#but shoved away in a little corner was a bit about Bloody Sunday. there was a little video that i watched (in spite of the german tourists)

[righteousfuryand6cansofmonster]

Friendly reminder: the second inquiry into the 1972 Bloody Sunday deaths of 14 unarmed men merely declared them posthumously innocent. It did NOT charge their murderers, who still walk free.

[bellatrixscurls]

purple top | james potter

summary : on james’, your ex, birthday, you give him a little present.

warnings : smut, oral (male r), fingering, allusions to a toxic relationship, mentions of obsession, pet names & cute nicknames, jamie being jealous, teasing, like two swear words. lmk if i missed anything <3

a/n : ik this was supposed to be angst but... im already kinda down so i didnt feel up to it, hope you enjoy this little shitty blurb though. hopefully, ill write a part two sometime. again, im so sorry for this being so short and stupid. ly.

you woke up that day, and first thing you did was look at the calendar. it was your ex’s birthday, not that you needed a calendar to remember that.

it was almost funny how exactly a month ago today, you went to hogsmeade to buy him a present — well, one of the presents you had for him — and now you didn’t even speak to each other anymore.

it was a sunday so you didn’t have any classes, but you still somewhat wanted to congratulate james, or maybe just catch his eye for a second. and you know you shouldn’t have, but when you picked your outfit to go to breakfast, you choose a purple top and some leggings. james loved how you looked in those, well, he actually loved how you looked anyway, but that was his favourite outfit of yours.

as you entered the great hall with your friends, heading towards the slytherin table, james and the marauders were already there, and you noticed from the corner of your eye that they were looking at you.

if you looked closer, james’ mouth was watering and his pants were growing tighter against his crotch, his cheeks pink as he squirmed in his sit.

“if you don’t go make up with her, someone might just take your place” remus hummed, shrugging as a small smirk took over his face, well aware of james’ flushed face and pounding heart.

james’ head snapped to him, eyes wide as he spluttered, “w-what? who wants that? she’s mine why would-”

“oh shut up, moony” sirius rolled his eyes, poking at his food as he bit back a grin as well, a confused peter beside him, “she obviously knows what she’s doing, prongs. go there and show her who’s boss.”

james thought about it for a second. you never really were a brat before, but you did like a little teasing, more giving than receiving.

he stood up from his place at the table and walked towards you, his hand tugging at your forearm when he finally reached you. you gasped in surprise as you were pulled away from your friends and out of the great hall by an angry james, and he walked you impossibly fast to his dorm.

the way up there was silent as your eyes were wide in shock, and steam came out of james’ ears.

“jamie?” you finally whimpered when he pulled the door open and basically shoved you in, and you sat down on his bed. your eyes were wide and innocent and James felt like he could cum on the spot.

“i know what the fuck you’re trying to do” he hissed as he turned to you, glaring at you, but his eyes still remained somewhat soft. “why are you being such a brat, hm, y/n? walking around dressed like this on my birthday when you know what it fucking does to me.”

“wanted to look pretty for you, thought you might like it” you shrugged, tears burning at your eyes, “didn’t mean to be a brat” you said, your bottom lip wobbling slightly as you looked up into his eyes.

james felt bad now. really really bad. what had gotten into him to actually believe what sirius told him when it came to you? he knew how sirius was, and he also knew how much you hated that side of him, because you’d told him about it.

his face softened and his arms dropped as he came to kneel in front of you. he took your hands in his much bigger ones, rubbing them gently. “it’s not your fault, baby. i’m a bloody idiot. i just, i think this is what being apart from you does to me” he smiled halfheartedly, entirely hating himself for being mean towards you.

“then don’t be apart from me” you whined as his words pushed you into subspace more and more, tears now spilling from your eyes. “i miss you, jamie. wan’ kiss your lips again.”

before your eyes could dart down to his lips, they were on yours and he pushed you down onto the mattress, james’ arms pinning your own over your head. his lips seemed even softer now, and his hands more gentle. he felt like heaven, and he wasn’t even touching you properly.

you broke the kiss for a second as you whispered against his lips, “let me make you feel good” you said softly, shaky hands trying to undo his trousers, obviously failing as james smiled softly, pushing his pants down himself and sitting against the headboard, his legs spread wide as a sign for you to do whatever you wanted to him.

“be my guest, princess” he sighed contently, his hands carding through your soft hair as you lowered your head, placing sweet little pecks along his semi-hard cock. “i missed this” james shuddered and bucked his hips ever so slightly, his cock touching the side of your face.

“missed you” you whispered and he hummed, your tongue poking out of your mouth and wrapping itself around his now hard cock, james’ head falling back as his lips parted.

you took his balls in your hands, cradling and squeezing them gently as your tongue worked on his cock.

“mind if i prep you, sweetheart?” james sighed and his back arched off the mattress when you took all of him into your mouth, releasing his wet cock with a pop.

“don’t mind” you hummed around him, sending vibrations up his spine and making it even more difficult for james to focus on making you feel good, his hands gripping the sheets with force as his eyes squeezed shut.

he barely managed to slide a hand down your spine until it reached your cunt, pushing your panties aside as he felt your wetness with your fingers, massaging your folds. “so fucking wet” he moaned at both your state and your skilled mouth, his other hand pulling on your hair rather gently.

“fuck me with your fingers, jamie. want it so bad” you moaned as you tried to buck your hips into his hand, causing a chuckle to erupt from his chest. such a heavenly sound.

three of his fingers buried themselves into your wet cunt, and he moved them ruthlessly, your clit throbbing against his thigh. “of course, honey. you’d just—” moaning loudly, you started sucking rather needily, and his lips fell into an ‘o’ shape as he muttered profanities under his breath, “merlin, you’re an angel.”

james starts thrusting shallowly both into your cunt and mouth, your cheeks a bright pink and breathing heavier, and he could tell you were close. and he was too.

“come for me, honey. be a doll and give jamie your cum, want it so much, sweetheart” he chocked out, his hand tightening in your hair as he moved his fingers roughly, your cunt spasming around them as you sobbed and hiccuped around his cock.

“no! no cummies till you do” you protested childishly, pouting slightly.

james grunted as he felt himself getting closer to his end, his cock throbbing and eyes watering at the prospect of his sweet release, given to him by his angel.

“m close, bunny. cum now, please” he begged almost pathetically, ready to cry on the spot if you did not agree.

your free hand found your clit and you messily tried to thumb at it, chasing your release as james thrusted into your mouth, his fingers still buried deep in your cunt.

“c-cum” you gargled on his cock, sucking needily on the tip. and, few seconds later, you obeyed james’ request, clenching and spasming around his long fingers, squirming on the bed as he kept hitting your sweet spot, and helped ride you through your orgasm.

“that’s right, sweetheart. such a good little bunny” james gasped when your throat tightened around his cock, barely able to keep your eyes open as james retracted his hand from your cunt, now using both of them to hold your face so he could basically ruin your mouth.

“your tongue, angel” he commanded and you did not need further instruction, your mouth fell open obediently, james’ hand immediately gripping his cock as he pumped his cock against your exposed tongue. “take it, angel. a-all of it” he gasped as he finally shot his thick ropes of cum into your mouth, and you moaned loudly at his taste, a bitter-sweet kind of flavour.

james grunted and moaned as he cotinued to fuck his hand, his sensitive tip falling into your open mouth as he let go of his cock.

you felt fulfilled, to say the least. your heart was full of happiness and love for james as your head rested against his stomach, the tip of his cock resting heavily against your tongue.

james, on the other hand? he knew that this was not how it was supposed to go between the two of you. whenever he saw you with another guy, or maybe dressed a bit more revealing than usual, he would go crazy, wanting to throw things around and scream like a mad man. he was told by his mum since he was a little boy, that between love and obsession, there was a thin line.

it was not what you needed either. it felt insane to james how you could be his happiness and the death of him, all at the same time.

he wanted to talk it through, but when he heard your little peaceful snores, he couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes as he struggled to fall asleep.

[pitviperofdoom]

Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

[spxllcxstxr]

Crushing (on) the Competition • L.E

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, can I request for Lily Evans? Just something that involves reader and Lily having friendly competition when it comes to studies, but Lily knows that reader has a crush on her but she waits for reader to finally admit it to her. — anon

Summary: Studying for hours in the library can lead to some strange dreams about one of your competitors.

Warnings: Gets a bit suggestive towards the end, school, homework, exams, a paragraph about Snape, glass breaking

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: We can all agree that Karen looks absolutely stunning in this gif, right? Inspiration hit and this blurb became a fic. And I absolutely enjoy it. Hopefully it’s all good it became a bit suggestive, it really just came out that way without me planning it like that lmao. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

The competition in your year was getting out of hand, in your opinion. There were four particular students, you included, vying for the top spot in every available class, but recently that seemed like an unobtainable goal. The four of you were equally matched as rivals, constantly battling each other for the top position, but never staying there long enough to boast and brag to your peers.

Hamish Stebbins, a Ravenclaw with pristine horn rimmed glasses and one of the most massive superiority complexes you’ve ever witnessed, was a force to be reckoned with, especially since he could bang out an O worthy essay of any length an hour before it’s due in class. And he made a living off of it. For the right price, a perfect score in any class of your choosing could be yours with that massive brain of his.

Severus Snape, while it pains you to admit it, was so effortlessly intelligent to the point where he was extremely smug about it. He took his time, carefully crafting out each word of an essay and never took short cuts on his assignments. Unlike Stebbins, however, his knowledge was his own, meaning not even Slughorn could force him to help another student with some measly little problem if it meant he had to impart some of his sacred knowledge.

Then there was Lily Evans. She poured her heart and soul into each assignment and it always paid off for her. But she wasn’t like the other two. Lily never bragged about her perfect grades or rubbed it in your face like Stebbins and Snape. She always went out of her way to help other students, for free, of course. Lily was willing to spend hours in the library explaining concept after concept to anybody who needed assistance. That was just the way she was.

And to be completely honest, you wouldn’t even be in the running for top of your year if it wasn’t for Lily and her persistent kindness.

Ever since you met in first year, the two of you held long study sessions in the library, pouring over textbooks until the text became fuzzy and your vision swam about. She often helped you understand lectures and pointed out how to decipher essay prompts. Luckily, you’re a quick learner so with her aid you were able to beat out most of the other students in your year.

The study sessions between the two of you still occur, but they’ve been shoved off to the side recently because of the heavy workload you each have to endure. The final two years of Hogwarts were the most crucial years of your life and you weren’t going to screw it all up now.

Plus, ever since she squeezed you into a bone crushing hug right before your final O.W.L. exam in fifth year, you can’t seem to form a sentence or even think straight around her anymore.

Your eyes always avoided her piercing green ones, instead focusing on how awkwardly your feet shuffled around in your black Mary Jane shoes against the stone flooring.

Many of those times where she would skip over to you unexpectedly, you would end up flinging your wand across the room or spilling your entirely new ink pot all over your fresh ream of parchment. She would always giggle and offer to help you clean your mess up, and you could never actually choke out a coherent thought before making a mad dash towards the exit.

So to save yourself from the embarrassment, you always wind up studying alone in the library well into the night.

So that’s where you find yourself well into Sunday evening, in the back corner of the library obscured by mountains of Transfiguration books, studying for the next day’s exam.

The four of you were equally skilled in the subject, meaning if wanted to be on top, you needed to work for it more than usual.

Your corner is dark and dusty, the only light being from the flickering lamps you lit and placed haphazardly around the oak table. They cast an eerie orange glow across the paper, almost dreamlike.

The handwritten black ink text starts to jumble together at around nine, which makes complete sense considering you’ve been holed up in this one spot since classes ended hours ago.

Your legs and your butt had gone numb hours ago, making your old rickety wooden chair seem comfortable.

Eyelids droop considerably, the weight almost becoming unbearable, just like how your head starts to slide away from your palm. The text starts to shift, and in your tired haze you distantly wonder when you started studying ancient runes.

You’re able to get out one meek yawn before your heavy head slips down to your textbook pillow and your vision cuts to a comforting black.

A delicate hand rests on your shoulder, trying to shake you awake.

In your dreamlike state, you blearily open your eyes and glance at the hand. It’s pale and freckled with light pink nail polish that looks fresh considering each nail is still in pristine condition. If they were yours, you would’ve bitten through it all already.

“(Y/n)?” The voice is soft and hushed. “Sweetheart, you gotta wake up, it’s past curfew.”

Your eyes trail up their robe covered arm and finally rest on their face. It takes you a moment to fully register the galaxy of freckles adorning their face and those green eyes that always made you fidget. She’s stunning in her Gryffindor robes, she always is in your dreams, her top two buttons are popped.

“Lily?” You mumble, still attempting to will yourself less tired. Yawning, you pick your head up.

“Did you spend all this time studying, sweetheart?” Lily continues, the hand on your shoulder trailing up to your jaw.

Sweetheart was the nickname Lily always used in your dreams and each time she addressed you, your stomach erupted in butterflies and your heart began to skip beats.

You hum and nod in response.

She pouts, her pink lips plump and vibrant. Swiftly, she moves a few of your books so she can prop herself up on the table while still looking at you.

Her grey pleated uniform skirt rides up her thigh a tad, exposing her soft and pale skin.

You swallow, eyes wide. “Merlin Lils, the things you do t’me.”

“And what, do tell (Y/n), do I do to you, exactly?” Her green eyes are wide and doe like, playful feigned innocence drenching her gentle features.

The particles of dust float aimlessly by, glowing like balls of light due to the lanterns you still have surrounding you.

She’s towering over your seated body, thumb swiping across your bottom lip.

Your dream was in a whole ‘nother territory now.

“Lily, I’ve fancied you since bloody fifth year! You can’t just—“ You sputter, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “We’ve got an exam—!”

She giggles, the lovely sound filling up the library.

“Oh, I’ve known about your crush for some time now, (Y/n).”

Breath catches in your throat. “Oh.”

Once again, Lily giggles. She pushes herself back against the table, skirt being pushed up even more, the stack of books behind her tipping, the lantern on top of them falling, falling, falling...

The shattering of glass makes you jolt up from your seat, the piercing sound waking you up as you tear your gaze away from Lily.

“Shit!” She curses. “Shit, I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

As she turns to wave away the mess, it suddenly occurs to you that you may not be dreaming after all. While her back’s turned, you pinch yourself hard, stifling your yelp behind your other hand.

A dreadful chill shoots down your spine causing your body to freeze.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Oh fuck.”

Quickly, your hands shoot up to your head, fingers grasping at your hair in disbelief and embarrassment.

Lily turns back to face you, eyebrows drawn together in concern, the glass gone.

“Are you alright? Did a shard get you—?”

“This—this wasn’t a dream.” You shakily state, staring at her.

“Do you frequently dream of me?” She raises an eyebrow, still stepping closer to your form.

“Yes!” You cry, before dropping your voice down, remembering that you are out after curfew even if Prefect Lily was with you. “That’s why I thought—I thought—“

“You only confessed because you thought it was a dream.” Lily interjects calmly in realization.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry!” You groan, gaping at your own stupidity.

“No! No, don’t be sorry, (Y/n)!” Her smile lights up her face once again as she moves her hands to cover your own. “I wanted to hear you admit your crush on me so I could...confess in return.” She bites her lip shyly.

“You—you like me?” You mutter, stomach doing complete flips.

“It was fifth year for me, too.” Lily confesses. “Something about seeing you all stressed out while studying and us huddling over a paragraph in the candlelight...” She trails off.

“Well that’s grand!” You laugh. “Absolutely ace!”

“Well c’mon then, sweetheart, let’s get you up to the dorms.” Lily chuckles as your rejoice.

“But the exam is tomorrow, Lily—“

“Tomorrow after lunch, (Y/n). You need your sleep if you wanna take down Snape and Stebbins.” Lily teases, helping you pack away your things into your leather bag.

“And if I want to take down you as well?” You ask, shoving books away and collecting your notes.

“Well,” She starts, shooting you a wink. “just ask me nicely.”

She laughs at your audible gulp before taking your hand and dragging you up to her own dorm.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[janeofcakes]

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again  Chapter 7

Happy Friday, my friends! I'm so sorry for making you all wait so long. It has been a busy week with lots of travel and time with the kids. Parts of me are SO sunburned. Haha! I hope all of you are having as much fun.

This chapter is shorter than some of the others, but it's a good one and I think you'll agree that it moves things in a positive direction. Let me know what you think at the end!

---

The fresh produce aisle at Tesco is far too busy for three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. John Watson inches his way in between two older women to grab some apples with a minimum of dirty looks. Once he extracts himself again, he glances down the way and debates on how he’s going to get his hands on some oranges. After a moment of seriously considering bananas instead, a hole clears out in front of the display and he hurries to it. John just slips in before a woman speaking loudly on her mobile can take the spot and she glares at him all the while until John has his bag of oranges. He knows her type - can’t be bothered to wait for anyone else or show any consideration - so he makes sure to take his time and gives her a false friendly grin as he turns to walk away.

John heads to dairy and the refrigerated sections for milk, cheese, yogurt and eggs. He takes a jaunt through frozen foods and catches the bread before starting down the coffee and tea aisle. Plucking two of his favorite kinds of tea off the shelf, he makes his way to the coffee. How he and Gracie managed to run out of so many things at once, he has no idea.

The coffee section is as ridiculously full as fruit and veg was, so John waits off to the side a minute or two until it clears out. His eyes are scanning the shelves for his brand when the corner of a basket pokes him in the side. When he turns his head, he is greeted by the face of the loud woman from before. John can’t stop the frown on his face and she must remember him too because she gives him a sour expression before turning her back on him. John turns back to the coffee and tries to tune out her noisy complaints to the poor bastard on the line.

John just has the coffee he wants in his hand when a basket shoves up against his back again. The woman’s shrill voice still in his ear, John rounds on her with every intention of putting her in her place. He has dealt with more than his fair share of pompous idiots over the years and will not put up with it in bloody Tesco.

“Do you mind?” John demands, every inch of him exuding Captain Watson, but he stops before saying anything more. The rude woman is a good six feet away and heading up the aisle, nearly shouting into her mobile. It couldn’t have been she who bumped into him. To John’s surprise, directly in front of him and holding the offending basket is Greg Lestrade. John blinks once, a movement mirrored on Greg’s face as they stare with slackened jaws.

“John? John Watson?” a grin blooms on Greg’s face in an instant. He moves his basket aside and offers his hand, which John shakes without hesitation. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello, Greg,” John greets warmly. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been bloody years,” Greg exclaims as he shifts right to let a shopper pass by. “How have you been?”

“Well, bit of a rough start, but good. Very good,” John tells him, angling left for a passerby.

“Glad to hear it,” Greg remarks with a nod.

“What about you?” John asks before Greg has the chance to continue. “I heard you got a promotion, Chief Detective Inspector.”

“I did at that,” Greg laughs good-naturedly. “I don’t get out into the field quite as much. Paperwork’s a bitch, but it gives me time to take a day off for shopping. It’s good for my DIs to muddle through on their own every once in a while.”

Greg pauses a moment to let a woman with a pram pass and John mirrors his motions. The aisle seems twice as full as when John set foot in it.

“And you?” Greg asks when they have a bit of room again. “You’re back for good?”

“I am,” John puffs up his chest, genuinely pleased. He had wanted to move back to London as soon as Mary left. “Sort of inherited a practice from an old friend, so here we are. My little girl and I. Gracie. She’s eight now.”

“Fantastic. You’ve settled in and all? Been here a little while then?” 

Before John can answer Greg, an irritable man pushes past them and they both find themselves a little off balance and cursing.

“Bloody hell,” John says loudly as the bloke hurries on. When he turns back to Greg, the CDI is holding his basket in the space between them to allow more room for people to pass.

“Look, you’re almost finished, yeah?” Greg begins and John nods once. “So am I. No perishables and you can run yours home. We’ll meet for coffee in an hour. D’you know the Division Cafe?”

“I do,” John replies, relieved for the good fortune of Greg’s picking a place he is familiar with. “Sounds great. I’d like to catch up, but what the hell are you going to do for an hour while I drop this lot?”

“Take a leisurely walk to the cafe,” Greg chuckles as they start for the front of the store to cash out. “It’ll give me a chance to check in on the office.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” John jokes. “No need to spoil your day off. I don’t want to be responsible for that. How will I sleep tonight?”

“All right then,” Greg tells him wryly. “I’ll just tag along with you. We’ll have plenty of time to get back up to speed before we even get there.”

“If you insist,” John is delighted by the suggestion. He has truly missed the CDI over the last ten years and often considered phoning to talk, but never did follow through. Now with Greg in front of him and plenty of time on his hands since Candace is scheduled to watch Gracie after school, he is loath to refuse his friend anything.

“I do insist,” Greg laughs as he places items on the conveyor belt for checkout, “and I’m buying.”

John grins and shrugs.

“Who am I to refuse?”

The next hour passes quickly as they catch a cab to John’s flat and make their way to the cafe. Not a moment is spent in silence. John tells Greg all about Gracie and their flat in Bath. He touches on Mary and Rosie, but quickly jumps ahead to the move back to London. For his part, Greg fills John in on his biggest cases over the years with an emphasis on those that brought about his promotion. By the time they reach Division and sit down with coffees, Greg has just gotten to the cohabitant Sherlock had mentioned in the park. John has the sneaking suspicion that Greg wanted to wait until he was sitting down before mentioning it, so it should be pretty good.

“I heard you were with someone,” John sips from his mug. “Anyone I know from the old days?”

“Uh, yeah,” Greg answers, running his hand up the back of his own neck and wearing a sheepish smile. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“What?” John’s eyes are wide. His lips remain parted in disbelief as the right corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smirk. Greg shrugs in affirmation. “Now that I did not expect.”

“Five years now. Actually,” Greg hesitates and John can tell he is trying to contain a really brilliant smile, “I asked him to marry me only last Sunday.”

“Oh my god. Congratulations,” John declares. “Greg, that’s fantastic news! Tell me, has he mellowed over the years?”

“He has, actually,” Greg answers, reigning in his laughter. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks John over with trepidation in his eyes. His friend eyes him quizzically from behind his mug. Decision made, the CDI picks up his own cup and brings it to his mouth as he says: “Being a doting uncle helps too.”

John swallows and places his coffee cup on the table between them. His brows arch briefly before falling again.

“It’s hard to imagine,” John says ruefully, not meeting Greg’s knowing gaze.

“No more than his baby brother having a child,” he remarks easily, watching John closely. The doctor shoots him a sharp look and chuckles under his breath as he leans back in his seat. With a sardonic smile, John looks down at where his hands rest on the table with his fingers wrapped around the mug of dark liquid.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” John mutters. He raises his eyes to his friend’s face to see Greg’s lips turned up on one side in a crooked and very amused smirk. John doesn’t say a word, giving him ample time to explain.

“Is it?” is all Greg says, his smirk growing more satisfied. John huffs a quick laugh and shakes his head slightly. Straightening up in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table, John fixes Greg with an incredulous face.

“Come on,” he begins and is unable to keep the touch of a plea from his tone. “You can’t say something like that and not fill in the blanks.”

“What? He didn’t tell you?” Greg replies coyly, turning his cup on the table and picking it up by the handle.

“You damn well know he didn’t,” John huffs again. “We ran into each other at the bloody park after ten years of not speaking.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” Greg mutters grimly. 

John stills instantly, lips parted with words that die on his tongue. Greg doesn’t look angry exactly, but he certainly isn’t pleased. Of all the people John expected to hold onto any animosity toward him, Greg Lestrade wasn’t even on the list.

John takes a shaky breath and closes his mouth. How can he even explain? It doesn’t even make sense in his own mind anymore. He swallows audibly, the very beginnings of sweat blooming at his temples. Greg is asking him to do what Sherlock could have in the park. What he still could, but probably never will. Not the Sherlock John knows.

“Mary was done,” John’s voice is choked and quiet. “With London and the surgery, but most of all with Sherlock. Revealing her secrets to me was the last nail in the coffin.”

“Funny you should say that,” Greg leans forward, his eyes ablaze and his voice low. “She shot him, John. She killed him. Stubborn bastard brought himself back from the dead and for what? His best friend to run off with his killer.”

“She was my wife,” John croaks barely above a whisper. “She was carrying my child.”

“You were married for all of two months,” Greg’s brown eyes are hard and bore into John’s very being like a hot poker. “She was a liar from the beginning.”

Greg clenches his teeth as if to stop himself from saying something and John has no doubt the words would cut him to the core. The muscles beneath the skin stretched across Greg’s jaw work constantly as he struggles to keep his cool in the crowded cafe. He sits back ever so slightly, pulling his elbows closer to the edge of the table, his intense gaze pinning John to his seat.

“When she left you,” Greg growls, trying to keep his voice even, “you could’ve called him. Hell, you could’ve done it before that. You knew where he was. You knew his number. He had no idea where you were and it nearly destroyed him.”

Silence hangs heavily in the air between them, even with the noise of the milk steamer and patrons all around. As much as John wants to look away in shame, he cannot break away from his friend’s furious glare. The source of Greg’s ire is suddenly crystal clear. Sherlock may have refused to hear Mycroft’s news of John’s life over the years, but Greg obviously hadn’t and it fueled his anger as time went on. John clears his throat, wincing at the sting of its sudden dryness.

“He started using again?” John’s heart sinks to his feet as he asks it. He had hoped against hope that Sherlock wouldn’t fall into oblivion without him. Greg lets out a mirthless laugh.

“No, he didn’t bloody use,” the words are a sneer and his lips curl. “But he was miserable. He disappeared into the flat for months and looked like hell when he resurfaced. He worked cases, but he was on auto-pilot until he met Jessie.”

“Jessie?” John asks, desperately curious. This, this is what he wants most to know. Olive’s mother. Sherlock’s wife? Where is she? Who is she? How did they meet? John has a thousand questions and now he knows for certain that Greg holds all of the answers. John need only ask, or so he thinks.

“No,” the CDI shakes his head and leans all the way back in his chair. He chews on his lip and puffs out an angry breath. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him. I’ll be damned if I give you an easy out.”

“You’re right,” John breathes out his shame in a sigh. “Anything I want to know should come from him.”

He raises his troubled eyes to Greg’s face and sees some of the anger on it has dissipated in favor of irritated approval. John straightens his spine and scrubs his hands through his short, silver-blonde hair. Pressing his lips in on each other, he inhales deeply and shakes his head. 

“God, how I failed him, Greg,” John murmurs. Words he has thought often and never actually uttered. “I was so tired and felt betrayed and he kept saying I should stay with Mary. That I should forgive her because she’d actually saved his life by shooting him. It’s such bullshit.”

“He wanted you to keep her close for Rosie’s sake,” Greg tells him. His eyes are softer than they have been since they walked in the coffee shop. “And for yours. He knew you would never live in 221B again, but you and Rosie were worth it. I don’t think he realized Mary would convince you to leave.”

“Her final revenge,” John mutters angrily as Greg sighs.

“Just...don’t make the same mistakes twice, John. Don’t shut him out,” Greg advises sagely, finally raising his coffee cup to his lips again and taking a quick sip. “Olive says she and Gracie want to have a playdate at the flat, but you’re holding them up.”

John watches Greg uneasily. Memories of 221B start skipping through his mind and with them, feelings he has left buried for ten years. John shakes them away and wraps his hands around his own mug.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” John says.

“It won’t be easy,” Greg tells him, placing his cup on the table. He leans in and fixes John with a very serious gaze. “Stop running, John.”

With those three words, John’s mind clears. The simplicity of it is stunning and utterly heartbreaking. How many years would he and Sherlock have been friends again if John had just faced his fears, accepted responsibility for his mistakes and reached out to the detective? What the hell had happened to him and when had he let go of Captain Watson? John had lost half of himself all these years and never seemed to take notice. Sure, he had thought that Sherlock didn’t care anymore, even after Rosie died, but when had the man’s moods ever stopped him from horning in before? He punched him in the face as a cover, fucking wrestled him to the ground because he was angry with the git. He tried to comfort Sherlock when he thought he was in love with Irene Adler, for Christ sake. John Watson...always by his side and ready to kick the shit out of anyone who would touch him.

Filled with a new resolve, John squares his shoulders and meets Greg’s eyes. His own are determined and set, the decision made. He will accept Sherlock’s invitation and take Gracie to his old home. Maybe he’ll even invite himself in for tea and see if the man who was once his best friend will allow him back into his life. Maybe Sherlock will let him try to repair their friendship. God, John hopes so.

---

All I can say is Greg Motherfucking Lestrade, the dark horse in this story. Hell, yeah! 

Thank you so much for all the love and support. I definitely wouldn't be here without all of you! Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

[harpyloon]

“how’d we get so deep from just talking about bubble tea?" / f.w

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!OC

Warnings: Angst, mentions of food... also fluffy and cute!

Summary: Fred Weasley and OC Female character fight about bubble tea and it gets kinda angsty but not too much

A/N: Was supposed to be a Fred x Reader thing but i'm not too confident with my 2nd person writing skills yet. Viktoria is my Fred Weasley simp friend 🤪 but she can also be you! 

Also wanted to incorporate a bit of how Hermione mentioned the twins slightly affecting Ron's confidence in canon HP. Testing out the waters so let me know what you think! Hope there wasn't too much angst on here.

WC: 2.4k+

This is for you @weasleyclaw​

Read on AO3

"What in Merlin's pants is this supposed to be?"

Viktoria giggled enthusiastically against a wide-rimmed straw stuck between her teeth, watching Fred Weasley's perplexed face as he struggled to ingest the contents in his mouth.

"Swallow," she commanded.

Fred quirked an eyebrow, pausing his chewing. "Well, that's what I sai—

He grunted as she took a swipe to his shin.

"Swallow," Viktoria said again, attempting a glare this time, but mirth was swimming around in her eyes.

Frowning and chewing with performative haste, Fred swallowed loudly and obediently (to Viktoria's delight) and stuck out his tongue like a good schoolboy, displaying an empty mouth.

She smiled cheekily, "Well? How is it?"

Instead of answering, Fred brought his wand out and pointed it to his tongue.

"Aguame—“

“NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Viktoria snatched Fred’s wand immediately, sneaking frantic glances around and shoving it inside her coat.

“Are you mental?!” she whisper-yelled to her boyfriend who had a frown on his face.

“But I'm parched,” grumbled Fred as Viktoria pushed him towards a fairly deserted alley adjacent to the main street.

Covent Garden was bustling with Muggles. Seeing as Easter was fast approaching, boutiques were filled to the brim with shoppers queuing for last-minute holiday hauls, and everyone was out and about, basking in the spring breeze.

A good-looking pair of lovebirds sipping on matching bubble tea beverages, walking down James Street hand-in-hand was nothing close to unusual on a cheerful sunny day such as today. What would've been unusual was if one of the pair suddenly shot out cold, freshwater into his mouth from a wooden stick. That would've stirred some heads.

"You're parched?" Viktoria's eyes were wide and exasperated. "How many times do you have to pull something like that in the middle of a bloody Muggle street—"

"It was you who made me swallow it!" said Fred defensively.

She scoffed, "Oh please. You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic? These things taste like Dungbombs!" he waved his still-full cup of bubble tea, shoving it up his girlfriend's face as if it's committed some horrendous crime. Black little pearls were swimming around between Viktoria's eyes.

She shoves him off, offended.

"Excuse me? Dungbombs? Have you actually eaten Dungbombs?"

"Well, no, but these sure look like 'em."

Viktoria gasped.

"You did not," she glared threateningly at Fred.

"Also," his face frowned in disgust, "who—in their right mind—would put ice in tea? Barbaric is what this is!"

Viktoria's mood was getting fouler by the second. She had been excited. So incredibly excited to have Fred finally try one of her favorite drinks in the world. Her mother was a muggle, and her father a Curse Breaker—where the job came with travelling; when they had lived briefly in Thailand when she was thirteen, they couldn't get her to stop drinking bubble tea every single day.

"I can't believe you said that," she said.

"What? The truth?"

"The entire world doesn't drink tea the same way the British do, Fred!"

"Well too bad for them then! No one makes tea like Mum does."

"This is different. This is about trying something new!"

"Well, I don't want new!"

"UUUUUGRRRH."

With a loud groan, she snatched the cup being dangled in front of her face and stomped away angrily.

"HEY— Where are you going?" Fred called to her retreating back.

The good-looking pair of lovebirds were no longer a subject of longing stares as passersby dodged the now bitter-looking woman storming down the Muggle street, sipping from two cups of bubble tea simultaneously, her boyfriend running to keep up with her.

"Viktoria," Fred called out as reasonably projected as possible. They were making a scene and he knew it. He didn't mind the attention when he was being funny or when people stared at him and Viktoria hand-in-hand. He loved showing her off. Not like this though. Not when she was walking away from him.

"Viktoria," he was jogging next to her now, "slow down."

"Sod off and go drown in your Mum's tea, Fred Weasley," she growled without so much as a glance in his direction. "I hate you so much right now."

"Will you stop walking for one second?"

She brisked even faster.

"Okay, okay, I'm sor—," he dodged running into a stroller and an angry mother who chastised him. After apologizing profusely at the woman who was immediately charmed by the Weasley smile, he glanced up and saw that Viktoria was nowhere to be found.

"Shite."

Running down James Street, he paused through every alley, searching, passing by the boutiques they've previously visited earlier in the day. Skidding to a halt in front of the bubble tea shop, he entered and scanned the small space.

"Back for another already?"

The woman who had served them earlier was smiling at Fred behind the counter, "Original Bubble for your lady?"

"Uh," he was still panting, "er—no thank you, madame. I was wondering if—"

The woman laughed.

"Just one for her today then? That's a first. On her best days she can do three!" she seemed to laugh at a memory.

"Er—sorry?"

The woman shook her head in amusement, "Your little lady would swell her digestion herself if she could, only if it meant she could drink pints of these devils!" she gestured to the gallons of ready-made tea behind her. "It's a sight. She practically inhales it. I'm lactose-intolerant you see. Watching her, I live vicariously!"

The woman laughed again and pointed to a window in the corner of her shop, "Sits over on that cushion every Sunday when she's back from school."

Fred's breathing was calming down, but his heart was thumping faster.

"She nicked yours 'in't she?" she asked. "That why you're back for another?"

Eyes glued to the small corner booth by the window, Fred answered with a question, "She likes bubble tea then?"

"Likes?" the woman almost scoffed, "Darling, I could say she's a shop benefactor with the number of cuppas that girl downs! She told me once that our tea is the closest thing to those authentic ones you find in— where was that? Taiwan? Anyway—"

"Thailand," breathed Fred, and dread was closing in on him. Remorse slowly working its way to his erratic heart. "She—she lived there for a while. Told me all about the..."

The tea.

"I'll take you I swear," she told him as they walked up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, "it's almost as good as the ones in Bangkok. NOT AS AMAZING, but good enough!"

Viktoria had moved to Hogwarts when they were in their fifth year, straight from Thailand; carrying stories of her Curse Breaker father, speaking fluent Gobbledegook in Charms that made her a Flitwick favorite, and going on and on about how the school kitchens didn't have black squishy pearls swimming in cold tea...

Sighing, Fred turned to the woman who was still beaming at him.

"One Original Bubble please."

 ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

 Viktoria watched churchgoers walk past her from the bench where she sat near St. Paul's Chapel, nibbling on her straw mindlessly.

The two cups of bubble tea were long empty. Her stomach was rumbling quietly from the aggressive intake of lactose, and her foul mood dulled into a solemn ache.

She remembered when she was still back in Hogwarts a few days ago, packing for the Easter holidays. Recalling her long list of "must-dos" with Fred that she had planned out. This was their second holiday as a couple, after getting together right before Fred and George decided to drop out mid-year of their sixth. They wrote together all summer long, and she had spent the following Christmas at the Burrow.

With You-Know-Who back in the picture, nowhere was safe to spend anything these days. But a Muggle area gave a supposedly wider berth from danger. This was why the two had planned to meet her family this time, introduce Fred to her mum and dad, and bring him around Muggle London.

"She's lovely," he whispered in her ear as her mother stood up to refill all their bowls with her homemade Sheperd's Pie.

Viktoria smiled, "She is when she's full."

"Just like you then," said Fred with a smirk.

Her foot met his toe and he coughed out a sharp grunt.

"Say that again?"

"You are as lovely as your mother, my sweet," he mumbled back and gave a strained smile to her Curse Breaker father when he peered at them curiously.

"Lovely my big fat foot," Viktoria grumbled under her breath, poking the bottom of her empty cup with the straw aggressively. "Stupid, insensitive, red-headed git. Can't even pretend. Can't even try to pretend to like it. I'm supportive, aren't I? I even offer to be a guinea pig for the Wheezes. Remember when I grew a stubble because of that potion?" she was talking to her cup now, remembering being the human experiment for Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow.

"AND (poke) TO THINK (poke) I WAS SO (even more aggressive poke) EXCITED!"

A straw-shaped hole peered up at her from the bottom of the cup.

"UGH, I don't even know why I'm mad!"

Someone cleared their throat gently behind her.

Huffing haughtily and knowing exactly who it was, Viktoria ignored the sound and continued to glare at the throng of Muggles walking past. She would not give in. She won't.

A long shadow loomed over her and sat on the bench, giving them a respectable amount of space in between.

The small square they were in was rumbling with activity. But there was nothing but silence in their own little bubble.

Sluuuurp.

She won't look. No. Spiting her, he is. Making fun. Always making fun—

SLUUUUUUUUUURP.

Chancing upon him at the corner of her eye, Viktoria saw Fred sipping on a cup of Original Bubble, frowning as he maneuvered his straw to catch the pearls that were swimming away.

"You don't have to do that."

Fred looked up, straw in mouth, "Well, how am I supposed to catch them then? Sneaky little gorgons—"

"No," sighed Viktoria, "I mean you don't have to drink that. I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to."

"You're not forcing me at a—"

"Cut it out, Fred."

Silence.

Children were running around nearby, feeding Pigeons with small pieces of bread from their lunch helpings. A little girl slipped. There were no tears though. She continued to roll around the pavement, shrieking with delight, to her mother's chagrin.

She heard him sigh beside her.

"I'm a git."

Silence.

"You kept going on about this all year last. Never stopped. It—it slipped my mind."

Silence.

"I'm a git and I deserve to be trolled."

Silence.

"I'm a filthy pile of dung and I subject myself to eating toadstools for the rest of my life."

"You are not eating toadstool," Viktoria glared at Fred who held his breath as she finally spoke. "I will not snog a toadstool eating wizard."

Fred's eyes turned misty, "You still wanna snog me?"

"When you're not being an absolute arse, I do."

Closing the gap between them the tiniest bit, Fred said, "I'm sorry, Viktoria."

It took a few breaths before she gave a defeated sigh, "This is stupid," she muttered. "This is stupid, I don't even know why I'm mad—"

"I do," interrupted Fred. "I know and I deserve it. I was a git. I wasn't paying attention and I was completely insensitive. You always," he was struggling, "you always feel things around you, even people. You read rooms clearly, you keep me in check. My mouth— I— I can't control it sometimes I— I say hurtful things to people I love without meaning them."

Viktoria was looking at him now, observing Fred's shameful downcasted eyes.

He blinked a couple of times before continuing, "Hermione confronted me once about it, about how the small things I say affected Ron loads. And I— I didn't want to believe her at first. Shrugged her off-quite rudely to be honest. But when I saw him play for Keeper I..."

There was a snitch-sized lump down Viktoria's throat and it was preventing any form of speech. She knew this. They had both sat down and talked about each other's flaws and hubris awhile back, after getting into a massive fight before Christmas at the Burrow. She was familiar with Fred's difficulty with words, his teasing getting too far at times. But he was good. She knew this as well. His affection coursed differently. And this was precisely why she loved him.

Words failing her, she grabbed his bubble teacup and took a long sip. His eyes held hers and she took his hand.

"Go on," she encouraged.

He took a deep breath, "Well, you know what happened. He was all over the place, Ron. Couldn't save a single Quaffle, quite unlike our matches in our backyard. George and I knew he was good. Merlin, even Ginny knew. But he wavered on the pitch. He didn't have the guts. And I had a lot to do with that."

Fred brought Viktoria's hand to his lips, "I'm doing better. You said so yourself," she gave him a teary smile, "but I— I slip and I'm sorry. I'll have more tact. I know it's the little words I overlook, and I'll work on that now. I swear I'll be more careful and— I just don't want to drive you away. You most of all."

Silently and without preamble, Viktoria stood. Fred blinked up at her, and from where she gazed, she saw the mist and remorse swimming all over his enchanting brown eyes.

"Oh, Fred Weasley," she smiled shyly down at him, brushing strands of red away from his forehead. "How'd we get so deep from just fighting about bubble tea?"

He gave a hearty guffaw, the signature Fred laughter that made her heart leap. "Because I'm a drama queen is why."

Pulling her to his lap, she settled on his chest, her head propped against his cheek.

"You're a good man, my Freddie," said Viktoria. His arms tighten around her. "You're the sweetest, most handsome, and you snog me so well."

Fred's laugh was contagious, his chest vibrating against her back. She grinned.

"And you were right. You are doing so well. I forgive you. And I'm sorry too."

She turned her head and rested it below his chin, her nose propped against his jaw, inhaling while her eyes fluttered shut. The sweet, gun-powdered scent of Fred Weasley. All bruised and perfect for her and her only.

"You know," started Fred, breaking their small silence as he stole a sip from the cup, "these aren't half bad."

Viktoria rolled her eyes, "Oh stop."

"I'm serious! I should've given them more teeth. I reckon it's all in the chew."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. We could make something out of this for Wheezes."

"No."

"Edible Dungbombs?"

Viktoria groaned.

Unbelievable.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course Chapter 32) Sky is over

.-.-.

Of course, Ivar could not foresee how the Gods had intertwined the fates of all residences living in de Haar, or how his arrival inside the walls of the great Castle caused a ripple effect. In Midgard, as in all other realms, every single soul had its purpose, had a place. A mission, a reason. And so, in de Haar, everyone played his and her part, following their own laws, paths and religion. 

Yet some events were inevitable- bound to happen, for all humans were just pawns in the hands of their masters and Gods. 

Piglet’s prediction came true the next Sunday morning, right before the service. 

The fair maiden, Mabelia, indeed did not manage to last long inside the walls of de Haar. 

The burden of being a woman, of being a wife to a monster, had simply been too much for her to carry on her shoulders. As Christians believe in the devil, they also believe in angels. She’d been one—an angel, for a few blinks of an eye, as she stared up to the heavens  one last time, spread her arms, and wished for her Lord to take her into paradise. 

Mabelia, wife of the future ruler of de Haar, stepped off the balcony, a leap of one hundred and twenty-four steps during that particular Sunday morning. Dressed in all white, she gracefully accepted her descent and embraced her end. Rumor had it that her blood soaked lips turned into a smile the moment her eyes glazed with death. 

Neither Ivar nor Piglet had seen the body. By the time they were unleashed from their shed, Mabelia had been taken away, all that remained of her was a bloody trail. 

Sunday service carried on, without the priest uttering a word about Mabelia’s choice to take her own life. Suicide was an act against God, an abomination, and one of the worst crimes. 

Yet in a castle as big as de Haar, whispers rapidly spread into rumors and before the end of the service, Piglet quietly informed Ivar about the passing of the fair-maiden.

“Ivar, she took her own life”, Piglet whispered, keeping her hands clasped and eyes closed as she kept up the act of praying, “I’m sorry.” 

Ivar hadn’t been paying much attention to the commotion around him, for he’d found another loose nail and had been trying to pry it loose. 

As Piglet’s words echoed in his ears, he could feel his mouth opening and shutting like a fish on dry land. Still as a statue, he was temporarily incapable of controlling his speech nor his body. It was as if he shut down. Paralysed from head to toe, his mind tried to block Piglet’s message.

“I’m sorry”, Piglet repeated again and unclasped her hands to take his, “I’m sorry.” 

Ivar didn’t even register her soft touch, still ridged as a board. 

He did not speak and sat quietly below the table inside the kitchen after service, unable to touch his food. His brain desperately scrambled his thoughts and the mix of emotions, trying to make sense of it all. 

Disbelief abruptly made way for realisation, as his next task wasn’t to scrub the staircase of the main entrance. The Giant ordered Ivar to clean the blood that had been shed due to a fall of a hundred and twenty-four steps down. 

Against the grey stones the blood was stark, the undeniable evidence of the fair-maiden’s passing. 

‘Mabelia,’ Ivar reminded himself firmly, ‘she had a name, Mabelia’.

Mechanically, Ivar scrubbed the splattered pattern. The cloth soaking blood until the fabric remained pink. It was hers, the last bit of her. His mind took in the evidence and recreated a picture of her downfall. With flailing limbs, eyes closed, people in panic moving away. 

And then blood, specks and spatters. Ivar watched his shaking hands trying to wring out the blood. Scrubbing away the last memory of her and her kindness. 

As he finished his task, he couldn’t take his eyes off his hands; bloody and raw. 

The grief came in waves, little ones at first, as he desperately tried to maintain a straight face as the Giant shackled him back up for the night. 

But when Piglet retreated inside their shed with food, the waves had grown so strong they swept him away. The overall feeling of drowning swept him down into a deep dark abyss. 

She was gone, robbed herself of her own life and robbed him of the last crumb of happiness. For that he hated her, deeply and spitefully. Yet the hostility he felt toward her crime was just a speck of emotion. 

A small sob worked its way out of his throat as he tried to remain strong and untouchable. Oh, what a joke, what an absolute joke. His self-control had been dissolving the moment he laid eyes on her spilled blood. 

This was how it must feel to have your heart truly shattered by a woman. And the worst of it was, he couldn’t blame her for it. She’d done him no harm, she’d simply ended her own misery. 

And no-one aside from him seemed to care about her fate. The world outside the shed simply carried on. Sure, the rumors would whisper through the stone hallways, glances would be cast toward Ludolf, and all fishwives would share their opinion. But aside from that, Mabelia’s name would fade away, her image would be that of an unstable, daft woman. 

Life inside the walls of de Haar would continue, the rulers would rule and the slaves would be treated as creatures. 

.-.-.

The next morning Ivar was immediately submitted to the Giant’s retributions. The brute didn’t even bother to unshackle him. A rain of angry fists and heavy boots casted down upon Ivar. Behind Piglet’s panicked screams, was just the hammering of Ivar’s heart attempting to escape his chest. Nothing else ran through his mind, he simply focused on his racing heartbeat, trying to hide his face and block as much as he could. 

His body jolted with a new vigor as it was shoved and kicked like a ragdoll on a very short leash. There was the mixture of sounds; Piglet’s desperate pleads, the Giant’s breathless pants, and the sound Ivar’s voice made as his body was beaten into a bloody mess. 

In between the kicks and swinging fists he passed out, and if it weren’t for Piglet throwing herself into the line of fury he might have failed to ever wake up. The slave maiden took a proper punch to the face and leaped over, tumbling over Ivar’s still frame. Her wails in Dietsch in the name of God, Jesus and everything holy was eventually enough for the Giant to calm down and shove Piglet away from Ivar. 

With his boot, the Giant rolled the lifeless body of his slave over and watched for a moment; clearing his throat when he noticed how Ivar’s chest slowly rose and fell. He grabbed Piglet by the upper arm and dragged her out of the shed. The slave maiden struggled, tried to pause the Giant’s steps, and craned her head over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of life coming from her only companion. She wasn’t granted a moment to check on Ivar, as she was shoved over the doorway and the Giant locked the door. 

Silence filled the room, occasionally interrupted by the sounds of the animals and Ivar’s chokes on his own blood. 

He didn’t recall how long the beating had gone on for, only the final kick in the face that knocked the light out of him. He did not need to open his eyes to see a blooming purple patch of bruises from on his side. 

The cawing told him Utstott was close; the sounds echoed from all corners. If he had the strength, he’d open his eyes to glare at the bird. If that feathered rat had any kind of mystical powers, he should have used them during the Giant’s attack.

Ivar laid soiled  in his own fluids; blood and saliva. When sunlight dawned inside the shed at noon he could still barely move. Every muscle was seized up, struggling to recover and repair the damage done. 

The Giant’s boots must have knocked a few screws loose, because as Ivar lay there still and lifeless, his ears picked up the sounds of a small enchanting laugh syncing with the raven’s sounds. 

Unable to move with any grace, Ivar tilted his head. The movement was jerky and he quickly placed his head back down as shock casted his strength away. 

The fair-maiden stood across from his box, draped in her last white dress. The fabric was torn and wore the blood of her downfall. Specks of blood decorated her pale face, and there was far too much of the crimson fluid to imply she’d survived the fall. 

Yet her eyes, bright as a spring morning, were very much alive. 

Utstott had claimed his position on her shoulders, scrawny wings matching the color of her pretty dress. The bird produced soft sounds and shared a soft glance with the fair-maiden. 

“I’m sorry,” Ivar whispered with a thick throat, “I should have protected you,” swallowing was hard. But not as hard as bearing the guilt of letting her down.

The fair-maiden glanced from Utstott to Ivar, her eyes bearing no hatred or anger. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, until she finally dropped her gaze and clasped her hands together. 

As the fair-maiden positioned herself down onto her knees, Utstott took off and landed right in front of Ivar’s face.

The bird opened his beak, but instead of a caw that sound that came was that of her voice. A lovely, dulcet voice, Ivar immediately recognised as the voice of Mabelia. 

“Vent litt,” hold on, her voice spoke through Utstott in his mother’s tongue, “vent litt, dyrebar”. 

Breathless, Ivar stared at the bird, unsure if he could trust his own eyes and ears. Or touch.

Icy cold hands made contact with his chin and the fair-maiden was right above him. A gentle flush of pink had risen in her cheeks, it made her look both vulnerable and innocent. Death had surrounded her with calmness; her past pain only evident by the specks of blood.

Ivar held his breath as she leaned in and tentatively pressed her cold soft lips on his. His head had gone hazy; his body became stagnant at the sensation of her lips against his. And, just as he thought he was going to lose himself in this precious moment, she retreated. Her body moved graciously to the back of Ivar’s box. A look of hope never left her face as she retreated into the shadows and disappeared. Vanished into the dark, like his father. 

But, before exiting this cruel world and passing on into the next, both came to say their last goodbye. He’d earned that respect, their respect, and in realising that, the pain of knowing he’d never see them again was more overwhelming then the physical pain of his body. 

.-.-.

The abuse the next morning was evidently less harsh and less cruel than the day before. The Giant must have known he’d nearly broken his favorite toy. Instead of putting Ivar through another beating, he simply emptied a bucket over the slave’s head. The brute walked away unbothered to unchain him, all the man wanted was to see if his property was still alive. 

“Do not touch me!” Ivar hissed through his teeth when Piglet hesitantly approached him. Even  last night, he could not bear her pampering and refused any of her help or attempts to start a conversation. 

An untapped rage boiled up from his stomach to the rest of his body. Pain should be flaring up inside, yet he felt numb. Numb and hot, literally angry enough to combust. 

“Don’t”, he snarled again, as spit and water ran down his jaw. With twitching fingers he reached around until he found a rock and threw it in Piglet’s direction; seeing the pity gleam in her eyes was insufferable. 

As the slave maiden fled the crime scene, Ivar dropped his head back into the hay. He was a mess. A bloody, grotesque mess of crippled limbs, bruises and pain.

And rage, most of all, he was in rage. Just like poison ivy, it sprouted, propagated and multiplied every time he was forced to shed blood. Maybe Piglet’s beliefs and his weren’t so different after all, because he felt that thing inside of him lurking. The one he called Wrath and she named Djinn. All his life had been a battle against himself. Surely he’d thought it had just been physical, but now he took notice at how he’d always been trying to fight his anger. 

Laying there, bloody, beaten and damaged. Between animal feces, hay, and his own saliva, Ivar made a pact with himself. He would no longer restrain the rage inside if it flared up. Yet, it needed to be unleashed under control. What his hands could do to a human canvas was magnificent, a diamond in the rough. 

He’d lost a lot of strength during his imprisonment and if he wanted to destroy his oppressors he needed to regain that strength to conquer. He owed her that. The least he could do was destroy the monsters that caused her to take her own life. Not just Ludolf, but all of them. Everyone that had been looking away, unbothered to help his fair-maiden. 

“If you are something truly supernatural, you better have my back next time!” Ivar scolded Utstott who remained hidden inside the shadows. The soft caws that echoed all throughout the shed almost seemed apologetic.  

“Ugly chicken”, Ivar cursed at the raven. Although pain shot through his body, Ivar ignored it and started doing push-ups. He was done being everyone’s obedient lap dog, he’d show them how much of a barking mad mongrel he could be. 

.-.-.

A/N: I guess this brings us back to the question, what’s real and what isn’t? As Ragnar’s ‘goodbye’ the fair-maiden kissing him could be a dream, an illusion made up inside Ivar’s own head to deal with pain and grief. Mabelia's death and Ivar’s reaction towards it was an interesting thing to write. I didn’t like ‘killing her off’ because she was one of the few good things in Ivar’s life. I also felt that there could have been ‘more’ between them if things would have been different. He was attracted to her beauty and adoration towards him. 

Making Ivar clear her ‘death bed’ was kinda the cherry on top to break some tears for our poor prince. Oh tragedy…

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys ​ @shannygoatgruff​ @pieces-by-me​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa​ @readsalot73​ @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

Steve accidentally summons his guardian demon who is determined to get Billy, Tommy, and him together. Except that every plan goes haywire.

i’m ready to weep. this is going to be fun.

===

Now. In his defense, he never thought it would actually work this time. Last time he hadn’t even gotten a peep from the answering service. Maybe it was just how desperate he was in the moment. Maybe whoever ran the demon summoning answering service took pity on him. But here it was, just as the little paper his mother had left him described.

It was eating his leftover pizza, “They sent me to deal with you because your last guardian is helping some lawyer stuck in an arson case. They haven’t given me a case in decades. Not since Lincoln at least, how long ago was that?” the thing laughed to itself and shoved another slice of olive and pepperoni in it’s gaping hole of a mouth. It was luminescent and dark emerald and it’s eyes were maroon orbs. Overall, less horrifying than he thought initially.

“Uh,” Steve stayed crouched behind the kitchen island and cleared his throat, “A long time. Wha— What’s your name again?”

The thing closed the fridge door too hard and it shook, “I didn’t say,” it traveled through the island with it’s hands behind its back, “I’m Eric.”

Steve blinked and stood up, “...Eric?”

It grinned and it’s crooked teeth showed, “Don’t act so perplexed, I’m trying to fit in on this realm.”

“Just seems very,” Steve watched as it drifted over to the phone in the wall, “Boring?” If Steve had to describe it’s reaction he’d say it was pouting.

“I thought it was classy,” Eric whined.

Steve blinked a few times and when the demon didn’t make another move he laughed nervously, “I mean, it’s nice. I guess I’m just really bad at meeting people, uh, ones of your...kind.”

Eric smiled wider than Steve thought was possible by any imagine, “Good. Now it’s time we figure out how to fix your problem.” There was suddenly a notepad in Eric’s pointy fingers, “When did your uneasiness begin?”

“What?”

The orbs circulated, “When did you start feeling down? Why’d you call? You know our customer service sucks down there.”

Steve pinched his brows together as he considered, “I guess when Nancy and I broke up and then Dustin went off to camp. I’ve been lonely.”

Eric’s shadow of a head nodded sympathetically, “Nothing will dust a man’s character away more than loneliness. Well, who are we looking for here. I’ll need to follow you around for a day to see who we can work with.” Before Steve could respond the thing started moving towards him, “I’ll just attach to your shadow for now and then later we’ll reconvene.” Before Steve could agree, Eric was gone into the shadows of the evening.

“Well okay,” he threw his hands up and went upstairs to prepare for work.

===

Tommy came into Scoops Ahoy that day and Steve immediately felt a tingle to his toes and fingertips. Eric appeared behind his old friend as he surveyed the display.

“This one is cute,” he said and floated around Tommy. Who scratched his cheek unbeknownst.

“What are you doing?” Steve hissed through clenched teeth.

Tommy startled and Eric looked on amused, “Uh, looking at the options?” He stared as Steve flushed in embarrassment.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Steve explained quietly, “Robin, you’re on!” he turned and fleed quickly.

“Wa—“ Tommy’s voice was cut off by the door and Robin looked up from her novel.

“Dingus, I still have ten minutes,” she kept her place with a finger as she slowly shut the book. Steve rushed forward and sat in a chair, Eric right by Robin’s side, taking her in.

“I know,” he linked his hands together, “And I’ll give you another fifteen if you just take this one. Please?” he begged.

Eric’s eyes rolled again, “Way to stand tall, Steve.” Steve glared at him and Robin raised her brows.

“Okay,” she said longly, “Don’t give yourself a migraine now, Steve,” she laid her book down and headed out. “Welcome to Scoop Aho—” her voice closed out as the door shut.

Eric took her seat, “Now how are you supposed to land the boy if you won’t even face the boy?”

Steve reminded himself to keep his voice down, “Because it won’t work. So leave him out of this.”

Eric groaned obnoxiously, “But he’s our answer. He’s your answer and I have a cat to feed back in my realm so we have to hurry this up!”

Steve glared, “And how do you suppose we do that?”

Eric did that grin again, “We tune into that boy you were in high school, Harrington. And we knock ‘em off their feet.”

Just then Robin stormed back in with her hair practically on end, “Harrington, I’m not dealing with both those assholes at the same time. Take your fifteen minutes, shove it, and get your butt out there now.” One look at Robin and one glance at Eric’s smug drift towards the door and Steve was out of the break room regrettably.

“Ahoy!” he faked his best customer service smile. Billy Hargrove’s smirk reminded him too clearly of Eric, who was of course floating around the two males on the other side of the counter.

“Handsome, love that he’s blond, haven’t seen such a monstrosity in a while—” Steve bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

“Cute, Harrington, nice shorts,” he leaned forward a little and looked at Steve’s lower half.

“Fruity too,” Eric sat on the counter.

Steve’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat, “Right, well, what can you I get for you two?”

Tommy settled an elbow against the counter and grinned cutely, “Hargrove here got a job at the pool so we’d like something,” he licked his lips, “Sweet.”

Billy nodded slowly and shifted the sunglasses on top of his head, “I’ll take pistachio.”

“Sweet cream and cookies for me, Stevie,” Tommy added.

Eric looked between the three of them, “All three of you? Kittymuffins can wait!” Steve ignored him and went over to the ice box, taking a scooper and a cone and bending inside uncomfortably to scoop from the green bucket.

Eric spoke from behind him, “They’re checking your ass out.” Steve sputtered and moved to get up. But he ended up smacking his head against the upper part of the glass.

“Shit!” he yelped in pain and stumbled back and then fell onto the ground after tripping on the fallen scoop. He hit his nose against the floor and felt a shock of pain. “Ow, shit, holy—”

“Steve?” he heard three voices shout.

“Oh my God!” Robin exclaimed and all of a sudden six arms where assisting him up from where he was on his knees gripping the counter desperately.

“He’s got a bloody nose,” Billy took over and picked Steve up and onto the counter. Steve blinked slowly and tried to catch up. Billy picked him up. “Pretty Boy, that was the most tragic thing I’ve even witnessed,” he said teasingly and bunched up napkins to Steve’s nose. “Keep your head level,” he ordered when Steve moved to tilt it back. “Good,” he commented.

Robin sighed, “I’m going to have to shut the shop down to clean this up. There’s blood on the glass, Steve. How?”

“Sorry,” Steve said weakly.

Tommy’s face made it’s way to Steve’s sight suddenly, “We can take him home.”

“Yes,” Eric agreed.

“No!” Steve refused and then felt guilty when Billy and Tommy looked embarrassed. “I mean, I’ve got it, I’ll go home and ice my head and nose. I’ll take some aspirin. And then I’ll come back for the rest of the night shift,” he told Robin. He stood up and ignored Eric shaking it’s head, “Thank you, guys. I’m fine. Really,” he addressed them each, “Thank you.”

“Uh,” Robin looked at Billy and Tommy uncertainly, “That’s fine I guess.”

“Thanks,” he said and rushed into the back room.

“You’re an idiot,” Eric crossed it’s arms.

“I know.”

===

Steve was at the store. He ran out of bread and he really wanted cookie dough ice cream. And just to his luck Tommy Hagan happened to stock shelves.

Eric spotted him first, “Oh!” he cheered and pointed with his emerald fingers, “It’s that freckle boy!”

“Hey, Steve!” Tommy walked over after setting down a crate of wheat loafs. “How’s your nose,” he examined Steve’s face as he walked closer. He laughed nervously and Eric snapped his fingers warningly.

“Much better,” Steve smiled.

“Billy’s pretty useful with all that training,” Tommy’s eyes softened.

“He sure is,” Steve nodded, “Could’ve used it the night he beat me up,” he chuckled unsurely. Eric face palmed.

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy looked down at his feet ashamed. “He’s sorry about that you know,” Tommy lifted up hurriedly. “He kicks himself for it all the time.”

Steve smiled and swung the bread gripped in his hand back and forth, “Really? How come he’s never said anything to me then?”

Tommy stubbed his toe into the floor, “He just didn’t want to overcrowd you too soon. And then he lost all the confidence to go through with it.”

“Steve,” Eric waved in front of his face, “Make a move. He obviously likes you, make your damn move and then we’ll land the other one!”

Steve panicked, “O-Oh, yeah, that’s nice. Hey, would you like to go to Bob’s for dinner sometimes this week?” Eric clapped and nodded approvingly.

Tommy grew excited, “I’m actually going there with Billy on Sunday—”

“Oh,” Steve sighed and smiled disappointedly, “Well, see you around then,” he waved and turned the corner as Tommy stayed stranded with his mouth open.

“Steven!” Eric scolded as Steve speeded to the frozen section, “What was that?” he screeched.

“I don’t want to intrude on them,” Steve muttered. A lady watched him worriedly as he grabbed a gallon of ice cream from the freezer and ran.

“You’re hopeless, Harrington,” Eric floated on his back and then disappeared.

“I know.”

===

Eric convinced him to go to the pool during the heatwave. It started out fine. Until Billy strutted out and climb up to the lifeguard seat.

Steve actually groaned, “Why does he have to look like that?” His head hit the back of the chair as he draped himself helplessly.

Eric sipped from his self produced margarita glass, “You love it though.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m going to get a drink,” he eyed the soda machine on the other side of the pool and walked over. He felt kind of bare in just his blue swim trucks. It’d been a while.

“Hey, Steve!” Billy called down and waved with a flashy smile. Steve halted quickly to smile and wave back. Some kid also decided to run into the pool right as Steve stopped, pushing him in the pool. And Steve may have been a swimmer for a few years in middle school. But he hated pools after the whole Barb disappearance. All his experience left him in that moment.

He was underwater and everything was so quiet. Quiet and dark and soft. Sure there was a sting from the surface of the water but he kind of just forgot that the surface was a thing and when he looked down he saw monsters. Dark shadows against the pale floor. Then arms were wrapped around him and air was gasped into his lungs. He was lifted up onto the spiky concrete and he laid on his stomach as he caught his breath.

“Hey, hey!” Billy yelled, “Get back, and you! You’re banned, get out now! Before I knock you one.” he sounded livid. Steve blinked and then he saw Billy overtop of him, speaking much kinder. “Hey, man, sit up. Yeah,” he encouraged as Steve coughed more and sat upright, “Perfect. You alright?” Steve nodded and gave a shaky thumbs up.

Billy helped him up and Eric appeared over his shoulder, “You should’ve faked drowning so you’d get his lips on ya.” Steve groaned again and leaned his forehead against his knees. “Do you want me to bring through some wind to fix your hair?”

Steve sighed, “No,” he mumbled.

“You’re not?” Billy asked concernedly and put a hand on his back. “I can take you out back and have Heather take over.”

Steve looked up quick, “What? Oh, no, she deserves her break,” he chuckled, nervous and sore. “I’m fine. She had to deal with some kid dropping his popsicle in the pool. Who knew kids took cooties so nervously.” He smiled and started to get up, “I should probably go anyway.”

Billy kept his hand against Steve’s back and placed another on his shoulder soothingly, “You sure? I can drive you home if you want.”

Steve patted Billy’s arm, “I’m fine. Thank you, Hargrove, I appreciate it.”

Billy smiled softly, suddenly distracted as he stared at Steve, “Just doing my job.” Steve said goodbye and slowly made his way back to his car shivering. He was at the gate when a towel was suddenly strewn over his shoulders. Steve twirled around in a stagger to find Billy gleaming with a light sheen of sweat.

“Sorry, just thought you’d be better without a cold later,” he closed the gap of towel on Steve’s chest.

Steve laughed a little hysterically and hugged him, “Thanks, Billy.” He stepped away and went through the gate. Eric reappeared, smirking and Steve sighed as he finally gave in. “He still looking?”

“Yep. The water is making your suit stick to your ass.”

“Perfect.”

===

Eric sat with him on a bench in the mall, “Maybe you still have hope.” A kid ran by and Steve moved his feet in from their sprawled position.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “They both have probably gotten together and given up on my dumb ass.” Eric nodded and when Steve stared at it unimpressed it smiled apologetically. Steve shook his head and sunk his shoulders more. “Whatever. What if I just relieve you of your duty and you go home to Fluffymittens or whatever.”

Eric coughed offendedly, “Her name is Kittymuffins. And who’s to say? Maybe today will even be the day, ‘cause they’re over by Scoops now.” It pointed over and Steve followed just to see Tommy and Billy arguing just outside the doorway of his very own workplace.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Steve whispered.

“You,” Eric answered, “Tommy doesn’t want to push you but Billy thinks it’s time they tell you their plan.”

Steve asked perplexed, “Plan?”

Eric nodded, “They want to make you dinner and then get in your pants.”

He stood up and shook his head, “You’re so crude.”

Eric followed, “It’s basically the rundown.” Steve shook his head and grinned openly when the two men noticed him and turned to greet with big smiles in return.

“Hey, guys,” Steve brushed his hair back with a clawed hand, “What can I do you for?” Billy giggled and Tommy smiled before rolling his eyes and smacking Billy’s arm.

“Hey, Steve, we were just talking about you,” Tommy said.

“I know,” he smiled as both of them looked panicked. “How about you two come to my place tonight and we’ll talk about it then?”

Eric laughed beside him, “That’s my boy!”

The two of them looked a little shocked, “Uh, sure,” Tommy nodded slowly and smiled widely.

Billy’s smile was curved and his eyes glimmered proudly, “Told you so, Toms.”

Steve bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth sultrily as he admired their pink cheeks with a grin of his own, “See you later boys,” he wiggled his fingers at them.

Eric floated with him as he made his way back to the break room, “Do you need my help with dinner?”

“Nah, you can get back to Kittymittens.” He closed the door just as Eric gave one final applaud.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Two

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: E, 18+ Only

Summary: Based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé ,’ by @alloftheprompts on tumblr. Now edited and extended!

A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head recently, so here we are a year and half later. Yay!

This story includes swearing and alcohol with more tags to be added!

Masterlist

The Fiancé:  Chapter One

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

Good Morning, Washington!

Any minute now.

Any minute.

Your face is starting to ache from having it scrunched up so you can stare through the peep-hole properly.

3... 2... 1...

He still doesn’t appear.

How is that possible? You take the briefest of pauses to glance at your watch before swiftly returning your eye to the peep-hole. It’s 7:31. He’s always out of his door every single day at 7:30 for an hour long jog, and you’ve known that for three years because the sound of his door opening and closing is basically your alarm clock. Except for today. Today, you’ve gotten up before the opening and closing of the door because you want to make damn sure you don’t encounter him on your way to work. 

He’s always on time, how is he not out yet? Oh, no... Is he dead? Don’t be silly, of course he isn’t... No, he can’t be. Oh, just go.

Standing back, you exhale a short breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder and open your door. Closing it as quietly as possible behind yourself, you lock it and turn, pushing your keys into your bag.

Then you hear his door opening.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You can do nothing else but freeze and stare at Steve Rogers stepping out of his apartment. As he closes and locks his own door, his keys going into the pocket of his sweatpants, he then turns to you and gives you that warm, wide smile that has you instantly smiling in return.

“Well, good morning. I didn’t know you even knew this time of day existed.”

You tilt your head, arching an eyebrow even as you unsuccessfully try to stop your smile from widening. “A-haa, you’re so funny, they keep ignoring my emails to have that little fact put in the museums.”

A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other as he chuckles, his hands in his pockets. “How rude of them, I’ll bring it up at the next gala commemorating me.”

You snort as you walk together, him slowing a little so you can enter the elevator first. “Please do, I can’t wait to watch the live-stream of that.”

The elevator doors close as he leans his shoulder against the wall, your hands holding the strap of your bag as you face the doors.

“That reminds me actually...” Your gaze shifts to him as he looks to you, raising his eyebrows slightly. “... Tony’s throwing a party this Saturday to celebrate Christmas, ‘super-secret boy-band style’, I believe the invitation says.” Amusement and exasperation drips from his tone. “As you can imagine, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my weekend, but I have to go, SHIELD and Stark orders, so, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

Your mouth had already opened to make a quip at Stark’s expense, and now it just stays open.

Oh, God...

The nervousness that had vanished at the ease with which he can put you instantly returns.

“Uhm...” You can’t lie. You can’t say no, because A) That’s rude, and B) you’ll just have to give him a reason why, you won’t be able to stop yourself, and you really don’t want to give the truth. “... Yes. That sounds like fun.” You don’t know how you managed to say it without sounding completely like a robot.

He tilts his head, arching an eyebrow. “Easy, you know we both wouldn’t exactly call it ‘fun’, but I just thought you might want to see some of the guys, too, I know they’d love to see you.”

Oh, I do miss Sam and Nat, when was the last time we hung out... Right, so... Okay, that’s fine, then, that settles it, it’s just a friends thing.

Your smile is a little easier to maintain now as you nod. “Sure, yeah, that does sound like fun. Closer to our kind of fun, anyway.”

He looks slightly relieved, straightening as the elevator slows and the automated voice announces, ‘Ground Floor’.

“Great. Having you around will make it a little more bearable.” The doors open and he gestures for you to step out, his smile widening. “And I do reckon you owe me for Saturday.”

Oh, shit. 

You have to tell yourself to keep fucking moving and actually walk out of the elevator to the main doors of the building.

He means... Saturday. As in two days ago. As in when you were at your office Christmas party. As in when you bumped into your ex-boyfriend. As in when you told said ex-boyfriend that Steve Rogers is your fiancé. As in when Steve went along with being your fiancé. As in when he had his arm around you, called you ‘my girl’ and kissed the top of your head.

Swallowing, you quickly plaster on a smile as he catches up to you and gets the door, my God, just stop being so polite, letting you exit first.

“Oh... Yeah, well, you know...” You hope he knows because you don’t bloody know.

Letting the door swing shut and electronically lock behind him, he pushes his hands into his pockets again as you both pause on the pavement.

“Like I said, it wasn’t as awful as you painted it to be, and neither will this Stark party be, but I reckon fair is fair,” he smiles, tilting his head.

Oh. So we’re still not addressing the fiancé thing. Okay. Absolutely bloody fine.

You laugh quickly as you realise you’ve been quiet a second too long. “Oh, yeah, well, I think this party will be a lot more glamorous and the buffet a bit bigger.”

“That it will be. And a free bar, I’ve been told.”

“Oh, perfect!” You sound far too jovial about that. Hang on, that might actually help. Widening your smile, you gesture behind you. “I’d better get going, I have an early meeting.” Lies. “Thank you for the invite, though, I’d better dust off my glad-rags, see what wonders they can do for me.”

He chuckles and he’s still smiling and, oh, that smile. “Wear whatever you like, you look lovely in everything.”

You just laugh, slightly forcing it as you feel heat rise on your cheeks but, thank God, he’s already turned away, jogging off down the street. You meet a passing woman’s brief gaze and quickly drop your slightly maniacal smile, clearing your throat. It must have been really maniacal, actually, as her eyes quickly dart back to you and she frowns.

All righty.

Turning on your heel, you start to stride down the street, your mind buzzing. 

Oh, God...

You have a crush on Steve Rogers. Of course you have a crush on Steve Rogers, who doesn’t? But the absolute last thing in the world you want to do is ruin your friendship. You’d moved to D.C three years ago, on pretty much a whim, well, and a job offer, and a friend insisting it would be the best thing for you, not just your career... and it had been. You’d made such a good friend in Steve, and others, you loved your job, and... God, you really did not want to ruin any of it.

At the party, you’d nearly blown it, you still can’t believe you’d even said it. Steve had had every right to just laugh or frown at you or say his version of ‘what the fuck’, (’now hang on a second’), and you would have completely understood and forgiven him... Except he was the kindest man in the entire universe, so of course he’d just gone along with it, cracked one joke afterwards and not mentioned it again. Granted, it had only been an evening and a full day ago, but you were always messaging each other and it still hadn’t come up. Even on the ride back from the party, he’d driven, you’d just talked about the changing weather, sung along to a few songs on the radio and chatted about how you were each going to spend your Sunday.

Well, maybe, actually, it had been you talking about the weather, you singing along to the radio, and you talking about your Sunday. You had asked him how he was going to spend the next day, though... and asked question after question. Oh, he was going to watch a game at Sam’s? And Bucky was going to be there? How nice, how were they, by the way? Oh, how nice, that’s good, oh, look, back at the apartment!

Even when you’d messaged him yesterday it had just been to talk about the game, how the boys were and to send pictures of Sam’s new TV. Steve was either being very gracious and just letting it pass, or it just didn’t bother him at all, or even occur to him to talk about it.

Either way, you certainly weren’t going to bring it up.

With two weeks to go until Christmas, the weather was certainly colder, and, boy, did you feel it. Wishing you’d remembered your gloves in all the rushing around, you quickened your pace, shoving your anxieties away and dreaming of the hot drinks machine in the office kitchen.

Oh, hooo, I’m coming for you.

—

Stepping out of the elevator, you breathe a sigh of relief as the warmth of the office instantly washes over you. It’s a quiet space in a large building that houses everything from a law firm to a high-end fashion magazine, so you love this little floor of peace.

Book-publishing wasn’t something five-year-old you had dreamed of going in to, but you loved it. You loved discovering and meeting new, exciting authors, making their dreams come true, spreading their voice and imagination to the masses, and, hey, getting to read the proof-copies before the rest of the world is definitely a perk.

People in your office are lovely and calm, too, and despite the running joke that they’d have first dibs on Captain America’s only authorised biography should it ever come to fruition, no one really brings your friendship up unless you do. Smiling at the receptionist, Dolly, she returns it with a wide beam, which isn’t so unusual, she’s the happiest and most positive person you’ve ever met, until you realise she’s shoved her chair back and is darting around the desk to catch up with you.

She probably got up to something exciting at the weekend and can’t wait to tell me. She’s always doing exciting things, I wish I had the energy to do exciting things.

Walking along with you as you pass desks, only a couple of people here as it’s only 8:27 a glance at your watch tells you, Dolly is still beaming.

“So...”

“So...?” you prompt after a few moments as she just looks at you, exhaling a laugh.

You can always have a laugh with Dolly, she’s always ready to.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Oh, shit, it’s not her birthday, is it? No, it’s in May, we went to the Mexican restaurant across the road and got free tequila shots.

Raising your eyebrows as you smile in bemusement, you laugh again. “Uh, not really. Oh, I’m happy to see you, as always?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re so coy!”

Pushing your office door open, you frown even as you continue smiling because what the hell is going on. “About what?”

She raises her arms as she stares at you, watching you place your bag on your desk and shrug your thick coat off. “’About what’?! Are you kidding me?”

Am I dreaming right now.

Sitting down in your chair, you raise your hands slightly, palms up. “I don’t actually understand what’s going on right now.”

Her hands go to her hips as she looks at you, amazed. “You’ve always been so damn good at keeping secrets, SHIELD should recruit you, I’ve always said it.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you to say, but I really don’t know what’s going on, Dolly.” Turning your computer on, you raise your eyebrows.

A wide smile breaks out across her features as she raises her arms again. “Your engagement, you secretive little secret-keeper!”

Your mouth drops open as you stare at her, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other on your mouse.

“... I’m sorry?”

“Gwen heard you telling Joe at the party!” She’s grinning. She’s beaming. She’s delighted. “I get why you’d want to keep it a secret, but I’m so pleased you’re deciding to tell people!”

“Oh, my God... Dolly—”

“Oh, is it still a secret?” Her arms drop as she glances at the rest of the office but luckily no one’s close by. “Okay, all right, I’ll make sure no one gossips, I’ll put a stop to it if I hear any.” She grins again. “Until you tell people that is.” As you open your mouth to speak, she gives a little squeal and presses a hand over her heart. “I’m just so, so happy for you, babe, I can’t wait to hear all about it!”

I’m not dreaming. This is actually a nightmare. Or hell. Hell would be more deserving.

“Dolly, I, uhm, I actually—”

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” she interrupts, pulling a face as you hear the phone at her desk ringing. “Guess the day’s started.” Beaming, she blows you a kiss as she heads out of the door, pulling it closed behind her... but not before mouthing, “I love you, I’m so happy for you.”

You just watch her through the large window. Watch her march down the aisle in her heels. She always has great heels. Unique and stylish ones. Ah, yeah, she has a friend at the fashion magazine on the 21st floor. And you’re down here. On the 11th floor. Staring out of a window at your friend. Having an out of body experience.

You blink a few times as you sit back, frowning at yourself before you exhale a laugh.

Oh, come on, now, get a grip. Just call her once she’s finished with whoever she’s talking to, and then it’ll be fine, you’ll laugh about it, laugh about it some more when you have lunch, and then maybe laugh about it a bit more later. It’ll be hilarious.

Clearing your throat, you sign-in to your computer and open the internet browser. You usually check your phone first thing in the morning, but having been too preoccupied frantically running around trying to get ready to evade a certain someone, you haven’t had the chance yet. As Head of Marketing, you like to know what’s going on pretty much every second of the day on social media, see what trends there are and see what people are saying about the company’s books.

The browser opens onto a round-up of the news stories of the day, as it always does so you can get a quick overview of what’s going on, and you start to glance over them.

And then you freeze.

Oh, fucking hell.

Fucking Jesus Christ.

Headlines are jumping out at you, screaming.

Cap’s New Flame!

Who’s On The Guest List For The Wedding of The Century?!

Downtown NY Wedding Boutique Says It’s Already Making A Dress!

I Pledge Allegiance To... Who?!

You click on a random article and instantly start to read, your mouth open.

Good morning, Washington! What news we have for you! Previously linked to former SHIELD Director Peggy Carter in the 40s, then her niece, Sharon Carter, a few years ago, Cap’s love-life has since been as still as the ice he was found in... until now! Who is the mysterious lady who’s rumoured to be Steve’s fiancée? There’s no word yet on her name or even what she looks like, but we’ll keep you up-to-date with minute-by-minute re-caps (pun not intended!) and updates! Click the alarm for notifications, or subscribe... 

That’s why the woman on the street had stared. Quite a few people had stared actually. Some had even whispered. You’d just chalked it up to your usual anxieties but... Oh, God.

There’s a knock on your door.

Your gaze drifts up to find Dolly opening it, biting at her lower lip as she leans in. She’s not smiling anymore.

“Uh... It’s the, uhm, editor of the Washington Post on line 1, she, uhm... She’d like to schedule an interview.”

You stare at her, frozen, feeling hot and cold all at once.

Oh my fucking God.

—

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[bernadineisreborn]

It’s You

Fred Weasley x Reader

A/N: Should I be writing Reality? Yes. Did I have a few dreams about Fred and George and decide to write them instead? Yes. Is the Yule Ball overdone in HP fanfic? Yes. But here you go anyway. Please, stay safe amid corona and if you are protesting!

Warnings: Alcohol is consumed. Sex is referenced. Kisses happen. 

Word count: 8.6k, my longest ever for one post I think!

My Masterlist

While you and George were easily best friends, you and Fred Weasley had a more complicated history.

It all started when you were younger.

Your father was a wizard, but the nature of his relationship with your mother was short-lived. Really short lived. They met at a small pub in London, where your mother worked. Your father must have had one-time business on the other side of the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, because your mother spent the night with him and never saw him again.

She didn’t mind though. She was ecstatic when she found out she was pregnant, never mind her being single. Raising you as alone was, understandably, very difficult, but she was never one to give up. She was clueless to the secret world that your father had belonged to. Until, one day, you sneezed and broke every glass in the room.

You were six at the time, and your mother had no idea what to do. You had displayed small signs of magic before, but those could be written off as coincidence. This glass-shattering sneeze, however, could not.

It was a week later that you summoned a cupcake into your chubby fist while out shopping. Your mother was horrified. Luckily, there was another witch in the store.

“Well, wasn’t that lovely!” she exclaimed, her red-orange hair falling in front of her face as she bent down to your level, “But best not let the muggles see, hmm?” She looked to your mum, then, a small smile on her face. You mother’s face was still frozen, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. The red-headed woman was smart enough to notice that your mum was, in fact, one of those very muggles. She had absolutely no idea of the magical world, and no idea how to care for a daughter who was summoning cupcakes at will.

She smiled, and extended a hand, “Oh dear, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Molly.”

Your mum smiled faintly, “I’m M/N.”

Molly hummed, her expression nothing but understanding as she looked to you, “And who’s this young dear?”

“I’m Y/N!” you said, taking a bite from the cupcake.

Molly laughed, “Your daughter seems quite special! Don’t worry, they usually start around this age, it’s perfectly normal. Come now, follow me.” The woman ushered you and your mother toward the door, leaving her groceries abandoned in the aisle. After all, Molly Weasley knows to help a wizard in need, and you and your mum were very clearly in need.

Once outside, she attempted to explain herself. “I am in town today dropping off some things for Arthur, my husband. He works at the Ministry, you see. I’ve left the children at home, but Bill’s old enough to watch the others now,” she glanced at you, “How old is she?”

Your mother’s voice was hoarse, though she wasn’t entirely untrusting of the strange, kind woman, “She’s six.”

“Ah, yes, what a darling age. I’ve got a pair of twins who are just that!” She glanced at you again, “Now, that wasn’t the first time Y/N’s made something like this happen, is it?”

----

An hour later, you and your mother were sitting in Molly’s home. Molly was explaining things to your mother, who had taken out a pen and paper and was writing diligent notes.

Molly had introduced you to her children before she had sat down with your mother. Much to your dismay, most of them were boys. There was Ginny, of course, but she was only three.

You were led outside by the adorable tot, to where the two oldest boys had picked up broomsticks and started flying around on them. You were amazed. Ginny, unfortunately, didn’t seem to know how the brooms were flying. Begrudgingly, you made your way to the other four children, who were sitting in the grass and cheering their brothers on. Well, three of them were. One of them, an older boy with horn-rimmed glasses, was reading a book.

You tapped on the nearest shoulder, “Excuse me.”

They turned to you. “Want to watch them play quidditch with us?” asked two of the boys in perfect unison. Their red hair was just as flame-like as their mother’s.

You giggled and sat, “Sure. What’s quidditch?”

Their eyes turned wide at this. Again, they responded together, “Only the greatest sport ever invented!”

----

Thus, your destiny was set. Every Sunday, you visited the Weasley household, where your mother learned everything there was to know about magic, Arthur Weasley learned everything he could about your mother’s “fascinating” muggle life, and you became fast friends with the twins.

Both twins, in fact.

Fred, George, and yourself were inseparable troublemakers, spending every second of time with each other to plan your next great escapade.

And so things continued until your fourth year of Hogwarts.

You expected the school year to start as the last three had, a bit of troublemaking and a lot of fun with your two favorite boys.

But things were different. Awkward.

Fred was, suddenly, funnier and taller and more handsome. George was, too. But it was Fred that filled your 14-year-old stomach with simultaneous dread and excitement whenever you spotted him walking your way.

It was fine, though. You were keeping yourself in check. Until one night, in the Gryffindor common room, you were playing a wizarding version of hide and seek.

George was appointed the “seeker,” so you, Fred, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, and the other involved Gryffindors dispersed. You had been wandering the corridor for a few minutes when you heard something.

You froze, hoping on everything holy that it wasn’t Filch or Mrs. Norris or Peeves or the Bloody Baron.

A freckled hand wrapped over your mouth, muffling your startled scream, and spun you around. Fred was standing in front of you, smiling, “Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s only me.”

He removed his hand, and you smiled too, at ease. His smile was so damn contagious and handsome and—

“What do you say?”

You refocused your eyes, which had gone hazy on a freckle near the corner of Fred’s mouth, “Hmm?”

“Honestly, I said, do you want to hide together? Two heads are better than one, I reckon.”

You nodded, and he tugged you along. You walked carefully, peeking around corners and tiptoeing as you went.

Fred wasn’t being quite as quiet as you would have liked, and he was known to get caught, so you shoved at him, “Hey, you big git, do you think you could be any louder?”

He arranged a faux puzzled expression, “Louder? Hmm, yeah, I think I could.” He started stomping his feet and whistling; the sound echoed through the empty corridors. He spun to walk backwards and maintain eye contact with you as he did.

You rolled your eyes, “Ha-ha. Very mature, Fred. I’m sorry I don’t want to lose.”

“Mature? You’re playing hide-and-seek!” He poked at your face.

You swatted him away, “It’s not muggle hide and seek! There’s plenty of danger. We’re in a castle, and it’s dark, and there are ghosts, and there is Filch,” you frowned at him, “And anyway, so are you!”

He grinned, “You’re so competitive. You should try out for quidditch.”

“You know just as well as I do that I can barely fly.”

His ginger eyebrows furrowed in thought, “True.” Then, his smile returned, “Maybe we could let you ride on the back of my broom and kick at people who pass us.”

You laughed, too, at that ridiculous image.

Just then, Fred backed into a display case, making a rather thunderous sound.

“Well, that ought to alert Georgie. Follow me.” Fred dashed around a few corners, before clambering into a small closet. You entered after him, obviously out of breath from the run.

The closet was even more cramped than it looked from the outside, and Fred read your expression as you squished yourself against him. “Merlin, if we’re going to try you out for the team, you’re going to need to start going for a jog every now and again.”

You punched him as well as you could in the tight space.

“Yes! That’s the spirit, Y/N! Now, you just need to be able to balance.” He mimed you sitting on the back of a broomstick, punching at air.

You laughed in spite of yourself.

It was then that you realized your face was entirely too close to Fred’s. He seemed to notice in the same instant, because for all of his never-ending jokes and your unrelenting teasing, you were both silent.

Finally, he spoke up, his voice a whisper, “Do you think he’ll find us?” If you didn’t know better, you’d think Fred’s eyes were locked on your lips, but it was dark and you were probably mistaken.

“Probably,” you replied, just as quiet, “Eventually.” You shifted a little, uncomfortable, and ended up, somehow, even closer to Fred than you were before.

George burst in then, looking rather triumphant.

“Fred! Y/N! Found you…” he glanced between you, noting your position, “Were you two about to snog?”

Maybe you had been about to, maybe you hadn’t. But you pushed Fred roughly away and stepped out of your hiding place. “Ew, no. Fred’s a git. The cupboard was just small.”

You had no way of knowing how your words stung Fred, who brushed his hand through his carrot top hair and said, “Yeah? Well at least I can stay on a broomstick long enough to get five feet in the air!”

You scoffed and followed them down the hall, back through the portrait hole, “Terrible comeback, Weasley.” You turned up your nose at him, “And not even true.”

Fred laughed. “You’re right, it’s closer to ten.”

“Hey!”

----

Every time you thought about the incident after that, your cheeks grew hot of their own accord. You were sure your feelings for Fred were one sided. After all, you were clumsy and had known him since you were kids. He probably thought of you like a sister.

So, in a classic attempt to hide your feelings, you started taking every opportunity to get on Fred’s nerves. By your 6thyear, your actions had morphed your relationship so much, that what you and Fred had was only a shadow of your former friendship. It pained you, yes, but you couldn’t risk straining your relationship with both of the twins because of idiotic teenaged hormones.

“Miss L/N, if you could please direct your attention to the front of the classroom, it would be appreciated,” drawled Snape.

You flushed, your head snapping to Snape, who was explaining Golpalott’s Third Law at the front of the Potion’s classroom. You had been staring at Fred’s side profile across the lab table, daydreaming a bit. Now, both Fred and George, who were sitting next to each other and across from you and Angelina, were looking at you.

“Sorry, Professor,” you mumbled, and the twins snickered.

Angelina poked you, her features pulled into a loving, teasing smirk. She scribbled quickly onto a corner of her parchment, ripped it off, and passed it to you: “Thinking about pulling someone into an empty hallway and snogging them to death, dear Y/N?”

If it was possible, your cheeks burned even hotter. You glanced to Fred, but he was dutifully watching the lecture, if a bit bored looking. You grabbed the note, “ANGELINA!!! Please, spare me! L”

You slid it over to her. She laughed under her breath and began scribbling, “Maybe you ought to watch us practice today??? Might help visualize those fantasies???”

Before you could take it back and write to her just how absurd she was being, and that you had been thinking about nothing of the sort, the scrap of parchment was snatched by Fred.

His eyebrows raised as he read the note. You prepared for him to laugh, to say ‘Finally! I knew you were in love with me! Ha!’ But, he just frowned and turned away. George grabbed the paper next, and when he read it, he shot you a look. George definitely knew how you felt about Fred. He was your best friend, and he had caught you gazing dreamily Fred’s way quite a few times, though you had always denied anything he accused you of. You shrugged, trying to play it off like nothing.

“Miss L/N! What about Weasley is so interesting that you think yourself above my lecture?”

You shrunk into your seat, “Nothing. It won’t happen again, Professor.”

----

After Potions, you gathered your bags and slunk shamefully after Fred, George, and Angelina in the halls.  Technically, because of the Triwizard Tournament, there were no quidditch games or practices. But, some of the Gryffindor team was meeting up to practice when time allowed, to stay in shape for next season. Angelina, Fred, and George were on the team, so of course, you spent the practices with them, watching them fly, doing homework, etc.

When you had gathered at the Pitch, you began feeble attempts at writing a Charms essay. Mostly, though, you were distracted by your friends. Angelina really was a great flyer, she was dodging almost every bludger George sent her way, and Fred was… sigh.

“Oi! L/N! Want to come play for a bit? We need one more to make it even!” called George.

You shrugged, “Sure! As long as I can be on defense!”

Though you still struggled, your flying skills had made a significant improvement since your fourth year, due to flying lessons from your friends, which were motivated by Fred’s (unfortunately accurate) teasing.

A few minutes later, you were hovering uneasily around the three rings on your team’s side. George, your teammate, was darting around with Fred and Angelina on the other side of the pitch. You zoned out as you watched them. Fred’s shirt was flying up a bit in the wind, a hint of his abdomen on display, and you were trying very hard not to stare. Not that it mattered. From here, he wouldn’t notice if you admired him a bit, would he?

Fred swung his bat, the bludger aimed at George. At the last second, though, his gaze turned toward you, your eyes locked with his, and his bat swung a bit too far.

Suddenly, the bludger was coming your way, far too quickly for you to move.

When it hit your stomach full force, you grunted, but managed to keep your grip on the broom’s wooden handle. Then, you vomited your breakfast onto the field, dozens of yards below you.

----

“I said, I’m fine!” you exclaimed. Fred was the first to swoop onto the grass after you had. You were dry heaving and trying to hold Fred off. The last thing you needed was for him to watch you puke. “I’m not hurt, it just hit me in the stomach.”

“Yeah, I saw that part, didn’t I?” he scoffed, though you could tell he felt a little guilty from the way he was hovering over you.

“Fred!” you groaned, “Please, just give me a minute! I’m perfectly fine.” You groaned as you dry heaved again, your puke reflex fully triggered, “Why do you care anyway?” you asked, under your breath.

“What?”

You held up a finger to him, gesturing for him to wait as you dry heaved again, and then stood up. “I said, why do you care anyway?” You narrowed your eyes, “Were you trying to hit me?”

His guilty expression turned incredulous, “What? Are you barking mad? Of course not!”

You shrugged and crossed your arms, “Well, I saw you look at me while you were swinging and it seemed like you were.”

He blushed, “I was only looking at you because you were trying to distract me! Trying to help George win!”

“For Merlin’s sake, how was I distracting you? I wasn’t even moving!”

His blush deepened, “I don’t know!” he sputtered, his eyes darting over you, “Your shirt is too bright!”

You were furious, and he was getting in your personal space. Your shirt was, in fact, the standard Gryffindor burgundy, and definitely not bright. “My WHAT?” At this point, George and Angelina had landed their brooms as well, and were taking tentative steps your way as you pushed at Fred’s chest, “Fred Weasley, you are the absolute WORST—”

You were suddenly being restrained by two lanky arms—George’s—and dragged away.

“Alright, I think that’s enough of that lover’s quarrel for one day, don’t you, Angelina?” George quipped, guiding you back to the castle, “I’ll take Y/N back to the common room and make sure she’s okay, let’s say we meet in the Great Hall for dinner?”

Angelina nodded, and before you knew it you were being led through the halls of Hogwarts to 6th year Gryffindor boy’s dormitories.

“George, he hates me! I just know it!”

“Quit being so dramatic, woman, he doesn’t hate you. You just have a talent for getting on each other’s nerves.” He sat you on his bed, forcing you down by the shoulders, and went to his trunk.

“He aimed that bludger at me!”

“He definitely did not aim at you, he was probably just…” he trailed off, speaking under his breath.

“Probably just what?”

“I don’t know,” he was rummaging haphazardly through his and Fred’s trunks, “He was probably just distracted!”

You gasped, growing angry at your favorite twin, “You’re taking his side? I should have known—”

He stopped you, “I’m not taking his side,” he held up the purple end of a puking pastille, “Here, take this.”

You swallowed the gummy, and instantly, all of your queasiness vanished. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“I wish you two would just kiss and make up,” said George, who had sat next to you on the mattress, “It’d make things a whole lot easier for Angelina and me.”

Your cheeks flamed, “Like I want that to happen.”

George rolled his eyes, “Come on, Y/N. You can’t lie to me.” He nudged your shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows. “I know all.”

Your blush deepened, but you laughed, “For Merlin’s sake, I knew your ego was inflated beyond repair, but I hardly think three OWLs qualifies one as omniscient.”

George and you were near cackling a few minutes later, and you were feeling very glad to have him to cheer you up, when Fred entered.

He stopped in the doorway, staring at the two of you as your laughter faded, his expression stormy, “Sorry to interrupt.” He grabbed something from his trunk, and slammed the door on his way out.

George grimaced, “Doesn’t look like he’ll be too happy with me later,” he said, his eyes locked on the closed door.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused, “Why do you say that?”

George turned back to you, an easy smile replacing the grimace, “No reason, love.” He stood up, “Come on, let’s go to dinner.”

----

In the Great Hall, you sat in between George and Angelina, as usual. Fred was sat on George’s other side. He had barely looked at you as you came in. Rude, you thought, He could have at least apologized.

The conversation between the Gryffindor girls was as it had been all of the other meals recently: gossip about the Yule Ball. Some Ravenclaw girl had been asked by a boy from Durmstrang, Alicia Spinnet informed you. Neither you nor Angelina had been asked yet, though you were hoping you would be soon.

Ideally, of course, you’d be asked by Fred, who would confess that he’d loved you this whole time, and that he wanted nothing more than to dance the night away at a romantic Christmas-themed ball. Of course, currently, you were mad at him. He’d need to apologize first.

You’d be alright with anyone, so long as you didn’t have to go alone. Not that it really mattered. Worst case scenario, you’d strut into the Ball with Angelina, both of you dateless, but looking good enough that all of the boys who’d brought dates abandoned them to dance with you.

You nudged George, “Hey. Are you planning on asking anyone to the Ball?”

He met your eyes and shrugged, barely chewing a hunk of roast before swallowing. “Depends. Are you going with anyone?” He nudged you back and winked.

You were laughing, well aware that he was kidding, when George was shoved into you by Fred, who looked at you very seriously, and then looked at George. There seemed to be some sort of twin telepathy because before you knew it, George was apologizing and Fred was turning away, his shoulders hunched.

You nudged George again, more subtle this time, and whispered, “What was that all about?”

He shrugged and whispered back, “Freddie here is in a sour mood. He hasn’t got a date yet.”

You shot him a look, “Neither do you, George.” Just then, Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory strolled into the Great Hall, arm in arm, looking very pleased with each other, rosy blushes dusting both of their cheeks. You sighed and put your chin in your hand as you watched them walk by, “And neither do I.”

You sat for a moment, thinking about George’s joking proposition to you. He and you had no feelings for each other, you were sure. In fact, you were relatively positive that he had a crush on Angelina. You were also pretty sure that these feelings, should they ever be expressed, would be returned. They would make a cute couple.

Anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad to go to the Ball with George. He was one of your best friends, he was funny, he was chivalrous. He would be a good date. Maybe I’ll ask him to go with me, as friends, you thought, if neither of us finds anyone else.

“Excuse me, Miss L/N?”

You turned, and behind you was a handsome Beauxbatons student, in his blue uniform. “Erm, hello. How can I help you?”

His smile grew, and you were vaguely aware that the entire Gryffindor table was watching the exchange. Your heartbeat sped up.

He eyed the table, apparently also noticing the attention on you two, “I was hoping you would like to chat privately for a minute? In the courtyard, maybe?”

Your cheeks grew hot, and Angelina shoved you out of your seat, speaking for you, “Yes, of course! She’d love to!”

You smiled at him, and turned back to your friends. George shot you a thumbs up, and Angelina was grinning. Fred’s mood, however, showed no improvement.

“All right, yeah, I’ll go.” He gestured for you to walk ahead of him, and together, you walked  out of the Great Hall.

“Miss L/N,” he addressed you again, holding out a polite hand, “My name is Louis, it is a pleasure to introduce myself formally.”

You took his hand, and instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and placed a delicate kiss on your knuckles. Your face was flaming, “Erm, yeah. I’ve seen you around. You can just call me Y/N.”

He laughed lightly, “Okay then, Y/N,” you were now in the courtyard, and there was a light snow falling. You shivered, and he handed you his cloak, “Please, stay warm. How are you?”

You took the cloak gratefully, “I’m okay, I—

Before you could get another word out, the courtyard was enveloped in a blinding blackness. You panicked a bit, reaching your arms out to feel for something solid to hold on to, and soon found a pair of outstretched arms. Assuming they were Louis’, you grabbed on for dear life, and allowed yourself to be dragged back into Hogwarts.

When you were out of the blackness, you scoffed, watching it disappear behind you, “I’m sorry, Louis. That must have been my friend, George. He probably thought it would be—” You turned, and were surprised to see Fred standing next to you, and not Louis. “—funny,” you finished. “Fred? What are you…” You looked back out to the courtyard, where Louis’ form was beginning to reappear. Then, Fred was tugging you toward the moving staircases.

“Fred!” You shoved his arm off of yours. “What are you doing?”

“Leading you back to the Common Room, obviously,” there was a small smirk on his face, as he grabbed your arm and once again tried to guide you.

You yanked your arm away, “I can find my way back perfectly well on my own, thanks!” He shrugged, and started walking. Despite yourself, you followed. “Why in Merlin’s name did you do that?”

His smirk returned, “Do what?”

“Throw that Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder! I was having a nice conversation!”

“Oh that,” he glanced back at you, his smile growing at your infuriated expression, “Louis seemed shady.”

“He seemed WHAT?” You were seething at this point, “Fred, I think he was going to ask me to the Ball,” much to your dismay, your tone came out more disappointed than angry.

At this, Fred’s expression shifted into one of mild annoyance, “Don’t worry, I’m sure someone else will ask you. Louis, though, was up to no good.” Fred looked back to you again, “He probably just wanted to sleep with you.”

You stopped in your tracks, “As if that is the only reason he’d be interested in taking me to the Ball? As if I have nothing else going for me?” Fred had gone too far this time.

He stopped too, and cringed, “That is not what I meant.”

You held your nose up, “Well, that’s what it sounded like.”

It was quiet for a moment. Fred sighed. “Look, I just have a bad feeling about him. He seems like a right wanker, alright?”

Fred’s expression was genuine, but you couldn’t help yourself, “Louis was being perfectly chivalrous.”

Fred held his hands up, accepting defeat, “Alright, fine. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

You sniffled.

He continued, “And I never apologized earlier, for hitting you with the bludger.” He ruffled the back of his hair with his hand, and the gesture was so very awkward, so sincere, that you found yourself forgiving him far faster than you should. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not sure how it happened.”

After a second of contemplation, you punched his muscled shoulder, your resolve thoroughly broken, “I suppose it’s fine. Not your fault you have terrible aim,” you cracked a smile.

He smiled too, laughing under his breath. For a second, it felt like the old days, when you and Fred could laugh freely and tease each other without starting a war. You felt oddly nostalgic, and before you could fully consider your words, you blurted, “What happened to us?”

His smile faded, and you instantly regretted saying something. His eyes filled with an intensity that you hadn’t seen in them in a while, and you were strangely reminded of the hide-and-seek closet from those years ago.

Before he could reply, Angelina and George rounded the corner, George’s arm slung over Angelina’s shoulders. “Oi!” he called, “We wondered where you’d gone off to Fred!” He smiled at you and ruffled your hair when he reached the two of you, “You’ve found our dear Y/N, I see. So, have you got yourself a date to the Yule Ball?”

You glanced to Fred, who looked suddenly guilty. “No, Louis probably just wanted to hook up with me. You know, because of my fantastically proportioned figure and extraordinary facial features.” You smirked Fred’s way, an action not unnoticed by George. Fred rolled his eyes.

Angelina gasped, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged and smiled, “Intuition. Don’t worry, Ang, he isn’t worth it.”

----

A few days later, you were standing by the fire in the Common Room, talking to Angelina.

“I’m not sure what the team will look like next year without Oliver,” she was saying, “He was really the glue to the team, though he was a bit sexist, calling us ‘lads’ all the time. Do I look like a lad to you?”

You shook your head, agreeing with her. Just then, a pair of bright orange heads wandered through the portrait hole and sat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The twins appeared to be talking mostly to Ron.

“…And with the year off, too. It’s not going to be good, Y/N. I’ll be captain so I’ll be responsible…”

You tried to listen to your friend as she spoke about quidditch. Fred and George were still talking to Ron. Fred looked relaxed, sure of himself. Confidence, you thought, is a good look on a man. As if they had felt you watching them, all five people sat at the table turned your way. You and Fred made brief eye contact, and he seemed to be thinking something through. Your relationship with him had been improving a little since your interaction in the hall the other day. Though you still didn’t have a date to the Yule Ball, and were starting to wonder if you should seek Louis out for another ‘private chat.’ Maybe he’d ask again if prompted.

Fred seemed to decide something, and then he was shouting, “Oi! Angelina!”

Angelina pulled her gaze from you and her thoughts from quidditch, “What?”

“Want to come to the Ball with me?” called Fred, eyebrows wiggling mischievously. Your heart dropped. Of course he’d want to ask Angelina. She’s beautiful, she’s kind, she’s athletic, she’s smart. Why would he ask you when you’d only just started getting along again a few days ago?

George glanced to Fred then, looking a bit affronted. Angelina shot you an anxious look. You forced the jealous thoughts from your mind, and smiled lightly at her, shrugging. “All right, then,” she said, turning back to you.

“Oi! Y/N!” you turned back to the table, where George had just called your name. At this point, the entire Common Room was watching the exchange. Fred’s attention was on George.

“What is it, George?” you asked, not having to guess too hard at what he was about to say.

He smiled, “Want to come to the Ball with me?” his grin was growing by the second, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, but couldn’t help a smile from sliding onto your face, “Sure thing.”

You turned back to Angelina, who looked nervous, probably thinking you’d be mad that she was going with Fred. You smiled at her, “That was weird.”

Her shoulders relaxed, “Sure was. Can’t expect anything different from that pair, though.”

Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell rushed over to you and Angelina, immediately interested in your plans for the Ball.

And you couldn’t blame them. You could tell, this was going to be very interesting.

----

On the day of the Yule Ball, Hogwarts was buzzing.

The castle grounds were perfectly white and snowy and the students were excitable. Even most of the teachers could be seen with a spring in their step, humming a Christmas tune.

You and Angelina were darting around your dormitory, half dressed, hair half up, makeup partially done.

“Y/N, have you seen my shoes?” called Angelina from the other side of the room. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, and then around the room, which looked as though a swarm of pixies had been through it.

“Yeah,” you replied, picking up your wand and flicking it so the elegant high-heels hovered in the air, “Here.”

“Thanks,” she responded, letting out a huff.

Your dress was beautiful: the exact length, texture, and color you had been imagining it would be since you heard Hogwarts was hosting a Yule Ball. And Angelina looked great, too. She was wearing a velvety plum colored dress that perfectly accentuated her athletic frame.

You pinned a few hairs out of your face as she slipped on her shoes.

“Erm, Y/N?”

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Angelina’s pretty face was twisted in an anxious expression.

“Well, nothing is wrong, exactly, but…” she trailed off, looking at you in the mirror you were using to get ready. “Well, I wanted to make sure you’re okay with me going to the Ball with Fred.” She looked nervous, and a bit guilty.

You laughed, a bobby pin stuck between your teeth, “As long as you’re okay that I’m going with George.”

Her expression stilled, her eyes grew wide, “But—I—”

“I know you like him, Ang.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, pouting, “I do not.”

“Could have fooled me,” you retorted.  

She frowned, “There’s no reason I would be mad! Why would I be mad? I’m not mad.”

You sent her a smile, “Nor am I mad that you’re going with Fred,” you eyed her through the mirror, “And even though you’re insisting that you don’t like him, I’m pretty sure George likes you.”

Her eyes grew wide, and thoughtful, with this information, “Really?”

You nodded.

There was silence for a few moments.

“They’ve really done a number on us, haven’t they?” she asked you, not completely serious, but there was a certain weight behind her words.

“Yeah, they have,” you agreed, “Maybe we should ditch them and just go together.”

She laughed, “Maybe we should.”

You finished with your hair and turned to face her. “I’m ready to head down, how about you?”

“Me too,” she looked you up and down appreciatively, “Damn, girl! I can’t wait to see Fred’s face when he sees you in that!”

You scoffed, “Yeah right! It’ll be nothing compared to George’s when he sees you!” You took her arm and descended the stairs together.

Fred and George did, indeed, do double takes when they saw you and Angelina.

They had been standing nonchalantly at the bottom of the staircases, dressed in robes that were clearly hand-me-downs, but far nicer than their usual attire nonetheless. George spotted you first, grinning your way before his gaze slid over to Angelina. His eyes widened and his jaw slackened as he watched her walking towards him. You felt smug, you knew they had a thing for each other.

Fred was watching Angelina, too, a small grin on his face. When he glanced at you, his grin fell away and his eyes turned intense again. You wondered if you’d done something to offend him.

In perfect unison, they spoke, “Hello, ladies!”

“Hey, George,” you smiled at your date.

He mock bowed your way, “Merlin’s beard, it’s going to be hard to behave myself tonight,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “You look great, darling.” He slipped an elegant arrangement of flowers over your wrist: a corsage.

“Aw, thanks, George. You didn’t have to do this.”

He was grinning, “I promised I’d make tonight worth your while.” Above everything else, you were glad to be going to the Ball with George. He was easy: tonight would be fun and stress-free.

A throat cleared, “Y/N.”

You turned toward the voice, “Hi, Fred.” You observed his outfit—a yellow vest, a slim bowtie—he looked very handsome, “You clean up nicely.”

His expression was still solid. Stormy, almost. “You’re not so bad yourself, fantastically proportioned figure and extraordinary facial features and all.” he smirked, referencing your comment from the other night. His eyes trailed over your body shamelessly—almost as if he were checking you out.

You laughed, but your cheeks were burning, “Thanks.” Next to you, George and Angelina seemed to be having a similar exchange. You smiled at them.

George turned back to you, then, holding out his arm for you to take, “Alright. You ready, Freddie?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, mate.”

The four of you made your way to the Yule Ball in pairs, Fred and Angelina were arm in arm just as you and George were.

The Great Hall was barely recognizable. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in frost, and were sparkling and silver. There were garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung from wall to wall and the trick ceiling displayed a perfectly starry night. There were dozens of small tables arranged neatly around the room, in place of the house tables, each one with a lantern for light. It was breathtaking.

You squeezed George’s arm in excitement, and moved to sit at a table with some other Gryffindors.

When the formal dinner was over, you danced. You danced a lot and without any thought to how other people were perceiving you. As you and George—and Fred and Angelina—made your way through the Hall, the crowds parted, giving you plenty of space as if they thought you might run them over. You were having a lot of fun. As you had predicted, George was an excellent date.

“Need more beverage?” he asked, and you nodded, him and Fred leaving to refill your drinks.

When they came back, George handed you your drink and winked, “This one’s got something special in it.” His eyes were full of their usual mischief, and he must have noted your unsure expression, because he rolled his eyes, “Oh relax, it’s not poisoned! It’s just got a bit of firewhisky in it.”

You grinned, “Alright then,” and downed it.

George whistled, “Careful there, Y/N. We’ve got all night.”

You laughed. Then, The Weird Sisters’ song slowed until it wasn’t something you could dance to in the way you and George had been dancing previously. You set your empty cup down, “Want to dance?”

He smiled at you, a friendly sort of smile, and downed his drink, too. “I’d love to dance. I have the most beautiful date in school.”

You snorted, “Oh please,” but you put your head on his shoulder, and settled your arms around his waist. His arms rested over yours at the small of your back, your torsos pushed together. You swayed with him for a minute without talking. You could feel the firewhisky making its way through your system.

A few feet away, Fred and Angelina were dancing, too. Angelina’s arms were tucked behind Fred’s neck and his were on her waist. They weren’t as cuddled up as you and George were; Fred was saying something to make Angelina laugh.

You were saddened by this sight. You found yourself wishing you were here tonight with Fred instead, and then felt immediately guilty because George had made such an effort to be a gentleman. You sighed.

“What is it, darling?” asked George, his voice concerned and close to your ear with how you were dancing.

“It’s nothing,” you lamented, feeling rather sorry for yourself. “Does Fred like Angelina?”

George was silent.

You let out a humorless chuckle. “I mean, he must. He asked her to be his date tonight.”

George pulled away from you, just enough to look at your face, his expression was, for once, serious, “Well, I asked you to be my date. And no offense, Y/N, but I don’t have feelings for you.”

“Oh.” You frowned, not having considered this information, “I mean, I know you don’t. I don’t have feelings for you, either,” you giggled.

George’s mouth twitched, “In fact, I have feelings for someone else,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened, and your mouth turned upwards, “Really? Well, it just so happens that I also have feelings for someone else.”

He rolled his eyes, “I never would have guessed. You’re so subtle.”

You scoffed, faking offense, “Well, it’s not like you’re slyest in the bunch either, George.”

He eyed something behind you, “What do you say… that we stir the pot a bit?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked back to you, clearly hatching some evil plan, “I mean, what do you say we make them a bit jealous?”

You narrowed your eyes, “I’m listening…”

He grinned, again glancing somewhere behind you, “You see, if I were to dip you,” he tugged you to the side, and let you fall a bit towards the floor, “and snog you, just for a second” he added, noting your distressed expression, “I bet it would get a reaction from anyone who has feelings for you.”

You were confused, “Who has feelings for me?”

His grin remained intact, “Just trust me, love.”

You nodded, trusting him without question as he leaned in and closed the gap between you. When his lips landed on yours, they were firm, and chaste. You felt no spark, no electricity. But, you felt the same feeling of safety that you always felt around George.

When he pulled away, he winked, and helped you back into a standing position.

“Well, that happened,” you remarked, not feeling much of anything.

“It sure did,” he agreed.

“Did your plan work?” you asked.

He looked again to a spot located just over your shoulder, “We’ll just have to wait to find out.”

Curiosity filled you, “What are you looking at?” You moved to turn your head, and follow his gaze, but he stopped you with a hand on your cheek.

“Trust me, Y/N.”

----

A few songs later, you and Angelina were sitting at an empty table. Fred and George had gone to talk to Ludo Bagman, for some reason, leaving you here.

As you sat, you looked around the room. Harry and Ron seemed rather lonely, sitting by themselves, Padma and Parvati nowhere to be found. Ron’s robes were very traditional, frilly, and a bit gross looking, and you felt a twinge of pity for him. Harry, on the other hand, looked quite nice in expensive-looking emerald robes.

You pointed them out to Angelina, “Don’t they look just miserable?”

She nodded, “Poor Harry. Ron’s in a horrible mood tonight.”

“Why is that?”

She looked back to you, “Did you see Hermione Granger?”

You shook your head.

“Well, Alicia was telling me that she overheard her and Ron talking the other night. Ron wondered who Hermione was taking to the Ball, but she wouldn’t tell him. Turns out she’s here with Krum. And she looks absolutely stunning. Almost rivals the Delacour girl.”

You frowned, “Well, why’s that got Ron in a bad mood?”

Angelina raised her eyebrows at you, “You really are clueless, aren’t you? Ron definitely likes her.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them interacting, it’s pretty obvious most of the time. Too much sexual tension for there to be no feelings.”

You giggled, “Well, I can’t be completely clueless. I noticed George liking you.”

She frowned, “Speaking of George. Did I see you guys kissing?”

You blushed, “Oh. Right. Please don’t be mad!” you gave her a very apologetic expression, “He said it was to ‘stir the pot.’ Whatever that means. Apparently, there’s someone here that he thought would get jealous.”

“Why would I be mad?” Angelina’s perfectly sculpted brows were furrowed, and then raised in surprise as she processed your words, “Y/N! I think—”

Across the room, Fred and George were no longer talking to Bagman. Instead, they were talking to each other, and apparently arguing about something. Before you could point it out to Angelina, they were headed your way.

Fred stopped right in front of you, “Hello, Y/N. Care for a chat?”

You glanced to Angelina, who’s wide eyes were glancing frantically back and forth between you and Fred. “Too much sexual tension for there to be no feelings,” she muttered, apparently to herself.

You blushed, hoping Fred hadn’t heard that. He must not have, because he was still looking at you, “Uh, sure.”

Fred gestured for you to follow him as he made his way outside, to where rosebushes had been conjured and filled with tiny, living fairies, who glowed in the chilly nighttime air. A statue of Father Christmas and his reindeer were elegantly placed in the middle of the makeshift enclosure.

Fred stopped and faced you. “I saw you kiss George.”

You frowned, scrunching your nose, “Yeah. So?” You shivered once, not having a coat or a sweater of any kind, and Fred noticed. He took off his own and draped it over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you muttered. This felt somehow similar to when Louis had tried to ask you to the Ball a few weeks ago.

“So, why did you kiss him?”

You met Fred’s eyes, very confused. “What do you mean? He’s my date, I’m allowed to kiss my date, aren’t I?”

“Well, I’d rather you not.”

Your expression shifted into one of incredulity, “Fred are you actually serious? Did you bring me out here for another lecture on which boys you think want to use me for sex? Because I’m pretty sure George has no interest in—”

He frowned, exasperated, “No! No. I just—Why George? Why is it… always George?” He was staring at you quite intently, and you were again reminded of a different time. Fourth year, broom cupboard, hide and seek.

You took a step back from him, clueless, “What do you mean ‘Why is it always George?’ Like I said, George is my date.” You felt like there was something you should be figuring out right about now. This was too weird.

“But, you didn’t want to kiss him…” he said slowly.

You rolled your eyes, “Well, it’s not like he forced me.”

Fred frowned, clearly this is not what he had wanted you to say, “No, I mean, you didn’t really want to kiss him.”

You paused, crossing your arms, “No. I guess I didn’t really want to kiss him.”

“But you did anyway… because he was your date.”

“Yes. Because he was my date.” You avoided mentioning the other, more embarrassing reasons for the kiss.

“But why?” he asked, still staring at you very intently, still dressed very nicely.

You were silent for a moment, wondering where he was headed with this, “Why what?”

Fred frowned, also in thought, “Why didn’t you want to kiss him?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because I don’t like him like that, you dolt. We’re just friends.”

“It always seemed as though you like George. I mean, what’s not to like? I know he’s not as good looking as I am, but still.” Fred seemed to think this comment was pretty funny, because he smirked to himself.

You pressed your face into your hands and groaned.

“So why?” he repeated. You shot him a scathing look. “Why don’t you like him like that, I mean,” he corrected.

Your eyes lingered on his brown ones. He seemed earnest, there was no hint that he was about to make fun of you. “I… I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He scoffed, “I think it’s entirely my business.”

You turned toward him again, cheeks hot, “And why would you think that, you entitled prick?”

His eyes met yours, and then he glanced up. The sky was inky and filled with scatterings of stars and a bright full moon, just like the trick ceiling inside the Great Hall. Combined with the elegant enclosure, it would have been dreadfully romantic—if you were with anyone else.  

When Fred’s gaze found yours again, there was something softer to it: he was vulnerable, “You know why, Y/N.”

Your stomach dropped and your eyes fell to the grass. There was no way he knew. You were careful, you were—

“Y/N,” he repeated.

“I—I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain yourself,” you settled in, ready to defend yourself.

“Because I’m in love with you,” your gaze shot up at this, eyes wide, “and I think I deserve to know who my competition is.” Fred’s eyebrows were furrowed and his expression was honest. He was steeled, prepared to take this blow, prepared to know, finally, that you didn’t love him back.

You turned from him, despite every cell in your body telling you to do the opposite. You were on fire. “But…” you sputtered, “you hate me!”

He laughed, “I will admit that I acted to intentionally make my feelings for you less obvious.” He paused, “But honestly, woman, you didn’t know?”

You spun towards him again, now several feet away, in utter disbelief at how idiotic the pair of you had been acting: being mean to each other to throw the other off your scent. “Of course I didn’t know!”

Fred took in your distressed expression and took a few strides towards you, grabbing your forearms in an attempt to calm you. His hands were warm, you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. It was cold outside, damnit. And he must have been wearing some sort of potion for cologne, because your head was light with this sudden close proximity.

You slammed your palms against his chest in a weak attempt to display your anger, failing when you noticed his muscles tense under your fingers. You let Fred pull you into a hug. You were enveloped in him for the first time in a long time, and you couldn’t help but notice how well you fit together.

After a few moments, you heard his voice, “So, who is it?” His voice was in your ear as George’s had been during your slow dance, but with Fred’s words, a shiver went down your spine.

You tilted your head, chin resting on his chest as he looked down at you. His dark eyes were still hardened in preparation of your confession. And though you felt bad for him in the moment, thinking that you were about to tell him about your feelings for someone else, you couldn’t help but smile and tuck your face back into his chest. Fred loved you back. You could hear his heart beating at a speed you were positive was much quicker than it should be.

“Who is it, love? I promise, you won’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you’re worried about. We can stay friends, I won’t be upset.” You could tell he was trying to be gentle. He didn’t want to hurt you while you told him who you loved instead.

You groaned, and spoke into his shirt, “It’s you, you absolute tosser.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you, darling.” You could hear the overjoyed smile in his voice, and you knew, he had most definitely heard you. He was being cheeky, already.

You pulled your face back from him again, and met his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you got any words out, he was leaning down and kissing you.

And it was a little awkward at first, with both of you being so excited, you fumbled for a bit. But after a moment or two, your noses stopped bumping and you wound your hands in his hair and kissed him back as passionately as you could. His arms pulled tighter around you, and one hand reached down to squeeze your butt.

You pulled away, swatting at him. “Hey!” But, both of you were breathless and smiling and you leaned in again. The night was cold but you might have been in a sauna for all you knew. Your blood was racing through your veins. You’d wanted this for years.

Kissing Fred was nothing like your kiss with George had been. Fred’s lips on yours made all of the disgustingly cheesy things you read about in romance novels happen: your heart was racing, your head was light, your stomach was filled with butterflies.

When you finally pulled away, both you and Fred were gasping for breath, the cold, winter air drawing into your lungs again and again.

You cleared your throat, “I said…” you gave Fred a pointed look, “It’s you, you absolute tosser.”

He laughed under his breath, “Yeah, I gathered, love.” He moved in to peck your lips again.

As you walked back to the Great Hall, his arm around your shoulders, you grinned at him, “So, me and my fantastically proportioned figure and extraordinary facial features, huh?”

Fred rolled his eyes.

----

A/N 2: I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! I love reading your comments 🥺💕⚡️🧡 

[remywrites5]

Could I please have an extremely fluffy prompt? You can choose either StevexBucky , RemusxSirius , DracoxHarry (The harry Potter ones could please be in hogwarts? Thank you!!)

           “Do you really think he doesn’t know?” Pansy whispered to Blaise as they watched Draco in the corner working on his Potter stinks badges. “I mean he talks about him all the time. Like constantly.”

           Blaise’s lips quirked into a grin. “I don’t think he has any idea,” he told her honestly. “He’s almost as clueless as Potter.”

           “Shouldn’t we – you know – as his friends help him realize it for himself?” Pansy asked, her eyes glinting with the hint of a plan.

           Blaise’s smile widened. “What did you have in mind?”

                                                           ***

           “Ugh, this is a disgrace,” Draco said from the stands, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Potter fight a dragon. As if St. Potter needed someone pinning more ribbons to him, now he could add dragon slayer to his many, many lists of accomplishments. “Why did they even let him compete? He’s so obviously out of his league.”

           “I don’t know,” Pansy said, cocking her head to the side. “He looks really good on a broomstick, don’t you think?”

           “What?” Draco spat out, looking at his friend in alarm.

           “I think so too,” Blaise said, admiring Potter as he zipped through the air with the dragon hot on his tails. “Damn, the way he’s handling that dragon is pretty hot. He could handle my dragon anytime.”

          “I’d go for a ride on his broomstick,” Pansy added. 

           Draco sputtered, his face going bright red. “What has gotten into you two?” he asked, staring at them completely baffled.

           Pansy had to bite to inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Blaise just shrugged in response.

                                                           ***

           “Damn, Potter is looking good today in those jeans,” Blaise crowed, ogling Harry as he made his way to the Gryffindor table on Sunday breakfast. Potter had foregone his robes for a more casual look for the weekend. “I never realized what a nice arse he has.”

           “Mmm,” Pansy hummed, licking her lips. “I could take a bite out of that.”

           Neither of them missed the way Draco was growling, although they weren’t sure Draco was even aware he was doing it. “Honestly you two, isn’t it bad enough that everyone at this school fawns all over Potter. Do you have to join their mindless ranks as well?” Draco hissed at them, standing up and shoving his food away. “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.”

           Goyle stared at his food longingly but got up from the table with Crabbe. They followed Draco out of the Great Hall, probably off to go pout somewhere and complain about Potter.

           Theodore Nott slid over. “Alright, what are you two doing?”

           Pansy laughed. “We’re trying to see who can get Draco to admit his crush on Potter first.”

           “Why?” Nott asked, wrinkling his nose.

           “Because it’d be funny?” Blaise said with a shrug. “And the course load this year isn’t exactly a lot because of the tournament. We’re bored.”

           “It’s bad enough now with their constant bickering, do you really want to see them mooning all over each other?” Nott asked, glancing between Blaise and Pansy. “They’ll be insufferable.”

           “What about we put some money on it?” Blaise asked, his eyes flashing with mischief. “First person to get Draco to admit he’s hot for Potter get 10 Galleons.”

           “Oh you are so on,” Pansy said, shaking on it with Blaise.

           “Count me in as well,” Nott said with an evil grin that would do Slytherin proud.

                                                           ***

           It had been over a year and no one had gotten Draco to crack. The pot had been upped to 20 Galleons just to make things interesting but no one had managed it yet. Crabbe and Goyle had even joined in on the game even though no one was sure they really understood the rules. Crabbe had a tendency to just say “Potter, eh?” and that just made Draco go off on another tangent. 

           Pansy, Blaise and Nott all sat around in the Slytherin common room, groaning to each other on their utter failures.

           “Maybe we should just ask him,” Pansy said, looking at the other two upside down from where her head was dangling off the sofa.

           “Yeah right,” Nott said, shaking his head. “He’d just deny it. He’s clearly deep in denial about it.”

           “Do we even know if he fancies blokes?” Blaise asked, scratching his chin.

           Pansy snorted. “If Draco Malfoy is straight then so am I.”

           Blaise and Nott shared a look. They’d both seen Pansy snogging Daphne Greengrass at the last Slytherin party.

           “Maybe if we get him drunk,” Blaise offered as a suggestion. “Or slip him some Veritaserum.”

           “There’s go to be a way to crack him,” Pansy said, sitting up and holding onto the sofa as the blood rushed down from her head. “There’s just got to. Come on, we’re Slytherins. We’re better than this!”

           They all fell silent as Draco entered the common room with Crabbe and Goyle on his heels. He stopped when he spotted them, putting his hands on his hips. “What are you lot up to then?”

           “Just talking about Potter,” Pansy said, shooting Blaise a wink.

           “What has he done now?” Draco asked, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was amazing how easy it was to get him riled up where Potter was concerned.

           “We were just saying he’s probably pretty well-endowed,” Blaise said, wiggling his eyebrows.

           Draco rolled his eyes. “I doubt it.”

           “I don’t know,” Nott said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “He does walk with his legs pretty far apart. Have you noticed?”

           Draco went red. “Of course I haven’t noticed!” he snapped at them. “Honestly, all you three have talked about for the last year has been Potter this and Potter that. It’s annoying.”

           None of them bothered to point out the irony of that statement. It would have  given the game away. Pansy decided to push her luck. “Come on, the Chosen One has to have a decent sized cock. Don’t you think, Draco?”

           Draco glowered at them and turned on his heels, stomping up to his dormitory without answering the question.

                                                           ***

           As they were nearing the end of their fifth year, each of them was becoming more and more desperate to win. It was Blaise – in the end – who decided to go for broke. He managed to corner Potter alone outside after potions.

           “Hey Potter,” he said, putting his arm up, trapping Potter against the wall outside the dungeons. “You look really nice today.” Blaise noticed Draco exit the classroom and shoot them a look.

           “Uh, thanks Zabini,” Potter said, clearly caught off guard. He shuffled awkwardly and looked around, probably for Ron and Hermione.

           “You know, I always thought you were cute,” Blaise said, brushing aside a bit of Harry’s hair.

           In his periphery he could see Draco watching them. He practically had steam coming out of his ears. Blaise licked is lips and glanced purposefully down at Potter’s mouth.

           “Zabini, what are you – “

           “Shh,” Blaise said, pressing his finger against Potter’s lips. “Don’t spoil this. Why don’t you just agree to let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend and I’ll show you the time of your life?”

           “Look out!” Harry shouted, pulling out his wand just in time to throw up a shield charm to combat Draco’s hex. “Malfoy, what are you playing at?”

           Draco looked ready to murder someone and Blaise wasn’t totally sure that another hex wasn’t imminent. He decided to make himself scarce before Draco made him regret sticking around.

           Draco was breathing heavy, his hand curled tight around his wand, staring at Harry. Harry blinked a few times, unsure what to do or say. It had been one bloody strange afternoon and Harry hated that several people in the corridor were staring at them.

           “Enjoy the show, did you?” Harry snapped at them. The crowd quickly dissipated until it was just Harry and Malfoy left.

           Malfoy charged at Harry with purpose and Harry raised his wand in defense, ready to duel Malfoy if he had to. Instead Draco grabbed Harry by his robes and mashed their lips together. Harry found himself once against pressed up against the wall under Draco’s onslaught. Harry couldn’t help the way his lips began responding, encouraged by the little hums and whines Malfoy was making.

           Draco broke the kiss but kept his hands grasping at Harry’s robes. They both panted as they stared at each other in disbelief over what had just occurred. “Potter,” Draco snarled. “Fuck you.”

           Harry laughed. “Fuck you too, Malfoy.”

           Draco scowled at him. “If you got to Hogsmeade with anyone but me this weekend they will be in for a very unpleasant surprise.”

           Harry snorted, shoving Malfoy away and fixing his robes. “Such a charmer,” he quipped. “Do you always threaten your dates like this?”

           “Who said it was a date, Potter?” Draco said snidely. He stepped away and put his hair back into place.

           “Isn’t it?” Harry challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You did just almost hex Zabini for chatting me up and then kiss me. I thought the odds were pretty good you were trying to ask me out.”

           Draco looked around as if to make sure no one was watching them. “Fine, it’s a date, Potter,” he hissed out. “Wear those nice Muggle jeans you have. They look good on you.” With that, Draco strode down the corridor towards the Slytherin common room with Harry staring after him. Draco Malfoy had just said Harry looked nice. He had complimented Harry willingly. 

           Just what was the world coming to?

                                                           ***

           “Nine…ten…” Pansy said, counting out her half owed to Zabini for winning the bet. “I can’t believe you won. I’m so angry.”

           Blaise grinned and pulled is twenty Galleons closer to himself, admiring his winnings. “Drastic measures had to be taken.”

           “Why didn’t think of flirting with Potter?” Pansy groaned, falling dramatically onto the sofa. “That was a stroke of genius.”

           “I can’t believe Potter had to save you from Draco’s hex,” Nott said, shaking his head.

           “Do you think they’re having a good time of their date?” Blaise asked, smirking at the very thought of it.

           “It’ll be a miracle if those two don’t kill each other,” Pansy responded, examining her blood red nails.

           “Did someone win the bet?” Goyle asked, frowning in confusion.

           Pansy and Blaise rolled their eyes at each other with Goyle’s obtuseness. Didn’t he know Draco and Harry were at Hogsmeade together? Draco had warned that if he caught any of them following him and Harry he would make them regret it. They knew better to test Draco – at least with his knowledge – so they all decided to skip Hogsmeade for the weekend.

           They sat around joking and discussing how the date was probably going, wondering if Draco had screwed it all up yet. They were laughing as they guessed what jinx Harry would use on Draco if the evening went poorly.

           They all went quiet as two figures entered the common room, Draco dragging Potter along behind him. “No one come upstairs,” he ordered, tugging Harry up to their dormitory, Potter’s face as red as a beet. They all looked at each other and burst out laughing.

           Apparently the date had gone very well indeed.

[buckys-estrella]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐

Forge of the Heart

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: The year is 1774 and Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the British army has been sent to Boston, Massachusetts in the thirteen colonies. The Quartering Act has just been put in place and he along with two other soldiers will be staying in the house of a colonist. He expected resistance but he never thought that he would find the eldest daughter of the household to be so intriguing.

Warnings (for this chapter): implied/attempted sexual assault + (minor-ish) violence/fighting + blood/injury /-/ If anyone is uncomfortable with these topics and chooses not read, that’s fine. Please prioritize your own mental health. If you would like to know what happens in the chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll give a rundown without diving too much into the topics in the warnings <3

   A week has passed since Barnes had arrived in the colonies. The host family was friendly to an extent; it was obvious that they held patriotic views and weren’t all too happy to share their household and resources with British soldiers. However, they were kind-hearted folks that tried their best to avoid being overtly rude. They understood that the redcoats stationed in the colonial homes were simply meant to observe and patrol. Though, that information didn’t stop many colonists from having their suspicions. 

   On the days that Bucky wasn’t on patrol, he spent most of his time in the house. It was generally peaceful and quiet, given that you and Charlotte were the ones who stayed doing chores and kept the household running. Though, about an hour a day after lunch, you two retreated to your room where you would give Charlotte a lesson of some sort, most of it revolved around book learning. It warmed Bucky’s heart to know that you wanted to educate your sister when the option wasn’t available to her in any other way. It reminded him of his own sister and how he would read to her when she was younger. 

   One early Sunday morning, Buck awoke with the feeling of wanting to explore the colonial city. Yet, not as a redcoat on patrol, no. He wanted to explore with freedom, without being under the scrutiny of the colonists around him. He began to get dressed in plain clothes and was out the door before anyone else in the household awoke. 

   Watching the sunrise over the harbor calmed Bucky down and reminded him of simpler times. The streets were mainly empty and peaceful, most people took Sunday as a day to relax. He wandered around for an hour or two before he started to head back to the house. On his way back, he passed an alley where he thought he heard a scream for help. His instincts kicked in faster than a bullet being fired. He rushed into the alley, where he sees a fellow redcoat forcing himself onto a woman. No. Not a fellow redcoat, any “man” who did this was no fellow of any kind to Bucky. The scumbag had his hand clamped down on her mouth, Bucky was seething at this point. He grabbed the perpetrator by his collar and yanked him off of the girl. 

   “What the bloody fuck do you think you were doing?” The soldier, who was a corporal according to his uniform, didn’t respond. Instead, he threw a punch square on Bucky’s jaw. He was pissed off before, but now he was livid. More punches were thrown from the both of them, at one point the corporal pulled out a blade and got Bucky on his side before he was able to unarm him. Shortly after, Buck was able to have him on the ground with his knife to the prick’s throat.

   “Listen closely, I could kill you right here, right now if I wanted to and believe me, I want to.” Bucky practically growled the words, “However, I won’t. Instead, I’ll report you to your superior officer and pray that the punishment you receive is painful enough. Now get up and leave.”

   The corporal didn’t have to be told twice; he knew when to withdraw from a fight. Once he was gone, Bucky turned around to help the girl who was cowered in the corner, frozen in fear. He leaned down to help up, but she flinched away.

   “He’s gone now, you’re okay. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” Buck made sure to be gentle with his words so he wouldn’t scare her. When she looked up at him, his breath was knocked out of his lungs. 

   It was you. 

   You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, and his heart squeezed painfully. You made your way closer to him, seeking some sort of solace. He knew you wanted comfort, but a part of him felt as if he was taking advantage since you were so vulnerable at this moment. Nevertheless, he held you, only until he felt your heart rate calm down to a normal pace. Bucky started to pull away, but you held tighter. He looked down and saw the pain in your eyes, his gut tightened, and suddenly he wanted to be the man who banished all your pain.

   “We need to get you back home.” He whispered softly. You just gave a simple nod and allowed Buck to help you up. Once you two were finally on your feet, he noticed about a meter away, some groceries that had fallen on the floor. He went to go pick them up, but he realized that they had been ruined at some point during his fight. Bucky sent an apologetic look your way, knowing that you would have to go again to get those same supplies at some point. You offered no words, and just kept in step with Bucky as he led the two of you home.  

   About a block from your home, you heard Bucky let out a groan in pain. You had been so caught up in your own mind that it was just up until now that you noticed he was bleeding. 

   “Sergeant,” you gasped, “Oh Lord, you’re bleeding! Why didn’t you tell me?”

   “I needed to make sure you were okay first.”

   “Hurry, get inside, and on the bed, we need to stop the bleeding.” You hastily led him inside the house and towards your room. You quickly passed by Rogers and Wilson as you ushered Barnes to the bed. The two men promptly followed you having noticed that Bucky was bleeding.

   “What the bloody hell happened?” Steve was the first to speak up as he rushed to help Bucky. 

   “Captain, listen to me, I need you to go to the town square and fetch the doctor. Now!” Steve rushed out of the room without question as you turned to Sam. 

   “I need you to go to the kitchen, we have a medicine box in the bottom cupboard. Also, bring me a basin of water from the well outside. Quickly, please!” Once Sam left too, you turned to Bucky, who was now lying on the bed. 

   “You’re going to need to take your shirt off for me to get a better look.” You couldn’t help but feel flustered at your own words. Even in pain, Bucky took notice and couldn’t help but smirk.  

   “By all means,” he grunted, “look all you want.” Bucky gritted his teeth against the pain that spread through him as he stripped out of his shirt. The stretch of muscles pulled at the injured flesh, causing new blood trails to trickle down his midsection and soak into the waistband of his trousers.  

   Your eyes raked his exposed body, concern, and a touch of squeamishness evident in your gaze. Along with something a tad bit warmer. Appreciation? Dare he think…attraction? Bucky straightened, the pain somehow not quite as bad as it had been a moment ago. A beautiful woman’s regard had a wonderful dulling effect on a man’s pain. The cut still stung like the dickens, but not so bad that he couldn’t enjoy a little feminine admiration. 

   “Thank you for what you did.” You murmured the words in an offhand manner as you grabbed a three-legged stool that had been shoved into the corner behind the bed and carried it to where he was. You stopped about an arm’s length away from him, set the stool down, and sat atop it. You finally looked Bucky in the face. 

   “I’m sorry that your bravery caused you so much harm.” Bucky could see that you were genuinely sorry, even though what happened and what he did was in no way your fault. 

   “Any other man worth anything would have down the same.” Your gazes held, and Bucky could swear that something tangible stretched between you two. Something he’d never experienced with a woman before. Almost as if he recognized you. Not your physical appearance, but you. You tore your gaze away as Sam entered the room with the supplies you had asked for. He came forward and asked where she wanted them. You pointed a finger to the floor near your feet. 

   “Place the basin here, and set down the box down there and slide off the lid, please. I’ll need the bandages that are inside.” Sam pulled the box from under his arm, arranged it as instructed, then stood like a soldier awaiting orders. “What else can I do?”

   “You may stay or leave, the choice is up to you, I already have all I need.” Sam didn’t think he’d be much more help in the room with you, so he opted to wait outside and keep an eye out for Steve. As he was leaving, you dipped the cloth into the basin and squeezed out the excess liquid. The trickling water echoed loudly in the quiet room. You lifted the wet cloth to a spot over the wound and tightened your fist until a small stream of water dibbled into the gash. Buck hissed a breath at the cold sting. His abdomen sucked in automatically, but he caught himself and willed his muscles still.  

   You never seemed to hurry. Your movements just sort of flowed. No rough jostling. No nervous shaking. Just gentle, smooth motions. By the time you finished cleaning his wound, his breathing had slowed, and the muscles in his neck and back had relaxed in response to your calm manner. 

   “I’m afraid this next part is going to be rather unpleasant.” Your hands released the cloth to slip silently into the basin on the floor and reached for the medicine box. Your fingers closed around the neck of a tall corked bottle. The lovely lethargy Bucky had been feeling vanished.

   Whiskey.

   He shifted on the bed, steeling himself for what he knew was to come. You looked at him, an apology in your eyes. He flashed you his best cocky grin. “And here I pegged you as the teetotaling type.” He dipped his head toward the bottle. “I’m not a drinking man myself, but if you need a sip for fortification, I won’t judge.”

   “How open-minded of you, sir.” Your tone sounded prissy, but your eyes sparkled with humor. His grin spread wider.  

   You pulled out the cork, the small pop echoing between the two of you. Your nose crinkled at the pungent fumes. “As tempted as I am, I’m afraid this particular spirit has been set aside for medicinal purposes.”

   Bucky shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

   You retrieved the water-soaked rag, squeezed it out, then met his gaze, all humor gone from your eyes. “Are you ready?”

   Bucky braced his arms on the bed behind him to make the torn flesh more accessible. Then he tightened his jaw and gave a quick nod.

   You held the cloth below the gash and dribbled the liquid fire from the mouth of the bottle into his wound. Bucky’s fingers clenched around the edge of the mattress. Every muscle in his body pulled taut. But he didn’t make a sound. Pride intact, he barely even flinched when you dabbled some of the liquor on other minor scrapes. Breathing in through his nose, he forced his body to relax as you finished.

   “All done.” Something in your voice brought his focus to your face. Tears shimmered in your eyes. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.” And you were. Genuinely. His gut twisted in response, and he hoped to heaven that he didn’t ever end up hurting you.  

   You proceeded to cap the whiskey bottle and returned it to the box at your feet. “I think we should go ahead and bandage you up. It will help stem the bleeding at least until the doctor gets here.”

   Bucky eyed the gash. Most of the alcohol had already evaporated from his skin, but a new wetness oozed from the opening. It had a pinkish hue as new blood mixed with whatever other fluid was leaking from his body. “Seems like a sound notion.”

   You shifted in your stool. “If you’ll just…ah…hold this dressing in place, I’ll…ah…wrap the bandage…”

   Bucky shot a gaze at his nurse. Was the always-serene Y/n actually flustered about something? Your eyes were making a valiant effort to look everywhere except his chest. Which, of course, meant that was precisely where you wanted to look. Was it the anticipation of touching him instead of just his wounds that had you suddenly ill at ease? 

   He straightened a little, ignoring the painful pull of the skin around his injury, and reached for the cotton pad you offered. Biting back a grin, Bucky glanced down to fit the dressing over the center of the large gash. By the time he raised his head, he had his expression fully stoic and under control.

   “Ready when you are.” You startled a bit at his voice then rose off your stool to stand over him. You pressed the end of the bandage against his side, your fingers cool against his overheated skin. Slowly, you unrolled the cotton strip and passed it over the dressing. The back of your hand brushed against his, the touch sending odd little prickles down into his belly. Then you leaned close in order to reach the bandage behind him. Suddenly he was the one trying to look everywhere but at you. He stared at the ceiling as you continued binding his wound. His breaths grew shallower with each pass you made. Even when he didn’t look at you, he could smell you. There was something there, something sweet he couldn’t quite name.

   “There. All done.” You stepped away, and Bucky finally managed a full-sized breath. He mumbled his thanks as you started to leave the room.  

   Some time passed before the doctor finally came in and stitched him up. When the doc was done, Bucky fell asleep to get some much-needed rest. When he awoke in the morning, there was a plate of breakfast on the stool next to the bed. Along with the food, there was a note from you, thanking him again for what he did. His heart constricted, he wishes that he didn’t need to save you from anything, but the world was filled with wicked people, and you had the misfortune of encountering one yesterday. 

   As Buck was eating his food, Steve came in. “How are you feeling, pal?”

   “Pretty good for someone who had a blade slash them.” Bucky sent a cocky grin after the words came out of his mouth. 

   “And why exactly did that happen? What did you get yourself into Buck?” He could hear the concern in Steve’s voice. The two have always looked after each other since they were kids. It wasn’t his place to tell, but he trusted Steve and knew that he’d have the same reaction that he did. So, Bucky told him, not in detail, but enough for him to get the idea of what happened.  

   “Bloody hell.” Steve blew out a frustrated breath, “Do you know the name of this bastard? He needs to pay the consequences for what he did.”

   “I don’t know much, but he’s probably pretty bruised from our fight yesterday. The doctor put me on bed rest, but you could ask the other soldiers if they know anything about a corporal who got pretty beat up yesterday.” Steve gave a nod and headed out with the intent to find the brute that hurt his friend and caused you pain as well. 

   Sometime after Steve left, you came into the room to fetch the plate. Bucky watched you and felt that he should say something; anything. Instead, the two of you shared a look that seemed to say everything.

A/N: !!! I hope you guys are excited as I am about this, and I really hope y’all enjoyed this chapter. I’m also sorry if it made have made anyone uncomfortable in regards to the actions that took place in this chapter. I know it can be very hard to read or see or hear something that reminds you of what happened and it is never my intention to cause anyone pain. Anyways I hope you guys liked it and look forward to the next chapters <333

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[captain-emmajones]

Prompt: Emma teaching Hook how to drive a car or him trying to teach her how to sail

I Stood in Line for Love 

I went with Killian teaching Emma how to sail, hope you will like this anon <3 

Summary:  Post 3x16. Neal has just died, and Emma is mourning. Killian offers to take her sailing, doesn't except her to say yes. On the ship, he tries to teach her how to sail, and their mutual pining almost kills them.

Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Fluff - 2000 words of mutual pining - Ao3 

Lyrics and titles are from Gale Song by The Lumineers <3 

“What am I, if not yours? What do I do with my hands when they are just hands?” Olivia Gatwood.

The words tickled his mouth. He had been stealing her glances for the last twenty minutes – more or less since she had been sitting in front of him, in one of Granny’s booth. She hadn’t said a word, had just landed in front of him with her cup of hot cocoa and a quick “’Morning, Hook.”

The elephant in the room was quite obvious. They had buried Neal just a week ago. There was a lump in his throat because he could only guess the extent of her pain and he couldn’t help her.

She was stubbornly not looking at him, hands wrapped around her mug of hot cocoa, so near and so far away at the time. Unreachable. Her undereye area was dangerously purple and her skin pale as snow. She looked exhausted.

And still she wouldn’t reach for him. She liked better to isolate herself in her grief, and how could he blame her? She had just lost her first love.

There was a time when I stood in line For love, for love, for love But I let you go, I let you go…

He remembered clearly what it had felt like to lose Milah. Agony was still a heartbeat away, but three hundred years of practice had muffled the destructive thoughts.

To make her look up, he tried a small cough, but she was stubborn. She simply wouldn’t.

It had felt like the end of the world, losing his Milah.

Until he met her.

(It bloody wrecked him to know he was not the second chance she was hoping for. Even more to know that if he might have been, it didn’t matter. She would never jump into love again.)

“You know, Swan,” he began, suddenly feeling bolder, and her eyes might have blinked to gaze at him, but she wasn’t really there, “the boy really enjoyed sailing.” A pause, he didn’t want to scare her off. Then again, she was already avoiding him so there wasn’t much for him to lose, “Perhaps, it would be relaxing for you too.”

There, he had dropped the bomb.

His heart stopped beating at his own words. He held his breath, petrified, considered her face with a lot of caution. Watched as a myriad of emotions seemed to wash over her, although she did try her best to conceal them.

Seconds flew away and his heart seemed to shatter along with them.

Clearly, this had been a mistake. Bloody hell, couldn’t you hold your tongue for a just a little longer, Killian—

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

It took him a good three seconds to realize she had been talking to him, and he even glanced behind him just to make sure.

It was then a challenge for him to hold back the very frank smile that tickled his lips. In truth, he failed miserably. “Oh! Well, I am your most devoted servant whenever you feel like it, Swan.”

His heart beamed when a very timid, very small smile curved her lips. It was a brief flicker of light, but the mask of sadness was quick to reconquer her face.

She suddenly stood up. She seemed upset, and he blamed himself. He desperately wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension on her face.

He clenched his jaw, hand fisted on the table. “See you around, Hook,” she mumbled, and ran away.

He stared at the mug of hot coca in front him. She had barely touched it.

He shook his shoulders, as if to regain some composure, as if she hadn’t just stepped on his heart. He silenced his own pain with a sip of rum.

He simply couldn’t reach her. And it was killing him.

.

Knock, knock,… Who the bloody hell was knocking on his door on a Sunday at 9am? Couldn’t a pirate sleep in for just one bloody day of the week?

He surely did not expect to open his door to face a visibly embarrassed Emma Swan. She was wrapped in a big, blue coat and she looked endearing – not that he’d tell her.

“Oh, I woke you up,” she sounded almost sorry, and she took a step back, a very red hue painted over her cheeks, “I thought we could go sailing this morning but clearly you’re not—”

Instinctively, he quickly grabbed her shoulder and her eyes burned his skin. “No no, Swan!” She looked concern, mouth slightly open, and he lowered his tone to reassure her: “Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready.”

When he closed the door behind him after a simple nod, he had to pinch himself. She came. To see him. His heart smiled. She came.

.

She was unable to understand what had gone through her mind. She had seriously thought it a very good idea to come knocking at Captain Hook’s door on a Sunday morning at 9am and somehow expect him to know full well she would come, and to be prepared, and not to stare at her with utter shock when he opened his door, and—

“Breath, Emma, breath” she mumbled to herself, alone in the corridor.

She was going back and forth between his room and the one she shared with Henry, her thoughts racing, this was definitely an enormous mistake, the bag of fresh pastries in her hand seeming suddenly absolutely ridiculous.

What was wrong with her? If anything, this looked like a goddamn date! She blinked in terror. He would never let her live this down.

She swallowed, inhaled deeply and pinched the tender skin of the palm of her hand.

Come on, Emma. You’re not sixteen anymore and you can spend the day with your f-friend,…

She was cut short in her anxious thoughts by Hook. He had just stepped out of his room, wearing his big, black coat.

(Nothing like the black boxers he was wearing when he had opened the door. How dare he.)

“Ready, Swan?” he attacked right away with a bright smile, and she buried her feet in the carpeted floor not to run.

She forced herself to faintly smile back.

“What took you forever?”

She cursed herself. Why did she always sound so angry when she was talking to him?

.

They made their way to the docks almost in complete silence, eating their pastries. He had probably looked completely baffled when she had handed him the buttery pastry, but then she had shoved it into his palm and he hadn’t dared to say anything besides this is most lovely, thank you Swan.

This winter morning was a real blessing for Hook. He loved the cold, salty sea air that filled his lungs with a very childish kind of joy.

He had tried to get her to talk, but his Swan was clearly reconsidering her decision to spend her morning with him and he was quite desperate to prove her wrong.

It really warmed his heart to think she would like to spend time with him. To be fair, it was your offer,…

She hadn’t glanced at him in the eye once. Instead, she was walking very steadily, hands in her pockets.

“Our vessel for the day,” he exclaimed in a smile once they had reached the ship. It was the one he had ‘borrowed’ earlier this week with the lad.  

If she was surprised to not see the Jolly Roger, she did not let it appear on her face. Instead, she nodded and offered him a small smile.

She looked adorable, with her red beanie and the same hue over her cheeks. He wasn’t bold enough to compliment her. She might have stabbed him.

Instinctively, his hand reached for her shoulder as she climbed aboard the ship. Before he could touch her, he felt her tense her muscles. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he backed away.

It hurt, in his chest.

.

Hook was a good teacher. He had a way with words. She noticed for the first time, as she was standing next to him on decks of the ship, that he had a very gentle, soothing voice.

He was guiding her hand on the ship’s wheel but did not linger there. He was holding back, she could tell, was trying to make her as comfortable as he possibly could aboard this ship.

She wondered where the Jolly Roger was, but did not dare to ask.

She understood quite quickly how to navigate the ocean, with a lot of his help of course.

The sea was indeed very calming. It distracted her from the torments of her heart, and the images of Neal’s death that were just under her eyelids. Those were exhausting her.

You could have done more. You could have saved him.

Lost in her thoughts, she made a mistake, and he had to reach for her hand to correct the course of the boat. It absolutely did not please something deep within her.

And when she made that same mistake thirty seconds later, it really had nothing to do with the sweet heat that warmed up her chest when he was near her. It was a freezing winter morning, and she was only trying to stay warm.

She had already noticed how long and thick were his eyelashes, but there was something strangely intimate when he bended towards her to show her the direction on a map, and all she could do was stare at the serious expression on his face.

She swallowed, felt her cheeks get warmer.

“See, Swan, if we follow West we’ll be able to go back to port in no time—”

He was clearly passionate about sailing. Damn, did passion look good on him.

She made another mistake that changed their path. He had a small chuckle as she watched him from the corner of her eye, biting the interior of her mouth not to smile.

“Nope, we’re going the other way, Swan,” and his hand was over hers again.

It couldn’t be wrong if it felt this right, could it?

It wasn’t on purpose either that, after feeling him right behind her, a breath away, she caved in and tentatively rested her head against his shoulder, just a little bit, just for a few seconds… She allowed herself to close her eyes, savoring this moment of rest, and intimacy.

If he noticed, he said nothing. Instead, his hand came to squeeze her elbow.

She could hear the unsaid words. It’s going to be okay. You will be alright. Henry will forgive you for lying to him.

And suddenly, it was far too much. Her eyes snapped open. She felt like drowning, and tears came to burn her eyes.

She abruptly took a step back. “I’m done with this,” she stammered, and she saw the utmost confusion in his eyes. He felt responsible, and she wanted to tell him it had nothing to do with him. She was the one who was broken beyond any repair. “You’re the captain after all, you can take the wheel,” she added, and her tone was gentler.

She spent the rest of their little trip as far as she possibly could.

It was horrendous to hear both of their hearts shatter on the ground and to be the reason of it.  

.

It was barely midday when they reached port.

She was quick to get out of the ship, was ready to run to her room, but something hold her back.

He didn’t deserve this. He deserved better.

She resolutely buried her feet in the wooden planks and waited for him to get down at his turn.

Counted backwards in her mind to silent her anxiety.

She saw relief flash in his eyes when he discovered she was still there.

“Thank you, Hook”, she whispered once he had reached her level.

She was ready to flee and never look back.

But then he was gazing at her with a lot of caution and care, and it was hard to ignore the panicked heartbeats in her chest.

“You are most welcome, Swan.” Who gave him the right to sound this gentle?

She nodded, smiled, hand fisted in her pockets. She hoped he couldn’t tell how much she was shaking.

“I’ll see you around, then,” she quickly muttered, licked her lips to hide her unease.

He gave her a nod, smiled. “Always, Swan.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He was dangerous. She had to run, to protect herself.

She risked a last look at him. “I hope so.” The words came out of her mouth without her consent, and she saw his expression change in an instant.

The frown of his eyebrows disappeared into a gentle wave of affection. His lips moved then, but no sound came out.

She took a step back, her eyes still in his. She was terrified.

When she gathered enough strength to walk away from him, she found her legs quite rigid and heavy.

.

He watched her walk away with a small smile.

She wanted him around, and the thought warmed his heart. She wanted him around even if she couldn’t bear to.

Perhaps the time would come. It didn’t matter how long it took her. He was in this for the long haul, after all.

[evansfm]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝑭 𝑹 𝑰 𝑬 𝑵 𝑫 𝑺 . . .

“ evan , you’re not focusing , ” kieran huffed , biting back laughter . one of his hands had a grip on her arm , just tight enough to prevent her from falling face first onto the pavement as a skateboard shot out from under her feet .

“ no , YOU’RE hovering . ‘nd when you hover , i get nervous when you hover . so REALLY , ” evan straightened , batting curls out of her face and giving a playful shove as she wriggled from his grasp and jogged after the board , “ it’s your fault . ”

“ my fault ? ”

“ YES . ”

“ you t’ink it’s MY fault ? ”

“ yes , ” she swiped up the board , pointing it in his direction as she practically skipped back to where he stood , “ i hate to say it , baby , but you are a TERRIBLE teacher . ”

“ you know , you’re the only one who calls me t’at . ”

“ what ? a terrible teacher ? i’m just being tru–– . . . ”

“ no , ” he cut her off , a hand tousling through his curls , “ baby . you’re t’e only one who calls me baby . ”

“ am i ? ” evan exhaled , blowing a strand from her forehead as she set the board back down between them , hands settled on her hips . she studied him for a moment , feeling an undeniable smile creep over her features . she couldn’t remember when it started , when it slipped out for the first time or why it stuck so well . all she knew was that it was habit by now , and it was sweet on the tip of her tongue . she nodded , “ good . ” 

kieran laughed . it was soft and understated and one of her favorite sounds in the world . she basked in the warmth of it for a lingering moment before tearing herself away , afraid to get too caught up . so her eyes shifted downward to tattered sneakers as one slipped beneath the board and flipped it onto its wheels . tucking frizzed locks behind her ear , she stepped up onto the board with a FOCUSED look in her eye .

“ do NOT , ” she pointed at kieran as he stepped forward , not even looking up , “ hover . i get nervous when you hover . and then i fall . ”

“ right , right , ” kieran lifted his hands in defense , tone incredulous as he retorted , “ i’m a terrible teacher ‘nd all t’at . ”

“ exactly , ” evan nodded , quietly laughing to herself as she steadied on the board . she took a deep breath , focusing as best as she could on the jump and flick of her feet , something she’d seen him do over and over , something he’d been trying to teach her to do for weeks on end now . 

it seemed that every sunday , as the sun sank in the sky , they found themselves in the quiet street in front of the connely’s place . for as long as bruised knees and scraped palms could handle , evan tested kieran’s patience as he taught her first the basics and now . . . a kick flip that just wouldn’t take .  no matter how many monday mornings she’d wake up aching , though , it was always worth it . a couple of hours , just the two of them , bickering and laughing ; she’d come to look forward to it every week . 

even if it seemed progress had flat lined .

evan’s lips pursed as she took one last calming breath , then jumped . just as before , though , her back foot shoved a little TOO hard , causing the board to slip from underneath her . all balance was lost , and she would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for a pair of quick and steady hands that shot out to snatch her waist . a firm tug forward pulled her towards him rather than allowing her to crash onto rough pavement . 

only this time , the momentum was too much as she fell into him , sending the both of them tumbling back onto the grass in the front lawn . evan swore under her breath as she caught herself just above him , impact sending a jolt of pain through her arms and causing her elbows to buckle just slightly . she hovered above him , curls pouring over her shoulders , as they both caught their breath . only when she could breathe again did she speak . 

“ are you okay ? you haven’t hit your head on anyt’ing ? ” 

“ me ? i’m fine , ” kieran’s grip was tight in the fabric of her shirt , “ are you fine ? ” 

“ yeah . yeah , i’m good , ” she exhaled , beginning to see more clearly now that the ground was no longer moving towards her at an alarming pace . despite the safety , though , her heart only began to race FASTER when she realized they were only inches apart . a curious gaze darted about his features . summer had always been kind to kieran walsh , but this summer it seemed he really hit his stride , shedding anything left of his awkward preteen years and coming into himself entirely . his curls were longer than usual , and she’d tease him about needing a haircut before he left for home that night . the sun had lightened them , just a bit , and it left a sprinkling of faint freckles across the bridge of his nose that drew even more attention to its perfect slope . his cheeks were slightly flushed , and she’d tell herself it was the heat rather than their closeness . . . something she realized she was all too caught up in when he spoke . 

“ bloody shame you STILL suck . i wasn’t even hovering t’at time , so tell me again how it’s my fault , ” he teased . 

the quip prompted them both to collapse into a fit of giggles . evan’s arms gave as the bubbly sound of her laughter echoed on a warm breeze ; she fell further into him , face buried into his shoulder for a BRIEF , indulgent moment . she felt safe like this . not just because he’d likely just saved her a trip to the emergency room , but because it was another sunday evening , warm and peaceful and in the presence of her favorite person . kieran always had a way about him , bringing about contentment .  

“ on t’at note . ‘s probably enough for the day , i t’ink , ” she finally pushed herself off of him , rolling onto her back next to him instead with a heavy exhale , “ one of t’ese days i’m going to break a bone ‘nd you’ll be free of t’is teacher gig . ” 

“ assuming i don’t quit first . you’re a bit of a problem student . ”

evan lifted her hand to lazily swat at him as she fell into another bout of giggling . the warmth of his laughter in response beckoned her gaze , and she caved almost immediately . despite the curls , despite the freckles , and despite the fact that the past weeks had been kind to him , her attention still gravitated towards his eyes . they crinkled in the corners when he smiled , and they were a shade of brown that reflected the salvation of a summer storm after weeks of a dry spell . still , they were weary and a bit sorrowful .

“ it’s a funny t’ing , walsh , ” she thought allowed , voicing her wonderings before she was able to stop herself , “ even when you laugh your eyes are a bit sad . ”

realizing she’d quite literally spoken her mind ,  she swallowed as she watched him sober . when he finally turned to look at her , gaze still tainted with sadness as always , soft as it may be , she held her breath . it was moments like this , the quiet ones shared just between the two of them , where she felt like MAYBE there was something beyond friendship to their relationship . maybe she understood him like he understood her ––– in a way no one else had ever been capable of doing .

“ how’s home ? ” she asked tentatively , gaze steady on the curves of his facial expression in case he decided to try and evade her , even after so long of being so close . 

“ it’s ––– . . . ” he exhaled , looking up to the sky , “ not somet’ing i want to talk about when we’ve ‘ad such a good day . ” 

“ cop out , ” evan said , but her voice was soft and he knew she wouldn’t push . if he needed to talk about it , he would . when it felt right . 

“ i just prefer not to be there . ”

“ no kidding , ” she scoffed , FINALLY pushing herself up from the ground and dusting off her palms , “ you can’t seem to get enough of the connely house ‘nd eloise can’t get enough of you . t’ink she might offer to trade me in ‘nd take you instead . ” 

a smile curled at her lips as she offered him both hands , fingers intertwining as he reached for her . his smile finally matched hers once she yanked him up and they were both vertical once again . 

“ i wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to such a transaction . ”

“ ha . ha . cute . ”

“ oh , come on , ” kieran reached out to ruffle her curls , receiving a few harmless swats at his hand in return , “ you know you’re her favorite daughter . ”

“ and YOU know she’s always happy to ‘ave you around . since you prefer not to be home ‘nd all , ” evan sighed , eyes flickering around them in search of the discarded skateboard , “ speaking of , if you’d prefer not to be home next friday , the strokes are playing in dublin , i’ve got tickets , ‘nd you’re my best concert date , so ––– . . . ”

“ sure you don’t want to take t’at declan lad you’ve been talkin’ to ? ”

evan’s nose wrinkled as though the idea alone was preposterous , “ declan listens to rap . ”

“ fuck’s sake , evan , tell me you are not ACTUALLY interested in someone who––– ”

“ kieran ! evan ! food’s on the table ‘nd it’s about to get cold , ” eloise appeared at the fount door , shouting for them to come in . the two of them exchanged a look .

“ did you notice she called your name first ? ” evan asked , playfully shoving him towards the door ; laughing to themselves , they both hurried inside for the night .

[winterisakillerwrites]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Six

Chapter: 6/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Previous

CHAPTER SIX

  It had taken Rosemary nearly another full week to start to feel more or less herself again. The guilt was still there, waiting for moments of calm to rear its ugly head, but a sense of resignation and weary acceptance had taken root in her. She had taken things too far and he had walked away. It had been almost two weeks since that she’d seen him last and no word, for good or ill. She hadn’t been surprised; it’s what she would have done. Cut him out before more damage could take root and not look back. But knowing that didn’t make any of its aftermath any easier to stand.

 There were times she could have sworn she’d caught glimpses of him on the street as she traveled between the shop and her flat. But when she would stop and look back because maybe this time, just maybe, there was no trace of him. And it was hard, during those times, to stop the crushing sense of loss and defeat that would overwhelm her. She knew it was her mind playing tricks on her, her subconscious seeking out some part of him. Wishful thinking at its best.

 She had pulled out her phone so many times, opened to his name in her contact list, finger hovering over the dial button. But she hadn’t brought herself to actually do so. He’d made it perfectly clear that he hadn’t wanted to speak with her. Forcing the issue would likely only make matters worse. She’d wanted to though; she wanted to desperately. It was a feeling she wasn’t sure would fade over time but maybe it would be easier to bear. Please let it be easier.

 But she had forced herself to go about her life. The newest Stories was slowly but surely starting to stand on its own. Hanna had taken to managing more of its day to day operations but Rosemary remained on hand to help with the larger matters. It was a strange thing, letting another hold the reins to what had always been her baby. But Rosemary knew that it was all part of the process. In time she would transition herself to the original store and hopefully be able to fit herself back into that routine. But for now she flitted in between the two and told herself she was content. She had to be, there wasn’t another option she cared to entertain.

 Things unfortunately were still cool between herself and Jules. They had spoken briefly regarding Stories and business matters but neither had overtly mentioned their last tense meeting. Rosemary knew that Jules had wanted to breach the subject, whether to apologize or continue the argument further, she wasn’t sure, and had done everything in her power to shut her down. She knew that she wasn’t being precisely fair to Jules, that the fault had been ultimately hers and hers alone, but it did little to temper the resentment she felt. Time, she hoped, would help cool her ire. Time and a bit of distance.

 Rosemary took a deep breath and wrapped her coat tightly against the brisk chill of the late March afternoon. She’d been on several errands, both for the store and for herself. She juggled both of the now incredibly heavy tote bags to her left shoulder and fumbled in her pocket for her set of store keys. It amazed her how easily she tended to lose things in those pockets, especially since they weren’t overly large. One of the many mysteries of the universe, she thought with a snort of amusement. Several minutes and curses later she managed to locate them and made quick work of the door’s lock, shoving it open with her hip.

 The store had closed early that particular Saturday afternoon to get a jump start on inventory reconciliation. Something that in past had taken a good two days, more without suitable help. It was all hands on deck and Rosemary, in turn, had drawn the short straw and been sent on readies duty. She’d hit the nearest corner shop and unloaded nearly all of their pre-made sandwiches and very nearly decimated their crisp and soft drink stock as well. She had also managed to squeeze in a run to the café across the street and gotten herself a triple espresso, not thinking overly much about the wisdom of ingesting quite so much caffeine. She’d needed it and desperately, especially if she wanted to make it through the coming inventory alive and relatively sane.

 “Alright boys and girls,” she called as she pushed the door closed behind her with her foot. “Gather round, for I come bearing massive quantities of food.”

 Several grumbles echoed from the stock room in back followed by heavy footfalls. Max was the first to appear, taking the bags from Rosemary’s outstretched hand and placing them with a grunt of effort onto the countertop. Alex, Gabe, and Hanna followed closely behind. Soon the shop front was filled with contented mumbling and the rustling of cling film and crisp packets. Placated with food, the group soon settled into the chaotic routine of inventory. Rosemary found herself laughing and almost happy as she listened to Alex and Max bicker back and forth over who would be tackling the shelved items verses the boxes in back.

 “I don’t give a toss which of you does what, but if I here anymore of your bitching I won’t be able to be held accountable for my actions,” Hanna yelled, amusement tinged with annoyance coloring her tone.

 Which cued another argument between the two about what exactly counted as bitching and just who’s fault it was. Rosemary and Hanna merely locked eyes and laughed as the boys continued to snipe at one another. There was little else they could do and unless, or until, it came to physical blows it was more or less harmless.  

 The process was a slow and tedious one. It had taken all Rosemary had to not jump for joy when they’d finally called it quits for the evening. It was ridiculous, she was well aware, but if she stared at anymore figures or lists she was certain she’d lose what little she had left if her mind. The faces of the others told Rosemary she wasn’t alone which was comforting.

 Sunday was much the same. Rosemary and Hanna arrived shortly before seven, with the remaining team trickling in an hour or so later. They worked steadily through the morning, breaking occasionally for coffee runs and Max’s frequent cigarette breaks, in which he swore he was simply ‘testing the air quality’. “And I’m the bloody Queen,” Hanna had griped at him on his seventh break of the morning.

 Max had good natured rolled his eyes, bowed, and intoned, “Your Majesty,” before heading out into the cold afternoon air.

 Gabe had drawn the short straw that afternoon and, with a sigh of thinly veiled annoyance, had made the run to the local pizza joint to pick up the pizzas Hanna had ordered. They ate and laughed, putting off their return to work as long as they could. They finished, finally, sometime in the early evening and parted ways with many a joyous cheer, mainly from Max, Alex, and Gabe.

 Rosemary had sent Hanna off as well, electing to remain behind to finish the last of the paperwork and the lock up. She used the now unaccustomed silence to breath and center herself. Her mind bent to the task, she had been able to knock out the remaining work in less than two hours. True, it would have been faster with Hanna’s aid, but Rosemary had needed the distraction.

 Going home to her empty flat had been a daunting process. She’d always valued having her own space, had never felt lonely on her own. Until recently. And with her relationship with Jules so strained, she’d been alone more often then not. So she’d volunteered to take on more at the shop, often times coming home too exhausted to think. It wasn’t something she could maintain in the long run, she was well aware of that, nor did it help solve anything. But for now it helped.

 It was a pattern she allowed herself to continue in the week that passed. And now with Jules out of commission, she was beginning to feel the strain. Especially on this evening in particular. The day had been hectic; the store had gotten quite busy during the middle of the afternoon, pulling her from her office to help with the overflow and once that had died down she’d been left to sort through the growing queue of online orders.

 Normally she and Jules split handling the orders as they arrived, but Jules had a family emergency; her sister had been rushed to the hospital in what was feared to be, and later confirmed as, preterm labor, leaving Rosemary to juggle both locations. It was daunting and had been mentally draining but by the time she had left for the evening, the majority of the orders had been managed, leaving the physical gathering and packing of said items for Gabe and Alex on her end and Samuel on Jules’.

Once she’d arrived home, Rosemary had quickly changed into a pair of worn, but mercifully comfortable track bottoms and an oversized t-shirt. She had exactly zero plans of venturing out of her flat anytime in the near future and comfort was now her number one priority. Anyone who came calling would simply have to accept that. Not that she expected any visitors save whomever delivered her meal of choice for the evening.

 She sighed and wandered lazily into the kitchen. At this point all she could think of was curling up on the couch with a blanket and unhealthy amounts of Chinese take-away. She grabbed a glass of water and a menu from the newest Chinese take-away that had sprung up in her neighborhood. It had been left by her door earlier in the week and she was anxious to give them a try.

 Food ordered, Rosemary grabbed the remote from the coffee table and set about flicking through the channels hoping to find something that would catch her attention. Three trips through though and she was beginning to lose hope. With a grunt she pushed herself off of the couch and wandered over to the shelf of DVD and Blu-ray discs in the corner, perusing her options. It took several minutes but she soon selected a film; a thriller that would easily occupy her mind, opened its case and placed the disc into the opened tray of the player. She settled herself back onto the couch and watched the disc previews with only the barest hint of attention. She clicked through the start-up menu and started the film, dropping the remote beside her on the couch.

 Rosemary nearly jumped out of her skin when a knock sounded at her door. She laughed and shook her head at her own skittishness. Mathews, you seriously need to relax. She quickly pushed herself off the couch and grabbed her purse from its home on the entryway table.

 She pulled open the door, wallet in hand. “That was quick, I’m impress…”

 Her voice trailed off as her brain fully comprehended just who was standing in her doorway. Tom stood silhouetted by the warm, but dim lighting of the hallway, his expression unreadable. Rosemary gaped at him, vaguely aware of just how unbecoming she must have looked, but at that moment she’d been too stunned to care.  

 “May I come in?” His voice was soft and even.

 Rosemary nodded mutely, standing aside to allow him to pass. He entered without another word. Her mind was screaming with questions. Why was he here? What did he want? Why had he come now? She didn’t trust her voice to speak.

 Instead, she watched as he made his way into her tiny living room, stopping in front of the couch but not settling onto it. He turned to face her and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. She couldn’t place it or rather was not sure she had seen it correctly. It wasn’t the cold, fury laced pain she had seen that last afternoon but a cautious determination. But of what? And to what end?

 “Tom,” she breathed, her voice quiet and almost tremulous. “I…I don’t understand…What are you…Why are you here?”

 He offered her a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I told you that I needed time.”

 Rosemary nodded. She remembered his last words all too clearly. They had replayed over and over on her mind since he’d uttered them. “I remember.” But this didn’t make any sense. He’d asked her to go, told her to leave. Why was he here now?

 She watched as Tom paced slowly around the small room. He rubbed his hand through his already tousled hair before shoving both firmly into the pockets of his jeans. “I…” He paused, seemingly to try and gather his thoughts. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 Rosemary stared at him in confusion. “What?”

 Tom let out a soft, unsure laugh. “I must have picked up the phone a hundred times over the last few weeks. I just…I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. I spent the whole trip here trying to think of what I could say. What I should say. How I could convince you to talk to me.” He paused, his eyes raising to meet hers, confusion and disbelief swirling in their depths. “I didn’t expect you to answer the door. Let alone let me in. But you did, and I don’t understand why.”

 Again she gaped at him. Her mind swirling with confusion. Nothing he was saying was making any sense. She was the one who’d lashed out, hurt him. “I…I don’t understand. Tom, you’re not making any sense. I fucked up. I said those horrid things to you. Why the hell would you think that you would need to convince me to talk to you?”

 It was Tom’s turn to stare in bewilderment. “I deserved it. And truthfully so much more. You…Rosie, I was horrid to you. I was…Fuck, I still am a selfish cad. I keep fucking up! I keep hurting you! You have every bloody right to be furious with me! And instead of facing up to that I ran.”

 He paused, taking a deep breath and dropping himself onto the couch. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I thought I was too late. That I’d waited too long again, that I’d hurt you too badly for you to ever forgive me. But you opened the door. Why did you open the door?” His voice had gone quite soft, as if he were not really speaking to her anymore. Rosemary had barely heard his last question and continued to stare at him in stunned disbelief. She couldn’t make any sense of any of it.

 Rosemary took a deep breath and tried to marshal her thoughts into some semblance of coherency, before slowly lowering herself onto the opposite end of the couch. “I should have called you.” She raised her eyes to his, noting how they mirrored her own confusion. “I wanted to call you. Wanted to apologize.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I was just so angry at you. So fucking angry. And I wanted to hurt you. Hurt you like you’d hurt me. And that was wrong, I knew it and I still did it and I can’t take it back. You aren’t the one who fucked up this time, Tom. I did that. And I am truly, truly sorry.”

 Tears blurred her vision and she hastily wiped them away with the back of her hand. The guilt and resentment burning steadily inside her. She felt Tom’s large hand envelope her own, squeezing it gently. The warmth of it was both comfort and torture. Her eyes shot up to his once more.

 “Rosie,” he breathed, “Please don’t…”

 She shook her head vehemently. “No, Tom. This right here was my own damn fault. Don’t you dare try to take it on yourself.”

 Tom laughed despite himself. It was a short, mirthless sound. It sounded wrong coming from his lips. “We could go back and forth on this for ages, darling, and not get anywhere.” He offered her a tentative smile. “We both behaved appalling and we both fell wretched about it, am I right?” His eyes locked on hers, silently pleading for understanding.

 Rosemary nodded, a watery smile spreading across her face. “More or less.”

 “And apologizing further doesn’t change or fix that?”  

 She nodded again.

 This time the smile he gave her shone lightly in his eyes. Tentatively hopeful and blessedly warm. “You are sorry and so am I. We’ve both done wrong and we can’t change that. It’s done now. So let’s just stop. Call it a truce.”

 Rosemary laughed in earnest now. Could it honestly be that easy? If she was being completely honest with herself, she could admit she was doubtful but she still couldn’t deny that the idea was enticing. Maybe it could be that easy, in time.

 She shoved him playfully on the arm, not letting herself think too closely at how she’d been so sure such casualness between them was lost for good. “Look at you, Mr. Double First from Cambridge, when did you get so smart?”

 Tom smiled and rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck. “Not for lack of trying.” He raised his head, eyes finding hers once more. “I’ve had a lot of time to do a bit of soul searching, if you will. And, though it’s still mostly a work in progress, I’ve learned that talking helps. And talking to someone, especially someone who is objective, makes a difference.”

 Rosemary looked at him blankly, trying to process just what he was trying to tell her. And more importantly, why he was telling her. “Talking to someone?” She began, repeating his words, trying to ascertain their meaning. “Like a therapist?”

 He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand once more, his eyes locked on the table before him. He looked as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him and it tugged at her heart.

 Her brows furrowed an unsettling realization nagging at the back of her mind. “Because of what happened? With us?” The words felt wrong, selfish and self-centered and not at all what she’d meant. But she couldn’t seem to find ones that would convey what she desperately wanted to understand.  

 Tom shook his head, “No. Because of me. Because I didn’t much care for the person I was becoming.” He rested his hands on his knees, eyes locked on the floor. “It got to be too much; the fame, the attention, the scrutiny from the press and fans alike. I’d dealt with it all before, and I thought I had a fairly good handle on it. I was able to tune it out and just go about my life. And then that summer…” he took a deep breath and shrugged. “It got so much worse and it didn’t seem to go away. It didn’t matter what I did, between the cameras and the fans…It was something I was struggling with. Something I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around, couldn’t control. So I threw myself into my work because then at least I could control that. I worked and I worked and I tried to ignore it. And then I met you and I felt like I could breathe. It was all still there but I could forget for a while. And I did and it was wonderful. But it didn’t go away and instead of dealing with it, I ran. And then I threw myself back into work and the vicious cycle started all over again. But this time I wasn’t handling any of it and I couldn’t fake it. Not anymore. I was pushing people away, putting up walls, lashing out. I wasn’t me anymore and that scared the shit out of me. So I sought out help.”

 “And did it?” She whispered and, realizing her question wasn’t completely clear, added “Help, I mean.”

 Tom raised his eyes and caught Rosemary’s once again, nodding. “It’s helping. It’s a long way yet but yes, I think it’s helping.”

 “Good.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “I’m glad.”

 The knock that sounded at the door startled them both. Rosemary quickly pulled her hands away, confusion coloring her features. What on earth…

 And then it hit her, “My food!” She jumped from the couch, grabbing her wallet from the table in the hall where she’d dropped it at Tom’s sudden apparition. She ignored Tom’s chuckle at her unexpected outburst, knowing he’d seen her so far worse.

 Rosemary smiled politely at the girl standing at the door, as she took the bag and paid her. Closing the door with her hip, she turned back around and held the bag up towards Tom. “I’d nearly forgotten about this.” She smiled softly at him, “I’ve got enough to feed a small army. You’re welcome to have some…If you want…” she trailed off, feeling like a prize idiot. Or a lovesick fool. No, she cursed at herself. Do not go there.

 She watched the indecision play across his face and tried desperately to stamp down her own rising disappointment. Things had been emotionally jumbled and tense between them. Of course he’d want to go. But god, how she wanted him to stay. Just for a bit longer.

 “Are you sure?” His voice was soft, tentative. “I’ve already barged into your evening enough as is. I don’t want to put you out anymore than I already have.” She could see the indecision warring with what she thought was wary hope in his eyes.

 “No, please,” she started, placing the bag into the coffee table and standing in front of him, trying desperately to keep her voice calm. “Stay. I’d like you to stay.”

  Next

[bigbogbetelgeuse]

lace and blood

here! have a bit of a writing sample. betelgeuse/reader.

~1900 words of lace kink and bloodplay. reader has a cock. i’d leave a preview paragraph but no part of this is SFW. 18+ only.

You woke up to sharp teeth sliding down the band of your panties. You’ve taken to sleeping in thin, lacey drippings that are a sight to see snug over your hips and tight against the delicious curve of your cock. You never know when he’ll show up and it’s best to be prepared for hands as cold as death sliding underneath your warm blanket and palming your thighs. Barely awake, you hardly even registered his giggle of delight as he reached the edge of the lace and realized what a treat you have laid out for him beneath your covers. You may be used to him showing up at all hours of the day, but it doesn’t mean you’re as ready for action as he is when you’ve just woken up.

“Aw sugartits, you shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have,”

Your comfortable nest was ripped completely away from you so that he could take in the full effect of your panties. There was a matching bra to the set that you used sometimes as a pushup for your pecs, but it wasn’t comfortable enough to sleep in so you hadn’t bothered. Betelgeuse didn’t seem to mind though- he was too busy miming a swooning southern lady, hand to his moss-covered forehead and other palm resting flat over his unbeating heart.

“Such a sweet sight- sweeter than my grand pappy’s tea on a Sunday afternoon,” He enthused, raising the glass that appeared in his hands to his lips. Still not quite fully awake, you rolled over onto your back, hand seeking the edge of the blanket he’d stolen from you. Your legs fell open, splayed over the sheets, and Betelgeuse choked on his mouthful of sweet tea. You woke up slightly more when the droplets splattered across your body, as icy as frost on a grave.

“Beej, shut the fuck up,” Your voice was hoarse with sleep, but you could tell the second you spoke that he was imagining other things he could do to turn your throat into a raspy mess. Glancing to the side, you tried to grab a glimpse of your alarm clock to see what time it was, but your view was suddenly blocked by striped arms and a mossy five o’clock shadow.

“Make me,” He countered and lowered his head to your lips before you could say a single word.

The ghost tasted like shit but you’d grown used to his particular brand of rancid plant-matter and week-old dumpster bullshit. There was no point in asking him to clean up before he came over, and even if you did ask such a thing of him, you wouldn’t want him to do so anyway. You liked Betelgeuse the way he was, and that included the flecks of bug legs still stuck between his teeth from his midnight snack.

As he kissed you, shoving his tongue as far down your throat as he could get it, you let your hands wander to the edge of his bet against his threadbare shirt. His overcoat was probably somewhere on the bedroom floor, but you had to slip underneath the slime-covered, greasy jacket to reach his shirttails. There were all sorts of strange lumps in the pockets he’d magicked into the inner lining, shapes that were easy to identify and ones that were harder. You couldn’t focus too much on it, trying as hard as you were to get enough air as he enthusiastically swept through your mouth with his tongue. Betelgeuse kissed like a retriever who hadn’t seen its owner in years: all tongue, sloppy, and with an enthusiasm that could have shattered mountains. (Or at least your headboard.)

A whine of frustration echoed from your throat as you struggled with the edge of his shirt and the jacket, wanting your hands on his skin as soon as possible. His lips had started to finally warm up through contact with your own body heat and you were eager to get the process started on the rest of him. While you knew he couldn’t really help his body temperature, it wasn’t the most pleasant of things to feel like a block of ice was fucking you. BJ finally broke off the kiss to grin smugly down at you, the sound you’d made going straight to his already incredibly overinflated ego.

With the air of a satisfied cat, he rocked back onto his knees, floating in the air above you to avoid crushing you underneath him just yet. He was still close- with every rise and fall of your chest, your bare skin brushed against his shins. You felt yourself stiffen in the confines of your lacy panties, your cock finally getting the message the rest of your body had gotten ages ago.

Betelgeuse loomed above you like a tombstone towering over a grave and made a show of shucking his jacket. One sleeve slipped down over his shoulder and then the other, and you fought the urge to point out that the stripper effect was lost with the full dress shirt, tie, belt, and slacks he still had on. With a flick of his shoulders- and that did get your attention, how they bulged at the seams of his shirt with the motion, he dropped the jacket behind him. It settled across your legs, a heavier weight than you’d anticipated with everything he had stuffed into the pockets. You shifted, trying to kick it off of you- and then hissed in pain.

BJ’s expression changed slightly, going from cocky to confused, as he glanced behind him. You wiggled your hand down to shove the jacket away from you and a pocket knife clattered out of it and onto the ground, blade popped open and shining with a red, wet edge. A matching line streaked down your thigh, the blood pooling at the cut smeared into the dirty fabric of Betelgeuse’s jacket. You stared at it for a moment and then rolled your eyes- trust him not to remember to put his damn knives away. It wasn’t even worth reprimanding him about; you knew that even if you told him to, he’d never listen.

You looked back at his face, ready to brush it off and pull him down for another kiss, but there was a red glint in his eye that hadn’t been there even a moment before. With fangs poking out from between his lips, BJ took a long, deep inhale.

The two of you had discussed bloodplay before, but it was never something you’d seriously considered- you were pretty sure that any sort of cuts you got in the course of such a thing were pretty much guaranteed to get infected, given how often the ghost washed his hands. And while the things he promised you were absolutely sexy- “it drives me wild babes, it’ll be so good, I promise you’ll love it”- you’d never been curious enough to try.

It seemed fate had other plans for your night though.

“Be careful,” You warned him, but he was already moving, rolling over on his side to focus those red eyes on the blood rolling down your thigh. Grubby hands that had already left streaks of dirt over your thighs grabbed at your leg, forcing you to bend your knee enough to raise it towards his face. Once again he took a huge inhale, glowing eyes rolling back into his head a little. You wondered what it smelled like to him- it didn’t take much to get BJ in the mood, but you’d never seen him to… ravenous was the only word you could think to describe it. His tongue, discolored and far too long, slipped over his fangs to lap at the cut.

He was not gentle. It was the rough licking of a cat, insistent sandpaper pressed against your skin. Just the act of having his head so close to the place you really wanted him had you shifting, trying to press your cock closer to the ghost. Before you could really process what was happening, an extra arm had sprouted from Betelgeuse’s shoulder and darted across your hips, pinning you down in place with an iron strength that you couldn’t hope to break.

“This is my show,” He rasped, the words slightly warped in a mouth with too many teeth for them. “You just sit there and look delicious.”

His regular hands pressed themselves to the sides of your cut, forcing more blood to the surface of your thigh. You hissed in pain and those eyes flicked to your face, waiting for you to give the word for him to stop.

You didn’t.

Purring in satisfaction, he returned his head to your thigh, hair tickling against your skin as he bent down and resumed licking once again. The grip across your hips was resolute but you found that if you wiggled enough, you could brush your lace-covered cock against his shoulder. Betelgeuse was still disappointingly overdressed, but for once that was working in your favor- the friction of his dress shirt against the lace was searing hot. You were straining at the elastic of the panties and went to slide them down your hips, but with a flick of his fingers, you found yourself frozen in place. No more rutting against him, no more twitching your thigh underneath his rough ministrations, and certainly no shedding the panties that were keeping your poor cock bound.

The noise of frustration that ripped its way up your throat was positively feral and you felt him grin against your skin, the smugness returning in full force.

“Betelgeuse,” You whined aloud, deliberately using his full name to grab his attention. When his head snapped up at the syllables, there was a little trickle of your blood running from the corner of his mouth.

“I can taste how bad you want it,” He teased, tongue flicking out to smear the bloody mess even further across his cheek. You bucked helplessly in your psychic restraints, turned on beyond what you’d ever thought was possible at the sight of him enjoying you so thoroughly. His own arousal tented his pants; a wet stain grew at the tip of it, adding to the list of other stains already dotting the fabric.

Without warning, his mouth swooped down to close around your lace-covered cock. You yelped in surprise, the chill of the ghost’s tongue pressing against your white-hot skin a contrast you didn’t think you’d ever get used to. Betelgeuse tongued his way up your length, stopping where the head was trapped against your hip by the elastic of the panties. With a just a toss of his head, the side of one of his fangs dipped below the waistband and snapped it. You should have felt terror at those teeth so sharp around your most sensitive areas, but all you felt was an undeniable surge of arousal.

Your cock sprang free of its cage, pre already beading at the tip, and you couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at the ruined pair of underwear. You’d bought several more you couldn’t wait to show him another night.

BJ looked at the sight in front of him and chuckled, long and low, deep in his throat. That was the sound he made when he was planning something, a sound that meant nothing good for those around him. A sound that promised you a night you’d never forget.

Those frozen lips closed around the head of your cock, lapping up your precum just as he’d savored your blood, and you screamed for him.