#he did ask my mum though cause surely i was allowed to get a drink myself right? most of the dilutant juice in the house was for me

[hearties-circus]

Yknow I don't think I've had a magnum ice cream since the night before the punishment and having one now.. yeah I cant really blame myself this ice cream is good

[v-hope]

Wineless

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: What do you do when you’re out of whiskey and there’s a fancy bottle of wine lying around, which belongs to your girlfriend who just so happens to be out of town? You drink it. And then replace it before she gets back. Or well, at least you intend to, for there’s no way of replacing it when she arrives one night earlier and catches you red-handed.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (kind of obvious but still)

A/N: Hellooo, I had this request in my ask box for a longgggg time and I had wanted to write it ever since yet never found the right timing, until last night at 2am lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey.

Yoongi hummed inside his mind, tapping on the counter a couple of times as his eyes searched for the bottle of strong alcohol he could’ve sworn he had left on that very shelf three weeks ago. Or maybe it had only been half of it, now that he thought about it, for he had drunk some of the expensive liquor that same week you got it for him, when he had been struggling with one particular verse he could just not feel contented with.

Although there was also that one other time last week when he came home not feeling his best after a bad day...

He pouted, defeated eyes still searching around as realisation hit him that there was no bottle of whiskey on sight and there would apparently be no whiskey at all for him that night.

Bummer.

You wouldn’t be home until the next day and he would have a long, lonely night. Hoseok had called him a few minutes ago informing him the bridge of the song he had taken upon writing and needed to turn in by the end of the week was now needed by midnight tomorrow. So, there were only two ways to get the inspiration he so badly needed:

You.

Whiskey.

And right then, he had none of them.

Or well, maybe not precisely, but he could always use some variety, right? So he thought when his eyes fell on the fancy bottle of wine your mum had gifted you when you got the promotion you had so determinedly worked for — the one that had now taken you on a one week business trip to Tokyo, and far away from him and your shared place.

He thought about it for a while —that being three seconds—, before his hand was grabbing it and his feet moved over to where you kept the glasses, grabbing one of them as well before he made his way over to his home studio so he could get started on the new track right away.

Now, he knew how bad it looked, even more when he knew you had been saving it for a special occasion — what special occasion exactly, he had no idea, and he was pretty sure neither did you. But, in his defense, you would be back home tomorrow evening, and that gave him a good couple of hours to drive around the city looking for the same brand —and year— of wine he had stolen from you. Come on, he wasn’t leaving you wineless, of course. He wasn’t a douche. He was just drinking it without your permission… and then replacing it so you would never notice.

Yeah, that was it. That was perfect.

Only he didn’t count on one little detail, and that was you making it home one day earlier. Not wanting to have him worry and make some time out of his busy schedule to go pick you up at the airport like you knew he would, you had decided not to tell him — never having guessed such decision would end up backfiring on both of you. On Yoongi, for he would have no way to replace the bottle before you found out, and on you, for you were now left without that fine wine you had been looking forward to drinking at some point.

“Working so late?” your sweet voice had his head snapping in your direction in a heartbeat.

And maybe if you weren’t so caught up on the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, you would’ve noticed that part of them held some kind of panic in them — turning around on his chair and rolling it ever so slightly to his right so his body would block the empty bottle from your visual range.

“B-Babe…” he stuttered, partially because of the surprise your unannounced arrival had caused him, partially because of the alcohol having already started to hit. “You didn’t, um… I didn’t know…”

“I know,” you cut him off, knowing well enough what he meant. “Sorry I didn’t let you know, but I was getting here late, as you can see, and I didn’t want you to worry about having to go get me and all that…”

Just like that, he forgot about the wine of yours he was trying to hide altogether, smiling softly and stretching his arms out for you to hold his hands — that being exactly what you did not even two seconds later, having now fully entered his studio and letting his warm hands pull you close to him.

Not really giving you a choice —and not like you would’ve chosen any different—, he pulled you onto his lap, allowing you to sit comfortably on his legs before his hands left yours so they could rest on your back instead, smiling when you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and leaning in just enough to give your lips a lingering kiss.

“I missed you” he mumbled against your lips, earning a giggle from you and another small kiss to be pressed on his mouth. “Felt so lonely without you…”

“Have you been drinking?” you teased him, both because of his sweet words and because of the way his lips held a rather familiar bitter taste to them.

Of course you would notice right away.

He chuckled, because it was either laughing it off or panicking right before the inevitable happened. And that’s exactly when your eyes fell on the already emptied bottle resting next to a glass on his desk. The one bottle of yours you had been saving and that was now long gone.

It was fair to say, your previous smile was quickly erased from your face — an upset frown taking over your factions instead.

“Tell me that isn’t the one my mum gave me last month”.

And, you see, laughing in these kind of serious situations is never the best thing to do, especially when you know your significant other is upset. But, in both his state and how nervous he was at the idea of you being mad at him, it was all he could do.

“You’re laughing?” you scoffed. “You’re seriously laughing right now?”

He shook his head no, resting his forehead on your shoulder as another chuckle escaped his mouth instead of giving you a proper answer.

“Yoong—”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he slurred.

Although inevitably feeling your heart flutter, you rolled your eyes. “You are not trying to get out of this situation with that lame ass line”.

“But you truly are so, so beautiful, baby” he nuzzled that one soft spot in your neck, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

“Yah, Yoongi. I’m serious” you called him out, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders and gently pushing him away so you could stand up.

“No, no” he stopped you by wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. “I’ll replace it”.

“That’s not the p—”

“I’ll buy you all the wine in the world if you want” he promised. “I was going to replace it to begin with. You were supposed to get here tomorrow”.

“So now it’s my fault for getting here earlier?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “If you had let me know beforehand...”

Another scoff came out of your mouth, this time crossing your arms over your chest. “Unbelievable”.

“Please don’t…” a tired sigh escaped his mouth. “Please don’t be mad…”

You stayed silent, eyes fixed on the still half full glass next to the empty bottle as you could not help but sulk over the spilled milk, or well, the already drunk wine.

“You just—”

“Please,” he cut you off once more, this time speaking in that cute pouty tone of his you could never help but melt at. “I love you…” his words came out muffled as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t be mad... I’m sorry”.

This time, a sigh escaped your mouth. What else could you do anyway? The wine was already gone and you were left with a soft, drunken boyfriend who was really trying to make the situation better. Or well, at least trying as hard as his current state allowed him to.

“You better get me the exact same one, Min Yoongi” your threatening words didn’t match the way your face was now resting on his head, as he had buried his face in the crook of your neck by then.

“Mhm…” he breathed, eyes closed as he somehow managed to pull you even closer.

“I mean it, Yoongi” you stood your ground. “Tomorrow”.

He chuckled, planting one more kiss to the spot his mouth had been resting on before he went back up to your eye level. “Tomorrow” his lips parted into a gummy smile. “Don’t keep saving it for too long though…” he lovingly pinched your sides. “Might have to drink it on my own again”.

“Yah!” you pulled slightly away, squinting your eyes in a threatening way the he couldn’t help but find the cutest. “My wine. I will see when it’s the right time to drink it”.

“Our wedding night”.

You froze. “Huh?”

“Our wedding night, tops” he stated, and you were not sure if that was the alcohol speaking or he had really been thinking about marriage with you for a while now. “If you haven’t drunk it by then... we’re having it that night”.

A light, breathy laugh escaped your mouth. “Will we even be home that night?” you questioned, his eyes staring into the wall behind you letting you know he had not taken that into consideration. “Besides, in that case I would only get to drink half a bottle, whereas you’d technically had downed one and a half”.

“Pft,” his shoulders went slightly up. “Okay then, alcohol measuring police”.

Throwing your head back as you now let a throaty laugh out, you went back to him, running your fingers through the short strands of hair falling over his forehead and pushing them back, earning a smile and then a muffled giggle from him when you caught his bottom lip in between your longing ones.

“I will get you two bottles then” he quietly proposed when you pulled away. “One for you to share with me and one for you to get drunk on your own whenever you want”.

“Okay, okay” you giggled, not really minding the whole wine incident anymore as he pressed his lips tenderly on your cheek. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting, though?”

His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought at your question — eyes travelling to his left and wasting no time in grabbing the glass that still contained a good amount of wine in it. “You can have what’s left”.

You rolled your eyes. The proposal, he was forgetting the proposal. And you couldn’t help but find amusement in the fact that he had been so quick to talk about your wedding night when there had never been a proposal to begin with. Bold of you to believe you would get your drunken boyfriend to talk about it, though.

Nevertheless, all that aside, you did not hesitate for even a second before you took the glass from his hand.

“Oh,” he blurted out when you were taking a small sip, a smile once again parting his lips as he suddenly seemed to remember something important. “And you just wait for the ring”.

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

[midgardianweasley]

Movie Night

Movie night

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: It’s friday night, or more commonly known as movie night for the Avengers. A horror movie was put on and Y/N isn’t feeling so brave, luckily she’s got a Romanoff nearby.

Warnings: coulrophobia (fear of clowns), mentions of the IT movie and pennywise.

Word Count: 2.5k

Идиоты. - ‘Idiots.’

Requests are open!

“I vote action movie”

“We watched an Action movie last week, Sam.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly looking up and meeting my eyes, earning a small smile in return, attempting to provide some sanity for the man.

“Plus, do you not think we’ve had enough action for one week?” Bucky grumbled, this week having taken a toll on everyone. We were all exhausted from our missions, some more than others, the soldier being one of them.

“Okay okay, no action, damn” Sam put his hands up in defeat, accepting that he wasn’t going to win this one. A few more options had been suggested, Bruce suggested rom-com, Thor suggested comedy, Vision proposed a documentary, all of which were shut down with groans and sounds of protest.

I turned to my assassin girlfriend who had been sitting beside me watching the scene unfold with an amused smirk on her face, her green eyes darting around the room whenever someone else spoke and taking sips of the drink she had in her hand. I nudged her slightly to get her attention

“Hey.”

“Hi”

“If it was up to you, what would you choose for movie night?” I asked. She morphed her face into a thoughtful one, still with a slight smile on her face, taking time to make her decision.

“If it was completely up to me? I would-”

“Aha!” Tony interrupted with a loud snap of his fingers. “I know, we haven’t watched a horror movie in a while, and the new IT movie just came out, we can watch that” He smirked, proud of his contribution to the discussion at hand. I looked around the room, praying that they would pick anything else, literally anything, even Vision’s documentary.

Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be really into it as they all shared nod’s and “yeah” “sounds good” before splitting up to go and get their snacks and blankets to bring back to the large sofa.

Although I wouldn't admit it to the rest of the group, I was absolutely terrified of clowns and have been since I was a child. If there was a clown at a birthday party or an event, I’d pretend I was sick so that my mum wouldn’t make me go. She soon noticed a pattern in my behaviour, putting the pieces together and realising that I hadn't come down with the flu three times that month, I was avoiding the ‘entertainment’ of the parties.

She tried explaining that it was just a guy in makeup and a funny suit, showing off fun tricks and jokes. However, 9 year old me still refused to attend, faking a sneeze and hiding under the blanket.

“Woah, Y/L/N, you good over there?” Tony furrowed his brows, concern written all over his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I wish it was a ghost.

I regained my composure, nodding and sending a firm smile his way, hoping that would be enough to prevent any further questioning. With a shrug, he made his way out of the room and caught up with Thor to explain what ‘IT’ was.

“You don’t look so good, sure you’re okay?” Nat placed her hand on my back, rubbing small, reassuring circles with her palm. I wanted to put on a brave face and tell her I was fine, that there wasn’t a problem and my heart wasn’t racing with fear, but the look on her face, while caring and concerned, was also warning me not to lie to her. Not that i’d manage anyway, she always had ways of finding out the truth eventually.

I shook my head, letting out a small sigh and turning in my seat to address her. My eyes met hers and I felt my heart settle slightly just by looking at her, she always made me feel safe.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” She whispered, her hand coming up to rest on my cheek, her thumb stroking my cheekbone in small movements.

“It’s so silly, really.”

“Nothing is silly if it’s upsetting you Detka. Tell me.”

“It’s this movie.”

The confusion was obvious on her face, yet she stayed quiet, allowing me to elaborate.

“I just, I’ve never been the best with clowns. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had this fear of them. If I saw one, I’d run in the opposite direction, which was more often than one would think. I mean, seriously, who wants one of those things at a party? What happened to princess parties? Or tea parties!” I exclaimed, my tone becoming more intense as I spoke.

Natasha nodded, I could almost see the cogs turning in her head, figuring out how to approach the situation. After a minute or two, she focused her eyes back on me and her hands had trailed down to meet with mine, interlocking them in the process.

“Do you want to skip it tonight?” She suggested.

“No, no, I don’t want to cause a fuss. Plus, I kinda don’t want the others knowing.”

“Are you absolutely sure? I’m sure we can pull a sickie for one night.”

“I’m sure. Just, can you stay next to me? And let me hide if it gets really bad?”

“Of course you can. I’ll be next to you the whole time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

___________________

We were at the haunted house scene in the movie. There had already been jumpscares that I'd managed to avoid for the most part, but I don’t think I've moved past Georgie’s death yet, let alone have time to process the psycho killer clown on the screen.

Eddie was in a room alone, he was staring at this dirty, old fridge and a white hand had appeared, curling itself around and tapping on the side so you could only see it’s fingers. I tugged the blanket that was laid across Natasha and i’s laps and pulled it up to my nose, eyes still on the screen, but prepared to take cover. It appears as though nothing has changed from all those years ago.

As the fridge door creaked open, my blanket had raised higher and higher, my grip tightening by the second while the hand reappeared, this time, you could see it’s entire body contorted into this small space.

“Nope. No, absolutely fucking not. No.” I mumbled, covering my eyes with my fluffy shield. Luckily, Nat had stolen the sofa at the back, meaning I could skip the scary parts without anyone taking much notice, them being too entranced by the movie. Weirdo’s.

In my safety bubble I'd created, I felt my girlfriend’s hand on my thigh, rubbing small circles to reassure me that I was okay, and that she was here. I shuffled a little so I was closer to her, if that was even possible, her then adjusting so that her hand was still on my thigh, but another arm was wrapped securely around me, pulling me into her side a little more.

I assumed we would stay like that for a bit, until she started to shift more noticeably and lifted the part of the blanket closest to her, and put it over her own head, taking me by surprise, a faint gasp leaving my lips when seeing that she’d joined me.

“You doing okay under here?” She spoke softly, a hint of amusement playing on her face as she looked at me folded up into a ball.

“I am. This blanket protects me from all.”

“Of course it does, the fluffier it is, the more protection, right?” She quoted words i’d spoken earlier on when bringing in the blanket for us.

“Are you sure you’re not going to boil under there?”

“Nope. And even if I do, the fluffier the blanket, the more protection from cannibal clowns.” I’d explained proudly. Yes, I'm an Avenger that fights extraterrestrials and demigods and still runs to a blanket for safety, leave me alone.

We stayed under there for a minute or two, holding hands and sharing small kisses while the movie continued and we hid in our little bubble.

“C’mon lovebirds, the movie isn’t over yet, you can continue that when we’ve gone to bed if you must.” Stark called out, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and retreat back to her previous position.

I don’t know what ran through my mind, I clearly didn’t think twice about the situation I was in, my default being to follow Natasha and pull the blanket down and off my head. Upon resurfacing from my cocoon, I looked towards the Television. Bad idea. With a shriek that I'm almost certain could be heard from Asgard, I flew under the blanket again after seeing Pennywise with all of his teeth on show, edging towards Eddie to eat him.

Natasha’s arms wound their way around me again, slightly shaking now from the fright. Even though the blanket tended to muffle sounds, I could hear the room fill with laughter and comments from the Avengers.

“I didn’t know your voice could go that high Y/L/N”

“Pennywise! You scared Y/N!”

“Y/N, it’s literally-”

“How about you guys shut up and watch the movie? Otherwise I swear to god Thor, I’ll bring snakes in here and Sam, I’ll cut the wings off of your suit.” I heard the redhead next to me threaten, alongside some more punishments to the others who laughed, immediately silencing them, all of them knowing that she wasn’t one for an empty threat.

Even though the laughter died down and no more words were spoken, tears still built up in my eyes and were daring to fall down my cheeks. I feel so embarrassed. A room full of superheroes and I was scared to death over a fictional clown in front of all of them.

I tried to keep my sniffles to a minimum and at a level where no one could hear me, however, they seemed to have caught Nat’s attention as she whispered to me, loud enough for me to hear, but quietly so that it was only me that could hear.

“Mind if I come in?”

I chose not to verbally respond, instead, I pulled the edge of the blanket up, allowing her to bend down and make her way underneath. After making herself comfortable, she turned to me and did, what felt like study, my face before tutting under her breath.

“Идиоты. Are you okay?” I smiled at her speaking Russian. She often switched between the two, interchanging within sentences. I’d been around her enough to pick up on some of the terms, funnily enough she’d said that word so often, my understanding was immediate.

“Feeling a bit humiliated” My voice came out weak and slightly gravelly from the crying, her thumb immediately wiped the tears off of my cheeks, lingering afterwards.

“Don’t be. Everyone has their fears, you shouldn’t be embarrassed by having them. Okay? It just means you're human.” She patiently explained, sparking a question to leave my lips before realising.

“Do you have a fear?”

She smiled “mhm”

“Can I know what it is?”

She leaned in closer to me, lips hovering beside my ear so I could feel and hear her breathing quietly.

“Идиоты” She whispered, resulting in me clamping my hand over my mouth to limit the noise my laughter was making.

“There’s that smile I love.” She took my chin in her index finger and her thumb, her face once again, coming closer towards mine before our lips met in the middle, sharing a soft, quick kiss, distracting me from any embarrassment i’d previously felt.

________________

The movie had just finished, everyone was getting up and starting to clear up any mess they’d made, mainly popcorn that had fallen everywhere, Wanda and Vision being the main culprit, jumping at the scary parts had caused a popcorn avalanche near their seats.

Nat and I gathered our blankets and snacks we’d brought in, trying to ignore the slight tension hanging in the air, and just as we were about to walk to our bedroom, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Peter.

Rocking back and forth on his heels and fidgeting with his hands, he smiled.

“Hey, uh- miss Y/L/N. Miss Romanoff, sorry, I just wanted to come and make sure you were okay.” He rushed, clearly anxious to approach us considering the telling off Natasha gave everyone earlier.

“I’m okay, thank you Peter. You can call me Y/N by the way, ‘miss’ makes me feel old.” I chuckled, visibly seeing his shoulders relax at my response, he was really sweet, never wanting to get on anyone’s bad side. He’s a good kid.

“Sorry mi-,Y/N, sorry, I’ll remember for next time. That movie was pretty freaky, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“I will, thank you.”

Feeling more relaxed, I made a slow but steady beeline for the bedroom, wanting to have cuddles with Nat and go to sleep, hopefully forget the movie ever happened. Soon enough, we were both changed into a vest top, I wore a pair of shorts and Nat wore a pair of sweats and we were in bed, facing each other with our legs tangled together, our noses bumping every so often.

“I love you” I mumbled in between kisses, eyes opening briefly to be met by her green orbs looking back at me.

“I love you more, Detka.”

A silence then overtook the room, only being able to hear the breeze outside and a slight whistle from where it was flying through the trees. I’d usually adore this, finding peace in the wind and the darkness, tonight however, it felt unsettling. All I could hear in my head was the soundtrack to the movie, picturing the bloody teeth and that creepy smile from earlier in my head.

“Love?” I nudged my girlfriend’s nose gently, hoping she was still somewhat awake.

“Mhmm?”

“Can you, can you possibly sing to me?” Her eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile on her face, wrapping her arms tightly around me before humming a quiet melody, sending me into a blissful sleep.

By noon the next day, I had received apologies from everyone in the compound, a couple of bone crushing hugs from Thor and some complementary pancakes that Wanda had made with some help from Bruce, aprons on and covered in flour. Everyone tucked into their individual stacks, enjoying some lighthearted conversation, Nat taking the opportunity to press a small kiss to the back of my hand, I quickly returned the gesture. It was lovely.

Movie night was a rollercoaster, but at the end of the day, I was surrounded by the best people, and nothing would change that, not even the fear of clowns.

Though they’re still really fucking scary.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

[chippedaxe]

stepcest with dom!george x transgirl! reader where they’re doing a stream together and suddenly george has to go off camera to do something but hes actually sucking off his step sister off screen

-🧝🏼‍♀️ anon

*°:⋆ₓₒ　　ₓₒ⋆:°*

Title: ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ꜰᴜʟʟ

Warnings: NSFW (Minors DNI), stepcest, humiliation if you squint

Pronouns: she/they , amab

Synopsis: George sucks off the reader whilst they try to behave on stream.

Word count: 1.3k

Note: deez nutz. I fucken love women <3

*unedited

- I couldn't think of a good title so shut up, this is also rlly bad tbh but like idk...

*°:⋆ₓₒ　　ₓₒ⋆:°*

George glanced at you through the camera every so often, eyes studying your perfect face. "George? What're you looking at?" you gave him a small smirk "I was just looking at the camera, not everything is about you!" he playfully rolled his eyes at you before trying to continue the game.

Your hand slipped and you let go of the mouse which caused your game to crash "Aw shit! George, can you help me out?" you called out to him "Oh yeah, sorry stream but I gotta go- my sister needs me" George then quickly ended his stream and came over to your room to help you fix things up.

You had paused your stream so that you could get George to fix up your game for you, He clicked a few things on your monitor before pausing for a moment "Just click that in a moment and the game should be back" he explained. You were about to click but stopped when you watched him crouch down and get under your desk "hm? What're you doing?" you thought he might just be fixing your wires for you but his intentions were more prominent when you felt his hands crawling up your legs.

"H-Hey! Don't do that, I'm about to unpause the stream and I don't want anything.. Y'know.. bad to happen?" you hesitated "Don't worry about it darling, just try to keep quiet and play the game for me.." George winked at you from between your legs. You gulped nervously and clicked the button so that now your stream could see you, you brought the game back up and started to play by yourself.

You winced as you felt yourself harden, a bead of sweat already starting to form on your forehead. Your face was turning darker and there's no way you didn't look like a mess right now! George leaned forward and started to leave little kisses on the inside of your thigh, pulling your skirt up to give him more room between your legs.

George ran his hand over your thigh before palming your crotch, you squeaked softly before shutting your mouth and holding your breath. He slowly pulled your underwear to the side and stuck his tongue out, the tip of your cock pressing against his soft lips. God, he looked so good like that.

'where did Gogy go?' the chat would ask. Shit. Shit. What were you meant to say?? "Sorry chat but he's got his mouth full- SCHEDULE. He's got his schedule full, he had to leave and stop streaming!" you exclaimed. Your breathing started to become very heavy as you tried to focus on not making any sound.

A part of you thought it was really funny to be in a situation like this but another part of you felt embarrassed and ashamed, imagine if you guys actually got caught! It's not just some thing where you two are dating- you two are stepsiblings and getting caught would put you guys into deep shit!

"Ah!" you froze in your seat, hips shuddering against George's tongue 'WHAT WAS THAT' Chat was now going crazy with people talking about your little moan "A-Aw yeah, when Dream does it its fine but when its me its not?" you tried to cover it up by blaming Dream. You assumed that chat believed you and tried to go back to your game, falling in game every so often due to your body shaking in pleasure.

You turned your mic off for a moment to speak to George "G-George stop! I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that!" you whispered loudly in a scared voice "That's the plan, darling" George shrugged your pleas off and tuned out to your words. The only thing George was responding to at the moment was your moans "W-We're gonna get caught! At least let me end the stream!" you moved forward to end your stream but George grabbed onto your legs roughly.

You stopped and fell back a bit "h-huh??" you cried out "No, keep streaming or I won't let you cum" George growled "What??? B-But!!" you pleaded "Be a good girl and unmute yourself, I bet your chat is wondering what's going on" George shushed you up and continued his work between your legs.

His hand groped at your shaft, moving up and down as he sucked on the head of your aching penis. You bit down on your finger and tried to make it look like you were just getting frustrated at the game, you banged your knee on the table when George took your full length in his mouth which made you let out a loud groan "AH! Shit- sorry chat, hit my knee.." you knew you wouldn't be able to get away with using that excuse again and you'd need to actually shut up.

George bobbed his head even faster and it was hard not to cum right there in your seat, your eyes started to well up with tears as the pleasure was getting too much and you weren't able to show how good you were feeling. You blinked the tears away but the look of desperation and frustration was still evident on your face.

"This stream has been going on for 3 hours, I should be ending soon, right guys?" Although your question seemed directed to the audience it was really for George. You had hoped that he'd let you end the stream and allow you to cum, you looked down at him quickly to see what he'd say about that and he looked slightly pissed.

Your eyes widened slightly at the corners as you thought he might be actually angry with you, you muted for a quick second and asked what was wrong "If you're planning to cum then you'll cum on stream, you can mute all you want but I want to see you try to keep it under control" George took my penis out of his mouth and gave it a few quick strokes.

"F- Fine.." You knew you were gonna get him back for this. You unmuted again and held your head in your hands, you were for sure gonna lose it! The stream will know and then the whole internet will find out and then your parents will kill both of you! I mean- At least that weird side of twitter would be happy.

You played around on your monitor, letting out a soft breathy moan when George fondled your balls and ran his finger along your vein. You bit down on your lip as you felt it about to happen, finger switching your mic off to save you from what was about to happen. You put your hand over your mouth and hoped to fucking god that everything would be okay "G-Gonna cum!!" you warned George.

He didn't respond but instead starting going faster, hollowing his cheeks to squeeze around your cock "Ah fuck! Fuck! George!" you closed your eyes, your knees shaking below the table. Your cock twitched before releasing your sperm into George's mouth, his tongue lapping every last bit of it up to drink.

You were left panting and sweaty, switching your mic back on for a moment to tell everyone you were now leaving "Goodbye guys! Thank you for joining me on stream!" you gave them a small wave goodbye before turning the whole thing off. You leaned back in your chair and looked down at George who was on the floor smirking up at you.

"I hope you're really proud of yourself, that was horrible!" you told him off for it "Really? It looked like you were having so much fun though!" George laughed "That's not what I mean!" you crossed your arms "Anyways, better clean up before we meet back up with Mum/Mom and Dad" George crawled out from beneath your table and walked off which left you to clean up yourself.

[ickle-ronniekins]

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @acciotwinz @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @highly-acidic @90shermione @zreads @holland-parkers @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @awritingtree @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyinhserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight @hannolannno @msmimimerton @oh-for-merlins-sake @hufflepuff5972 @pigwidgexn @sarcasticallywitty15 @breadqueen95 @teawiththeweasleys @pit-and-the-pen @phuvioqhile @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @harrypotter289 @lovefromrosie | message me if you’d like to be added or removed or have changed your URL so i can update!

[illogicalthinking]

The Burn Within

warnings: Some NSFW language (Remus), blood/ bruises mention, hurt no comfort and self hatred 

word count: 1883

authors note: for this fic i used a prompt by @just-another-ts-prompt-blog which can be found: here 

hope you enjoy!

Whilst the ‘light’ and ‘dark’ sides preferred to keep their distance from each other, they had to share certain parts of Thomas’s mind. For example, they shared a common area, and the imagination was split into two separate realms, much like Roman and Remus: Whilst one contained multiple castles and kingdoms living in harmony with each other, the other was a prison of living nightmares. 

However, this arrangement did not bring them any closer to each other. The light sides tried to avoid the dark sides at all costs. Remus often played pranks on the others such as swapping the sugar out for salt, spiking drinks with inedible products, and stealing utensils. 

This made meal times extremely difficult to control: Virgil would hiss and hide, Patton would try and fail to diffuse the situation, Janus would watch in entertainment and Roman was never around to witness. The only side that could keep the sides from murdering each other was Logan. 

Today seemed like one of those days. 

“Virgil could you please come down from there, Remus did not do anything” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was far too early for this, Logan muttered to himself whilst taking a large sip of coffee from his “worlds best mum” mug. 

“He walked in whilst we were making coffee, that’s more than enough reason to hide. What if he put baby powder in my drink again? I’m going to die because of him!” Virgil hissed from his place on the top of the fridge, hoodie covering his frantic eyes. 

Virgil had been more paranoid than usual after the recent video. He had fallen back into his old habit of hissing at the other sides when stressed. It concerned Patton greatly. 

“Oh please sunshine, there is a higher chance of me fucking a woman with 3 arms than there is me spiking your drink again, I just walked in!” Remus exclaimed as he passed Virgil on the fridge to the dining table. 

“Whilst Remus vocalized his argument in a very unprofessional manner, he is right, we have been awake for approximately 1 hour and 15 minutes whereas, by the looks of it, Remus has only been awake for around 10 minutes.” Logan made sure to maintain eye contact with Virgil whilst voicing his opinion to ensure Virgil knows he’s telling the truth. “There is nothing to worry about Virgil, you are safe” 

“Thanks, L” 

“You're welcome, now please come down from there, it is very dangerous to be sitting in places you are not supposed to be sitting”

-

-

After the incident this morning between Virgil and Remus, Logan remained seated in the common room, his back straight against the recliner with his laptop placed on his lap. He was researching content for a Sanders side video they will be filming in the evening. He did not do this in his room due to not wanting another incident like this morning. Logan is the only side that is willing to deal with the incidents, while the other sides (particularly Janus and Roman) are too impatient and often make the situation worse. 

Throughout the whole day, Logan continued to research the link between intrusive thoughts and depression. Thomas had recently been showing signs of this mental illness and Logan wanted to bring it up to him via a video. However, there was a small issue, Logan would have to have all the other sides present including Janus and Remus. He needed Janus because Thomas listened to him more than Logan (much to the latter's dismay) and Remus represented intrusive thoughts. It would only be fair to have Remus take part in a discussion about him, even if the light sides had a problem with this. 

Happy with his research, Logan snapped his laptop shut. Due to none of the other sides entering the common room after this morning's incident, Logan concluded it was safe to retreat into his room because he was not needed to split up another argument yet.

To Logan's annoyance, it was time to film the video for Thomas' youtube channel. After the events of putting others first, Logan had started to dread taking part in videos. This was because Janus proved he could take his role as logic, and remain loved and respected whilst providing the necessary information Thomas needed. 

“Enough of the self-loathing, Logan, now is not the time,” Logan muttered to himself as he sank down into Thomas’s living room. This evening is going to be a long one for all of the sides, especially Logan. 

-

-

Logan didn’t know how much longer he could handle the arguing. 

None of the other sides were listening to his facts or solutions, too busy pinning the blame on each other for Thomas’s current problem. Roman and Remus were currently swords to mace, about to start a physical fight, Janus remained by Patton’s side trying and failing to calm him down before he turned back into a frog and Virgil remained curled up on his side, his hoodie covered the majority of him but Logan could still see him shaking. 

 Something had to shut them up.

I will shut them up, Logan thought to himself. Logan became alarmed by the sudden aggressive thoughts. He may have a short fuse but he wasn’t usually aggressive, not without guilt eating away at him. However, this time Logan had no guilt attached to this thought and he shivered at the realisation. 

This time was different he reminded himself and with that thought, Logan snapped

“Will you all shut up and listen to what I have to say for once!” Logan all but screamed at the top of his lungs, ensuring he was heard over the arguing. 

The silence that came after was enough evidence for logan to continue:

“People who suffer from depression often get stuck with a single or even several intrusive thoughts that arise frequently. These types of repetitive intrusive thoughts are known as 'rumination'.”

 “The whole point of me organising this stupid video was to bring this statement to Thomas’ attention and guide him with the help of Janus to seek professional help. You all arguing like a group of immature school children was not part of the script, now if you would excuse me I am going to make myself useful for once and leave” Logan huffed, glad to get that out of his system. Even after snapping, the guilt never choked him like it usually would, which disturbed him greatly.

“Logan, wait!”  Virgil pleaded, but it was too late.

“I said I was leaving, now fuck off and leave me alone” Logan hissed at him, the guilt still not reaching him.

Happy with this statement. Logan sunk out of the living room back to his room, leaving six shocked and petrified individuals behind.

“What just happened?” Thomas said to nobody in particular. 

“I do not know but it’s best to leave him alone, let’s just get this shit show over and done with” Virgil muttered, far too anxious about Logan to care about the video.

Logan what happened to you. Virgil thought. 

-

-

When Logan rose up into his bedroom he could not hold it in anymore. All of the pent-up frustration from being ignored for months became too much for the logical side, causing him to slam his fists into the nearest wall. However, without realizing it, Logan’s fist struck a family photo of all the sides surrounding a very happy Thomas. 

For some reason seeing the shattered photo frame on the floor and the glass sticking out of his broken skin caused something within him to break.

 For the first time in months, Logan allowed himself to cry out all of his frustrations. 

After what seemed like hours, Logan finally got up from his place on his bed. He noted that his eyes were swollen and his hand was covered in dry blood and bruises. He did not want to get up and clean his mistake, but he knew he had to because the others would ask questions and he did not want that. Logan did not want the other side’s sympathy. It was a little too late for them and Thomas to care about him but he had to stay because Thomas needed him. They needed him.

“Do they need you though, Logan? Come on, you’re just as useful as me right now and you know it.” A harsh voice sneered into the cold room. Logan immediately knew who it was. 

“Be quiet Orange, no matter how much Thomas tries to push me aside, I won’t leave because I am his logic, and Thomas needs his logical side. 

“Come on Logan deep down you know I am right, let me prove it to you”

“Let’s just say you were correct in your hypothesis, what happens after that?” Logan sneered. He was far too exhausted to deal with this right now, and he just wanted to sleep.

“Let me show you”

“If I trusted you I would be breaking trust with the others and Thomas and I cannot do that. Thomas’s welfare is my number one priority and I cannot cause any harm to them, no matter how much they have hurt me”

“Oh please Logan, Thomas has not given a shit about you since the beginning. Where is your video, Logan? All the other sides have an episode focused on them, even Remus! And Thomas hates the guy! Do something for yourself for once in your life and listen to me, I can make them listen to you but you have to trust me,” Orange whispered to Logan. Logan knew deep down that what orange was saying was correct, he did not just want to admit it to himself. Until now, that is.

“Fine, what do you have in mind?”

-

-

It has been approximately one hour since Logan had sunk out of the video, and Janus was getting worried. No matter how much he tried to get a hand on Logan and summon, he couldn’t. Logan was unreachable

The twins were arguing and Patton and Janus couldn't find a middle ground. Finally, they summoned Logan, needing an impartial side. But when he appears, something is different.

He was wearing a long-sleeve dress shirt, much fancier than usual. He had streaked eyeliner and his glasses were different. He was not wearing a tie.

“Logan? What happened?” Thomas asked, hesitant like he almost doesn’t want to know.

Patton had his hand to his mouth. He spoke up after a moment, “Logan, you look like… like a dark side. What did you do?”

Logan’s voice was quiet and soft like if he spoke too loud he might break. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t try to do this, I-” he cut himself off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I have become obsolete.” His voice broke on the last word and he clamped his mouth shut.

“No, Logan!” Thomas immediately disagreed. “We need Logic!”

Logan nodded, eyes still trained on the floor. “Yes, you do need logic. But . . . you don’t want me”

And with that, Logan sank out for the second time that night, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke that soon vanished, just like he did.

The others could not do anything but feel the burn within. 

What had they done?

[gucciwins]

Frosty the Snowman

Harry and Y/N love the holiday season but Harry takes the teasing a bit to far and well Y/N decides to give it right back. 

Word Count: 5126

A/N: hello! thank you so much to @goldenbluesuit for organizing this wonderful christmas fic challenge. thank you for allowing me to participate, kate. i’m so happy i got to be a part of it. merry christmas and happy holidays to you all. sending you all a big hug and lots of love. 

_____

Christmas has never been much of importance in your life.

That was until you began dating Harry.

 Harry and his family loved celebrating in particular because Harry was gone for so many months of the year. They loved giving gifts, and Harry loved spoiling his family. He was a true family man who loved to be doted on by his mother and teased relentlessly by his older sister. His smile never leaves his face when he's with them.  

Ever since Harry found out how you spent the holidays alone drinking wine and hot chocolate on and off and binging all the best holiday movies. He declared that was not acceptable and that furthermore and until the end of time you would be spending it with him and his family. 

The first year was something out of a storybook, a house full of kids and adults, Christmas music all day, and a big festive dinner. Gifts passed around, photos being taken to be added to the end of year scrapbooks. Lots of stories being told; honestly, it overwhelmed you. 

Anne found you outside wrapped up in Harry's coat that you swiped before slipping out unseen. She stood next to you, overlooking her garden with you. "My son loves you; he's brought you here not to overwhelm you but to let you know that you have a family here, and you always will." You let your tears run free, feeling comforted, and loved. "I've never seen him shine as bright as he does when he's with you and when he's speaking of you. We all want you here as much as he does." Anne then pulled you into a long hug, the motherly hug you never got growing up.  Reminded you not to stay out too long. 

Three Christmases later, you now take part in family traditions, helping Anne cook dinner and staying in sweats and playing family games all of Boxing Day. 

It's what makes your move to London with your boyfriend of four years easy. Knowing they want you there, knowing that the love Harry has for you won't fade, you've gone through many hurdles together, and it only strengthened your bond to one another. 

Four years together, and you're still learning new things about each other, like Harry having to have coffee first thing in the morning, bread was a must-have always in the house, and that he owned more mugs than he needed. He picked up that you adored your shoes, meaning you wouldn't throw them out until they were ripped and beat up enough for a new pair. Also learned that you rather eat lots of fruit during the day than making food in the kitchen because it meant more dishes that would be needed to wash. You loved doing the laundry, Harry knew it was to steal his shirts, but he didn't mind. He always knew where to find them. 

The one thing that really surprised him was your love for Christmas music; you knew every song, maybe couldn't remember the name, but you would be able to sing it. It never failed to make him smile; you even knew ‘Feliz Navidad’ and didn't butcher it as he did. 

Your love for Christmas music was signified because you never celebrated the holiday, and music was easy to access. It was what you immersed yourself in. 

This is why Harry is confused when he hears you begin to sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ under your breath, then switching to a soft hum in the tune of the song as you start to place your freshly washed sweats in their drawers. 

Harry was not sure why you did that; you loved singing out loud. You had a decent voice, as you liked to say, but why switch. 

You're clueless to Harry watching you, deep in thought, trying his best to analyze you. 

Then Harry gasps; it all clicks, making sense. 

You raise your head to look at him, shutting the drawer with your hip. "What?"

"You don't know the lyrics." Harry accuses. 

"To what?" You step towards the bed, wanting to finish the rest of this to finally go down and each lunch. 

"Frosty the Snowman."

"I do." You defend.

Harry smirks, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"No." 

"Why not?"

You frown before taking a deep breath and begin to hum the song correctly to Harry. 

"Okay, you know the tune, now the lyrics." He gestures for you to go on.

"Frosty the snowman..." Your voice dies down, you rake your brain for the correct lyrics, sending a smaller prayer you're right. "had a shiny nose?" 

"Oh, this is golden, love." He's laughing now. It's filling up the room. 

"Harry," You whine. 

"You call yourself the Christmas Queen." Harry is holding his stomach, his laughter getting to be too much. "Next, you're going to tell me you don't know the lyrics to 'All I Want For Christmas Is You.'"

"How dare you, that came out in our birth year." You're over making fun of you. 

"Okay fine, but really so many years, and you never learned. You said you love all Christmas music, and well, that's a classic, dove."  

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers getting caught on the tips for not brushing it out. "I never actually got to make a snowman, so I never listened to the lyrics."

"Are you secretly a Grinch as well?" Harry teases.

You throw a balled-up shirt of his and hit him square in the face; it quiets him down. "Conversation over." 

You walk out of the room, leaving him alone, to his chuckling. 

_____

In your home, something was always baking. 

It was either Harry trying to better his last bread or you baking a new vegan cake that Gemma sent you. 

It's something you both loved to do.

For you, though, it was your own form of meditation. No matter the time of day, if you felt your head spinning, you'd just head to the kitchen and begin to take out ingredients letting that be your only focus. The Great British Baking Show also brings a lot of comfort to you, Harry happily laying his head on your lap, your hand running through his hair as you just let the show play on and on. 

Now, you're in the kitchen for a whole other reason; you're baking gingerbread cookies, from snowflakes to snowman and even little reindeer. Harry has invited friends over for a fun holiday decorating party. It sounded like a good idea until he left you to do it all yourself as he ran errands that he pushed off for a week. 

Thankfully, there were no distractions during the time it took you to make one hundred cookies because there would be casualties during the decorating. Just as you were putting the last dozen on the cooling rack, does your phone ring causing it to cut off Paul McCartney's singing of 'Wonderful Christmastime.'

As you pick it up to answer, you check the caller id and see that it's Gemma calling. 

Gemma forgoes a greeting and goes straight to the reason for her call. 

"You don't know 'Frosty the Snowman!'" She exclaims more than asks. 

"I'm going to kill him." You groan into the phone. 

Gemma laughs, "No, no, please don't. Mum likes you too much to see you behind bars."

"Gem, he's been relentless." Thinking back to the past few days and how he'd randomly come up to you and just begin to sing the lyrics to you, not shutting up until you tickled him too much to continue. "Please don't let it come up later." 

"I've got you," Gemma assures you. 

"Thank you."

"As long," Gemma begins, but you groan jokingly into the phone. 

"Go on," You sigh, knowing this is how the eldest Styles sibling acts.  

"As long as you tell me what Harry bought mum for Christmas."

"Alright, fair." Very well, Harry would most likely spoil this himself the closer the holiday arrives. 

Just as you were about to spoil Harry's gift, he walks through the kitchen, saved by the devil himself. "I'll tell you later when you get here." You tell Gemma, smiling at Harry as you bid his sister goodbye.  

"Who was it, love?" Harry asks, kissing you lightly on your lips, being able to taste the gingerbread on your lips that makes him beeline to the cooled cookies. 

"Gems, a huge birdie told her I don't know the lyrics to a popular song." You lean against the counter, smiling as he has a cookie in hand already; he is also a big reason you made so many. 

"Hey," He says, offended, a cookie half shoved in his mouth. "I'm not huge." 

"Never said it was you, hun." You smirk. "Thanks for fessing up."

He pouts, not liking that you outsmarted him. 

"Might want to watch the cookies." You pinch his love handles, snatching what was left of the cookie from his hand and heading upstairs. 

Harry watches you walk away, upset that you stole his cookie; also, he knows you love his winter gains. 

_____

You and Harry are up fairly early, he likes to go on a run around the neighborhood, but you like going to the park. This morning you skipped your run because Harry was meeting up with a friend for breakfast. 

Sure, you got up at your usual time at 7am and began to prepare yourself breakfast. You usually drank coffee with Harry and seeing as he wasn't here, you decided to skip it, instead going straight to the fridge to get the fruits and orange juice to make a smoothie. Something simple, not wanting to clean much after. 

As you finally settled on the couch, getting ready to read Educated by Tara Westover, a book Gemma recommended to her then gifted to her. Tara's memoir is her story of how she comes from a Mormon background and recounts how she educated herself to go to college and learn about the world. It's a Friday, and what better way to spend it lost in a book. 

You had just flipped it open when your phone rang, alerting you to a message. As much as you didn't want to check because you were finally in a comfortable position, you knew it could easily be Harry checking in who gets worried about not getting a reply even five minutes after. He's a worrier at heart. 

As you retrieve it and settle yourself back down, not at all comfortable anymore, you see it's a message from Iz. She was the first friend you made on your own that Harry didn't introduce you to. Iz saw you at a coffee shop you began to frequent and complimented your tote bag that had wildflowers embroidered on it. You thanked her and shared you made it. Iz was shocked, just throwing compliment after compliment. You offered to make her one, but she said you had better teach her instead. Thus, a friendship began. 

Her message read: 

Radio 1 Breakfast Show. Listen in! 

It was definitely a strange message coming from Iz, but you did as told. 

Greg James was saying goodbye to his special guest, no idea who it was. "Before he signs off, he's going to play you one of his favorite Christmas songs," Greg says, then silences, allowing his guest a moment before speaking. 

"This week's Christmas song is in honor of my girlfriend who loves singing Frosty the Snowman... without knowing the lyrics. Happy Holidays."  

Your jaw drops. 

That your boyfriend's voice. You are the girlfriend. 

He went on record. 

Harry really went on live radio to tell thousands that you don't know the lyrics to a Christmas classic. 

You want to laugh because you never expected this from him and are annoyed that something personal now the whole world will know by the end of the day. 

You can't wait until he arrives home.

"Harry Edward Styles!" You yell as you hear Harry open the front door. 

He looks sheepish. "Yes, my darling angel."

"You told me you were having breakfast with Greg James, not that you were going to be on the Breakfast show."

"I took muffins, and they provided coffee, therefore, breakfast." Harry defends

"You exposed me to all of the UK to not knowing 'Frosty the Snowman.'"

"No one knows you're my girlfriend." Harry tries to brush it off.

"We've been dating four years; I'm not that much of a secret. Anne posts me on her story from time to time, and your friends follow my Instagram, fuck; you've introduced me to Greg." You're not angry, more annoyed than anything because he won't let this go.

"It's just to give everyone a good laugh; no one is going to hold it against you." 

"No, just my boyfriend and everyone who listens to the Breakfast Show." You cross your arms before storming up the stairs away from Harry. 

"Love? You're not actually mad, right?" Harry asks, pushing the bedroom door open. 

"You even got Iz on it!" Your turn around with a pout on your face. 

Harry laughs. "I honestly thought she wouldn't go through with it."

"Well, I see where her loyalty lies." 

Harry steps close and pulls you into his chest. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him. He knows how much you love his hugs.

"I promise this is the last I mention of it." 

You frown into his chest, not at all believing him. Harry pats your bum, and you take that as the queue to look up at him. He's smiling down at you, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "I promise." 

"Okay, then." You lean in and kiss him, firmer this time and much longer. Harry sneaks his tongue in, instantly getting a moan out of you. 

"I know how you can make it up to me." You gasp, pulling away, 

Harry raises an eyebrow at you. "Do tell." 

A smirk on both your faces as you guide him to the bed, very much hungry for something that wasn't breakfast. 

_____

Harry has the Christmas playlist running; it's a Sunday, meaning they spend it at home doing absolutely nothing. To be truthful, they rolled out of bed past ten and still have their pj's on. Not at all bothering to change, why waste more clothes if no one will see them like this in the comfort of their own home.

You cooked grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and now are playing a game of scrabble.

Harry puts down the word 'light,' then reaching his hand into the black pouch to pick five letters to have seven once again. You are looking back and forth between the board and your letters, thinking of the best place to place your word. 

"I've got a question," Harry says, looking at you, wanting all your attention as well. 

"What is it?" You're focused on your letters. Rearranging them, not putting down the 'q' in your hand. It's currently useless but will eventually give you a word to win the game. Not that you both ever keep points, oh no, that stopped after you beat harry 120 to 66, and he flipped the board, causing letters to fly everyone. You still claim that there are missing letters. 

"Frosty is a cute name."

"Reminds me of that Wendy's dessert. I'm still not sure what made it so good." You say, maybe you should get up and eat some. Harry did just pick up new flavors that he had been wanting to try something about them being richer in flavor. 

"You're getting off track." 

"Sorry, Frosty is cute for what?" You don't let him answer before you're speaking again. "A dog, did you get a dog?" You pause, looking up at him, "a cat, did Anne find a stray and wants to give them to us?" You wait, but Harry is about to crush all your excitement. 

"None of that." He shakes his head at you, and disappointment fills you immediately. 

"Well, can this conversation end then? I'm disappointed." 

"Darling," Harry chastises you for not letting him go on.

"Go on then, mate." You gesture him to continue. Shifting your attention away from the game in front of you.

Harry frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in the sweet way that makes you want to rub them out until he's relaxed. "Why'd you call me, mate?"

"Oh, I've called you this before." You brush off Harry's reactions; he's always dramatic. 

"I'm not your friend." He states.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head and really look at Harry. "Well, of course, you are boyfriend," You emphasize, dragging out the word. "You're my best friend." 

"You can't say boyfriend anymore. I'm your fiancé now." Harry states proudly, but you feel a little dumbfounded, not knowing why he is saying that.

Your eyes widen when you look down at your left hand, and no ring rests on your left ring finger.

"Fuck, I missed your proposal, and the ring got lost." You pout, trying your best to stop the smirk from coming out.  

"Darling, I'm sorry." Harry quickly apologizes. "I'm still your boyfriend, but I will be proposing soon." He promises. "Shit, you were supposed to not even know. I really am bad at hiding things."

"Fuck, you really are." You laugh, "but boyfriend sounds cute. Can't I still say boyfriend when you do?" 

"Doesn't fiancé sound nicer?" Harry tries. 

You shrug. "Not as fun, husband is nice."

"You're rejecting my future proposal, then." Harry is teasing, and you can tell by the sparkle in his forest eyes. 

"Of course not, you dummy. You can be my fiancé and my boyfriend." You tell him like it was the most obvious answer.

"Seems like a lot of work."

"Rude." You stick your tongue at him. 

"Right, love, well try to remember I'm your husband once we're married, no more boyfriend."

"I will, hubby. You're going to be my hubby."

You both go silent.

You burst out laughing, "That's awful, I hate it."

Harry chuckles, nodding his head. "Yeah, I do as well."

"This is why I'm the brains in the relationship." 

"Right," Harry rolls his eyes at you, not at all agreeing.

"Uh, darling, I went to uni and got two degrees while you only finished school at sixteen before going off to steal millions of hearts around the world." 

"Including yours." He teases.

"I was always more a Zayn girl." You correct him.

Harry throws his arms up, "Can never let me win, can you?" 

"Nope"

"We're off-topic." Harry realizing how far they strayed from their starting point. 

"Where did we start?"

"Frosty." 

You sit back, resting against the couch; you take him in and smile at how cuddly he looks in the purple robe that he stopped letting you use. "Well, go on."

"Seeing as-" He pauses, hearing the familiar opening notes to the song he was thinking of. 'Frosty, the Snowman' is now his favorite song. "Perfectly timed, as you don't know the lyrics to Frosty the snowman."

"Gosh, you're never going to let this go," You grumble. 

"Nope. I figured we will have a little fun with this."

"More fun than the breakfast show." 

He gives you a pointed look.

You let out a long sigh, "Let's hear it." 

"You learn all the lyrics and sing it for me, and I'll let you get us a dog or cat." Harry's grinning at his idea, knowing you'll agree without a fight. 

"Can we go to the shelter?" You look like a kid on Christmas morning who had just received their presents from Santa, and in a way, you have.

"Yes, we can. Only if you can learn the entire song." Harry tells you again, wanting to emphasize the singing.

"Done deal." 

"Great, I'm giving you a week." 

You smile wide, nodding, looking, finally focusing back down at your words and the ones Harry has placed. You put down the word 'queen,' and this wins you the non-official game. Harry looks down at his poorly hidden score sheet and curses under his breath. 

"I win." 

Safe to say you lost more letters that day.

_____

It's been a week, and Harry is patiently waiting on their bed as you get ready in your shared closet. Your shared closet is large and mainly holds all of Harry's clothing. You definitely have a nice share of clothes filled with gifts from friends as well as Harry's friends and your treasured thrifted pieces. You smile at yourself in the full-length mirror. 

Harry really can't begin to imagine what you have in store for him. 

The speaker is set out and ready, and all that is needed is for you to make your entrance.

You shake out your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the nerves. You look yourself over one last time before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open. 

"Close your eyes." You call out. 

Harry rolls his eyes but does as he is told.

You walk over to the speaker and press play, letting the music fill the room, making your way to stand in front of Harry, who slowly opens his eyes.

He gasps; he feels himself start to get hard. His eyes can't seem to take everything in fast enough. You smirk, loving the reaction you got out of him. It gives you the extra boost of confidence you were needing. 

You stand there, hand on your hip in a sexy snowman outfit to go with the performance you are about to give.

The dress, if you can consider it with how short it is, has three black buttons in the center. The material hugs your chest nicely, giving Harry a nice view of your breasts that are close to popping out. The dress hugs your waist and begins to flow out right past your butt. You wore your favorite black heels that Harry sometimes begs you not to take off. You had on a plaid scarf and a black hat that matched it perfectly. 

You were the human version of the snowman except for a more rated r version.

Harry is sitting his mouth wide open at a loss for words. You blow him a kiss before letting the song lyrics flow out of you.

Frosty the snowman

Was a jolly happy soul

With a corncob pipe and a button nose

And two eyes made out of coal

You sway your hips side to side, singing, enjoying the ravenous stare he was giving you. You throw the hat, letting it fall at his feet, but not even that breaks the gaze he has on you, not wanting to miss a single movement of yours. 

Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale they say

He was made of snow

But the children know

How he came to life one day

You take a few steps forward, but never enough to allow him to touch you, and he's craving it; you know he is. His hands are gripping his thighs, his knuckles turning whiter by the seconds. 

He still hasn't said a word. You have him mesmerized. 

You sing the lyrics proudly, knowing you practiced all week for this moment. The moment Harry will never forget all the teasing he had been doing, always forgetting you win these battles. 

There must have been some magic in that

Old silk hat they found

For when they placed it on his head

He began to dance around

"Baby," Harry breathes out, putting a hand out to touch you, but you take a step back before he can do so. 

You smirk, shaking your head no at him. You were having a lot more fun than you expected. 

You bend over, slipping off your heels, never breaking eye contact with Harry; he could very easily see up the dress that you had nothing underneath. His green eyes turned dark, and you swore your heart stopped, and you were sure he was about to attack. You were the prey, taunting him until he had enough, but surprisingly enough, he took a deep breath, and his composure was back well, just a bit of it.  

O Frosty the snowman

Was alive as he could be

And the children say he could laugh and play

Just the same as you and me

You stopped right in front of him. Harry's eyes trained on your red lips, hanging out to every word you were singing. You reached a hand back and began to unzip the dress. The grin on your face excited for the next reaction you were about to receive. 

Once you reached the bottom of your back, the dress fell to the floor. Harry let out a loud gasp. Your breasts on display, the small owl tattoo on your hip staring at him, he could see how wet you were, and all he wanted was his head between your thighs as you screamed his name. 

You were a dream. You missed Harry's touch. It was the reason you stepped close enough for him to finally pull you in. 

He led them down the streets of town

Right to the traffic cop

And he only paused a moment when

He heard them holler "Stop!"

Harry has no expression on his face as he sits you on his lap. He lets his head fall into your next, feeling how wet you are through his thin sweats. You move to stand up, but he grips your hips tightly, thrusting his hips against yours, searching for some kind of relief or a reaction from you because you still haven't stopped singing. 

"Baby, stop singing." His hand is cradling your cheek as his lust-filled eyes stare at you. 

You shake your head, not letting him distract you. The only piece of clothing left was the scarf, and Harry lets out a growl before ripping your scarf off your neck, throwing it off to the side.

Now you truly sit there naked in his lap, and you feel all the control you have over him. The song is coming to an end, meaning you've got to remove yourself from your favorite place to sit but knowing you'll be back there soon enough. 

Frosty the snowman

Had to hurry on his way

But he waved goodbye, saying

"Don't you cry I'll be back again someday"

You sing the final lyrics in his ear before walking away to turn off the speaker, an extra sway to your hips, knowing Harry is very well still watching your every move. You stand a delighted look on your face as you wait for his praise. 

"Those were the longest two minutes of my life," Harry says; he puts a hand over his heart, feeling like it might just burst out. "I'm never going to be able to listen to this song in public or around anyone that isn't you." 

You smirk, thrilled to hear that.

"What did I do to end up with someone as beautiful and perfect as you in my life." He confesses. 

"Probably stopped a war in a past life." You throw out jokingly. 

Harry puckers his lips and makes grabby hands at you. "Kissy, please?"

And who are you to say no? He spreads his legs, letting you step in between. You slip your fingers into his hair, pulling back with enough force to have him let out a moan. You lean down and connect your lips in a hot kiss, one that has Harry gripping you tightly wherever he can get his hands on. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you happily give up the control to him. 

You pull back and rest a hand on his chest, preventing him from pulling you back for you. You wipe your thumb over his bottom lip that now has some of your red lipstick. "Seems like I won, sweets."

"I feel like the real winner here," Harry tells you cheekily, sneaking a kiss to both your boobs. You giggle, not at all surprised by his action. 

"Well," You fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "Why don't you show me how winners celebrate?" 

"With pleasure." Harry groans standing up quickly and pushing you back against the best. He strips as fast as he can, not without a small stumble; you're sure to keep your giggle quiet, knowing very well how easily he gets embarrassed. 

He is quick to get on top and kisses you hard. His kisses are always soft, but it seems the teasing seemed to flip a switch, one that you will happily remember to look to turn on again on a later date. Tonight, you are ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

Harry connects their lips, ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

_____

Christmas cards were a lovely tradition. Harry insisted they started because he wanted to show off his beautiful girlfriend to his friends and family. He also liked them handwritten because it added a nice personal touch. Who were you to argue about it?

This year you were the one excited to send them out. 

It read: Merry Christmas from our beautiful family to yours

You and Harry sat in front of the fireplace, four stockings hanging behind you. Harry made you sit in his lap, wanting to show off your matching two-piece buffalo plaid pajamas. You both had the biggest grins on your face, eyes shining bright. Next to you, laying on top of a box that was wrapped with blue sloth wrapping paper, was a one-year-old Australian shepherd that had spent the better of six months in the shelter because the small pup was quiet who didn't do well with people, but that changed instantly the minute he met you. You decided on the name Frosty for him. Not only did Harry get you the dog of your dreams but a small kitten as well. You brought home Snow, a six-month white Birman kitten who was the rut of his siblings, and how could you just not bring him home with you with his big blue eyes staring at you begging to add to your family because he had lots of love to give. At least that's what you told Harry what the look he was giving you meant. The two siblings laid next to each other, both surprisingly staring right at the camera, making it their best Christmas photo yet. 

A photo can honestly speak a thousand words because one glance at this photo tells you how much love there is in that home and their relationship. 

Christmas was all about spreading joy and love, and well, Harry accomplished just that for you.

_____

thank you so much for reading! i honestly hoped you loved it and would love to hear what you thought so send me a message if you like. 

i love you!

[jamilelucato]

Popcorn Taste [F.W]

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: It’s a bit awkward spending Christmas in the Burrow after what happened between you and Fred.

Warning: there’s a drunk scene, but the characters are not underage; fluffy;

A/N: of course I’m participating in my own challenge, why not? So this is Day 7- Making A Popcorn Garland for the A Very Harry Potter Christmas with @whack-ed​

Harry Potter Masterlist ||  Musical Hogwarts Series

Generally, being invited to spend the holidays with the Weasley was all you could’ve wished. This year, however, staying in that small house locked with tons of red-heads was not your first goal.

Nevertheless, when the letter arrived, there was nothing you could do but sigh and reply with “thanks for the invite; yes, I’m coming; no, I’m not bringing someone with me.”

Mrs and Mr Weasley had a special place in your heart — for all the days they allowed you to stay with them, particularly during the dark times of war, and after it, when you were alone. You had no choice but to show up and, fair enough, it wasn’t all that bad. You liked the older couple; you always laughed around Bill; Charlie had unique stories to tell, and even Percy remained quite pleasant and able to communicate when you were around.

It was the next son in line that worried your guts and caused the butterflies in your stomach to fly around.

You took one last look at your flat before holding tight to your luggage before Apparating to the Burrow. It was one week before Christmas, but it was the exact day — and time — that Mrs Weasley had written for you to show up.

CRACK!

The loud sound (of what probably used to be) a vase breaking echoed in the house, and you involuntarily ducked, even though there was no one in the living room to see you.

“[y/n]? Is that you?” Molly’s voice found its way to where you were still scared to move and break something else.

“It’s me, Molly,”— she would never allow you to call her Mrs Weasley in front of her — “and I think I broke something.”

She found her way to the living room, carefully stepping away from the broken pieces and reaching for you with her hands, firstly cupping your face and squeezing your cheeks before pulling you in a proper hug.

“It’s okay, dear! I’m so happy you came,” she whispered in your ear, before pulling you away and reaching for your luggage, not even asking if you wanted help.

“She’s been talking about you all week.”

At first, the voice seemed familiar, and it made you shiver until Molly stepped out of your sight and revealed the real speaker, standing near the door sill — and although he looked a lot like who you thought he was, he still wasn’t him.

“Hi, George,” you smiled sympathetically, slowly moving towards the younger twin, paying attention not to step on the broken vase.

He received you with a quick but tight hug. When you pulled away, your eyes searched for the other half of that pair, but you didn’t find the other identical face.

“Fred’s coming later,” George explained the question that you didn’t ask aloud.

“I wasn’t looking for him,” you denied with some charm, more out of fear of Molly listening and having second thoughts than fear of George finding out what was going on in the dark corners of your mind.

After all, you were pretty sure that George already knew.

When you surreptitiously looked back, however, Molly and her bags were no longer in the room.

“Since Mum’s taking care of your accommodation, come help me with de-gnoming the yard,” George suggested, putting one of his long arms over your shoulders and pulling you close.

“I thought this job was Ron’s,” you said, having a vague memory of a Christmas years ago, “and Potter’s.”

George smiled. “Ronniekins and Harriekins are only coming later in the night,” he explained, guiding you out of the Burrow. “But I think you’ll like to see who’s helping me out in the yard.”

As soon as he opened the door to the back, your eyes scanned the place, soon finding red hair in the wind, too long to belong to any other Weasley but: “Bill!!” you shouted, running towards him.

Bill smiled when he turned and saw you, and greeted you with a warm hug, as he always did when you spent days at the Burrow and felt left out.

“Hi, little one,” he stroked your hair before putting you back on the ground. “I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Tell me about it! You’ll never know...” Bill let you vent until you saw the platinum blond woman coming towards the three of you, and she had a hand positioned at the end of her belly as if it was too heavy to carry. “Oh, my Merlin!!!”

Bill chuckled at your reaction at his pregnant wife.

You rushed to get closer to Fleur, afraid she was too slow because of the child she carried in her womb, but you slowed down when you got close, scared you could hurt her.

“Fleur! I can’t believe it! Can I...?” you looked down at where her hands were placed.

“Sure,” she said with her French accent still very strong. She smiled at you while you delicately pressed your hands on her belly, trying to feel the life growing on her. 

“How long...?”

“Four months,” Bill answered from behind you. “We wanted to be sure before telling the family.”

“And you were right in doing so,” you said between gasps of surprise — you were still very much fascinated with it. “Hey, George, when are you and Angelina....”

“Don’t even start!” he interrupted you in a protest and soon everybody was laughing, just like old times.

--

You weren’t surprised when, after a long two hours of de-gnoming the backyard and a well-deserved hot bath, you found your suitcase in the twins’ room.

Molly had installed you there for two reasons. The first was that gradually over the day, the rest of the Weasley siblings were arriving, and so the rooms filled up.

Bill and his wife stayed in his room; Percy and his wife switched places with Ginny in search of a larger one, so Ginny and Hermione were cramped in Percy’s old small room. Ron and Harry would share Ron’s room upstairs, and Charlie had his room to himself, as it was also a tiny room.

Therefore, the only room large enough to accommodate an extra mattress was the twins’.

The second reason was that you had been used to sleeping there since you were fifteen when on the hottest summer nights you ran away from Ginny’s room and were welcomed next to Fred and George. When you were a teen, you believed you did a great job being discreet, but now at 21, you reconsidered that maybe Molly always knew, but pretended not to see.

You quickly changed, afraid the boys could come in at any moment. You had heard Fred’s voice — Merlin, you’d recognize it at any distance — when you were getting out of the bathroom, so you were extra nervous when you left the room and headed to the kitchen, where the majority of the family was. Except for Fleur who needed to rest and Percy, his wife and Charlie that were in the living room.

“Here, she is!” Fred’s voice greeted you in that heartwarming way that only he had, and with just a couple of steps he reached you and held you in a tight hug, slightly taking your feet off the ground. 

“Hi, Freddie,” you whispered in his ear with a chuckle while he put you back on the floor. You saw his cheeks turning red because of the nickname and thought it was the cutest thing ever.

“Hope you’re hungry,” said George from behind Fred, but you couldn’t see him — Fred was your only view at that moment.

“Always am, Weasley,” you replied, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans and walking towards the smell of warm food. You had no idea what it was — you always sucked with scents — but it looked good. Fred turned in the direction you were walking, watching you.

Like you, he was scared to death that you both would be startled the next time you saw each other, but as soon as his eyes met yours, he couldn’t contain the joy and desire to at least embrace you.

The thing was, last time you two had seen each other was on a party in the twins flat, and, after a couple of drinks, you ended up kissing Fred in a bathroom. It actually happened like this:

“What are you doing here?” Fred asked when you stepped in the small bathroom of his room. He wasn’t angry, just surprised. Besides, he wasn’t naked or something — he had already done whatever he needed to do in the bathroom, but he needed to wash his hands before leaving.

“I know you said for us to use the guest bathroom, but whoever is in there hasn’t left since,” you sighed, staring at him slowly, taking your time to appreciate the view, “and I need to pee.”

“Oh, I’ll leave.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, a bit too fast. Even drunk, you noticed that you didn’t even hesitate. “It’s just... I’ll get lost in here alone.”

Fred looked around. He was drunk too, but he still had a clear idea that his flat wasn’t at all that big.

“Okay,” he agreed slowly, unsure of what else to say. He then turned to face the door, allowing you to do whatever you needed to do with some privacy.

Deep down, he loved the idea of being in a small room with you. It’s just, he was drunk, so it wasn’t the first scenario he had in mind.

“You can turn now,” you said; your voice followed by the sound of the flush. You stepped closer to the sink — there really wasn’t much space there — and after washing your hands, you were left to confront your darkest fears.

Fred stared down at you, his head above yours just like always, only this time, he was so close that it was almost terrifying. It made you weak in the knees. And you were so drunk...

“Kiss me.”

“Huh?” Fred shocked his head. He had heard you, he just wasn’t sure you wanted to make his wildest dreams come true.

“Kiss me, Freddie,” oh, the nickname — it was his weak spot, and he was so close now. Your hands cupped his cheekbone.

“You are drunk,” he stated, noticing that at any other circumstances, you wouldn’t have the balls.

“So are you,” you smiled, leaning closer to him and finally ending the last millimetres that were in your way.

Both of you remembered the kiss, even though the approach seemed to be like it never happened. It didn’t last much — someone knocked on the door, asking for Fred, saying they needed to say good-bye, and so he left you alone in that bathroom with just your thoughts and his smell all over you.

It had been two months since the kiss, and you two ignored each other since. Some nights, you wish you could’ve forgotten it, but how could you when every time you closed your eyes your brain replayed the moment?

--

“Lost in thoughts?” asked Molly as she placed some food in your plate during dinner.

You stared at her — truly lost in thoughts. She smiled, forcing you to smile back, but the corner of your mind was still thinking about Fred and the fact that in a couple of hours you’d be sleeping in his room. With him.

Dinner went well, and even the late hours by the fire — even though Ginny and Ron left you to sit on the floor. It was easy to distract yourself from Fred when he had like, a ton of other siblings to talk to. And unfortunately, that’s what you did — avoided talking to only him the whole night.

When you finally gathered enough courage, you went to the bedroom, already in your pyjamas. You came across a snoring George (how easy it was for him to sleep, it was a mystery), but Fred’s bed was still empty.

As you entered the room trying to make as little noise as possible, you realized that there was already a body on your mattress on the floor.

“Fred?”

Red hair fluttered, and in the dim light of the only candle in the room, you saw Fred’s eyes shine when they met you.

“What are you doing on my mattress?”

“Yours?” he asked in a voice not as low as yours. Perhaps he knew the limits of his brother’s hearing better than you. “You didn’t think I was going to let you sleep on the floor, did you?”

“Fred, please, it wouldn’t be a bother...”

“[y/n], just accept my bed for today. ’M already very well settled here to leave,” he debated, gesturing with his neck towards himself, where he really looked comfortable under a thick blanket.

You sighed, knowing very well, after years of being Fred and George’s best friend that there was no point with arguing. So you jumped on his old bed, trying to find a position, but already knowing it’d take you at least a couple of hours to finally sleep.

In a quick and not calculated movement, your head ended up turned on the pillow, making your breathing more limited, thus having to breathe through it.

It was a bad idea because, without warning, Fred’s scent invaded your nostrils. It wasn’t a bad smell, quite the contrary — it was very much inviting and, knowing that Fred was only less than a meter from you and remembering the taste of his kiss, sleeping was suddenly impossible that night.

You sighed, but could not move, paralyzed in that position — it was as if your body was addicted to his scent, and you wanted more and more. When you finally fell asleep, the dream that invaded your subconscious was not much different than what you imagined before you went to sleep.

--

“Popcorn duty?” asked Fred, catching up to you with just a couple of large steps.

“Yeah,” you sighed, trying not to sound so disappointed. Of course, spending time with Fred was marvellous, but since you kissed him and he never mentioned it again, it kinda seemed fair to you not want to be alone with him.

Fred didn’t notice something off with your tone, so he kept walking next to you towards the kitchen, where Molly had told you the popcorn was.

Placing yourselves next to each other, you were left responsible for holding the fishing wire, and Fred was in charge of the popcorn. You handed the point of the wire for him, who sought advice with his eyes.

You helped him with your hands — this time, you were the one to blush with the touch. You did not expect his hands to be so warm in the middle of winter.

“Do you reckon Mum would mind if we ate one?” he asked, raising a single popcorn up. “Or two?”

You chuckled at his worries, looking down at the bowl filled with old popcorn. You had no idea why he thought that was delicious. It still smelled like good popcorn, but you knew that, for these types of garlands, it needed to be ready, like, at least, one week earlier.

“They don’t look very appetizing to me,” you commented, tilting your head towards him, holding tightly to the wire since Fred seemed reckless with the thing.

“Ah,” Fred sighed, using the popcorn that he was about to eat to place in the garland. He seemed to be getting the hang of it by now. “Well, I’m just hungry,” he shrugged innocently.

“I bet. It’s not like you just ate breakfast, right?” you chuckled, and Fred joined, looking at you with the same sparkly eyes that captured your heart when you were just a kid. He had no idea that you have been liking him for so long.

“I’ll tell you what, before we go to bed, we can watch a movie and I’ll make you new popcorn,” you offered after a moment of silence. Fred wasn’t the quiet type of guy, so when the room was filled with it, something was definitely wrong.

He smiled with the opportunity you gave him. “Asking me on a date, [y/n]?”

You elbowed him, laughing nervous first, but when you realized that he was just teasing you, your laugh became more real. It was so easy to have fun with Fred.

After a few years of romantically craving him so strongly, you had forgotten that he was also a great friend.

“You wish, Weasley,” you chuckled.

Charlie walked in the kitchen, followed by Ron, and both of the brothers stared at you two for a while before getting back to what they planned on doing.

“Having fun?” asked Charlie with the cutest British mixed with Romanian accent ever.

You exchanged looks with Fred.

“No, he’s pretty boring,” you shrugged, before dropping your act and laughing out loud. 

“[y/n] won’t let me eat the popcorn,” Fred said, getting on board with your joke.

“That’s not what I said,” you raised a brow. Ron was about to roll his eyes, very much tired of your thing with Fred. He remembered you two back in school and how annoying and oblivious you two were. He was just like that with Hermione, but you were never the one to point it out. 

“I said that this popcorn is old,” you reached for one yourself, “and disgusting.”

“Are you complaining about Mum’s food?” Fred asked, dropping the wire over the table and crossing his arms, trying to look intimidating.

“She didn’t make it for us to eat it,” you pointed out. 

Charlie was leaned in the sink counter, watching the scene with a glass of water in his hands, trying hard not to laugh at the fact that you two were acting like an old couple. It kinda reminded him of when he was younger, and Arthur and Molly couldn’t stop arguing about what to do with the too-big-to-enter-the-house Christmas Tree.

“Let’s go, Charlie,” Ron called his older brother. “The ball ornaments won’t paint themselves.”

“You guys are painting the ornaments?” you expression suddenly turned blue. Fred looked down at you, feeling worried. “Oh, I wish I was painting.”

Fred bit his lip before suggesting “Why don’t you go with them? I think I can finish this myself.”

You looked from the bowl of popcorn still full with it to Fred, who had the cutest of faces. 

“Nah, you need me,” you said and then gulped at the double meaning of your words. “I mean, need me to finish this.”

Charlie and Ron exchanged suspicious looks while Fred stared at you, smiling with his eyes.

“Should we...?” Ron whispered to Charlie, who just placed his hands in the youngest’s back and pushed it.

“Just go,” Charlie whispered back, leaving you and Fred to get back to your own rhythm with things, distracted with each other.

--

When the popcorn garlands where ready, the tree was already inside the house — job done by Arthur and Bill. They had picked a beautiful tree (and to Charlie’s relief, this one fit the house).

Ginny and Hermione were the two focusing on placing the decorations on the right places, following the orders of Molly and Fleur (although the girls seemed to be paying attention only to Molly’s suggestions).

You were about to sit in the middle of Fred and George in the couch when Ron, Charlie, Percy and his wife walked in the house, holding a big transparent box filled with painted balls.

“Ow, let me see them!” you rushed next to Charlie and deepened your hands inside. “Are they still fresh?”

“No,” Charlie replied, noticing you were scared of ruining the ornaments.

The first one your hands touched you brought up, noticing it had two different names on it. In one side, [y/n] was written, but the other had Fred on it.

“Why two names?” you really wanted to ask why it was yours and Fred’s, but there were too many people on the room.

Ron and Charlie gulped, while Percy and his wife exchanged happy side looks.

“Mum wanted two names in each because she felt like our names were too short,” said Ron, but his explanation didn’t please anyone on the room, “or something,” he added a second later.

You placed the ball in your hands back in the box, and Charlie offered you a sympathetic smile.

You headed back to the couch, watching the girls finish placing the ornaments. Molly walked in, with a lot of bags on her hand, so Bill and George got up to help, leaving you and Fred on the couch alone.

“So... our date’s still up?”

You turned your face to him, at first confused, but then giggling.

“It’s not a date.”

“Did you invite anyone else?” he asked, leaning closer to you involuntarily.

“No,” you said as if it was clear.

“Then it is a date,” he smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you asked me out.”

“Oh, shove off, Weasley,” you pushed him slightly, both of you laughing. Oh, how you wanted it to be a real date.

But sure it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, right? you wondered, staring at him from the corner of your eye.

--

“Okay, they’re gone,” Fred said, calling you from the stairs. You left his room on tiptoes, scared of waking the house up and reached him at the bottom of the staircase.

You two waited for everyone to leave the living room — where the only TV in the house could be found — and pretended to go to bed as well. When Fred’s watch pointed to one in the morning, he shook your arm slightly (waking you up but you’d never confess you had slept) and you both left for your adventure.

“So what movie did you get us?”

He turned to face you, who was sitting in the couch, bringing the blanket you had taken with yourself closer to your chin.

“While You Were Sleeping,” he answered. “Seemed to be the youngest Mum had around.”

“It’s a romance,” you pointed out, tilting your head provocatively.

“It’s not a...” Fred looked up to the TV where Sandra Bullock started walking around the streets. “It’s a romance,” he sighed, defeated.

You chuckled. “I like it. But do you?”

“Ahn,” he seemed lost in thought. “It doesn’t matter.”

You had no idea what that meant, but you gave him some room to sit next to you in the couch and for him to get under the covers, while the popcorn in your lap kept you two moving your mouths.

The movie seemed quite pleasant, but it was hard to pay attention when Fred’s smell was all over you once again, the only smell your body had no problem identifying.

You gulped in the dark. “Are you enjoying it?” you asked, sure that romantic movies could not possibly be Fred’s favourite genre.

“Yep,” he answered a bit too fast. Suspicious, you thought.

“Who’s your favourite character?” you decided to test him.

“The girl.”

“Why’s that?” his answers seemed too generic so when replied this last question you made, you were surprised.

“She likes the guy, but she’s afraid to give up what she idealized. She’s scared of the new,” he said, and although the answer appeared accurate to the movie, something told you he was not talking about Sandra Bullock’s character.

You turned to face him, noticing that he was way closer to you then you thought. Perhaps all the warm did not come from only the blanket. Fred gulped when he saw you staring at him.

“I think she has a valid reason for that.”

The corners of his lips raised just a little. “What’s that?”

“The guy hasn’t been very clear about what he wants either.”

Fred gulped, feeling his cheeks burn. You were right — he wasn’t talking about the movie character.

“Kiss me.”

Oh, the sentence that has been hunting both of you down this time was voiced by Fred Weasley and that could have not left you more speechless.

So you knew what you had to do, after all, the guy was being very clear about what he wanted.

Your lips met his, this time with no rush. It was like when a hummingbird meets a flower — delicate, even though deep down very much desperate.

At this moment, you two were alone, and you had time, and you weren’t drunk. This time was going to be perfect, and Merlin, how it was! Fred had this unique way of touching you softly but fervently, and each time his hands changed position, your body twisted, wanting more, wanting him to kiss you everywhere, hoping he wouldn’t go away.

When you two finally parted, after several attempts to do so, but neither wanting to stop kissing yet, he smirked down at you, leaving your body in his embrace.

“You taste like popcorn,” he said, breaking the silence of the living room since the movie had ended and neither of you had noticed.

“I hope it’s the good one,” you smiled too, feeling surrendered to his charms.

It was good to have him around you, his body twisted with yours, and it was even best to know that he wanted you as much or even more than you craved him.

“It’s the best one,” he said, before kissing you again.

[liberty-barnes]

The Swear Jar

Part 1 of The Jar Series

Mob Boss!Tom Holland x Single Mom!Reader

Prompt: “I've never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life”

Warnings: swearing obviously, Tom’s a mob boss so there’s that, there’s like, one sexual innuendo but also ??? not really??? idk

Word Count: 4k (i really need to learn to write short things)

Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes

A/N: It’s the pic guys, I can’t help it.

Edit: Wow, you guys actually liked this! So since many of you asked, a part will be coming out soon, maybe more, we’ll see. So if you wanna be added to my “The Swear Jar” Taglist, just ask me or add yourself directly through the link in my bio!

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

The bell above the door to the diner chimed and you perked up, smiling brightly at the young teenage couple.

“Gracie! Stella! It’s so good to see you again!”

The girls greeted you with the same amount of enthusiasm and proceeded to order their usual meal.

“Your hair’s really pretty Stella! You look like a mermaid now!”

“Thanks, Millie! I took your advice and went with blue instead of purple.”

The young girl smiled and captured the couple’s attention by showcasing her current work in progress.

Millicent Rose (Y/l/n) was your five-year-old daughter. She had brown hair, falling on her shoulders in nice large curls, and big (y/e/c) eyes, a perfect match to yours. She loved drawing (the diner walls were crawling with her masterpieces) and pretty hair, especially if it was soft. 

Her bubbly and fearless personality sometimes frightened you, but you mostly came to terms with the fact that your daughter was a social butterfly and took full advantage of the small diner to interact with as many people as she could.

You watched with a fond smile as Millie explained what she had been drawing to the girls, mentioning every little detail while they praised her good work. The young brunette had a gift to make anyone love her.

Soon enough, their large milkshake to share was finished and Lou, the owner and cook, was all done with the food so the girls sat down at a booth and Millie went back to drawing, little feet dangling off the chair and little brows furrowed in concentration. 

As you were refiling Mr and Mrs Lee’s drinks, the bell chimed once more and four men walked in dressed in stylish suits, much too fancy for this place. They sat down at a booth and started talking while you took a deep calming breath.

Oh, fuck me.

You took your notepad and walked over to them, a much too fake smile on your face.

“Good morning gentlemen, what can I get you?”

The table quieted down and you made eye contact with who you knew to be the leader.

“I’ll have a burger with fries and a strawberry milkshake.”

One of the twins said.

“I’ll have the same but with a chocolate milkshake instead.”

The other one added.

“Vegi burger and a coke, please.”

At least the blonde one had some manners. 

Your eyes lifted from the notepad to the leader once again.

“And for you?”

You did your best to ignore the slight tremble in your voice.

“Bacon cheeseburger, fries and a coke, darling.”

“Right away.”

You got out of there as soon as possible, sparing a glance at your daughter to make sure she was still sitting at the counter before entering the kitchen with a panicked expression on your face.

“Lou…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’ve got an order… for the Hollands…”

“Well, shit.”

The Holland family was the oldest and most successful mob in London, extremely rich, dangerous, and seemingly untouchable.

Harry and Sam Holland, the twins, were rumoured to have been behind the Burtons’ death, another famous family known for drug trafficking and other crimes.

Harrison Osterfield, the second in command, was a close family friend, accused of drug trafficking, illegal weapons selling, and other such crimes, though the charges all dropped before the first hearing even took place.

And finally, Thomas Holland, the leader. Arrested for multiple murders, arson, extortion, and a long list of other felonies, but never convicted.

Everyone was scared of them, and the fact that they were eating here was not good for business. 

You ignored the tightness in your chest in favour of helping Lou prepare their food, hoping to do it as fast as possible so the group could leave.

Meanwhile, at the booth, Tom was rolling his eyes at his brothers and friend’s stupidity. 

“Okay, we get it, she’s hot, but you don’t have to talk about it all the fucking time.”

Millie turned her head in their direction and scowled. She stretched a bit to the other side of the counter to take the transparent jar and got down from her chair, making her way to their booth, stomping a bit, which made her Sketchers light up.

The diner watched with curious (and slightly frightened, for the Lees) eyes as the little girl climbed onto the booth next to Harrison, one leg after the other, and kneeled next to the blonde, setting her elbow on the table and stretching so the transparent jar was now sitting in front of Tom.

He looked at it: a lid-less mason jar with a pink bow and right in the front, in a child’s handwriting and pink glittery letters were the words 'Swear Jar’.

“You owe a pound.”

He lifted his head to look at the girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When someone says a bad word they have to put a pound in the jar. You said a bad word so you owe a pound.”

“I’ve never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life!”

“That’s two more so you have to put three pounds in.”

“Yeah, Tom, put the money in.”

Harrison had his arms around the girl and a smug smile on his face, evidently taking a liking to the young brunette.

“Shut the fuck up Haz, you curse more than I do!”

“Four.”

“Shit.”

That one was not on purpose.

“Five.”

“Okay, okay, jeez, hold on.”

He took out his wallet and took his only five-dollar bill amid all the hundreds.

“Just gonna put the money in this stupid jar.”

“Six.”

“Wha- stupid’s not a swear word!”

“I’m not allowed to say it so yes, it is.”

Tom rummaged around his wallet for a stray pound, reluctantly putting a hundred in after finding nothing.

“Does that mean I’m allowed to say ninety-nine swear words?”

“No paying in advance, everything that’s not the money you owe is a donation.”

“To what foundation?”

“The ‘get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation”

She answered with a smirk and everyone -bar Tom- was pretty much crying at seeing their boss be told what to do by a five-year-old.

“Man, you are so screwed!”

“That’s one pound for you, Mister!”

“Oh shit, right!”

“Two…”

Harry took out his wallet (still laughing his arse off, mind you) and didn’t even try to look for the two pounds, simply putting in a hundred.

Millie’s eyes were focused solely on Tom’s hair. She climbed on top of Harrison, her pink tulle skirt flying behind her and stood on the seat next to the brunette, her hands immediately flying to his hair.

“You have very pretty hair. It’s really soft.”

“Thank you, darling.”

She hummed and kept playing with the soft strands.

“My name’s Tom, and these are my twin brothers Harry and Sam, and my best friend, Haz.”

She looked around for a while, not answering, seemingly lost in thought until she looked back at him and her sparkling (y/e/c) eyes focused on his brown ones.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Millie.”

“T-Tommy?”

Sam stuttered out between peels of laughter.

“I don’t like Tom, Tommy’s better. Why are you so shocked Twin Nice?”

Harry looked appalled.

“Why's he Twin Nice?”

“Because you said a bad word and he didn’t, so he’s Twin Nice and you’re Twin Naughty.”

Sam did a little victory dance, bragging about his new nickname to his twin.

The little girl sat down on Tom’s lap and started to play with the black ring on his finger.

“What am I, then?”

She looked up to Harrison from in between Tom’s fingers, still playing with the thick band.

“You’re Thor cause you have pretty eyes and you look really strong.”

To say that the blonde was pleased would be an understatement.

“You, little lady, are my new best friend. We need to come here more often.”

Millie smiled and went back to observing the ring.

“Does this mean you’re married?”

Tom chuckled and shook his head slightly.

“No, it means that I’m a part of the Holland family, like them.”

Everyone around the table showed theirs, a symbol of their high status in the mob.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Do you live with your mommy?”

“No, I live with these dumbasses in a big house.”

She pushed the swear jar towards him and gave him what could only be described as the 'Disappointed Mom’ look.

“Do you like it?”

“Kind of, sometimes they get on my nerves and I wish they’d rot in Hell, but yeah, it’s not too bad.”

She slapped his hand in reprimand and he internally cursed himself.

“Don’t you miss your mommy?”

“A little, but I see my parents every Sunday for family dinner.”

He answered after placing yet another bill in the jar.

“Parents?”

“Yeah, my mum and dad.”

She hummed.

“I wish I had a dad.”

The boys all stiffened. 

Well, that escalated quickly.

Tom cleared his throat, measuring his words before speaking, for once in his life.

“Do you know what happened to your dad?”

“Mommy says he left cause he wasn’t good like her. She says it’s okay, though, cause we only need each other but my friend Lilly has a mommy and a daddy and she told me that sometimes when her mommy’s sad or tired he’ll do all the grown-up stuff like cook and read her a story while her mommy rests and she’s happier that way. I want my mommy to be happy like that too.”

For Tom, it felt like his cold, dead heart was starting to beat again. This little angel sitting on his lap was asking for something most children already had, not for herself, but for her mother.

“You’re a really good person, Millie.”

“If you stopped saying so many bad words you’d be one too, Tommy.”

The boys laughed yet again and they continued talking for a little while, refraining from any work-related issues for the sake of their newest addition, choosing instead to discuss sports and fighting over who’d be on cleaning duty that Sunday. Three more bills made their way to the jar during that particular discussion, one from each boy (bar Sam because he was on cooking duty, as always), and for once they allowed themselves to relax and simply be, instead of always worrying.

You got out of the kitchen with the men’s orders ready and looked at the end of the counter, planning to check on Millie before walking over to the mobsters’ table. Your brows furrowed when you didn’t find her and you immediately looked towards the girls’ table or the Lees’, finding she wasn’t there either.

“Mommy, over here!”

You followed your child’s voice and your eyes widened once you saw her sitting on the leader’s lap. The smiling leader’s lap.

You quickly made your way to their booth, placing their orders in front of them without even taking your eyes off your daughter.

“Millicent Rose! What have I told you about bothering people when they’re in their booths?”

She looked guilty for half a second but immediately perked up again, ready to defend herself.

“Not to, but Mommy, he said a bad word so I had to take the swear jar to him.”

“And why, pray tell, are you sitting in the gentleman’s lap?”

“His name’s Tommy and he said he didn’t mind and this way I can talk to Thor, Twin Nice and Twin Naughty better.”

Tommy, Thor, Twin Nice, and Twin Naughty?

“Oh, fuck me.”

Millie’s jaw dropped open. She’d never heard you swear before.

“You owe a pound, Mommy.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

You pulled a pound from your pocket and put it in, eyes widening at the amount of money in the jar.

“How in the world?”

“I didn’t have singles so I just put hundreds in. Apparently, it’s a donation to the 'Get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation.”

You set the jar down and shook your head in disbelief.

“I am never letting Harley babysit you ever again.”

She pouted and slumped down, arms crossed adorably in front of her.

“Now come on, let the gentlemen eat their lunch in peace and come get yours.”

She cuddled up to Tom more than before, burying her head in his chest and fisting his shirt, and shaking her head in protest.

“Millie, come on, let’s go. I’m so sorry for the bother sir.”

“It’s no problem, she’s welcome to say for however long she wants.”

The brunette smiled at your daughter and then at you, before the man on his right interrupted.

“Besides, she’s very entertaining. It’s nice to see someone else call Tom out on his bullshit.”

You and Millie threw the blonde matching glares while Tom just pushed the jar towards him.

“You owe a pound, Haz”

“Excuse you Tommy, my name’s Thor.”

He then turned to you with a smug smile and attitude.

“Cause I have pretty eyes like him and look very strong. Don’t you agree with your daughter… (Y/n)?”

He read your name tag and smiled charmingly while you pursed your lips, looking him up and down. You then looked at your little girl.

“You sure?”

“Well, who else has pretty blue eyes?”

“Captain America.”

She light up right away and straightened herself.

“Right! And he looks like Captain America when he was tiny! Thanks, Mommy!”

She then turned to Harrison with a gigantic smile on her face.

“You’re Tiny America now.”

The whole table -bar Haz- laughed and you had to bite your lip not to laugh too, instead linking your hands and looking at the clock.

“Come on Millie, it’s time to eat.”

“Can I eat here with Tommy, please?”

“If you eat here with Tommy I won’t be able to make sure you eat your veggies.”

The man’s heart stuttered when you used his nickname, a strange sense of happiness overcoming him.

“Tommy can check.”

“Mm… I’m not sure if he can check you ate them. He’s not used to your sneakiness.”

“What if I pinky promise to eat my veggies and eat a banana for dessert instead of ice cream?”

It was a struggle to get her to eat fruits and veggies. You usually had to settle for one or the other, so when she spontaneously decided to eat both, you jumped at the opportunity, mob be damned.

“Deal! But no annoying the boys.”

She smiled and nodded, settling comfortably on Tom’s lap, waiting for her food. You took out her plate of chicken nuggets, fries, and green beans, chocolate milkshake to wash it down.

You tried not to let the butterflies in your stomach distract you from your job but the way Tom smiled at your daughter and praised her when she ate all her veggies in a row, wanting to get it over with, made your heart ache, the longing for someone still very much present.

“Have a nice meal.”

You made eye contact with the brunette and blushed at the smile he sent you before waving goodbye at the Lees. The teenage couple had left a bit earlier so the mobsters were now your last customers of the day.

You wiped the kitchen counters and said goodbye to Lou, assuring him that you’d close up by yourself. As soon as he left, you took a deep breath and sighed, unable to stop your smile when you heard your daughter’s laugh carrying through the wall separating you from the group.

“Mommy, we’re done!”

You straightened up and schooled your features before walking over to them, taking away their plates while asking if Millie behaved and if they wanted dessert. The answer to both questions was a yes and so you came back a little while later with chocolate pudding for the twins, caramel ice cream for Harrison, a banana split for Tom, and a miniature one for Millie.

“Since you behaved so nicely you get a little sweetness with your banana.”

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled brightly at you.

“You’re the best mommy ever! I love you!”

“Love you too, baby.”

You turned around, ready to leave, when a voice stopped you.

“Why don’t you sit down with us for a bit? I’m pretty sure that if you wipe that table down one more time you’ll remove the paint.”

You blushed but complied, sitting down next to Harrison and watching as your daughter ate her dessert quickly and quietly, wincing from time to time because of brain freezes. As soon as she was done, she reached for Tom’s right hand. He switched the hand that held the spoon, eating with his left so that Millie could play with the ring on his finger.

Unfortunately for him, he had a bit of trouble eating with his non-dominant hand while holding a child on his lap, leading to a bit of ice cream falling on his shirt.

“Ah, fu-”

You shot him a glare that made him change courses immediately.

“-dge. Fudge.”

Millie clapped and gave him a big, approving smile.

“See, Mommy? He’s making progress!”

“Indeed he is, darling.”

“Oh, this is fucking hilarious!”

The young girl gasped, mouth open comically wide and utter betrayal swimming in her eyes.

“I thought you were nice.”

Sam realized his mistake as soon as she spoke, covering his mouth with his hand as if to stop any more of the offending words from leaving it.

“You owe five pounds.”

“What? Why? I only said one swear word!”

She shook her head in disapproval, arms crossed in front of her chest, and pushed the jar towards him.

“You made me believe you were nice so your trickster-y will cost you four extra pounds.”

You shook your head, smile firmly plastered on your face as you watched Sam pull out a hundred dollar bill with a pout on his lips. It was quite endearing, really.

“So, (Y/n), tell us about you.”

You locked eyes with the brunette once again, piercing gaze seemingly looking through you.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell, Mr Holland. I’m not a very interesting person.”

Your voice was soft, your words calculated. You knew that these men could kill you in the blink of an eye.

“No uninteresting person could have raised such a perfect little angel.”

He smirked and Millie looked at you with a smug smile.

“See, he said I was an angel.”

Life be damned, it’s not worth living if your daughter has an ego the size of Russia. That would most definitely come back to bite you in the ass.

“Yeah, that’s cause he hasn’t had to deal with you in all your nightly glory.”

She put her tongue out and snuggled deeper into Tom’s chest.

“Well, for one, how did you find yourself working here?”

He got the conversation back on you and you felt slightly intimidated with the whole table’s eyes on little old you.

“Customers are nice, I earn enough money for us to get by, owner’s nice, the school’s at the end of the street, and Millie gets to stay with me when she’s not there.”

Even though he was focused on you, you noticed the way he held your daughter close to his chest, his bigger frame completely enveloping her smaller one. She still hadn’t let go of his hand and kept playing with the ring on his finger. Seeing how calm and caring he was being with your daughter calmed you down and the more questions you answered, the more comfortable you became.

“How can you work at a dinner and not like vanilla milkshakes?”

Sam looked horrified at that, and you just shrugged dismissively.

“I never really liked when vanilla was too present. Like, if you used it to just enhance everything else you know, make it taste better, then sure, but just vanilla isn’t really my style.”

Tom took a sharp breath in and tried to stop his mind from wandering at the possible double meaning of your words. Instead, he chose to focus on the little girl on his lap.

Until he noticed she was asleep, that is.

He smiled a little and shifted her so she was resting more comfortably on his lap. Unfortunately for him, that caught your attention.

“Oh my, is she asleep? I’m really sorry.”

“No worries, though we should probably get her to bed so she doesn’t wake up with a stiff neck.”

For the umpteenth time, you pushed down the butterflies upon hearing him say 'we’ and being so careful with your daughter.

You took the remaining dishes and went to the kitchen, putting them in the wash and turning on the machine, leaving it to run so tomorrow morning you’d be able to put everything away. You went back in to clean the booth and Tom practically shoved a hundred dollar bill in your hand, ignoring your protests.

He waited for you by the door while you finished closing up, and you extended your arms towards him when you finished.

“Thank you for everything today, but you must be getting tired, I can take her from here.”

He gently pushed your arms down.

“Let me take you home, please, I don’t like the idea of you having to carry her all on your own.”

You hesitantly nodded and he guided you to his car. It’s only then that you noticed the other three had left. You settled on the passenger side of his black Audi and he handed you Millie, closing the door softly as to not startle her. He then entered the driver’s side and started the car. You gave him directions to your apartment building and within five minutes, he parked the car right out front.

Ever the gentleman, he insisted on carrying the little girl. Knowing by now that there wasn’t much you could do to protest, you agreed and led him up the four flights of stairs to your door.

“Sorry 'bout the mess.”

“It’s no problem, darling, I quite like it.”

You turned your head for a brief second, as if asking him to elaborate while still leading him to your daughter’s room.

“The fact that it’s messy means that someone lives here, that this isn’t just some house, it’s a home. My house is always pristine but that’s because no one’s ever there to actually use it as something other than a glorified B&B.”

He laid Millie down on the bed and you pulled the covers over her. You both stood side to side for a little while, just watching her breathe.

“That sounds really lonely.”

“Yeah…”

Another minute passed by with no words coming from either of you.

“You raised an amazing daughter, (Y/n).”

“You’re a good man, Tom.”

Hearing those unfamiliar words coming out of your mouth almost brought tears to his eyes. He was always used to being called a ruthless mobster, cold-blooded killer, or many other names that all meant the same thing: monster. But you called him a good man, and the sincerity in your voice was almost overwhelming.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, making you turn towards him.

“I should probably go… You should get some rest as well.”

You nodded and walked him to the door. In a split-second decision, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, locking eyes with him afterwards.

“If you ever need an escape, or just wanna hang out somewhere different, our door’s always open.”

That made a smile take over his face and he kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, darling.”

And as you watched him round the corner, only your back visible to you, you couldn’t help but feel like this wouldn’t be the last time you ever saw Tom Holland.

i have mixed feelings concerning this story but at least i have ideas for a part two (if i ever decide to make one)

don’t forget to reblog, comment or like if you feel like it <3

[jawabear]

First date (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: This was suggested/requested by the wonderful @lunaserenade I hope this is what you had in mind, I think I went off track a little as it’s a bit long. But I hope you enjoy it anyway! Sorry for any mistakes. Stay Safe.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, Marcus talks to himself, mentions of eating (idk if that counts as a warning), be nice to Marcus, he tries his best, awkwardness, fluff, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: Marcus finally has the chance for a real date. Surely there’s nothing that could go wrong...right?

Marcus let out a deep breath as he gripped the steering wheel of his car trying to calm himself down. “You got this Marcus. You got this” he whispered to himself “you’ve done it before. And it’s (Y/N). You got this. You’re just going to go in there and be yourself. Just relax”

He loosened his shoulders by shaking himself while taking in deep breaths and letting them out again. “You can do this Marcus”

“Uh...Dad?” Missy said from beside him with a confused but also amused look. He had completely forgot his daughter was sat in the passenger seat.

“God, I’m sorry kiddo” he said, his head falling onto the steering wheel. “I’m freaking out”

“Why? That was such a good pep talk” she teased.

“Ha ha, very funny” Marcus said turning his head to look at Missy. “Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Why do you keep asking me that? I want you to be happy Dad. And (Y/N) does make you happy” Missy smiled as she patted her dads shoulder. “But you do have to sort yourself out. You can go back in this state”

Marcus sat up and ran his hands over his face “well, when you haven’t been on a date in god knows how many years, it’s not exactly easy to be calm. Especially when it’s with a girl you really like” he paused for a moment and gave a sharp look to his daughter “not that you would know anything about dating right?”

“N-No! Of course not Dad. You think I’m interested in people like that?” She laugh, a little nervously as he looked away from him making Marcus a little suspicious. “But what you were saying was right. Just be yourself. That’s what (Y/N) likes. She likes you”

Marcus gave Missy a gentle look before kissing her cheek “I love you Missy” he smiled.

“Yeah, I love you too Dad” she said sounding a little unimpressed. She grabbed her bag and opened the car door.

“I’ll be round lunchtime tomorrow to get you. Be good okay?”

“Always Dad. Have fun tonight okay? You deserve it” she then shut the car door and skipped off happily to his mums house.

Marcus sat there for a little while longer before working up the courage to start the car and drive back to his house. He glanced at the clock every five seconds. She was coming at 7 and it was 6:32. He had time but he wish he didn’t. He wanted her to arrive sooner so he could get it over with.

Not that he wanted it to end, but he wanted it to hurry up and get going so that he didn’t feel so scared any more.

He and (Y/N) had technically been dating for about three months, but he had liked her for a little longer than that. They had always been great friends but Marcus had always felt a little something more for her.

For the first year after his wife died, he didn’t think about relationships. He wanted to be there for Missy who was surprisingly mature about the whole situation, but of course she was still absolutely devastated by her mother’s death. Missy had always noticed the way he looked at (Y/N), and the way (Y/N) looked at him. It was actually her who convinced him to get back out there and to ask her out.

So they had been dating for three months, but he had never taken her on a date. They were both extremely busy and their schedules were constantly conflicting. But now they had finally settled in a day to have their first actual date. But he wouldn’t really class it as a proper date. He was just going to be attempting to cook her a fancy dinner but he didn’t hold much hope that it would be successful. When he told her that was his plan, she smiled the brightest smile she ever had and told him she was overjoyed at the idea.

Finally he got home and checked his watch. 6:47. He still had a little time. He went around the house to make it look perfect even though she knew what it looked like anyway. She had been there enough times when it was a mess so maybe she would be impressed with his effort to make it look nice.

He then came to a sudden realisation that he was yet to get changed. So he legged it upstairs init his bedroom where he pulled out his outfit. He didn’t really know what to wear. He didn’t want to dress alarmingly smartly, but he didn’t want to dress too casual. He had told her to dress casual but their casuals could be two very different things.

So he pulled out his best plaid shirt, black jeans and fancy shoes, decided it was both casual and smart, and comfortable, and him. He then spend the next ten minuets in front of his bathroom mirror trying to fix his hair so that it didn’t look like he had just woken up, but also make it so it wasn’t flattened down. Who would’ve thought that dating was so difficult to get right.

Then the door bell rang.

He looked at his watch and it was bang on 7pm. Of course she would be right on time.

He began to panic. His hands began to sweat. He grabbed his most expensive cologne, one he rarely used but really liked, and spray two pumps on himself before running down stairs. He was second guessing his outfit choice. He was second guessing everything.

He began thinking that he couldn’t go through with it. He was too scared. But she was stood outside his door. He couldn’t leave her out there, it was getting colder as they got into the winter months of the year.

He took some deep breaths “you got this Marcus” he told himself again. He walked to the door and pulled it open.

When his eyes fell on her, all of his worries and anxieties were washed away from him. She looked beautiful. And they were somewhat matching which was kind of awkward but nice because it meant he had made the right outfit choice. Under her long black jacket, she wore a red plaid shirt but under that a plain white shirt, black leggings and black ankle boots.

“Hi Marcus” she smiled with a small wave.

“H-Hi (Y/N)” He said, his eyes looking her up and down. “You look beautiful”

“You look very nice too” she complimented.

“Thank you” He stepped to the side to allow her inside. She walked past him and allowed him to close the door.

She placed a quick kiss on his cheek making him smile before he lead her into the kitchen where everything was perfectly set up.

He had put his best table cloth over the wooden table and set a candle in the centre along with rose petals. “Marcus” she was a little lost for words as she looked upon his efforts.

“Do you like it?” He asked quietly as he came round to stand in front of her.

“Marcus it’s beautiful” she smiled before taking his face between her hands and kissing his lips gently. He smiled into the kiss and allowed himself to relax a little. Although he was still a little sceptical about his cooking.

He pulled away from her and lead her to the table and pulled out her chair for her. She smiled graciously and sat down.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked her as he wrung his hands together. “I’ve got wine, whiskey, or something softer like lemonade if you’d prefer”

“Can I have a glass of lemonade?” She asked.

“Of course” he rushed to the kitchen and pulled a glass out of the cupboard and the bottle of drink out of the fridge. He poured her a glass and brought it over to her “there you go”

“Thank you sir” she smiled to him.

“So...I’m going to cook. So you just sit there” he told her.

“Do you want any help?” She asked.

“No. I’ll be fine” his voice wasn’t convincing as he looked between her and the kitchen that was now suddenly the scariest place on earth. He’d much rather go back out into the world and fight evil then have to attempt to cook her dinner. “I’ll be fine. You stay there”

(Y/N) watched as she began messing around in the kitchen. She would occasionally ask him if he needed any help, to which he would always reply no, but he did need help. His nerves were getting the better of him and he couldn’t focus on what he was doing.

He kept muttering to himself as he looked between the pan and his phone to make sure he was doing it right. (Y/N) was tempted to get up and take over but she didn’t want to activate him any more than he already was. But what she could tell, the dish he was making wasn’t all that complicated. It was some kind of pasta. Perhaps a sort of carbonara of some sort.

She turned away from watching him, it was getting too much. She desperately wanted to help him or at least tell him not to worry, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So she pulled out her phone and tried to pass the time using that, but his muttering could still be heard and it made her feel awful.

Eventually though, he had finished cooking and plated it up. He didn’t look very convinced in his efforts as he set her plate down in front of her. It didn’t look all that bad actually. But it smelt a bit off. But it was a hard recipe to master, she used to make it all the time which is why she thought it was a simple dish. Clearly Marcus did not agree.

“Thank you Marcus” she smiled as she picked up her fork and twirled it within the pasta. He did the same.

At the same time they took a bite of the food and...well it was awful. But she really didn’t want to say that so she swallowed it down and tried not to react to the strange taste. Perhaps the cheese or whatever he used had gone off and that’s what was causing the taste.

Marcus wasn’t so good at hiding his reaction. But it was his cooking after all so it wasn’t like he was offending anyone, only himself.

He dropped his fork to the plate and looked at her, it was clear she wasn’t enjoying it but she was too nice to say so. “Well this is disgusting” he told her. He saw her face change as she somehow managed to swallow down another bite.

“I mean...I didn’t like to say” she said quietly as she set her fork down as took sip of her drink.

“You should’ve (Y/N)” he laughed as he took her plate and walked back into the kitchen placing the two plates beside the sink before he lent again she counter making her worry. She stood and walked over to him. His head was hung low.

Her hand rested on his back feeling his tense muscles through his shirt. “Marcus” she said quietly “what’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry (Y/N)” he apologised “I just wanted to make our first proper date perfect and I ruined it...”

She laughed softly and slipped her arms around him, hugging him from the side “you didn’t ruin it, silly. It was perfect”

“But...I messed up the food...”

“That was one small part. It doesn’t matter. The evening so far had been one of the best I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been able to spend it with you. The whole night, just me and you. That’s all I could ask for” she told him.

He lifted his head and looked at her, seeing her smiling at him. “Really?”

“Really” she said with a nod “Marcus, you are the kindest man alive. And I can see that you have put so much effort into this date and I really appreciate that. But you didn’t need to. It didn’t need to be fancy like this. Any night alone with you would be perfect”

He managed a smile as she wrapped his own arms around her. For a while they just stayed like that. He felt a lot better being in her arms. But then he spoke again, he had to address the food issue.

“Should we just order a pizza?” He asked.

She chuckled quietly and looked up at him “you read my mind” she said before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

27/12/20

Taglist: @linkpk88

[celosiaa]

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender.  Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.  Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety.  It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin.  You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had.  Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse.  Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion.  He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and  you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch.  At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while.  He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.  

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow.  “You doing alright?  Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm.  “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly.  It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him.  “This was delivered for Jon this morning.  Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory.  “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie!  S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then.  Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting.  For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat.  “Come back and visit sometime, alright?  I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry!  Sorry.  I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual.  Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.  

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep.  He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage.  Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here.  Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder.  To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear  is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer.  saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream.  double chocolate fudge.  I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see.  God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash.  you’re unbelievable.  I can’t wait to tuck in!  love love love you <3

Sasha: good man!  I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow.  goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile.  “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.  

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept.  In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall.  Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor.  Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same.  His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders.  It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath.  “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear?  He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright?  Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury.  “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself.  “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath.  “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing.  “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH!  Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that.  On purpose.  I can leave you alone?  Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that.  To change, I mean.  You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back.  If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on.  Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time.  On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now.  Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open.  He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair,  now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something.  Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat.  “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon!  I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment.  “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.  

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.  

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it.  I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon.  Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay?  This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter.  “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly.  Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk.  “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right.  Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know?  The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right.  At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school.  I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right?  One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom.  And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table.  “Thank you for telling me.  That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again.  “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face.  After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it.  What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together.  “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress.  I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon!  Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns?  Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called.  Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want.  Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort.  “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway.  I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright!  I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said.  “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns?  Do you want to keep using he/him?  Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger.  That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them?  I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you?  Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away.  “Of course I will, Jon.  Do you want me to try it now?  I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay.  This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important.  I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So?  How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider.  “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon!  I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin.  I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk.  “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh!  Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood.  “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary.  “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons.  “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin.  “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - Loving Is The Antidote (Part 3/3)

Because Hearts Get Broken Part 3 :) read the first two on my masterlist 

Synopsis: Overcoming fears is not an easy thing, but maybe it’s worth a shot if the ending leads to happiness. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: kinda angsty, mostly fluffy and SHMUTTYYYYYYYYY

Warnings: SMUT!!! (so beware, this is kinda sweet, but oh so filthy; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), m going down on f, slight fingering etc), swearing

Word count: 5895

Y/N had never been so nervous while getting ready for a show. She liked to be front-row, right by the stage to feel as close to the music as possible, the energy of the crowd filling her up and making her buzz with excitement, even hours after the concert was done. 

        The thing was – with when they started dating and then with the pandemic shutting everything down in spring, Y/N had never seen Harry live. Sure, he’d given her private concerts, had sung her any song she wanted, but this was different. Somehow, even though there were more people, it felt more intimate because this wasn’t just him lulling Y/N to sleep. This was Harry baring part of his soul to the world, and doing it with such ease, it made her heart ache.

        The venue was small, at least compared to the arena sizes Y/N knew he typically performed at. There were around 100ish or so people, and the line was quite quick to move. 

        She told the woman with the clipboard her name and provided some ID. The list wasn’t that long, and it took her barely two seconds to spot the name, as she smiled and gave Y/N a nod.

        “I’ll have Bert escort you to the backstage if you’ll just follow him, please.”

        “Could I actually watch from the crowd?” Y/N asked biting her lip. “I love being a part of it, you know. Feel the energy and stuff.”

        “Uh, sure.” The woman gave her an uncertain look. “It’s just that Mr Styles asked for you to be brought backstage, and umm…”

        “If Harry says anything,” Y/N put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I’ll deal with it. Please, don’t worry too much. Unless he wants a kidnapping charge, he’ll deal with the fact that I’m inside the venue.”

        And that seemed to do the trick, as the girl, visibly relaxed and even laughed a bit, handing Y/N back her ID and motioning with her head to go inside. 

        Small tables had been set up, and each one could house four people at a time. Most of them had already been taken and given how she didn’t want to draw any attention, Y/N decided to take one of the tables at the very back, a pillar half obscuring the stage and with that – her face. 

        The enthusiasm was palpable in the air, and people were chattering away, anticipating the moment Harry with his band would walk onto the stage. A waitress came up to her, asking if she wanted anything to eat or drink.

        “And your name, please? To set up a tab.”

        “Y/N Y/L/N.”

        “Oh,” her eyes went a bit wide. “Um, no need to pay then.”

        Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

        “We’ve been told that anything you order should be put on Mr Sty – “

        “Mr Styles tab,” Y/N finished the sentence with a chuckle. “Yeah. Okay… well, is it possible for you to not say anything to him and let me pay for my drinks?”

        “I – “ she shrugged. “I guess?”

        “Just the G&T please.”

        The waitress nodded and clicked her pen, still seemingly unsure about what to do, but ultimately deciding to go with what Y/N asked. “Coming right up.”

        The lights dimmed, and Y/N’s attention was brought to the stage, where she saw Harry, Sarah, Mitch, Adam, Naomi and Charlotte appear and take their places, as applause and cheers became their background music.

        He looked good, very good, in fact. His brown hair was the typical messy mop on top of his head, the signature pearl necklace around his neck, while he sported the soft rainbow cardigan, a sharp-looking high neck button-up, and black slacks, with black boots.

        “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Harry started, and it made a collective chuckle rise into the air. He could post a fleeting comment on Instagram saying he was having a concert in three minutes, and there’d be ten thousand fans waiting for him. “When ‘Save the Children’ reached out to us and asked if we could help them raise some donations, we immediately hopped on the idea, and it warms our hearts seeing so many of you here, and the fact that you’re supporting their cause.”

        Loud cheers immediately exploded, and Y/N obviously joined in. 

        “All proceeds for the tickets made today will go to them, as will any other donations you decide to give, so, I hope you do, and let’s get the show going.”

        That was Sarah’s cue to hit her drumsticks together three times, as the notes of ‘Golden’ rattled the air.

        Seeing Harry in his element was nothing short of electric. Although he was sitting down, and most of the songs he sang were acoustic versions, it was dazzling to see the passion seep out of his body and into the lyrics he'd composed. 

        Throughout most of it, his green eyes kept scanning over the gathered people, while flitting to see what was happening behind the curtain, and it made Y/N sort of giddy, thinking that he might be trying to find her.

        Because in truth, he was. When Harry had arrived, he was all nerves and jitters, which had never happened before a show. Well, never before had Y/N come to one of his shows, so there was also that. 

        All throughout prep, he was waiting for someone from the staff to come up to him and tell him his girl had come, but no one did, until like five minutes before he was supposed to perform, a breathless woman, who seemed so nervous she was about to pass out, had tapped him on the shoulder.

        “Is she here?” Now he was the breathless one. 

        “Uh, yeah, Y/N arrived a little while ago.”

        His forehead creased in confusion. “Then, where is she? No one came to inform me.”

        “I’m so sorry Mr Styles, but she asked to be allowed into the crowd, she uh… didn’t wanna be taken backstage.”

        “Oh.”

        That was literally all he could manage, as his heart dropped. “Well… at least she’s here.” He gave the assistant a smile. “Thank you. I uh, I hope you’ll enjoy the show.”

        Then it was call-time, and he had to gather himself as he walked on the small podium, taking his place by the mic, and beginning the concert.

        After each song, he scanned the gathered people, in hopes of seeing Y/N’s face, but she had hidden really well, and when he’d looked to the sides, wishing to see her frame standing there, he had to remind himself, that she was there, and he still had to fulfil a little surprise, which he hoped she’d like.

“You know when writing… songs are inspired by many things, but just like with books you reread, they can get new meanings and make you feel different than before. So, although I had no clue this person existed when I wrote this song, the second I met her, I knew it was about her. She’s uh, she’s here tonight.”

Y/N’s head snapped up from where she’d been propping it against her hand so hard, she was sure she heard a bone crack.

        No.

        Fucking.

        Way.

        “So, I’d like to end this small get together and dedicate it to her. And I know this isn’t one of her favourite songs,” Harry let out a small laugh, Sarah mimicking it behind the drums. “She told me she’s kind of sick of it, given how it was all over the radio at one point, but uh, I hope that maybe, she - uh - she just listens to the words, and knows I mean it.”

        Y/N didn’t even need the first chord to be played to know what song he meant. ‘Adore You’. 

        During their quarantine, she’d jokingly said if it played one more time on the radio, she’d have to break up with him.

        He’d yanked her down on the couch, nose nuzzling into her hair. “ ‘N why’s that? Thought you liked my singing.”

        “I do,” Y/N wove her fingers into his locks and massaged at his scalp, making Harry let out a satisfied groan. “I just don’t wanna hear you sing about loving and adoring someone that ain’t me.”

        A playful smirk pressed against her skin. “Jealous, are we?”

        “No,” Y/N shrugged pinching his side. “Jus’ tired of the song.”

        “Don’t worry.” He brought his face from where he’d hidden it by her shoulder and turned hers to face him. “From now on, whenever I’ll sing it, I’ll sing it for you. You’re the only person I wanna love and adore.”

        “What about Gem and your mum.”

        A disgusted look passed over his features. “Not in that way!”

        “Harry!” Y/N slapped his arm as both of them dissolved into laughter. 

        “You don’t have to say you love me,” he sung, breaking her out of the trance, “you don’t have to say nothing, you don’t have to say you’re mine.”

        She’d never hated the song, never meant it when she’d said that, and could never be mad at Harry for having written out his feelings, woven them into notes and masterfully put it together for others to hear.

        It was a weird notion to Y/N though, knowing everyone in the world could hear how he’d loved someone so much, but that was just because of her own inability to properly express her feelings. Yet now, listening to him sing that song for her, made her chest hurt.

        Thankfully Y/N wasn’t the only one sniffling in the audience, so she wasn’t standing out that much. She was kind of scared that Harry might look over and others would connect the dots, but he didn’t, not really at least. His green eyes scanned the people, but mostly he kept his gaze on the floor, as if afraid of what reaction everyone would have as the song ended.

        “Thank you,” he muttered into the microphone the cheers morphed into ovations, while he pressed his fingers against his lips and ‘sent’ the kiss to the audience before retreating backstage with his band in tow. As people started to filter out, groups heading down the street while others lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse or having a word with Harry, Y/N waited by the table, finishing off her drink before moving towards the backstage. 

        “I uh.” She showed one of the security guards her ID. “I was told I can come backstage?”

        The burly man looked down at the woman next to him, who much like the assistant before had a clipboard. When she found Y/N’s name she looked up and smiled. “Right this way.”

        They wove through the small walkways, as people rushed back and forth, coiling up wires, dismantling the drum-set and carefully placing the instruments in their boxes for them to be put in the van.

        “He’ll be back here in a minute,” the representative said, opening up a door where Harry’s name was plastered on, letting her step in, and Y/N nodded, pulling her jumper sleeves down her palms.

        It was a nervous habit of hers, having switched over from biting her nails to plucking at loose threads of clothing to now pulling at them. Harry had been the one to help her get rid of the biting.

        “How am I supposed to paint your nails, if you rip them off?”

        Y/N had scoffed shoving him a bit. “You have your own nails to paint.”

        “Yes, but I wanna make your pretty too.”

        “You telling me I ain’t pretty enough for you?”

        “No, I think you’re gorgeous, but,” he’d leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his teeth graze her earlobe, “I do love it when I can see marks on my back in the morning.”

        Y/N let out a shaky breath, as butterflies tumbled through her stomach. Three minutes of anticipation and the door clicked open, making her whip around and come face to face with Harry.

        “Hey,” he breathed out. “I uh I didn’t really think you’d come, but I’m really happy you did.”

        Y/N shrugged toeing at the ground and smoothing her hands against her thighs. “I’ll always do everything I can to support you. Being together is not a condition in my book for making sure you’re alright and happy.”

        “Did you uh – di –“

        “Did I hear the song?” she interrupted him, and Harry visibly gulped nodding. 

        “Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, her eyes cast down, noticing how his foot was tapping an irregular rhythm.

        “And?”

        “And?” Y/N let out a chuckle before leaning down to the couch and grabbing a pillow. “How! Dare! You!” she yelled, hitting his arm with it. “You think you can just do that, you think you can dedicate a song – a fucking love song – to me and get away with it? You think you can just be sweet and nice and so fucking loving and not make me fall in love with you more? And – and – and you just think you can do that?! And make me feel things?”

        Harry’s smile was blinding, as he grabbed the pillow, throwing it onto the sofa, and eliminating the two remaining steps between the two, hands on her waist, forehead to hers, as Y/N huffed seeing the smirk bloom even more on his lips. “I made you feel things, huh?”

        “Yes,” she grumbled crossing her arms in front of her chest, but in no way was she attempting to push away from him, actually relishing his touch and warmth, and his skin against hers. “You did. And I hate you for that.”

        “Do ya really, dove?” He was smiling wider than before.

        Her nose brushed against his. “Very much so.”

        “I love you too. So much.”

        “You sure you want to take a chance on me?” Y/N had to ask. “It’s – I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

        “Love’s not supposed to be easy. And you’re worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”

        “Okay then…” She had to suppress the cry that threatened to break out of her throat by clearing it.  “But on one condition,” Y/N stated with all seriousness. “You give me a proper shag right here, right now, because I’ve missed you so much, I won’t be able to wait until home.”

“Fuck, dove!” Harry groaned and cupped her cheeks, pulling her lips to his. “They’re gonna ban me from here,” Harry muttered against Y/N’s mouth, trying to wiggle out of the cardigan.

        “Then let’s give them a reason,” Y/N hummed against his lips, as her fingers, shaky but still nimble, undid the first button to his high-collared shirt. 

        Down and down, they went until the planes of his chest and stomach were exposed, and she could indulge herself by letting her palms and nails rake over the skin and the tattoos.

        “Wanna taste you,” Harry gasped pulling away for a breath of air. “Haven’t had you in so long, wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

        Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head from his words alone, and given how she didn’t trust her voice to not shake, she nodded her head, helping him get her boots off, toeing the socks with them and then shimmying out of her jeans.

        Her bottom half was practically naked when Harry pulled her by the thighs, legs around his waist and lowered her on the shabby sofa. Her mind was so hazy from all the love and pleasure, Y/N didn’t even care about how it probably hadn’t had a good deep clean in ages.

        Skilful hands lifted up her jumper, exposing the tank underneath. Harry raised his eyebrow. “How many layers do you have on? I want you naked.”

        “It’s fucking winter in New York.” Y/N helped him remove the piece of clothing he found so offensive. “Did you want me to come in just lingerie and freeze my tits off?”

        He hummed before looking up. “Speaking of tits? Can I see ‘em?”

         “Maybe. If you eat me out first.”

        “Deal.” 

        The thing was, as much as Harry wanted to dive right into it, he was feeling mischievous, so he decided to drag out the process as much as possible. Hands caressing her sides, he lifted the shirt so he could press kisses to her stomach, leaving invisible marks of love with every step of the way, and he grinned to himself hearing Y/N’s breath hitch as he reached her underwear.

        There was an embarrassingly large wet spot, and Harry pressed his hips against the couch to somewhat minimise the pain he was starting to feel. He was not gonna blow a load in his pants when he finally got to be with Y/N again. 

        “Can I take 'em off?” Harry murmured, leaving a fluttery press of his mouth against her hipbone, while she viciously nodded. 

        Quickly he pressed a kiss to the spot he’d soon be able to see unclothed, and it made Y/N jerk, but fuck she was eager, pupils blown so much there was nothing left of her usual Y/E/C eyes, but two black abysses.

        Harry’s were quite the same, as the green had turned dark jade, and even that was a small ringlet around his intense gaze.

        “Do not!” She pointed a finger at him, and Harry stopped mid-motion, just as he was going to pocket her panties. “I won’t go commando while wearing jeans.”

        “But –“

        “It’s not you who’ll chafe.”

        Harry huffed, and put them on the side of the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, you’re very boring and are ruining all the fun.”

        “At least I won’t have to deal with a yeast infection.”

        He couldn’t argue with that, running his hands over her thighs. “Fair enough. But you owe me a kiss.”

        “Come here, you doofus,” she grabbed at the open lapels of his shirt and pulled him down, arms looping around his broad shoulder to have his chest pressed against hers and bring their lips back together. 

        For a couple of minutes, they let their tongues dance in the familiar rhythm. There were no teeth clashing, no foreheads bumping or biting. Despite both of their eagerness, they’d decided to revel in being together, so each kiss was experienced to the fullest.

        “Better?” she asked, completely out of breath, as they pulled apart. 

        “Yeah.” Harry smiled, mind a blissed-out haze. “Now, where were we?”

        She couldn’t really think straight either, so her only response was a lift of her hips.

        “Right,” he sighed and slipped a delicate hand down her tummy and along the inside of her legs.  “God, I missed being here.” And slowly his head joined where he was brushing the sensitive skin of the apex of her thighs.

        “Harry!” she dragged out his name, as his fingers just kept skimming her skin, and when she thought they’d slip past her folds, he dragged them back to the inner thigh. “Stop teasing!” Y/N had her hands over her eyes. 

        “Why?” he smirked, kissing right around the place she wanted his lips on, but not on it. “It’s fun. Payback for everything you put me through.”

        “Harry, I swear if you don’t put your tongue in me, I’ll put my foot through your face.”

        He lifted her legs up, and then over his shoulders, caging her hips in with his arms. “Not if I do that.”

        “Just – fuck! You’re such a bully!” Y/N laughed. 

        “Are you telling me, I’m being mean to my girlfriend, the love of my life, owner of my heart and soul?” he asked, leaning his cheek to rest against the inside of her thigh, and she wove her fingers into his hair.

        “Well, if you don’t do anything, it’s gonna be ex-girlfriend again.”

        Harry narrowed his eyes. “Look who’s being a bully now.”

        “But – just – please!” she whined. “Please, I need it so bad.”

        “Need what?”

        “Ugh, you’re such a menace!” Y/N pretty much yelled and leaned to rest herself on her elbows, catching Harry’s eyes to keep a direct gaze. “I need your tongue so far up my cunt, that by the end of it all, your neck is covered in my cum. Happy now?”

        His grin was wicked. “Very.”

        That seemed to do the trick, as he lowered his head, and with closed eyes like a wine taster, finally attached his mouth to where Y/N had been craving him for so long. A deep sigh of relief passed her lips, and she threw her head back against the couch cushion, savouring the feeling of what was happening to her. 

        “Did you eat pineapples before coming?” Harry asked, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers; they slipped in without any resistance with how wet she was. “Taste… sweet.”

        “Had a fruit salad for dinner,” she moaned as he leaned back in and licked a broad stripe. “Didn’t have anything else in the fridge.”

        “That’s not proper dinner. Pizza afterwards?”

        Y/N hummed as he sucked on her clit. “Domino’s?”

        Harry linked his fingers through hers and brought their intertwined hands to rest on her stomach. “Whatever you want.”

        “Isn’t this kind of cheating for you though?” she let out a choked-back laugh, and with furrowed brows, he detached himself from her core.

        “What’dya mean?”

        “You’re having dessert first.”

        The singer threw his head back with a cackle. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat my veggies. But let me finish having my fruit first.”

        It was like he’d been starved of her, and in a way, Harry definitely had been. For almost three months, a quarter of a year, he hadn’t felt Y/N’s touch, hadn’t tasted her, nor pretty much heard the sounds she made.

        All he’d been left with was one last good-bye, a kiss given in a passion induced haze, and the one-sentence she’d recorded for her voicemail box, and well, let’s just say – Harry was more than happy to feel her hands let go of his and grasp onto his hair, to drink up everything she offered and listen to all of the moans Y/N was no longer depriving him of. It was heaven, to say the least.

        “ ‘M not gonna last long,” she gasped, yanking at his hair, making him moan into her, the vibrations only adding to the already intense pleasure that was coursing through her veins.

        Harry released her clit with a small pop. “Don’t want you to last long. Want you to cum and do it like you said you would – soak me all the way down to my neck.”

        A second later, he had his mouth around her clit again, ten seconds later, her whole body seized up, the air got stuck at the back of her throat, as her eyes rolled to the back, and her back arched up from the couch so far Harry almost lost his hold on Y/N’s waist.

        It was through a fog she heard Harry speak, and it took all of her willpower to focus on understanding what he was saying.

        “Hey, come back to me, dove,” he whispered, gentle palms coming to hold Y/N’s face, and he intently watched her eyelids flutter, body still going through the aftershocks of orgasm. “Come back, dove.”

        “Mhmm,” she let out a soft sigh, leaning her face more into Harry’s touch before opening her eyes and giving him a fucked-out smile. 

        “You good there?”

        The words ‘the best’ were pretty much a slur, but Harry understood them, eyes twinkling. “Take my top off.”

        “What?”

        She quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wanna see my tits?”

        “Yeah,” Harry laughed. “I did – do. Very much so. Gonna let me?”

        “Just take my top off.” 

        Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, where she could taste herself (and much like Harry had said – she did taste sweet), he practically ripped the tank top off, and with a little help from Y/N who stretched her back, the bra came off as well, revealing her in her full naked glory.

        “So beautiful,” he uttered in a soft voice. “Still so bloody gorgeous. Should kick myself for ever letting you go even for a second.”

        A little piece of her heart broke at Harry’s statement. “Wasn’t your fault.”

        “Maybe.” He dragged a hand between her breasts and watched as Y/N’s breathing went ragged. “Maybe not. All I know is, I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

        “Then don’t let me. Please.”

        It was the tears in her eyes which made him lean down and give her an open-mouthed kiss, tongue twisting against hers, promising that whatever happened, whatever insecurities came their way, he wouldn’t ever let go. 

        “Take these off,” Y/N said, popping open the button to his slack, and even that small motion made Harry release a groan of relief, as some of the pressure was taken off his painfully hard dick. “Wanna have you inside me.”

        “Dove, you’ll kill me with that mouth of yours.”

        “I’d rather you raw me than die.”

        “ ‘S not my fault you’ve got such a dirty mouth.”

        He’d managed to kick off his shoes, and shimmy the trousers down, now lying in a pile on the floor, while Y/N had fully removed his shirt and had thrown it somewhere across the room, itching to just have him pressed against her. 

        “Condom,” Harry hissed when Y/N’s hand slipped behind his briefs and grabbed him at the base, twisting her palm the way he liked, and slowly moving it up so she could press her thumb against the sensitive tip. “Condom – shit – Y/N,  I wanna cum, but not that quick.”

        “Nuhu,” she shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist, both her hands going to the back of his underwear and dragging them down, not before squeezing his ass. “I said I want you to raw me.”

        If Harry was going to bust a nut before, now it took him literally biting on his lip and closing his eyes for a minute to gather composure.

        “Wait no!” Y/N suddenly sat upright as he was going to lean down, almost knocking her forehead to his nose.

        “What? What’s wrong?”

        “Nothing, I just wanna blow you.”

        “I –,“ he stammered, “you – fuck. Okay. As much as I love that idea, because believe me I do, you’ll have to do it later, ‘cause I’m just about ready to cum.”

        Y/N’s brows furrowed, hand reaching for his hard member, Harry having to stop her midway. “But – you just gave me such good head. I wanna give some to you too.”

        “I will literally cum just from you talking if you don’t stop, but I really wanna fuck you, so will you please just let me?”

        “Okay,” Y/N nodded leaning back down and reaching for Harry to lay over her. “But you’ll let me stuff my face with your cock after?”

        “Jesus Christ.”

        “ ‘S not fun being teased, is it?” Y/N grinned, biting on his earlobe, as Harry took himself and lined up with her entrance, letting the tip nudge against her clit.

        “Yes well,” he took in a breath, slowly sinking in, “if you giving me a blowjob is your form of revenge, I might have to piss you off more.”

        That was a suggestion Y/N was happy to take him up on, as long as it got Harry inside her. 

        He was being very gentle, very much so aware of how sensitive she still was from her previous orgasm, and all he wanted to do was make her feel as good as possible, so he stilled half-way in, but Y/N shook her head.

        “More,” she whimpered.

         “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he muttered against her lips, legs shaking from how much pleasure he was already having, but still very much so attuned to what Y/N’s body was telling him, yet she seemed to not be having any of it.

        “Harry if you don’t get inside me right up to your balls, I will get myself off in front of you, and leave you high and dry.”

        “Now that,” he looked at her pointedly, “just won’t do.” And with those words, he sank deeper, just as Y/N had requested until he’d bottomed out.

        All the air had been choked out of her lungs from the sensation, and not only did Harry have to wait for a second for her to adjust (and to compose himself somewhat), but also for Y/N to take in a breath.

        “Breathe, dove,” he let out a small laugh, and it made Y/N reciprocate, her chest rattling with uneven intakes. “Said I didn’t wanna hurt you, let alone kill you.”

        “ ‘S not my fault your dick’s massive.”

        “Do I hear complaining?”

        “No, just stating a fact.”

        “Well, I’ll be taking that as a compliment.” He smoothed away some strands of hair, letting the two of them just lay there for a moment, to relish in the normalcy of the situation and how amazing it was to be back together, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

        Harry left kisses all over Y/N’s face as she calmed down, lips skimming over her cheeks, then down her jawline, up her chin to give a peck on the lips before kissing the tip of her nose and the bridge, then each of her eyelids and then the forehead before slipping to soothe at her temples. “You alright?” He checked in, a thumb stroking her cheek. “Do you want some water maybe?”

        “No,” she shook her head, her own palms on a never-stopping motion on his back, up and down, and then circling against Harry’s sides. “Jus’ needed a second to gather myself. ‘S been a while.”

        “So, you haven’t gotten with anyone while we – “

        Y/N raised an eyebrow as his question trickled off. “Do you really wanna know if I’ve had sex with anyone? Right now? With your dick all the way in my vagina?”

        “Hey! STDs are a real thing!”

        “Harry, if I was, I would’ve told you before all of this. And not just because of health risks…”

        And that made something in his chest bloom. This certain hope, he’d felt get extinguished when Y/N had broken it off, but that had been quite the pest in his mind. The hope that was the reason he’d tried so hard to talk to her both on New Year’s and then the week prior – the hope, that Y/N did trust him enough to open up, and that if he just gave her the time, she’d do so without inhibitions.

        Her answer confirmed it to Harry. He had no rights to know what her sex life was like when they weren’t together, he wasn’t her keeper, but the fact that she’d implied, she would’ve let him know regardless, that Y/N so wholeheartedly trusted him with such intimate information made that hope blossom into a glowing flower.

        “I haven’t been with anyone either,” his tone was sincere. “I – I couldn’t. I tried to, but I just couldn’t take it that far, because every time I opened my eyes… it wasn’t you staring back at me.”

        “Haz…” tears gleamed on Y/N’s bottom lashes, and when they fell, he gently wiped them away. “I’m sorry.”

        “No.” He shook his head. “None of that. It was a good thing. Because we’re here, right now, right this second, and it’s you I’m with, and it’s you I wanted. Needed. So, none of that.”

        “I just – “

        “I know,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “I know.”

        “Okay… I – “ she took in a breath. “I think you can move now.”

        “You sure?”

        “Mhm,” Y/N hummed. “Just take it slow at first.”

        Harry’s head fell into the crook of her neck. “I’ll take care of you. Promise. Just tell me if it hurts, and we’ll stop.”

        “You could never hurt me.”

        And as much as her statement made his insides all warm and fuzzy, Harry still moved gently. Slowly he rolled his hips into hers and took in the small moan that left Y/N’s throat. Then once more, and more, and more until he’d set a bruising pace, pounding into her so much, the table next to the sofa shook with the force.

        “Fuck, Haz.” It was a breathless whimper, her nails digging oh so deliciously into his back, leaving crescent moon marks for him to admire later. “Feels so good. So deep.”

        “And you’re so tight,” he grunted, placing a hand on her lower stomach and pushing down until he could feel himself moving inside of Y/N. “Taking me so fucking well.”

        One of his palms came to rest by her head, and the other took the arm of the couch, giving Harry the chance to lean into her even more and finally hit that spot that made all thought leave her head, and all breaths come in short gasps, while she desperately tried to hold onto reality by digging her nails in his biceps.

        Not that Harry was fairing any better. With every thrust and stroke, he was slowly coming closer to letting go, to finally getting that release he craved and painting Y/N’s core with his cum, but before that, he just had to, if only to prove to himself he could, get her off one more time. 

        His palm slipped down from the armrest of the couch, over Y/N’s collarbones, squeezing her breast before finding its way between them to rub circles over her clit.

        “Ah, shit,” he moaned, looking at where his cock was disappearing into her, wetness spilling and sticking to his lower abdomen and thighs. “Fuck, dove, I need you to come.”

        “ ‘M almost there,” she gasped. “Don’t stop rubbing.”

        He didn’t, instead, increasing the pace, and he felt her clench more and more until there was pretty much no way for him to move and that pushed both of them over the edge.

        It was an explosion of fireworks without a sound, as bright colours came to life behind their eyelids, but all the noise became non-existent, the most euphoric feeling in the world seemed to replace their blood and replenish their souls with love.

        But funnily enough, even though Y/N was the one who’d had two mind-blowing orgasms, it seemed Harry was having a harder time coming down from the high, as he was still shaking, his whole body racked by tremors, hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin.

        “Come back to me, Haz.” Y/N kissed his eyelids just like he’d done to her. “Come back. ‘S alright.”

        “Nuhu,” he shook his head, laughter rumbling through his chest and reverberating into hers. “I think you’ve killed me. Absolutely bloody murdered me.”

        “Guess I gotta hide your body then.” She smiled, letting her hands roam his back and soothe the pain her nails had left.

        “Good thing you’re obsessed with all those crime shows.”

        “Gotta get some useful skills somehow.”

        Loud banging against the door made the two jump, and Harry whipped his head towards it.

        “Are you two done fucking?” Sarah hollered. “ ‘Cause there are people here who’d like to change and get something to eat.”

        “What’dya say?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “Pizza?”

        “You did promise dinner.”

        “I did.” He kissed her. God, he was never going to get tired of kissing her. And luckily, Y/N was there to stay.

        “Great.” She smiled. “And after that, I’ll get my desert.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N:..... I need a cold shower, yall. Didn’t intend for it to get that explicit, but oh well :D 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

CH25- A Series Of Very Fortunate Events

Summary: It’s Fliss’ birthday and Frank pulls off the surprise of the century.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 24

I dunno how you do what you do, I'm so in love with you, it just keeps getting better. I wanna spend the rest of my life, with you by my side, for ever and ever. Every little thing that you do, Baby I'm amazed by you

Fliss gave a start of surprise as two hands grabbed her waist and spun her round.  She laughed as a pair of bright blue eyes, sparkling with love and mischief, met hers, her hands sliding up their owner’s chest to his shoulders, as a warm palm pressed into her back, fingers splaying over the top of her thin camisole. “Happy birthday, Beautiful.” Frank grinned at her and she beamed back, her nails gently scratching at the nape of his neck, tangling in his short hair as he gently swayed them to the soft music which was playing through the speakers in the kitchen.

“Thank you, Sailor.” She smiled as his lips gently pressed to hers, a chuckle flowing from his mouth as he swayed his hips to the gentle rhythm of Otis Redding’s ‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay’. “You know, I had set my alarm a little bit earlier today ” He informed her, spinning them a little across the floor, “planned a little wakeup call plus breakfast in bed. So imagine my slight frustration when it went off and you were already gone.” “Sorry, but I woke up and,” she shrugged giving him an apologetic look, “you know once I’m awake I’m awake.” “I do.” Frank smirked, his hands on her hips gripped a bit tighter as he swayed his own along to the music. “Guess you’ll just have to wait for that particular present, Cowgirl.” She let out a laugh, the hand on his neck tightening a little in his hair as she pulled his head down to hers. “I love you.” “Love you too.” He whispered, his lips catching hers in a deep kiss, tongues sliding gently against one another before Frank pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers. “Can I at least make you breakfast?” “Sure but don’t you need to be getting ready for work?” “Nope.” He shook his head. “Booked the day off.” “Why?” “Well it’s a Friday and your birthday and I wanted to spend it with you.” He shrugged. “I know you’re working but thought I could finish the shelving and what not in the tack room and then we can get everything ready for the guys coming over.” Fliss beamed. “I’m so excited to show them the yard. I know it’s not fully finished but...” she sighed. “I’m really happy with how it’s turned out.” “And you should be.” Frank smiled, his hips swaying to the music. “You’ve put a lot of hard work in. I’m proud of you, Honey.” “We’ve put a lot of hard work in.” She smiled as he revolves them gently on the spot. “Couldn’t have done it without you and everyone else for that matter, Mum, Dad, Joanne, Steve...” “Well,” Frank grinned as he spun her out slightly, pulling her back into him, her back pressed to his chest, her giggle vibrating slightly into his body, “tonight we can fire up the grill as planned, thank everyone properly and have a few drinks to celebrate.” “Sounds good.” She sighed as his lips brushed her neck. “My last lesson finishes at two, I cut them early for the day.” “Perfect.” Frank gently nipped at her skin, his hands splaying over her belly, pulling her back into him. “And just think, this is your last birthday as a Gallagher. You’ll be Mrs. Adler next year.” “Two months.” She rolled her head to the side, allowing Frank to nuzzle into her even more. “I can’t wait.” “Me neither, Baby.” He whispered, his mouth now on her jawline. Eventually his lips found hers and he kissed her again, her head laying back against his shoulder as his right hand started trailing down further, and further, and his fingers had just worked their way into the waistband of her sleep shorts when a soft little whimper, followed by a louder garbled chatter chimed out from the baby monitor. Frank gave a groan, his head sagging forward and his hand moving back up to Fliss hip as she laughed a little, tilting her head to look at the screen where Alex was now pulling himself to a stand using the bars on his crib as leverage. “Cock block.” Frank grumbled as he shot the monitor a look and Fliss stepped out of his embrace, turning to face him. “I’ll go get him, you can start my birthday breakfast.” She smiled, standing on her tip toes to give him a gentle peck. As she padded out of the room, Frank watched her go, eyes firmly trained on her pert ass before he smirked to himself and turned to gather the ingredients for the waffles Fliss had shown him how to make. As he spooned out the flour into the bowl he heard Fliss greeting Alex good morning and their ten month old giving a garbled little response followed by a happy giggle, the one he always gave when he saw Fliss. “Momma’s boy.” Frank scoffed, picking up the baby monitor and pressing the intercom button alongside it. He heard Fliss laugh as she turned to the monitor, sticking her tongue out at the screen, knowing full well he could see and he chuckled, turning back to his task in hand. By the time she appeared after changing Alex’s diaper, Mary had surfaced, Fred hot on her heels, and the kitchen was full of the smell of waffles which sizzled away on the iron. Mary shot over to Fliss, wishing her a happy birthday before she placed Alex in his chair and Frank stepped over to give his son a kiss good morning. He smiled as Alex wound his small hands into his beard, giving a tug before he gently scruffed against the baby’s cheek causing him to shriek in delight. “Think I might try his cup again today.” Fliss pondered for a moment. “He didn’t want his milk after breakfast yesterday as he was full so Mum suggested offering it him alongside, he might be a bit more inclined to take it if he’s doing it himself, what do you think?” “Go for it.” Frank nodded, straightening up. “Don’t worry about it too much though, sweetheart. Mary dropped her morning bottle completely round the time she was his age. He’ll let us know if he’s hungry.” Satisfied with her choice, Fliss sliced up an apple and placed it down on Alex’s tray along with half a lightly toasted piece of bread and a sipping cup half full of formula. Alex immediately went for the apple, jamming it into his mouth making appreciative noises as Frank served their own breakfast of waffles, fruit and syrup up, handing a small piece of waffle to Alex. The baby paused, taking it with a cooing noise and proceeded to look from one hand to the other. “What’s it gonna be, pal?” Frank asked. “It’s a big decision. Apple or waffle?” “Bet you five bucks he goes for the waffle.” Mary grinned and Frank wrinkled his nose. “I dunno, he likes his apples.” “Yeah but waffles are much better.” Mary’s voice was muffled as she shoved a huge fork full into her own mouth and Fliss watched as Alex continued to ponder. In the end he raised both his hands to his mouth, attempting to shove the two items in at the same time. Fliss laughed and gently went to help him out, but no sooner had she done that, Alex had already realised it wasn’t going to work. His fingers still curled round precious apple slice, he dropped the hand holding it to his tray, using the other to shove the waffle piece straight into his mouth, chewing contentedly. “Told ya.” Mary smirked. The kitchen was full of laughter as they ate, and when they had finished and cleared the dishes, Frank and Mary disappeared upstairs coming back with a few gifts held in their arms. Fliss grinned as she took the one Mary handed her first. “That’s from me and Alex.” She nodded as Fliss kissed her cheek and tore off the sparkly blue wrapping paper, her smile growing even bigger as she saw the box which contained a radio mic along with ear pieces. “You said your old one was crap.” Mary grinned, ignoring the pointed look Frank shot at her for her use of the word. Fliss laughed. “Yeah it’s seen better days, everyone says I sound like a Dalek.” “A what?” Mary frowned. “Oh they’re an alien thing from a TV show called ‘Doctor Who’, they talk like broken robots.” Fliss waved her hand. “But this is great. Thank you!” “It’s fully charged and tested.” Mary grinned. “Dad had it on the other night in the garage fixing me a blow by blow description of how he was varnishing the boat. I stopped listening. “No wonder it’s taking you so long to finish.” Fliss smirked at him and Frank arched his brows. “The reason it’s taking me so long is because every spare moment I’ve had recently you’ve put me to work at the yard either building shelving units or painting.” He folded his arms. “You know, I could charge you a fortune.” “I pay you in other ways.” She winked and a Frank snorted as she reached for a smaller wrapped gift. She tore off the wrapper and Frank held his breath a little as she looked at the white leather box emblazoned with the logo of a company he knew she’d recognise. “Did you...” her eyes instantly misted over and Frank nodded as she opened the box with shaking hands. He watched as she studied the item inside before she picked it out to examine it in closer detail. It was a bracelet made out of the hair from Heidi’s tail, wound into a thick, chunky braid, the different shades of chestnut and dark brown perfectly woven together. The claw clasp was silver and there was a small silver horse shoe and heart shaped charms hanging from it, the latter engraved with the words ‘forever in my heart’. “Frank,” she stuttered and he gave her a smile. “You were talking about getting one, did I get the right style?” “Yeah.” She swallowed. “Oh, Sailor it’s perfect.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, giving a little sniff as she pulled back. “Can you...?” She handed it to him and then held out her left hand arm and Frank opened the clasp, fastening it around her wrist. She looked at it for a moment before she smiled and wiped her eyes. With a little cough, Fliss cleared her throat as she reached for the final box which was a little bigger and when she opened that one she gave an excited shriek. “You got me a Pivo? How? These are like out of stock constantly!” Her hands trailed the box and she grinned, looking at Frank. “Lucky try.” He shrugged as Fliss opened the box to look at the starter pack. Not for the first time she was overcome with just how much Frank actually listened to the throwaway comments she made. She’d talked about getting one of the smart tracking systems you linked up to your phone for a while, it would make filming her videos for sales and the online blogging and tutorials that she had recently launched on the website so much easier. “Thank you, you’ve spoilt me.” Fliss beamed at Mary and Frank, before she turned to Alex to give him a kiss, and Frank glanced at Mary giving her a wink, both of them fully aware that the gift that was arriving later that afternoon was going to blow her mind.

***** Frank spent most of the morning putting up the shelves as promised, hanging the doors and whatever else he needed to do, whilst Alex was happily entertaining himself in his little pack and play, the air-con in the new large room a godsend as it gave some well needed relief from the sweltering late July heat. Bill and Verity arrived at midday with lunch from their favourite sandwich deli. Fliss beamed when she opened her gift from her parents which was a tripod for her new Pivo plus a year’s subscription to a new editing software app for her MacBook and iPhone. Once they had eaten, Verity offered to take Alex back to the house for his nap, leaving Bill and Frank free to head down to check that the new perimeter fencing had been done properly whilst Fliss carried on with her day's schedule, this time her, Joanne and Mary setting up the Pivo to film a little VLog for their YouTube channel that was linked to the stables. Then at just before two, Frank got the call he’d been waiting for, his big surprise was half an hour away. “I’m a little nervous.” Frank admitted as he and Bill walked back to the yard. “I mean, if she doesn’t like the damned thing when it arrives, I can’t exactly return it.” “Trust me, she’ll love her.” Bill shook his head. “If nothing but because it’s connected to Heidi and it’s something for her to start work with from the ground up. It’s what she’s always loved to do, and she does it well. As this all proves.” Bill waved his hand in the air, gesturing around the land and the various horses as Frank nodded. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He was on edge for the next fifteen or so minutes as he tried to concentrate on a little more painting, but then they heard the rumble of tyres as the truck pulling the transporter trailer wound slowly up the drive. Bill looked at Frank with a grin before he pulled out his phone, no doubt to message Verity, and Frank glanced over to see Fliss had straightened up from where she had been leaning over the laptop at her desk and frowned, her head tipping to one side as she glanced out of the window which overlooked the entrance. “Joanne?” She called and the girl appeared. “Did we book a new client in today that I forgot?” “Nope.” Joanne shook her head. “Who the hell is this then?” Fliss’ frown deepened as she turned and headed out of the room, Frank following with a very excited Mary. As they walked into the courtyard, Frank watched Fliss speaking to the driver as he opened the door and hopped out. He saw the shock register on her face and a small smile played on his own as she stood stock still, blinking at the man who handed her an envelope. With a frown she took it, turning to Frank who merely gave her a puzzled shrug, before she tore open the envelope and her eyes scanned the message inside which Frank had asked them to prepare. There was a delicious moment where Frank saw Fliss’ face washed blank with confusion, like her brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information from her wide eyes. Every muscle of her body just froze before a grin crept onto her face, it soon stretched from one side to the other showing every single tooth. This time when she looked at Frank, he smiled back, and she shook her head her own smile not faltering. “You did this?” She managed to stutter out as Bill chuckled, walking to the back of the large transporter to help the man with the ramp. “Well, I had help but yeah, I’ll take the credit for it being my idea.” He wrinkled his nose as Fliss gave a shriek and launched herself at him. Laughing he caught her as her legs wrapped around his waist and she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She whispered. “But how did you even know I’d been looking at her? I never-“ “Mary.” Frank said simply as her hands slid to cup his face. “You should know by now she never misses a thing.” “Hey, Titch, you gonna let go of Frankie boy for long enough to come meet her or what?” Bill called, and Mary nodded. “Yeah, hurry up Mom, I wanna see her!” Giving him another quick kiss, Fliss moved and Frank dropped her to the floor. She turned, sweeping Mary into a huge hug before she took her hand as they walked to the back of the trailer as the beautiful bay horse was led off. Amazement didn’t quite cover what Fliss was feeling at that point in time as she stood rooted to the spot, observing the animal who stood up tall and glanced round, snorting loudly at the strange surroundings. It was a cacophony of emotions all firing at once and the smile Fliss was displaying on the outside sure as hell couldn't have adequately reflected what she felt inside; like every neurone of her brain was trying to fire in both directions at once - the best kind of paralysis. Simply put, the animal was beautiful. Sleek dark bay with unblemished limbs, two white socks on the hind legs and a blaze very similar to Heidi’s down her dark face. Her mane and tail were shiny black, and whilst the animal had little muscle definition, Fliss new that was down to the fact she hadn’t ever been ridden before having been used as an attempted brood animal. It was clear she had been looked after and cared for as the mare had a sweet eye, it wasn’t looking at anyone suspiciously or worriedly, simply curiously as she spun quickly on the spot, giving a shout which was answered by Cap in the barn, Fliss knew his whinny off by heart. As Cleo turned her pretty head, she glanced straight at Fliss who took a deep breath as shiny, bright brown eyes gazed back at her. At that the horse gave a soft little nicker and there was an explosion in Fliss’ brain... the good sort... the buzz of electricity she had felt when she’d been to view Heidi for the first time. As dramatic as it may have been to admit this out loud, to her it was the calling card of adventure, of paths awaiting both their feet that they could enjoy together. Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there would undoubtedly be tears and frustration, many hours of patience and hard work as there was to be expected with any horse you were backing and teaching from the start, but it was Fliss’ adventure to take. With a gentle breath she stepped forward slowly, towards her new animal and held her hand out, palm up, offering the horse a sniff. “Hey, Cleo.” Fliss spoke gently as her other hand ever so quietly moved to scratch the horse on the wither. “Hi, how you doing, girl?” Frank watched and let the happiness Fliss was exuding soak right into his bones. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to smile at Verity who juggled Alex in her arms as she stood by his side. “You do realise that if you weren’t already, you’ve effectively just become a horse widow before you even get married, right? Backing a horse is gonna take a lot of her time and become an obsession.” She grinned as Frank offered to take his son from her and she obliged. Frank gently turned him and held him to his chest, facing outwards so he could see what was going on.

“I don’t much care.” Frank chuckled as he watched Mary extend her hand out to pat Cleo as the animal rubbed her head against Fliss who reached up to wipe the tears of joy from her eyes. “Look how happy she is.” He took a deep breath, her happiness was infectious and Frank was simply savouring the feeling of sheer pleasure in his system at seeing his girl so full of joy because of something he’d managed to pull off. Simply put, he wanted to still be able to make her feel like that when they were old. Half an hour later the horse in question had been given a quick feed and a drink of water and left to settle in a spare stable. Fliss had then been given a blow by blow account of what Frank, Mary and Bill had dubbed ‘Operation Cleopatra-Comin’ At Ya’ and she thanked them all, once more getting emotional over how much thought and effort had gone into everything so far. Eventually, once Cleo had been turned out into a field with Monty for the evening, they all made their way back to the house, showered and changed ready for the BBQ they were hosting later, Bill and V taking up residence in the guest suite for the night. Frank was already in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a blue and white checked button down, sleeves rolled up, when Fliss walked in wearing a pale blue sun dress which accentuated her waist and boobs, much to his delight, her Cowboy boots completing the look.

Their friends arrived and there were more gifts exchanged before drinks started to flow and they then made their way to the yard so Fliss could show their friends around. She laughed as she saw that Bill had jokingly put a ribbon over the gate for Fliss to cut, which she did to a few cheers and some sarcastic comments from her brother, one of which earned him a slap round the back of the head from Verity. Frank watched as she showed everyone around, Jake taking particular interest in the state of the art security system that was installed as he said it was similar to the one he was looking at for Lisa’s cake shop. The pride was simply flowing out of Fliss as she talked and explained everything, and Frank loved to see it. A few hours later, it was dark and their back yard was lit up by the various strings of lights and lamps dotted all around, which Frank fake-grumpily liked to point out made their garden look like a Fairy’s grotto. The air was full of chatter, light music and laughter as everyone milled around in the way they always do at parties. After more drinks and the food had been eaten, Fliss said she was going to head up to check on Cleo and Frank hastily offered to go with her, not least because he didn’t want her going alone, but because he wanted to snatch a moment alone for the pair of them. It was a beautiful, clear night. Peaceful and quiet bar the sounds of crickets. The horses, who were in the fields happily settled, all raised their heads as they passed, Cap trotting over to the fence line to greet them. Frank gave him a quick stroke on the nose before they moved down to the next paddock and Fliss ducked under the electric fencing and strode over to check Cleo. Satisfied that nothing was amiss she came back, a smile on her face and they set off back down the path, her hand linked in his. “Thank you.” She broke the comfortable silence a moment or so later.

“What for?” Frank glanced down at her and she let out a contented sigh.

“Everything today. And everything everyday.” She said, her voice laced with happiness. “All my gifts, it just shows how much you actually listen to me...”

“What you mean is I don’t ignore you deliberately as you accuse me of doing?” Frank shot back and Fliss snorted.

“If anything this proves it is deliberate when you do something I don’t like.” She looked at him and he chuckled before shook her head. “I still can’t believe you managed to get a horse here from England.”

“Yeah and basically empties half our savings.” He snorted and she shrugged.

“She’s worth it. I’m impressed, Francis.”

"Well like I said, I had a little help, it was a family affair.”

“I know and I love that Mum and Dad and Steve all chipped in but still, it was your idea.” She smiled. “It’s so thoughtful.”

“Well, you spend enough time thinking about everyone else, making sure we’re all happy,” Frank shrugged, the pleasure lancing through his system at her happiness made him in turn feel contend. “I thought it was time you got something back.”

“You make me happy every day.” Fliss shrugged. “And I’m not saying that just to be sentimental either. It’s a fact. And you know what else is a fact?”

“What?”

“That you’ve now imported as many horses into this county as I have.”

“Guess that makes me the Cowboy to your Cowgirl.” He nodded seriously as they stopped at the end of the path by the large open fronted barn just off the main yard area.

“Yeah? Is there a snake in your boots?”

“There’s one in my pants.” Frank grinned, and she laughed. 

“Is it dangerous?”

“No, but it spits.”

“Frank!” She scoffed, elbowing him in the side as he laughed, looping his arm round her shoulder,  pressing a kiss to her head as he pulled her back into him, his chest flush to her back. “Wanna fuck in the haybarn?” His voice was deep and soft in her ear as his lips dropped to the side of her neck, large hands curling softly over the curve of her hip, the cotton of her dress bunched in his fingers. Her entire body erupted into goose bumps and her belly was in knots, but still it was there, that overwhelming sense of comfort and familiarity that enabled her to laugh softly as she tilted her head to the side to look at him. “Only taken you what? Like three years to suggest that?” "So I'm a little slow.” Frank chuckled as she turned to face him, her hands sliding up his chest. “Well,” she smirked up at him, eyes flashing in the moonlight, “better turn up the speed because they’ll be wondering where we are.” “Fuck ‘em.” Frank shrugged, but still he wasted no time as he hurriedly backed Fliss into the haybarn, the two falling into a pile of it with a giggle. His large hands hiked up the sides of her dress, exposing her panty covered mound as his lips latched to hers in a deep and tantalizing dance. Thick fingers, soft and rough in their own way, played at the hemline of her panties just at the apex of her thighs, a thumb pressing into her clit just over the fabric. As his mouth moved from hers to her jawline, the scruff of his beard giving her that delectable burn she loved so much, a needy rumble vibrated from her throat and chest, Fliss enjoying every bit of pressure Frank offered. Then, a cool breeze touched her wet opening as she realized Frank had moved her panties to the side, an elicit sound escaping her lips as he slipped two fingers inside her. "You know today, I remember thinking that your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world.” Frank’s breath was hot on her ear as his teeth nipped at her neck. “I was wrong, it's your moans." Fliss choked a little on another groan as his fingers curled against her spot, over and over, in a beckoning motion, as if he was motioning her towards him. The heel of his palm pressed up against her clit and she pushed her hips down, rotating them a little as she sought out the friction of his strong but gentle touch. “That what you want?” Frank’s voice was husky, his mouth hovering over hers as she gave a wanton mewl, his hand keeping the same steady pace, forcing her to up his. “You wanna cum on my fingers, huh?” “Yeah, God, Frank...” a hoarse murmur  slipped from her lips as her eyes flickered shut, head tipping back in pleasure. “Jesus, that feels good!” “I got something that’ll feel even better.” He quipped in a low, rough tone that was almost a growl and a grin spread across Fliss’ lips as he slanted his mouth over hers, swallowing the noise of protest she made as he removed fingers from inside her, kneeling up, both his hands flying to his belt buckle. Fliss sat up, wriggling her panties down her legs and over her boots. With a cheeky flick of her eyebrow she tossed them straight at him. Possessing reflexes Fred would be proud of, Frank caught them in his left hand and held them to his face, his eyes locked on hers as he pressed his nose into them, inhaling deeply. “You’re a dirty, little shit, Adler.” She let out a naughty sounding chuckle as Frank stuffed her panties into his back pocket. “Yeah, and you’re filthy, goddamned minx, Gallagher.”  He quipped back, and a matter of seconds later he had his jeans and boxers down over his slim hips. Falling back over her, his mouth pressed back to hers again and he gave a hiss through his teeth as she reached down and grabbed him in her hand. Her fingers curled around his shaft and she gave him a few, quick strokes, before she guided him to where she wanted him. Slowly he pushed into her, the pair of them letting out a shuddered breath before his hips began to move quickly back and forth with fast, shallow thrusts and Frank reached down, large fingers curling over her thigh, hooking her leg up round his waist. His hand moved upwards, bunching the hem of her dress up, stopping as he grabbed at her hip, his other palm flat on the rough, coarse hay bale that they were propped up against. His lips crashed to hers in a desperate, needy kiss. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth as her hands tangled in his hair and she let out a little whimper, tipping her hips up to meet his as his thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, his pace still equally as fast as he drove her nearer and nearer to her high, a broken groan rumbling from his chest as he felt her walls tightening down around him. Fliss’ chest hitched, and her eyes closed momentarily, her mouth falling open as she croaked his name repeatedly, almost in time with his thrusts, a mantra as he watched her face which was contorted in pleasure. “Feels so good, don’t stop.” She mumbled, her hands tangling in his hair as her eyes opened. His forehead pressed to hers, a sheen of sweat covering both their red faces as his hips snapped back and forth, simple, fast ruts. Fliss could feel him, deep inside her, and soon that familiar heat and tingling began to burn between her legs and in the bottom of her belly. Her breathing quickened and then the waves of pleasure washed over her, her back arching as she gave a loud cry her nails digging into his scalp. Frank continued thrusting through her orgasm, and it didn’t take him long to catch up with her. “Fuck, Lissy...” his words cut off and a broken whimper slipped from his mouth as he came with a final deep thrust, his fingers tightening around her waist before he collapsed forward, burying his head against her neck. Fliss could feel herself pulsing around him, the aftershocks of her orgasm still coursing through her body, her walls contracting every so often as they lay still, his dick still twitching inside of her. Leaving a soft kiss to the spot under her neck, Frank pushed himself up and brushed his nose against hers, giving her a soft kiss as she gave a hum of satisfaction, the fingers of one hand gently stroking the nape of his neck, the other brushing up and down his bicep. “We should get back.” She whispered. “We’ve been gone half an hour.” Frank gave a groan but nodded and moved gently away, pulling out of her. He stood up, held his hand out and helped her to her feet, tugging her into him, large hands cupping her face. He kissed her again, deeply and she smiled as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Love you.” His lips pecked hers again, and she chuckled, giving him another kiss. “Love you too.” She beamed, stepping back to sort her hair out. Frank pulled his boxers and jeans up, brushing the remnants of forage and dust off his thighs and shirt before Fliss turned round and he did the same to her, plucking away a few strands of straw and hay that had become tangled in her auburn locks. “Am I presentable?” She asked and Frank nodded. “The evidence of our crime is eradicated.” He nodded, giving her a little smirk before he jerked his head towards the outside. “Erm, you’re forgetting something.” Fliss stopped him. “What?” “My knickers.” She held her hand out, palm opened and Frank gave a teasing frown. “Oh, do I have those?” He asked and she rolled her eyes, his hand falling to her hip. “Yes, so gimme.” Her fingers curled into her palm and back out in a demanding gesture and Frank shrugged. “You threw 'em away, so I think I’ll keep 'em.” “Frank, I can’t go back with nothing on underneath this!” She gestured to the floaty skirt of her knee length sundress and Frank shook his head. “Just don’t bend over and we’re good.” He looked at her with that maddening, cheeky smile, holding out his hand. “Such an asshole.” She scoffed, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her out of the barn. 

 As they walked, she squirmed a little, feeling his release beginning to trickle down her leg and Frank looked at her, a knowing smug expression on his face and she glared at him. “I’m going straight upstairs to clean up.” She grumbled and he laughed, letting go of her hand so he could loop and arm round her shoulders. “That would be rude considering we have guests.” He teased, pulling her close he pressed a kiss to her head as her own arm slipped round his waist, a smile on her face, the sounds of laughter and chatter from their guests drifting to their ears as they neared the farm house. They walked into the back yard through the gates and Fliss smiled at Mary who came running over. “Was she okay?” “Yup, settled in the field with Monty and eating away. He’s a good babysitter.” “That’s so cool!” “Where’s Alex?” Frank asked and Mary looked at him. “Poppa Bill has him.” She said, and Frank glanced around to see the man in question did indeed have their son in his arms, the baby grabbing at his short, grey hair letting out squeals as Bill pretended to bite his little neck. “Hey Mom, are we still going in the pool? Joel and Charlie are exited for night swimming!” “Yeah, in fact I’ll go in and get changed right away.” Fliss smiled, shooting a smug glance at Frank as she has been unwittingly handed a perfect excuse to go and clean up. “Cool!” Mary shot off, passing Bill as he walked over towards them. “Hey Dad!” Fliss smiled, “I’ll be right back, the kids want to go swimming so...” “Yeah okay.” He smiled, handing Alex over to his dad who pressed a kiss to his chubby cheeks. “Oh, Titch?” “Hmm?” She spun round to face him and Bill looked at her then to Frank and back again, his eyebrow raised. “Might wanna pull that hay out of your hair too before you come back down.” Fliss felt her cheeks heat up and her hands hastily moved to the back of her head, pulling a few long strands from her ponytail. She threw an accusatory glance at Frank who simply shrugged. “Guess I missed a bit.” He replied innocently, although he was anything but. He knew full well they were there, but there was that naughty, smug little shit inside of him that had wanted everyone to know they’d just been for a roll in the hay, quite literally. It appealed to his macho, alpha-male masculinity. “Dick.” Fliss scoffed, and as she headed inside his laughter accompanied by her dad’s exasperated chuckle hit her ears. 

**** Chapter 26

[chudleycanonficfest]

Dancing Around You

Day 31, Post #2 by @adenei

Title: Dancing Around You

Author: adenei

Pairing: James x Lily

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T 

TW: Some language and mentions of past abuse.

a/n: inspired by the scene in In The Heights when Vanessa and Usnavi go to the club.

*****************

I walk into the corner shop in my neighborhood and see James, Remus and Sirius talking by the counter. The scene causes more annoyance to course through me, which probably stems from the shit mood I’m already in. James and Sirius are supposed to be working, since this is their job. And why isn’t Remus at the broadcast station across the street at his own job?

So what if James owned the shop after it was left to him when his parents passed? Work is still work, and he shouldn’t be skiving off while on shift. I’ve busted my arse day in and day out for the last three years so I could save up to rent a flat in Camden to pursue a career as an interior designer. Moving out of Peckham to a more centralized location will help put me on the map as a well sought after designer.

But that was all for nothing. I’ve just returned from my meeting with the realtor, and despite having enough rent saved up for a whole year, plus the security deposit, he waved me off as if I belonged in the slums! The twat said I needed someone to co-sign a lease with me. Tears sting my eyes as I’m reminded once again of how alone I am. Having walked out at seventeen to escape my parents’ emotional abuse for the last seven years, I had no one to turn to despite the close-knit neighborhood I lived in because this was a secret goal that no one knew about.

I’m sure Marlene’s mum would be more than happy to co-sign a lease with me, but I couldn’t ask that of her. Not when she’s done so much for me already. No, I just need to hold my head high and keep moving forward. I put on my business face and strengthen my resolve, so the boys don’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.

Walking over to the fridge, I grab a Fanta and a Coke for Mrs. McKinnon. When I left the office earlier for my appointment, she asked me to bring one back. Now, I have to return to my job as her secretary at her own Real Estate office and try not to resent every client who walks in the door. When I shut the refrigerator door and turn to head to the register, I see James leaning against the glass of another fridge door.

When the hell did he creep up on me?

“Evans, how’s it going?”

“It’s been better.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

For a moment, I think about letting him in. I open my mouth to say something, but change my mind at the last second.

“You wish.”

“Right, well, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Narrowing my eyes, I observe James. We’ve been friends for years, and it’s a friendship I cherish more than anything. He’s always been there to make me laugh, to match my sarcasm and wit, and he’s never been afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. I know him well, almost as well as I know myself, but I’m not expecting his question or the butterflies that flutter in my stomach in response.

I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. His perpetual bedhead, black hair and piercing yet kind hazel eyes have always stood out to me. It’s no secret that he’s fit from lifting boxes all day and playing on a club football team in his free time. But I’ve never allowed myself to think there could be anything more between us besides friendship.

So, why does it feel like he’s asking me out? Am I misreading the signs? I decide to keep the ball in his court to get a better read on his intentions.

“I’m going dancing with Marlene and Mary,” I reply, keeping my voice cool and collected.

“Oh, sounds like fun.” He glances down at the bottles in my hands. “All set, then?”

I nod, and If I’m not mistaken, his shoulders slump as he turns to head back to the counter. Should I have invited him and the guys to join us? Before I can ponder it further, Sirius cuts me off and pushes me back into the aisle.

“You and the girls are going dancing? That sounds like fun. I’d bet my buddy over there would love to join you.” He raises his eyebrows as if willing me to catch his subtle hint, which I do.

“Wait, was James just trying to ask me out tomorrow?”

Sirius shrugs. “Probably, but you two have been friends forever, and despite his smooth-talking with most females, he seems to get tongue-tied around you.”

A burst of laughter bubbles out of me. “James? Tongue-tied? Around me? What are you smoking?”

“Nothing, Evans. Just pointing out a fact.”

Fine, if Sirius is going to pester me about this, I will prove him wrong. I brush past him toward James so I can pay for the drinks and be on my way. Sliding a couple pounds to James over the counter, I smirk at him.

“You know, Potter, I could use a dancing partner tomorrow night. Pick me up at eight?”

His head snaps up, and he looks shocked before a goofy smile replaces the surprise on his face. “Er, yeah, alright. I mean, if you’re sure—”

Cutting him off, I put him out of his misery. “Great, see you then.”

The following evening, we’re walking into Alohomora, the most popular nightclub in Peckham. My friends and I frequent the club at least once a month. I love its mix of neons glowing amongst the blacklights and the worn leather benches framing the booths around the perimeter of the dance floor. It’s come to feel like a second home to me.

Dancing is an outlet for my frustrations. I love letting the music consume my soul as the loud thumps of the bass vibrate through my body as I spin on the floor. Tonight will be no different, except that James is with me. As my date. At least, I think he’s my date. Neither of us have actually talked about what this is.

“Wow, I haven’t been here in ages. Have they changed the layout recently?” James asks.

“Not that I can recall,” I wave his question off as I hear a number of people shout my name in greeting.

“I didn’t realize how popular you were here, Evans. I’m impressed.”

“Impressed by what? It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I have more friends than you three. I hope that doesn’t make you jealous.” My playful banter is accompanied by a smirk as James laughs.

“Me? Jealous? Of course not. Care for a drink first?”

“Sure.”

Usually, I’d prefer to dance a bit first, but I don’t want to drag James onto the dance floor if he doesn’t want to. I’m not even sure if he enjoys dancing since I’ve never seen him here before. He’s flagging down the bartender when someone calls to me.

“Lily! Hey, Lily!” Terry Fawcett is pushing his way through the crowded dance floor. “Wanna dance?”

He holds out his hand when he reaches me, but I shake my head.

“Sorry, Ter, I’m here with someone else tonight.”

James turns as he overhears the interaction and waves me on. He contorts his face in a weird, ‘trying to be chill, but still looks sort of pained’ way.

“It’s alright, Evans, go ahead.”

I’m taken aback. Maybe we really weren’t on a date. “But—are you sure?”

“Yeah, just save one for me later.”

“Oh, well, alright.”

My hand falls into Terry’s even though I’m not certain I want to dance with him. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m not used to as I walk away from James. It’s ridiculous, but I think I’m actually disappointed that James passed me off so easily. And I’m just as mad at Sirius for even putting the thought that James might fancy me in my head because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since yesterday afternoon.

Well, there’s only one way to find out once and for all if he cares. Make him jealous.

I dance as I’ve never danced before when the music changes to an upbeat Latin tune. I spin around the floor, dancing with Terry before I’m passed off to other men that I’ve danced with once or twice in the past. It takes everything in my power to not steal glances at James, but I do catch when his baffled look turns dark as he begins to scowl at the men who are practically lined up to dance with me.

By the time he does walk out to the dance floor to cut in, I’m exhausted. He pulls me into his arms, but I’m still annoyed that he’s waited this long.

“Potter, I need a break.”

I pull away from him and walk toward the bar, where Sirius holds two drinks in his hands. I grab one and slam it down, shoving the glass into his chest once it’s empty. Then, I turn and head for the exit to get some air. It’s much quieter on the street, save for the ambient sounds of traffic in the background, a stark contrast to inside the club. I lean against the wall as I catch my breath and watch the cars go by.

The door to the club opens, and the music splits the night air as James steps out.

“Evans, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

What? Is he angry? Good. Let him be angry.

“You! You ask me to come with you, spend all night dancing with other blokes, and then when I try to cut in, you ditch me.”

A derisive bark escapes my lips as I push off the wall and step closer to him, matching his stance.

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me, Potter. You’re the one who pushed me away! I would have been perfectly happy dancing with you all night, but no, you sat back and watched as I danced with everyone else.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do!?”

He can’t be serious right now, playing the victim and passing this onto me. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with this. I step even closer, thankful that my heels bring me closer to eye level with him, so it’s more of an even match.

“I don’t know, put your arm around me and tell the bloke to fuck off? That I’m taken?”

“Are you taken?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Our breathing is heavy, chests heaving as our noses are a hair’s width apart. All I can focus on is the intensity in his eyes, the gold flecks burning like the flames in a fire. I wait for him to say something, or do something, anything except stare at me. I give him more than enough time, and he doesn’t make a move, so I decide that I’m done.

As much as I don’t want to, I break eye contact and turn away. I’m not in the mood to stay out, so I begin the walk home. James and I are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be, but that doesn’t stop me from cursing Sirius for putting the thought that we could be more in my head. Because now that I’ve accepted the thought, I’m not sure I want to stay friends. But it’s clear now, this wasn’t meant to be anything special, and I was stupid for thinking it could be.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Damien Dalgaard x Experimenting!Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: You want to safely experiment with recreational drugs but Damien wants to keep that from happening so he stretches his power in the world of drug sales to prevent anyone of note from selling to you.

Warnings: References to responsible recreational drug use, drug dealers, slightly controlling/possessive ways. Sexual references, also. Its mostly fluffy though

I stand one bisexual drug dealer

~~~

"Jacob, please. Come on. I have the money, I have my drivers licence- you know me! I don't want anything crazy, just something fun! And safe!" You press your hands together in a 'praying' gesture and set the hulking figure with a pleading gaze. "And I have plans to take it, at home, with my sober mum in the room. Really, I have no precarious plans!"

"I know, I trust you sweetheart. But I just cant sell you anything." He shrugs, turning his body towards the bar exit so he can escape you- but your hand flies from your side and to his forearm, gently, to stop him. He whines. "Come on, Y/N... "

"Jacob... " You fire back, in the same pleading tone. Then an awkward smile slips across your lips and raise an eyebrow in question, crossing your arms over your chest. "Come on," You tilt your head to the side. "What's really going on? You're the 4th person that's refused to sell me anything and I'm running out of notable dealers."

Jacob rubs the back of his thick neck, the skin stretching under his palm, and he grits his teeth together. "Look, I... " Making a frustrated noise, he lets go and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. "Someone... doesn't seem to uh... be too pleased, at the idea of you... " He tilts his head to one side, then the other. Choosing his words carefully- not that he has to. Understanding is starting to sink in as he speaks, anyway. Finally he drops his arm and sighs out a frustrated sigh. "Buying any drugs."

Damn it.

As Jacob says sorry and slips away from you successfully this time as you sigh and lean back on the pillar behind you. A certain blue eyed devil boy, who was unknowingly to you, keeping an eye on the exchange between you and Jacob from the bar, picks up his drink and slips through the crowd to you. As soon as you see him, you roll your eyes. Of course he's here, on top of everything else!

You refuse to even say hello to your stalker and give him the damn satisfaction, and just glare at up at him from the pillar instead. Although, you're careful not to pout- lest you only cement his juvenile opinion of you.

"Sorry, sunshine. Got to him a few minutes before you got through the door."

You huff. "Damiennnnn." A smirk flickers at the corners of the raven haired dealer's lips, just like any time you would groan out his name; The context be damned. "Why're you doing this?"

"For your own good, baby. You know tha- " Before he can even finish that sentence, you're rolling your eyes and moving to leave him right there in the bar, but he manages to side step you and get in front of you again. His hand curls around your arm, gently. "You wouldn't like it. I know you wouldn't, you're a good kid. I'm just saving you from a bad experience."

"That's not your choice to make." You snap back, gaze meeting his and, for once, being the icier party. "Damien you're not my mum. And you're not my boyfriend- neither of which would change a damn thing about my decision, if you were in fact either of those things to me."

"Well that's just too bad sweetheart, because alert the presses, cuz I seem to have just beat the system." Like the hot douche he tends to be, he makes a show of looking you over, from head to toe. "Because I don't see any fucking drugs, on you."

You growl, and exclaim hopelessly. "I would if you would just sell them to me!"

"Not gonna happen."

"Why!?"

"I told you." Damien moves closer, hunching over you. You can feel his breath on your forehead, but still you stay firm. He's annoying, and frustrating, and a pain in the ass. Your personal brand of sexy, yes, but all those other things first and foremost. "You're a goody-two-shoes, and you wouldn't like what it does to you." Oh, he says it like its scientific fact. And it seriously grates on your nerves. Why is he so insistent??!

You roll your eyes deeply, enough to really feel it before talking again. "I wouldn't or you wouldn't?"

A slow, mischievous grin slips over his face. But its just a show and does little to cover up the unsureness in his eyes. "Sweetheart. Does that distinction really matter that much?"

You cross your arms. "It does if you're thinking like a boyfriend but refuse to act like one, jerk." For a moment he doesn't say anything. His mouth opens a little, like words should come out immediately - a deflection, a denial. Something clean and easy, - but he just... gets stuck. Freezes. Realisation of how real those words you just spat out must truly be slowly dawn on you, and you revert your gaze from his. The anger from before kind of just, slips right out of you. "Cuz... you come to see me a lot. You try to protect me. We're having regular sex, you bring me my (Chosen drink) for no conceivable reason other then to make me happy... " Things start to make sense to you as 2 and 2 come together. Your eyebrows knit together and your gaze flickers up to his, then away again. Then you shrug. "But then again, that cant be it, right? You don't do relationships, right?"

"Right." He replies back, quickly this time. Too quickly.

"Right." You say back, then chew on your bottom lip and look around. You cant see much of the rest of the bar, and the partyers being loud as hell around because Damien's so close and is shielding you from everything, but you don't know quite what else to do, now. He's frozen, and even when he defrosts you're not sure he's going to have anything remotely productive to say and might just brush you off actually which would be sucky, so... Maybe, you should... go???

But just as you move to slip around Damien and leave, he seems to gather his wits and clenches his grip harder down on your arm. "Hold on, wait a moment, there." He looks up and finally meets my eyes again; You raise an eyebrow expectantly. What? He sighs, and leans forward, rests an arm on the pillar above your head - caging you in, - and squeezes his eyes closed for a moment, controlling himself. "Where are you going?" For gods sake.

"Home- there you go thinking like a boyfriend again though! Why do you need to know where I'm gonna be??"

"Why do you answer me, in the first place?" He shoots right back this time, causing you to blanche up at him. A slow smirk spreads across his lips again- this time, real. There's a definite mischievous sparkle in those blue-blue eyes. "Do you want me to be your boyfriend, Y/N?"

Sputtering, mostly to waste time so you can find the right response to a bold question like that, you say nothing. What? What? This is not about you- Why don't you feel violently ill at the concept, though?

Must be just because he's standing so close. He's pretty, that's it. Your own personal, addictive brand of pretty. That's all- "Maybe?"

... what??

For a moment all the mystery, mischief, good old bad-boy energy and just, plain, darkness just leaves him. Its unbelievably endearing and all you can do is stand there like a doll watching Damien laugh, quietly, at your response and probably the fact that you must look like a startled baby bird right now too. Briefly you let yourself dip into that box pushed into the very back of your mind, hiding away all the things that you shouldn't think about regarding Damien, and wonder if that's what he looked like all the time, before. When he was all geeky and book-nose-y. A 'goody-two-shoes' himself. You read about that part of his life on Gossip Girl. He didn't talk about it, for damn sure.

Then you shut that down because its in that box for a reason. Its not appropriate for you to dig that deep, with him.

But also you're totally confused, with where this conversation might be going. Should you pick up that box? Its becoming dangerously close to being appropriate.

"Maybe?" He asks, clearly amused. Like a chameleon, his colours change back again to drug dealing dickhead. You don't mind. You like both.

You tilt your head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "... Well, do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

He rolls his eyes, smirking, and chooses to torture you with his own 'Maybe', making you huff. He's amused by it, before setting you with a serious, questioning look. "If I did, though... What would that mean about your little drug quest you got going, here?"

Oh.

You're back here again.

Wonderful.

"Well," You take a deep breath, and reach up to cautiously hang your arms loosely around his neck; Something you've done plenty of times before but never so intimately. Not this kind intimately, anyway. Absolutely not. This kind, is what makes you nervous. More then when you met him, your first time at a bar on your own. More then any of the times someone dangerous approached you both when you were with him, definitely more then when you had sex - no matter where, - . More then roller coasters and giant swings. "I don't think it would go away totally," You say, carefully. "if I was your girlfriend, or anyone's girlfriend. Then, I think I'd be... too preoccupied, to think about that. For a little while, at least."

After a moment of letting your words sink in, Damien makes a thoughtful 'Hm' sound and wraps both his arms around your waist- gathering you up against him. "Sounds like time that could be used convincing you not to try."

"You could see it that way." You grin, rolling your eyes. But like a light switch, those words seem to ease the whole situation. Damien's hands on you, the feel of him close, isn't anything new to you. But it feels different all the same. Like you're really allowed to like it, now. In all the most innocent ways possible. "But good luck."

"I think I'll take my chances with that option." Damien proclaims, and for a moment you just stand there together. The bar's music blaring in your ears, making them pink and hot, the material of his dark coat cosy to the touch and making you feel enclosed in it and safe despite all the chaos that bars encase, Damien looking around the room; Not assessing possible sales for once or checking for danger. Just... stewing in his satisfaction. The frustration bleeding from the both of you earlier seemingly evaporated like it was nothing, as you grin down to yourself. "Also," He pipes up again coyly after a few minutes, catching your attention by squeezing you a little bit, also. "With you as my girlfriend," Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend- "now, I can do this any time I want."

Then he leans down and presses his lips against yours - less needy then usual. Not looking for anything more. Just kissing you to feel your lips against his, - in a kiss that sends tingles all over your body, and forces you to get up onto the tips of your toes to reciprocate with as much passion.

BONUS:

"Welp, I'm gonna get going now." You exclaim once the kiss is over, or you just cant hold your breath anymore, and reluctantly pull out of his arms, fixing your bag on your shoulder. You flash him a grin, tilting your head to the side. "Probably see you tomorrow?"

"Where are you going?"

"Home!" What does he mean, 'Where are you going?' ??? "I told you. I have cookies there, and my sister will eat all of them if I stay away all night."

Damien just stares back at you, waiting for some punch line, apparently. When no punchline comes after too many moments, he holds up a hand to slow you down- as if you had moved at all, with him staring at you like that. Any dose of those blue eyes are lethal. "Wait, you're really going home?"

"Yep." You pop the 'p', equally confused with him as he is with you. What does he mean, 'Wait, you're really going home'?????? Of course you're going home. That's what you said? Twice?

He just continues to stare at you. "What?? Cookies, Damien."

"I can buy you cookies." He assures, but you shake your head.

Tempting, but- "Mm, not these. I baked them."

"I can buy you ingredients."

"But then I have to wait for them to bake, and cool, when I can just take a 15 minute tram ride home and eat them now."

"Okay- " Damien sighs, kneading his forehead. "Alright, I might be new to the boyfriend thing Y/N, but don't people in relationships traditionally spend a- well, an obscene, amount of time together?" You smirk and giggle, at that. Oh, that's the issue. He thought becoming your boyfriend would be a bigger thing.

Hmm, you look away and wonder how to word this...

"Damien. Heads up, but as far as I'm aware, you've been acting like my boyfriend for months now. We've just labelled it now- not much is gonna change, except maybe I'll use the 'boyfriend card' sometimes with you. Don't sweat." With that, you lean up and peck him on the cheek as he smirks; relieved. Then you step back totally, resigned to not touching him again tonight even if you want to. That was goodbye. "Now, I'll text you later? Have a good night!"

"Night." He chuckles, pocketing his hands and turning to watch you leave.