new home and in a new relationship is no easy task, but Giorno committed himself to you. And yet, he himself struggled as well. One aspect of maintaining the seamless transition to your new home was restraint. He wanted nothing more than to express his love in every way possible, loving words, soft kisses, giving himself wholly to you. But, deep down, he knew it’d confuse you, even scare you as well having to deal with the new environment and all his love and attention. Only in the dead of night when slumber claimed you did he allow his words to push past his lips.
“You’re going to stay here now. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. And I promise to make this your home and love you with all I am and more. I swear it.”
He remembers another time, a time he’d said words very similar to what he’d said bto you. To a friend (2 years older!) before he’d rested him in white flowers forever. Never again. He wouldn’t do it again. Not for you. He’d do everything in his power to ensure you were safe and in your own little slice of Heaven. He’d love you with everything he was, and keep you here. He’d kissed your hands, and your forehead while you slept, none the wiser of the solemn oath that had been sworn over your slumber.
It's A Date - Robin Buckley X Reader
Summary: Robin works up the courage to ask you out
Word count: 2.3K
A/N - This is the first thing I've ever written, please let me know if you liked it xxx
Your tired eyes battled against sleep as you unwillingly forced them open to seize the bothersome beeping of your alarm clock; it was a regrettable companion that shook you by the shoulders at each light of daybreak. The soft white-gold light of the morning kissed the walls of your bedroom, dressing them up in pretty pastels. These were the very four walls that had become a cocoon for the years you required their sanctuary. Birds tweeted their sweet love songs to the rising sun as an invitation for the new day. The deep hues of their feathery plumes glimmered in the light as they soared against the expansive canvas of sky as it flourished into dawn.
With a reluctant groan, you threw your duvet from your cozied figure, the motion bringing a gust swirling around you. The brisk breeze from the autumn air infiltrated every warm cell of your body, triggering goose bumps to crawl along your flesh. You cursed yourself for not putting on longer bottoms for bed last night. It was a harsh awakening when your bare feet pressed against the cold wooden floor, feeling as though you were walking along a frozen lake. You were almost surprised the soles of your feet didn't instantly freeze to it. As quickly as you could, you tottered out and into the bathroom, desperate for a hot shower before school.
The searing water came over you as pleasant as warm summer rain, soothing the bitterness from your bones. You felt as contented as a parched flower, each petal swelling and blooming with warmth and hydration after a harsh drought. You washed quickly and dressed up with many layers to keep yourself warm from the biting weather. The pieces were casual, yet flattering. It was the type of casual that was not casual at all, having spent more time than necessary carefully co-ordinating each item for you to feel your best.
Upon leaving the bathroom, the warm, buttery smell of breakfast meandered it's way to your nose and led you down the stairs. There was a huge array of breakfast items upon the table, the same as there was every day, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Soft pancakes and berries with sticky maple syrup threaded upon the top. It remained your favourite breakfast, despite eating them almost everyday. Caramel-brown toast decorated with perfect slices of avocado for your mother, and fluffy scrambled eggs piled high on a bread bun for your father. You quickly joined them at the table and began stuffing your face. The amber syrup relaxed on your taste buds, coating them in waves of sweetness. The spectrum of reds and blue berries cascading down as pockets of natural sugar were so inviting you wanted to take your time to enjoy them. But time was running short as 8 o'clock was drawing nearer.
The brassy honk of a car startled you as you shoved your last bite into your mouth. With a quick kiss on the cheek, you said goodbye to your parents, before grabbing your coat and school bag. You stepped out of the house, breathing in the gold and scarlet as the wind blew a cold note, the beginning of winter's first serenade. The faint smell of the previous night's rain emitting from the wet foliage brought the fresh fragrance of a new season. It was a brilliant day. Despite the cold, the sun was still blazing bright in the clear sky, causing the frosted dew to glitter like a swarm of fireflies. Pulling your coat tighter to your shivering form, you rushed towards the BMW parked on the edge of your driveway.
"Good Morning." You greeted, sliding across the soft leather of the passenger seat, thankful to be out of the cold.
There was the cushioned slam of the car door as you shut it, and a whiff of the citrus car freshener mixed with the woody smell of aftershave.
"And how are you my little love muffin." Steve smirked, pulling into the street and starting towards the school.
You released a groan of annoyance at the nickname. Ever since you told him that you had a secret crush on someone, he had done nothing but tease you.
You and Steve had known each other since you were little, having lived directly across the street from him for the first ten years of your life, before your mother started to complain that your house was too big for just the three of you. So your mother decided to downgrade to a house on Cherry Oak, which wasn't too far away, but it made spending time together more difficult. There were no more secret notes to show through the window when you should be in bed, or attaching two tin cans with a string to try and talk to each other. The two of you had managed to persuade your parents to get you bikes for your 11th birthdays to see each other more frequently. Even after all this time you still went to school together and hung out everyday, which you were grateful for. You always felt bad that Steve had to drive past the school to pick you up just to drive all the way back, but he always insisted that he didn't mind.
"Please, would you stop calling me that."
"Not until you tell me who it is you have a crush on." He beamed.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. There was no way you could tell him you have a crush on one of his friends: Robin Buckley. You had met Robin when Steve began working at Scoops Ahoy. When you had first met, you were insanely jealous that Steve had been spending time with someone else. There was a residing fear deep in your gut, that he would find someone else to be friends with. Someone better than you, that he would want to spend more time with, and then he would eventually forget about you. But that's not what happened at all. You first thought her attitude towards Steve was very arrogant and inferiorating. You had no idea how he was friends with her. There was a part of you that was almost grateful she acted that way, and maybe it would put Steve off. It never did. But the longer you all spent together, the more endearing it became. Any doubt that you had about her had been crushed to nothing. It was as though someone had suddenly turned on the light and you could finally see her in all her glory. Everything about her was gold and shining, and you were itching to have her. Despite her behaviour towards Steve, Robin had always been sweet to you, and so you offered sweetness in return. All at once you began to crave it, so badly that it almost hurt. You were beginning to realise now why they called it a crush. When you were with her it was like your lungs were compressed, your stomach twisted and your heart would beat so hard your feared with would become distorted. There was the self inflicted pain of false scenarios and imagined responses that would never come to reality because you were too scared that they would push her away if you tried any of them. But the hurting was worth it when you still got to see Robin at the end of the day.
"Steve, you have your entire life to be a jerk, why don't you take the day off."
He jestingly placed a hand over his 'hurt' heart. "Wow, never have I been more insulted in my life."
"Well, you clearly haven't been listening to Robin."
"Speaking of the devil..." Steve trailed off, turning into the school parking lot.
Robin was hunched comfortably on the red-clay brick wall in front of Steve's parking spot. She held a worn book in her hand, one that looked to be several hundred pages long, and her backpack lay open on the ground just below her feet. You couldn't help but melt at how beautiful she looked today. She was simply dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt, layered underneath a chequered button down, of which she left the first few buttons open. She wore all of this under a thick coat that just made you want to give her a big, warm cuddle. It was an effortless outfit, but she looked absolutely gorgeous in your eyes. She reached a hand up to tuck a stray strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and out of her face. It was make-up free, showing off all of her freckles. With her undisturbed vision, she noticed Steve's car approaching. Robin visibly straightened with a grin on her face as she jumped from the wall and shoved the book into her bag.
The car slowly rolled to a stop and you hopped out, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Robin mimicked your actions, before prancing up to you. She greeted you warmly and gave you a quick hug. Your skin burned under her touch, even through your many layers, as you regrettably let her go. She smelled good, you noticed.
"what's up dingus?" Robin teased Steve, who slammed his car door a little harder than he should have.
He sighed. "Good morning to you too, Robin."
She stretched out a hand to ruffle his perfect looking hair. "Hey, watch it!"
Pushing her away with a groan, he dropped to look into the side mirror of his car and began raking his fingers through his hair. Although you have teased him for it, Steve did have exceptional hair. Soft waves of rich mahogany woven with strands of deep auburn, often styled so flawlessly it made you question if it was real or not. Anyone would be jealous of hair like that, you included. You watched Robin as she pushed forward towards the school, letting out a contagious cackle that had you smiling widely. It was a sound so sweet and joyous. As joyous as a prayer, deep and soulful. It was truly a blessing to hear. If someone told you that gods and goddesses didn't exist, you wouldn't believe them: you were staring right at one.
Steve jogged towards the two of you. "You are like a hurricane in human form." He turned to you. "Does it look alright?"
"You look fine, Steve." You rolled your eyes. "I hope you worry about your grades as much as you worry about your hair."
"My grades are fine, don't sweat it."
"Whatever you say, just don't come crying to us when you don't graduate and have to stay behind another year."
"You might end up finally having something in common with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson." Robin jumped in.
"What do you mean, Robin? They already do." Steve turned to you perplexed. "Have you seen Eddie's curly locks?"
You placed the back of your hand to your forehead and pretended to faint into Robin's arms. She caught you with her forearms under your armpits, almost dropping you as she laughed. You could feel her breath on your ear and you almost fainted for real.
"Steve 'The Hair' Harrington has got some competition." She laughed again.
"I honestly can't stand you two sometimes." He rolled his eyes with a smile, before forcing himself ahead. "I'll see you guys at lunch."
The two of you continued to snicker as you watched him stride towards his locker, hilariously walking past Eddie Munson along the way. Only when it was just the two of you did you realise that Robin still had her arm around you. Your body went numb with tingles as you stood yourself up properly. The sudden self awareness made you stiff and silent. Despite your movements, Robin still laced one arm through yours, something you didn't realise was a courageous move on her part. Your heart was thumping so wildly in your chest, you were scared she was going to hear it over the raucous in the school hallway. With your brain going into overdrive, you focused hard on not tripping or walking into anyone as she guided you towards her locker. Not that you didn't already know where it was.
You noticed her hesitance to unhook her arm from yours and the redness growing on her cheeks. She avoided your eyes as she moved her arm to unlock her locker. You stood against the lockers with sweaty palms, a bit closer than you probably should have been, but you wanted to feel her touch again. You watch her eyes dart about the inside of her locker, looking through it rather than searching inside it, and twitching her plump lips like she was psyching herself up for something.
"So I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movies with me after school to watch this new Back to the Future movie? I asked Steve yesterday but he turned me down because he's going on a date with Emmy Mcneill, which by the way, I told him was a really bad idea because she is already dating Scot Davids." She finally looked at you with wide eyes. "Not that I thought of you as a second option, it was just that we had already planned to go to the movies together at some point,--"
"Robin." You tried to interrupt.
"but we didn't know when or,--"
"what movies were going to be playing and--"
"Yeah?" Her eyes met yours.
"I would love to go to the movies with you."
You would be surprised if your ribcage wasn't bruised by how violently your heart was hammering against it. There was more than just butterflies in your stomach, there was an entire zoo running rampage in your gut. This was the day you had been waiting for for what felt like forever. You were always too scared to make the first move, but you and Robin were finally going to be spending time together alone and without Steve.
"Cool. Great, it's a date." Her eyes went wide again. "Not that it's a date date, not unless you want it to be, but I meant it like 'it's a date!', like 'it's a plan!" or it's some sort of engagement. Not an engagement! We're not getting engaged, God knows I'm way to young to get married yet--"
"Robin," you hold her hands in yours and she looks at you hopefully, "it's a date."
How it feels to fall for Zane Julian
🩰, Had to keep you guys waiting. Enjoy <3
Gender neutral reader, dividers, no warnings just romance xx
Now playing … Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy , Queen
Falling for Zane is feeling the warmth spread across your face when you finally go in from playing in the snow. It’s the aesthetic joy of coming home to a warm fireplace, dancing with your lover in front of your winter decor while records play in the background of it all.
He’s the crisp, chilly fragrance in a candle store that leaves you heaving at the mere thought of the scent. the smell taking over your whole being and making you crave nothing but him.
Zane is the most precious and best boyfriend you’ll ever have. Please do keep him safe.
During his free time, he enjoys cooking with you, just having you in the kitchen helps him feel at peace throughout all the chaos. It’s simple domestic life that makes him smile and wish for a few extra moments with you.
His hands shaking around you and resting his hands against yours, guiding your hands as you slice vegetables or fold a sweet mixture together. His classic pink apron tied perfectly onto you, the mess of your kitchen shenanigans splattered against the bright yet faded fabric. Chin resting against your shoulder as he repeats instructions or reads off a recipe. Lost in how loved he feels when he’s close to you.
When he refers to you, he’s always so sincere and serious, barely even using your name.
“My dove” “Darling” “Angel” “Dear” “Sweetheart” “Dearest”
Parting ways will always leave you with a kiss to your temple, cheek, knuckles, and finally your lips. His cold titanium lips feel like heaven on your skin and his quiet chuckles just drive you to desperate insanity. His deep, sweet voice telling you he loves you and he’ll see you soon leaves the most pleasant butterflies in your stomach.
You’d fallen for each and every one of his gears, every faulty wire, switch, and piece of metal he’s made up of. Most importantly, you fell for Zane. Every aspect of him just reminds you of how unique he is, no matter who’s constructing, there’ll never be another Zane. Human, Droid, his only category is Lover.
You’d always known him as a robot, and that’s one of his biggest insecurities. Not being able to prove anything a human could. Despite all the times you say you don’t care, you can manage, how you adore him the way he is..he won’t truly accept it. he’ll believe you, yes, but nothing can fix how he feels about himself unfortunately
The team will always tease and berate him for how hopelessly in love he is, and how he acted so oblivious before you two became one. He’d never felt a feeling such as this, and he was very eager to learn. With a little time and effort, you taught him, building it up from the tiniest speck until it’s larger than Ninjago as a whole.
His mates will always welcome you into their home, seeing how you spark the greatest feeling Zanes ever felt, the Monastery is like a second home to you.
You’re his favorite topic, his favorite person, the only thing on his robotic mind. He’s vowed to protect you until the end of time. To love until there’s no more to give. Brief example; If there’s 100 people who love you, Zane is one of them. If theres 10, Zane is one of them. If there’s 1, it’s Zane. If there were none, Zane wouldn’t exist.
Transitioning to dates and such. He’s very old fashioned but still oh so romantic.
He enjoys taking you out to dinner, candles lit brightly amongst the dark room. Going out into the city, matching his clothes with yours and spoiling you with gifts and treats. Preparing pretty picnics for the two of you in the sunniest part of a flower field. Ice skating over a freshly frozen lake.
When there’s no time to plan, he can live with a simple movie date. But he tends to recommend the same movies a bit too often
“What about this one?” “Dear, we’ve watch Dead Poets Society twice this week.”
He likes sticking to the things he’s seen. No matter how much he watches it he’ll always wanna watch it again. He likes dramas, and romance movies, curled up with you by his side the whole time, fingers toying your hand as he watches the movie.
But he will admit he likes watching comedies from time to time.
I won’t sit here and lie, tell you he’s 100% perfect, because he isn’t. He’s the dryest texter you’ll ever meet.
He eventually came around to your emoticons and hearts made with 3’s.
Falling for Zane is a plethora within your heart. It’ll stay full of joy and sweetness.
Annotated Books & Sleek Hardcovers | R.B
Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Lupin!Reader
Summary: Everything told them to be apart, but they said fuck the world.
People would describe the younger Lupin sibling as warm and bright. She shined like the sun and was warm like a sunny summer day. She was the breeze on a warm summer day and the sun on a chilly autumn morning. She was worn books with annotations in the margins, highlighting, and scribbles. She was dependable, sweet, kind, and loving.
Dependable like a best friend. Sweet like Honeydukes chocolate. Kind of like a puppy dog who had been just adopted and as lovable as soft blankets. Her brother was no different. He oozed shyness, charisma, and intelligence. His tousled sandy hair and gleaming green eyes made everyone bend to his will. He didn’t even know that he was doing it.
But by fifth year, Remus Lupin had come out as gay. A month later, Sirius Black was on top of the Gryffindor table with a blushing Remus announcing their relationship. Remus had given his sister a sheepish look as he sat back down. Y/n had just kissed his cheek and smiled.
Y/n and Regulus had been sitting beside each other when Sirius had taken the Great Hall by storm. Instinctively, Regulus tightened his grip on her hand, and Y/n allowed her thumb to run along his. She watched as his shoulders relaxed a prominent amount.
“Well,” Regulus whispered, “I wasn’t expecting that. Did you know?”
Y/n shook her head, “No, but I’m happy for them. Are you?”
“I ‘spose.” Regulus shrugged, “When do you think they’ll find out about us?”
“Remus is a bit oblivious.” Y/n replied, “Sirius doesn’t really turn his head in your direction.”
Regulus looked down at his lap, “So if anything, we’ll have to tell them.”
“Do you think,” His voice was lower than a whisper, “That he’ll ever be my brother again?”
“I do.” Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, “Siblings have a special bond.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She snorted, “I’m always right.”
At that, he cracked a smile.
Maybe it was her warmth that melted the ice surrounding Regulus’ heart. The icy, cold, Regulus Black. It wasn’t like they were hiding their relationship, but people were terrified to talk about it. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the young Black brother.
Regulus was described as the dark, cold winter nights people despised. The winter nights that were so low in temperature that even staying inside with the heat on, blankets on, and layers of clothes couldn’t warm. He was sleek, hardcover books and soggy leaves in the fall that left you disappointed when the satisfying crunch didn’t echo through your ears.
Regulus Black was everything but warm. He was your least favorite color. Your least favorite food. He was everything you hated. Perhaps it was Y/n’s sweetness that brought some of the crunchiness back to his leaf, the pen to his book, and the folded pages.
They were star-crossed lovers. Everything in the universe was trying to keep them apart from the colors of their robes and the clashing of their personalities. Regulus was the dry autumn and brash winter. Y/n was the prospering spring and hopeful summer. Perhaps they were the best of both worlds, and that’s why they worked together so well.
It wasn’t until their sixth year when their relationship had become the talk of the school. Regulus had begun wearing long sleeves even in the hot months, and people grew suspicious. Only he and she knew what laid beneath that crisp white button-up. Beneath the cold ice he kept around his heart.
Y/n looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for her raven-haired boyfriend as Remus joined his friends on the train. When she did find him, it wasn’t pleasant. Walburga had been fussing with his sleeve, making sure it stayed down, and she had slapped the back of his head for slouching over. Regulus had rolled his shoulders to stand up straight. Orion didn’t look impressed, and Walburga murmured something along the lines of, “Good enough.”
“Now, what do we say, Regulus?”
Regulus caught Y/n’s eyes for just a split second, and he looked away hastily, “Toujours Pur.”
“Good.” Walburga stated, “Now go.”
He nodded and began walking toward Y/n’s general direction. Regulus took her hand in his directing her on another path, “Meet at our usual compartment.”
Y/n gave him a smile in response as she walked away. It left Regulus with a pink hue coating his usually pale skin. His stomach fluttered, and his heart palpitated. They entered the train on opposite sides and met in the middle at their compartment. She was already sitting down when he plopped down beside her. His head was leaning on her shoulder.
“Missed you.” Regulus slurred, sleep evident in his tone, “Wish I could’ve escaped.”
“I missed you too, Reggie.” Y/n took his left hand in hers, “But I know that we have a lot to talk about.”
He tensed, “I suppose we do.”
“Things like what’s on your left forearm?”
“I’m not mad.”
“But you’re disappointed.”
Her light laugh confused him, “I’m not either, actually.”
Regulus lifted his head to look at her, “You aren’t?”
“I just want to know what you plan on doing with that mark.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Regulus stated, slumping down again, “I have to serve him.”
Y/n hesitated, “You have choices.”
“What are they?”
“Be a spy.”
“A spy?” Regulus queried incredulously, “Are you serious?”
A silly smile graced her features, “Actually. Forget I asked that. Are you daft?”
“No.” Y/n replied, “I’m actually top of our class, so.”
“If he finds out I’m a spy. Then I’d be killed, Y/n.” Regulus said softly, “It’d be different if I didn’t care about anyone. If I had nothing to lose, but I do, and I don’t want to lose a chance at a future with you because of it.”
Y/n took his face into her hands, “You can’t do this. You can’t work for him. You’ll kill yourself slowly anyway.”
“I don’t have a choice.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, “This was bound to happen. This was my fate.”
“Who gives a shit about fate.” Y/n chuckled tearfully, “Professor Trelawney always said that you could change fate.”
Regulus cracked a tiny smile, “You would pay attention in Divination, wouldn’t you.”
“Someone’s gotta give Sirius the notes.”
“Sirius… I didn’t even think about-“ Regulus stopped, “He’s- He’s gonna hate me.”
“Hey, Regulus, look at me.” His breathing sped up, and his hands began to tremble, “Sirius isn’t going to hate you.”
He shook his head, “No, he’s- he’s gonna- I’m gonna-“
Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Regulus nosed at the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet perfume. The fragrance smelt of crisp apples mixed along with her scent of caramel, chocolate, and marshmallow. It gave him something to focus on, and with his muddled mind, Regulus fell asleep.
Regulus was still asleep three hours later when Sirius came barging into the compartment stopping in his tracks. Y/n brought her index finger to her lips, ordering him to be quiet. Sirius shut the door and sat in front of them. Regulus’ face was out of view from his older brother's. His nose was nuzzled in Y/n’s neck, and his hair hid his face.
“So,” Sirius began quietly, the atmosphere had never been so thick, “How long?”
“Fourth year.” Y/n thought Sirius’ eyes were going to bulge out of his head.
“But you- and him- you don’t-“
“Don’t belong together?”
Sirius nodded, “Who are you to say? Technically I could say the same about you and my brother.”
“Fair point.” Sirius muttered.
It was quiet again, and all that was heard was the slashing of rain on the window of the train, “How- How is he?” Sirius’ voice had never been so quiet before.
“He’ll be okay.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
Before Y/n could respond, Regulus began to tremble again. He was trying to dig his nose deeper into her neck and reaching desperately for something to hold onto. Y/n allowed his hand to grasp hers tightly. His trembling subsided, and Y/n gently kissed the crown of his head, allowing him to relax finally.
“How did you do that?”
“I never-“ Sirius looked shocked, “I could never calm his nightmares….”
Y/n gave him a soft smile, “Perhaps it’s a Lupin talent.”
“Perhaps.” Sirius replied, “But, is he okay?”
“He will be.”
“What does that mean?” Sirius questioned loudly, and Y/n hushed him, “They didn’t- did they?”
She nodded solemnly, “We’re gonna- We’re gonna work through it together.”
Sirius could see her swallowing the lump in her throat. Sirius could see the dullness in her eyes, the same dull that Remus’ eyes got after the full moon. Sirius could always read Remus through his eyes. They were a tell-tale of his emotions. It seemed that he could do the same with Y/n. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, untold trauma, and unspoken words.
“Take care of him, yeah?” Sirius requested quietly as he stood up to leave the compartment.
She nodded, “Yeah.”
He closed the sliding door quietly. It was a quiet walk back to his own compartment with the Marauders. The task of getting the summer homework to copy turned into an entirely new adventure. Sirius opened the door to his compartment to find James and Peter talking animately. Remus sat with his head against the glass and head in a book. He had some muggle markers beside him that Sirius liked to draw with.
Sirius slumped beside Remus putting space between them. That was the first tell. The second tell was that Sirius didn’t speak, and he stared out to the train's hallway. Remus closed his book, placing it back beside him, and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hot in Sirius’ ear.
“Nothing.” Sirius replied, still not looking into Remus’ eyes, “Your sister was no help. Said I needed to do the homework on my own. Said I was a tosser for not doing it.”
Remus snorted and nuzzled his nose into Sirius’ cheek, “Well, perhaps I ought to tell her that’s not how she should speak to my boyfriend.”
“No.” Sirius hated how distant he sounded, “She’s got other things to worry about.”
The lycanthrope furrowed his eyebrows, “Like what?”
“Like you.” Sirius lied like it was nothing, “Who do you think puts hot cocoa and Honeydukes chocolate at your bedside after the full?”
“Then I should give her a sister of the year award.” Remus corrected, and Sirius nodded, “Perhaps you should.”
If only I could get a best brother award, Sirius thought. It was selfish. He knew that. It was wrong to envy Y/n and Remus’ relationship. Unfit to be jealous of his brothers relationship, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius wanted to be the one to chase all of Regulus’ demons away. Sirius wanted to hold him during every thunderstorm as he used to as children. Sirius should be happy for Regulus even if it weren’t because of him.
It took a month before Remus was storming into the common room and yelled insanities at his sister. Remus wasn’t thinking, words fell from his mouth so carelessly, and the entire common room stared as Remus had his sister pushed against a wall, hands holding her up from the collar on her shirt, seething at her.
“You must be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.” Remus seethed, and Y/n flinched, “You must be fucking insane.”
Sirius could do nothing but stare, “Maybe I should’ve disowned you as my sister the minute I saw you hanging out with him.”
Tears ebbed at Y/n’s eyes, “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”
James couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that Remus was so calm and his voice was so low or when Remus yelled, “You were my everything. My sister, my partner in crime, my other half, and you fucking destroyed it.”
“Mate, stop.” James tried to interject, but Remus just shoved her against the wall harder, and streaks of silver appeared on her cheeks.
“Wonder what dad would do if he found out.” Remus taunted, and Y/n shook her head, “You know how much dad despises them.”
Y/n choked, “Remus-“
“Don’t.” He snarled, “My name isn’t allowed to fall from your mouth. Fucking traitor.”
Sirius had enough, “Remus, stop. That’s enough.”
Remus whirled around, Y/n sliding to the floor, knees to her chest, “Who are you talk? You did the same thing back in fifth year.”
“I’m not your bloody sister.” Sirius snapped, “She’s been there with you through everything. Maybe if you let her explain, then you could understand.”
Remus pointed at her and looked at Sirius with fire in his eyes, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.”
Sirius could remember the exact same words falling from his mouth only a year earlier, and it crushed him. Y/n was sobbing, and her knees were pulled tightly under her chin. James was trying to console her, but it wasn’t working as Remus and Sirius went toe to toe. Y/n didn’t deserve this for loving who she loved.
Remus scoffed when Sirius wouldn’t back down and stormed up to the boy's dormitory. Sirius knelt before her and lifted her head from her lap. His thumbs wiped away the tears, and he took her into his arms. So much built-up pain, built-up trauma, built-up lies. She was finally crumbling like a tower on an unsteady foundation. Y/n was a one-hundred-story tower that was collapsing from the bottom up.
Debris falling everywhere and soot clouding the atmosphere. He could see the smog slipping in her mind, clouding up her judgment and thoughts. Sirius could see the debris cluttering and scraping away at her heart. With every scrap and every tear, her heart began to give out. It felt like being crushed in an elevator, with no room to breathe and no room for moving. She was stuck, and that was it.
Y/n couldn’t remember much after feeling Sirius’ lips on the top of her head. But she woke up on the plush of the common room couch. The rough maroon fabric was felt beneath her fingertips. Beside her was a boy in an armchair. He was curled up, and a black fleece blanket covered his body from the coldness of the Gryffindor common room.
Beside her was a glass of water and a note. She picked up the water and allowed it to glide down her throat, soothing the ache from her earlier crying. Her nose still felt stuffy, and she willed herself to sniffle quietly, trying not to wake the boy beside her. The parchment was ripped at the edges and was written in beautiful calligraphy.
"Il y a toujours des ténèbres avant que la lumière brille."
She folded the note and placed it back on the side table with the empty glass. The fire had gone out fully in the common room, allowing the temperature in the room to fall. It was cold, dry, and dark. Y/n had never seen the common room so dark. Not a candle was lit, and no light was shining from the windows. Just the slightest bit of moonlight. Gently she stood up and reached for the boy's hand in the armchair.
“Reggie.” Her voice was smooth and soft, “Reg.”
He stirred and opened his eyes to meet his girlfriend's warm ones. Sirius had rushed to the Slytherin common room despite all prejudice. Some of the Slytherins spat at him when he asked for the password. It took ten people before Regulus finally answered to the incessant knocking. He was shocked to be met with his older brother.
There Sirius had told him what happened, how Remus had shoved his sister against the wall accusing her of betraying him for dating him. Regulus felt ashamed. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t get to be civil with each other. Sirius even uttered the exact words Remus had, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.” Regulus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.
People stared at the younger Black brother as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor’s glared, spat, and insulted, but he didn’t care. He found his girlfriend lying on the couch with a thick red blanket surrounding her. Sirius had claimed that Marlene had brought it for her, and Sirius had been the one to move her to the couch. Regulus saw the dried tear stains, the swollen eyes, and the bruised lip.
“It wasn’t pretty.” Sirius had muttered, “Remus isn’t one to hold back.”
Regulus smoothed her hair back, “This is because of me….”
“Reg, no.” Sirius had replied, “Remus will come around. He just doesn’t know how to digest this.”
The common room was silent, and Regulus just held her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her hand softly. Sirius watched as Regulus went through a wave of emotions. He was hurt, confused, concerned, and terrified. It was like watching the seasons go by. Watching everything welt, die, grow back and prosper just to repeat the cycle. It was like watching a new book turn into an old one as the ink was embedded onto the pages, the papers getting folded, tabs being placed, and the spine being cracked.
Regulus appeared to be a sleek hardcover book, but she was his person. She turned him into a used paperback. One with highlighting, tabs, folded pages, a cracked spine, and a loved cover. His heart beat for her. She was the reason he woke up every morning, the reason he ate, the reason he got good marks. She was his reason.
“I tried talking sense into him.” Sirius confessed quietly, “He just brought up the incident in fifth year.”
Regulus closed his eyes tightly and tried to withhold his tears, “Maybe I should talk to him.”
“No.” Sirius said sternly, “You’ll be asking for death.”
“What do I do, Sirius?”
His blue-grey eyes were glittering with desperation, “Nothing… Take care of her.”
With that, Sirius left a kiss on his younger brother's head and left the common room, retreating to the dormitory. Regulus sighed and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. Tears slipped from his eyes and onto the material of the couch. Everyone was gone at that point. The common room wholly cleared and the fire slowly decaying in the fireplace as Regulus Black finally allowed himself to break.
He woke up on an armchair with a soft thick black blanket covering his limbs. Red rimmed e/c eyes met his blue-grey ones, and he felt a wave of relief. Y/n reached her hand out, and Regulus took it, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as she brought him to her dormitory. The girls were sleeping, and Y/n sat down on her bed, Regulus doing the same. She drew the curtains and muttered a silencing spell.
Regulus laid with his head on her pillow, pulling her to lay on his chest. He wrapped the fuzzy black blanket around them. Y/n nuzzled into his side, and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They didn’t need to exchange words for expressing how they felt. They knew how the other felt. There was no need on elaborating. She fell asleep not too long after, and Regulus laid awake trying of solutions.
Even when the sun broke the horizon, Regulus still had nothing.
They continued the year like this. Remus and Y/n didn’t speak at all anymore. Remus went as far as to change his schedule and ignore the sweets left on his bedside after the full moons. Sirius would pretend it came from him, but Remus still would budge. He would chuck the chocolate in the trash even though he knew that Y/n barely had money in the first place to buy it. He’d dump the hot chocolate in the waste bin and smash the mug to get out any frustration.
Sirius thought that the worst part was Remus never grieved for his sister. He never saw Remus cry or get upset about what he did. It was like Remus had no remorse for what he did. Sirius had grieved. He had sobbed in the midst of twilight with shit silencing charms. Sirius had wailed and clutched his blanket close to his chest, hoping it would soothe the aching of his heart.
When they graduated, Remus didn’t look for his sister in the crowd. He didn’t care if she was there or not, but she was. Y/n was there holding Regulus’ hand tightly, watching her brother shake Dumbledore’s hand. She watched as Sirius embraced Regulus in a tight hug in the shadows. Y/n smiled bittersweetly at their embrace as Regulus took her hand back in his.
Sirius began to open his mouth, “No need to lie. I know he doesn’t care if I was here or not.”
Y/n shuffled on her feet, and Sirius took her into his arms. Sirius was shorter than Regulus, and he didn’t smell the same, but his hugs were just as comforting in a brotherly way. His hand caressed her hair, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart ached. He shouldn’t be the one hugging her, Remus should, but he isn’t. Sirius kissed her forehead and released her from his hug.
“I’ll write to you guys.”
“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Y/n replied with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine you gone.”
Sirius smirked, “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you know I always obey the rules?”
“She’s being real, Sirius.” Regulus didn’t crack a smile, “This war isn’t a joke, and I’d- I’d like to see you next year when I graduate.”
“I’ll be there.” Sirius said solemnly, “I won’t leave you guys. They won’t take me alive.”
Y/n cracked a smile, “Good.”
Regulus nudged his girlfriend, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Protect him. He gets reckless and forgets about himself. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”
Sirius could still hear Remus’ voice in their first Order meeting, “I swear on all Merlin if they touch her, they’ll be sorry.”
“‘Course. Don’t forget he’s still my boyfriend.” Sirius replied, and Y/n smiled, “‘S why I’m asking you and not James. Keep- Keep my brother safe, yeah?”
They joined the Order of the Phoenix without looking back. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter quickly became some of the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had made the Daily Prophet multiple for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many citizens of the Wizarding community thought of him as the next Alastor Moody.
Seventh year was the worst one yet. Most of the Slytherin Death Eaters were attacking the younger kids. Most of the older Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs had to defend them from the unforgivable curses. It seemed normal to hear the crucio curse being thrown away and seeing green flashes. It made Y/n sick to her stomach.
It got so surreal that Y/n and Regulus had begun sleeping behind tapestries or hidden tunnels. Dormitories and common rooms were no longer safe. Their backs ached, and body’s sore from lying on concrete, but it was better than dying. Graduation was not a celebration, and no one from outside was allowed in, but Sirius waited for them at Kings Cross.
The next time Y/n saw Remus was when she was being sworn into the Order, and he barely spared her a glance. Not long after the speech was being spoken, another person entered the meeting point. He was shockingly familiar with wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Remus jumped out of his seat, and James had to hold him back. Regulus released a breath and stood beside his girlfriend.
“Now. I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion.” Dumbledore began calmly, “Regulus has sworn to be our spy.”
Remus growled, “He’s a Death Eater.”
“Exactly.” Remus glared at the old Professor, “Therefore, he can enter and participate in their meetings. Then he can come back here and report what he knows.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Regulus said, “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but someone needs to do it.”
Remus went to speak, but Regulus cut him off, “Someone needs to protect your sister.”
Everyone stared in shock at the bold statement that came from the young Black brother's mouth, and Remus leaped from his seat, “She is a traitor. Just like you.”
Instinctively Regulus moved her behind him as Remus was now face to face with him, “She’s everything but. Wasn’t she the one who stopped Fenrir Greyback from killing you?”
“Wasn’t she the one who cleaned your wounds after the full moons before the Marauders?”
“I’m warning you.”
“Wasn’t she the one who used to make you hot chocolate when the nightmares got too bad that you couldn’t sleep?”
Remus snapped, and Sirius pulled him away from Regulus. But they all saw how Y/n cowered when he lunged forward, how she flinched back, covering her face with her hands. Regulus kept a tight hold on her hand, and they watched as Sirius calmed Remus down, bringing him upstairs. When Remus was gone, Dumbledore spoke again.
“Well, the first Order meeting will be announced in just a couple of days. It allows Y/n and Regulus to get in their positions.” Dumbledore announced, “It allows Y/n to get some training and Regulus to get Voldemort’s trust.”
Everyone dispersed. Y/n and Regulus apparated to a flat they had bought in London. It was relatively modern for the time and had everything they needed. The place was clean and brand new. When they landed in the living room, she went straight to the bedroom. Regulus prepared her a hot drink and set it at her bedside table with a warming charm. He laid beside her, placing her head on his heart.
“Je Vous Aime.” His french accent was so smooth and gentle, like a baby blanket, “Je t'aime aussi.”
Everything just got more stressful as time passed. Regulus’ job got more and more dangerous, making Y/n worry profusely. It got to times where they had to pretend to throw curses back and forth so he could prove that he was loyal to them. It wasn’t until a rumor of a spy for the Death Eaters came out that Regulus’ job became crucial. It took three more meetings, and on October 15th Regulus knew who it was.
He could remember the day vividly how Voldemort welcomed Peter Pettigrew to the Death Eaters with open arms. Regulus had stared in mock happiness but, in reality, had been shocked. Someone so close to the Potters had gone and betrayed him. So when Peter was absent from one meeting, Regulus brought it up.
“They spy is Pettigrew.”
“No.” James chuckled, “You’re lying, right?”
Regulus shook his head, “He plans to kill you, Lily, and Harry on Halloween.”
Everyone stiffened. The air was tense, but Dumbledore smiled victoriously, “Beautiful work, Regulus. We’ll apprehend Pettigrew when he’s seen again.”
They had set up a false meeting where Peter got sent to Azkaban only two days later after Regulus announced he was the traitor. That sparked the war between them, and this time, Regulus was on the right side, the side he always wanted to be on. A week later, and on Halloween, Voldemort was dead. Many people's lives were lost, but many were saved.
After the war, Remus had proposed to Sirius, and yet Y/n was still not invited to the wedding. Sirius had begged Remus to make amends with her. The war was over. This nonsense was not needed anymore. But Remus was stubborn, and Y/n was too afraid to approach him, so James gave her the invisibility cloak to watch her brother marry. Not the ideal way she planned on watching her brother and his love get married.
A couple of months later, Regulus and Y/n did the same. Except they did it alone, with Sirius being their only witness and the person marrying them. Sirius couldn’t help but feel awful for Remus not being able to walk her down the aisle, not to see her in the pretty dress she had picked out. It wasn’t until fifteen years later when Y/n had two teenage boys, and a little girl did someone came knocking on her door during the winter holidays.
Both boys were running around the house, and their little sister was trying to keep up. Two twin boys who were fifteen - Romeo and Romulus. A little girl who was just about ten named Ascella. Romulus was a carbon copy of Sirius. Romeo had the Lupin sandy hair and the Black family eyes with the Black family defined face. He was the best of both worlds. Ascella looked like a female Regulus.
Romeo was the Keeper of the Slytherin house for Quidditch. Romulus played Beater for Gryffindor, and little Ascella would get her Hogwarts letter in just about a year. Regulus and Y/n both predicted she’d be in Gryffindor with her brave, mischievous nature. Y/n was the one to get the door with her two boys behind her. Ascella had been called into the living room by her father.
Y/n was shocked to meet familiar green eyes, “Um- hi.”
“Hey.” Remus said nervously, scratching the back of his head, “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Both boys behind her looked confused, “Mum, who is this?”
A pang of hurt hit Remus, “This- This is my brother.”
“Brother?” Romulus questioned, “Like he’s our uncle?”
“Yes.” Y/n retorted, “Now you boys grab your sister. Go do something upstairs while we talk, yeah?”
Romeo looked crestfallen, “Mum, we aren’t five.”
“I know, but we have a lot of talking to do.”
Romeo sighed, “Fine but be safe.”
She kissed the tops of their heads, “Of course.”
Ascella was running to her brothers within seconds after Romulus called for her. Remus saw her black hair flutter around as she followed her brothers up the steps. Y/n smiled and motioned for Remus to come inside. The house was lovely and decorated for the holidays. Y/n walked through the hallway to the living room, and Remus followed.
“I apologize for the mess.” She chuckled, “Having the boys home makes the house messy.”
Remus saw the pictures on the wall, “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.”
Y/n smiled, “Yep. Romeos the Slytherin, and Romulus is the Gryffindor. We have a feeling Ascella will be in Gryffindor too.”
He placed the picture back down and sighed, “Merlin, what did I miss?”
Regulus was still stiff and stern, “A lot if you couldn’t tell already. That’s what happens when you call your sister a traitor and decide to disown her.”
All three children were listening secretly and grimaced at their father's words, “But don’t worry. I’ve done your job. I’ve been there for her, protected her, and made sure she was happy.” Regulus snapped, “And Sirius did your job of being the children’s uncle.”
“He didn’t even tell me you guys had kids.” Remus muttered, “‘Course he didn’t. In case you don’t remember, you didn’t want anything to do with us.” Regulus retorted.
The children had never heard their father speak this way with so much ice in his words. Regulus was blunt and unapologetic, “We wanted you to be a part of our family, Remus, we really did. But we didn’t know how you’d feel.” Y/n informed.
“Plus, the last time you saw us, you tried to kill Regulus.” Ascella covered her ears, and Romeo ushered them to his room to stop listening, “Yeah, so forgive us for not inviting you to be a part of our family.”
Regulus punctuated his statement by putting his arm around Y/n’s waist, “I’m sorry.” Remus murmured.
“I’m really sorry for how I acted. It was immature and stupid of me.” He continued, “I didn’t know how to feel when I heard my sister was with a Death Eater at the time, and I was just scared.”
Y/n stood up and hugged him, “Remus. What you did isn’t going to be forgiven. I’m sorry.”
He had tears glazing in his emerald green eyes that dulled with age, “I know we were young, but that doesn’t excuse the words you said or how you acted. Trying to kill my husband and saying god awful things about me.”
Y/n took her seat beside Regulus, and Remus sniffled, “You did this. Not us.” Regulus reminded, and Remus nodded.
“Okay, I just- I’ll go.” Remus stood up from his seat and walked down the hallway to the front door; he took in every family portrait.
When he got to the door, Y/n opened it for him, and he walked out, “Remus.”
He turned, and Y/n hugged him one last time. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing in her shampoo that still hadn’t changed since third year. The same perfume from fourth year. Her arms fit around him just the same way as they had when they were little children running around the lake. Y/n kissed his cheek and released herself from his embrace.
“I may not be your sister.” Y/n repeated with tear-filled eyes, and Remus allowed the tears to fall; her two boys were standing beside her, “But you’ll always be my brother.”
The door had closed, and Remus decided that that was the end of his chapter. He had underlined, circled, highlighted, and folded every significant page, but this was the end of the chapter. He was flipping to the next page, where the new chapter began. The new chapter where he had to live without his sister or his niece and nephews.
Remus always loved fragile, cracked paperbacks.
For those of you whose f/o is from a different era
Just picture the two of you:
Sitting in front of the fireplace during winter, when it's the only heat source in the house;
Riding a horse together, maybe they teach you how to ride or vice versa;
Not being able to phone or text each other and just being genuinely surprised to finally see them come home / seeing their eyes glimmer when they see you come home;
Sending letters and small messages to each other: choosing a fragrance to spray on the envelope, being able to see their handwriting, saving your best paper sheets & cutest envelopes for them, keeping all their letters into a precious box.
2022′s favorite skincare, make-up and fragrances tagged by my longtime fave @nito-onna. here is the link is her much more articulate post!
starting with skincare...
rohto mentholatum - acnes anti-bacteria spot dressing patch. I’ve tried two acne patches in the last couple months and this one is by far the better one. It’s very thin and unnoticable, it comes in two sizes per sheet and has helped me quicken the process of popped pimples and whiteheads
lush - catastrophe cosmetic. this clay mask is probably one of the best lush fresh masks I’ve used, and I’m planning to repurchase it with my recyclables. It’s more moisturizing than it seems, and after it dries it flakes off and makes for a very easy cleaning process (compared to every other lush fresh mask).
laneige - water bank blue hyaluronic eye cream. I’m not a consistent user of eye cream, even though I should be but I’ve stuck with using the one from laneige for the last couple months. It’s straightforwardly packaged, supple and gel-like which makes it very light on the under eyes. It also lasts for a long time
fresh nation - b5 hydropower lip care. one of my go-to lip balms during these last winter months. I also slather it on as an overnight lip mask. It’s not heavy, scentless but moisturizes well. It was also like $14 for 3...
bush balm - bermuda dark spot exfoliating scrub and oil combination. probably one of my most favorite finds of 2022. I’ve been using this religiously on my underarms and I do see a very gradual fading of my dark spots. the sugar scrub is very gentle, and the oil is not excessively greasy. this is my only ongoing subscription on amazon
going to make-up...
wet n wild - megaglo makeup stick in sand. one of the BEST concealers I’ve used in years, and the only con about this is that it kinda stinks. this shade is perfect for my skintone, it’s not very heavy, extremely cheap and does a really good job on my eye bags. I haven’t found a concealer in this suitable of a shade ever
glossier - cloud paint in beam. a forever favorite item for me regardless of the year. I’ve had one tube of this bush for the last 3 years so it really goes a long way, and I do not leave the house on a day out without using this. the cream texture is light and versatile and you can build the strength of the blush according to your preference.
dejavu - fiberwig ultra long mascara in pure black. again, an item I’ve used for a couple years and still love and is always apart of my make-up routine. It’s the one mascara I’ve used that doesn’t clump and elongates my lashes without making spider legs. I haven’t experimented with any other mascara after finding this one.
lastly I only have one fragrance and its...
giorgio armani - sì eau de parfum. all I can say is that this is my scent. If you ever meet me in person I’ll smell like this. I’ve gone back and forth from different perfumes but I always end up coming back to sì. I’m not a big fan of floral scents, so this one is more musky. I have used this since high school and have not found a scent I like as much as this.
thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far. I tag @033h, @vensulove, @calpicowater, @idleminds, @julieterbang and everyone who likes pentagon to do this tag!