#claudia writes

[typical-simplelove]

Guilty (W. Nylander)

Summary: Based on the title song by Jordana Bryant, it's easy to hide your feelings for your best friend because, after all, you're guilty of loving him.

Author's Note: Hi! This is for @lifeofpriya for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: None that I can think of!

Word Count: 5k (Including song lyrics)

gif very generously made by @wyattjohnston :)

likes are appreciated, reblogs are better!

I've been working way too hard to act like I don't care If I got paid to hide the truth, I'd be a millionaire

Walking into Willy’s house always felt different from walking into your own house. Physically, it was different. The smells were different. The furniture was distinctly different from the ones your mother picked out. All of the wall decorations screamed Nylander in a way that you never knew possible until you saw those exact paintings. The pictures adorning coffee tables, shelves, and walls were different (obviously). All these differences were good, despite how different and odd it was. 

Maybe it wasn’t the physical differences that impacted what you felt when you walked into their home. Maybe it was the smile and pat on the shoulder you got from Willy’s brother, or maybe it was the brief hug his mother always gave you, or maybe it was the way Willy would jump up and down until you took off your boots and coat before he could take your hand and drag you toward whatever toy or game he was obsessed with at that moment. 

Maybe it was just Willy that made it different walking into his house in comparison to yours. 

At your home, it was you and your family. While you loved your home and loved being at home, it wasn’t the same feeling as going to Willy’s house and seeing him. Part of him always made your bad days better. And that continued all through elementary school into middle and high school. You felt just as much at home with Willy’s family as you did with yours. 

And a lot of that had to do with Willy. 

One of the memories and traditions you have with Willy and his family is Christmas cookie decorating. Every Christmas Eve, your family and his would gather together and make and decorate cookies. 

When you and Willy and your siblings were little, you would all watch your parents as they baked the cookies. You, kids, would sit at stools by the counter, drinking milk, and watching the cookies get made. Sometimes, you would play small card games—not getting in the way of the adults, making the cookies, and warming up with sips of wine. 

That was how it was done. 

As you kids got older, more freedom was given, and you were allowed to help with the baking but under strict supervision because after all everyone still planned on eating the cookies. Mostly, though, your favorite part was decorating the cookies. It wasn’t ever a competition, but between you and Willy, it was a competition. With that man? Of course, it was; everything is a competition to him. 

It was always a competition of who had the most colorful cookies, who had the most realistic cookies, who had the least scary cookies, and who had the overall best cookies. 

No one really ever wanted to judge the competition. It is always just you and Willy judging each other’s cookies, but because you were each biased towards your own cookies, no one was ever crowned a winner. 

“Oh, come on, you know mine is better,” you would chide, sending him a sweet smile, hoping he’d also smile at you and declare your cookies better.

“They’re really not,” he’d reply, smiling at you, looking at you like you owned a sugar factor. “If anything, mine are better.” 

An eye roll would always follow that because there was no way his cookies were better than yours, and oftentimes, yours were better because Willy just didn’t have that skill. 

By the time all of the cookies were finished being decorated and all the milk drank, Willy ended up relenting, calling your cookies better. It didn’t take much nagging. By the time he relented, it would have been at least an hour or more since you bugged him about the cookies. 

“I give up,” Willy would say out of nowhere. “Your cookies are much better than mine.” 

“Really?”

“Mh-hm,” he’d tell you, nodding his head in a similar rhythm. “Always have been, always will be. That’s the way it goes. You always have been and always will be the better one between the two of us.” 

Oh, the things those words did to your little middle school heart. 

You look at me, I look away Wouldn't believe the energy it takes But I bet it shows, clear as a sign on the highway

It was sometime during your second year of university that you figured it all out. You were finally able to put words and attributions to the feelings and aura that surround all your interactions with Willy. For so long, you thought it was just an elevated friendship that you felt. You figured that all close friends felt what you felt whenever you were around Willy. Turns out, you were wrong on that front. It wasn’t just friendship. Sure, it was a deeper, elevated friendship, but it was love. 

You loved Willy and have loved him for so long. 

The little fireworks that explode all over your body when he hugs you or gently brushes against you are more than just friendship. 

The warmth that consumes your body whenever he’s near you is more than just friendship. 

The ability to know exactly where he was in a room without even seeing him means more than just friendship. 

They were signs of love. 

It was always more than just friendship, and it was always love for him, your best friend, your Willy. 

And as much as you know that you want to tell him your feelings, you know that he probably and likely doesn’t feel the same way about you. You’ve seen the way he acted around previous girlfriends and people he liked, and he wasn’t that way with you. There was no comparison. So why would you put your heart and happiness on the line?

You weren’t going to tell him; you knew you couldn’t ever tell Willy just how much you loved him.

So you didn’t. 

You were on the sidelines, and you were guilty of falling madly in love with your best friend. You were guilty of wanting his full and undivided attention. You were guilty of wanting his love and everything a life with him could bring. You wanted it all, but for the sake of still having Willy in your life, you knew you couldn’t say anything. 

And you didn’t. 

As you moved through university, moved around a little bit, trying to find the right job, you and Willy remained the best of friends. While communication occurred more through texts than phone calls, the connection never wavered. When you moved to Toronto, finally finding a job that fulfilled your needs and long-term goals, it was as if the puzzle pieces had finally fit in place. 

Until you remember just how much you loved him and being around him reminded you of your life. 

Every time he looked at you, sent a smile your way, laughed at one of your jokes, or praised you for one of your accomplishments, a little fire that only Willy could ignite would start and spark in your heart. There were little parts of your heart, mind, body, and soul that only were triggered whenever you were around Willy. You tried to set boundaries and give distance between the two of you, but sometimes, at the end of a long week or day, all you would want was to be around him. 

He is the light and love of your life, and he only saw you as a friend. A close friend, a best friend, but still, only a friend. 

It still pains you to think about the state of your feelings, but fully cutting Willy out of your life was going to do much more harm than good, you know. You know it deep in your soul, that’s why you’ve refused to fully step back from him and his life and orbit. 

At the end of the day, all you were to Willy was a friend, and while you weren’t okay with that, you’ve found peace with it. You’re going to take in all the little moments with him, trying not to read into it too much, but you’re not going to hate yourself or be disappointed in yourself for soaking it in and loving it. Because, after all, you can’t control your feelings. It’s biological and psychological—things you can’t control. 

You were guilty of falling in love with Willy, and you couldn’t do anything about it. 

So, you’ve resulted in being his friend, and for the most part, you were okay with that. 

Really. 

Or so you tried to convince yourself. 

That I'm guilty of love, guilty, so what? I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it I'm guilty of you stuck in my heart Guilty of wanting to be in your arms Wanting a kiss, wanting a call, wanting to fall I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all

“Hello, hello,” you hear Willy’s voice echo from the front door from where you’re sitting in your room. With a slight smile on your face and your face heating up, you walk out of your room to find Willy shrugging off his shoes, and bags in his hand. 

“What’s this for?” you ask, helping take the bags from his hand, and leading him towards your kitchen. 

“You know how we’re going to that concert in a few months?”

“Sure.” 

“I figure that we could make friendship bracelets for them,” Willy says, hiding a cheeky smile, his cheeks burning red. 

“Yeah?” you confirm, too, concealing a familiar smile. 

“I figured it’d be fun to binge-listen to their discography as we make bracelets.”

You nod, trying to hold in and push away the feelings blooming deep in your heart. This man, oh, the things this man could make you feel with an afternoon of crafting. 

With an emotion that can only be described as giddiness and elation, Willy pulls out the various friendship bracelet kits and separate bags of beads in your and his favorite colors in addition to various types of string. In doing so, he said various things that made your stomach clench, but for the sake of your heart and long-term plan, you pretend you’re not feeling those feelings. 

“I didn’t know which type of string is best, so I figured we could just go with trial-and-error.” “There are more beads of your favorite color because I guess you’d rather wear those colors more than your lesser favorite colors.” “I remember you telling me the color of the outfit you planned, so I also got more of those beads.”

You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face with every word that left his mouth. Who knew this man could be so precious and thoughtful? Well, you did know just how precious and thoughtful he could be because, after all, you did fall in love with him. 

“Are you ready to get started?” he asks, eyeing you, giving you curious but nervous looks. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I could always return it.”

Oh, he was so cute when he was nervous. 

“Willy, I promise that I want to do this,” you reassure. 

“Okay,” he breathes out. “I’m just going to go get some water.”

You nod, watching as he seamlessly maneuvers around your kitchen, grabbing water, snacks, and drinks for the two of you. The way he easily fit into your home life caused a knot in your throat. How easy would it be for him to fit and fill into the remainder of your life? Well, the delusional thoughts were going too far now; it’s time to pack those away. 

As you and Willy began to make the bracelets, you managed to have fun, pushing away thoughts about you and Willy being more than friends. If you were going to survive your friendship with him, then you were going to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, choosing to remember the platonic moments between the two of you. 

This plan went down the drain when Willy was having difficulty putting the smaller, letter beads on the string and you had to help him. As you helped him with your technique, your fingers often brushed against his. The roughness of the tips of his fingers but the softness of the palms of his hands overwhelmed you. 

This man. 

One day at a time is the way to go, right? 

Yeah, I don't mind At least these words ain't locked up in my head Those eyes that smile Guess I was buying time 'til I confessеd

It was inching closer and closer to midnight, well past the time you should be in bed to have a decent amount of resting time before having to go to work tomorrow. But, it was as if your body wouldn’t let you finish your night routine and make your way to your bedroom. 

You were sitting on your couch with a re-run of one of your favorite now-ended sitcoms playing in the background. It was as if you were glued to the couch. As much as you wanted to get up, you knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t. 

It’s not like you don’t know why you’re stuck on the couch. You know exactly why you’re stuck there, and the reason just pains you more and more. It’s not like it’s his fault that the picture he posted on his private story would freak you out or pain you. It’s his prerogative. He’s allowed to hang out with whomever he pleases, and if they’re pretty girls with long, gorgeous legs, then so be it. He had his own life, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. 

There was a reason why you haven’t told Willy your feelings for him, and part of it is the fear that he doesn’t have feelings back for you. And, with that territory comes the idea that he’ll be spending his time with other people—other girls. You know how important it is for him to find a life partner, so of course he would be doing that on a night off when he didn’t have any early plans or obligations the next day. 

That doesn’t mean your decisions and choices don’t haunt you and cause you visceral aching. 

This now leads to why you’re currently sitting on your couch, unable to move, shocked at the pictures you’re seeing on his private story. He’s all over this girl, and this girl is all over him. Good for him, you think because this girl is gorgeous. Good for her, too, you follow up because Willy is a great person. 

As the clock struck midnight and the minutes into the new day got closer, you kept replaying his story, overanalyzing the images, trying to see if there were any signs that he was being held captive. Because that could be an explanation, right? 

By twelve-thirty, wiping away stray tears, you decide to get up and go to bed. This wasn’t going to help your feelings or make you feel any better. You’ve been good at hiding your feelings (at least you think so). This means that there’s no reason for him to think you want anything more than friendship with him, so why else would he be waiting around for you? You’re sure if you gave him a sign, then he would act on it if he felt any particular way about you. You also know that Willy is a confident person, so if he felt anything more for you, then he would make it clear. He’s not one to keep things hidden; he wears his heart on his sleeve and makes his thoughts and intentions clear. He would have told you or given you a sign. 

Therefore, you conclude there shouldn’t be any reason for you to be upset by his hanging around this other girl. He has a right to do whatever he wants, and he does not need to listen to you or report to you. 

With that, you place your phone on your nightstand and finish getting ready to go to bed. As you’re brushing your teeth, you tell yourself that you’re not going to check Instagram one last time before you sleep. You know that if you see another photo of him—regardless if anyone is in the photo with him—you’ll spiral and obsess over every little thing. He’s one of your closest friends (and vice versa), so every little thing that seems different in a picture, phone call, or text sticks out to you. You tell each other everything (for the most part), so little changes are interesting and concerning. And you want to notice something different so that you have a reason to text him or call him in the morning and bring up his night out. You wanted any excuse to bring up his night out without sounding jealous, bitter, or judgmental. 

But for your sanity, you’re not going to check his story again. It wouldn’t do your mental health or relative stability any good. 

By the time you’re ready to go to bed, you’ve considered picking up your phone at least two and a half dozen times, but surprisingly, your self-control is holding strong.

But you can’t fall asleep, constantly tossing and turning. It’s a quarter after one, and all you want to do is call him. Even if it’s not about his night out or anything important, you want to talk to him. His smooth, deep voice never fails to put a smile on your face and calm you down. In some instances, his voice can put you to sleep. 

As much as you want to call him, part of you knows that you’ll be nosey and ask about his night out and what he did, and just hearing what he did—whether or not he tells you the truth—will pain you in ways unimaginable. You want to know, but you also don’t want to know. Though, you still want to hear his voice. 

Man, having crushes and being in love is so embarrassing sometimes. Why, just why??

You don’t call him, and end up falling asleep a little while later after tossing and turning. It’s for the best, you reason. You wouldn’t know what would happen if you talked to him. Maybe it’d be best just not to bring tonight up at all, you know, out of self-preservation. 

Little did you know, Willy was sitting in his bed, alone, trying to find any reason or excuse to call or text you. Just so that you had something to wake up to from him in the morning. 

So now you know, so do all my friends And the town's smaller than it's ever been They all know

After obsessing way too long about the pictures on his story from that night a few weeks prior, you thought you had gotten over it. You thought that you could ignore the ugly feelings of jealousy and dread deep in your stomach weren’t there. You thought you could look at Willy and not immediately picture the images of him with that girl. 

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t like he knew what him living his life was doing to you, and you weren’t angry at him. You were jealous and sad and wished you could control these ugly feelings. You wished those images weren’t seared into your memory, but they were, and you felt those feelings. 

But the way you felt when he smiled at you greatly topped the other feelings you had. 

Until he flashed that smile, those sparkling eyes, that persuasive tone to some random girl at the bar. 

It wasn’t the same person from the other night (you would know; that image is burned into your memory for the rest of your life). It was someone else, but from the way Willy was looking at her, he seemed into her, despite only meeting. 

The bartender had just taken Willy’s order, but within seconds, he was flagging them down again and asking that girl for her order. Once it was taken, his hand was low on her hips as he pulled her closer to his body. 

He was whispering into her ears, and it made your stomach drop. It felt like you wanted to throw up, but you were wedged between some friends. A glance at the bathroom’s long line made you realize that the chance of a swift escape was futile. He’d be waiting for you, and at this moment, you didn’t want to explain to him why you didn’t want to talk to him. 

It wasn’t like Willy knew what he was doing when he was doing this. At the end of the day, you and Willy were just friends, so it didn’t matter. 

But.

But, oh gosh. 

Weren’t you just so guilty for the way it made your heart patter every time he glanced at you? Weren’t you so guilty for how happy it made you feel when you’d look over at you and you’d see that he was already looking at you? Weren’t you incredibly guilty for how happy it felt when he chose to sit next to you? Weren’t you incredibly guilty for the happy feelings you felt when he’d text you, even if it was over something mundane? 

All those happy feelings were flushed down the drain by the way Willy touched that girl’s hair and lingered his fingertips down her neck. It wasn’t his fault, but the way you felt couldn’t be controlled. While you recognized that, it still hurt knowing you couldn’t have your best friend like that. 

You’re gripping your glass tightly, hoping that none of your friends can sense your inner turmoil. They would try to get you to talk to him, or they would try to get you to get over him. Neither of those options was one you wanted right now. Or maybe ever. 

When you happened to look up at Willy and that girl, shock hit you as you watched him already looking at you over the girl’s shoulder. She was whispering something to him, but all he was doing was looking at you. By the way that she was pulling at his hair, it was something intimate, but he was staring with his eyes open right at you. 

That was weird. 

Right? 

Clearing your throat for no one, you broke the intense stare and looked down at your phone, checking your phone for the millionth time. You’re staring at the notifications on your lock screen so intently that you don’t notice Willy slide into the booth next to you. 

“Was she not your cup of tea?” you ask, internally smacking your face for asking that. 

He shrugs. “She’s really pretty, and I’m sure she’s a great person. I just wasn’t feeling it.” 

You snort. “That’s such a dude thing to say.”

“Hey!” Willy says, feigning annoyance, slightly pushing your arm. “I have my eye on someone else, so it would be fair to that girl.”

“If you have your eye on someone else, then you should just tell them,” you reply, your heart beating rapidly. “If they know what’s good for them, they won’t turn you down. I can promise you that.” 

Willy’s eyes are intently staring at you. 

“Okay,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours or blinking. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” you answer.

“Okay,” he responds, the air thick with tension. If he wants to say something else, he doesn’t. Either he loses his nerve or it’s the burst of laughter to your right that strikes him out of the trance. 

Not you, though. You’re not entirely sure what just happened. Did something just happen? 

I'm guilty of love, guilty, so what? I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it I'm guilty of you stuck in my heart Guilty of wanting to be in your arms Wanting a kiss, wanting a call, wanting to fall I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all

At first, you didn’t think it meant anything. It was a common saying, and you said it all the time. And then he kept on saying it, and you figured that he was just feeling insecure in his friendship or maybe his job or maybe just in his life in general, so you responded and just helped him know he had you as a friend. You didn’t think it meant anything until it did mean something and you realized what he meant. 

“I like you,” Willy told you one day while watching a rerun of your favorite show. 

“I like you, too,” you reassured, patting his hand before grabbing the next pencil crayon for your color-by-the-number coloring page. 

“What?” you heard him mumble. He shook his head to himself before turning back to the show. 

The next time he did it, you and Willy were walking through the grocery store, finding snacks to bring to an upcoming football night. 

“I think four bags of chips should be more than enough, considering we’re also bringing cheese and crackers,” you said out loud but mostly to yourself. 

“I like you,” Willy responded, grasping a bag of chips on the shelf. 

“I like you, too, but that doesn’t mean we need five bags,” you commented. “Unless, you wanted that bag for your apartment, then do whatever you want.” 

With that, you grab the shopping basket and start walking down the aisle toward the next thing you need. 

And it kept happening. At random moments, he would just tell you that he liked you, and it didn’t really click in your mind. In a sense, you’re similar. When things get tough in any part of your life, you reassure yourself of your favorite things in your life as a grounding technique. You didn’t think anything of his words. 

Until he said it to you once, and his face was burning red—the only time you’ve actually looked at him when he said those words. 

It was game night at your place. Well, a game night for you and Willy, and you were playing Monopoly. He had just landed on one of your properties, and you were looking down at the property listing to determine how much he owed you. 

“Eighty monopoly dollars for New York Avenue please,” you said with a small smirk, looking up. You scrunched your eyebrows when you noticed the little beads of sweat at his hairline and how red his face had gotten. “It’s only eighty dollars, Will.”

“I like you,” he whispers, barely meeting your eyes. With his words, his face grew a deep shade of red, and his frantic blinking seemed to be what made you finally realize the meaning of what he was saying. 

“Oh,” you whispered, unsure of where to go next. You’ve been in love with Willy for as long as you can remember, and now that you know he feels the same way, you’re not sure where to go from here or what to say. What does one say to their best friend that they’ve been secretly in love with for years and were convinced that there were never any feelings between the two of them? 

And then all the times he said those words to you over the past few months came rushing back to you. 

Months!

He’s been telling you he loves you for months, and you kept brushing it off. 

You have to give him credit for not giving up. 

But, you still have to face plant. And you do. 

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” you keep chanting to yourself as you push your chair back and make your way to your kitchen counter to get a drink of cold water. You’re both happy that you know but you’re also embarrassed at yourself for not noticing. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hear Willy mumbling from where he’s sitting at your table just a few feet away. That takes you out of your trance. He must think you’re rejecting him.

“No, stop,” you blurt out, rushing towards him. 

You’re standing next to him, and he shifts in his chair to face you. He’s staring straight ahead, not looking up at your face. Gently, you wrap your hands in his hair and angle his head to face yours. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers. 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just an idiot.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for so long, and you didn’t say anything. At this point, it’s gotten pathetic,” he whispers, his eyes closing at the way you’re massaging his scalp. “Please tell me if I’ve gotten it wrong.”

“I got it wrong if anything.” 

“Really?” Willy’s eyes open, lazy from being comfortable with the way you’re holding him. 

“I like you, too, Willy,” you whisper. “You know, maybe I even love you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “A lot, and I’m really stupid for not recognizing what you were saying. I guess I was completely convinced you could never love me that I didn’t take it as that.”

“Love?” 

“Shit,” you murmur, pulling your hands out of his hair. 

“I’m joking,” Willy says, smirking and pulling you down on his lap. “I love you, too.” 

“Okay,” you smile, leaning in to give him a small kiss.

“Okay,” he replies, closing the space. “Always okay for you.” 

You were guilty of loving Willy, but he was also guilty of loving you, so maybe it all worked out in the end. 

Was guilty of love, so what? If I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it

[maraudersftw]

Happy Diwali, Claudia! So sorry you're not able to celebrate with your family 🫂. OK, my prompt is: Three, two, one.

Love Robyn

Hey Robyn 🧡🧡 thank you so much! I loved this prompt, and was able to write the silliest thing ever because of it:

Three Two One

“And we’re sure this is going to work?” Lily whispered harshly, one eye trained on the corridor outside as she watched from within the tiniest crack in the broom cupboard’s doors. “Because if this doesn’t work, I’m going to have to hex you for making me sit on top of a dusty old bucket for thirty minutes.”

“Ye of little faith, Evans. It’s going to work. So well that even he will be impressed.” She allowed herself to look at him for one moment—not that she properly could, given how dark it was inside the tiny space, despite the lumos they'd cast—and watched as his hazel eyes flew across the wrinkled parchment spread open over his lap. “He should be here in another fifteen seconds.”

“How are you estimating that?”

“Based on Padfoot’s average speed of walking.”

She stared at him, mouth ajar. “Can’t tell if you’re joking.”

But James simply grinned, teeth glinting bright in the darkness, and when her pulse fluttered stupidly, she turned back to stare at the corridor, cheeks pink. “You’re absurd.”

“Now, now, Evans, we’re on the same team here.” He scooted forward an inch, knee knocking into hers. Lily refused to entertain her heart’s thumping. “Don’t forget we were locked into cupboards three times this week already. Three. Direct your irritation at the right person.”

“The right person being your best-mate,” she deadpanned. “You need to put him on a leash.”

James snickered under his breath, seemingly more amused by her comment than he had any right to be. “If it helps, I’ve tried getting him to stop, but he thinks pushing us into smelly places together will get us to finally snog or something.”

“It doesn’t help,” she said immediately, face heating up. “And shut up, I can hear footsteps.”

He fell quiet as directed, and when Sirius’s form appeared down the hallway, a jagged piece of mirror in hand and a confused frown on his brows, Lily’s eyes flashed meaningfully at James. He nodded, shifting closer as she pointed the tip of her wand to the figure outside, keeping just barely enough space between the doors for the wood to poke through.

“Three, two, one,” James mouthed, folding fingers in sync.

She flicked her wand, muttering the incantation under her breath, and smirked at the yelp of surprise outside.

“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK—”

“No need to wake the whole castle, mate,” James laughed, throwing open the doors with full dramatic flair. Lily couldn’t blame him; she was feeling pretty arrogant herself.

The Pumpkin-Head jinx had effectively encased Sirius’s head inside the largest, organge-est pumpkin Lily had ever seen in her life. With a little experimentation, she had been able to leave slits for eyes and a mouth on the fruit, so that Sirius—now sitting on the ground, on account of the sudden appearance of an added weight on his head—could see how fantastically he’d been trounced by them. Plus, she thought it quite suited the Halloween decorations slowly coming alive in the castle.

“PRONGS?! What the fuck?! Did you do this?”

Lily scoffed, walking closer. “Please. It was me.”

“Hey! What’s with the credit hogging? I helped!”

“But why?” Sirius cried. “Is this revenge?”

“Actually, yes, it is.” Lily smiled, saccharine-sweet, watching him struggle to get the pumpkin off his head fruitlessly. “No point trying, you prat. It won’t come off for twelve hours.”

“WHAT?” His grey eyes widened inside the pumpkin slits. “Is this what I get for trying to help?”

“No one asked for your help, mate.” James let out a long-suffering sigh. “Least of all us. Also, broom cupboards? Really?”

The pumpkin thunked back against the wall in defeat. “I just thought—”

“There was no need,” Lily said, and shared a secret grin with James. Now came part two of their revenge. With one smooth tug at his hand, she pulled herself flush against James’s chest, fingers reaching up to tangle in the mess of his hair as he leaned down to capture her lips with his. For a moment—or two—or three—Lily lost herself in the warmth of his mouth and arms, body humming with relief at finally being allowed to do this after they’d been cooped up in that cupboard, diligently waiting to strike.

Eventually, a loud, strangled noise had them breaking apart, faces flushed.

“Are you bloody kidding me?!” Sirius’s voice groaned, but Lily could spy a hint of amusement in there now. “I hate you so much that I’m sort of impressed.”

James laughed, eyes bright, and winked at her. “See? Told you.”

[thisisthehardestthing]

Come Back

I've wanted to write about us for a while now. I wanted to put our story to paper to eternalise it.

I wanted to make sense of how I could fall so madly and deeply in love with someone.

In December, it will be 2 years since we met. It's already been a year since I've loved you.

It started off as a crush. Very simple. Mostly sexual. We were in my bedroom on a warm late-May night. I asked to kiss you. I didn't expect the sex to be that good. There was a connection that sparked from where we joined in the dark. I didn't expect to get burned.

The crush became a friendship, unlike anything I've ever had. I loved you wholeheartedly and innocently. Without romance, but it was more than platonic. I found you fascinating: the way your brain worked, how your ears listened to sounds, how curious you were about the world. It felt reciprocated. I did not see your self-absorption because I was absorbed in you as well.

We would see each other all the time from that late May until you left in November. We'd talk, and laugh, and make love almost daily. We even took a trip together without going anywhere. I realised I've begun to trust you. That terrified me, and I told you that. I warned you how delicate that part of me was. I trusted you as a friend, a lover, with pieces of me I rarely show anyone.

That was probably my mistake.

The hardest part about writing this isn't the memories of our physical actions but the memory of the emotions that were intertwined throughout. They were so honest.

I think I fell for you the last month we spent together. I'm not sure how. We weren't fucking at that point because you started seeing someone. I think it was the vulnerability you showed me. Only to me.

I tried to stop loving you last December. It had been a month since you left. I sent you a message saying how hard it hit me. It didn't work.

You came back into my life. You came back.

Some part of me must've convinced my heart that we were meant to be in each others lives. Not as lovers, or as friends, but something more that we couldn't even find the words for ourselves through our deep talks. I didn't fight the connection that flourished between us. It seems like you did. It was easy to breathe when we were together, to relax. You--no, we were easy. Simple. Yet still sexual even with all the distance between us.

I missed you.

You missed me too.

So planned a trip.

This is where I started to drown. Part of the year, we spent apart, parts of the year we spent together in bliss where no one we knew was around us. Taking flghts to visit friends wasn't new for me. I would do it for every one of my friends in my life. That shouldn't be used as the tool to mark my adoration for you. What should be measured is the amount of times I put your happiness first.

I think it has slowly killed me.

You're back now. I no longer need to catch a plane to see you: you live 5 minutes away. And I've tried to start my projects again. I've met so many wonderful people on our journey together. Thank you for that.

I still get glimpses of that vulnerability that made me drown in my love. I still gave you all my trust. But I can't anymore.

I feel broken because trust is all I have to give.

I'm going to distance myself from you again.

I hope you will come back.

Please come back.

[fenrir-ate-the-cat-jily]

Lost something?

memory loss

it’s hard

it’s not funny - well unless you count Dory

it makes for amazing stories...

RETRIBUTION by Claudiawrites  (warning WIP)

[shares-a-vest]

Wayne shuffles to the door, desperate to answer the incessant knocking that sounds like whoever is on the other side is going to beat the exterior fly screen straight off its hinges. He is greeted by Claudia Henderson, clutching her handbag strap tight across her chest and looking very serious.

Although it might just be his sleep-deprived inability to gauge the emotions of chipper 9-to-5 receptionists who wear cosy sweaters. He checks his watch. He’s only been asleep for about an hour after getting home from night shift - what with waiting for Hurricane Eddie to finally head off for the garage.

“Hello, Wayne,” Claudia nods and purses her lips.

He scrubs a hand over his face but steps back nonetheless to let her in. Claudia is one step in the doorway anyhow.

“Coffee,” he not-so-much asks as he moves to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Claudia says politely, “I usually wait for my morning tea break.”

He looks over to find her pulling out his assigned chair at the breakfast table. She looks nervous, if a little pissed off as she gathers her handbag up on her lap. He blinks harshly and pinches his nose enough to press his forefinger and thumb into the inner corners of his eyes. He really needs to wake the hell up a little more, it appears.

“What did Eddie do?” he sighs, looking over the drying rack on the sink for one of the mugs he has in his rotation at the present time.

“Oh, Eddie hasn’t done a thing!” she insists, a smile evident in her voice, “I’m here about Steve.”

Cubs mug it is then...

He frowns again and turns back to Claudia, confused. And the woman looks like she was expecting such a reaction because she huffs and straightens up, looking like she is readying herself to give a sermon on the kid.

“I need you to help me convince that boy to move in with Dustin and me,” she explains, promptly holding up a defensive hand, “Now, I know he stays here, mostly This isn’t about anything to do with you… Or Eddie…”

She tacks that last mention of his nephew on with a tone and a knowing look.

Wayne clears his throat. It’s certainly far too early in the morning for the ins and outs of that conversation. He flicks the kettle on to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Have you uh...” he hums and scratches the back of his neck as he searches for words, “Have you talked with him about this, at all?”

Claudia squeaks out a noise he assumes is a negative as he quickly spoons coffee into his mug. He’ll settle for black coffee for now - he really cannot be assed to stand up for much longer, even if he did have the sense to quickly step into his comfy slippers when Claudia came a-pounding on the door.

“And you want my help specifically?” he says, raising his voice above the steaming kettle that is whistling away in boiling readiness.

“Yes!”

He waves a hand in the air, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I can’t talk to that girl,” he barks a laugh that makes Claudia startle in her seat, forcing her to clarify, “I mean she is a steel trap about that boy!”

Wayne smirks and nods as he heads for the table with his piping hot - and hopefully, heavily caffeinated - beverage, “He’s not the biggest talker when it comes to himself.”

“I’m not one to speak ill of other mothers,” Claudia says in a hushed tone, “God knows, I am not perfect. But where are his parents?”

She rocks a little with each word like she has needed to ask that question for a good long while. Of course, Wayne thinks about Steve’s parents. A lot. Because the boy almost never mentions them.

He shrugs, “He says they stayed away on business.”

“After everything that has happened in this town?” she argues, voice growing shrill with worry, “Did he tell you what actually happened with the mall fire? It was more of that other dimension nonsense!”

He almost chokes on his coffee. He knows a little - there was no way around it with Eddie in the hospital surrounded by all those secret nurses and doctors. But he didn’t know Claudia Henderson knew about some of it too. Still, he decides to remain cautious and gestures for her to continue.

“And he’s been concussed more times than he can remember!”

She slumps back in her seat with a look of such horror, Wayne thinks the sweet woman sitting opposite him considers it her closing argument.

Wayne taps on the rim of his coffee cup. They would have to tread carefully, not ambush the kid.

“He does get a lot of migraines - ” is all he can think to say.

“ - And he has dizzy spells,” Claudia cuts in, leaning forward. He can see tears starting to well up, “I just want him to be looked after. I know he’s a young man with his own life and everything, but he still needs a parent to care for him, to support him.”

“Yeah,” Wayne nods firmly, “Yes, he does.”

[resqectable]

I love you, that means I’m not just here for the pretty parts. I’m here no matter what.

Claudia Gray

[thehopefulquotes]

Nobody else will ever be able to save me if I'm not fighting as hard as I can to save myself.

Claudia Gray, Fateful

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Die Reise nach Lyon (Claudia von Alemann, 1981)  

[nburkhardt]

I got a scene in my head and now it’s gotta be something.

Claudia Henderson took one look at Steve Harrington and decided he is hers. She looked at her Dusty and saw a matching determination and that was all it took.

In no time their guest bedroom is cleared out to only the essentials; a bed, nightstand, dresser and a desk. The closet gutted of the extra linen and other random things she stuffed in it. It’s a clean slate and perfect for her boy.

It does take her and Dusty a bit to get Steve comfortable enough to just have dinner and “Oh it’s too late for you to drive home, you can sleep here tonight, sweetie. It’s no trouble!” A few times and for her to convince him to bring over a few sets of clothes because “it’ll be easier to leave in the mornings you stay over, honey!” After another month of weekly dinners.

After only a few months of knowing this sweet boy, she sits him down one night while Dustin is in his bedroom for the night. She smiles at him, “Stevie, sweetie, I have something to want to ask you”

She knows it makes him freeze, sees it clear as day on his face. It makes her question yet again how his parents treated him, but instead of thinking of them she reaches over and squeezes his knee before grabbing his hand that’s been gripping his leg, “Nothing bad, I promise. There’s just something I’ve wanted to ask since the first day I met you. The minute I saw you, you’ve been my baby.” Her smile is watery, as his eyes widen.

“I didn’t want to scare you, but I really do see you as my son and since it’s been some time and you already have your room, I was thinking you move in, permanently.”

Steve’s eyes are glassy as his mouth drops, “Mrs. Henderson,” he grips her hand and blinks at her, it makes her shake her head amused at the name. Knowing he’s been unknowingly calling her Ma for a week now.

“It’s Ma, and you know it baby.” She gripped his hand back, “I love you Steve, and you belong here with me and Dusty.”

The only words to describe Steve right now is amazed and just well loved. He’s speechless and all he can do is nod as the tears finally break through and roll down his cheeks as he laughs breathlessly while falling into a hug.

— — line break — —

Two years, Starcourt burning down and a massive earthquake later and Steve has been a Henderson in everything but blood.

He packed up the last of his things and stared at his empty room in the quiet and lonely Harrington House before officially leaving that behind him. Since he never head from his parents, he didn’t bother contacting them. He’s technically an adult, he doesn’t need to speak to them.

There was no note left behind either.

Just shut all the lights off, left the keys on the kitchen table and walked away with the last of his things before getting in his car and driving to his home.

And he hasn’t heard from them since. Not that he cares much, he’s accepted that they left him and decided to never contact him.

He raised himself before Ma came along.

“Get outta here, Ma!” He laughs as he lightly pushes her out of the kitchen, “I promise I won’t burn down the kitchen! It was once and I’ve gotten better! You relax, I got dinner tonight!”

She laughs, rolls her eyes as well with a smile, “Honey, it’s okay, I-”

A knock interrupts her, they both look at the door. Twin confused looks on their faces, they look back at each other before Steve drops his arms and moves towards the door.

“You expecting anyone Ma?” He says as he unlocks the door, “I know I’m not” As he pulls open the door, his voices drops as he registers who he’s looking at.

Standing on their porch, in fancy clothes with looks of disappointment and anger on their faces is two people Steve hasn’t seen in years.

“Steven Harrington, why did I have to find out from our neighbors that you moved? How come when we get home not only is it true but you let the house go! The yard is a mess, the pool empty and your room is completely empty!” Cathleen Harrington crosses her arms with disbelief, “this is no way to act, mister”

Steve blinks at her, glances at his fath- at Richard Harrington and sees disinterest and anger on his face. Then he looks back at Cathleen, at his birth mother, and no longer feels anything towards them.

“I’m not trying to act, I moved to be with my family, be with people who wanted me. So I really don’t care how that house looks, and you found out from neighbors because why should I contact you? You never contacted me” he spits out bitterly, refusing to match their crossed arms.

Cathleen gasps and her eyes widen, before anger comes back in seconds, her eyes glaring. “That is no way to speak to your mother, Steven!”

“You’re NOT my mother,” he glared fiercely back, “You left me, you abandoned me! I was your child and you never came home.” He spat at them, “You have no right to call yourself my mother.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for them to say anything back before closing the door and taking a deep breath. Flinching when he feels Ma’s hand take his and pulls him towards her and into a hug, his arms automatically curling around her. Hiding his head in her shoulder as the realization of relief rushes in him.

“Oh baby, I’m so proud of you” she whispers to him, squeezing him.

“I love you Ma, thank you for wanting me”

She shakes her head, her eyes watering as she pulls away to press her lips gently against his forehead, “no no, Stevie, thank you for being my baby. I love you so much, baby”

What do you mean I decided to write this based off a passing thought of the Harringtons to find out their house is not being used, that I was in the middle of working and went “that’s gotta be written!!” And proceeded to write how Claudia basically kidnapped Steve??? That definitely didn’t just happen. Anyway, I know like two people will read this (my loves I see you) and I think I’m rambling. I’m a tiny bit high.

Hope this was entertaining and not rambling. I’m not doubling checking any typos so if you spot them, no you didn’t 😡

Permanent taglist!

@strangersteddierthings @spectrum-spectre @sunnythespookyghost @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon

[quotefeeling]

I love you, that means I’m not just here for the pretty parts. I’m here no matter what.

Claudia Gray

[typical-simplelove]

Welcome to New York - M. Barzal

Here's just a little thing I wanted to share!

It’s been years since you’d seen him last. You still remember that final party the weekend before he left for his first official training camp with the New York Islanders, the true real last time you saw him. You remember giving him a small hug, holding him tight as you wished him luck, a promise to keep in touch soft on your lips. He was one of your closest friends and maybe more, but that never happened, and you wished for nothing but the best for him. 

Now, all these years later, sitting in your small condo, right along the Long Island Rail Road, easy for your commute into Manhattan each day, you hold your phone, the weight heavy both in your hand and on your heart. You lost touch with Mat during his rookie season, but who blames you or him? He was busy being the rookie sensation he was, and you were continuing your education. Even during the summers when you were home, little to no contact occurred. You saw each other from a distance, but nothing ever came of it. 

Now, with a job transferring you to the Tri-State area, you can’t help but think about Mat. His mother thought so, too, because she sent you a text, full of Mat’s contact information, hoping you’d get in contact with him and rekindle that friendship. 

How would you even go about reaching out to him? There was no way it should have been this difficult, though, right? It was just Mat. He was literally just some guy, so what was the point in freaking out about it? In the worst-case scenario, you could just brush it off, claiming his mother made you reach out to him. 

Without thinking, you sent off a small text. You started with a small “hey,” continuing with your name, and a refresher on how you knew him (just in case), before following up with a, 

I recently moved to Long Island for work, so your mother gave me your number. I would love to grab dinner when you’re free and catch up. Let me know!

It took you four attempts to figure out if you used too many formal sentences, a weird amount of exclamation, or had the appropriate tone. By mentioning his mother, it was obvious this was a no-stakes situation. 

After an extensive amount of contemplation, you sent the text. Whatever. He could ghost you, for all you cared, but it didn’t matter. The text was sent. If his mother asked, you could say you tried, and it wasn’t like there were any extreme expectations on your part. It is what it is. 

That is until your phone (perpetually on silent) lit up, signaling a text. He responded. 

Welcome to New York! I’m happy my mom gave you my number because I’d love to catch up. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll figure something out. 

You smiled at his words and tried to ignore the warmth bubbling in your stomach. 

It sounded like a new soundtrack was waiting for you.

[maraudersftw]

New Jily Fic: Tracing You

Chapter 1: Outline

Summary: "Each student from the creative writing course will be paired with another student from the art course to work on a collaborative project over the duration of three weeks for a chance to be featured in the Hogwarts University Annual Art Exhibition." What are the chances that Lily gets paired with the one person she absolutely cannot stand? [Artist!James | Writer!Lily]

So, so, so excited to post something after 6 months of not writing. In fact, I'm positive it's a little sloppy but I'm just happy to get this baby out there ❤️❤️

@all-things-jily @mabeltothknows @missgryffin @the-dream-team this one's for you amazing ladies!

Read chapter 1: AO3 || FFN

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Sorry, I just got the image of Claudia sitting in between Steve and Eddie, showing them baby pictures of Dustin. Dustin isn't even home. Apparently, they get together, have tea, and talk about Dustin's attitude. Dustin really doesn't really find out about it until Dustin goes to Steve's and finds a copy of one of his baby pictures nestled on Steve’s mantle with the other pictures of the party. He goes over to Eddie's to make a complaint when he finds that Eddie has one too. It's baby Dustin in his first hat.

"Your Grandpa Wayne loves that one," Eddie said fondly. "He loves hats."

"How long is this joke going to go on for?!" Dustin exclaimed.

"How long are you going to keep letting us know that you don't like it?" Eddie asked.

Dustin, of course, shrieked and stormed out.

[perfectfeelings]

I love you, that means I’m not just here for the pretty parts. I’m here no matter what.

Claudia Gray

[thoughtkick]

Nobody else will ever be able to save me if I'm not fighting as hard as I can to save myself.

Claudia Gray, Fateful