#harriet x fem!reader

[frost-queen]

Newt

• The cure 

Thomas

• New Glader 

Gally

•  Run to me 

Harriet

• The Scorch (Fem!Reader)

• The little things (Fem!Reader)

[dearharriet]

"you're really red right now." with george weasley? and congrats on 150! 🥳

thank you sm for the request! <3 (wc: 851)

Swinging under the restricted access rope, you climb the stairs to the twins’ annex two at a time. Behind you, the store is mostly quiet, except for Fred’s loud singing as he feeds the pygmy puffs.

The banister is creaky when you lean on it, so you’re sure George can hear you coming. His door is open, so you let yourself in, announcing yourself with a rap on the stained pine trim.

“Fred says you’re hiding, but I can’t imagine what from,” you say instead of hello. “Certainly not me, I hope?”

George glances away from his books, halfway through a bite of takeaway. His mouth stills its chewing as he blinks owlishly at you. His hair is all askew, likely from tugging at it in concentration, and he has a tiny speck of sauce on his chin. You’d probably find it embarrassing if you didn’t like him so much.

“Sorry, hello,” you amend, realizing you caught him unawares. He remains frozen, though his jaw starts working to rid itself of the food that’s keeping him silent.

“Hi,” he ekes out, “on your break, are you?”

You hum affirmatively, coming around his desk to converse more privately with him.

“Yeah, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this idea I have for a product we could release near Christmas,” you ramble, leaning a hip against his desk and crossing your arms. George is staring up at you like you’re a star he’s never seen before. “A red-hot cocoa. We could infuse dragon peppers into the mix—to make it really spicy, yknow?”

George doesn’t look too convinced. If anything, he looks like he hasn’t heard you at all.

“I know it’s sort of similar to flaming fudge, but I thought the effect of making it themselves might add intrigue for customers,” you continue, starting to feel a little bit embarrassed.

Silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable, emphasized by an especially loud zzzzzziiiiiip from downstairs.

Biting your lip, you wince. “George?”

He blinks, seeming to come alive again, somewhat.

“Did you do something to your hair?” he asks out of the blue.

You frown. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

To his credit, George looks terribly guilty in the face of your accusation. He takes it in stride, too, despite being every color of wrong.

“Is that what you were telling me about?” he asks.

Sighing, you take his loosened tie and shake it around in teasing frustration. There was a time when doing something as familiar as that would make you feel unprofessional, but you know better now.

“No. I was telling you about my idea for a new product.”

George’s mouth opens and closes silently, searching for words. He looks hot around the collar, from embarrassment or flustering or both. You like to tease him like this, because upon meeting him, he didn’t seem the type to be fazed by flirting at all.

Feeling maniacal, you take the opportunity to wipe away the food still on his chin, letting your touch linger a hair longer than necessary. The color in George’s neck shoots up to his pale cheeks, giving him the hue of a ripe strawberry.

“Merlin, George,” you muster through a grin, “you’re really red right now.”

He ducks his head then, ardently avoiding any inch of you he can. Cursing, he presses the backs of his hands to his cheeks to cool them.

“Sorry.” He steals a glance at you, his brows furrowed in what might be confusion. “Remind me what your idea was?”

You accommodate him, running the idea past him again, with more confidence this time. You don’t mind wasting your break away talking, at least not with George.

“Hot cocoa,” he repeats, rubbing his chin. You weren’t expecting a promotion or anything, but his mild response worries you. “We could workshop it together, yeah?”

“Sure,” you say, nerves winding tight in your chest. “If you’re not too busy.”

“Honestly, I haven’t done any work since an hour ago,” he admits. “Is it busy downstairs?”

You strain to listen past George’s office, down the stairs in the popular shop. It’s easy to make out the fizzing lightning effects and the siren-like sounds that engulf the love potion display, but any real crowd bustle is absent.

“Hardly,” you say.

George pushes up from his chair, making for his door. “Good,” he says, “we can start now.”

He closes the heavy door, and then retrieves a cauldron and hauls it over to his desk. Before he sets it down, though, he holds it up in front of your face.

“In case you were wondering why I thought you did something to your hair,” he explains, “it’s because someone did something to your hair.”

In the warped reflection on the brass cauldron you can see yourself—and your flaming pink hair.

“Merlin, I look like Tonks.”

George laughs at that, dropping the heavy basin onto the rich mahogany table. He doubles back to his shelves again to collect some ingredients.

“Any idea who did it?” he prompts.

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah. He looks a lot like you.”

+

thank you for reading! xx

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[snapesmorningcoffee]

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[bruisedboys]

underneath kitchen lights — james potter x reader

summary — james has a crush on you, lily’s shy and unbelievably sweet coworker. you nurse a crush of your own. (based on all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine!)

or .. you got a slurpee for free, I caught you looking at me, in the 7/11 under fluorescent lights. I spilled mac and cheese on my pants, and thought about kissing you underneath kitchen lights!

contains — shy!fem!reader, florist!reader, strangers-ish to friends to lovers, rugby player!james, modern au, flirting, mutual pining, fluff, james being a total sweetheart, sirius being a twat and a good friend, wolfstar because I couldn’t resist, kissing, lovesick!james, idiots in love tbh, and ummm lots of references to all my ghosts!!

notes — um I am very nervous to post this. but also please don’t let it flop.

fem!reader 8k words

James has an embarrassingly big crush on you. For someone he’s only met twice now, you’re very good at getting stuck in his head. It’s hardly his fault — you’re lovely. You always smell like flowers (which is kind of a given, he supposes. You work with Lily at Harriet’s, the florist’s down the road). You’re very pretty. You’re quiet and a bit shy but you’ve spoken enough that James at least knows you’re polite and friendly.

He’s talked to you a grand total of one time. You’d exchanged a few words and James had been very very quick to fall in love with everything about you. Your hands as you wrung them in front of you — a shy tell, he’d guessed. Your voice, pretty and soft, and how it’d sounded when you said his name. The way you dressed, your hair, the quirk in your mouth when he’d made a joke, the hitch in your breath when he’d shook your hand. He was a goner the second he’d met you.

“Prongs,” drawls Sirius, followed by a hard punch in the bicep. “You know you’re not as subtle as you think.”

James scowls in the general direction of Sirius’ voice. He’d been staring at you, he’s sorry to admit. You’re talking to Lily and you’re smiling about something she’s said and you just look so pretty.

He badly wants to talk to you properly, he has ever since the first time Lily bought you around to a party like this one, but he’s scared of embarrassing himself. He’s not exactly the best flirter when it comes to girls he actually likes. His tongue gets all tied and he can’t say two words without ultimately embarrassing himself. He’s not as much of a charmer as everyone thinks he is. He’s also scared you won’t like him, but he won’t get into that.

“Shut up,” he advises Sirius, rubbing his sore arm. “I don’t even know what you’re on about.”

Sirius, sprawled on the couch next to James, rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, all sarcasm. “S’not like you’re burning holes into Y/N’s face or anything.”

For a split second James panics. He whirls around to look at you so fast he almost snaps his neck in half. Have you heard Sirius? Do you think James is a total creep now? No — you’re still engrossed in your conversation with Lily. James breathes a sigh of relief but it’s cut short when he realises Sirius is laughing at him.

“Mate,” he guffaws. “You’re hopeless.”

It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he says dryly.

Sirius grins with all his stupidly perfect teeth. “Y’welcome.”

James sighs and scrubs a heavy hand down his face. Maybe he is as hopeless as Sirius thinks. He’s certainly feeling quite hopeless right now. With you across the room and him sitting here unable to make himself get up and talk to you. As subtle as he can he twists to look over the back of the couch again to see what you’re doing. He’s just in time to see you disappearing into the kitchen by yourself, Lily now talking with the other girls by the ranch slider.

His heart rate spikes. This is his chance.

James is getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He dodges another hearty punch from Sirius, pretends not to hear Lily when she asks him where he’s going, and follows you into the kitchen on clumsy feet like a puppy on a leash.

He stumbles into Lily’s kitchen and there you are. Standing with your head in the fridge, the bright white lights cast over your skin. And there’s a lot of skin to look at. Your shoulders, your upper back. There’s a beauty spot on your back, just next to your shoulder blade. Your dress floats just above the halfway point of your thighs. You’ve got really nice legs. James snaps his eyes back up to your head before he can feel too guilty and clears his throat.

You start and then whirl around, eyes wide as saucers, one hand curled around the fridge door.

“Oh,” you say, breathless. “James. You scared me.”

James is so busy melting over the way you say his name that he almost forgets to speak. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head and your big dangly earrings jingle like bells. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”

You smile all soft and pretty and James really thinks he might pass out. He steps forward and leans against the kitchen island as casually as he can, when really he’s using it for support lest he keel over.

You’re looking at him like you’re expecting him to say something. He clears his throat again.

“Um,” he starts lamely. He braves through. “I, um— you look really nice tonight. I wanted to tell you earlier but Lily’s been stuck to you like a leech since you got here.”

You blink at him and James worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe this was the worst idea he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ideas. But then you beam.

“Oh,” you say, shocked like you can’t quite believe it. Which should be impossible, really, James thinks. You’re beautiful. It’s hard not to believe it. “Thank you, James.”

James smiles back. Your shyness at being complimented only fuels him. “You’re welcome. Just don’t tell Lily I called her a leech.” At this, you giggle, and James stammers through his next words, dazed from your laugh. “So, uh— are you looking for a drink?”

He gestures to the fridge, which you seem to have forgotten about, the door hanging wide open under your grip.

“What? Oh,” you say sheepishly, and suddenly you’re embarrassed and staring at your shoes. “No, I’m…” You lift your head and blink at him under your lashes. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

James is perplexed, but he’s not gonna laugh at you if you don’t want him to. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, I promise.”

You smile, then dip your head towards him like you’re sharing secrets. “I was cooling off,” you admit, sheepish. “It got too hot in the living room and Lily’s patio has mosquitos.” You hardly give him time to reply before you’re cringing, saying, “It’s weird, right?” Like you know he’s gonna think it’s strange.

He doesn’t think it’s strange. Well, maybe a little. But he’s been found in worse positions at parties. You look so embarrassed about it James is almost sorry he asked. Almost, because embarrassed you is adorable. You lean back and scrub your neck awkwardly, bracelets clanking on your wrist.

“No, I know,” he groans sympathetically, nodding vehemently. “Lily really needs a mosquito net or something, so we can open the damn door without getting eaten alive. Can I join you?”

You look baffled for a moment, and then shy all over again.

“You want to join me while I stick my head in the fridge?” You ask, an amusement to your tone that James adores.

James shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile outright then. “Okay,” you say, stepping aside so there’s more room in front of the fridge for him. “C’mon, then.”

James practically skips over to you. The moment he steps into your space he can smell your lovely scent. Flowery and sweet, something floral like hyacinth mixed with something sweet like honey. It’s intoxicating. He feels like he could drown in it. But there’s no time for drowning, not when your hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into your side, your feet shuffling to accommodate him.

“Move closer,” you urge shyly. “You gotta get the full experience.”

James moves closer. So close his arm brushes yours and he could hold your hand if he wanted to. He very much wants to. He imagines your skin is as soft as it looks.

The coldness of the refrigerator washes over him and it’s actually really nice. Even though he can be a total party animal sometimes, he understands why you would be here instead of in there. It’s quiet in here. Nice and cool. No lingering scent of heavy wine. No Sirius to tease him and no Marlene to badger him with questions about his love life.

“This is nice,” he says quietly, over the gentle buzz of the fridge.

You giggle softly. James thinks he’d like to make you laugh a million times over. “Isn’t it?”

“Mm,” James hums. “I should do this at parties more often.”

You laugh again, delighted at his joking. “You should. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely when I escape to the kitchen.”

James laughs too. He can’t quite believe his luck right now, squished in front of Lily’s refrigerator with you, elbow to elbow, the rest of his friends and the party long forgotten.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says, smiling big.

The next time James sees you, it doesn’t go quite as well as previously. To put it simply, it’s a disaster.

First of all, he’s late. Remus and Sirius are having a housewarming party at their new place and he’s had training all day so he’d forgotten all about it. It’s not until 9:30, an hour after the party was supposed to start, that he’s climbing in his car after training and his phone buzzes.

He picks it up, exhausted, expecting one of his teammates. Instead it’s a string of messages from Remus.

You’re late James!!!!

We started without u. Where r u????

Sirius is gonna wring ur neck

James scrolls through the messages with a mixture of confusion and dread. Confusion because at first he has absolutely no idea what Remus is talking about. Dread when he realises.

He speeds all the way home, showers at lightning speed, pulls on a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s sure aren’t clean, and he’s out the door within ten minutes of getting home. Still, by the time he gets to Sirius and Remus’ place it’s almost 10. His hair looks a mess but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t even think about the fact that you could possibly be there. That is, until he’s finished apologising profusely to his friends and Sirius mentions you. James perks up from where he’d been slumping on the couch, feeling exhausted and sorry for himself.

“What?” He asks, too loud. He tries to tamp it down but honestly, it doesn’t really work. He’s still buzzing with nervous energy when he asks, “Is she here?”

Sirius grins, looking uncharacteristically cat-like. “Uh— yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. His stupid grin only grows and James thinks he’d quite like to punch his teeth out. “She came with Lily. Moons thought we should invite her. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

James knows he’s teasing but can’t quite bring himself to care — the prospect of seeing you has demolished all other feelings of pathetic-ness. He leaps off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, guessing that’s where you’ll be, a barely touched drink in his hand and Sirius’ teasing following him all the way. He’s so busy fixing his shirt before he sees you that he doesn’t see you. He walks right into you on the threshold of the kitchen.

“James!” You gasp, stopping short.

James’ drink, to his horror, has spilt all down your front. His glass, previously full, is now half empty, the rest of it splattered all over your white top.

You barely have time to be surprised before he’s apologising.

“Shit,” he curses, mind blanking. His hands go to fix the damage before he realises he probably shouldn’t touch your chest, where his drink is now seeping into your top and showing no signs of stopping. He pulls his hands back lamely. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Oh gosh. I’m so dumb, I—“

Your rush to forgive him is almost as quick as his apology. “No!” You shake your head and it’s awfully cute despite the situation. “No, it’s okay, James. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

James grimaces. He tries not to look at the dark red stain that looks like blood on your white blouse. It is quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve spilt on you.

“It’s okay,” you say again, softer, reassuring, probably clocking the pathetic look on his face.

“Don’t, angel,” James says, shaking his head. “S’my fault.” He grabs your elbow gently and starts to pull you out to the living room, seeking Remus, who he knows will have a spare t-shirt that’s at least clean. “C’mon, I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“Wait, James. Wait.” You plant your feet in the doorway of the kitchen and James stops walking. He looks back at you, feeling guilty, hopeless, confused, and a bit endeared by you still, all at once.

“What?” He asks as gently as he can when he’s feeling like such a loser.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip so hard James is sure it hurts. You’re shy, he remembers. Quiet and polite. You probably don’t like people making a fuss over you, even though you should really. You’re pretty enough that people should be making a fuss over you all the time. “I think I’ll just go home, s’only a ten minute walk. I was going to leave soon, anyway.”

James frowns. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head. He also can’t let you feel uncomfortable. He conjures a compromise. “Look, how about you wait here while I go ask Remus for a spare shirt? And then I’ll walk you home to make it up to you.”

He knows walking you home isn’t near enough to make up for ruining your top. But it’s the best he can do right now.

“But you just got here, didn’t you?” you say, frowning yourself.

James shrugs. That’s hardly a problem for him. “Don’t worry. I see those two asshats every day of my life, sweetheart.”

You still look unsure but James isn’t changing his mind. He’s going to walk you home if it’s the last thing he does. But first, something for you to change into. He leaves you in the kitchen and finds Remus, whom he asks for a shirt, to which Remus says, “What’s that for?” too loudly.

James explains what happened dejectedly. He’s not exactly surprised when Sirius laughs at him for it.

It’s a quiet walk to your place. You live close, which is both good and bad. Good because it means every time James is at Remus and Sirius’s, he’ll know you’re only ten minutes away. Bad … well, for the same reason.

James tries his best to fill the silence with easy conversation. It’s not hard, especially when you’re so sweet and kind and answer his questions so pleasantly. You’re easy to talk to. You don’t laugh at him when he slips on his words. You don’t make him wait for answers. You ask him questions, too, timid as you are about it.

James finds he enjoys your company even more than he was expecting. You’re like a breath of fresh air. You’ve got the radiance of an early spring morning and the softness to go with it.

It’s safe to say he’s disappointed when you come to a stop in front of your place.

“This is me,” you say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You’re in one of Remus’ band tees and James thinks you look much better than Remus does in it. As much as he loves Remus. He realises he’s staring too late, his eyes following you as you walk up your front steps.

You unlock your door and then look back at him, timid.

“Did you want to come in?” You ask, sweet in your shyness.

James would very much like to come in. He also thinks he might fall on his face if he spends much more time with you. He’s already dizzy on his feet and he’s been with you all of fifteen minutes.

“No, no, that’s okay,” he says as kindly as he can. “I should probably get back, or Sirius’ll have my head.” At least he knows where you live now. In a totally not creepy way.

He steps forward to take your wrist in his hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. He can feel your heartbeat. It’s not quite as fast as his feels but pretty close.

“I’m really really sorry about your top,” he tells you. He spreads his fingers over your forearm, your skin warm as late summer under his touch. “Can I do anything to make up for it? Buy you a new one?”

He wasn’t joking, but you giggle, your face lighting up, your eyes crinkling at the corners. James feels something akin to a mad swarm of butterflies in his ribcage.

“No, James,” you laugh, breathless and lilting. Your free hand lands on his forearm and his skin burns under your touch. “It’s okay, really.”

“Okay,” James breathes. His head spins as you squeeze his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. You smell so nice. “But, seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do. It was such a nice top, it looked lovely on you.”

You flush like James knew you would. He’s slowly discovering he likes making you flustered more than he’ll admit.

“Thanks, James,” you say, and James imagines if he touched your face you’d be burning. “But, really, it’s okay. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See you around, angel.”

It’s only after you close the door and James is at the bottom of the steps that he realises he should’ve asked for your number. He really is as hopeless as Sirius says.

-

James Potter is on your mind most of the time. You can’t help it. You’re not above admitting you have a crush on him. You are above admitting how big said crush is.

He’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Sure, you don’t meet a lot of people. But you’re sure if you did he’d still be one of the best. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s unbelievably charming. He’s a bit awkward sometimes and you like that, it makes you feel better about your own social ineptitude.

It also helps that he’s very very handsome. You would look at him all day if you could. He’s all dark, velvety skin, inky curls that you’ve imagined weaving your fingers through more times than you can count. Deep brown eyes turned bright with his ever-present smile. Thick eyelashes, a lovely sloping nose, a quirk to his mouth that you think you could get drunk on. He dresses well, too, though you’re sure he’d look just as good in a hoodie and sweatpants. Or nothing at all. You’d squashed that thought before it could go any further.

You don’t even mind that he spilled wine all over your nicest top. Sure, the stain is never gonna come out. It’s sitting in your closet, ruined. Embarrassing as it is, you smile every time you see it. James had made up for it tenfold anyway, walking you home and telling you he was sorry about a hundred times. It would be hard to not forgive him.

“Y/N?”

There’s a call of your name from the office door. You’re in here on your lunch break, not really eating more than you are thinking about James. Margaret, the older lady who owns Harriet’s but only comes in Thursdays and Tuesdays, is poking her head through the door.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a customer out here asking for you? I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like, but he seems quite insistent.”

He. Of course, your mind flies straight to James. Which is ridiculous, you know, but it was already parked and idle at James, anyway.

“He’s asking for me?” You ask, perplexed. You don’t usually get personally requested by customers. And if it is James, you’re sure he’d ask for Lily instead.

“Yes, dear,” Margaret smiles, and she looks amused.

You get up because it’s your job, not because you’re hoping like hell it’s James. You put down your barely-eaten sandwich, brush past Margaret with a small ‘thank you’ and emerge into the shop.

There, standing at the counter, is James Potter.

“Y/N!” He says as soon as you emerge. He’s bouncy. Frazzled. You would even say excited. “Hi, lovely. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, were you on your break?”

“Oh, um, no. It just ended,” you lie. You still had a good ten minutes left. Not that you’re gonna tell him that.

James’ smile makes the lie worth it. “Perfect. ‘Cos I need your help.”

You think you physically perk up. Like a cat when it smells food is near. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Okay,” you smile. You’re happy to help if it’s James you’re helping. “With that?”

James explains that he needs a bouquet, your best work, better than a boring one you can get at the grocery store because he really really needs this person he’s giving it to to like it. Your smile fades at this. At the fact that he’s getting flowers for someone else. He won’t tell you who this someone else is. He also won’t tell you why he’s giving it to them. You’re sorry to assume it’s a girl he likes. Possibly Lily? Maybe that’s why he asked for you and not her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they’re close and she’s gorgeous.

Of course, you help him anyway. You recommend flowers that last the longest, colours that go together, which ones smell the best. He’s asks you what your favourites are and ends up going with those, saying he trusts your judgment.

You have to admit it’s all very endearing. And you have so much fun helping him that by the time he leaves, arms full of a huge bouquet made up of all your picks of flowers, you’re beaming. Despite the daunting fact that he’s walking out of your shop with a bouquet for someone else.

Margaret appears once he’s gone. She’s got this big smile on her face that you can’t quite make sense of.

“He’s a handsome one,” she muses. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your cheeks go redder than the roses on the shelf behind you.

Much later, you’re in the comfort of your small home, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese in your lap while the TV drones on. It’s some sort of romantic comedy that you can’t say you’re very interested in. Despite the lead male being very attractive. You’re about to change programmes when there’s a knock on your door.

You start. Nobody ever comes over. You don’t have many friends, and the ones that you do have, you tend to go over to their places, rather than the other way around. You’re so busy worrying about who it is that you haven’t even stood up before there’s another knock.

You get up off the couch, mac and cheese forgotten on the coffee table. You give your outfit a once over. You’re in sleep shorts and a hoodie that’s too big for you. Not your best work, but it’ll have to do. You fix your hair with little to no care and then open the door.

It’s James. You gape. You definitely should’ve paid more attention to your hair.

“James,” you say.

He beams right back, seemingly unaware of your sleepy appearance. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You stare at him. He looks pretty as ever. It’s only just going on sunset, and the colourful sky casts streaks of orange and golden yellow over his pretty face. The last bits of sun tangle themselves into his curls and drown themselves in his eyes. He’s dressed casual, but he still manages to pull it off, like you’d thought. A hoodie and jeans, a pair of beat up converse. He’s hiding something behind his back and you think you hear cellophane crinkle when he moves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he’s saying. He doesn’t have your number. But Lily does. Is it crazy to think he’s maybe asked her for it? “Is this a bad time?”

His kindness reminds you how to speak. “Uh— um, no. S’not a bad time, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you— um, did you want to come in?”

You’re rambling, you know. He hasn’t even told you why he’s here and you’re asking him to come in.

James smiles kindly and it makes it all better. He’s good at that. At making you feel okay for being a bit of an awkward loser (your own words, not his, of course.)

“I’d love to come in,” he says, all smiles. “But first, I have something for you.” He pulls whatever he’s been hiding out from behind his back and offers it to you between your chest and his. “To say I’m sorry about your top.”

You blink. It’s a bouquet. It’s the bouquet. The one you’d helped him put together. The one that has all your favourite flowers and colours and smells because despite you thinking it was for someone else, you’d still wanted the best for James. You blink again.

“James,” you say, a little breathless, a lot speechless. “They’re for me?”

James laughs and you feel dizzy for a moment. He’s got a really nice laugh. “F’course there for you, sweetheart. Who else?”

He makes you take them from him, one of his hands guiding yours around the stalks. His skin is warm and sets yours on fire. You’re surprised the bouquet doesn’t go up in flames when you take it from him.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter. “I thought …” you don’t finish your sentence. You’d thought they were for some other girl who’d caught his eye. You change tactics mid sentence, “They’re lovely, James.”

“I know they are, dove. You picked ‘em out.”

You giggle then. He’s the sweetest boy on the planet, you decide. He let you pick out your own flowers, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve never properly been given flowers before, despite working at a florist’s. It’s a new feeling. Like a star burning in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to go out. It hovers in you ribcage and stays there, buzzing madly.

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your eyes to his. You find he’s already gazing right back at you. There’s a rogue curl falling over his forehead that you’d love to push out of the way. “Really. I love them.”

James flashes you a boyish grin. “Good, ‘cos if you didn’t, I’d have to have a word with the girl who chose them.”

You’re still beaming when he comes inside. He follows you into the kitchen, where you find a vase for the flowers. You set about taking them out of their packaging, cutting the stalks and putting them gently in the glass vase filled with water.

James watches you and you can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it all, about being in your space, but his eyes scan your kitchen like it’s a map he’s trying to figure out. Your mismatched mugs on the counter. Your magnets and Polaroids and receipts on the fridge. Your overgrown plants on the windowsill.

You carry your flowers to your small living room and put them in the dead center of your coffee table. The bouquet is so big it would block most of your view of the TV if you sat on the couch. You hardly care. You’d rather look at them than the TV, anyway.

Setting the flowers down, you spot your half eaten mac and cheese and hope James doesn’t take you for a slob. You’re lucky he didn’t catch you on a Friday night. You’d be drowning in ice cream, probably.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, half hoping he’ll say no, because who in their right mind asks their crush if they want macaroni and cheese? It’s so lame, but you can’t take it back now. “I have mac and cheese, but that’s about it, sorry.”

You cringe and wish you’d held your tongue, but James beams.

“I’d love some mac n’ cheese,” he says. “Unless it’s boxed, that shit tastes like cardboard.”

You get him some mac and cheese, glad you made it yourself, gladder you haven’t resorted to boxed food just yet. The two of you sit in the kitchen on your tall kitchen stools under your golden lights and eat. James is easier to be around than anyone you’ve ever met. He makes you feel special but not to the point where it’s too overwhelming. He’s kind and he’s golden, he acts like you’re the only person he ever wants to talk to.

Watching him eat in your home is more of a pleasure for you than you’d like to admit. He compliments your cooking. He says he likes the bowl he’s got, which is a white one with pink flowers all over it that you bought at a market ages ago. He gets a string of cheese dangling from his lip and makes a dorky face trying to get it into his mouth without using his fingers. You think you’d like to kiss him. His lips all puckered and eyes crossed as he attempts to scoop the cheese into his waiting mouth.

You’re so busy laughing at him that you don’t notice your own bowl balancing precariously on the edge of the counter. When you go back to take another spoonful, your hand knocks the bowl and it goes tumbling. Right into your lap.

“Shit,” you curse, gasping when a dollop of hot pasta lands half on your thigh and half on your shorts. The sauce spreads like wildfire over the fabric of your sleep shorts. Why do things keep spilling on your clothes when James is around? It’s becoming a theme. Your horror grows when the bowl clatters to the floor and while it doesn’t smash, it spills mac & cheese everywhere. “Oh, shit, that’s embarrassing. Um.”

You bend to clean up your mess but James beats you to it.

“Here, let me,” he says. He slides off his chair and is quick to start scooping up the ruined pasta.

“Sorry,” you stutter, standing helplessly as James cleans up your mess for you.

“Don’t be,” James shrugs and looks up at you, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles kindly. “Go change, I’ll sort this out.”

You feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for him that makes you want to kiss him stupid. You don’t. Instead you go down to your room and find something to change into. Seeing as he’s already seen you in your sleep shorts, you suppose your checkered flannel pyjama pants aren’t really much worse. Nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s just happened, you decide.

By the time you’ve changed (plus spent a lot of extra time staring at yourself in the mirror, practicing your smile), James has cleaned up the spill and is washing your bowls in the sink. You decide then and there that you like him a lot more than you’d initially thought.

You emerge into the kitchen on light footing. You feel like a magnet being drawn to him like this. It’s bizzare, how much you want to be around him, no matter how shy he makes you. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. A rip in the ocean calling your name. You know of the danger but you don’t really care. You ignore the signs because he’s James and you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. The warning signs basically don’t exist.

“Thank you, James,” you say, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

James flashes you a big smile, up to his arms in soap and suds, scrubbing away at a bowl. He looks like a house husband. It’s almost more than your heart can take. “That’s okay. Hey, nice pyjamas. Y’look good.”

You can tell by his tone he’s not teasing. He’s being genuine, which is somehow worse than if he’d been teasing. Your smile is so big it hurts.

-

James is gonna kiss you tonight. He’s sure of it.

So far, all of his advances have gone well. Perfect, even. Unless you count the drink-spilling incident, but if it hadn’t been for that he’d probably never have found the courage to get you alone again.

He’s taken you out to lunch once. He’s been into your work twice, not including the first time. He’s invited you to his rugby game tonight, to which you’d said yes more enthusiastically than he’d expected. It’s not exactly a date, per say. But he’d wanted to see you today and he had a game and his coach would blow his head off if he’d missed it for a girl. No matter how lovely said girl is.

He’s waxed poetic about you to Sirius and Remus more times than he can count. He’s yet to kiss you. Sirius thinks this is beyond absurd.

“So you haven’t even kissed her yet?” He asks, incredulous. He’s in his rugby kit, hair up in braids, chugging a Gatorade though the game hasn’t even started yet. “What’s the hold up, mate?”

James groans. Sirius is yet to understand that some people don’t like to jump into the deep end before they’re ready. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he explains, straightening up from where he’d been tying his laces.

“Oh yeah, you’re reaaally scary, Prongsie,” Sirius drawls, dripping in sarcasm. He rolls his eyes and then clasps James’ shoulder. He’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically genuine when he says, “Look, I think she likes you enough that kissing her won’t scare her off.”

James blinks and looks up at his friend. “You think she likes me?”

Sirius makes a face. “Are you kidding? What other girl would want to watch you eat shit in a field with a dozen other sweaty guys?”

And he’s back, James thinks. Trust Sirius to be a sweetheart one second and as asshole the next.

Soon enough James is out on the field and he wants to say his mind is on the game and not you but he’d be lying.

For the first five minutes he’s distracted trying to spot you in the stands. Then the next ten minutes are spent trying not to stare at you. You’re with Remus, whom James is hoping isn’t relaying anything he’s ever said to him about you.

You look as though, to James’ extreme delight, that you’ve dressed up for this. In a pretty dress and a jacket that borders on being so big on you it swallows you up. Sure, you’d still looked pretty drop-dead in your pyjamas the other night. But this is another level of gorgeous.

The first chance he gets he bounds over to you, ignoring his coaches instructions to ‘stay with the team’. Most of the team has scattered for half time, anyway. James makes a beeline for you.

“You came!” He shouts as soon as you’re in shouting distance.

You grin and wave at him, brilliant and dazzling and so damn pretty in the early evening sun. You’re not far up the stadium and James is grateful he doesn’t have to climb too many steps — though he’d definitely climb all the way to the top row to see you if he had to.

“Hi, James,” you say, looking happy as a clam to see him.

James beams back. He wonders vaguely if he looks as lovesick as he’s feeling. He can’t even bring himself to care if he does. He’s lucky Remus is nowhere to be seen — probably loving on Sirius somewhere.

“Hi, angel,” James says, smiling around his words, which come out all sticky-sounding and fond. “I’m so glad you came.”

You beam and rock on your heels, looking one part shy and two parts delighted, your hands clasped in front of you like you’re not sure what to do now.

“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. “I’m so happy to see you, I might explode if you say no.”

He’s joking, of course. Or maybe not so much. You nod, a tad vehement, James notices smugly.

“Yes, please,” you say, breathless.

James steps into your space, heartbeat a mile a minute. You smell like flowers again. Lavender, he thinks. He definitely doesn’t smell anywhere near as good. “You’re sure I’m not too sweaty and gross?”

You shrug. “I don’t care, James.”

“You should. You look lovely.”

You make a noise that sounds half pained and half pleased and it makes James’ heart skyrocket.

“Can you just hug me?” You ask, a hint of desperation in your tone that’s actually much more than a hint but James is trying to be a gentleman. “Please?”

James thinks if you keep this up (by this, he means, acting as though maybe you like him as much as he likes you), he’ll die on the spot. He hugs you. For his own and your sake. Wraps you up in a big strong hug that’s so passionate he accidentally lifts you off the ground slightly. You don’t seem to mind. Your arms weave around his neck like they were meant to and you hook your chin over his shoulder and go all melty.

James almost moans. He can’t believe how perfectly you fit in his arms. How your body melds into his so nicely. He’s big and firm and loud and you’re quiet and small in your own way. But it works, and James is so glad it does.

“How was work, lovely?” He says into your hair. Your hair, which smells like coconut and something sweeter.

“It was okay.” Your voice is quiet but you sound just as pleased as he does to be wrapped in each other’s arms. “Lily says good luck.”

“Hey!” This is Sirius, jogging towards the stands and the, for want of a better word, lovefest. “Why don’t I ever get hugs like that?”

James releases you but keeps a good hold on your waist, twisting to meet Sirius. “What? You want one too, Pads?”

He lets go of you and holds his arms out for a hug, half joking but also half serious.

“Not from you!” Sirius scoffs, backing away from James like his hug will give him an incurable disease. “From your pretty cheerleader over there.”

Sirius plants his hands in his hips and nods his head towards you where you’re standing behind James. James doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has probably made you embarrassed.

“She doesn’t want to hug you,” he says dryly, in an attempt to save you from his obnoxious friend. “Where’s your boyfriend? You can hug him instead.”

Sirius scowls but it doesn’t last long. You brush past James and it takes him a second to realise what’s happening.

“I’ll hug you, Sirius,” you’re saying sweetly. “C’mere.”

And to everyone’s surprise, you hug Sirius. James finds it both endearing and highly annoying. Annoying because Sirius is smirking at him over your shoulder, his hands on your lower back. Endearing because it’s apparent you’re trying to make friends with James’ friends and he couldn’t be happier. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as yours and his, though. And Sirius doesn’t quite lift you off the ground like James did.

James watches, reluctantly fond, as Sirius pulls away and smiles at you all kind and un-Sirius-like.

“Thank you, m’lovely,” he says, swooping down to kiss your cheek. James shouldn’t feel jealous, because Sirius kisses everyone on the cheek, but he does anyway.

His jealousy quickly fades when you practically skip back over to him, all smiles.

“Sorry about him,” James says quickly. He’s very used to apologising for his friends.

“No, that’s okay,” you shake your head and then take James’ forearm in your hand unthinkingly. Heat licks all up James’ arm.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “Do you—?”

The shriek of his coach’s whistle cuts him off. Time to get back on the field, it says. James groans, long suffering, throwing his head back like he’s been resigned to the worst fate in the world. You giggle and it makes it all better.

James’ team loses the game. It’s embarrassing and then it’s not, because you bound up to him afterwards and give him a hug even better than the one at half time, gushing about how good he was, telling him it doesn’t matter that he lost because he played amazing, anyway.

He sure feels like a winner as he walks with you to the parking lot, his duffel bag swept to his wrong side so he can walk as close to you as possible.

“I didn’t know you were so good.” You’re still gushing and James thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. “I mean, not that I didn’t expect it. You just never told me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” James murmurs, feeling overly feverish.

“What? What’s that mean?”

James gestures vaguely with his hands. “I don’t go around bragging, is what it means. And I’m not that good. We’re just a local team, babe.”

It’s your turn to flush. Head to foot you go all shy. He thinks it’s the pet name that did it. And maybe the fact that he’s pointed out your gushing.

“Right,” you say to your shoes. “Well, I think you should play for the country, is all I’m saying.”

James laughs, delighted and a bit startled at your joking, but mostly just sick as a dog in love with you. “Really? Wow, you should tell my coach that, sweetheart. I think he’d totally agree.”

You pick up on his sarcasm and burst into giggles that make James’ chest want to explode. He realizes you’ve almost reached his car and puts his plan into action.

“Hey, did you drive here?” He asks.

You look up at him and James thinks he sees an inkling of hope in your pretty eyes. “No, I caught the bus. Why?”

“Did you want to go get Slurpees with me? I saw a 7/11 near your place the other night.” Then, because he really wants you to say yes, “I’m paying.”

Maybe it’s James’ wishful thinking but he’s pretty sure you light up like a Christmas tree. He really thinks if you keep doing things like this his head is gonna get too big for his body. You beam, looking like an angel on earth in the last fragments of sunlight, skin painted in an array of bleeding golds and pinks and oranges.

“Yeah, okay,” you nod. “Except you don’t have to pay for me, James, I have my card.”

James shakes his head, grinning as he fishes his keys from his bag. “Nah, don’t worry. Pretty girls get slurpees for free.”

He’s ninety-eight percent sure you freeze up like a block of ice as he unlocks his car. He has the generosity to not mention it.

The drive to the 7/11 closest to your place is quiet. But good quiet. James puts on the radio and is delighted when you start humming along like he’s not even there, your fingers tapping along the window where you’ve rolled it down, the wind brushing over your pretty face. He can’t quite get enough of you. Even just driving in silence with you feels like cloud nine. He’s enamored. Totally lovelorn. He’s surprised he can even drive straight.

When you get there he parks the car and then tells you to wait so he can open your door for you. He holds your hand to guide you into the 7/11. It feels like walking on air.

You both greet the guy at the cashier, you much more shyly, but James is learning you’re nothing if not polite. It’s practically empty inside, which James is glad for. How is he supposed to kiss you if there’s a bunch of strangers around? He leads you over to the slurpee machine with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

“What flavour do you feel like?” He asks, grabbing a cup for you.

“Um,” you lick your lips and James wonders, not for the first time, how it would be to kiss them. “Grape, I think.”

“Grape?” He wrinkles his nose in pretense. “I’m more of a cherry guy, but I’ll let it slide ‘cos I like you.”

You giggle and flush, to James' extreme delight. He lets go of your hand to fill your cup for you, all the way to the top. He pops on a lid and a straw and passes it to you, cold condensation dripping over his fingers like raindrops.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the cup from him, your fingers soft as they brush his.

James gives you a big smile in place of a you’re welcome, then preoccupies himself with filling his own cup. He can feel your eyes on him all the while. Practically burning holes into the side of his face. His face, which feels like it’s on fire. He finishes filling his cup and shoves a lid on.

“Have I got something on my face?” He asks without looking at you, definitely teasing but he thinks you can take it.

You groan and punch him in the arm. Punch isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a brush of your knuckles. James hardly feels a thing. “James.”

James laughs, delighted at your reaction. “What?” He chuckles, picking a straw and turning to look at you. “You were—“

But you’re gone, turning into the candy section just in time for James to see the back of your jacket disappear. He follows you, grinning like mad.

“Y/N,” he says, sing-song.

“James,” you copy, with half the enthusiasm but twice the sweetness. He can almost hear you rolling your eyes.

James can’t help it, he snags your jacket in his fingers and pulls. You squeal as he twists you to face him, his hand coming to hook around your waist. Your slurpees get crushed in between your chests. James can feel the coldness of his soaking into his shirt but he hardly cares. You’re so close he could kiss you. He’d like to. It’s what he’s been trying to do all evening.

You’re gasping, breathless from the closeness and his sudden attack. “James,” you say again, panting. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Nuthin’. Did you want some candy?”

You swallow and adjust your grip on your cup where it’s pressed to his chest. You’re staring at his lips. He’s staring at yours, too.

“No,” you say, your pretty eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “I don’t want candy.”

James licks his lips, partly because he thinks he’s about to kiss you, but mostly to tease you. “Then what do you want?”

Your eyes follow the slow movement of his tongue. “Um.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, softer now. Less taunting. More sincere.

You stare at him. “We’re in the middle of a 7/11, James,” you chastise. But you don’t turn him down.

“So? There’s no one in here but us.”

He inches closer. His slurpee is probably spilling over with how much he’s squashing it but he can’t bring himself to check. He’s too transfixed by you, the hopeful look on your pretty features, eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted.

“Okay,” you breathe, hardly a word at all.

“Okay, what?” James says back, just as quiet. “I can kiss you?”

“Yes,” you nod once. Your hand ghosts over James’ elbow and he hopes you’ll grab it when he does finally kiss you. “Please.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He kisses you, and the very first thing he thinks is that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Thrown himself in the deep end, chum for the sharks. Because it’s glorious. It’s better than he ever imagined, better than anything he could’ve conjured up in his mind. You taste like grape slurpee, sugary and sweet. You’re tentative like you always are, but it doesn’t mean you hold back. You let him kiss you as hard as he pleases, tilting your head up to meet him, gripping his elbow with your free hand like you never want to let go.

He kisses you firm but careful, passionate so you know how much he likes you but soft enough so you know he’s okay to go slow if you need to.

Soon enough the moment is ruined — James shouldn’t have expected anything less. The guy at the cashier is wondering aloud if James is planning on ever paying for the Slurpees now dripping condensation into both of your clothes and hands.

James sighs and goes to pull out his wallet, but not before pressing another kiss to your smiling mouth.

-

feedback and reblogs are very very appreciated! please please lmk if u liked it (but not if u didn’t ahahah) xx

[me10dy10]

Safe

Finnick Odair x fem!victor!reader

Y/f/n sat on the train. She had won the 74th hunger games, a very brutal game. She had almost died, a fatal attack to her chest. If it was three millimeters to the left, it would have killed her.

She was on tour, going to every district to speak. She was given a script, written by her mentors Finnick and Mags. It was very boring but it made her look professional.

Y/n hadn't spoken outside of her speech's. She'd go to the district, talk, and go back to the train and sit. Everyone was very patient with the young girl, all of them understanding what she had gone through. Although Finnick and Mags had difficult games, they knew hers was atleast ten times worse.

She stared at her hands, her nails were done and her hands looked soft. Thanks to the Capitol -- thanks to President Snow -- she was taken care of. All of her cuts and bruises were healed, she looked gorgeous. Her makeup was done everyday and she had a brand new wardrobe and thousands of dollars. She was the Capitols favorite.

Finnick walked up to the girl. His steps were careful, almost like he was scared she'd snap. He sat next to her. "We're almost to District 7, you ready?" He spoke soft and slowly so she could understand him. She had lost all her hearing in her left ear.

Y/n nodded and looked up at him. For he first time, since she had won, he saw her eyes. Her gorgeous eyes. There was a harsh scar going from the top of her eyebrow to her cheek, part of her right eye obviously damaged but it somehow made her look beautiful.

Finnick stood up and held out a hand for her. Y/n placed hers on it and stood up. He didn't let go of her hand as they walked from the back of the train to the front. Right as they got to the front, they arrived to District 7.

There were siblings from this district. They had risked their lives to save y/n. Something she'd never forget. She already had tears in her eyes as she slowly walked into the District. People were cheering for her and waving. She let go of Finnicks had when she finally made it to behind the stage. There was a curtain covering where she was standing.

"Remember, your script," a lady told her and pushed her out of the curtain.

The 17 year old girl froze. She looked at the large groups of people who were all looking back at her. Then up at the families of the two siblings.

"I... I knew Cash and Harriet very well," y/n said. She decided to ignore her script and say what she felt. "They had saved me. Harriet... She was just. She was so selfless and caring and strong. And... And I tried to save her, but I couldn't," Y/ns voice started to crack and a single tear fell down her cheek. "Cash was so full of love and he adored his older sister. He had nothing but good things to say about his family. It's not fair... It's not fair that they weren't the ones that won."

At this point, y/n couldn't stop her tears. "They were loyal and amazing kids and I'll never forget them. No one should." Y/n couldn't look at the family any longer. "I'm sorry I couldn't save them, I wish it was them giving a speech instead of me. Thank you," she quickly said before hurrying off.

Mags tried to comfort the girl but y/n just shook her head and sobbed as she was walked back to the train. Finnick had a hand on her back, guiding her.

"You're alright, honey. You're alright," he whispered, keeping her away from the photographers who were following them. "Hey! Back off!" He shouted at one of them who had stood right in front of them.

He made sure no one was getting a picture of the distraught victor as they hurried to the train. Once they were all inside, y/n rushed away and into the bathroom, locking herself inside.

"I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this," she whispered repeatedly as she sat on the floor. She sat there until she stopped crying. Y/n stood up and looked in the mirror. Her makeup was fortunately water proof so none of it was ruined but her eyes were red and her head was pounding.

Finally someone knocked on the door. It was Finnick. "Y/n... Are you okay?" He asked.

She opened the door and saw the man. He held his arms open for her and let her fall into them. She didn't cry, she just stood there. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her hands holding onto the back of his shirt.

"You're alright, honey. You tried to save them, it's not your fault."

Finnick hugged the girl till the sunset, promising to keep her safe. To always keep her safe.

[writingjourney]

5 types of christmas kisses with copia (+1) | cardinal copia x reader

summary: you and the cardinal have been tiptoeing around each other for a while now – it’s time to let the festive spirit do the rest.

content: ~8k words, absolute fluff, like… tooth-rotting fluff with festive sprinkles on top, fem!reader bc I used the female declinations for the Italian, it's not over the top christmassy

(And yes it’s 5 kissy kisses – on the mouth. The rest is for FREE!)

Have yourselves a merry little Christmas fic ♡

Ao3 link – Masterlist

1 The First Kiss

The abbey is empty.

Well, technically that is a lie. But it feels empty. Yuletide approached fast this year. Half the siblings have left to visit family or friends and join their loved ones in their celebrations, whatever that may look like for them. Of course there are still many people here who choose not to see their families, who don’t have safe spaces outside of the abbey or who just want to celebrate here. Nevertheless, the halls are never as empty as during this time of year.

It’s a peaceful, pensive sort of quiet and, for the most part, you adore it.

Strolling through the corridors of the old building you shiver whenever a chill draught hits you. You can’t wait to reach the reading room, plop down in front of the fireplace and continue your read of Emma. Ever since the cold set in you’re beginning to understand Mr Woodhouse – avoiding to get a cold in an old stone building seems to be an impossible feat, runny noses and scratchy throats a constant nuisance. On your way past the library you barely hear a sound. Some Siblings are still bustling about outside, setting up stalls for the upcoming Winter Market, celebrating the Solstice with music, hot drinks and sweet treats.

You open the door to your favorite reading room but instead of the usual quiet you’re met with an already crackling fire and a familiar figure perched in the old leather armchair right in front of it. The other tables and chairs in the room are deserted.

“Oh.” The sound is involuntary. You did not expect to see the Cardinal tonight and suddenly you feel not only very self-conscious but a little overwhelmed by the sudden influx of emotions his presence is causing you.

„Sister,“ he says, startled, looking up from the book in his hands.

„I’m so sorry… I didn’t think anyone would be here.“

“Oh, don’t be. There is enough room for us both in here, eh? Come sit by the fire with me. We have not seen each other today.”

As you step closer he makes to stand and you just know he’s going to offer you the armchair, the only properly comfortable reading spot in the room. You could not accept it, not when he was here first, when sitting on the floor would cause him so much more discomfort than you. “Please, stay seated, Cardinal. I will just sit down right beside you on the carpet.”

“No, no, I cannot–”

“Please,” you try again. “I actually prefer being closer to the fire and the carpet is soft.”

The reluctance doesn’t leave his face as he sits back, watches you crouching down next to him. You let the warmth of the fire seep into you as you lean against the armchair and after another few seconds you rest your head against the Cardinal’s knee. 

“Are you sure this is okay, sister?”

“It’s perfectly fine, don’t worry.”

You open your book, finally start reading as you continue to slowly defrost. After a few minutes you’re completely comfortable, lost somewhere in Highbury with Emma and Harriet. You aren’t wearing your head piece today, having opted for a proper hat when you were working outside in the cold earlier. So you’re somewhat caught by surprise when you suddenly feel a hand in your hair. An ungloved hand. The Cardinal doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers through the strands with utmost care.

You turn to him and when his eyes meet yours he looks as though he only just realised that he did it, a tinge of red crawling up his neck.

“Oh, uh… mi scusi tanto,” he says, voice slightly shaky. “I mean, I didn’t… there was a stray hair…”

You swear your cheeks are the color of his crimson cassock. “It’s… it’s okay, it felt nice.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Very.”

He nods, lips tightly pressed together but you see them trembling anyway. You force yourself to look back at your book, scared that you embarrassed him, but then his hand finds back into your hair and he continues scratching your scalp very gently. You wonder if your hair is soft, if it feels nice against his bare fingertips and, more worryingly, if he can somehow feel your rapid heartbeat. Needless to say you can’t focus on Jane Austen for the life of you, not when you have your very own romantic hero right beside you, giving you the goosebumps of a lifetime.

“Cara,” he says after a while.

“Hm?”

You look up at him, only to find him observing you with his mismatched eyes, a warm tint to both of them as they reflect the orange light of the fire. “I don’t know about you but I don’t think I can focus on reading right now. I think I would rather talk with you.” 

He must have seen that you didn’t flip the page, you realise. Did he flip his? Before you can find an answer he slides down the armchair, plopping down right next to you on the floor. Your breath catches, rendering you speechless. His face is now so close to yours that you can count each individual freckle and it’s so tempting to stare. He is so very handsome, so stunningly beautiful.

“I am glad we always seem to find each other,” he says. “Even without trying.”

You smile. “I agree, Cardinal.”

“I told you to call me Copia, when we’re alone, cara mia.”

“I’m sorry, I keep forgetting.” You chuckle, trying not to stare at him too hard. “Are you looking forward to the Solstice, Copia?”

“Sì, sì, very much. Are you?”

You relish in the way he clings to your every word, the way he will always return the question, coax more words out of you just to hear you talk. This is not the first time you’re alone with him – by now you like to think of him as something of close friend, even though it’s not the right word at all. For the past few months encounters like this one have been a regular occurrence – reading together in the library, finding into easy-going conversations about your respective days, little chats in his office here and there after you dropped of some documents for him, sometimes even eating dinner together in the refectory when he was not too busy. Most of the time you just naturally gravitated towards each other, even without planning your meetings.

“I am looking forward to it very much,” you reply, barely hiding your excitement. “I can’t wait to have some mulled wine and candy and just watch everyone be happy.”

There is always this magnetic pull you feel in his proximity – every eye contact, every touch, no matter how innocent, accompanied by a vivid sense of longing for him. You can’t deny that you’re harbouring an intense crush. It’s the very reason why the word friend is such an ill fit. He is so much more.

“That is what I look forward to as well,” he agrees, just as unable to look away. “I especially hope to see you happy, cara mia.”

You’re cheeks are burning, from the fire or your blush or maybe even both. “Do you?”

He only nods, caught in a similar fluster. The ungloved hand you felt in your hair earlier now reaches for your face. You almost expect to feel a chill, but his skin is warm, soft fingertips gliding over your face, mapping it, tracing every curve like you’re a statue and he’s the sculptor.

This time you can’t fight the pull, but you get caught up in its currents. You lean in and he does the same and then your mouths meet somewhere in the middle.

It’s a little awkward at first. You go in with too little and he goes in with too much pressure and your noses bump against each other twice when you attempt to adjust. It quickly evens out, his fingers find your jaw, angling your face just right, and then suddenly it’s all warmth and whimpers. His mouth moves against yours gently, his moustache tickling your upper lip. You don’t even care that you’re losing your page as the book slides from your lap, your whole body angling towards his.

It isn’t the passionate, fiery kind of first kiss that you always imagine late at night when you’re so filled with longing for him that it hurts. It’s the kind of first kiss you imagine when you see him somewhere around the abbey, when the mere sight of him knocks the wind out of you, when you struggle to form words in his proximity, still in hopes that something might happen. 

When he lets you go you take a shaky breath. You let your suddenly very heavy body fall against the armchair, covering half of your crimson face with your arm, a stupid smile on your face. Copia still looks at you, inhales deeply with a similar sort of smile on his lips. You continue to sit there, grinning at each other with not a single word uttered, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

2 The Comforting Kiss

No matter how happy you are to be here at the abbey, to have found a home, Winter is always a particularly heavy time. Grief gnaws its way into your heart, not just for the people you lost but for long abandoned parts of yourself. It’s a weighty sense of loss for everything that you can never get back, a bittersweet melancholy that is woven through every occurring thought.

At the same time, and not less intensely, you feel grateful for the people you found here – friends and mentors. And… lovers. A lover. Perhaps, if things go well.

The Cardinal treats you like gold dust, like you’re so precious he needs to tread lightly, and you love that mindfulness about him. But it also means he’s been taking things awfully slow. Ever since your first kiss in the reading room not much has happened – at least no more kisses. You met, you spend time together, but you can’t call it dating. There has not been a proper date, no spoken agreement that this is what you’re doing. You’ve exchanged soft touches and whispered words of mutual adoration. No big words, just small, gentle affirmations – a “You look beautiful today” here, an “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day” there. They don’t blare out your affection for each other, but they whisper softly. And it makes you more in love with him every single day.

If only you knew if he felt the same way or if his hesitation stems from uncertainty.

“You are lost in thoughts today, mia bambina.”

You look up at Primo’s face, meeting his worried expression with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, Papa. I suppose I am a little distracted.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain… Cardinale… would it?”

There is no fooling him, by now he knows you too well from working in the gardens all spring and summer. “He… may be one of the reasons.”

You’re helping Primo with decorating some of the trees today and it’s a welcome distraction from your more melancholic thoughts. Christmas, Yule, the Winter Solstice celebration – whatever you choose to call it – is kept very neutral here. Anyone is welcome to make propositions, to bring in the customs and traditions that they most cherish, and make them their own. You asked Primo about decorating the trees with lights and a few ornaments made by crafty siblings. It’s an easy way to light up the grounds for the upcoming Winter Market and make it all so much prettier.

“Speaking of your amore…”

“Oh he’s not my–“

You stop as you spot the Cardinal, trailing the familiar shape of his body all the way from the abbey to the entrance of the gardens. He’s clearly on a mission, determined movements, a brisk sort of walk, and... Oh Satan, is he looking for you?

All it takes is Primo yelling Cardinale! for him to whip around, facing your direction. He waves as he spots you, a little awkwardly, like he’s scared you won’t wave back. But of course you do and his hand gets steadier as he shakes it two more times, a timid smile on his handsome face.

“I will leave you to it,” Primo says with a knowing look and you smile as he carefully makes his way back inside. He greets the Cardinal in passing who half-bows in return and they exchange a few words in Italian that you don’t quite catch. You use the time to smooth out your hair, clean your palms on the dark wool of your coat.

When the Cardinal finally approaches, his red cassock is a bright contrast to the shiny white snow all around you. He’s wearing a matching robe on top, for more warmth.

“Hi, hello,” he says. Then he takes your hand in both of his, shaking it delicately. “Good to see you.”

You smile at him. “It’s so good to see you, too. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy all day.”

“Oh no need to be sorry.” He glances around. “The… uh… the trees, they look very beautiful.”

You can’t help but beam at him. “Thank you, we spent all day decorating them.”

He smiles affectionately, hand still clasping yours, but then he suddenly frowns and takes off one of his gloves. Your heart stutters at the skin contact, at the contrast between his warmth and your cold. Not that he notices your reaction. “Your hand is freezing, cara mia.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I had gloves but I took them off because they bothered me.”

He tsks, shaking his head in mild scorn. “Where are these gloves you speak of?”

“I think I left them… ugh…” You look around. “Maybe at the entrance gate?”

“That won’t do, no.” He shakes his head again, more rapidly this time. “I can’t have your pretty hands freezing off.”

Pretty hands? You can’t dwell on his words because he’s already yanking his second glove off his hand. In contrast to these harsh movements he is so heartbreakingly gentle as he slides them onto your hands, carefully fiddling with your fingers until they’re all covered in warm leather.

“There, così va molto meglio.”

“But now your hands will be cold, Cardinal,” you argue.

“Copia,” he corrects. “And I don’t mind. I spent all day inside, you need them more. Are you very cold?”

“A little, but I like the fresh air,” you admit. “Do you want to walk with me before we go inside?”

He nods, following you down the path to the pond. Even from a distance it looks magical, covered in ice crystals and snow. The grounds look like they’re straight out of a fairytale and a few minutes into your walk it starts snowing again.

There is an easy silence between you and Copia as you take in the sight, your steps crunching in the snow covered path. The sun is already setting and you realise that yet another day has passed. The Solstice is almost upon you and then it’s almost New Year’s Eve and you’re starting to wonder how you ended up where you are now. The underlying melancholia is flaring up, all the pain you tried to push away settling in, and your heart sits heavy in your chest. The cold seeps into you, chilling you to your bones.

“Cara,” Copia says, breaking your trance.

You look at him, realise you stopped walking. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just…”

You never finish because you’re suddenly busy fighting back tears. You’re not even sure what set it off, why you have to be overwhelmed by your feelings now, when you’re supposed to be overjoyed to be on a walk with your Cardinal. The tears decide to leave your eyes despite your best efforts, rolling down your cheeks in hot, painful trails.

Copia’s eyes widen. “Oh, no no no, non ti posso vedere in lacrime, cara mia.”

His bare hands shoot up to your cheeks and they’re freezing as he cradles your face, thumbs moving in frantic half-circles like wipers on a windshield, trying to catch them before they fall. The snow comes heavier now, thick snowflakes mixing in with your tears as they land on your burning skin.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sniffling. “It’s just a lot.”

“I understand.” He gives you a reassuring smile. “Don’t apologise.”

You let him wipe your face clean, his fingertips now not quite so cold anymore.

“Can I…”

You don’t know what he’s asking but nod anyway, desperate for any comfort he’s so eager to provide. Copia kisses your cheeks and you breathe out a sigh at how soft he is, cling to whatever piece of fabric you can reach on his chest. The kisses come in abundance, covering every inch of skin within reach. He moves from your outer cheeks to your nose, so many kisses, lasting for mere seconds while the imprints linger on your skin for way longer. Eventually, he reaches the corners of your mouth and you’re silently praying for him to properly kiss you.

And he answers your prayer. The last kiss finally lands on your lips only that he pulls away just as fast. You feel his warm breath against your skin as he lingers, silently awaits your complaints. When there aren’t any he leans in again, harder this time. Your lips are chapped from being out in the cold all day and yet he kisses them like they’re made of honey, moving his own against them in a languid, careful rhythm. And while your heart is hammering in your ribcage, harder than ever before, your mind is suddenly calm. 

Maybe this time of year is not so bad if it means you get to taste snowflakes on Copia’s lips.

When he pulls away, flustered and breathless, he stammers out a whole speech. “I’ve been thinking… I know you are excited for the market, sì? I thought it was a good idea… I mean, only if you don’t have any plans, I thought we could go together?” His eyes are filled with a hesitant hope and you know he’s ready to be rejected, to be laughed at even. “I know maybe you want to go with friends. You have plans already. I understand, of course.”

“No, no.” You smile at him, running your hand up his chest. “I would love to go with you, Copia.”

His whole face lights up. His nose and ears are red from the cold, heavy snowflakes caught in his hair, melting on his lashes and eyebrows, and he looks so adorably sweet, so genuinely happy, that you move in again to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. After you let go he looks more flustered than ever and when you slide your fingers into his, hiding your joined hands in the warmth of your coat pocket, he stumbles after you without a word.

3 The Tipsy Kiss

The abbey is brimming over with mirth, the courtyard filled with festive cheer and drunk laughter – and you? You have swallowed a whole swarm of bees as it seems – caught somewhere between the great happiness and the imminent panic that come with a first date. 

Is it even a date?

When the Cardinal picked you up earlier, punctual to the minute, he held a small bouquet of white heathers, some greenery and two bright red roses for you. He must have asked Primo for help because you know the roses were cut from the greenhouse, that this type of floristry is unique to the eldest Emeritus. That the Cardinal would go to such lengths just to surprise you indicates heavily that this is a date, right? The flowers are waiting in your bedroom now and you already know the whole room is going to smell so nice when you get back later.

“Do you want to have a look around?”

You turn to Copia, watch him observe the crowd of people gathered in the courtyard. The market is open for the locals as well – not that too many of them find their way here – and so it’s a busy festival, a night filled with so much potential.

Guiding you into the action, Copia takes your hand. You’re both wearing gloves, no actual skin contact, but it makes your insides tingly all the same.

You try not to freak out internally – and fail miserably. 

Holding the Cardinal’s hand in public is not a small thing, it is in fact a very big thing. You already notice the curious glances of a few siblings, whispering or even just blatantly staring. When you pass by some of your friends who are vaguely aware of you infatuation with the Cardinal, one of them gives you a wink, followed by a very distinct hand gesture that you meet with a scowl. 

“Are you alright?” Copia asks immediately.

“What?” You look at him, his brows knit together in worry.

“Should I… should I not… uh… hold your hand?”  

“Of course you should! I’m sorry, it was just… ugh… my friends.” You’re rambling and he’s still frowning. “I like it, I don’t mind people looking. What I’m saying is – please, don’t let go of my hand.”

The confusion is written all over his face but he nods, squeezes your fingers through the layers of knitwear and leather between you. The gesture immediately calms you down. The last thing you want is for him to think you’re embarrassed or ashamed.

“We should get something to drink, sì?” he asks, perceiving your feelings. “To relax?”

“Yes!”

He smiles, pulling you to the nearest stall that sells all kinds of hot beverages – Glühwein, Glögg, cider, hot chocolate, different kinds of teas and coffee.

You get a steaming mug with the most aromatic mulled wine you ever had, the scent of cinnamon and clove almost overpowering, and then watch Copia struggle to choose for himself.

“The mulled white wine is supposed to be really good, too,” you recommend. “I think they used Italian wine.”

Copia takes your word for it and then you find a small bar table by the side, covered in fresh snowflakes. You really want to hold your mug with both hands so you won’t spill the wine all over your coat, but the prospect of letting his hand go is ghastly. Instead you choose to take the tiniest sips imaginable.

“Do you want to try?” 

The words break your sharp focus on not spilling anything and you realise he means his own wine. It’s such an unexpected question, a thing that people do who are very close, proper couples, and you wonder if that is where you are headed now. If he thinks of you like that, if he wants to be that. Maybe that is why tasting his wine feels weirdly intimate – but of course you want to. Not for the taste but for the sake of drinking from the same cup, to feel closer to him in any way that you can, to share with each other.

“It’s really good,” you say, holding out your own cup for him.

It is kind of surreal to watch him take a sip from the exact side that you were drinking from earlier, not worried about germs, no hesitation. Of course you have kissed before, there is no need for this to feel so special.

And yet it does.

“You said you helped prepare, sì?” he asks. “With the food and drinks?”

“Yes, I helped out in the kitchens this morning.”

“So what did you make?”

You raise your brows. “Oh, I made the candied almonds.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to say anything else, just pulls you towards the candy stall right next to your table. The almonds come in small paper cones, still warm and smelling like a saccharine dream. Despite spending all morning preparing them you’re still not tired of their sweet aroma.

He tries them, giving a pleasured sigh that gives you goosebumps. Then he makes the gesture to show that he’s taking his hat off to you. “Dolcezza, they are exquisite.”

You giggle. “Really?”

He takes another handful. “Assoluto. They tickle my taste buds.”

“Maybe it’s because I made them with so much love.”

Copia stops for a second, gazing at you with warm adoration in his eyes. “I am starting to think that all you do is made with love.”

He’s not wrong about it, not since you started spending time with him. And today is so special. You don’t even remember when you last felt so frisky, so unbothered by anything and just happy in the moment. You continue making your round, trying out the different beverages and foods, to the point where you’re not only a little drunk but also high on sugar, laughing together, giggling over silly jokes, and never once letting go of each other’s hands.

A cold wind sets in after a while, somehow clawing its way under all the layers of your clothing. You’re tipsy, maybe even a little needy, so you press yourself into Copia’s side in a half hug, eagerly absorbing his warmth. He feels so solid against you, the smell of cologne and incense and spices lulling you in.

“Are you tired?” Copia asks, wrapping his arm around your shivering form. 

“A little,” you admit.

“Let me walk you to your room, cara mia,” he whispers.

“We can stay longer if you want to.”

He shakes his head, squeezing you to his side. “I want to see you safe in your room, eh? That’s what I want.”

Reluctantly you let him lead you back inside, still safely tucked against him. You forgot how many drinks you had but you’re starting to feel their effects now. Your legs feel leaden, every step harder than the previous one all while you continuously fight the urge to giggle every few seconds. You’re not drunk, you tell yourself, you’re very sober and very normal.

Eventually, you arrive in front of your door. Suddenly you’re aware that this means goodbye and you’re not ready at all to let Copia go yet. You let your back fall against the closed door, fiddling with your gloves as you try to read his expression.

He’s tipsy as well, swaying the tiniest bit as he stands in front of you, watching you with his black-rimmed, mismatched eyes. But they’re not dark, not scary, they’re wide and questioning, anticipating your next move. 

You both know you’re standing on the precipice, heading somewhere, but the specific destination is yet to be spoken. And you can’t jump until you know.

“So was this… a date, then?” you ask, wine-drunk and giddy and not at all concerned with your bluntness. It’s the question you’ve been mulling over all night.

His eyes widen. “Was it… a date?”

“Mhm.”

“I– ugh…” He pauses, lips pursed. “Do you want it to be?”

“Copia, what do you think?” You can’t help but smile, giggle, bite your lip to keep from full on laughing. “Yes.”

“Yes,” he mimics, staring at your mouth without even hiding it. “Our first date?”

“The very first.”

“Did you like it?” His eyes are still trained on your mouth, on your smile. “Our first date?”

“I loved it.”

“Oh.”

“Copia.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

You giggle again. “You’re so pretty.”

“I’m pretty?”

You remove your gloves, push them into your pocket so you have your hands free. Then you trace the line of his jaw, run your thumb over his left sideburn. “So pretty. Beautiful, even. I can never stop looking at you.”

He’s inching closer, not once glancing away from your lips. “I am nothing compared to you, cara. You are the stars in the sky, you are the sun shining your light on me.”

“Copia–“

Searching hands find your waist, pulling you to him. He inhales, shudders, his voice pleading. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Your heart explodes, fireworks spreading out in your body at the sheer prospect of it, only intensified by the lingering buzz of the wine. “Yes, please.”

Not a second of hesitation. He hits somewhere close to the corner of your mouth, correcting his position with a few more misplaced kisses until he fully captures your lips, kissing you with reckless abandon. You pull him in, fingers tangling in his hair, and he lets out a pleasured moan, deepening the kiss. It’s the first time you open your mouth for him, the first time he uses the chance to taste you, allowing you to taste him in return. The sweetness of the almonds still linger on his tongue. It’s intoxicating. Your mind is veiled in clouds of lust and affection, a sugary high unrivalled by any actual candy.

You lose track of time. He leans into you, basically caging you against the door, and you kiss for what feels like eternity constrained to seconds. Your dulled senses are completely captured by him and when he eventually breaks away you need a moment to reorient yourself.

“We should… uhm…” His mind clearly stumbles over his words just like yours struggles to understand what he’s saying. Eventually he licks his lips and sighs. “Merda, ti voglio così tanto.”

Still breathless, you only gape at his mouth. His lips are red, plump bottom lip wet and swollen and you’re so kiss-drunk, so desperate for more. But you’re also dizzy and you know it’s not a good idea to continue any of this while you’re both tipsy.

He’s not asking to come in, of course, he would never, not unless you were completely sober. So he pulls you in for a full hug, presses his face into the crook of your neck as he squeezes your body. You can feel him all over you, but there is too much thick, woolen fabric between you to make out the proper shape of his body.

“Good night,” he mumbles against your skin. “Sleep well, mia bella. I will see you tomorrow.”

“I had the best night, Copia. Thank you.”

“Me too, cara mia.” He breaks away, crooked smile on his lips. “You are… you are all I could ever ask for. Perfetta.”

It takes you a few more minutes to finally let go of each other and even then he waves at you as he retreats, almost falling down the stairs that lead to the sibling’s dorms. But you can’t bring yourself to close the door before he’s out of sight and once you do you already miss him.

Fifteen minutes later you’re showered and ready for bed, barely functioning anymore. Opening your bedroom door you’re hit with the scent of roses, the intensely vivid fragrance that only Primo’s flowers carry. When you pull the covers over your head, a cosy warmth blossoms in your chest, and you can’t help but let out an excited little squeal. 

He makes you so incredibly happy.

4 The Mistletoe Kiss

Groaning under their weight, you carry two boxes of decorations all the way down the hall, almost stumbling around a corner. You set them down right next to the door that indicates you’ve reached your destination – Copia’s office.

You pause. There is music, the notes pouring out of the gap under the door. For a moment you press your ear to its wooden surface. It just wasn't the same, alone on Christmas day. Presents, what a beautiful sight, don′t mean a thing if you ain't holding me tight. You′re all that I need, underneath the tree. Kelly Clarkson? You realise he’s listening to Christmas music and your heart does a double take. Here’s the man you’re in love with, a Satanic Cardinal preaching the Olde One’s gospel, humming along to christmassy pop songs as he does his unholy paper work. How could you not fall for him?

The song fades out and the next thing you hear is Mariah Carey’s drawl. You decide to knock before anyone catches you eavesdropping, but you don’t get an answer. He clearly doesn’t hear you over the music, so you opt to just let yourself in, grabbing the first of the two boxes.

You kick the door open to avoid dropping it. “Good morning.”

Copia jumps in his chair, pressing the pause button faster than lightening speed.

“Oh, uh… cara.”

You smile. “Why did you turn it off?”

His face turns crimson and he clutches the crucifix on his chest. “Ugh… ehm…”

You understand his embarrassment. From a very superficial perspective he may not exactly be the type of man you’d expect to sing along to Kelly Clarkson and maybe it’s not even what he usually listens to, but it’s Christmas songs – Christmas love songs – and you’re in the perfect mood for that.

“You should never pause Mariah,” you say, walking over to his side to press the button again, turning the volume down just a little so you can still talk. His blush deepens but the up-beat music immediately draws a smile onto both of your faces. “It’s a good song.”

“It’s… it’s not bad,” he agrees. “A classic, which is… which is why I listen to it, of course. The only reason, sì.”

You hide your grin and lean against his desk. “Sooo… I didn’t come to discuss music, actually, but because I realised that we haven’t decorated your office yet.”

Copia furrows his brow, folding his hands in his lap. “Oh, yes… I am not good with these things, cara mia, I don’t know how to make it look nice.”

You take one of his hands, tracing the silver crucifix on his glove. “You spend so much time in this gloomy old room, you should have something to brighten it up during Winter.”

He smirks, lacing your fingers together. “Well, you’re here now.”

The corners of your mouth move upwards involuntarily. “Sadly I can’t be here all day.” He sighs dramatically but you ignore it. “Which is why I brought some things. Help me with the second box?”

Copia jumps up, ever helpful, and follows you to the door. You push it open and hear a sudden tinkling sound. Looking up, you find something that definitely was not there before, something someone must have taken out of your box with brushwood and garlands.

“Looks like someone just did the decorating for us…”

The mistletoe, adorned with two small bells and a bright red bow, sits right over the office door. 

“Oh.” Copia caught it as well, eyes widening. “This is a…”

“Mistletoe, yes.”

He smiles. “I know what that means.”

“Do you?”

This time, you’re practiced – and sober.

Copia gently guides you into his frame right under the mistletoe, waits for you to wrap your arms around his neck before he tilts your chin just right. He leans in, kissing you gently at first before he adds more pressure. You’re enraptured by his softness, but if you’re being honest you want more. You’ve been thinking about your tipsy kiss all day yesterday, trying to conjure up his taste. At this point you need it like oxygen. It’s a desperate, overpowering urge, so before he can pull away you trap his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Cara…”

You don’t let him speak but kiss him again, taking over this time. One hand at the back of his neck you pull him in closer and he softly moans into your mouth. You suck at his bottom lip, softly lick over it before pushing your tongue inside. Copia’s grip on your waist tightens and you sigh as you taste him, caressing his tongue with yours. This time there is less sweetness and more of him, traces of coffee from earlier this morning, a hint of chocolate. It’s addicting and if it weren’t for your burning lungs you’d never stop.

When you eventually do break away, huffing out a nervous laugh, you hear a loud attempt at a whistle. Turning around you see Papa Emeritus III standing close to a nearby pillar, waving at Copia with a smirk on his painted face. He lifts two fingers in a peace sign.

“How about you get a room, Cardinale,” he teases and starts rubbing the fingers together.

Before either of you find your words again, he’s already heading off down the hall with a wink.

You remain stunned. “Does Papa know…”

“You wanted to decorate,” Copia says, deeply flustered as he gently turns you around and guides you back towards his office.

“No. I think we need to place that mistletoe somewhere else first,” you grumble, getting up on your tiptoes to remove it, “before you get any other visitors.”

You throw it back into the box, pushing it all the way down, and Copia fails to hide his smile.

5 The Thank You Kiss (+1 extra)

What do you even get a Satanic Cardinal for Christmas?

You’re not exactly sure how you end up carrying a nicely wrapped present into the wing that houses the higher ranking clergy members, wearing an actual festive outfit, hair done nicely, wearing a new perfume you hope he’s going to like. You spent over an hour after mass getting ready and now your nerves are on edge. It feels surreal to be here at all but Copia invited you over for dinner and of course you said yes. Your second date – on Christmas Eve. You both decided to spend the evening together, exchanging small presents and perhaps watch a movie. It sounds chill, you shouldn’t be nervous, and yet you’re so high on adrenaline that you’re trembling.

Approaching the door to his quarters, you notice it’s already open, light streaming into the gloomy hallway. You hear distant voices as you approach. Hesitantly glancing inside, you spy a ghoul in front of a fireplace, Copia standing right next to him.

“Can you get it to burn faster?” he asks. “It’s too cold, I want it to be warm when she gets here. Quick!”

The ghoul sighs in annoyance but you can see the fire kindling under his ministrations.

“You know she’s already here, right?” the ghoul asks.

Copia jumps, eyes flickering over to where you’re leaning in the doorframe, and the ghoul smirks, menacingly sharp teeth shining just below his mask.

“Thank you, you can go,” Copia says to him, ushering him out with rapid hand gestures. “And no comment from any of you tomorrow.”

You let the ghoul pass and close the door, turning to face the person you’re most happy to see in the whole wide world. You can’t help but smile when you notice how perplexed Copia seems by the sight of you. He stands and stares, wringing his hands nervously, eyes roaming your body.

“Oh, cara.” He swallows visibly. “You look bellissima. I can’t believe you’re real and here with me. With me! Che fortunato!”

He strides over, hands finding your shoulders as he leans in to stamp a wet kiss to your cheek. 

“And you smell so nice,” he says, holding you for a second longer, nuzzling your neck.

“Thank you,” you whisper, even though it barely registers because he smells incredibly good as well. It’s the cologne you’ve noticed multiple times by now, the one that makes your whole stomach flutter.

When he lets go, smiling, hands rubbing your upper arms, you’re practically melting from all of his attention. He radiates affection this evening.

“You look very handsome,” you try. “It’s so strange to see you without your cassock.”

 He’s wearing slacks and a matching black button down with a dark woolen sweater on top, no cassock, no biretta, only the black leather gloves and shoes. It’s rare to see his shape so full on display around here, the black hugging the curves and edges of his body, not covered in layers and layers of heavy fabric. You find it hard not to stare at him.

“Ah, thank you, thank you.” He waves off. “I try, you know.”

“I do know.”

For a second you think he’s going to kiss you, neither one of you ready to move away from each other, but then he laughs nervously and takes your hand, pulling you further into the room. You can tell he’s tense by the way he rambles on and on as he shows you his quarters, keeping your hand in a vice grip. They’re small but you can tell he tidied up for you. First he shows you where he keeps his rats, then where you can find the bathroom. You end up back in front of the fire, still holding his hand.

“I made dinner,” he explains. “So I thought we would eat and then I could give you my present.”

“You made dinner?”

“Uhm… yes. I ugh… I cook. Sometimes. When I have time.” He shrugs, a little hesitant. “It’s edible, I think.”

It’s much more than that.

Dinner is incredible, most of all because he made Italian food instead of a fancy roast, and you eat more than you expect, despite your nerves, just because it’s so incredibly good. He even prepared dessert – the best tiramisu you ever had – and you’re glad you didn’t wear an extremely tight outfit because by the end of it you’re more than full.

Copia is over the moon that you enjoyed it, you can see the proud glint in his eyes as he’s refilling your wine glasses. Adequately supplied with drinks, he offers you a seat on his couch in front of the fire, ready to exchange gifts.

You had agreed on only getting each other a small present, so your options when you spent most of yesterday in town were pretty limited. Copia’s interests are still somewhat of a mystery to you. You know he has a handful of rats, so you went to the pet store to get some treats for them. You also know he likes reading, that he is devoted to his work, that he enjoys watching movies. But you need to figure out the details before you can make more educated presents. So in the end you got him a mug. It’s silly really, but it has a red Cardinal on it (the bird) and says I ❤︎ my local Cardinal. You thought it was sweet, that he might appreciate the irony.

As he unwraps it you get incredibly nervous, palms sweaty and heart racing. It’s a really stupid gift and not at all meaningful. Maybe you should have just bought him a sweater or something more useful. He probably has tons of mugs already, it’s such a common gift. But right as you want to justify yourself, he chuckles and you think hat maybe it’s a genuine reaction. It looks genuine. 

Before giving any sort of comment he kisses you, deeply, holding your face in the warm palms of his hand. It doesn’t last very long but you still taste the cocoa powder from dessert on his lips.

He carefully places the mug next to the treats on his coffee table, his other hand never leaving your cheek. “Thank you, cara mia. È veramente perfetto.”

“I was at the pet store and they told me those are treats for rats, I hope it’s okay. I wasn’t sure–“

His thumb moves over your jaw, down to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, don’t worry, dolcezza, they are going to love it. And I love it, too.”

He sports a dazzling smile, one that brings out his crow’s feet, and you finally relax. This is going smoothly, you decide. A relaxed evening, delicious food, a nice short kiss, he even liked your silly little present. Nothing can make you jump out of your seat moving forward.

Or maybe there is something.

“Now, I think it’s my turn,” Copia says and gets up to retrieve your present from the mantelpiece, handing it to you with a slightly theatrical bow. 

You can tell he’s nervous by all of his gesturing, by the way he hums to himself as he sits back down next to you. It’s small in size most likely wrapped by the store in fancy red paper and ribbon, glittering all over. 

“It’s just a lil sumthin’ sumthin’,” he says.

For some reason you doubt that. Underneath the gift wrap you find a longish velvety box – a jewellery box. “Copia, you shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, look inside.”

The box opens smoothly, revealing a dainty bracelet with with three charms – a C, a small heart and the initial of your first name. Each of them has a tiny white gemstone set in the middle.

“Oh.” You take it out of the box, cradling it in your hand like a long lost treasure. “But… but Copia, that’s not a small present. Why? I don’t–“

He cuts you off. “Because I’m in love with you.”

The words hang heavy in the hair as your mind and heart are trying to catch on. You look at him in mild shock and he stares back, almost in horror, waiting for your reaction. It’s a nervous silence, one he can’t take, and then he just starts to spill it all out.

“I planned to tell you today, it’s why I invited you over. I just had to, cara mia, it’s been on the tip of my tongue so often and keeping it in my chest hurts too much. I want you to know, even if you don’t feel the same.” He rambles on and on, very clearly expecting you to turn him down. “It’s okay, you don’t have to reply. Io capisco, so che è molto da digerire.”

“Copia,” you say but he goes on in rapid Italian. You reach for his hand, squeeze until he stops. “Copia, I’m in love with you, too.”

He gapes at you, eyes wide and fearful, taking a shuddering breath. “Non giocare con i miei sentimenti, cara mia.”

“I would never lie to you, Copia. It’s true. I’m in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” He laughs but it’s not a humorous laugh, it’s an incredulous one. “But I am just an old man and you are young and beautiful and kind and smart. You can have anyone, dolcezza. Are you sure you want this? You want me?”

“I want to be with you, Copia. It’s all I want.”

He grins, the weight lifted off his chest, and pulls you into his side so he can kiss your head. “You are the greatest gift I ever received, amore.”

“Help me with the bracelet?” you ask, handing it to him with a wonky smile..

His hands are shaking just as hard as yours as he reaches for the delicate trinket. All in all it takes him five attempts until the bracelet sits snugly against your wrist, sparkling in the warm glow of the fire in front of you.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” you whisper, trying very hard not cry. It’s a long awaited relief, unbridled happiness, mixed in with all the pent up emotions you can’t find words for just yet.

Copia doesn’t reply, you can tell he’s choked up as well and so instead of talking, you grab his face and pull him in for another kiss. It’s your sixth one, overall, but it’s the first one you exchange without any doubts about what it means. Maybe that’s why everything feels so limitless now. You pull him into the cushions, half on top of you, and let him deepen the kiss in a pace that he feels comfortable with. You taste a few salty tears on his tongue, mixing in with a hunger that has a lot to do with how perfectly heavy his body feels on top of yours.

You’re sure you won’t be able to count the kisses much longer.

I hope you're having a lovely Christmas – and maybe you'll even find a cardinal shaped present underneath the tree. Thank you for reading ♡

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Back on the platonic gladers when Thomas and newt go save minho Reader tags along (10-13), but instead of newt dying reader saves him and gets injured or dies

Hello again! Thank you for requesting, I was hoping someone would want a part 2 to Shields (read here). Hope you enjoy :)

Shields - Part 2

Set during tdc - saving Minho (movieverse)

Gladers x young! fem!reader (platonic)

Notes: this is a continuation of my other fic Shields, highly recommend you read that first. also, this fic jumps around a lot cause I couldn't string it together properly. not my best work, but hope you enjoy anyway :)

Warnings: canon-typical violence (you get injured), YOU DON'T DIE (I did not have the capacity to write that lolll). NOT PROOFREAD

"Yeah, that looks good." Harriet adjusts your grip on the gun slightly.

You've watched your friends shoot guns for months now, and you're pretty familiar with the movements and everything.

"Do I just shoot now?"

She nods. "Watch out for the kickback though, it's gonna recoil."

You hone in your gaze on the target, a piece of paper taped over a dead tree, and pull the trigger.

The bullet slices through the paper, ending up embedded in the tree bark.

Vince nods appreciatively. "Not bad; not bad at all. We could make a real fighter out of you."

You glow with the praise, turning to where your friends are grinning supportively, Frypan holding up a thumbs up.

"Nice shot, Y/n," calls Thomas.

You continue with shooting practice until your hands are sore, and then you break for lunch.

You sit with Thomas, Newt, and Frypan on the floor in an abandoned building, eating spaghetti right out of the can.

"What's the plan for today?" asks Thomas through a mouthful of food.

"We should be getting to the new base by today. It's gonna be a temporary setup, just for a year at the most."

"Then we get Minho?" you ask.

"Yeah," responds Vince. "Then we get Minho."

⭒----⭒

Months later, you plan and enact a rescue mission for Minho, which fails.

You sit on your bed, hopeless, as you lean your head into your hands.

"Thomas, we can't wait another six months," you say.

It's just the two of you, sitting in the empty sleeping room.

"I know," he says quietly. "I'm leaving tonight."

"So you know I'm coming with you?"

"Yeah, I know," his grin glows in the fading light, and you stand to pack your things.

⭒----⭒

Newt and Frypan end up coming on the mission, and you're joined by Brenda and Jorge as you start towards the Last City.

You see Gally again, who'd always looked out for you like a little sister.

"Y/n," he says in shock, the first time you hold up your gun.

"You taught her to shoot?" he whirls around to Thomas, staring accusingly.

"She's old enough to fight, and strong enough to make her own decisions," retorts Thomas.

"Guys," you interrupt exasperatedly. "Let's just find a way in, so we can get Minho."

⭒----⭒

All of that leads you to now.

"Minho!" you shout, ducking around doors looking for him.

"Y/n, over here!" Newt's voice calls from behind you.

You run over and see Thomas and Newt, and Minho.

A sob catches in your throat as you sprint up to him and leap into his arms.

"Hey," he says, giving you a grin. "Long time no see."

"Idiot," you respond, punching him in the arm.

He takes you in fully, eyes sweeping over the combat gear you're dressed in, and the gun and knife strapped to your hip.

You wait for him to berate you for coming, for being too young and too small to fight.

It never comes.

"Guess you're a warrior now, huh?" he says, giving you a small smile.

You grin back, but the moment is interrupted as the WCKD soldiers find you again.

"In here!" yells Thomas, and you all stumble into the little storeroom.

You stand back as Newt and Minho barricade the door.

"Alright, anyone got any ideas," asks Newt.

"Yeah," says Thomas, staring ominously down through the window.

You step up and see a pool of water down below, and let out a sigh. "We're gonna die," you say matter-of-factly.

"Yep," agrees Minho.

They smash a gas canister through the window, and you grab Minho's hand as you step up to the edge.

There's a loud bang as Janson's team crashes through the door. "Jump!" yells Thomas.

You leap away from the building, wind roaring in your ears as the ground gets closer, and you hit the water feet first with a smash.

⭒----⭒

You look on in concern and fear as Thomas helps Newt down inside a burning convenience store, away from the fighting rebels.

"We need to get the cure," says Thomas, gazing at his friend worriedly.

"I'll run ahead," responds Minho. "Gally can cover me."

Thomas nods. "Go."

"No," you interrupt, standing up. "We all know that cure's not gonna work. We need Teresa, and it has to be Thomas' blood."

"We can't drag 'im back there," says Minho, and you remember that he's been tortured by WCKD for months. He looks exhausted.

You shake your head. "I'll go alone. No one will stop me." You gesture to yourself. "Just a kid, right? I'll get the cure from Teresa and meet you where Brenda and Vince are."

A chorus of objections rise against you.

"Are you kidding?"

"No way, Y/n."

"Guys," you say, frustrated. "Newt's not gonna make it if we just send Minho and Gally. And Cranks are strong. When Newt Cranks out, and he will, Thomas and I will be dead first."

"I come with; I'll cover you," says Minho finally.

"What?" exclaims Thomas. "Why're you letting her do this?"

"You're the one who let her come in the first place," challenges Minho.

"No one is 'letting' me do anything," you interject.

"Hey!" calls Gally. "You better just go. We're wasting time here. I'll stay with Thomas; if Newt Cranks out, we can hold him off until you two get back."

Minho grabs Gally's walkie so you can communicate, and the two of you leave.

You run in front of him, setting the pace since you both know he'd be sprinting ahead of you.

You try and almost succeed at sweettalking your way around Ava, until she's shot by Janson.

You don't hesitate; you shoot him in the foot and run with Minho until you find Teresa.

She's bent over a microscope, and spins quickly as you and Minho run in.

"The cure," growls Minho, pointing his gun at her.

"It's almost done," says Teresa calmly, reaching for a syringe to transfer a deep blue liquid into a vial.

Minho turns, and you get an idea. "We need a ride, one of the aircraft things."

Teresa nods, expression staying infuriatingly calm. "You'll need someone to pilot it."

"Whatever," says Minho, "Just get us out of here."

As Teresa flies you across the city in a mini air-car, you grab the walkie talkie. "Thomas, you there?"

There's no response.

"Thomas, say something, please."

It takes a few more tries before the other side crackles to life.

"Y/n." Thomas' voice is scratchy and tense, and you can here his heavy breathing. "Have you guys got the cure?"

"Yeah, have you reached Vince?"

"No, listen. You need to come find us. We're in some sort of station. An open area, sheltered. Newt's Cranked out and Gally and I are struggling pretty bad. Please find us. I think- shit!"

"What? What was that? Thomas, are you okay?"

"Listen Y/n, I gotta go. Come find us!" The sound cuts off and you stand there, clutching the walkie and staring as if it'll help your friend.

"They're in some kind of station," you tell Teresa.

"Station..." she says, frowning slightly in thought.

"They said it's an open area, and it's sheltered."

"I think I might know."

Teresa pilots the air-car down and opens the doors, and you and Minho leap out.

"I can hear them!" exclaims Minho, taking off towards the station.

You sprint after them, not caring what Teresa does, and you freeze at the sight of Newt bringing a knife down on Thomas, before Gally jumps in to throw him off.

"Hold him still," you call as Minho jumps into the fight.

You prepare the cure and hold it carefully, waiting as your friends take down Newt, subduing him easily with 3 on 1.

You find Newt's neck and administer the cure, and your friends relax as he sags immediately.

None of you notice when his eyes fly open, still blown black, and he grabs his knife.

Only Thomas realises, and he does too late. "Y/n watch out!"

Newt, still Cranked out, sees you, the person who just injected him in the neck, and swings the knife at you.

As Newt stabs the knife into your side, all you know is pain.

You can only gasp the knife is yanked out and blood streams from your wound, Gally and Thomas grabbing for Newt as Minho dives towards you.

"Nononono, Y/n. No." Minho yanks his jacket off, pressing it to your side, but the blood snakes past, pooling in his hands.

Your gaze slides away, and you watch as Newt wakes up, the cure finally setting in, and his eyes land on you.

"Did I... No. Y/n!"

Your friends crowd around you, Newt cradling your head as Minho and Thomas try to stop the blood from flowing.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- Y/n, I'm so sorry." He smooths a hand on your hair, and you can feel his tears dripping onto your cheeks.

You can hear Gally yelling desperately into the walkie talkie, and Minho's repeated mutterings of "nonono, please".

"Stay with us, we're so close Y/n. I'm so sorry," Newt's head stays bowed over you, hands only moving to wipe his own tears off your face.

"It's okay," you manage to say. "W- wasn't you."

Newt shakes his head, and you hear Thomas start to shout as the blood doesn't stop.

"Come on!" he yells. "I'm not losing you too, I'm won't."

You feel your eyelids start to grow heavy.

"No!" Newt jolts your head slightly, tapping your face with his thumb. "Stay with us, okay? Just a little longer, please."

" 'm tired," you whisper.

"I know, just keep holding on."

"Hurts."

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." He looks up. "There! Vince is here, Y/n. Everyone's here, they're gonna take care of you. Just please, stay awake a little longer. Promise?"

"Okay."

You're unable to keep your promise, cause the blackness closes in, and your mind shuts off.

⭒----⭒

You awaken slowly, scrunching your eyes against the soft light of your room.

As sit up carefully, your hand comes up to brace against your side. You feel a bandage there, and the skin around it feels healed.

You swing your legs off the bed you're on, and you stand.

You push the hut door open, lifting an arm against the brilliantly bright sun, and you stare at the wide beach ahead of you. Is this the Safe Haven?

You walk out until you see your friends, standing near the beach.

Newt sees you first, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he points you out, and then everyone's sprinting over.

Minho reaches you first, lifting you into a tight hug.

"Y/n, shuck," he mutters. "We thought we lost you."

"Hey, I'm still a little injured by the way."

Thomas pulls you in next, gentler than Minho, and he bends to look you in the eye. "Never again, okay?"

You huff out a soft laugh. "Never again."

You turn to Newt, who's watching you with half joy, and half regret.

You step up to him and wrap your arms around him, feeling him immediately melt. "If you start apologising, I'm gonna stab you," you warn.

As you're met with silence from everyone, you wince. "Too soon?"

Newt laughs. "Definitely."

After you've hugged and greeted everyone, you look out at community and buildings that have been set up. "This is the Safe Haven?"

Thomas grins at you. "Welcome home."

Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoyed!

[petrichor-idyllic]

HEYYY I love your work! I saw your post about the different Maze types, and one that really struck out to me was one Glader in a Maze by themselves. Could I request a Minho x Fem!Reader where they’re the one who survived in their Maze by themselves and they’re kind of a well-known badass around the Safe Haven? And he thinks he just platonically admires her until one of his friends points out that it’s definitely a romantic interest. So he ends up talking to her about it, and they share a cute first kiss? Just tons of fluff please!! 🥰 Thank you so much! I appreciate the hard work you’ve been putting into these. They absolutely make my day <3

I'm happy that you guys like my prompts lol. This is my second story based on this idea, but this one isn't gonna be as long or as complicated.

SOLIDARITY

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Movie based fic.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, Minho being oblivious to his own feelings, you're not a people person, Gladers teasing Minho.

In all honesty, Minho didn't really think there were that many interesting people around the Safe Haven.

Sure, it was fun casually flirting with some of the girls, talking to members of the Right Arm and learning about other people's Maze experiences. But, nothing really stuck out to him.

Him, Gally and Frypan did get a kick out of having actual girls to talk to. (Thomas has had enough of romantic complications for a while.) But unlike Frypan, who fell in love with every girl who looked in his direction, and Gally, who always spoke about wanting a very specific type of lady- Minho didn't actually care that much.

It wasn't like he'd never fantasised about it. I mean, most of the boys in the Glade used the chance of future romantic prospects as motivation to escape.

But no one had actually taken his interest.

Until he heard about you.

"I can't believe she did it on her own," Harriet says during a lunch break, taking sips from her drink. She sits with Sonya and Aris, with the Gladers sitting on a nearby table.

Bored of the boys' conversation, he ends up eavesdropping.

"We're still talking about (Y/N)?" Aris chuckles, rolling his eyes at Harriet's on-going admiration towards you.

"Dude, she survived a Maze on her own! How can I not talk about it?"

"It is pretty impressive," Sonya agrees.

"What?" Minho jumps in, not one to be scared of involving himself. "What do you mean this girl survived the Maze on her own?"

"What? You haven't heard?" Harriet looks puzzled, and Minho shakes his head.

"No? Should I have?"

"Probably," Harriet scoffs, "yanno how there was a bunch of different Mazes?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, for one of them, WCKD decided to just put one person in there. On her own, for three years- (Y/N) survived and escaped the Maze completely on her own."

Minho blinks.

Someone survived the Maze completely isolated?

"How the shuck is that even possible?" Minho asks, and Harriet shrugs.

"You should ask her yourself."

"Well, where is she?"

Harriet looks around. "Uhm, oh! There!" She points vaguely off out into the sand, where you're stood talking to Vince. "That's her; Vince keeps saying he has a lot to learn from her or some klank."

Minho simply hums in response, his gaze fixated on you. You're definitely attractive, but more than anything, he's impressed.

Instead of going to talk to you, however, he gets swept back into the conversation with his friends.

But, now Minho has his eye on you.

He starts to frequently ask Harriet, and some other people about you- mainly because he actually isn't sure how to casually start a conversation with you. Especially since Harriet unintentionally scared him off by telling him you're pretty standoffish

He started admiring you from a distance, watching you do some physical training with the Right Arm. You seem to be particularly skilled with knives and have a natural instinct and awareness of your surroundings.

He also starts talking to other people about you, learning more and gaining more knowledge about you, often eavesdropping on stories about you. Apparently, you're actually pretty well-known around Safe Haven, despite mainly keeping to yourself.

Honestly, he's beyond impressed by you- by what you've achieved, how you hold yourself, your level-headed nature and the level of casual power you somehow permanently have.

You are what he wanted to be whilst in the Glade. He was Keeper of the Runners, sure, but he always just felt slightly lost. Minho is a confident guy, he knew his skills and that he was more than capable of surviving.

But, he still had a certain level of anxiety, and getting trapped in that Maze at tight was the most terrifying experience of his life.

He looks up to you. You must've been so brave and bold. It takes a special type of person to deal with Grievers and the Maze- but dealing with that on your own? That's insane!

He's full of admiration for you, and he's never actually praised someone this much before, and you're just so-

"Dude, are you crushing on this girl?" Thomas asks between mouthfuls of food, having listened to Minho's new-found fixation on you for the past few weeks.

The table goes silent.

The Gladers have been discussing it in private- sending knowing glances, smirking and whispering amongst themselves. But, apparently, Thomas has gotten sick of it and decided to just straight-up ask him.

"What?" Minho blinks at him. "The shuck are you talkin' about?"

"Do you like her? (Y/N)?"

Minho scoffs. "You're shuckin' with me, right? I don't even know her."

"Yeah, but you don't shut your damn mouth about her," Gally joins in, having wanted to do this for a while now.

"Yeah, well, I just admire her- she did something impossible."

"Yeah, it's cool, dude," Thomas kind of cuts him off, "but we don't talk about her all the time, or try to find out more about her, so..."

"So?"

"So, you're kinda obsessed, dude," Frypan finally says.

"What? I am not."

"Okay, okay," Gally puts his hands out in front of him, leaning over the table, sighing. "Let's uh, let's talk about this, then." He pauses for a second. "Okay, you talk about this girl more than you do anything else- and you've never even spoken to her. Ever since learning about her, you've been ignoring every girl that approaches you and you spend half your time staring at her. It's definitely not normal, man."

Well, when you put it like that...

Minho sits there for a second, processing everything. "Shit." He mumbles. "Is this what it's like to... like someone?"

The boys don't say anything, looking at each other before turning to Thomas- the only man with an actual answer.

"I mean, kinda? I thought about Teresa a lot- but I don't think I was nearly as whipped as you are, dude."

"She did betray us." Gally points out.

"And we were always with her- and always nearly dying, so it's not like you got much time to think about it." Frypan adds.

"Guys, this doesn't help me," Minho groans.

"Look, the fact that you're acting like this probably means there's something else going on- but you should probably talk to her and figure out this klunk on your own." Thomas gives him some actual decent advice.

Though, the thought of actually talking to you is scary. Minho has stared death in the face and been tortured- but God forbid he have to talk to a hot girl his age.

Well, actually, he isn't given much choice.

"Minho! Get your ass over here!" Vince shouts him the next day as he's busy going about his job. He'd drunkenly bragged about how he was one of the strongest Gladers, and Vince took note. "Need to test your fighting skills!"

He seems like a good match for you.

Minho freezes, seeing you standing there, looking at him as Vince waves him over. He glances over at Gally and Frypan, who stand by the kitchen area, watching the whole thing.

With little choice, Minho walks over.

This'll be fine. He just admires you and the boys are over thinking things. If he talks to you, he'll realise he doesn't have a crush and he was right and things can go back to normal.

Right?

"Minho! This is (Y/N)," Vince gestures towards you, "(Y/N), this is Minho- he was the best of the best from his Maze, and I'm sure he'll make a good sparring partner."

"Uh, what? Sparring partner?" Minho splutters out.

"Yeah, most people don't wanna fight me 'cause they're scared- but all anyone around here tells me about you is that you're tough. And I need someone to fight to stay vigilant, so.." You say pretty matter-of-factly, clearly unfazed by his presence.

"...People have spoken to you about me?" The question catches you off-guard.

You'd vaguely heard Minho's name been throw around. From kneeing an armed guard into a wall and knocking him out to throwing a guy through a glass window, Minho has a reputation for having a short temper and a dangerous temperament.

So, why is he now this awkward mess in front of you who keeps glancing at his shoes?

You went into the Maze with some fighting knowledge, presumably trained beforehand, even if you can't remember it. You used to train with makeshift dummies and by stabbing Grievers, then when you got here, you had some wrestling matches with Right Arm members.

It's a good way to let the stamina you spent years building up.

"I guess...?" You're not the best with people, which is probably why you've never actually spoken to Minho before and have come across as very blunt. It's hard learning to act like a normal person so far in life, especially when you spent the only part of your life that you remember completely on your own. "Are you down to help me let off some steam and fight or what?"

He blinks.

That could've probably be phrased better.

Minho looks over at his friends, who give him a very awkward thumbs up.

He swallows, wanting to impress you, and also he doesn't know when he's going to actually talk to you again, so he nods.

"Sure," he grins, trying to push his normal cocky personality to the front as he grins, "I'll go easy on you."

You scoff, immediately taking a fighting stance. "It's your funeral."

"Wait, we're doing this now?" He looks at Vince, who shrugs.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, copying your footing. He figured once he got out of the Maze, he wouldn't have to deal with weird situations anymore, but it looks like the universe has other plans.

Vince counts you in, and it quickly dawns on him that he doesn't know how to fight a girl- but it's not like it matters because you floor him. He barely has any time to react before you crash into him, rugby tackling him to the ground.

There's a series of "ooo" from the Gladers watching.

He groans, landing on his side and you chuckle, standing up as he cradles his ribs. "Weak." You scoff.

"I wasn't ready," Minho tried to excuse himself.

"I thought you were meant to be tough?"

"I am tough," he stands up, shaking his fists as he takes another stance. "You don't see any of these shanks messing with me?"

You smirk, and it sends butterflies through his entire body.

He's got some fire in him, after all- that's what you like to see.

"Do I look like every other 'shank' to you?" You don't even know what that means, but he said it so you do too.

This time, when you charge, he blocks you, and you end up having a pretty decent fight where he kicks your legs from under you. So, 1-1.

You both fight for another few rounds, which quickly become less competitive and more playful.

Minho isn't a real threat to you, so you have no reason to take it seriously.

"Okay," Vince says, "you kids are tiring me out just watching- and I should actually go do my job."

You scoff, stepping away before sitting down on the sand, legs crosses, taking a sip from a bottle. "Here," you pass it to him, and he accepts. "You're not half bad."

"Likewise," he smirks at you from between swigs. "So," he clears his throat before sitting next to you, his breathing slightly laboured, "you survived the Maze all on your own?"

"Why you asking?"

"Because..." He sighs, "because I was incharge or dealing with my Maze- mapping it, exploring, figuring out how it worked- and I had a whole team to do it. It's... impressive that you did it on your own."

"It was shit," you say bluntly. "I don't need to be told I'm cool for surviving. My options were get out alive or die trying. And I'm still here, so..."

For some reason, Minho hasn't really considered how difficult it would've been. Well, he did, but he focused on the fact you were able to do it, not the trauma or problems it would've left you with.

"Couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't."

"Do you, uh, do you wanna get food? We can eat together? Share some Maze stories?"

You raise your eyebrow. Minho is cute, and he's kind of funny. Not to mention, it's probably about time you actually tried to make friends.

"Yeah, alright."

So, you and Minho start spending some time together. You get properly introduced to the Gladers, and all spending more time with you does is confirm to Minho that he actually does like you.

You have a lot in common, your competitive spirit driving both of you along with eye-rolling at other people.

And, he's like the only person you like, or have ever liked. Which is a lot of pressure.

Though, it's getting a bit much.

Minho is practically bursting with his feelings for you, and he needs to say something. So, (with an adequate amount of peer pressure) Minho decides to do that.

You lay in your hammock, reading a random book you managed to steal from the supplies the Right Arm brought to the Safe Haven.

"Yo," Minho says, trying to play off being casual as much as possible.

"Yo," you respond, scooching over and pushing the fabric down so he can join you in the hammock- you don't really know when you started doing this, but now it's kind of a normal thing. "You good?"

"Yep," he says, throwing his leg into the hammock and shimmying in next to you, though he does seem pretty awkward. Laying your book across your chest, you nudge him.

"You seem... tense? Everything okay?"

"Mhm, yeah, I'm just... Long day, yanno?" You furrow your brows, he's being weird. But, you're still not great at people, so you decide to just pick up your book again.

Minho is normally much more relaxed than this as he stares up at the fabric roof, fiddling with his fingers. You focus as the words in front of you, but that's kind of hard when you have an anxious boy squashed next to you.

"Okay," you slam the book shut, "what the hell is going on with you? You're stressing me out-"

"I like you."

You look at him, laying in your back with your chin touching your shoulder. "Come again?"

"I, uh, I like you?" Now he sounds uncertain, and you are confused.

"I like you, too? That's why you're like the only person I talk to?"

"No, uh, no," he sits up a bit, pushing himself back so he can get more comfy. "I like you, like, more than a friend." He sighs. "I uh, i started looking up to you, at least that's what I thought it was. And the other Gladers thought I had a crush on you, and I thought they were wrong- and then I spoke to you, and we started training, and they- they were right."

He huffs, looking at you before his hands come to his face, hiding.

That's when it kind of clicks. You don't mind some people, but you always prefer Minho. You like talking to Harriet and Vince, but you'd rather be with Minho.

You've been mistaking your possible friendships with people as neuatrality and being civil. And been mistaking the strong feelings you have for Minho as finally having a friend.

Which clearly isn't the case as him confessing has you blushing and your heart jumping out of your chest.

Being isolated for the majority of your teen years has definitely made this complicated.

"I don't know," he mumbles, "sorry, I just had to say something." His hands flop to his sides as he unintentionally slips further down, ending up in an awkward half-sitting, half-lying position as you're still pressed together.

There's a few moments of silence as you process.

Minho seems frozen. But you're not.

Turning so you're on your side.

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Shut up, Minho," you kiss him, your hand coming round to the other side of his face, hovering over him at a bit of an awkward angle.

You break away, your eyes meeting for a second. He smiles at you, it's soft and content. His hand comes to your waist, loosely hanging as he kisses you again.

You break for a second time.

This time, you flop back down, snuggling next to him.

"You got it all out of your system?" You ask him.

"Yeah," he grins, slipping his arm under the back of your head and pulling you closer. "Think so."

"Good- now, shut up and let me read."

I don't even know if this one makes any sense, I'm becoming delirious.

I hope it does.

Hopefully you kinda enjoyed :))

[lowkeyrobin]

can i pls have brenda(tmr) x fem reader pls🙏🙏 it could be anything i just want some brenda content😭😭

YES YWS YES YES YES OH MY FYCKING GOD YES PLEASE TELL ME J REACHED THE MAZE RUNNER FANDOM OMG ; also I only do gn readers but I don't think I mentioned any pronouns and kept it all relatively up to interpretation so 🙏 ; thank you so much for requesting, hope you enjoy!!!

BRENDA ; the last city

summary ; a little snippet of taking down WCKD with your friends

warnings ; language, stupid dad-milk joke, blood, knives, guns, & police brutality

word count ; 1.2k

masterlist

Storming WCKD was a tricky battle, consisting of hours of planning and waiting for the right time. If anything went wrong and you didn't act fast enough, you could've all been killed. Hell, even getting into the city was a trouble in itself, considering the Cranks in the tunnel nearly killed you all haven't Brenda and Jorge have followed you, Newt, Thomas, and Fry all the way there.

The mission was to save Minho, and all the kids they were torturing and killing in their hands for a cure that didn't exist. The sub-mission was also to destroy WCKD for good, kill Janson and Paige, and probably Teresa, too, considering she'd betrayed you all at the Right Arm and helped imprison your friends. You still felt bad for her. She just wanted to help, but she went the wrong way with doing so, she didn't really deserve to die like her peers.

You only had one sense of reassurance if you didn't get to return home and go to the Safe Haven, that Aris, Harriet, Sonya, and many other kids used and abused by WCKD, were currently safe. Thomas would make sure he and the others and the kids you retrieved would be okay as well. You just weren't sure about yourself being okay.

You stand down at the bus that you and Brenda had broken into, waiting for the guys to bring down a class sized amount of children to the lowest level of the parking garage. The plan was simple, get out into the city, get Fry's attention with a flare when in position, use the crane, and get back over the wall with the kids in one piece, the bus, however, that wasn't exactly known yet. No one was trying to test run dropping a bus from a hundred or so feet in the air with a crane, but Jorge reassured you'd be fine and to just hang on tight.

You finally see the mass of children headed your way, led by Gally, which Brenda directs into the bus while you get it started. Once Brenda sits down in the driver's seat, you standing next to her, she yells for everyone to duck, seeing two WCKD guards armed with guns headed your way, probably looking for you. You crouch down onto the floor as she slides down in the seat, hiding behind the wheel and dash.

She turns down to you, whispering. "Hang on"

You quickly grab onto the handle bar next to the stairs, and look back at the kids as she nods.

You whisper shout to them, sternness in your voice. "Hold on!"

Brenda slams on the gas, powering the bus towards the two armed men as she sits up. You hear two thumps against the metal vehicle and cringe a bit, feeling slightly bad for the guys she probably just killed.

She speeds out of the parking garage and onto the street, a few police cars now chasing the bus. You stand on your knees, looking up past the dash in front of you, acting as her eyes behind as she drives recklessly through the city. Tires screech and the kids yelp and gasp as Brenda drives like a psycho, like she was still driving a side by side back in the scorch.

You're eventually stopped and cornered, luckily in position. The two of you are ordered to step out with your hands up, and you comply, making sure to tell the kids, no older than twelve or thirteen, to stay put.

"Hands in the air! Drop your weapons"

You comply, dropping whatever knives and guns you had, except the flare gun, in Brenda's possession.

"I said drop your weapons!" One of the officers points their bulky gun at you, making you jump out of your skin. You had your fair share of being threatened with weapons, but you actually dropped your shit, there was no reason for this.

"I did?" You furrow your brows and look to Brenda, confused.

The next few moments are a blur, but you end up on the ground, pinned down by one of the men, a gun jammed into your back. You felt your skull bounce off the concrete beneath you, and your hands roughly being pulled behind your back. You try to fight back, maybe not the best of ideas, but this man was on top of you for no reason, and you felt dizzy and weak, unknowing to how hard you possibly hit your head.

Brenda yells before quickly kicking the officer in the face, serving him an uppercut with her boot. She pulls the flare gun out of the inside pocket in her jacket, and shoots the red light up into the dark sky, alerting Frypan.

You, in an act of panic, shoot back at the officers as Brenda hooks the grapple hook to the back bumper of the bus. She pulls you in with her, closing the doors, instructing the kids to duck down in case they shot at the windows. Then, the flight to Heaven began.

A very chaotic and painful ride to Heaven, and back down, that is.

Your head was bleeding a bit from the impact with the concrete, and your hands were clammy and you saw black dots all around. But, you'd endured worse, you'd live, it wasn't a major problem.

"Hold on tight!' Brenda shouts as the bus begins to soar through the air, sitting at a zero degree angle.

You sit in the front seat behind Brenda, feet tightly pushing against the seat, two kids around the age of ten hiding in your arms.

"Brenda, if we die, I'm going after Thomas. You take Jorge because he's your dad, not mine!" You shout, breathing heavily as you look out the window, the height off the ground scaring you worse than it was scaring the kids.

You hear a little chuckle escape her lips, though she comes in touch with Fry over the walkies, talking frantically considering the whole plan situation. This couldn't go any quicker, could it? It felt like you were sitting midair for tens of thousands of years, the milliseconds dragged on like hours.

You hear the bumper begin to creak and snap, signifying the weight couldn't be held up much longer.

"Brenda!" You yelp, feeling the slight push of the bus falling out of grip of the hook.

"Just hang on tight!" She shouts back, bracing for impact as the bus reaches outside the city's walls.

You pull the two kids under your arms a little closer, squeezing your eyes shut.

You feel the back bumper snap one last time, releasing the bus from the air, gravity pulling the 20-ton automobile back to the ground. The kids scream and yell out of fear as the bus plummets to the hard ground below, nose first.

You hear the front windshield crack and break, the engine crushing as well. The bus completely shuts down, then falls back with a bounce, standing on four wheels again. You feel yourself shaking a bit, eyes still shut tight as Brenda stands up.

You open your eyes carefully, releasing the two kids from your death-grip. You felt like you could puke at any moment, either between the stress of the bus flying through air or the concussion you probably just got two minutes ago.

Brenda leads the kids out of the bus, waiting for you as you hold the back of your head, feeling your brain pulse in your ears as blood smears onto your fingertips.

You look up at her as she looks down at you, still seated, with concern.

"I'm gonna be totally honest, that was pretty cool" You speak with a crooked smile.

She rolls her eyes with a light smile, stretching out a hand for you to grab. "Come on, dork, don't act like I didn't hear you screaming behind me"

You take her hand with a sly smile, following her out the bus.

"We're going to confront Dad about the milk, kiddos, let's go!"

[budgiesunset]

Hi can you write a harriet the maze runner x fem reader please maybe with an idea of (your the only girl in group A and then a wall opens and group A and group B gets connected and then you start a relation ship with harriet) that was just a suggestion you can write about anything love its okay if not and definitely don't feel pressured to make one xx💕💕😘😊💗❤️

AN: GUESS WHOS BACK! After a few months and my birthday I have returned. Hope you like this story Anonymous and I did decide to change a few things about the plot but I hope you still enjoy and sorry for the delay

Shot || Harriet x Fem!Reader

•Warning’s• blood, guns, gunshot wound (not fatal), the flare, slight swearing, probably incorrect medical information, part where reader is in bra but it’s not descriptive, angst if you squint, not edited or proof read •Summary• After escaping the maze and the scorch you find yourself getting shot and falling for Harriet while she patches up your injury

You had just escaped WCKED and again now setting off with Jorge, Brenda, Aris and what was left of the gladers on a mission to find the right arm and to get to the safe haven.

‘We’re so close’ you thought as you got out of the car that had gotten you almost the entire way. The road was blocked by a bunch of abandoned cars several of them had been trashed

‘probably from when this all started and people were looking for supplies or ways to get out’. The thought came to you as you looked through a cracked window of an old truck.

First you heard it. It was loud and clearly a gunshot then suddenly felt a hot pinch in your arm. You felt yourself being pulled to the ground in your daze you turned around seeing Frypan looking at you concerned.

“Keep pressure on your arm” he said as he moved your un-injured arm so the you could replace his hand on your wound.

Everything happened so fast and the next thing you know your being pulled up from the ground by someone you definitely didn’t know.

She was wearing a mask and had a rifle. But she had dark brown eyes. Brown almost black hair that she had styled in twist and she had tanned skin even though you couldn’t see her face you felt like you could trust her.

After a very confusing interaction between Aris a girl named Sonya and the girl who pulled you off the ground who you learnt to be called Harriet. They agreed to take you to the Right arm.

Along the way you found yourself walking next Harriet. “How’s your arm” She questions.

“It’s okay I guess for being shot.. Hurts like hell though” you say as you lift your hand off of the injury to look at it but quickly placing it back and applying more pressure as blood starts to leak out again.

“When we arrive we can get it looked at and bandaged up.” She said looking at you then quickly looking straight again.

“Yeah that sounds good” you say. The rest of the trip was silent.

[Time Skip]

You were sitting in the med tent when Harriet entered.

“Docs busy with your friend but luckily for you I know how to fix up a gun injury.. Do you need help to remove your shirt?” she says as she lets out a breathy laugh. You just nod as she carefully removes your shirt leaving you in your bra. She then sits down on a stool using a cloth to clean around the wound.

“This is going to hurt” she says while holding a pair of tweezers so they were just hovering over the hole using her other hand to stretch out the skin. Then carefully she pulls out the bullet.

“Fuck” you mumble squeezing your eyes closed. Harriet them starts to bandage the wound on your upper arm.

“Wait here I’ll go get you a clean shirt.” She says before exiting the tent. She returns a few minutes later with a cream colored long sleeve shirt. “Here” she says holding it out to you.

“would you mind helping me?” You say looking up at her from this angle you could see just how beautiful she is, how her skin glows as she nods and how her hair falls in her face as she leans over you to help you pull the shirt on.

Her touch is warm and as she stands up you find yourself missing her warmth you both stare into each others eyes until the silence is broken.

“Dinners ready” you look over to the door of the tent to see Aris standing there looking at you both confused.

Harriet helps you stand up and guide you to a small log next to a campfire she tells you to sit before walking off and returning a few minutes later with two bowls of hot soup.

She hands you one and then sit’s down next to you and you both talk for hours. Then suddenly you hear a loud buzzing then you see a beam of light and feel a gush of wind.

Harriet acts fast grabbing her rifle then your hand and pulling you behind her as she yells out orders left and right.

You’re suddenly behind a car and all you can hear is gunshots, explosions and yelling. You cover your ears curling your knees up to your chest hiding your face in them.

Not even a minute later you feel yourself get violently yanked from the ground and then you feel it. A gun placed at your temple.

“Put your weapon down or else she dies!” The soldier yells. You start shaking your head left and right tears welling in your eyes as the barrel of the gun get pushed even closer to your temple forcing you to move your head on a diagonal so that your left ear is almost at your shoulder.

Harriet looks into your eyes before throwing her gun to the floor not even two seconds later she is being grabbed and pulled to a line up you not too far behind.

Your head gets pushed forwards and then the soldier calls out “A45” and then moves onto the next one.

You flinch when you feel something grab your hand but quickly relax when you look over and see Harriet holding onto your hand.

“It’s going to be okay.. I won’t let them hurt you” she whispers so that only you and her could hear.

[Time Skip]

After everything happened and the WCKED soldiers left taking almost half of what was left of the right arm you curled up next Harriet as she rested up against a large rock.

Your head rested on her shoulder and her arms wrapped around your waist in a protective manner as if she was scared that if she let go you would end up in the hands of WCKED just like Sonya and Aris. So that night you fell asleep in the arms of Harriet where you felt safe.

The End

[heliads]

Waking, Dreaming

Based on this request: "Newt x fem reader. The characters are high school students. Y/N and her parents move because her father got a new job. She joins Thomas, Newt, Minho, Gally, Alby, Teresa, and Brenda’s friend group. Thomas and Minho are on the boys’ basketball team. Sonya and Harriet are on the girls’ soccer team. Thomas is the valedictorian."

ok so this ended up taking a far more surreal twist than i really intended. have you ever wanted a modern au in which newt was semi aware of the fact that he was in a modern au? here you go!

masterlist

Newt wakes from a dream, and he doesn’t know that he’s ever been so happy to see his familiar ceiling stretching out in front of him. It almost doesn’t feel real for a second, that perfect plain white paint, uncracked and unbroken and utterly without care. If he keeps his eyes trained on only this impersonal bit of wall, Newt can pretend that none of this is actually his, that the whole place is just on lend from some other kid lucky enough to be born in a time when he was completely safe.

This makes no sense, of course. This is Newt’s room, this is Newt’s life, this is Newt’s happiness. Perhaps it’s the nightmare getting to him. The vision he’d had just before forcing himself awake had been a terrible one. He’d been trapped in a city burning to the ground, and as Newt lay on his back, staring up at the smoke and stars, he knew with unsettling certainty that it would be the last time he’d ever see such a sight again. Or any sight, for that matter.

Newt woke up, of course, so clearly his dream-based paranoia is just that, the stuff of nightmares and nothing more. Newt is here, and everything is alright. He has always been here. He will never be anywhere else.

After all, when would Newt have a chance to see any other scenery? Newt grew up in this town, he’s been here for as long as he can remember. His friends are just down the street, probably waking up to a myriad of alarm clocks and shouted warnings about missed school buses. This is their home. No other place would ever make sense as much as this does.

Newt shakes himself and starts getting ready for the day. That’s the problem with dreams, after all, they get you thinking about what life would be like if you weren’t here, in the same place as always. Maybe somewhere out there another Newt is looking up at the stars and wondering why he tastes copper on his tongue, but this Newt, the one in his body and thinking these very thoughts, is safe. He doesn’t know why, but he gets the feeling that safety is pretty rare, and thus something he should treasure instead of find reasons to deny.

Newt heads down to the bus stop, early as always. He likes to get there before anyone else so they can only get the view of him leaning casually against a nearby tree, not the visual of Newt’s walk over. Despite all this time spent around the same friends, Newt is still wary to show off the fact that he isn’t quite like the others. He can’t walk the same way they can, and any difference from the norm makes Newt’s teeth stand on edge.

It’s all because of an injury, one Newt sustained when he was just a kid. Hypothetically, it happened when he was in preschool or something, but Newt has no recollection of the actual incident itself. You’d think he would remember something like that, a pivotal moment leading to a pivotal injury, but no, it’s all been smoothed over in his head.

Sometimes, Newt has different dreams, nightmares in which he’s falling and only regrets it halfway through the plunge. He bolts upright to find his leg throbbing like it had been freshly broken, even though everyone tells him the injury is older than anything. Still, the facts don’t lie. Newt can’t walk properly because of the limp. The actual source of it shouldn’t matter, especially not since his friends all seem to avoid bringing it up.

The rest of his merry group arrives soon enough. Alby first, Alby always first. He’s the oldest of them, the leader. Newt doesn’t remember when they all decided that Alby would take up that role, it just makes sense. Minho is next, then Gally, Thomas, and Teresa. A girl named Brenda who used to go to another school. She started hanging out with them a while ago and long since fit in like another piece to their grand puzzle. Y/N, too, newly moved here from a different city. She changes everything for the better, Newt thinks, like they’ve all been put on this earth for the sole purpose of being there to see her.

They all have their own roles to play within the friend group. Thomas and Minho are on the school basketball team. It feels like they’re out at practice every day, spending hours in that gym just to be able to score a little better and build a better championship team inch by inch. It always surprises Newt that they’d choose basketball of all sports. Not that they’d be athletes, of course, that goes without saying. The guys are full of restless energy, always eyeing the doors to a crowded room like they’ve already plotted twelve different ways to get out and are just deciding which would be the fastest.

No, Newt is mainly surprised that they’d choose that sport in particular. During the first few months of freshman year, Newt was constantly switching up what sport they did. He knew they told him they were on the basketball team about a thousand times, but he could swear that he’d seen them doing something else, something involving running. Maybe cross country or track, that would explain why Newt keeps seeing snippets in his head of the two of them sprinting side by side, half out of their minds from exhaustion but full of the urge to keep pushing, keep fighting until the very end.

Once, Newt almost convinced himself that he might have been out there too. Thomas hadn’t been there, for some reason, only Minho. He can still feel the desperate gasping of air in his lungs as Newt hurled himself forward towards something he can’t remember. The dreams, the false memories, they’ve been going on for a while. Newt can’t explain it. Neither can his doctor, Ava Paige, although she just shakes her head and hands him some new medicine to try whenever he brings it up in his annual physicals.

Still, it’s not like they’re hurting anyone. No one knows, just Newt. He distracts himself by trying to commit the details of everyday life to memory. Maybe if he does it better this time around, he won’t have issues like this, problems where he can’t quite tell which memories are real and which are just figments of his slightly confused imagination.

When he gets confused, he goes to his friends, and they welcome him with open arms every time. Alby has always been a good listener. Gally’s biting sarcasm is welcome, it cleans Newt’s wounds like a cauterizing flame. Teresa always knows the right thing to say. Y/N has a way of distracting himself from the bewilderment of his own thoughts every time.

Y/N. She only moved here a few weeks ago, but she’s already quickly made her way into Newt’s heart. He swore he knew from the first time he saw her that Y/N would be someone to watch, and what do you know, he was right. Newt spends the most time with her out of anyone from his friend group. He hadn’t intended on it, it just works. They spend long hours talking, and if there’s anyone who can straighten out Newt’s head, it’s her. Everything makes sense when Y/N is nearby, like she’s rewriting the tangled mess of words and sentences in his head whenever she’s around.

That’s how things go around here. Slowly, surely, Newt makes it all work. He leans into his friends, both the old and the new. His little sister, Sonya, is a freshman at their high school this year. Newt can’t deny that he’s already tried to be the overprotective older brother to the max, but it’s not like she needs it. Sonya’s a firecracker, same with her friends.

The girls have come over to hang out with Newt’s group on more than a few occasions now. Sonya and Harriet both play on the girls soccer team at their high school. Their fierce spirits remind Newt of Thomas and Minho, but somehow slightly different. They’ve been shaped by different events, their rivers running through different turns. Newt can’t entirely decide who had it worse, not that it’s a contest.

The comparisons are interesting, though. They all seem to be the same sort of person at their core, all of them, the boys and girls alike. Newt wishes that Sonya wasn’t quite so much younger than him. She and her friends are freshmen, after all, and Newt’s group are seniors. They’re graduating in a matter of weeks, and then that’s that, all over. Newt wishes he could have had more time to get to know the second group of friends. He wishes he had more time for far more things, too, but that’s beside the point.

In truth, Newt doesn’t know where his life will lead. He did his college applications, of course, same as anyone else, and he’s got a place to go once he gets his diploma, but that’s not what really matters. Somewhere out there, a world waits for Newt to discover. There are thousands of cities that call his name, a million roads to travel down.

If he was just going off of his memories, Newt would say that it’s too good to be true. It feels like he spends more time looking back than looking forward. Some secret part of him always assumed that his life would end here, on the precipice of moving forward. His friends all have their eyes towards the sun and what will become of them, but not Newt.

No, he’s still stuck in the past, caught between deciphering what all the fragments of his history could mean and the relentless surge forward of time. Try as he might, Newt cannot stay the same forever. Something will always come to pluck him out of his normal life and bring him to his fate. No one can fight time forever, not even Newt. Not anyone.

Graduation comes soon enough, and Newt has the pleasure of watching his friends don their caps and gowns. They’re laughing, the lot of them, all out in the parking lot outside the building before the ceremony starts. Newt’s next to Y/N, watching his friends talk in excited, loud voices about the end of all things they’ve ever known.

Thomas and Teresa are trying to shout across to each other from opposite sides of the tight bundle of friends, but they’re not having much luck in getting their voices over to each other. Minho watches the proceedings with an ill concealed grin. The dark-haired boy has been swearing to Newt for months now that he’s going to lose his mind if Thomas and Teresa don’t manage to confess their feelings before graduation. Looks like insanity is a promise he’ll just have to keep.

Deep inside, Newt thinks that Thomas and Teresa are a hopeless case. They might get along better than anyone else, and Newt is certain that the two of them have about a thousand inside jokes that no one could even hope to understand, but that’s all they’re ever going to be. A million secrets, too many kept, not enough spoken aloud until it was too late. That’s not a strong enough foundation for a proper relationship, even if their feelings seem worth the fall.

Thomas is distracted by Brenda at his side, asking him a question. Thomas’ smile is easier now; he never has to try so hard when he’s around Brenda, Newt wonders if the other boy has ever realized it. Teresa shakes her head with a laugh and joins Newt soon enough, filing into the building where graduation will be held once the teachers start calling for everyone to head inside.

Newt dutifully takes his seat in the long rows of chairs. Alby on his left, Teresa on his right, Newt feels safe in this impossibly large gathering of people. This is where it all changes, then. This is where his old life ends and something else begins.

Thomas takes to the stage. He’d been named valedictorian to the delight of everyone in the group. It makes perfect sense to Newt, of course. Thomas has been a braniac for about as long as Newt has known him; always one to come up with the perfect answer, the capable solution. Combine that with his athletics and natural leadership abilities, and you couldn’t make a better valedictorian if you crafted one in a lab.

Thomas is the survivor, Newt thinks. He wonders why that would occur to him, but it feels right somehow. Thomas up there on that stage, separated impossibly from Newt and Alby and Teresa and the rest of them, it makes sense. Thomas did it, he took all the challenges of school and the future and life and made them work out for him. When the sun sets, Thomas will be there, ready for the dawn to come. Newt doesn’t think he could say that about everyone here.

Someone turns in the row in front of him. Newt glances to the side to see Y/N looking at him. She smiles at him, and it’s a happy sort of look, carrying with it a thousand unspoken messages. They’re alright, then. They’re going to be okay. This is only where one story ends, but a thousand more begins. When the doors open up and the newly graduated kids get to run out into the bright sunlight of a new day, Newt and Y/N will be among them. That’s how it ends, a perfect resolution. Newt couldn’t ask for anything else.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

tmr tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-its-amber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43

[frost-queen]

The little things (Fem!Reader x Harriet)

Requested by: anon  Forever tag: @missmelodramatic​, @theletterhart​, @alex--awesome--22​, @elllie-does-the-posts​, @floatlosers​, @merlieve​, @queen-of-books​, @glimmering-darling-dolly​, @denkisclown​, @wildieflower​, @meyocoko​, @bubblybrianna​, @justanothercoco​ @idkwhatmyusernam,  @subjecta13-thefangirl,  @m-rae23​, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr​  

You touched your cheek feeling the sting of pain. – “Shit!” – you called out. Spitting some blood on the ground. Sonya walked over to you, moving her gun to her back. Her face contracted with sympathetic pain. – “That is for sure going to hurt.” – she said. – “Why did that idiot had to use his gun as a puncher!” – you exclaimed, looking down at the man. – “Well at least have some comfort that he is dead.” – Sonya answered setting her foot on his thigh. 

“Yeah, thanks for that.” – you breathed out. – “No worries. Harriet would have my head if something would’ve happened to you.” – she replied patting your shoulder. You laughed quietly putting your own gun away. Sonya moved her arm around you, walking you back to the vehicle. – “I think Harriet will have my head after seeing this.” – you pointed at the wound on your cheekbone. 

Sonya shrugging her shoulder. – “Maybe today is a good day to die?” – she laughed getting behind the wheel. You hopped in the seat beside her. Dust flying up from underneath the tires. You kept touching the wound, flinching at the pain. Sonya sighed. – “Will you stop touching it, you probably make it worse with your dirty hands.”

“I don’t have…” – you started looking down at your hands. Grinning sheepishly, you tugged them between your legs under Sonya’s ‘told you so’ glance. Sonya drove the truck back to camp. It didn’t take long before Harriet approach the truck. Stopping in shock at the aftermath on your face. You smiled, the only thing missing was you say ‘tadaa’. – “What the hell happened!” – Harriet looked to Sonya, angered. 

Sonya shut the door of the truck hard. – “Some idiot bullet’s ran out so he decided to knock Y/n with his gun.” – Sonya told her. Harriet gaped at you seeing you pull your shoulders up. – “Don’t worry he didn’t lived very long after.” – Sonya said having approached Harriet. Leaving her hand on her shoulder. Sonya looked over her shoulder to you before heading off. You came closer to Harriet, swallowing nervously. – “Sorry…” – you said, eyes down. 

Harriet exhaled relieved, wrapping her arms around you. – “I’m just glad you are alive.” – she spoke hugging you tighter. You hugged her back, needing her comfort. – “Come.” – Harriet said, taking your hand. You followed her through the camp.

She seated you down near a bin that contained burning wood for heat. – “I’ll be right back.” – she said leaning down to kiss your forehead. You nodded watching her head into a tent. A moment later she returned with aiding supplies. Presenting them flirtatious to you. You dramatically waved yourself some cool. – ���Oh I am so getting spoiled now.” – you teased when Harriet came sitting down in front of you. 

“Give me one more heart attack and I won’t be so spoiling anymore.” – she commented sarcastically. – “Then I’ll just have to do it for you.” – you answered with a wink. Harriet rolled her eyes at you. – “This might sting Y/n.” – she let you know, putting some liquid on a tissue. She touched your chin to keep your head in place. You flinched making Harriet lower her hand bothered. – “I haven’t even touched you yet.” – she said. 

“I know, I was just preparing.” – you answered. Harriet grabbed your chin firmly wanting to make sure you wouldn’t pull back again. The tissue touched your wound as you bit on your lip, fighting the urge to curs you heart out. – “Told you it would sting.”

“Fffff fuck!” – you blurted, needing to shout something for the pain. Harriet chuckled dapping your wound more. – “You are enjoying this aren’t you?” – you spoke seeing her smile. – “Not at all…” – she answered pressing the tissue deeper onto your wound, making you cringe in pain. – “Okay maybe a little.” – she confessed teasingly with a chuckle. You crossed your arms, finding it anything but funny. 

“Oh come on Y/n. I am just playing around.” – she said lowering her hand. She reached down for a bandage. Before she stuck the bandage on your cheek, she kissed you by surprise. You smiled, kissing her back. Harriet grabbed for your shoulder, taking it. You gulped, pulling away at something sticking on your arm. You looked at your shoulder, seeing the bandage stick half on your skin. 

Harriet laughed loud apologizing. She took a new bandage sticking it over your wound. – “Now you may once more.” – you told her, gesturing for her to kiss you again. – “Yes please.” – Harriet answered kissing you. Her fingers running through your hair.

Later that night you laid on Harriet’s stomach watching the stary sky. Harriet moving her fingers through your hair. Her other hand on yours that laid on your chest. – “Does it still hurt?” – she asked. You shook your head. Harriet’s fingers going through your hair was so soothing it made you sleepy. – “Harriet.” – you said hearing her hum loud in response. – “I love you.” – you needed to say out loud before you’d fall asleep. – “I love you too Y/n. My survivor girl.” – you laughed at the nickname. 

Harriet’s upper body shuddering with laughter as well. You removed your head from her stomach so that she could lay next to you. You snugged up to her, taking a deep breath. Her arms protective over you. – “I’ll always protect you, Y/n.” – she’d whisper. You drifted away, falling asleep from a long day. Harriet kissed your forehead. Enclosing you tighter in her embrace.  

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[dearharriet]

could I request the tangled prompt for george, please? 😚

and congratulations on 150!!! 🎉

here u are lovely, thank you sm!! (wc: 870)

George is not used to this whole heart in his chest thing, and it’s really dragging down his name as an enemy of the crown.

I mean, sure, that’s not something he can just put away—and the palace guards certainly won’t—but he almost wishes he could. Which is stupid, obviously George loves being a criminal—who doesn’t?

But the thing is, you’re kind of more than he’d been expecting. George thought you were naive, and jumpier than a field mouse, and you are, but you’re also kind when you want to be, and similarly cutthroat when necessary. You’re not half bad.

Like now, in the square, you’re helping an older group of women with their knitting patterns. George had ordered you to lay low, but he realizes now how foolish that is. It doesn’t matter how low you lay, everyone would be looking at you anyways. You’re just magnetic that way.

Leaving the chittering group, you pass over the wide open square, eyes on a shady alcove at the other end. George ducks further into the overhang, skirting around columns to meet you there.

Even if you’re not seeking him out, he’s glad you’re getting some shade. The mid-year sun is penetrating every thick stone building in the kingdom, and turning the ground into a coal walk for your bare feet.

And anyways, when the sun and you meet head-on, it’s a spectacle that’s hard to look at.

Rounding the corner, George stops short, realizing you’re not as alone as he thought.

You’re crouched, hair fanning over your shoulders, speaking with a small boy who looks very unfortunate. There’s dirt covering his face, and his feet are similar to yours in that they’re unprotected. He can’t be more than ten, but instead of playing in the sun like most children, he’s slumped against the wall, looking tired.

George’s newfound heart thumps a little, shocking his system. He steps forward, but then you’re standing, pulling the boy up with you.

Weaving through carts and wagons, you lead the boy into the center of the square, and then skitter away to a quartet of musicians.

The little boy looks like he’s treading open water, spinning in the wake of your attention. When you come back, you take his shaking hands into yours as a song begins to play.

Then you’re dancing.

With the height difference it’s nothing more than a flailing spin, but with every rotation both your face and the boy’s light with joy.

Two couples join in, and George ventures out of his hiding spot to get a better view. As he passes vendors and shoppers, he notices them uprooting themselves, pushing toward you the way he is.

Many of them join, and when George is on the bank of the whirling circle of townspeople he can’t see you anymore. The dance has quickly evolved into a more complex braid of partners, one that everyone but him seems to understand.

A part of him worries that you were taken, but a flash of gold cuts through the mesh of feet, and his shoulders settle.

The partners change fast, so one second your elbows are linked with an older man, and the next you’re swinging into a young girl. It goes this way down the chain, changing all at once like a flower that blooms new every minute, and you keep your eyes on George the whole time.

When you reach him, you stick one hand out and yank him into the fray.

George stumbles and then catches himself on a stranger who kindly guides him into the proper spin. Luckily, he’d been watching long enough to know when to switch, pinging from one partner to the next as bystanders clap to the beat.

When he’s rounded the full circle, the music changes, and everyone finds a new direction.

Though he probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, George understands why you and the boy had looked so happy. As he swings through smithys and students and artists, touching each hand briefly in this hurdling dance, he’s undeniably alive.

He thought that stealing the crown was the fastest his heart would ever beat, but he might have been wrong. Running away was easy, but coming back? Near impossible.

Without him even realizing, George is finally dancing with you. It felt like every time he’d completed the circle and come to you, the music had changed and you’d miss each other.

But now, you’re under his hands, and when the music changes, you tighten yours around his. The chain breaks, and no one seems to mind. George suspects it was all your making anyways, so this time is no different.

Around and around you spin under the summer sun, and George tugs you closer, his feet doing the work for both of you. He doesn’t have to think, he just turns and turns and lifts you, revels in your delighted laugh. He shocks himself with his returning laugh—not snide nor attractive, but truly overjoyed.

When you land on your feet, the music comes to an end, and George and you are still laughing. Both of your chests meet with each huff, swelling with air and pride.

George knows it’s not about the crown anymore.

+

thank you for reading xx

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[harringtons-cupid]

Harriet🖤 | ADHD | Bi | 24 | French/English | Taken -M|

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Request Rules/Who I Write For/Masterlist Link

 Hello hello! the name’s Siren and here’s the post where you can see what you can request, who I write for, and eventually a masterlist as I start putting up requests and my own little writing blurbs! You’ll Find all my Hogwarts Legacy and RWBY fics on the masterlists and the tags #Siren HL and #Siren RWBY

Masterlists:

Hogwarts Legacy RWBY (Coming Soon)

Fandoms I Write For (Might Expand Eventually):

Hogwarts Legacy

RWBY

What I’ll Write:

x Reader (GN will be the default if not specified, but I will write fem/masc reader focus if requested!)

Platonic

Poly

Non-Explicit Mature Themes (teasing explicit themes, but not actual smut will be written)

Headcanons

Ships

Angst

Hurt/Comfort

Fluff ( I love fluff with all my heart ;) )

What I WON’T Write:

Works glorifying S/A themes

Rape/Non-Con themes

Abusive themes (I can elude to pat experiences but will never explicitly write works with abuse being the focus)

Smut

Illegal age gaps

Incest

Hateful content that paints another character in bad light (ex: “Can you write something where [sweet character] does [bad thing] to [sweet character] and reader helps them through it?”)

Extremely dark themes

Hogwarts Legacy Characters:

Poppy Sweeting

Natsai Onai

Samantha Dale

Imelda Reyes

Anne Sallow

Garreth Weasley

Ominis Gaunt

Sebastian Sallow

Note: I’d love to write for every Hogwarts Legacy character! But on Tumblr, there is a heavy focus on Sebastian, Ominis and Garreth (Mainly the two Slytherin). So I don’t discourage requesting them, but please do send requests for our lovely women in the game :)

RWBY Characters:

Team RWBY:

Ruby Rose

Weiss Schnee

Blake Belladonna

Yang Xiao-Long

Team JNPR:

Jaune Arc

Pyrrha Nikos

Nora Valkyrie

Lie Ren

Team CFVY

Coco Adel

Fox Alistair

Velvet Scarletina

Yatsuhashi Daichi

Team SSSN(N)

Sun Wukong

Scarlet David

Sage Ayana

Neptune Vasilias

Nolan Porfirio

Atlas ACE-OPs

Clover Ebi

Marrow Amin

Vine Zeki

Harriet Bree

Elm Ederne

Others:

Winter Schnee

Emerald Sustrai

Penny Polendina

Ilia Amitola

Neo

[beebbg]

Request Page (yes ik this is like my third time doing this) ៸៸

꒰ Do's and Don'ts ↷

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎//Do!︰Smut, fluff, angst, headcanons (Nsfw︙Sfw), drabbles

→ Don't︰Weird kinks, racism, pedophilia, homophobia, Character x character, Character x Child! Reader

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎✦⇢

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ I write gn or fem reader. I also mostly for women.

﹕Fandoms! ɞ

⸝⸝ Apex・Catalyst, Vantage, Lifeline, Rampart, Valkyrie, Bangalore, Horizon, Wattson, Wraith, Ash, Mad Maggie, Loba

⨯ Overwatch・Mercy, D.va, Ashe, Moira, Sombra, Ana, Symmetra, Zarya, Junkerqueen, Sojourn, Kiriko, Brigitte, Mei, Pharah, Tracer, Widowmaker, Illari

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎｡ Arcane・Caitlyn, Vi, Jinx, Mel, Sevika

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏✧ Detroit Become Human・Kara, North, Rose

ʚ The Last Of Us pt.2・Abby, Ellie, Dina

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ✿ Deathloop・Julianna, Wenjie, Harriet, Fia