#i always forget oliver has an accent

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Buddie In Season 7

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.�� 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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[suzdin]

Washed Up Has-Been: a Dieter Bravo one shot

Dieter Bravo x F!Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: soft!Dieter, sweet!Dieter, smut, angst, bodily insecurities, reader is plus sized but no other physical attributes are described, Dieter is a little chubby as well, mentions of drugs and alcohol, oral (m receiving), mention of sex toys, fluff? (gasp!), did I forget anything? I know next to nothing about the film industry, don’t judge me :(

Word Count: 2,800

Enjoy and feel free to reblog and comment if you wish! 💜🙂

——

Dieter Bravo had not been the same since Cliff Beasts 6.

What did they call it? Losing your spark? Your mojo? Your moxy? Whatever it was called, he’d lost it, along with his marbles… if he ever had any to begin with, and he was sure many would agree he hadn’t.

The reviews were bad, abhorrent, really. ‘Dieter Bravo as Gio Ricci baffling’, ‘Bravo couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag’, ‘I can’t believe this man has an Oscar’, ‘Did he get his Italian accent at an Olive Garden?’, on and on the critics wailed and lambasted.

He’d had a mental break shortly after the premier, firing everyone he could in his vicinity — his publicist, his hair stylist and manicurist, hell, even his agent of twenty five years. He’d hired a new one, of course, a potential script FedExed to his door that morning, fist curled and white knuckled in anger around the thick stack of papers as he perched himself like a sentient gargoyle on his couch, in the tattered clothes he’d been wearing for nearly a week.

A dad. They wanted him to play a fucking dad, some sort of buddy comedy family film opposite Dwayne Johnson, it might be a good move for your career, buddy, his agent had explained. But seriously, him? Hollywood heart throb Dieter Bravo, reduced to playing someone’s bumbling father, opposite THE FUCKING ROCK?

He couldn’t believe it.

He had put on some weight since his last film, sure, but that was no reason or excuse to allow himself to be typecasted as a dad.

Or was it the ever persistent graying in his hair and beard? The laugh lines? The crow’s feet?

‘Dieter Bravo is a washed up has-been’ the internet screamed at him daily, leading him to drown himself in an endless stream of drugs and alcohol…more so than he was already doing, anyway.

He was barely a functioning person. A husk of his former self, he could no longer get it up, unsure whether to blame the drugs or his steadily fleeting mental health, and even putting brush to canvas felt more like a chore than an escape nowadays. He’d become a hermit in his own home, the ghastly, aging 1970s mid-century horror he resided in the Hollywood Hills, that he thought was amazing when he originally bought it a decade ago.

Well, much like him, older things fall apart, and the house was a piece of shit, which was apt.

He had hired you as his assistant and he was so vague as to what that entailed that you were sort of a jack of all trades as far as helping was concerned, acting as his maid, his cook, the middle man to screen his calls, his emails, so on and so forth. Hell, you even took care of the large python he’d bought ‘because it looked cool’, that he was now too scared to touch, himself.

You did it all, and although he never properly expressed as much, he was more grateful for you than he let on.

He always found you pretty, too. Beautiful, even, and not in the fake way he’d grown used to, living in Hollywood. You were kind, sweet, and uncorrupted by a crueler world, always happy and eager to assist him with whatever he needed.

And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of you sheathed around his cock was the only thing that could even get him half hard anymore.

When you arrive for the day, you find him on his couch, glowering at what you can only assume is another bad script, graying hair disheveled and curling away from his skull, teeth gritted in disdain. A look you had come to recognize and were more than familiar with.

“Let me take that to the garbage for you,” you offer, as you normally do in these situations, stepping forward to reach for the offending script.

His eyes clock the way your breasts sway when you walk, the roundness of your belly, the plushness of your arms. He can’t help but stare; he wants to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

He swallows, moving the script away from your extended hand and tucking it behind a cushion, distracted by your body.

“No — no, it’s okay,” he replies and his voice feels like gravel in his throat, realizing he hasn’t spoken all day until now.

Although the script sucks and he doesn’t want to do it, he needs the money. “Thanks.”

You notice his eyes on you and you sit, leaving about a foot of space between you to maintain a modicum of professionalism, observing the sadness behind his dark brown eyes and knowing this has been the norm for several months now but still hating it for what it is.

“What’s on the docket for today?” you ask him and he shrugs, unhelpfully, his lips pulled into a frown, shadows staining the lines of his face. You haven’t seen him this bad in a while.

“I can… make you some hot tea?” you ask, looking down at the schedule in your lap, of which nothing is jotted down for the day.

He shakes his head, carding a hand through his hair. “No. I’m out of tea.”

You chew your lip. “Okay… well, then I guess I’m running to the store today. I have a list already, but can you think of anything else?”

Once again, he shakes his head. “No. I’ll just order it or something.”

You frown and tuck the schedule away, crossing your legs and turning to face him, contemplative.

“Then what do you want me to do today? You’re paying me to be here,” you note. “Unless you’d rather I go home.”

“No!” he damn near shouts, making you jump, and he immediately regrets his lack of impulse control. His gaze traverses your subtle cleavage and you clear your throat, heat warming your skin. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t want to be alone right now. Can we just hang out?” he queries.

“Dieter, are you okay?” you question and he shakes his head in response.

“No.” A single word that says so much more than that. It pulls at your heart strings, seeing him like this. “I — I’m a nobody.”

“You aren’t a nobody, you’re Oscar winner Dieter fucking Bravo,” you counter, and he snorts, picking at some dry skin on his ankle.

“Yeah, Dieter fucking Bravo, the aging has-been who can’t act his way out of a paper bag,” he snorts.

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to take away your internet access so you can’t read all the mean tweets about yourself,” you threaten.

“You wouldn’t.”

“One call to your financial advisor and I would and could,” you retort and Dieter scoffs, trying to remember if he’d fired him yet or not.

You cross your arms and flop back against the worn and flattened couch cushions, eyeing him smugly.

The movement pushes your chest up and out, his gaze on you once again and he isn’t subtle about it this time. You clear your throat and stir, staring back at his soft, plush lips.

“Dieter—“

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and the spontaneity of it catches you off guard, your jaw hanging agape in disbelief and confusion.

“…What?”

It had been months since anyone had touched him, had wanted to touch him, and now, as he stares at your body and smells your light vanilla perfume, after the shitty week he’s had, he needs to be touched, even if only briefly.

“Come… here,” he repeats, more dogged than before, and in spite of yourself, despite how unprofessional it is, you find yourself scooting forward.

He grabs your hips when you’re within reach and drags you the rest of the way, pulling the cushion partially off the couch in the process, a small yelp of surprise escaping your lungs as he softly grips your face to bring his lips to yours.

They’re plush, dry, lightly chapped and he tastes a little like whiskey and weed, but you don’t really mind, his coarse, wiry mustache scratching and tickling against your nose.

Suddenly, with a soft groan in the back of his throat, his hand is under your shirt, cupping your breast, and you break the kiss, looking down to where his arm disappears beneath the fabric, shock settling over your features.

“Dee… are you… are you sure?” you ask. You don’t exactly look like the people Dieter had been confirmed dating in the past, and you feel a wave of trepidation, your self conscious nature bubbling to the surface. You’ve always felt Dieter Bravo was more than a little out of your league.

Not that you’re dating him, but, you know.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure,” he tuts and kisses you again, rougher this time, palming your breast, making your cunt throb.

He groans. You’re so good to him, always taking such good care of him, and you feel exactly the way he thought you would, warm and luscious and supple, his dick already fighting with the seam of his pajama pants, the first time in weeks.

And you’ve wanted this, too, as long as you’ve worked for him, never confessing your feelings for fear of losing your job. You never imagined Dieter fucking Bravo would feel the same way about you.

You know Dee needs this, you need this, and you want to make him feel good.

You brush a hand over his hardening cock and he damn near bucks himself straight off the couch with a grunt and a sharply uttered, “Fuck” against your lips. You grin into his mouth at how much composure he’s already lost from so few touches.

You pull away after a moment and scoot off the couch, sinking onto your knees in front of him, nestling yourself between his broad thighs.

He watches you, rigid cock tremoring in his pants at the sight, the outline of it clearly visible and straining against the fabric. “You… you don’t have to…” His voice is thick, haggard.

“Let me take care of you, Dee,” you mewl as you nuzzle your face against the squishy paunch of his stomach, lifting his shirt to plant small, reverent kisses in a circle around his belly button. He giggles and flinches at the contact.

“Sorry, sorry — ticklish,” he explains and you smile, placing a few more kisses there, more delicate than the ones that preceded them, trailing a line from his navel to the thick swathe of hair leading to his crotch.

Despite the pounds he’s put on recently, he doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable in front of you, eyes darkening as he drinks you in visually, lips tight and parted, breaths growing deeper in the barrel of his chest.

You look up and from your current perspective, he’s all wild haired and broad shouldered, panting, your cunt clenching with desire as you eye him with a wry grin.

You smooth his shirt down over his belly and move your face to the hard bulge below, nosing the bulk of it through the fabric and inhaling his natural scent, thick and musky and masculine in your nostrils. You both groan in unison.

“Dear god,” he grunts, “I feel like I’m about to— aaaaugh— fucking bust already.”

“Save it for my mouth, at least,” you snip and his head rolls back against the cushion at your words, the one with the sag in the middle where his neck always rests, eyes sliding shut.

“You’re so good for me,” he pants softly, already so close to falling apart, “I take you for granted and I’m sorry.”

“Dieter, shh.” You find the stretchy waistband of his striped trousers and drag them down his hips, not all surprised to see he’s gone commando, cock springing free from the cage of fabric, uncut and dribbling against the drag of soft cotton. He’s girthy, and you’ve never seen one intact in the flesh before — literally — a small puff of air escaping your lips, taking in the sight of him for a few seconds before coming to your senses.

“Is everything alr—“ he starts to ask, cutting himself off when you unexpectedly cup his heavy balls in your palm and lick a slow stripe up his length with the flat of your tongue, his hips quivering and bucking involuntarily. “Shit—“

You grin, humming satisfactorily to yourself and continue to tease him, his hands finding your hair, fingers twisting at the roots as the rings he insists on wearing get caught in the strands, pulling ever so slightly. You moan.

You feel incredible, your tongue working his most sensitive areas, and he’s having a hard time holding it together, torso heaving above you, tiny whimpers departing his lips, and he hasn’t even entered your mouth yet.

You sense how much trouble he’s having at keeping himself in check, so you back off a touch to give him a momentary reprieve, shifting to kiss along the meat of his inner thighs, nipping at the tiny elephant tattoos etched into his skin as you do so.

He cups one hand on the back of your neck, watching you through half-lidded eyes, your lips like pure velvet and heaven.

He’s already forgotten about the shitty script tucked into the couch, about the bad reviews and the critics with their cruel, baseless quips. Faded away to nothingness, akin to what he experiences when he’s completely blitzed, negative thoughts dissolving to the back of his mind to be discarded, and for now, for the moment, the only thing that matters is you, your beauty, and how well you take care of him.

After what seems like an eternity of small, worshipping, teasing touches to the insides of his thighs and the rim of his belly, your lips return to his cock, lapping at the precum that’s beaded up at the slit before taking him into your mouth, hand fisted at the base as you work him into your throat.

He’s impervious at this point to keep his hips flush against the couch, shuddering into your mouth as you take him and pushing further down your throat, not entirely on purpose, moaning as the wet heat of your mouth engulfs him.

“Wanna— fuck your pussy next time— with a vibrating plug in your ass,” he grunts, hardly able to string a single cohesive thought together, making your cunt throb and slick leak into the cradle of your panties.

Dieter wasn’t one to shy away from toys, and in fact had an entire drawer full of them, which you had accidentally stumbled upon one day when putting away some of his clothes; everything from butt plugs to cock rings to flesh lights with multiple attachments and bondage gear.

You steady his hips with your hands and hold him in place as best you can, difficult with how much stronger he is than you, jaw stretching to fit him, the musky tang of him flooding your tastebuds.

You steadily rock your head up and down his length, taking him all the way to the back of your throat, and you can feel the veins running the length of his shaft pulsating against your tongue, feel the way his balls tighten as he edges ever closer to the precipice.

He’s wanted you, needed you, for so long, that he can’t contain himself much longer. His hips begin to stutter and you feel his body growing taut, hear his breaths growing shallow and haggard, fingers curling against your scalp.

“I’m… I’m gonna… fucking cum,” he grunts deep in his chest. That’s all the warning he allows before his hips stall and he lets out a visceral growl of pleasure, spilling a hot and heavy load across your tongue, some of it seeping out at the edges and dribbling down his thighs until you’re able to steady yourself.

You hold him in your mouth until you feel the very last drop hit the back of your throat, slowly pulling off only when you feel him starting to go soft.

“You should really clean up this awful mess you’ve made,” Dieter taunts when you sit back to catch your breath, watching the cocktail of spend and saliva slide down his tan skin.

You grin and tip your head forward to obediently lap at the escaped fluids. He groans as he savors the delicious sight of you, affectionately brushing his fingers through your hair as you do so.

After a moment, you rise from the ground, your knees cracking from the exertion, joining him on the couch as he tugs his pajama bottoms back up his hips.

He snakes an arm around the small of your back and kisses you, deep and full, moaning when he tastes remnants of himself on your tongue.

He grins against your lips and then rises, yanking you off the couch and giggling along with you when you pass him a perplexed look.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, pleased to see him happy and relaxed again after all this time, to actually see him smiling.

“You took care of me, so I’m going to take care of you. You’re familiar with my special drawer, aren’t you?”

—

FIN. xx

[the-spaced-out-ace]

I REMEMBER SEEING ART WITH THIS A FEW MONTHS BACK BUT I WANT TO EXPLAIN (still crediting @wetcatschwartzy for the idea/inspiration though. also hi i'm aware we've never spoken sorry for tagging you in my unhinged fic idea post) BUT ANYWAY uhhhhhh. 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. But make it the main cast of NPMD. An au that appeals to ???? people ?? it definitely appeals to me

And now the cast I'd so and my justifications, idc

Steph Lauter as Olive Ostrovsky

Thought process: We know Olive's dad works a lot, is emotionally distant, and Olive implies that he can be downright cold or abusive during the I Love You song, which lines up pretty well with Steph and Solomon's relationship. Olive's mom ran off, and we never get any mention of Steph's (picture Steph being introduced by the hosts mentioning her mom won Honey Queen or something). Both know their strengths and weaknesses but have serious self-doubts about their own intelligence (Steph being convinced she's dumber than she realizes, Olive never answering until she whispers the word to herself). Also I thought about Mariah singing TILY Song and sobbed.

Pete Spankoffski as William Morris Barfée

Starting off strong, they both have very stupid names that they KNOW are stupid and try to defend the moment they can ("It's Polish" / "There's an accent aigu"). Both of them have grumpy/cold exteriors, but when you get down to it, they're both just socially awkward and autistic coded but very intelligent kids that are really just at the Bee to try to make something of themselves (Barfée dropping out because of an allergic reaction at the previous Bee could totally translate to Pete having a diabetic emergency). Both develop crushes on Steph/Olive by the end of act 1 of their respective shows too, so. There's that I guess.

Grace Chasity as Logainne Schartzandgrubinierre

"But Ember, wouldn't she match better with the Catholic--" GRACE DOES NOT LIKE CATHOLICS. Also I have thought this through. Logainne is politically aware, cutthroat, and automatically assumes herself to be the most important person in the room. She takes up every project and social issue that she can to appease her dads, determined to be as perfect as they want her to be. She loses the Bee because she gets overconfident, taking a serious blow because of her pride. Grace takes up every project and social issue that she can (anti-hocoming posters and the prank on Max for example), can be cutthroat (canonically has murdered at least two men), and thanks to her holier-than-thou nature, assumes herself the most important person in the room. She takes up cancelling HOCO and is always early for school and is extremely devout because that's the perfect little girl her parents expect from her. And she'd probably get so into it she'd fall from pride, too.

Max Jagerman as Marcy Park

HEAR ME OUT! Marcy has been the top of her class all her life, to the point she was moved one grade ahead. She's popular, she's intelligent, she's multitalented, and she's peaking at age 12 and aware of it. "I Speak Six Languages" is literally her having a breakdown realizing she's been the "best" for too long and it's stressing her out. Max, meanwhile, says he knows he's peaked in high school, and therefore is making the most out of his popularity and status while he can. Like, I can picture him mentioning he's done every sport available to him and being the best athlete is only going to do so much for him in his life in a "I'm so sick and tired / of always being the best and brightest" type monologue. So when he drops out on purpose, who would he daydream about instead of Jesus? Maybe some NFL star idk. Everything I know about football is about the Chiefs (Missouri represent) and also learned against my will.

Ruth Fleming as Chip Tolentino

They're both horny, both proud of their own nerdiness, and would both ABSOLUTELY catch feelings for a competitor's sibling and immediately forget what word they had to spell. And would both make jokes about the especially dirty sounding words (to be fair all his words are kinda funny. And I DID learn the word "tittup" from this show) (look it up I dare y'all). Ruth singing Chip's Lament? Funny to me.

Richie Lipschitz as Leaf Coneybear

AuDHD coded, tendency to have the wrong takeaways, generally socially awkward even among the other nerds. Tbh that's all I got, they're matched up because they're the last ones. Still kinda fits though.

And I have less justification for the adults but here's my takes anyway

Miss Mulberry as Rona - sweet but stern ladies who've been taking care of after school functions for years

Tom Houston as Douglas Panch - he doesn't want to be there, he's as confused as everyone else (but without the hitting on Mulberry stuff he's never do Becky wrong like that <3)

Dan Reynolds as Mitch Mahoney - he's a volunteer counselor!

[margareth-lv]

👽Most likely she was abducted by aliens 👽

… or she was held hostage by Hollywood gangsters who won't release her unless she’s loyal as a puppy.

That will be one sad sob story... but before I start it,  I am anxious to warn you, as I always do.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Warning of the vampiric content ahead.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

So please, stop reading if you're 🧛🏻‍♂️ intolerant.

You know, it is not entirely true that Caitríona had never publicly admitted that she was married to 🧛🏻‍♂️.

Once she ended up pointing her finger at him then she uneasily laughted.

Caitríona Balfe and Oliver Jefferson conversation with Kathy Clugston at Our Place Festival on July 2, 2022 in Belfast:

So her husband used to say, wait, what was he used to say?

Ah yes, he used to say that a strong personality keeps their accent.

I mean, the most interesting is what happens next.

Because the most surprising is what she is talking about after claiming her “husband”. Within a few sentences she starts speaking about Sam, you know, this one who she works with.

And “Sam who I work with, in the last three months he’s like ‘What’s going on with you, you’re really Irish all of the sudden’”.

And then she speaks about her only son.

I have no comment at this time.

🤦🏻‍♀️

And how do we know who was sitting in the audience waiting for his turn to appear in the background of the photos?

This is how:

And thus the imaginary world was spared.

By the way,  I am passionate about comparing Caitríona's pictures with her "husband" to the shots with her real friends as for example:

Nothing to see here, guys, please disperse.

Pardon me, l don't mean to be rude, but she looked as if she dressed for the event in the dark.

Sadness, stress and depression.

And if you watch the whole thing you realize that, what is quite surprising, she wasn't comfortable at all on the stage and she didn't have much to say except her personal memories. Her body language, the unspoken part of communication showed her lack of confidence and anxiety.

What do you think? Hit or miss?

❓

———————

I mean, if it's any consolation though, we must not lose sight of the bigger picture and we can't just forget about everything that has happened less than two months later:

💔

Source:

The short clip that I quote above starts at 36:29.

[May 31, 2023]

[radley-writes]

Hello there! Multiple things. First, you exist! You have a face! And a voice! Not just the author of a book and want to have read and the owner of a blog I read most every day! Wow! Wow wow wow! Wow! Is that too many wows? Probably. Moving on, the horrors looks like my cat (his name is Oliver and he is dense and grumpy and a guardian and I love him)! Next, we have pronunciations! I pronounce year like "yur," usually, but I sometimes get self-conscious about it. (continued)

I have to go to war with the entire state of Nevada now

I hope u understand

Multiple answers! Whether I exist or not remains a matter of hot debate, as I keep promising to show up to things in person and then forgetting about them. I am Schrodinger's author. Seguing from Schrodinger, The Horrors also exists in an in-between state, at once a chubby cuddle-cat and an eldritch monstrosity who feasts on fingers and my woeful tears. Please give Oliver a kiss on his leetle head for me? It's very important that he knows I love him <3

I love "Yur"! Accents and pronunciation are super interesting to me, and I'm always fascinated by how much variation there is across the world~ I also find it amusing that you, the American, say it as "Yur," as in 'shine yer shoes guvna', while I, the Brit, say it basically as 'yee-ha', despite being the furthest thing imaginable from a cowboy. Look at us, swapping stereotypes!

I'm glad I came up with a few novel ways to mispronounce Nevada. What was your favourite? I must admit, I'm a fan of Neevada! If you wake up one morning and every sign in your state has been graffitied to 'correct' the spelling in line with my terrible pronunciation, you know who's to blame. Thank you for telling me the actual pronunciation! If the one thing I take from today is that Nevada has a dad hidden in the middle of it, I'll be happy.

And last but not least - you can certainly ask me writing questions! And ramble about your life! And tell me Oliver facts (though I'm afraid I'll have to demand cat tax.... pleasepleaseplease show me his squishy little face)! My inbox is open!

I hope you enjoy my book! I'm honestly thrilled that you're excited for it. Hearing that means a lot!

I'm dropping the links below as a shameless self-promo, don't mind meeeeee

Tweet!

Goodreads page!

BUY MY BOOK HERE!

UK version here!

[hislopchino]

HIGNFY's Guest Webterview: Ruth Jones

HIGNFY: This is your first time on HIGNFY. What's occurring? 

Ruth Jones: What's occurring is a lot of nerves, because I'm completely out of my comfort zone. I've been up before to be on the panel and I've always avoided it. It's quite a scary thing, even people I've told I'm doing it have gone "oh my God!", so I'm really scared doing it. I might forget who the Prime Minister is... mind you, the Prime Minister might have changed by then. So yeah, I am quite scared, but kind of excited as well.

HIGNFY: If Paul and Ian were to write a sitcom together what would it be about? 

Ruth Jones: I think Ian was born in Swansea so I was just thinking: Gavin and Stacey is this sweet love story between a girl from South Wales and a boy from the London area, so maybe they could do their take on a boy from South Wales and a girl from London.

Or it could be a boy and a boy maybe, a sweet story between those two friends. Or maybe it would be a love story. They say to write about what you know, so it would be nice to see a fictional Ian Hislop and a fictional Paul Merton living together. What do they talk about over their cocoa at night? The minutiae of their lives would be very interesting.

HIGNFY: Tell us about the G20 Ladies Dinner Night - what was your highlight?

Ruth Jones: I think probably the Bakewell tart that Jamie Oliver cooked - it was really fabulous. I did have a fantastic night, I must say, meeting people like JK Rowling. Sarah Brown and Maggie Darling were so lovely - they just seemed like they'd be a really good laugh.

It was just a lovely warm evening, and when Michelle Obama came in it was like a new popular girl at school and everybody was trying to be her friend. It was quite funny watching everybody sidling up to her and just introducing themselves.

And what was nice is that everybody was quite nervous about the night. I thought everybody was going to be putting on this bravado but they were like "oh my God I'm in Downing Street".

The one time I was completely awestruck was meeting Barack Obama: I wasn't expecting to, and he was so massive, he's really tall and I just went really Welsh when I met him. I kind of ended up going, "Can I just say congratulations, it's really brilliant, well done" and gave him a thumbs up. He was so gracious and he bent down (he's so tall he has to bend down to you) and said: "I really will have to learn how to talk like that (said in mock Welsh accent) b-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t". It was one of those once in a lifetime events. 

HIGNFY: Can you give us any indication of what will happen in Series 3 of Gavin and Stacey?

Ruth Jones: Well, this series unlike the previous two is set in the summer, so that will bring a whole new take on Barry, and I think Barry is a beautiful place. See it in the sunshine, it's amazing. The new series will have a different feel to it. As was set up at the end of the Christmas special, Gavin has got his job in Barry so we are going to be spending a little bit more time there... but I'm not going to give you anything.

We wrote the last episode about six weeks ago now, and they filmed us reading through the last episode and I just said to James, "Mr Corden it's been a pleasure". We got emotional. James and I would love to write a film together but I don't think that will happen because we've got other commitments. It's probably good to have a little rest anyway. I think we've got a good relationship so we would love to write together again. I'd love to write a good romcom.  

HIGNFY: You've had some great opportunities to dress up in Little Dorrit and Nighty Night. Tell us more.

Ruth Jones:  It's interesting when people go, "I didn't know that was you". I love when that happens. I think it's great to work with the costume designer I work with, Claire Finlay, and it's such a creative thing when you're working out the look. Or if you're with a make-up artist and you're working out the look. Linda's look in Nighty Night was based on a girl in this printing shop in Cardiff who had the telephone/Princess Leia buns.

With the period costumes in Little Dorrit I had a corset made for me. A corset is custom-made and it's a real, absolute skill and a craft to make the thing. Of course everybody is different, but you just feel so fantastic in it. You stand differently, you feel very comfortable because they're made for you, and then you put the dresses on top of that and they're just fantastic. Tess wasn't glamorous but I love Hardy, and because we were filming in Thomas Hardy country I felt I was Joan D'Urberville. It's all about dressing up - you never grow up. 

HIGNFY: Tom Jones: what was it like working with him and can he still charm the birds from the trees?

Ruth Jones: I didn't know what to expect. I thought he was going to be, well, he's a superstar isn't he so I thought he was going to have this kind of superstar attitude. He was so down to earth, really still a Ponty boy, but he's got this self-assurance which is so different from cockiness or arrogance. A self-assurance that was so attractive to anybody that was around him. He really did have a magnetic personality.

When he talks he talks with great gratitude for this gift that he has, he's grateful every day for that. There's such humility in that, it's very, very charming. You can see why women fall for him, he's got this little twinkle in the eye, you know, and I think it's a great move that he's gone grey. Grey's the new black.

[fanboy-2004]

MPHFPC Kids Headcanons

~ My headcanons for each of Miss Peregrine's wards, I've read the trilogy and am soon to read A Map of Days so please bear in mind I might write something that's disproven in AMOD, in which case, please tell me and I'll change my mind, I'm flexible (if you do this, please refrain from spoiling the book for me) ~

Jacob - Has black hair and blue eyes, stands 5'10" tall, right-handed, heterosexual, probably has arachnophobia, the type of kid who bruised easily when he was little, Disney Classics kid, hates parties and doesn't know why, favours chicken and sweetcorn pizza, his favourite colour is navy blue, went through an astronomy phase and knows a freak amount about space, A* in Geography, speaks a few useful (and a few useless) Polish phrases taught to him by Abe.

Emma - Has blonde hair and green eyes, 5'6" tall, right-handed, heterosexual, refuses to be stereotyped, abandonment issues, knows how to sew but hates it, her favourite animal is a butterfly, used to be a hopeless romantic, once unintentionally set fire to Millard's hair when he accidentally startled her, prefers to sit on the floor under her widow and bask in the sunlight rather than sunbathe outside.

Bronwyn - Has brown hair and brown eyes, 5'11" tall and it's scary, right-handed, asexual, Welsh accent which diluted over time, always wanted kids and loves babysitting the little ones, cuts her hair short because it gets in the way otherwise, doesn't mind chores and will help with anything from dirty dishes to moving furniture, has a phonograph in her bedroom and likes to dance, would've been a Beatles fan without a doubt, the oldest of all the kids.

Fiona - Has dark brown hair which sometimes shines red in the sun and hazel eyes, 5'7" tall, right-handed, pansexual, Irish accent thicker than Greek yogurt which few people can understand, has selective mutism, likely agoraphobic, one of the only people who has no problem with Enoch, forgets her own birthday, her face is impossible to read so even if she's raging inside you'd never know, pro at Irish dancing (not that you'd know it), loves worms with a passion.

Hugh - Has dark blonde hair and grey eyes, 6'0" tall, left-handed, heterosexual, boyfriend material™, no stranger to broken bones, has broken his nose, wrist, ankle and two ribs because he's reckless, favourite colours are yellow and brown, looks like a fuckboy but is super decent, Claire's favourite "big brother", the second oldest of the kids, hates hugs but gives them anyway.

Olive - Has light brown hair and blue eyes, 4'4" tall, right-handed, too young to know her sexuality so gtfo, very passionate about her opinions, doesn't understand any discrimination and just wants everyone to get along, once forced Abe to wear a flower crown and did the same to Jacob when he came along, has the most high-pitched scream ever, still believes in Santa but not the Easter Bunny because that one's silly, mocks Hitler.

Horace - Has blonde hair and amethyst eyes, 5'5" tall, ambidextrous, homosexual, speaks French fluently and it's actually the language he thinks in, hates dogs because they slobber and jump up on people, his signature is constantly getting more intricate, has the best smile of all the kids, very strict about personal hygiene, pities anyone who doesn't know what the word "epiphany" means, hates milk and refuses to use it in his tea.

Millard - Has auburn hair and hazel eyes (not that you can see them), 6'2" tall, right-handed, bisexual, sometimes says things aloud from conversations he's having in his head, literal grammar police, addicted to tea, Wikipedia personified, plays chess and has never lost to anyone except Miss P, can and will cut a bitch, over-competitive and cheats but you'd never catch him at it, lowkey a hopeless romantic, Emma's shoulder to cry on.

Enoch - Has blonde hair and green eyes, 5'4" tall, left-handed, pansexual, Edgy Teenager™, genuinely scared of his own thoughts sometimes, is confused by social norms, unashamed of his darker side, sarcasm king, secretly loves hugs, occasionally needs reminding the other kids are his friends and on his side, his bite is just as bad as his bark, would sleep all day if allowed, wants an army just so he can be in charge of something.

Claire - Has blonde hair and brown eyes, 3'10" tall, right-handed, another one too young to know her sexuality, pink freak with a strawberry addiction, Horace is teaching her French, she's the owner of the dollhouse and only Olive is allowed to touch it, can't pronounce the word "spaghetti" and hates it, always with either Hugh or Bronwyn because she needs looking after, the youngest of all the kids and everyone's baby, nobody would dare argue with her.

BONUS

Victor - Had dark brown hair and brown eyes, 6'0" tall, right-handed, heterosexual, had a Welsh accent like his sister, used to tease Horace about his slightly OCD tendencies but would always help him when he got anxious, everyone's big brother, previously the oldest of the kids, always played the peacemaker, hated fighting, stood up for Enoch when Abe bullied him, knew how to bake but never did.

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Oliver Wood

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Oliver... what can we say about Oliver.... Handsome, charismatic, sweet, ...and far too obsessed with Quidditch to use his very desirable traits to land himself a girlfriend.

- Truth be told: Oliver has never met a girl capable of sparking his interest enough for him to choose them over more time with his favorite sport. Well, no girl except you.

- You and Oliver first met when you were seated next to each other in one of your classes. Since you were seated together, whenever one of you had a question or had to do work with another person, you did it with each other.

- Oliver likes you. Oliver really likes you. He’s never gotten on with a girl so easily before, ...and you’re pretty; really pretty, and you don’t even care for Quidditch all that much and that somehow doesn’t even bother him!

- Every time there’s going to be a game, he asks if you’ll be there; surprising himself with how much he cares about your attendance. He feels this surge of pleasure every time you wish him good luck and he yearns to kiss you “for it” as well.

- I should probably give you guys a fair warning: Oliver may have a bit of a prejudice against you if you’re in Slytherin; considering they’re his main rival. He’d obviously prefer to date someone in Gryffindor but a Slytherin girl is the only one that would really throw his feelings for a loop.

- So Oliver has a crush on you for a fair bit of time, and he’s adorably shy about it because he’s never really had a crush on someone before. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to look down at his paper to try and hide the blush and/or smile on his face because of something you’ve said or done.

- He first asks you out after a big Gryffindor win. You’d gone over to congratulate him before returning to the school like everyone else but before you got too far away, he’d called out your name, causing you to turn back to him.

“I was jus’ wonderin if ya’d go out with me?” He asked, to which you obviously agreed to, causing a relieved and happy smile to spread across his face.

- For your first date, the two of you sit out in the field together and talk. He confesses that he’s liked you for a while and is very happy and flustered when you say that you liked him for a while too. He also talks to you about Quidditch, though at the time, you had no idea just how much the game would come to affect your life....

- You share your first kiss a few weeks later. You’d offhandedly mentioned that you wished he didn’t have to go as he got ready for practice. He’d paused, smiling and asking “you do?”, momentarily forgetting about what he was doing.

- Soon enough, he was leaning in closer and closer before pressing his lips to yours in a soft, quick kiss. He pulled away, insisting that he really had to go and giving you a quick peck before he happily made his way to practice.

- And just like that, Oliver finally found something that gave Quidditch a run for its money.

- There’s quite a bit of Pda in your relationship; usually on the more innocent side of things. He’s a fan of being adorably affectionate with you.

- Handholding. It’s the easiest thing for him to do; especially when you’re walking together and he’s holding a broom in his other hand.

- Long hugs.

- Getting softly pulled into forehead kisses.

- Soft, sweet kisses.

- Celebratory snogging after he wins a game.

- Shutting him up with kisses; usually when he’s been talking about Quidditch for an hour. As much as you love him, you sometimes just can’t sit through hours of sports talk that you don’t even really understand.

- Where do you think you’re going? It’s his favorite thing to say when you move to get up from under his shoulder as you’re sitting on the couch together or when you’re hopping out of his bed while the two of you are/were cuddling.

- He’s the big spoon when you cuddle. It’s his favorite position since he can hide his face in your hair; away from the sun, and feel you pressed close, his arm wrapped around you and keeping you there.

- He probably consistently falls asleep on you whenever you cuddle. The two of you usually take naps together after practice or a tough game.

- His favorite nicknames for you are Angel and bunny. There’s just something so sweet and fitting about them.

- He likes when you call him captain. He thinks it’s really cute ...and hot; depending on your tone.

- You wearing his jersey is his kink. You asked if you could try it on one day, just out of curiosity, which he’d obliged and ever since, the vision of you in that damned sweater invades his mind.

- You gave him some kind of good luck charm at some point and now he won’t go through a game without it, whether it be something like a little heart drawn on his hand or a bracelet of yours.

- Cheering him on at games.

- Checking on him after he takes a tumble in Quidditch. He always insists that he’s fine but he does find your fussing to be pretty cute.

- Getting taught all the intricacies of Quidditch at length. He can talk to you for hours about it so let’s hope that you learn to like it or are just really patient/love him enough to suffer.

- Even though you may or may not be clueless about it, he still likes to run through his Quidditch ideas/plans with you; at least if you’re in Gryffindor. You find it sort of touching that he genuinely cares about your opinion.

- Oh the things that can happen on an abandoned Quidditch field....

- Letting him rant to you about Flint and the other teams or when practice is being canceled, etc.

- I’m sorry but you’re not the only one who’s dating Oliver, okay? You’re sharing him with Quidditch and you’ll occasionally have to vie for his attention against it.

- You know that Oliver has to be lowkey jacked from all of his training, right? He probably likes lifting you up while you’re hugging/kissing or throwing you over his shoulder, or chasing after you and grabbing you around the waist to spin you around.

- He likes being able to warm you up. He’s always all smiles when he takes your hands in his and/or breathes hot air on them, or when he just pulls you in close to his body.

- Dates at the Three Broomsticks.

- Laying out on the grass of the school. You’ll usually lay between his legs with his arms wrapped around you.

- Taking walks by the Black Lake together.

- Just being in the same room and enjoying each other’s company while doing your own thing.

- Sitting up in the astronomy tower.

- If you’re going to special events with him than be prepared to see a kilt. The first time you did, he told you not to laugh as he came out and you were; probably, speechless for far different reasons.

- He can always make you laugh. He’s hilarious; even when he’s really not trying to be.

- Teasing him about his accent every now and again. You’re the only one who’s allowed to do it and it’s only because you’re so cute.

- He is fully convinced that Scotland is the best place on Earth and he will not take any other answer. He promises that he’ll take you there over one of your breaks and prove it to you if you don’t believe him.

- Compliments, compliments, oh how he loves them. He jokingly pretends as though he knows how good he is, stretching out and brushing off your praise with a poorly concealed grin.

- Trying to cheer him up when his team loses a game. He’s always bummed out for at least a day but you do make him feel a little better just by being there.

- Giving him a light slap on the shoulder to stop him from saying something or to scold him when he says the wrong thing/something very unhelpful.

- Patient boy. He’s really good at explaining things to you, always giving you a soft chuckle and some reassuring words before going over whatever it is you don’t understand again. He finds your frustration to be sort of cute.

- He can always see if you’re not doing alright and softly checks in on you, giving you a little squeeze on the arm and tilting his head down to meet your eyes. He asks if you’re alright or makes you a little promise to make you feel better, usually asking “How does that sound?” before giving you a “Yeah? Good.”.

- He tries to be comforting but he’s not very good at it. It’s the thought that counts, right?

- He probably doesn’t immediately notice when someone is flirting with you but can’t stop thinking about it after you or someone else mentions it. It bothers him but on more of a itch that can’t be scratched level.

- He’s not overly protective but he does defend you if need be and likes to make sure that you’re safe.

- The two of you really don’t fight all too often but you will occasionally have one; usually solving it in the same day/same place after a few minutes of arguing. Sometimes, when he’s really mad, his accent gets so thick that you literally cannot understand him and have to stop and just say “what?”.

- You both expect the other to apologize if they’re in the wrong and he has no problem doing so. He’ll give a “‘M sorry alrigh’?”, taking you by the shoulders and giving you a small smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” a ton but he does say it occasionally, usually out of nowhere when he just gets this sudden rush of realization that he is so lucky to have you.

- Look me in my eyes and tell me that Oliver wouldn’t want to make a little army of Quidditch playing babies. Why stop at one or two when you can make a whole team?

[juanabaloo]

First Killl! Here's my live (ish) blog of E07 "First Goodbye."

the english captions on this are so bad. Netflix do better.

Ben and Cal and a bunch of students are questioned by the cops. This is so so bad. No! Don't talk to cops. And if you ever do, never talk to them alone. At least Cal says: "where I come from police can't question a minor without an adult present." and then she leaves, not asking for permission. Cops want you to think you have to stay, even when you are not detained. Fuck cops. ACAB.

they got the whitest looking Latino guy to be the "spanish speaking character with 20 seconds of screen time." *eyeroll*

Both J and C end up surprising their parents by bringing the other to their home in this episode. Both parents are NOT into it, but eventually come around to not actively killing the girlfriend. I like that the show makes it clear the parents have zero issue with their queerness. (Cal explains her family is fine with it, and Juliette's sister was good with it.) The problem is the whole vampire - hunter thing.

Yay! Cal's parents are very supportive re the bad watcher guy that Juliette ended up killing. And then both of Cal's parents are in super protective mode when the terrible Guild people show up. The Guild is like the Watcher's Council (from BTVS) but more diverse, more competent, and not British. Fuck 'em. Funny that the one Guild woman is possibly an ex of Jack's.

It feels very real that Juliette makes this off-hand joke about Cal being a monster in the car to a cop and that spirals into the mob looking for Cal. Even the cop snidely remarks on Juliette's privilege in making the joke. The monster checkpoints only seem to work for vampires since they use silver. (see police aren't good for anything!)

Oliver makes another appearance. I def don't trust him. Apparently Sebastian is a ghoul, whatever that means. He's now stronger? They fight but Oliver leaves in the end.

The MAAM group, led by Bunny, is still dismissed by the show. Desperate Housewives, Lululemon lunatics. LOL that Bunny, the only southern accented character, is listening to Shania Twain's "Man I Feel Like a Woman." Shania has a fake country accent and this song was a big country crossover hit. It's a catchy tune with a laughable "we're rebelling against restrictions" vibe. Huh.

Uh. Theo! Here's a gif from earlier where he lies to protect Cal. He feels alone about his mom-trauma-flashbacks so he isolates himself. Nooooo. I love love love the scene where Talia agrees to "leave him alone" (meaning stop trying to talk about it) but then gives him a huge hug, which he gladly accepts. But..... the episode ends and after Apollo accidentally stabs him it seems like maybe he's dead? Or very badly injured??

Apollo and Elinor, who met before, end up making out in the bar bathroom. This clearly ends badly with the stabbing, and she mind melds both Apollo and Theo so they forget what happened. She doesn't seem sad or concerned at all. I DO buy A and E as a potential couple. A and E fit together, the way they act and their personality, and I feel like they are well matched looks-wise. Note E admits "I always fall for the stupid ones" meaning she was falling for A. But getting him to stab his brother is not a good move for any sort of budding relationship or even hookup.

After Ben explains the mob is looking for Cal, Margot tries to kick Cal out. Cal correctly explains why that's a bad idea. That's twice now Cal outsmarts the supposed older wiser adult. (First with the cops and now with Margot.) Go Cal!!

LOL at Margot with the "mismatched furniture" line.

And then J feels scared about the intent of the hunter family, which hmmmm. I guess their actions the night of her Debutante Ball are just now hitting her? Anyway, I can forgive it bc of the great moment with J and C.

awwwww. OK, last episode tomorrow. Lots of stuff for them to wrap up. I assume they'll leave some stuff dangling and hope for a S2.

[vennilavee]

starry eyes

pairing: levi x reader (moon/stars universe) ft kaiya and rina!! summary: some moments through your pregnancy with baby Peach. warnings: pregnancy, cursing, details of a difficult pregnancy, c-section delivery, blood mention a/n: for this drabble prompt req “give me more picking out baby names, painting nurseries, and cradling their children. For moon and stars please”. but it ended up being 2.6k. i didn’t include the part about painting nurseries bc i want that to be it’s own drabble/part of another part of the story!

“Do you think we should have Peach share a room with Kaiya when she’s old enough?” You muse, “We only have our bedroom and Kaiya’s…”

Levi hums and scratches his chin. He absently places a hand over your growing belly- you’ve only started showing in the last week or two.

“Kaiya will be five years older than Peach,” Levi says, “She will need her own space.”

“Then we need more space,” You say with a raise of your eyebrow, “We only have two bedrooms, baby.”

“What shitty timing,” Levi sighs, throwing his head back against the headboard of the bed, “Is this a good time to move into another house? We haven’t even started looking-”

“We can either do it now or when Peach is a few months old,” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder, “You and Erwin spent so much time decorating Kaiya’s room and painting the walls…”

“We can do that at the new house,” Levi says, “And Kai can do it with us.” He kisses your forehead and continues rubbing your belly absently.

“Are we making this decision too quickly? Shouldn’t we think about it more,” You wonder out loud.

“We need more space,” Levi says simply, “We got a baby coming. Or did you forget?”

“How could I forget?” You roll your eyes, “You knocked me up. Again.”

“Shut up,” Levi rolls his eyes and pulls you in for a kiss. And then flicks your forehead.

House hunting was a much quicker affair than you had anticipated it to be- Levi had a sixth sense for this type of thing (and it had long begun to rub off on you, too). You had been looking at houses with Kaiya for about two months now, without any luck of a space that you could truly see yourself living in with your family.

Kaiya dutifully holds your hand as she explores the new kitchen, peering into the glossy, light green cabinets and giggling when she sees her reflection in a small mirror.

She gasps when she sees the size of the backyard, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. “Mommy, look ousside,” She whispers, “Pwetty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” You reply, giving her a smile.

Levi has a mental checklist of questions to ask, and you do too, but he can see you falling in love with the house already. It’s cute and has charm- he can tell you’re already envisioning where Kaiya and the currently unnamed baby would play in the living room, where you’d set up your sewing materials…

Because he’s thinking about the same. He’s thinking about what Kaiya might want to paint her walls and how to set up the new baby’s room, about where his wine collection might go and his favorite leather chair.

Sometimes when you know, you just know. He has a good feeling about this place and the more the real estate agent tells you both, the more you subtly fall in love with the house. You feel like you’re a character in a small fairytale when you climb the staircase and get a view of the yard from the bedroom.

“Honey,” You say softly, tugging on his sleeve.

“Hmm,” He says and scoops Kaiya in his arms when she lifts her arms up.

“Daddy, mommy say she like it,” Kaiya whispers. Or attempts to.

“Oh, is that what mommy said?” Levi says, eyes lit up with amusement.

“Kiki, tell daddy that mommy loves the house very much.”

“Daddy, mommy say-”

“Daddy likes the house, too,” Levi says and you beam at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really!” Kaiya exclaims, her arms outstretched.

And that’s that.

Moving and settling the paperwork had taken another month despite Levi’s attempts on speeding up the process. You had insisted on helping with the physical labor of moving, despite Erwin, Hange, Eren, Jean, Armin, Connie, Sasha and Mikasa volunteering to help you and Levi move.

Kaiya sat on one of the boxes that Jean and Eren carried out of the current apartment with a yellow hard hat on her head, directing them outside of the apartment to stack the boxes by the elevator.

“Baby,” You mumble, tugging Levi’s hand, “A house. We bought a house together.”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You ignore him and peck his cheek. Your eyes have been watering on and off all day, memories of this apartment and of the initial stages of your relationship blossoming hidden in the spaces between the walls, between each shelf and cabinet.

“We fell in love here,” You say thickly, “We created love here.”

“We did,” Levi says softly, rolling his thumb over your hand, “Kaiya started walking right over there-” He points to the empty space of the living room, “You broke a wine glass over here-” He points to the space where the small dining table used to be, “And Kaiya’s birthdays were here…”

“Stop,” You complain, “I’m gonna cry again.”

Levi lets out a soft chuckle, “The new house is gonna have all of that and more. With this kid.” Levi palms your belly and kisses your temple.

Your second trimester, as it was with Kaiya, is relatively easy in comparison to the first trimester. You and Levi take the ease that comes with the second trimester to plan out what the nursery in the new house will look like when the baby is old enough to sleep alone. 

The new house is a cozy four bedroom house (complete with a guest room) and plenty of room for play and relaxation. You had converted one of the rooms on the first floor into a small office for Levi, as he was able to work from home more often than you were.

Kaiya had demanded that her room be space themed. So you and Levi had painted her bedroom a pretty pale blue, decorated with glow in the dark stars and planets across her ceiling and the walls. A grey full moon hangs on one of the walls, along with frames of the planets, galaxies and Kaiya’s own drawings of the solar system (and really whatever else she wants). 

She had even painted some stars on the side of the wall where her bed is, with Erwin’s help. Her bedding is navy blue with gold stars printed on it and of course, she has her stuffed elephant, her stuffed sun and her stuffed moon on her bed. A galaxy projector sits on her nightstand, and she loves to turn it on when Levi reads her a bedtime story.

Seeing her reaction made you cry, too.

Now was the hard part. Determining what to paint the walls for the growing peach in your belly. You and Levi go back and forth on muted yellow, olive green, and pale green-

“Do you want Peach to think they’re in a forest?”

“But green is such a calming color!”

“So is yellow, yellow is happy-”

“You think a newborn baby will know that?”

“We should create an atmosphere of relaxation and happiness-”

In the end you and Levi decide on a yellow and green theme, with accents of grey. Compromise. You both decide to hold off on painting the walls, until Peach is a little older to decide on what they want to accent the walls. Kaiya’s old crib sits in your bedroom for when Peach arrives, which somehow feels like it’s creeping up on you but still so far away.

Your second trimester is when you can’t get enough of Levi- every small action he does, whether it’s cooking dinner, putting things away from unpacked boxes or giving you a foot rub- makes you want to jump his bones every chance you get.

You’re glad your man can keep up with you. And Levi makes it well known how much he loves you and loves your body. He always has a hand on your hips, your waist, your chest whenever he can.

You bask in the attention. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy and your nails full.

And then the third trimester comes, and it’s possibly the most difficult experience you’ve ever had to stomach. The third trimester is complete with backaches, frequent heartburn, varicose veins and mood swings that give Levi whiplash.

Your mood swings weren’t this intense with Kaiya. But he knows every pregnancy is different. You’re uncomfortable in your own skin and distressed and so tired in the last few months.

In the last few months, you and Levi settle on a name- you’d found out that Peach was in fact a baby girl, and Kaiya was upset that she wouldn’t be able to refer to her baby sister as Peach any longer-

“Let’s name my sissy ‘Berry’ then.”

“That’s not any better than Peach, honey.”

In the end, after a few weeks of deliberating, you decide on Rina Ackerman. You had tossed around the idea of naming her after Levi’s mother, Kuchel, but Levi shot it down. He didn’t want his kids to have the burden of living up to a legacy that they knew nothing about.

You could understand that.

Levi and Kaiya help where they can. Levi holds you when you cry and he rubs your belly and your back when it gets to be too much. You tell him that this baby feels different, that you’re scared. So when you start having contractions about four weeks too early, you’re not surprised. 

You scream and you cry, terrified that something’s gone wrong when you spot blood pooling on the bed. Levi looks at you with wide eyes before jumping into action quickly.

He holds your hand tightly, grateful that Kaiya is with his mom and Kenny for the day.

Once you reach the hospital, you’re a mess, almost refusing to let the doctors look at you. You’re terrified that something awful and terrible has happened, and Levi looks you in the eye with your hands tight in his-

“You can do this. You have to do this. For Rina. She needs you.”

“She’s too early, Levi, I can’t-”

“She’s strong. Like her mother.”

In the end, Rina is delivered via an emergency C-section. Levi only sees and holds her impossibly tiny body for a moment before she starts to cry and she’s whisked away by the nurses and doctors. You’re still sedated in the hospital bed.

He sits in the blue plastic chair in your room and holds his head in his hands. 

It’s hard for Levi to believe that that melancholy morning in the hospital was a little over two years ago. When he sees his youngest little girl, strong and quick on her feet, being chased by her older sister, he can’t believe that she came out into the world in such a difficult manner.

You like to joke and say that Rina is a troublemaker and she liked causing a scene right from the first breath of air she took.

Levi feels like his heart stops whenever he sees Rina fall or nearly injure herself. It’s different than it was with Kaiya- maybe because he was the only one who saw her struggle to breathe during her first moments. It’s hard for him to lose the overprotectiveness he has with Rina that didn’t necessarily exist with Kaiya. Of course, he was protective over his oldest, but it just feels different.

He doesn’t want Kaiya to feel like Levi has favoritism over his two best girls. But he can’t shake this feeling.

You recognize it in his eyes even if he says nothing. You see it in the shine of his grey irises, the way they’re panicked only for a millisecond when he hears Rina’s first cry whenever she falls.

The Ackerman family is currently in the backyard, on a nice summer evening. You’re sitting on a picnic blanket with your legs outstretched and a small smile on your face as you watch your babies run around and chase each other. Rina is still clumsy on her feet, almost waddling after Kaiya before she gets distracted by a patch of grass. She immediately plops down and pats the grass under her and pulls at the grass as hard as she can, throwing the pieces up in the air and squealing happily.

“Kaiya!” Rina exclaims, “Kaiya!”

Kaiya sits across from her with a beaming smile and her hands outstretched and Rina gently places the pieces of grass in her hands. 

“Hey, thanks, ‘Ina,” Kaiya smiles and Rina bashfully hides her face. She crawls to her big sister and sits in her lap, playing with the flowers and pointing to the small garden that Kaiya and you had been working on.

“Let’s go to the flowers,” Kaiya says and holds her hand as they both waddle to the garden patch.

“Mommy’s growin’ fruits and veggies here,” Kaiya says, pointing at cucumbers and okra, “I pretend like I don’t like them, but I do.”

Kaiya laughs and Rina giggles, too. Rina watches Kaiya with identical eyes, wide and grey and full of wonder. She catches sight of her daddy and lets go of Kaiya’s hand to waddle to Levi.

You nudge Levi’s foot and he stretches his arms out for her. Rina concentrates on Levi, smiling as he gets closer and closer as she walks towards him. But she’s small and she’s clumsy, so she lands on her fresh overalls, knees in the dirt.

Levi is about to jump to his feet but you stop him with a hand to his chest. Rina only stands up with wobbly legs before resuming her walk to Levi.

She nearly jumps into his lap and bounces in his arms when he holds her close. Levi adjusts her sparkly purple headband and Rina just beams at him, standing on her feet and tugging the strands of hair that fall into his eyes. 

“Daddy,” Rina whispers and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a few pieces of grass and shoves it in his face. “For you, daddy.”

Her fingers are dirty, coated in soil and dirt and Levi winces. But how can he focus on that when his baby is offering him the gift of the earth?

“Thank you, Rina,” Levi says quietly and kisses her forehead. Rina smiles, satisfied, before settling in his lap and giggling when you pull funny faces at her.

Levi hugs his youngest close, gesturing for Kaiya to come join him. She immediately plops down next to him and Levi wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re getting too tall,” Levi says to Kaiya, who takes it as a compliment.

“My teacher says I’m tallest,” Kaiya beams at him. He pats her head affectionately.

“Come here, mommy,” Kaiya calls. Not like you were too far, anyway. Rina is busy playing with Levi’s long fingers and clutching them in her chubby hands. She gasps when she sees you approaching, outstretching her arms for your attention. You come bearing freshly cut fruit and juice before sitting down next to Levi and pecking his cheek.

“Mommy has melons,” You chirp and Levi snorts. 

“Yeah, she does,” Levi says with an upturn of his lips. Only you catch the teasing bite of his tone.

“Mello!” Rina chirps happily, eyeing the watermelon in your plate.

“It’s for you Rina,” You say, and cut up the piece into smaller pieces.

Levi lives for quiet summer nights like this- nights with his girls with the setting sun and a light breeze. Nights with you in a cute sundress, Kaiya and Rina smiling and laughing. 

He doesn’t think he can ever get used to how his girls’ laugh makes his heart swell.

tags: @simpingmaize​ @captainchrisstan​ @kentobean​ @alrightberries​ @puredivinity​ @regalillegal​ @castellandiangelo​

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn't been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I've changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN'T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: You're here right now. :)

Part two: Over there, pepperoni. :)

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

—--—---—---—----—----—----—---

I sighed, smiling as I watched my brother gather flowers. It was the early morning, I had to go out hunting soon, but then again, it wouldn't hurt to keep him company for a while.

"Nal," I called, it was a nickname short for his name, Kunal. An odd name, to say the least. Mother told me it meant Lotus, her favourite flower. 

His strawberry blonde hair swayed towards me, a smile forming on his face. He held a couple of lily's in his hands, his blue eyes glittering. "Y/n!" he said back, waving towards me.

I slowly walked towards him, squatting down next to him. He gave me a lily from his makeshift bouquet, humming. "Look at what I got!" he exclaimed.

I chuckled, roughly putting my hand on his head, messing with his hair. He groaned and in retaliation, he pulled on one of my small braids. It was something my father used to do to my hair when we went off to the woods. I used to hate it, but now I wear it every day, quite funny, really.

"Ow—hey, I just fixed that you little—" I let out, pulling my hand off his head as he let out an unprovoked yell. "AHHH MOM, Y/N'S SWEARING AGAIN!" 

I sighed, managing to pry him off me, our heads turning towards our mother, she had the same hair and features as my brother, maybe that's why she preferred him over me. 

"Kunal, get inside, time for breakfast!" she called, waving him over. Nal said a small "bye-bye", waving at me before running to our mother who welcomed him with open arms. 

She looked at me, I could feel her icy glare. But beyond all of that, her eyes showed a little bit of concern, as if she's afraid. It made sense, district 12 wasn't the kindest of places, illegal hunting is dangerous and she was my mother, after all.

I watched as my brother gave him the lilies, a smile forming on her lips, her eyes wrinkling. My hands tensed a little, I passed it off to the chilly breeze, not wanting to think about this in the early morning. "Bye," I muttered, turning away as I went towards the woods.

My hands gripped the rough bark, scaling up a tree with little to no effort. I arrived at a certain spot, reaching into a hole where my hunting equipment was hidden. 

I pulled out a small set of thin, throwing daggers. I looked at it, gripping the leather strapping on the handle. This was the reason, the reason everything went downhill that day. 

Yet I still keep it, to honour my father. This set was one of the only things he left when he was executed in the most painful way possible. I let out a hitched breath at the thought of it, holstering it on my belt. 

I pulled out a hunting bow, something my friend gave me. I wasn't the best at it, I was better at throwing more than anything. It was worth learning though, it was best used when hunting smaller game like rabbits and squirrels.

To my right, was a nest of mocking birds. I whistled a basic 3 tunes to them, which they listened to and replicated. My lips formed into a small smile, waving at the birds before I leapt to another tree.

My father taught me how to traverse the forest through trees. I remember falling every time I leapt from tree to tree, my father laughing as he caught my hand. Sometimes I'd just fall to the ground, resisting the urge to cry as I insisted to try again.

He and I have a lot in common, I took more after my father more than I did my mother. Both physically and mentally. While my mother was more grounded, my father would never shut up about freedom and life without the capitol.

It wasn't something ideal for life like this. Any word or action against the capitol and you can get executed right on the spot, something I had to learn the hard way. 

I've always found the ground limiting, the coal dust in the air quite suffocating. Unlike in these heights, where the air was fresh, cool. You saw so much more, moved so much more. It was a taste of freedom, something I've always wanted.

I arrived at a location hidden away from unwanted eyes. Landing on a large rock ledge that was reachable from above if you leapt or swung far enough. Of course, there were times where I didn't stick the landing and ended up in the thicket of berry bushes, ending up with several, stinging, unwanted "friends".

"I'm early for once," I huffed, grinning as I laid down the rock. I put my leg on top of the other, using my hands to support my head. A small, yellow butterfly landed on my nose, making me smile.

"Hey, owl eyes," A voice boomed, making the butterfly fly away. My brows furrowed as I looked in the direction of the voice. "Finally stopped daydreaming of burning the Capitol down?" he teased, grinning.

I shot him a look, "Mhmm," I hummed, "Daydreaming of throwing them off a cliff instead," I said, making him snort. 

"And how do you plan to do that?" He asked, smirking. I threw a small rock at his forehead, scoffing. "Shut it, Gale" I retorted.

He rolled his eyes, a mischievous look on his face "I was going to give you some of this bread I shot, but since you're like that, I guess I'll just have to share this with Catnip," he said, holding up a loaf of bread, an arrow pierced through it.

I laughed looking up at the sky, "Oh come on, don't be like that, Gale," I spread my limbs across the surface of the cool rock. "Don't pick favourites, but— between me and Kat, who's the lucky favourite?"

Gale hummed as if thinking deeply. "Definitely Catnip," he answered making my head turn sharply towards him. I shot him a glare, a look of betrayal. He let out a bark of laughter, just in time for Katniss to arrive.

He held up the bread once more, "Hey catnip, look at what I shot," he said. "He said that two times already," I groaned, raising a finger.

Katniss laughed, the bread handed to her. "Mhh, still warm," she commented, sniffing the crust of the bread after she had pulled out the arrow.  

If I hadn't known any better, I would say that they were siblings. Straight black hair, olive skin and same grey eyes. Most of the families who work in the mines resemble each other this way. That's why my family has always stuck out like a sore thumb, like Katniss' mother and sister. 

My mother and brother with strawberry blonde hair, my brother, in particular, having my father's blue eyes. Father and I had bright copper-red hair, I shared my mother's green eyes.

From what I've heard my father used to be a merchant, selling various herbs, fruits, plants and meat until he's settled down here for my mother, began working in the mines, along with illegal hunting.

The peacekeepers and the mayor let it slide though, They crave fresh meat just like anyone else in the district. Our district was looked down upon, the capitol didn't really pay attention to it. This is why we can get away with these.

My train of thought was interrupted by a berry landing on my face, making me scrunch my face as Katniss finished a joke with a Capitol accent. The two always told me I was easily distracted, a disadvantage when it came to hunting. 

Though I'd say it's an advantage when I'm not busy daydreaming I tend to spot small animals, like that one bird flying west of me, or that small worm crawling next to me.

Gale tapped my hand, which was dangling from the rock. He handed me a piece of bread, some cheese spread on it. I sat up, one of my knees bent, resting my elbows on it as I thanked him. 

"We could do it, you know?" He said quietly, effectively drawing my attention, as well as Katniss'. "What?" she asked. I only remained silent, biting into the bread as my other foot dangled from the rock, swinging around.

"Runaway from the district, live in the woods, you and I, maybe Y/n too if he wants to, we could make it," He said, I nodded, swallowing a healthy portion of the bread. "You know I want to," I interjected. 

Gale sighed, "If only we didn't have so many kids," Of course, they weren't our actual children, though they might as well be. He has two little brothers and a sister, Katniss has a sister and I have Kunal. There's also our parents, another mouth to feed.

My mom doesn't really have a source of income, so I'm left working the majority of the month, only taking a break at least for a day. Though the three of us split our games, It's never really enough. We still have times where we would curl up on our cots on an empty stomach. It happened far more often than any of us would like.

With my father gone, I was left to provide for my own family. These forests are practically my home, the only thing missing was Kunal and my mom's icy stares.

"I don't want any children," Katniss responded plainly. "I might if I didn't live here," said Gale. 

"But you do," She responded irritably, I glanced between them, chewing on my bread slowly. "Forget it," Gale snapped, sighing,

It would be a lie if I haven't thought of this. They call me a daydreamer because of this, I'd much rather dream of being one with the mocking jays, flying freely without worrying about the Capitol's prying eyes than face the fact that that would never happen.

A trait passed down to me by my father, as I said. We hate the fact that we are treated like caged birds, though used to it, we'll never be comfortable. Unlike my mother.

Sometimes I wonder what drew them to each other.

"What do you want to do?" Katniss asked, making me perk up. "How about we fish at the lake?" I suggested. They both nodded as a grim thought settled in my head.

Kunal turned 12 this year, his name is on the ballot for today, Reaping day. Though only once, there's a slim chance that he might get chosen. He could barely stand against an angry, small mutt, running to my legs whenever he gets scared.

If he gets chosen, I wouldn't know what to do. Surely my mother would resent me even more, why was I her only child left then? No, it wouldn't get to that, surely not.

I clenched my fists as we travelled to the lake, feeling the anger bubble inside me. I remembered one of the many reasons I despised these ridiculous, power-hungry people. 

"I'll destroy them one day, don't worry, pa" I whispered, though I'm sure Gale and Katniss heard me. They just knew.

—--—--—

Words: 1.8k

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Talk to me, please! [Oliver Wood x Reader] - Requested

Title: Talk to me, please! Pairing: Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Female!Reader Word count: 4.2k Published: 8 October, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Swearing Notes: I got this request from @leeayda04​ and I just loved writing it <3 Now I didn’t know if I was supposed to write male or female, therefore I went with female, but do let me know if you want me to change it.  Summary: After your fight with Oliver, you decide to make him suffer a little. Unfortunately things slowly get out of hand and you don’t know how to turn things around, before you lose him. Request: [x]

“Hey! I was wondering if you can make a one shot where oliver is dating reader the popular charming slytherin and he kept forgetting about thier date that make reader furious and end up having a big fight where reader gave him silent treatment” - @leeayda04​

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Oliver was a sweetheart. The sweetest boyfriend you have ever had. He always made sure to shower you with his love, he held onto your hand as if he never wanted to let go, he hid face in the crook of your neck just to feel a tad bit closer. If you didn’t stop him, he would have screamed to the whole Great Hall how much he loved you.

You were quite popular, and Oliver prided himself in calling you his, only his. You have had quite a few people around you who wished the two of you would break up already, wanting a chance with you finally, but you two were way too in love to care.

There were some Gryffindors who whispered behind your back, and grimaced at the sight of you together, but he ignored the disgusted looks he got for being in a relationship with you, a Slytherin, because he adored you more than he thought he could show.

Whilst he was indeed the best boyfriend in your eyes before, things have changed recently. To the worst.

You were sitting in Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop, your eyes wandering towards the door every couple of seconds. Your eyes shot up as you heard the bell above the door each time it opened, but he was never the one to step into the shop.

You looked at your muggle watch, which you got from Oliver for your 17th birthday. You furrowed your brows as you realised he has been late for over an hour already. You heaved a deep sigh, storm of thoughts swirling around in your head. You placed the leftover of your cup of tea on the top of the saucer, before standing up, placing your jacket over your shoulders and leaving the café behind.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to tell him what an ignorant boyfriend he has become, but you just couldn’t form the words you wanted to say. Until now. The tightening feeling in your chest, the little ball in your throat made your jaw clench. You shouldn’t have felt as if you have gotten used to this feeling. You were angered by Oliver’s behaviour. He has always been the kindest, sweetest boyfriend you ever had, but recently the boy had been everywhere but beside you.  

It was not the first time he didn’t appear on your date, nor the second or third. You have warned him on numerous occasions, but the boy seemed to prioritise everything, but you. His excuses were always the same. He got busy, he had an extra quidditch practice, he had to study. It was getting tiring and you couldn’t swallow it anymore, it was too much.

You strutted towards the Gryffindor common room, your steps loud and hurried against the concrete ground. You expected the stairs to go on about their way and make it harder for you to get to the boy, they were moody after all, but everything seemed way too smooth as if you were supposed to let your anger out on the boy.

You barely reached the Gryffindor common room, a student just leaving, the door still opened behind him. You quickly stood in front of it, sliding through the hole, immediately facing your boyfriend’s laughing form on the couch.

Oliver was seated on a sofa in front of the fireplace, the Weasley twins seated on his right side, whilst each Percy and Lee occupied an armchair for themselves.

“Khm.” You cleared your throat to get Oliver’s attention, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Fred looked at you first, followed by his brother George. You found it easy to make a difference between them, you have been around them for far too long.

It wasn’t a good relationship at the beginning, but slowly they started to warm up to you, even if they still enjoyed teasing you here and there. However, looking at the deathly glare you projected at them, they knew better than to try anything.

Fred nudged Oliver’s shoulder who was in a conversation with Percy. You didn’t really concentrate on what they were talking about, you only caught a couple of words about lessons and exams. Oliver looked at Fred with a raised brow, before he followed his eyes, finding you staring at him with a stern look, raised brows and folded arms in front of your chest.

“Love, what are you doing here?” He asked nonchalantly, making you frown at the clueless boy.

“I think that should be my question.” You hissed in anger. “You shouldn’t be here, instead you should have been with me in Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, for Godric’s sake, I forgot, love. I’m so sorry. I will grab my coat and we can go.” He shot up from his seat heading towards the male dormitory, but your voice stopped him.

“Oh, no you don’t. I was waiting for you over an hour, Oliver.” You groaned and he flinched as he heard his name. You didn’t use it often, nor did he use yours. You preferred calling each other in all kinds of endearing pet names. “This is not even the first time.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He spoke as he turned around and started walking towards you.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Wood.” You hissed, your jaw clenching in anger. He flinched once again, realising that the conversation was going to get heated very quickly.

“Maybe we should go somewhere private, love.” He tried to convince you, but you didn’t listen. If anything, you got even more worked up.

“Don’t call me, love and don’t try to tell me what to do!” You groaned as you stepped back from him. “Are you scared that people will realise what a shitty boyfriend you can be? Because that’s what you have been recently. At first, I understood, you are the captain of the quidditch team after all, sure you have some obligations, but it has started becoming a thing where you completely forget about me.” You didn’t even realise when you raised your voice, but at this point you didn’t even mind. You were way too upset with the boy.

“I didn’t mean to, I promise. I’m so sorry.” His guilty expression and apologetic look made you want to step closer and pull him in for a hug, but you stopped yourself. He has promised you so many times already that he would pay more attention, but recently his words meant nothing to you.

“How many times are you going to apologise? I can’t even take your words seriously anymore.”

“What?” He grimaced at your words. “What else do you want me to say? I fucked up, I apologised.” It was his turn to raise his voice this time, his Scottish accent thickening as his anger rose.

“But you keep fucking up non-stop, Wood. It’s not once or twice! You have left me; you have forgotten about me on numerous occasions. How long do I have to keep accepting your apologies when you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again? I’m tired, Oliver.” You groaned, your tone irritated, still slightly breaking after each word.

“I don’t understand you. I told you, I’m under constant stress. We need to win the Quidditch cup, we have to focus on all the extra practices, I have to get ready for the exams, I literally am non-stop studying. I can’t always hang around you when you ask.” You have heard all his excuses before, they weren’t anything new, but the idea of you asking him to hang around you, got you worked up.

“I’m in my 7th year too. I have as much responsibilities as you do and if anything, it’s not even me who initiates to meet up, but you, so then you can completely forget about it. What do you think how it feels when your boyfriend keeps promising sweet little dates, but attends to none?” You shook your head as you exhaled deeply. “If you continue like this, you will be single before you even realise it.” You huffed.

“What?” His eyes shot up, capturing your stern gaze. His jaw hang law in surprise, his eyes wider than ever. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will have to figure that out, Oliver.” You shook your head as you turned around and left the stunned boy behind. You expected him to come after you, to try to stop you, to try to talk to you, but he didn’t even move. He stood in the Gryffindor common room with the same shocked expression across his face as he watched the portrait hole, whilst you headed towards the dungeon, knowing you would cry the night away.

You barely arrived at your dormitory, you threw the door open and flopped down on your bed. You wanted to scream, you wanted to be angry, but instead teardrops after teardrops ran down your cheeks, heart-wrenching sobs left your lungs.

The thought of losing Oliver hurt like hell. You loved the boy more than you thought you would ever love someone, but you couldn’t put yourself through so much pain all the time. His ignorance hurt you and you just couldn’t do this to yourself anymore.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to break up with him or if you just needed some break from him to try and figure things out on your own, but you were certain that you needed to concentrate on yourself now. Only on you.

As the morning came, you woke up with bloodshot eyes, each accompanied by small puffy bags under them. Your headache was pounding hard against your skull, making you groan. You got yourself out of bed, dragging yourself over to the bathroom, almost stumbling back as you recognised your reflection in the mirror.

“Really? This is how I look because of some stupid boy? I’m pathetic.” You scoffed at the sight of you, scolding yourself. You were always a strong person, always there to support others. The sight of your pale skin, pain-filled expression and swollen cheeks gave you an encouraging kick in your backside. You were having none of this. You were stronger than to let yourself go over someone who didn’t seem to care about you.

You finished your morning routine, dressed into your uniform and walked back to your room. You halted as you felt all 3 pairs of eyes studying you with a worried look. Pansy walked up to you first, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“We heard you last night.” She said with a sympathetic look. The girl wasn’t an angel per se, but you could always rely on her. She wasn’t a social person, but those who were close to her could enjoy all the benefits her friendship included, which meant she was to kill for those she cared about, almost literally.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Pansy, but I’m fine. Things just got a bit harder recently, but I’m good.” You explained with a reassuring smile. She knew the story back and forth, but she also knew you. You didn’t have to say much, she understood that you were dealing with it on your own. She nodded in response, before she took her wand out and pointed it in your face. “Hey.” You stepped back abruptly, but she chuckled at your behaviour.

“Calm down, I don’t think you want to go out like that.” She grinned at your unappealing look. You rolled your eyes and let her perform some easy spells. As she finished, you turned around to look into the mirror beside the door and you couldn’t stop a little smile from crawling up on your lips. “Not bad, huh?” Pansy winked with a proud smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky, I’m naturally good looking.” You scoffed, before your smile turned into a playful grin.

“Right, Ms. Confidence. Let’s get some food into your system.” She shook her head as she started pushing you out the door, your other two roommates following behind.

You walked up to the Great Hall, Pansy talking about Draco Malfoy for the umpteenth time. The girl was smitten, and Draco knew about it, but he seemed to be rather ignorant towards her. You never dared to voice it to Pansy, deep down she knew, but it felt good for her to crush over someone.

As you reached the Great Hall, you immediately headed towards the Slytherin table, taking a seat beside Pansy, who decided to sit next to Draco. You chuckled at the two. Draco rolled his eyes, very obviously wishing for the girl’s disappearance, whilst Pansy just chuckled happily enjoying the boy’s mere presence. They were definitely a comical pair, but it was somewhat helpful, it lightened your mood.

You took a piece of scone from the middle of the table, buttering its top, before you shoved it in your mouth. You enjoyed the sweet taste spreading around your tongue, when you felt a presence beside you. You turned to the side where Oliver decided to take a seat, his eyes eagerly watching you. Your heart sped up, as you saw the hurtful expression he was wearing. You wanted to pull him closer, hid his face in the crook of your neck, just the way he loved it, but you didn’t move. Your logic won over your heart.

“Can we talk?” His tone was weak, almost pleading, but as guilty as you felt, you knew you shouldn’t have. It was all his fault to begin with. You scoffed and turned back to your breakfast, taking another scone and repeating the process. “Love, please.” He reached for your hand, but you just pulled it away. You didn’t look at the boy though, your new game was to pretend that he never even existed. “I’m begging you, please talk to me.” He tried again, his voice breaking your stern wall protecting you, but before you could have given in, Pansy interrupted you.

“Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk to you? She doesn’t even want to see you, Wood. Now, off you go, your playmates are missing you.” She snarled, clear disgust showing in her voice. She never liked the boy after all, but she did ignore his existence for your sake.

“Y/N-” he started, but Pansy let out an animalistic growl. You had to swallow a laugh that was about erupt from your lungs. You didn’t look at the boy, simply waited for him to leave you be, just like he did so many times before.

He studied your face, waiting hopefully even for just a stolen glance from you, but you never looked at the boy. You didn’t want to, and it irritated you that it took him so long to understand. Finally, he stood up and left your table, heading back to his own.

“Thanks, Pansy.” You smiled sweetly as she nodded in reply and turned back to Draco.

-

Days passed by since you have last talked to Oliver. The boy was restless, apologising to you in every corner, declaring his love for you on every occasion. You felt weak against him. You have never kept such a distance between you and whilst you were strong on the outside, you wished nothing but to throw yourself into his arms, enjoying the warmth of his body against you.

Oliver was also at a breaking point. He scolded himself for his ignorance in each and every waking moment. He didn’t know what to do, he felt useless, nothing he has tried worked. You built up a wall between you and he had no idea how to take it down. He knew what an idiot he has been, and he kept beating himself up for it, but he was running out of ideas on how to get you back. 

He couldn’t have known that you were slowly giving in and you couldn’t have known that he was slowly giving up.

Oliver was sitting in Potions, listening to Professor Snape, his complete attention on the teachers. You tried to steal secret glances from the boy, but he didn’t return them. This was the first time he didn’t try to look at you, he didn’t send you apologetic notes, he didn’t ask one of his friends to convince you to talk to him. Were you losing him? Your chest painfully tightened at the thought. You didn’t want to give in to the negativity, it wasn’t lost yet. That wasn’t possible, you wanted to believe.

A piece of scrunched up parchment flew over to your table, your heart jumping in anticipation. You looked at Oliver once again, but he firmly concentrated on his notes, instead of searching for your reaction. You looked down on your table, opening the piece of paper.

I’m guessing Oliver and you are finally over. Go on a date with me, love. I’m sure you would enjoy my company.

Be at the Slytherin common room entrance on Saturday by 11am. I don’t accept a no; we both know it’s been coming.

Marcus

You frowned at the note, a grimace spread across your face. You turned around to look at Marcus Flint, captain of the quidditch team of your house, arch enemy of Oliver. You shook your head in a reply, a silent scoff leaving your lips. As you turned back around, you caught Oliver’s eyes, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze locked. However as quickly as it came, Oliver turned away, not wanting to see you. He was just as hurt as you were.

The week slowly passed by, but Oliver haven’t tried to get close to you again. If anything, it was his turn to ignore you and you didn’t know what to do about it. You wanted to walk up to him and apologise for ignoring him, but your pride was winning over your heart every time.

You sat at your table in the Great Hall, hunched above your lunch, your face hidden behind your palms. You kept heaving deep sighs, Pansy groaning at your annoying behaviour. You tried to ignore the younger girl; she didn’t have enough experience to know how it felt being eaten up by your own stupid thoughts.

You huffed as you pushed your face further into your hands, wanting to disappear. You didn’t expect a hand to grab your arm and pull you up from your place.

“Was I not clear enough?” You stumbled as Marcus pulled on you, his hands painfully wrapped around your arm, surely leaving red marks on the surface of your skin. “It’s past 12pm already. Did you try to stand me up? I think I have clearly told you that I don’t accept a no.” He growled as he started pulling you after him, dragging you out of the Great Hall, numerous pair of eyes on you.

You tried to pull your arm out of his firm grip, but the boy was stronger than you. “I did tell you I didn’t want to go with you.” You groaned as you pulled on your arm again, but your attempt was once again unsuccessful.

“If you haven’t noticed, I wasn’t asking you. We are going on a date.” He hissed in anger as he dragged you after him. You struggled against his hold, before a second hand joined in, holding on to the same arm Marcus lead you by. You looked up to see Oliver, who pulled your arm back, forcing Marcus to let you go.

All of you halted as you massaged your arm, a bright red handprint decorating the surface of your skin. Oliver’s jaw clenched, his gaze full of anger as he watched Marcus with a disgusted grimace.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked your housemate, his low and firm tone even scaring you for a second.

“I’m taking her on a date.” He hissed, clearly upset about Oliver’s arrival.

“I don’t think so.” He stepped in front of you. You wanted to stand up for yourself, you didn’t want to feel like a damsel in distress, but you were dancing on a thin line and you didn’t dare to risk the last hope he was giving you by helping you out.

“I don’t think you have a say in it, Wood.” He scoffed, clearly annoyed by Oliver’s behaviour.

“She doesn’t seem to want to go with you.” He looked back at you for confirmation and so you shook your head. “I strongly suggest you disappear now, Flint.” He growled, his tone almost animalistic, his voice threatening.

“Why, what are you going to do, huh?” Marcus taunted the boy. You couldn’t see the face Oliver was making, let alone if he has whispered something, but Marcus took a step back, his jaw tightening in anger. “Enjoy yourselves, then.” He spit in anger, before he turned on his heels and left the two of you behind. You frowned at the unexpected events; a confused look spread across your face as you looked up at Oliver.

“You okay?” He asked as he finally looked at you, or your arm at least, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied as you hid your arm behind your back. “Thank you. For helping me.” You offered him a small smile, but he didn’t return it.

He simply nodded. “It’s okay.” He heaved a deep sigh, not knowing what to do, just like you, standing in front of him, not finding the right words. “Well, see you.” He spoke up again, tears pricking your eyes as you realised the most you could muster was an awkward conversation. It slowly started downing on you that your relationship was indeed over with Oliver and when he walked past you, heading back to the Great Hall, it felt like he was walking away for the last time.

You didn’t have the power to turn around, you just watched the floor in front of you, trying to understand when it has all gone bad. You removed an escaped tear from your cheek and sniffled as you tried to get yourself together.

“Y/N?” You heard his voice from further away. You quickly cleared your cheeks and turned around with a fake smile plastered across your face. He heaved a deep sigh, making you wait in anticipation, before he continued. “I know I have done some pretty shitty things, but I never meant to hurt you intentionally, you know that right?” He asked, his gaze filled with guilt.

“I know, you didn’t.” You were struggling against the tears that wanted to escape, but you firmly held them back.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me, nor do you really want to talk to me, but-“ he gulped loudly, trying to find the right words, fearing of pushing you away even further. “when you walked out of the common room, I didn’t believe you were really giving up on us. I really thought we could solve it just like always.” You wanted to scream at him, you wanted to tell him off for thinking you have given up on him. “I’m really sorry for disappointing you.” He gave you a saddened smile.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” You blurted out, but you didn’t regret it. “I just thought you would deserve to feel how hard it is to be ignored. I never thought it would actually get this far.” His eyes widened in surprise, but you couldn’t see it, your gaze was fixed on your shoes, drawing random patterns on the ground.

“You didn’t want to break up with me?” He asked, his tone full of hope. Your eyes shot up as you quickly shook your head. “Do you think, maybe we could try again? I know my words don’t weigh much, but I don’t want to give up on us, I really want to show you how much I care about you, how much I love you.” He stepped closer, stopping right in front of you.

“I want to, but I’m scared. You really did hurt me.” You sighed deeply.

“I know, I did.” He whispered, reaching for your hands as he took them into his, caressing the back of your hands with his thumbs. “I promise to pay attention to you more, just like I did before. Being apart made me realise that I want nothing more than being with you.” He confessed, his voice defeated, but still hopeful. “Please, love.” His pleading chocolate brown eyes, his guilt-filled, apologetic tone was all you needed.

“I can’t say no to you, can I?” You chuckled sweetly, a sound he has been craving to hear once again. His arms sneaked around your waist, yours wrapped around his neck, engulfing each other in the warmest hug you could possibly share. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, finding his favourite spot, your presence making him relaxed once again.

“Thank you so much.” He murmured against your neck, his breath tickling your skin, making you chuckle.

“I love you, Oliver. But you better not break my heart again.” You scolded him as he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours.

“Not even in my nightmares.” He shook his head, leaning closer and hinting a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’d rather you broke my heart.” He whispered as he leaned down to your lips, kissing you feverishly, hoping to recover the amount of intimate moments you could have spent together, loving each other just like you did before.

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[gucciwins]

The Hunt

Luna has won the Halloween Hunt two years in a row and she is going for a third with Harry as her partner, the problem well they don’t really get along. 

Word count: 10,761

A/N: Luna, I hope you love her like I do. She was a joy to write. I’m very excited to share so please come and share your thoughts with me. It really means the world to me. Thank you to Gianna (@hunflowers​) for hosting this wonderful Halloween challenge. I hope you enjoy. (prompt: you’ve got to be kidding me).

Halloween. 

The one holiday that Luna is excited to take part in with her friends, finding even the tackiest of activities fun and a joy to do. Luna and Caleb went to the pumpkin patch last weekend and spent the day drinking cider and eating cinnamon donuts. The pumpkin carving was a whole other story that ended with one smashed pumpkin and a grumpy Caleb. 

Luna has spent every Halloween with Caleb for as long as she can remember. From first becoming best friends when Luna and her family moved in next door to Caleb at the age of six to now, age twenty-one going on four years of living together. Much to their parents' disappointment, sparks never did fly for them. Not that Luna ever thought there would be; Caleb just didn't do it for her no matter how handsome he was.  

This Halloween, just like previous ones, they were going as a pair. Their first Halloween at age six, they went as Power Rangers, Luna the yellow and Caleb the blue. It was their most memorable one and has the picture hanging in their living room for reminiscing purposes. Last year Caleb decided on Ghostbusters, and they killed it. Being university students means low money in their bank account, so they went thrift shopping a lot that year. 

Halloween 2020, it is her turn to pick. Luna decided they would be going as Princess Buttercup and Westley from The Princess Bride. 

A true classic that will forever live on, yes, it may be a romantical pairing, but Luna has begged for this for years, and now is their time to shine. She pulled extra shifts at the tattoo parlor she works at as receptionist to get authentic costumes—the red dress of dreams. 

It's Saturday night, there is a Blue moon, and it's Halloween. 

It is time for their third annual Halloween Hunt, where her group of friends pair up and set off to find clues to win the grand prize of a crown, some cash, and bragging rights for a whole year. Luna has won it the last two years with Caleb on her side, and she is ready to do it again. 

Luna stares at herself in the mirror. The gown is elegant and rich with details. The long red, billowy sleeves with a fathered cuff. A high neckline and falls into a loose, pleated skirt. The dress is tied off at the waist with a gold pattern belt. And to top it all off, the beaded crown on her brown curls. The color of her hair the only inaccuracy of the costume. The crown shines more she feels with her darker hair than the original Buttercup. 

Her makeup is minimal, only having used mascara for her long eyelashes she likes having curled. It makes her brown eyes that much nicer to gaze at. 

She grabs her wallet and keys that she will be leaving with Caleb as his look was blessed with pockets, and she does not want to stick anything down her bra for the entire night. She takes the stairs two floors down as they meet at Mitch and Oliver's apartment, who happen to live in the same complex.

To start the hunt, the host will let everyone get into partners before dispersing the first clue, and the first couple to make it to the final location at midnight will be crowned the winners. 

They really are in for a fun night. 

___

Walking in, she sees the apartment somewhat decorated, not much, purple string lights hanging over the large tv they have. Small orange pumpkins scattered around the room. The excessive amount of fake spider web in every corner of the house. Mitch has always said, why to decorate if you're going to be the one cleaning it up. Oliver did not think the same way; she imagines his room looks like the inside of Spirit Halloween. 

Mitch greets her with a drink. It's water. He smiles at her costume before wandering off. She sips the cold water, never one to drink on such an important night. Also, she's wary about drinking growing up; her dad made her start driving at the age of fifteen because he liked drinking when they went over to her uncle's house on the weekends. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he did drink too often, and instead of putting her and her brother at risk, he taught her to drive. This is why now, she will instead be the designated driver than the one having the drinks. Tonight, she needs a clear head to win.

Luna moves past the kitchen, eyes searching for Caleb in his black outfit and mask, but she stops dead in her tracks once she meets his gaze.

 It's a shock.

Caleb is dressed in slim black pants, a white dress shirt, a messy done blue tie, an unbuttoned black blazer, and completing his look is the signature beige blazer. He looks incredible, but not at all how he was supposed to. He winces when he sees the expression on her face. 

She’s upset. He didn't even warn her. Not a single text or call.

There has never been a reason to break tradition, but here they are doing just that. 

"They asked me to host," Caleb says as he steps toward her. Luna manages a nod. She changes her direction and goes across the room to sit alone on the windowsill, leading to a small flower patio. Caleb looks like he wants to head over, but she knows her well enough; it's best to leave her alone. 

As Luna gets lost in thought, she doesn't acknowledge that everyone else has slowly arrived, the chatter getting louder. She also is oblivious to the lingering eyes on her. If she had looked up, she would have met Harry's concerned gaze.

"Hello friends, thank you for gathering with us here on this day of spooks and horror." Caleb stands on the study coffee table to get everyone's attention on him. "This year, you may not pick your partner. No, there will be random draws." 

"Let's hope this makes Luna lose this year," Oliver shouts, getting lots of cheers in response. 

Luna rolls her eyes at the banter but lets a smile overtake her face because she knows no matter who her partner may end up being, she will be a winner.

Caleb announces how only five of them will pick a name and how it has been decided it will be Mitch, Daniel, Charlotte, Abby, and Luna, who will draw a name. 

She is third to pick a slip, not opening it up until the last two receive theirs. She doesn't focus on the others as they begin to search for their partners because Caleb is shuffling over to her looking sheepish. 

He pulls her in and wraps his arms around her, giving her a big squeeze. Long and hard enough to leave her out of breath. A sloppy kiss on her cheeks, she is quick to wipe away on his coat, not at all wanting to dirty her dress, at least not yet. 

Those hazel eyes are hard to stay mad at, and he knows it. Luna can count all the fights they've had on one hand.

"Whatever, you owe me." She bumps his shoulder. 

He nods, quick to agree. "Name your price."

Luna opens up the folded slip of paper. 

Harry 

"A new partner." She whispers, not looking up, hoping if she stares long enough, the name will change. 

Caleb leans in and smirks at the name. "That I can't do. You know the rules." 

She furrowed her eyebrows. "There were no rules until today."

Caleb laughs. "Everyone partner up if you haven't already."

Mitch is already chatting with Oliver, and she knows they will give her a run for her money. These two get on so well, but their weakness is that when Mitch gets a lead, he forgets to address it to his partner most of the time, leaving them separated and lost. 

Justine is with Abby, and honestly, she has no worry over them. Abby is a hard person to partner up with, always wanting to lead even when she has no clue what is going on. 

Calvin is with Daniel, and honestly, she knows they are not competition. Calvin told her the clues confused him. 

Mason and Charlotte, she was hoping to partner with Charlotte. That being her closest friend right behind Caleb. She's a music major, meaning their time together is always a joy. Luna singing a random song and Char telling her random facts she knows about the said song. Luna is not sure how good Charlotte and Mason get on, but only time will tell. 

As she sees everyone paired up, she scans the room for Harry. She doesn't spot him, but she does see Pirate Roberts, better known as Westley, her other half. He's wearing a black shirt that has a lace-up front with a matching pair of pants. The mask and headscarf add a touch of mystery, while the sash and gloves put the finishing touch to the look. As much as she hates to admit it, he looks good. 

"You've got to be kidding me." She says, looking him up and down in disgust. 

Harry scoffs, now standing in front of her. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you."

"Yeah, you can lose the mask now."

"No, I don't think so. Makes my eyes pop." He bats his eyelashes at her. 

She ignores him, moving on to an important question. "Who were you supposed to dress with?" 

"Charlotte." His stupidly, charming English accent responds. "She asked me last week, then told me she was doing Ghostbusters with Mason. Her costume is done too nicely to be done last minute."

This is a setup. 

She knows because Charlotte helped her alter the dress's length so that it didn't drag on the floor as she walked, and in return, Luna helped sew Venkman on her suit. 

The only question is, why would they want her matching with Harry if they don't get on well at all, not even a little bit. Every interaction leaves with one of them storming off, not to brag, but it seems to always be Harry. 

"Well, at least you were warned. Caleb didn't even tell me." She shares. "Had me walk in to see him dressed as an angel." 

"Castiel, right?" Harry says, a bit uncertain.

Luna nods, surprised he knows, thinking this might be their one connection to break the ice. "He posted on his story who he was dressed as." She spoke too soon. 

"You're saying you don't know Supernatural." 

"No, sorry." He says, not sounding apologetic. 

Luna shoots him a fake smile before looking away. "He can't be my partner; it's a disrespect to my morals." 

Her only response is laughter. She wasn't joking. 

"You know the rules, baby," Charlotte says, arms around Mason's waist. Luna narrows her eyes at that, mentally reminding herself to check in with Char about that. 

How had she won two years without knowing any rules? 

"Well, I'll still kick all your asses with Dobby on my team." When meeting Harry's eyes again, she smirks, his face shocked, not sure if she was insulting him. 

"Right, do not mess up our chances of winning." Her voice was deep and threatening. At least she hoped that's how it sounded. 

"I would never" Harry looks down at her with a smirk on his pink lips. "But I need motivation, so what's in it for me." 

Instead of responding with half of the money because that much was obvious, what else would he want? She looks him in the eyes. "I'll kiss you if we win," Luna tells him sarcastically, and before Harry has a chance to respond, Caleb is walking over, handing them their first clue of seven. 

Head to the place no one ever cleans

Harry scratches his head. "That's confusing."

"It's the bathroom. Specifically, the toilet." She hands the clue for Harry to put away, making her way there. 

"You sure?" 

Luna doesn't bother replying, pushing first to the bathroom, wanting to get a move on. It's going to be a long night if he keeps questioning her. 

Harry opens the door and jumps back, he's startled at the sight in front of him, but Luna nudges him aside to take a look and is left impressed.

There is fake blood on the mirror, "You're next" written sloppily. What startled Harry was the body bag in the tub, bloody transparent curtains hanged to make it seem like a messy murder. 

"There's not a body, right?" A slight tremble in his voice. 

"Of course not. No one is a fan of jump scares her." She eyes his face. "Especially you." 

Luna picks up the skull sitting on top of the toilet tank, and taped underneath is the second clue. 

"That was too easy," Harry tells her, already heading out of the apartment, not waiting for her to read the clue knowing this one will lead them outside. 

You may sit, you may stand, you may push, but one must never jump.

"Who even made these?" Harry scoffs. "It's awful." 

She chuckles, agreeing because they do stink. "Caleb. The host has to do them all for each group. Talk with owners of shops and all. It's a long process." Luna explains to Harry as she reads the clue once more. "I'm surprised I never noticed how busy he was the entire month." 

"It's what happens when you're self-absorbed." He mutters. 

"Ouch." She feigns hurt, hands over her heart. 

Harry rolls his eyes, not wanting to deal with her any longer than he has to. He has no clue what that clue is pointing to. He looks over at Luna, who has gone quiet.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry exclaims.

"Where is the headscarf? You're messing up the look." She pouts, and Harry would never admit it, at least to her, but she looks adorable. 

"I took it off. It messes up my hair."

Luna stares at his hair. "Looks as messy as always.'

He gasps. "It looks fantastic, trying this new serum to make it shine."

"Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think it is working." She scrunches up her face in disgust. 

"Well, your shoes don't match." He yells. 

She looks down at her Molly metallic leather platform boots that give her five-four self extra height. "My boots are badass. Buttercup still kicks ass in these." She twirls and begins walking away from him. 

"Luna, for fuck sake, where are you going." Harry rushes after her. 

"We've got a hunt to win." 

For someone of her stature, she sure has a fast pace. It seems as if she never slows down, effortlessly moving around pedestrians. All while Harry mumbles apologies as he trips over a person's shoe. 

"The clue." He clears his voice. "How'd you crack it." 

"Easy after a few reads. It's the swings at the local park." 

Harry nods. "That doesn't explain how you knew." 

"Caleb uses things in his life, and if you know him well enough, you can crack it. He's an open book, one talk with him and you'll know his grandparents' name and phone number. He loves sharing everything." Harry motions for her to continue, all while keeping her fast pace, leaving him a little wounded. "As kids, our parents' one rule at the park was that we could never jump off the swings all because one time Caleb and I were going so high I jumped and almost flew past the sand pile and landed on the concrete. No one broke a bone, but we could have." 

"You and Caleb must have given your parents a hard time." 

"Not really, we were angels." 

"Hard to believe." 

She kisses her two fingers before placing it over her heart. "Scout's honor." 

"You were in the girl's scout." 

"Well, aren't you nosy Miss Rosy." She rolls her eyes. "The town didn't have the girl's scout, so when Caleb joined, I made a presentation for Ulysses. He was the man in charge, and I impressed him. He accepted, and no one questioned me."

"Impressive," Harrys tells her, genuinely meaning it. 

"Now shut up, Styles. You have too much information, might have to go kill you or something if these things get out." 

"And here I thought we were becoming friends." 

"Nope, let's keep it that way." 

Harry shuts up, letting the chatter of late-night stragglers fill in the silence. Luna is stopped by a girl their age looking for directions to a party. She is happy to help, giving the girl extra detail to make sure she doesn't get lost. She goes as far as giving the girl her phone number to know she made it there safely. 

Luna is an enigma. 

"I thought you hated all humans, but I see I was wrong." 

Harry is such a jerk that she doesn't bother responding. No, she does something much better. She stops walking, sticking her foot out, knowing how oblivious Harry is. He trips, almost falling to his face, but to some miracle, he manages to right himself without a scratch. 

He adjusts his mask, brushing off the dirt he acquired at the bottom of his pants. "Well, that was mean.

"I thought it was rather kind, knock you off your pedestal." She grins at him, walking away again. 

Harry mutters something under his breath, making sure she isn't able to hear him. 

Luna decides to bring back the conversation of what started their night, his costume. "Why are you even Westley? You don't have the blonde hair for it."

Harry scoffs. "Says the girl with the brown locks of hair."

"The wig was itchy, besides my natural hair is pretty." Her hair is excellent, and she knows it. It's mid-waist, and she does hair therapy to keep it healthy. After Caleb's sister-in-law introduced her to natural hair products, a significant improvement. It added a shine she never had before. She is always paid lots of compliments on her hair. It's enchanting. 

Harry looks at her before staying quiet. He kicks a rock as he walks. "Blondes are overrated."

Luna ducks her head, letting her hair frame a curtain around her face wanting to hide the blush he managed to get out of her. 

Finally, reaching the park entrance, the swings a distance away. They stop, neither of them making a move follow the path.   

"You could just stay here, and I'll text you when I'm done," Luna tells him. 

Harry is quick to rebut, "I'm smart, I can help." 

"I didn't say you aren't smart. It's just I know you don't like me, so why spend the time with me?" 

That's far from the truth, Harry thinks to himself but doesn't deny it. "Together, we're winning this together." He gives her no room for argument walking to the swings. 

Luna nods to herself; she's going to be okay. Maybe the night will start to get better. 

Harry is opening up the clue as she approaches, and he holds it out further, allowing her to read it.

You walk by me, never give me a second glance. Now tonight, I dare you to give me a chance.

"That doesn't sound great," Harry confesses. 

"You alright, with a bit of darkness?" 

Harry nods his head, yes, but he has no idea what's coming next. 

___

Standing in front of the house, Luna feels a chill run up her spine. It's not like she's never seen this house because she had. She grew up in the town and walked past the lonely house that wasted away day by day as she made her way to school.

"This place is creepy," Harry mumbles, standing next to her.

The grass is brown and unkempt; dried leaves scatter the path to the home's stairs, a crunch under their feet as they approach. She walks slow, counting her steps, and at unlucky thirteen, they reach the first broken step. The wood looked as if someone took a hammer to it, having random holes done. The windows are filled with spider webs and dust, no way to look in. The door was red and had scratches. As if someone small had clawed to be let in.

"Sure you want to go in, Luna." Harry looks at the door in fright. "You can admit you got the wrong location. You can't always be right."

"Look, Styles, I know I'm right."

Harry begins to sweep around to make sure no one is watching them break into an old abandoned house. She leans against the rotting wood, there's a chance she might fall through, but she's always up for the risk. In doing so, she shuts her eyes for a second, and a memory pops in her head; it causes her to let out a chuckle, startling Harry. He whips around to shout at her, but the smile on Luna's face makes him stop. He's never been privileged to a smile so intimate.

Before Harry can even ask her what's got her smiling, she is already talking.

"Caleb and I had our first kiss on these steps." Luna's eyes shift down as if the memory begins to play in front of her."

"With each other?" Harry asks, wanting confirmation.

"Yes, Caleb swore he was in love with me in the sixth grade, and I told him he was insane. The feelings were not mutual." She assures, wanting to get her point across. "We were walking home from school one day, and I, as the brains of the duo, told him we had to check out the house. I swore we had our own Boo Radley after reading To Kill A Mockingbird. He was going on and on about how he swore his love for me." She turned to look at Harry. "I looked at him, put my hands on his shoulders, and put my lips to his. He stood there shocked, and once I pulled back, he grinned." Luna deepens her voice. "So, I don't love you like that."

Harry chuckles, enjoying the story. She's not even sure why she began to tell him. "I was like yeah, you idiot, I see you as a brother. My mom could not stop laughing when I told her. My dad not so much." She stood up straight, took three steps to the door, grabbed the rusted doorknob, and it twisted open. There was a loud creak as she pushed.

"In we go, Farm Boy."

Harry shakes his head, mutters "As you wish." He hopes she missed that.

He steps in; first, his eyes quickly sweeping around the house, a doorway to a living room, another leading to what he assumes would be the dining room, and right in front of them a spiral staircase leading to the second floor where they might venture to if they don't find the clue in the main rooms.

"Right, together," Harry tells her.

"Awe, don't be scared, Styles. I'll protect you." She reaches out to pink his cheek.

He swats her hand away. "You'll be the one needing it."

"Don't count on you being my savior then?"

"Not ever, Buttercup."

They walk the first floor and find nothing. It's quite dull, nothing that stands out of place. Nothing haunting, really. A bit of a disappointment. They approach the stair and see footprints. This must be the correct way. She lets Harry lead. Once at the top, they see footprints are leading left and right. Harry nods left, so she assumes he means she has to go right.

It was not what he meant.

As Luna makes her way to the door at the end of the hall, she turns to see Harry entering the first room. She should turn back and go with him. She thinks about it for a second and decides it's best not and continues on.

Luna enters the boy's room. There is a race car bed, with white drawers full of stickers on either side. Everything is dusty, can feel the twitch in her nose. She approaches the bed when a paper catches her eyes on the corner of the dresser filled with different kinds of dinosaurs. It is their clue. It reads

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

Luna smiles gratefully to have found it. She'll figure it out with Harry, she decides. The quicker she is out of the house, the better. As she folds the clue, she hears the door slam shut. It makes Luna jump. 

She approaches the door and twists the knob, but nothing happens. Luna keeps pulling and nothing; she's slowly but surely beginning to freaking out. 

Maybe Harry was playing a joke on her. That had to be it. 

"If you think this is a good prank, you're wrong." She yells, eager to hear his deep laugh before opening the door. But instead, she is met with silence. 

"Styles, open the door." Her voice firm, anger slowly taking over." Still nothing. "Haha, you've had your laugh; let me out." 

The panic is beginning to set. Harry didn't lock her in; he's on the other side of the house. 

"Harry?" She whimpers.

Meanwhile, Harry, no clue in hand, stands at the top of the stairs staring at a mirror frowning at himself. He looked for Luna, but it's as if she disappeared. He has come to the conclusion that she has finally left him. 

Luna, not sure what else to do, begins to scream his name. The tears streaming down her face in panic. She just wants out. That's all she wants. 

She pounds on the door, her throat hurting from the loud screams she's let out. The tears making it hard to keep on going; with one final knock, she lets herself slide to the floor.

Harry was about to descend the stairs when he hears a pounding on a door. It gives him chills; as much as it frightens him to go check it out, he has a gut feeling he has to. He goes right, the original way Luna went, and makes his way to the closed door. He takes a deep breath before turning the knob. 

Nothing happens. 

He takes a step back before pushing all his weight into the door, causing it to fly open. Harry scans the room quickly but sees nothing until he looks down and sees Luna hugging her knees.

Harry is quick to react. He's on his knees in front of her. "Luna, love, it's me, Harry. You're okay." 

She slowly lifts her head. "Harry." She croaks.

"Yes, it's me."

The tears begin once more. "The door was jammed. I was calling for you." She throws her arms around him wanting to be close, needing comfort even if he may not want to give it. 

"Thought you left me once you got the clue." He confesses as he runs his hand through her hair, he might have always wanted to do it, but not like this, never like this. 

"I'm not that mean, am I?" She looks up at him through her long thick eyelashes. A tear runs down her cheek.

He brings his hand up and gently wipes it away. "No, you're sweet and sassy and perfectly you. Not mean. Ya, hear me."

Luna nods. 

"Let's get out of here, okay. We need to figure out the clue now. Can't do it without your brains." He smiles at her dimples on display.

Luna smiles, he helps her out, and they walk out, Harry guiding her with a firm hand on her waist.

Once outside, the cold autumn wind hits them, and it's like Luna can finally breathe again. Harry guides them all the way to the sidewalk, where she hands him the clue. 

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

"Sweets? There's a candy store, right?" Harry isn't sure, remembering seeing one. 

"It's named Annie's Sweets. Two streets from the library." 

"Well, lead the way, Buttercup." Harry links their hands together and begins walking forward is surprisingly the right direction. Luna stares down at their intertwined fingers, and it feels nice. 

Maybe, she's just a little touch starved. 

Luna is quiet, trying to think of anything but that moment she had in that house. She's going to give Caleb a lot of shit for that one. 

As they walk, Luna notices their hands are still together before pulling away. "Sorry." 

Harry shrugs. "Don't mind."

Luna frowns and looks straight ahead as they walk; he's confusing. Why is Harry acting sweet? A little too sweet. She intertwines her hands together in the front wanting the feeling of his hand in hers to disappear. 

"Are you going to tell the others about my crying? I get it if you do. Good story to get a laugh at me." She mumbles the last words. 

Harry grabs her arm, stopping her. She slowly raises her head to meet his eyes through the eye mask. His green eyes soft but filled with an emotion, she can't place. "I would never, what happened was not a laughing matter, this, all this tonight will stay between us, you good with that." 

Luna nods.

Harry clicks his tongue. "Verbal response." 

Her brown eyes go wide. "Yes, I'm good with that." 

Luna can't hide her surprise, and she knows Harry can see that. He's never acted so kind to her. It's a bit weird, but it beats the back and forth remarks. She's also sick of this façade of disliking him. It's exhausting now that she thinks about it. The banter is fun, but it always ends when it gets taken too far.  

"Harry, I know you hate me for some reason," She clears her throat before continuing. "But it's exhausting all the arguing. I'm great at it, but we've been at it for the two years we've known each other. You can keep hating me and not talking to me. I'm used to people not liking me. You won't be any different. We can co-exist in the same group."  

Harry scoffs, "You still don't get it."

She frowns. Get what? "You never gave us the chance to be friends. I'm giving you the chance to cut all ties while staying in the friend group." It's the most straightforward plan. It's honestly perfect.

"Luna, stop." 

She continues on. "Harry, seriously, you make me miserable, and I make-" He turns around, causing her to almost crash into him. 

"I like you." Luna knows the surprise is written all over her face. Harry's face is serious, no dimples insight and all his emerald eyes tell her is that he is full of frustration. "I like how beautiful and kind you are. How you don't let anyone walk over you and how you always manage to be the smartest person in any room."  

"Oh."

Harry likes her. Her. He likes her, and this was his way of interacting with her. He said she's smart, but honestly, nothing is making sense. She's confused; how does she feel? How long has he felt like this? Has it been since they were first introduced? 

Harry stands there staring at her, trying to see her give him any reaction, but all he gets is a blank stare. He clicks his tongue. "Alright." He turns on his heel and begins walking again.

Luna stares at him, walking away before shaking herself out of her thoughts and hurrying after him.

___

It's silent.

The quietest it's been all night, and she doesn't like it, but she's also not ready to address the bomb he dropped on her. 

At the start of the night, Luna believed he hated her. That he had hated her for the longest time only to find out he actually liked her. There is no way she'll bring it up, at least not yet. 

She cuts the tension in the way she knows best. 

"You could have at least grown the stache." He looks over at her, confused, not sure about what she just said or how she is brushing aside what he said. "The mustache adds to the character, and well, you don't have it."

Harry gasps. "I like my smooth face." She lets out the breath she was holding, thankful he went along. 

"Is that your way of saying you can't grow facial hair?"

"I can." 

She shrugs and nods. "Sure, Jan."

Harry is about to go off on her, but Luna runs ahead to the candy store entrance, walking in and letting the door shut behind her. 

He walks in after seeing that the store closes in twenty minutes; he finds Luna chatting with the cashier. He recognizes her as a girl he had in his intro to Psychology. She dropped out eight weeks in. He remembers because he lent her notes once and she had left coffee stains on them. As he reads on her name tag, the girl- Amy- was kind enough to pay him five dollars. Both girls don't acknowledge him, more into the conversation of Luna's costume and how pretty she looks in a crown. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd think Amy was flirting with her. Harry smirks but doesn't say anything waving at the girl before filling himself a bag of candy; he deserves it after all. 

"Amy was telling me Caleb came in a few days ago. Asked her on a date and they'll be going out next week. She thinks he's a proper cutie. Did you know her?" Luna tells him as she grabs the small tweezers to get a few sour gummy worms.

"Had her for a class first year, but she dropped out." Harry is focused on getting a few cherry sours in his bag. 

"Psychology. She was going through a rough time when she did it. Not that she ever needed the course. She's a theatre major now." 

"How do you know her?" He really is curious now, as she talks about her with familiarity. 

She drops a few Swedish Fish in the bag, sneaking one in her mouth, chewing it before moving along to add Tim Tams; he's never known for a candy store to have those. Then again, he's never been in this one. "She's my cousin. A year younger than us." 

"Why hadn't Caleb met her then if you've been friends for so long?" 

"God, you're a curious one, aren't you." She closes her bag and follows Harry as he fills his. He's going for Red Vines, nice and easy to snack on; Luna likes those only for movie nights for some bizarre reason she doesn't know. "I'm a protector of hearts. Amy is the sweetest person you'll ever meet, a real-life princess. Amy has been the sunshine in my life since she was born. I know Caleb, and he's going to fall in love with her, mark my words. I think they are a perfect match, but I also know not to meddle, which is why I wanted them to meet on their own." 

Harry smiles down at her. "Didn't know you could be so sweet, Buttercup." 

"Only to very few people." 

Luna places her bag on the scale, but her eyes go wide as she meets Amy's across the counter, realizing she doesn't have any money on her. Before she can even think about asking Harry, Amy saves the day. "Both your bags are covered. He knew whoever got this clue would most likely be buying, so he took care of it, more than enough actually." 

Luna rolls her head to look at Harry. "He's too kind." 

"What did the clue say?" Amy asks curiously. 

Harry and Luna's eyes go wide simultaneously. "Shit." He whispers before whipping out the slip of paper that led them there. "It says If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending." 

"The Pucker Powder!" Luna shouts, rushing over to the middle of the store where the machine of different flavors of powdered candy stands. There the clue is, under watermelon, Caleb's favorite. "I got it, Westley." 

Harry makes his way over to her waiting for her to read it, but Luna gestures for Amy to come listen as well, and she happily skips over. That's when Harry notices her costume; she's dressed in relaxed fitted jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a faded brown leather jacket with leather boots. A charm hanging from her neck. "What are you dressed as?" He's confused. 

"Dean Winchester." She answers cheerfully. 

Luna feels Harry turn to look at her waiting for an explanation. "She's paired up with Caleb, He's Castiel, and she's Dean and together they are ‘Destiel’. A long-loved ship in the fandom of Supernatural.

He smiles. "You look great." 

"Don't worry, Ames, the reason we aren't friends, is that he doesn't watch." 

"It's not for everyone, Luna," Amy tells her before nudging her to read the clue. 

You swim to the bottom to find the other side but never come back up.

"Sound like the lake," Harry suggests. “Only source of water here.”

Luna nods, agreeing with him, as they head to the door. She stops, suddenly remembering something. "Do you need us to walk you home? You know how I feel about anyone walking out alone, especially tonight."

Amy blushes, looking down. "Caleb offered to walk me home, you know it's close by, and it's still a while until midnight." 

"Say no more, sweets." Luna leaves and follows behind Harry, as he now leads the way. 

___

It's a half-mile away, not too far but enough to have them silent for a while as they set a steady pace. 

Harry quite likes conversing with Luna and decides to ask her a question that's been on his mind since he saw her back at the apartment. 

"Why this costume, why Buttercup?"

Luna runs her hands down the front of the material, feeling the softness against her hands. "It was my favorite growing up. Still is, honestly. It's a nice story that gives you a bit of everything, romance, friendship, and adventure. Each character was on an adventure, and it brought them all together. Also, because I'd read it to Caleb during lunch breaks, we didn't feel like playing with others. I'd read because he had dyslexia and he grew a distaste for reading." Luna smiles fondly, thinking back to those simpler times. 

"I watched the movie for the first time last year." 

"Did you like it?" Her voice was full of curiosity. 

"Loved it." He tells her. 

She smiles, his answer filling her with joy. "Favorite part?" 

He hums, thinking it over for a second. "When she pushes him down the hill and finds out he's actually Westley." 

"Because he yells as you wish, rolling down." She grabs his arm in excitement, finishing the scene for him. 

Luna realizes what she's doing, and quickly let's go, muttering a small apology. "You're a romantic, Farm Boy."

"Not the first person who's told me." 

The walk to Orchid Lake continues in silence. A comfortable one, each one lost in their own head. Luna keeps playing one moment in her head, the moment Harry confessed his fondness of her, but it doesn't make sense. She replays every one of their interactions, and there is not one moment that stands out to her that proves he likes her. Harry introduced himself the first time but never once pursued a friendship or anything more. Luna is so lost in thought she doesn't realize they've arrived as she bumps into Harry's back as he stopped at the entrance. 

She walks ahead, and instead of walking to the trail in front of them, she goes right and takes a seat on the bench, it's a bit wet due to the mist filling the air, but she doesn't mind. 

"Uh, it's this way." Harry points, wanting to get a move on. 

Luna makes no moves to stand. She runs a hand down her face before letting it drop to her lap. "How is it that you hate, and you like me?" The question slips out before she can stop herself. 

Harry sighs, knowing the conversation is happening now. "Don't hate you." Harry is now standing in front of her, mask in his hand, wanting her to really look at him. "But, you hate me." 

Luna shakes her head, no. She's never hated anyone, she might have disliked Harry at one point, but honestly, they might have just misjudged each other. Harry gives her a look, one that tells her to be honest. 

"Okay, I didn't like you, but can you blame me?" 

"No, I understand completely." Luna stares at him, her eyes now locked with his.  

Harry lets out a deep breath. "I think you're an amazing person. You're kind and smart. Always volunteering to help others. You help set up study sessions for everyone." Luna keeps her eyes on him, not giving him a single expression. "Was mad you didn't treat me that way when we first met." He confesses. 

She nods, letting it sink it. "I've always included you, never not invited you." 

"I mean, you didn't try to get to know me." 

"Harry, I did when we first met." Luna is sure of this. 

"No, I would remember." He exclaims. 

"I'm not that memorable to you, it seems." She rolls her eyes. "Let me paint the picture for you. We are all hanging out in Mitch's apartment when you arrive a little later than the rest of us. A girl is hanging off your arm, not an inch of space between you. Kiersten, does that name ring a bell, Styles?" Luna knows it does. It's his ex, the only one she knows of. "She was rude to me the first time we met, when we were introduced to each other. You stood there and let her do that. Insulted me, and I was fuming. Mitch said you were a kind person and to give you a chance but letting someone treat someone else badly right in front of you, I wasn't so sure." 

Harry stays silent, letting her go on. "The second time we met, she made fun of Charlotte's outfit, and you just sat there. Char cried in the bathroom and then headed home for the night. From then on, I was neutral with you, not giving you anything to move forward on. The last straw was when it was Friday movie night in my apartment, and she tells you it's lame seeing movies together and that the apartment was trashy. You stood there, nodding along, and as soon as I saw you alone for a second, I let you know we wouldn't be friends because you were different than I expected.” Luna tries to calm her breathing, no point in losing control over the past. She's let it go, well, some of it. 

"She was bad. I broke up with her that night." 

"That's not the point. Even in doing that, you didn't apologize, but you did already decide on how you were going to keep treating me." 

Harry has no right answer because he was wrong. He messed up. "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, and I'm sorry my apology is so late, but you do deserve it. No one should ever put up with someone else's crap, Luna." 

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"Honestly, I feel terrible. I think I did it because you didn't treat me like the others and-" Harry stops. 

"Yet you never questioned why. You just acted, and well, I reacted." 

Harry sighs, upset that they could have been friends by now, heck even something more maybe. 

"Wait, Harry." 

"Yes, Luna." 

"What was your' and'?" She stands up, not sure what it could be. 

"Uh, I was going to have a conversation with you to see why you never talked to me and had worked up the courage to also ask you on a date, but I heard you were dating Calvin, so I sort of got jealous and well, yeah." 

"We went on one date." She emphasizes. "No sparks. Who even told you?" 

"Abby." 

"Makes sense; she was jealous that Calvin asked me out. Seeing as he never once flirted with her. We're civil, but deep down, she doesn't like me." Luna isn't sure what went wrong with that friendship. 

They both let out deep breaths, thankful to have everything out in the open now, nothing hidden. A step forward. 

"I'm not that person," Harry tells her, needing her to know.

She smiles at him. "I know. You proved that today." 

"I hope I haven't offended you with my remarks." His smile was sheepish. 

"You haven't." 

"Luna," Harry chastises. 

"Okay, you have, but we can move past because it turns out you're actually really nice." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "And cause you like me." 

Harry blushes, his cheeks now a rosy red and not from the cold weather. "I plead the fifth." 

"Harry," She teases. 

"Lips sealed."

"Doesn't work if you confessed earlier." She reminds him.

Harry chooses to ignore her. Letting her words fall silent on him. "I know we have to get going, but can I do one thing before we do."

Luna nods, not sure what he wants to do. Harry takes a step forward until he is standing right in front of her. He pulls her in for a hug, his arms around her waist. She slowly raises her hands, being as gentle as she can about it. Their height difference makes her smile; her head reaches just under his chin. She hated it before, but now, in his arms, it's actually quite lovely. He's warm and not as firm as she thought he would be; it's like she's hugging a big teddy bear. 

Harry leans back, looking down at her, a shy smile on her face. His eyes flicker to her lips and back to her eyes, leaning in for a moment before stepping back. He clears his throat. "To the lake, Buttercup."

___

There's no fear as she walks to the bridge where the clue should be. It's dark, not much light guiding them besides the moon. Harry wanted to turn on his flashlight, but Luna knows it's best not to disturb their eyes with such a harsh light. 

Luna knows this path like the back of her hand. She comes here every morning, sometimes before sunrise, either for a run or walk but in the summertime, she'll even go in for a swim. The lake is well cared for by the community. There is just one house in the back of the property, and the old couple living there love the visitors. They teamed up with the university to set up students to be tour guides, and it's an excellent part-time job. There's a lot of good here. 

She's sure the clue is on the bridge because one time, Caleb got Luna so mad that she shoved him in. She can't even remember why she was angry, but Caleb surely does. She would bet her life on it. 

It's a wooden bridge, a bit old as it creaks under each step taken. It's low, as it sits on the side of the lake, four feet deep at most. She takes a lookout at the lake, the water showing a beautiful reflection of the bright full moon above their heads. 

Luna picks the paper taking a step closer to Harry so that they can read it together. 

"I was the embodiment of every writer's worst fear: A cliche."

"That's a book quote." Luna recognizes it, but not a single book comes to mind. "Let's head to the bookstore. It's fifteen minutes from here, but we can make it in ten." 

Harry lets her lead. They know time is counting down, not once having stopped to look at the time. Harry feels they might be falling behind with all the stops in between the clues, but he knows better than voice out his worries. 

"Do you recognize the quote?" Luna asks Harry to hand it over to him." 

Harry reads it over twice. "No." 

"I know it, but I can't figure out where. I've read one too many books." She crosses her arms across her chest in frustration. 

"Maybe it's one that you've read to him," Harry suggests. 

Luna looks up at him as if he just hung up all the stars in her name. "You're right. He set this all up." 

It's one she begged him not to make her read, but he gave her an offer she couldn't resist.

Luna picks up her pace; she's close to running but stops herself from doing so. 

"Wait up, it isn't going to run away." Harry huffs out. He thought he was in shape, but tonight has proved him wrong. It could also very well be the boots. 

"Farm Boy, put those legs to work!" She shouts, not at all looking back at him. She didn't have time for that. 

"I'm tired," Harry groans. "We've walked a lot.” 

"Please, we'll get something to eat after we win." She throws him a smile over her shoulder, and Harry happily returns it. 

"Deal." Luna is surprised at how quick he was to recover now next to her. She would have thought he was okay if it weren't for the deep breaths he was taking. "It can be our first date." 

Luna falters in her step. She recovers just as quickly, hoping Harry did not notice. It seems like he didn't. "Great joke, get serious." It's weird; she's feeling butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of what could be with Harry, a date. It doesn't sound so bad, but it's not her focus. 

Luna misses Harry frowning. He was serious, but he also understands they just came to a truce of sorts less than an hour ago. 

Walking into Read to Dream, the first thing Luna does is scan the clock. There are forty-five minutes until midnight. That is plenty of time to reach the last destination after retrieving the final clue. 

The bookstore is a family-owned place. Mrs. Bennet, the owner, will be sure to pass it down to one of her grandchildren. Seeing as her children didn't take an interest, but dear Clara has. Clara is Mason's younger sister. She recently turned seventeen, meaning she's now allowed to close shop independently, seeing as her grandmother lives right above. 

The bookstore is what everyone likes to call an organized mess. There are many books on shelves in their respected genre and ordered alphabetically. Still, there are also books on chairs that no one ever seems to touch, the books on top of the bookcases that don't fit, and the books in the back that are stacked in rows in a rainbow color because they don't have a specific genre. Luna spent many summer days here, this was her first job at fifteen, wanting to have more liberty and Mrs. Bennet was kind enough to hire her on. From time to time, she comes in to have tea with her or even volunteer her time around. It's one of her happiest places. 

"Hello, tootsie!" Luna bounces over to Clara going around the counter to give her a hug. 

"Lunes, it's great to see you. You look gorgeous. Red is definitely your color." Clara gushes. 

"Thank you, I'd love to chat more, but I'm on the hunt for a book." Luna turns to scan the store as if it would stand out to her.

Clara nods. "That I can help with.”

"Gone Girl"

"Three aisles down, second row." 

Luna quickly thanks her, and Harry follows after her. Harry's stuck on the fact that she seems to know everyone they encounter. He's never seen a person as social and kind as her. 

"You read Gone Girl aloud to him." Harry finally processes the information that was given a few minutes prior. 

"He paid me to." Luna defends.

"How much?" 

"In lunch for an entire semester." Luna finds the book and begins to flip through it knowing it must be stuck in there. 

"Fair." 

"Got it!" Luna cheers. She pulls it out and hands it to Harry. He opens it, and that's when her eyes catch sight of the second piece of paper. This one is pale yellow, meaning it's not a clue and specifically for her. Luna slips it under her sleeve, careful not to have it fall out. 

Evil lurks at midnight. I invite you to join me when they begin to rise.

The cemetery. A chilling place to end the night, but a perfect place to be crowned winners. 

"It's a twenty-minute walk from here," Luna informs Harry, putting the book away and heading to the front. 

"I've never been to the cemetery." Harry decides to tell her. 

"It's not as creepy looking as you would think." 

"Don't believe you," He mutters. 

They say goodbye to Clara and begin the walk to the final spot of the night. 

"Ready to win?" She smiles up at Harry, buzzing with adrenaline, knowing how close they are. 

"Yeah, I am." 

As much as Luna wants to run to the cemetery, she wants to enjoy the last alone time she will have with Harry. She knows they are going to be friends after this. She lets herself fall behind a few steps and pulls out the slip of paper. She unfolds it, and it reads, "You can thank me by making me the man of honor." She blushes, but Caleb might be right, and she honestly hopes he might be. Luna can deny how she feels all she wants, but tonight proved something there, something he saw long before she did. 

Something that had been hiding there for quite some time.  

This could very well be the night that changed it all, the story they tell their grandchildren. That stops her letting out a gasp loud enough to grab Harry's attention. A few hours ago, she couldn't stand him and now is thinking about a future with him, and all Luna wants to know is how she let these feelings grow without really noticing. 

"You alright, Luna?" Harry looks concerned. 

No future talk, not now, at least. First, they will win, and then they both can go from there. 

"Luna, love. Times ticking." Harry teases. 

Luna starts forward once more, not having noticed how close they actually are from the entrance. She passes Harry and is now running. "Pick up the pace, Farm Boy." She's gaining lots of distance from him. 

"You can't beat me, Buttercup," Harry says, beginning to catch up, now right behind her. 

Luna lets out a loud laugh causing her to slow down. "We're on the same team, Westley." 

Harry laughs, pulling ahead, but grabbing her arm, making her run even faster. They turn the corner, and that's when she sees Caleb's car and knows the entrance is right ahead where he has to be waiting. 

Caleb is leaning against the rusted golden fence. Evergreen Cemetery, the name on the arch staring down at them. Caleb raises his head, looking away from his phone as he hears footsteps hitting the pavement. 

"Inconceivable!" Caleb shouts as Harry and Luna stand in front of him, out of breath but smiling. "You have arrived with ten minutes to spare, but I hate to inform you-" Luna's smile drops, and Harry can only frown, a profound bit of sadness forming in his stomach.

Caleb bends over, laughing. He wishes he could have recorded that. "I'm only playing. Of course, you won." 

Luna punches his shoulder. "Jerk." 

"Hey, be nice," Caleb backs away, his hands up in defense. "Winners aren't mean." 

"They are if it's to their best friend." Harry laughs, knowing Caleb deserves the well-given punch he received. 

"Honestly, I wasn't too sure you'd win, considering you two aren't- or weren't the best of buddies." Caleb nods his head to their connected pinkies. Harry blushes but makes no move to pull away. Luna tries, but Harry tightens his hold, and well who is she to fight him. 

"Look who's here," Caleb says, looking over their shoulder. 

It's Mitch and Ollie rushing over, a frown on both their faces as Luna and Harry step to the side so Caleb can adequately thank them for being the first losers. 

Mitch scoffs, a smirk forming on his face. "No surprise, they won. Harry would do anything to see Luna smile."

Harry's cheek goes red, but Luna carries on her conversation with Caleb feigning as if she didn't hear a word Mitch said. 

As time clicks closer to midnight, the teams begin to trickle in. Daniel and Calvin come in with five minutes to spare. Mason and Charlotte right on their heels, and at 11:59, barely making it on time are Justine and Abby. There were many mixed emotions as they found out Luna and Harry were the winners. A few eye rolls (Abby) and lots of cheers. 

Caleb has quieted everyone down, as it is now time to crown the winners, and Luna is buzzing with excitement. She might not have won with Caleb by her side, but Harry was just as great as Caleb, if not better. 

"I am proud to crown Luna and Harry, the winners of the Halloween Scavenger Hunt 2020," Caleb yells, having everyone break out into collective cheers. Luna blows kisses to her group of friends, a large smile on her face. 

Charlotte steps forwards and places a jeweled crown on her head. Luna thanks her softly and watches as she does the same to Harry. He bends down so that Charlotte doesn't need to reach up to place it on him. He has a broad smile on his face, he glances at Luna, causing her to go a deep red, but all he does is give her a cheeky wink. Caleb hands over two yellow envelopes, Winner, written on the front, and in each is the $250 prize money. 

It's $500 total, but it's split because of groups. She's not sure who decided everyone put in $50 to get a nice prize out of it instead of just bragging rights, but Luna was thankful for whoever did.

"Speech, please," Caleb says, backing away to stand with the others.  

Harry nods at her asking if she'd like to go first, but she shakes her head no. He clears his throat and puts on a charming smile, always quick to dazzle a crowd. "This year, I was not expecting to partner up with the best at the game, but I am glad she drew out my name. Luck was honestly on my side." He turns his head to find Luna already staring at him. "I can happily say that I'd do it all over again with Luna by my side." Shoots her a smile before locking eyes with their friends. "As now reigning three-time champion, I'm proud to have been at her side. Her brains and my looks won us this hunt." He fakes a hair flip causing Luna and Caleb to let out a giggle simultaneously. She nudges him gently, shaking her head at his antics. 

Harry smiles at her waiting for her to now start hers. She blushes under his intense gaze wishing he'd direct it elsewhere. 

Luna knows they are waiting for her to share, but she's stuck in a trance staring into Harry's emerald eyes. She thinks back to the evening's start in Mitch's living room and the promise she made to Harry if they won. 

Without thinking twice, she steps close to Harry, closing the small distance between them. Luna brings up her right hand to gently cradle his cheek and as for permission. He gives her the slightest nod, and in the next second, her lips are on his. Harry reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist, needing her close, not all believing it's actually happening. 

Harry's lips are soft, his mouth tasting like cherry from the gummies they bought earlier in the night. The butterflies in her stomach are going crazy, trying to find an escape. Harry lets out a small moan. That's when she knows it's time to pull away. Luna rests her hands on his chest, feeling how fast his heart is reacting to the kiss. 

Luna turns to face her friends,  not caring how they were all witnesses to their first kiss. "I told Harry if we won that I'd kiss him, and well, I'm not one to go back on my word." 

Caleb cheers and starts to clap, not at all trying to hide his excitement. Everyone else joins in the hollers, only getting louder, causing Luna to drop her head to rest on Harry's chest as she takes in her friend's excitement, knowing the teasing will soon be next. Harry has not removed his hands from her waist, liking how close she is. Luna doesn't mind it either. It feels quite nice.  

"Alright, let's head to the diner where we'll buy the winner's food." Caleb begins ushering everyone to the cars. He got Amy's help bringing over Mitch and Charlotte's car which is how they will be leaving, finally the end to all the walking.

Luna and Harry are still wrapped in each other's arms, not at all ready to move. Caleb is waiting for them at the small cobblestone entrance.

"We'll meet you there." Luna knows they have no transportation, the diner being close to their apartment that is a good two miles away. 

Caleb nods, stepping closer to toss his keys to her. She catches them with ease. "I'll be riding with Mitch." 

They watch the two cars drive away before turning her attention back to Harry. 

"What a night." 

She nods in agreement, happy that the hunting is over and can now relax. 

"Favorite part?" Harry asks.

She thinks it over for a second before responding, "The haunted house."

"Really." Her answer really surprises Harry, and he doesn't try to hide it. 

Luna shrugs. "Think that's what broke the tension between us; otherwise, we'd still be bickering." Getting locked in a room was not fun, but Harry coming to look for her and help her showed her a side she hadn't seen before. It was worth it, but would most definitely not do it again. "And yours?" 

He leans down to whisper in her ear. "When you kissed me." 

Luna nods, "That was a nice moment, huh." 

"Care to do it again?" 

"Only," Luna pauses before leaning close to Harry. She feels his breath against hers, mixing together. "If you would agree to dress up with me next year." 

"Done deal." Harry answers. His lips are on hers once more. Harry has a hand on her cheek, deepening the kiss, not ever wanting to pull away. "We could be Noah and Allie from The Notebook."

Luna breaks the kiss. "Gross, please take that back." 

"What's wrong? It's my favorite movie." 

"Why?" Luna asks in disgust. "Allie cheats on her fiancé. Sure, they have true love, but cheating should never be condoned, especially in a love story. Sure the book showed their growth and maturity, but you're not talking about the book. I shall not do it, not ever." 

"Guess you just won our first fight, Buttercup." Harry smiles. 

"First? We've had over five hundred!" Luna tells him. "Now, kiss me again because I won." 

"If we're kissing after each fight, then I owe you over five hundred." Luna shuts Harry up by connecting their lips. She knows kissing Harry will never get old, neither will these pointless arguments that will be forgotten seconds later. 

"Enough of giving these dead people a show. Let's go eat." 

"As you wish." 

Luna gasps, pressing her right hand against her heart dramatically. "Are you saying you love me?" She clears her throat, scrunching up her face in apology. "This might be a little awkward then." She points between them both. 

Harry stops walking, throwing his head back, letting out a loud groan of frustration. "You're a pain in my ass." 

Luna giggles. "Would you want it any other way?"

Harry grins, looking down at her soft brown eyes. "No." He responds honestly.  

Pinkies linked together, bumping into each other randomly to see who stumbles the most, Luna and Harry walk out of the cemetery forever thankful for this Halloween night. 

I love you! 

Thank you for reading, come chat the hunt with me

[butwhyduh]

The Batmobile

Jason todd x reader

Warning: angst, fluff, smut, it’s fucking in the fucking batmobile 🤷🏻‍♀️😏

It was a whole year ago that you found out about Jason being Red Hood. He had left a spare helmet in the back of his closet and you had pulled it on top of you when you grabbed a hoodie. After mentally freaking out, Jason had gotten you a bag of ice for the knot on your head.

It took a whole freaking year of knowing his secret and almost 2 years of dating for you to be invited to the Wayne Manor. Okay, actually Bruce had invited you within the first 6 months of dating. Jason was the one who wanted to keep you a secret.

You spent a good 2 hours looking through your entire closet to find something to wear. What the hell do you wear to dinner at a billionaire’s house? You relaxed a little when you saw Jason wearing plain jeans and a hoodie. Okay, yeah good. Casual was better. Not to mention that you were taking a motorcycle there.

You arrived in skinny jeans and a leather jacket that felt like a protection. You could act like a punk and most people won’t touch you. Especially when Jason had the scowl he was currently wearing. You followed his eyes to see the unmistakable form of Bruce Wayne in the drive.

Did Bruce specifically find children that resembled him? Much like Jason he was tall and muscular with dark hair and as you got closer you could see he also had blue eyes. He had a few wrinkles around his eyes and grey in his hair that seemed to add to his beauty rather than take it away. You’d never met a billionaire before.

“Hello,” Bruce said.

“Hello.” You shook his hand.

“I apologize for not having you over sooner but Jason seems to have wanted to keep you a secret,” he said with a tiny smile you almost missed.

“I wonder why,” Jason whispered sarcastically. Bruce ignored it. “Hello demon spawn,” he said and you gasped at the person you hadn’t seen before standing only a few feet from you.

“Damian Wayne,” he said with his hand out to you. You shook the young man’s hand and stated your name. He was only a inch or two within your height despite his youth and heavily resembled his father except for his deep olive skin tone and green eyes.

The door opened and a voice called out, “perhaps you should bring your party inside the manor. It will be snowing soon.” The polished English accent must have been Alfred.

Bruce moved to the side and you all walked in. Alfred had walked to the dinning room. The hallway had deep polished wood walls and was dimly lit by candles on candelabras. As you walked towards the room, a warm body grabbed your hand and you shrieked.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He said releasing your hand. You flushed, embarrassed. “I thought you saw me. I’m Dick.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Jason grasped your hand and stepped towards Dick with a look of murder on his face. You put your hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It was an accident,” you said with a little awkward laugh. Jason relaxed a little.

Alfred stood in the doorway to the dinning room with a small smile. He gently cleared his throat and you all followed him in the dinning room. It was then that you truly took in the beauty of the house. You had been too nervous about meeting his family when walking in.

The room was breathtaking. A long mahogany table was lined with emerald tuffed chaired and heavy gold curtains over the windows. The wooden floor gleamed and you noticed that your feet were the only ones making any noise as you sat down.

“Hello master Jason. It’s nice to see you here again. And you must be y/n. I’m glad he finally brought you around,” Alfred said quietly, shaking your hand. “Excuse me, I must serve dinner.”

A lovely smelling soup was placed before you all and water and wine was served. You watched as everyone ate. Bruce ate casually while Dick animatedly told a story. Another brother, Tim, shook your hand across the table before eating and typing away on his phone. Jason stared at Damian while eating and the teen glared back. You put your hand on Jason’s knee and he seemed to relax a little.

“I need to speak you, Jason, about work after dinner,” Bruce said casually. All of Jason’s tension came back.

“Not today,” he said. “We can talk later.”

“Well it’s quite important WE business,” Bruce said and everyone at the table watched the two closely.

“Is that why we came over? For you to talk business?” Jason said. He almost had a grimace on his face.

“Of course not. We wanted to meet your girlfriend,” Dick interjected. Jason ignored him.

Bruce finally spoke. “He’s right. We can talk about it later. Tell us more about yourself, y/n.”

“Oh, uh...” you said quite put on the spot. “I’m a photographer.”

“You should have brought your camera. The courtyard can be very pretty in the evening,” Bruce said. “Do you work for a newspaper?”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Jason scoffed.

“I don’t. I mainly take portraits but I have been taking urban photos lately,” you said. “Like the effects of urban areas. I mean-“ you felt a loss of words to describe what you meant.

“She takes photos of the worst parts of Gotham to expose the poverty. That’s where we met. I don’t really let her go alone anymore,” he said with the smallest hint of a smile. “It’s pretty damn dangerous.”

“I’ve been fine,” you insisted and Jason thought back on the multiple shady characters he’s had to beat for you to get your shots without knowing what he was doing. “But I’m putting together a piece for South Gotham Gallery. A few more shots and it will be complete.”

“I’ve heard certain areas can be very dangerous,” Dick commented. “I would be very careful. Especially with a camera.”

“Yeah, like the East End,” Tim said.

“I grew up there,” you admitted with a laugh. “Stay away from Crime Alley and you’re probably okay. During the day.”

“It’s unwise to visit at all. Crime has risen 11 percent in the past 3 years,” Damian said. Alfred served a salad next.

“And unemployment by over 15 percent in the Bowery. That’s why I’m doing my piece. Poverty and crime is caused by wealth,” you said frankly before realizing that you just said that to a bunch of billionaires. Jason stifled a snicker.

[[MORE]]

“I suppose so,” Bruce said slowly. Jesus, you had just insulted your boyfriend’s adoptive father.

“Sorry,” you said quietly looking at your salad.

“It’s fine. It’s true,” Jason said with a shrug.

“So do you two live together,” Dick asked, changing the subject.

“You’re saying that crime is caused by wealth? Can you explain,” Damian said. Jason almost crushed the stem of his wine glass.

“I just mean, Gotham’s rich have gotten richer and the poor poorer and the ones with the money can control that,” you said delicately.

“So the rich can prevent poverty? All poverty?” Damian asked. And to the 13 year old’s credit, he just seemed to be curious. He could clearly feel the tension he was creating but didn’t actually care as he wanted answers.

“Paying people enough to live, healthcare for all, rehabilitation services that actually rehab, good education. All will help prevent crime and poverty. Many studies have shown this,” you said and you wanted to remain impartial but your voice betrayed your passion for the subject.

“We donate and run many foundations that support most of those things. Right father?” Damian asked. You sighed but kept silent. Throwing money doesn’t solve a problem.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Drop it Damian,” Tim said. He roughly stabbed at his salad.

“I just want to know how she could possibly know what the rich do if she has always been poor.”

Jason crushed the stem at this point. “Shit,” you said quickly wrapping his bleeding hand in a handkerchief from the table. He looked close to exploding.

“Don’t forget that she’s not the only poor kid at the table. I grew up on the streets and moved here. Rich people are shit,” Jason said. He started standing and Damian watched him with a glint in his eyes. He was ready to fight too.

“Sit down, Jason,” Bruce commanded. “He’s just a curious boy.”

“Not surprising. He gets it from his old man. Disregard for anyone else,” Jason all but growled. Tonight was only the tip of the iceberg. You put a hand on his forearm. The last thing you wanted was a fight.

“You’re angry,” Bruce said quietly. He swallowed harshly. “Sit down.”

“I’m a grown man,” Jason said scoffing.

“Not acting like that,” Bruce said. Jason’s hands twitched towards his gun on his hip but he resisted the urge.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. Alfred, food was great. Fuck you, Bruce,” Jason said grabbing your hand.

“Don’t leave,” Dick called as Jason pulled you down the hall. He didn’t go towards the front door but downstairs to a garage. There was probably 20 cars. Many of them were cars you had never seen in person.

“You wanna go for a drive?” He asked and you felt a thrill.

“One of these?” You asked.

“Nope,” Jason said pressing a code into a computer. A hidden garage door opened to expose a very conspicuous vehicle. The batmobile. You’d definitely never seen that car in real life.

“Seriously? Won’t he get mad?” You asked a little shocked.

“Fucking furious. We’re just going to get something to eat,” Jason said grabbing the key and unlocking it.

“Ugh... what the hell? Why not? Yeah,” you finally said. You knew the value of not missing a ride in the freaking batmobile. He grinned and opened the door for you. You climbed in and noticed a billion buttons. As Jason started the car, a string of lights pulsed on before the car showed multiple sensors. Jason pressed a few buttons before shifting the gear and driving out of the garage. The front gate automatically opened and he started putting on some speed once the car hit the road.

It felt like he was driving 50 when the speedometer was showing a cool 120. Your heart beat quickly in fear and excitement. Jason slowed down to 70 and grasped your hand. You could see tiny little cuts on his hand from the glass he crushed earlier.

“Is your hand okay?” You asked looking it over.

“It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt at all. Let’s get some food. I know a spot. But you’ll have to wear this,” he said pulling out a small black mask to cover your eyes. He took his own. “Can’t exactly drive the batmobile and show our face.”

The spot he knew was a tiny little taco truck strung with Christmas lights and a white board advertising “elotes con chile y limon.” It was on an empty corner lot in a not so great area of Gotham. It was extremely conspicuous as the pair of you got out of the car. Most people watched but as they thought they were watching freaking Batman order tacos, they didn’t say or do anything.

“Hello,” said the truck owner nervously. “Would you like something to eat? Elotes? Carnitas?”

“Yeah, 6 carnita tacos with cilantro and lime. A Mexican coke. 2 orders of sopapillas. What do you want?”

“That’s all for you?” You laughed always amazed at the amount he could eat. It made sense with all the energy he used but still. “Same but just 2 tacos and and a coke.”

Jason wrapped an arm around you waist and swayed slightly to the Mexican music playing in the truck. People started to get used to you both being there. Maybe Batman just wanted some tacos?

After receiving a plastic take out bag with foil wrapped tacos, a sign of good tacos, you both climbed back in the car. The masks were haphazardly tossed on the dash. Jason drove you both back the way you came and you wondered if you were going back to the manor when, no he was taking you to a quiet rest stop outside the city. You ate the tacos and sopapillas on the hood of the car. You watched as Jason added way to much spicy green chile sauce to his tacos.

“Want some?”

“I choose life but thank you,” you said. You giggled as he cleared his throat and gulped down his coke. But to his credit, he ate it. Maybe he just enjoyed pain? “Now what?” You asked watching the stars. They weren’t visible in the city.

Instead of answering, Jason pulled you close. Your back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. You held his hands and looked at the little scars that littered his skin. Always fighting. Jason bent to kiss your neck.

“Wanna be really bad,” he asked with audacity that you knew meant something interesting. You leaned into him more.

“What do you mean?” You purred. Dating a guy like Jason Todd, you weren’t exactly new to taking some risks.

“Let’s fuck. Right. Here,” he said and with every word he slowly spoke in a husky voice, he pushed his hips against you and you knew exactly what he wanted. You went to turn in his arms but he moved quicker and you were quickly bent over the car with a gasp. He pulled off his jacket and threw it on the hood. Little did you know but he was covering the camera.

Jason’s hand ran along your back and you shivered as your skin pressed against the hard metal. He kissed the back of your neck and kneaded the flesh on your hips and he ground his hard on against you. “Fuck you’re pretty. And letting fucking Bruce know what you think of the rich. That was hot as shit. I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

“This was on your bucket list,” you asked grinding your hips back against him. “To bend me over the batmobile and fuck me?”

“Jesus,” he said before pulling down your jeans and panties in one push. You shivered at the cold air touched your ass. “Your fucking mouth, Princess. I love it.”

You weren’t cold for very long because after a few seconds of rustling with a belt and zipper, you felt Jason press against your ass. He rubbed his cock through your folds a few times before pulling away. You turned to whine only to see him rolling on a condom. He sunk into you without ceremony. His fingers roughly held your hips as he thrust into you.

You moaned and the echo reminded you that you were outside. Anyone could come up on the pair of you fucking on the goddamn Batmobile. It made you moan even louder. He rubbed his hand up and down your spine before sliding down to the front of your body to rub your clit. It didn’t take long for you to grip him tighter.

“Fuck, Princess, are you close?” He moaned in your ear. His thrusts were rough and deep and his fingers moved quickly over your clit.

“Yeah, oh shit, yeah,” you moaned. “Jay,” you whined when he readjusted his hand.

“I got you. Let go, Princess,” he purred in your ear. You reached a hand up and grabbed his hair. You pulled him close and moaned his name on repeat as you came. He grunted and a few more thrusts found his release. Jason pulled out and pulled up your pants with a pat on your ass and took care of his condom.

“We probably need to get the car back before Bruce come looking for it,” he said grabbing his jacket. Jason gave you a long sweet kiss before getting back in the car.

“Does he have a tracking device in it,” you asked with sudden realization.

“Yeah but all we did was get some tacos and stopped to eat them,” Jason said with a wink. “He won’t care too much. Plus he’ll only be mad at me anyways. Don’t worry about it, Princess.”

You held his hand all the way back to the front drive of Wayne Manor. As soon as you were in his car, his phone lit up and before he put it away, it was a message from Tim. “Clean it before you bring it back. I don’t even want to know what happened and Bruce is ofc mad.😩”

You laughed a little and Jason went from grinning to laughing out loud. “At least we didn’t fuck in the car,” you said. He laughed some more.

“Maybe next time, baby,” he said with a wink before speeding out of the drive.

“Oh god. I wouldn’t do Alfred like that.”

“I knew I liked you for some reason. Let’s get home. It’s cold as balls out here and I’d like to spend some time with my hot as shit girlfriend before the other shoe drops,” Jason said taking your hand again.

“That’s a fan-fucking-tastic idea.”

[the-toasted-teacake]

Hi, can you read the following and let me know your thoughts please? Would mean a lot. It’s my first bit of Carlando writing. Love your writing!! Also your blog too! Hope it’s not too much to ask!! It turned out to be a lot of words but once I started I couldn’t stop, thanks if you do read it!!

………………..

 Two days.

That’s all he had to wait until he could see Carlos. If he’s honest with himself he hadn’t realised till now how much counting down he had done the last week whilst he’d been away with family and friends. If he’s overly honest with himself he didn’t want to acknowledge the amount of counting down done. That would be too much honesty for Lando.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed his time away with his family and friends in Croatia and the several other places they’d travelled to on the stunning boat they’d hired for ten days, it was just that he really couldn’t wait to be in Carlos’ company again. He wouldn’t have been half as bothered about seeing Carlos again if it weren’t for the fact they’d practically spent no time together in the first half of the season.

There was no doubt about it, since Carlos had left McLaren and Daniel had came in, it hadn’t been the same. Not only because of the new atmosphere Daniel bought, but also because Lando had nowhere near seen Carlos as much as he used to. Different hotels each race weekend. No more Carlos living half an hour away in a car and definitely nowhere near as much Fifa. It hadn’t been easy. That’s where Lando drew the line at admitting how difficult it had been though because any further admittance of this made it look like he couldn’t cope and was a massive cry baby missing his old teammate far too much. If he’s overly honest again, he really hadn’t given Daniel the time of day due to still being in complete shock that Carlos had actually left McLaren. It had been a shock since day one of finding out and the shock hadn’t left his system.

Lando was a bit nervous about seeing Carlos again. He was hoping that all the unspent time together hadn’t created an awkward atmosphere between the two of them, he was sure it hadn’t, but you never know. Anyway, even if it did, they had plenty of activities to enjoy to forget about any awkwardness. Lando was flying from Greece over to the Balearic Islands where Carlos was with some of his family and friends. He felt bad that he was leaving Max and the rest of his friends in Greece but he couldn’t refuse Carlos’ offer of four nights spent together as they would be immediately separated again the week later by their hectic F1 world’s.

Just two little days to go he thought. If he could make it five whole months without properly seeing Carlos, then he could definitely last two more days.

And what a two days it was.

Lando had the best two days of the entire holiday, probably because he tried to enjoy it more due to knowing he was leaving them early. What a reward he was getting at the end of those two days as-well; four nights spent with Sainzy. How lucky he was. He could barely contain his excitement once he’d said Goodbye to Oliver and Savannah at the port. Oliver had noticed and had obviously teased him about it. “This is the most excited I’ve seen you all holiday and of course it’s as your abandoning ship to see Carlos”. Lando had just laughed in response. “Tell him I said hi and to not injure my younger brother before the second half of the season starts please” Oliver said as Lando got into the car taking him to the airport. Again, He just got a laugh in response. It was more of a scoff really as Lando knew Carlos would never put him in danger. He never had done, if anything he’d protected him at all costs.

The closer he got to landing, the more the butterflies came. He didn’t know why, but he knew they were definitely there. A few deep breaths later and he regained a little bit of composure. Nervous about seeing Carlos? No surely not. Sort your self out Norris he said to himself quietly.

The airport was busy so he made his was through it as quickly as possible. He really didn’t want to be noticed right now. Eventually he found himself in the arrivals terminal where he was expecting someone to be waiting for him as previously mentioned by Carlos over text. He couldn’t seem to find his name being held up by anyone though. Just keep walking and you’ll find it he thought. Out of nowhere a voice shouted “Landoooo”. He froze immediately. He was hearing things surely. Carlos had not came himself to the airport to get him. No way. Surely he had sent someone.

He eventually plucked up the courage to look over to where the voice came from and stopped dead in his tracks. His feet were frozen to the floor and he couldn’t move. The butterflies had well and truly taken over. It was Carlos. Carlos had came to get him from the airport. Carlos had got into a car and drove to the airport to pick him up. Why was this such a big deal to Lando? Maybe it was just the surprise of seeing him this soon after just landing on the Spanish island. Yes definitely surprised.

He hadn’t even noticed how close Carlos had gotten to him until he heard his name being shouted right at his face. “Mate are you ok?” Lando just smiled and asked him what he was doing here. Of course Carlos had replied teasing him. “What, are you not happy to see me?” Lando laughed and finally gave him a long awaited hug. Once that was out of the way, Carlos took Lando’s case and began walking towards the exit of the terminal. Lando protested “You don’t have to take that I can manage” “I know but you are my guest and I am your chauffeur so this is my job”. Fair enough Lando thought.

Once they’d got into the car and left the airport it was Lando’s turn to tease. “So Mr Sainz Jr. couldn’t wait to see me that much, that he had to collect me himself from the airport.” Carlos laughed and looked over to Lando smiling, he quietly said “I’ll admit it, I am excited to see you, but the driver cancelled last minute so here I am.” “Anyway, having me pick you up should be an honour, I am the best chauffeur about.” Lando just responded with a nod. Carlos seemed to easily be able to worm his way out of being teased, he had done it effortlessly, to the point where Lando wasn’t sure why he had bothered to tease him in the first place.

For the first time since they’d got in the car Lando looked out of the window properly, he could already see the sea in the distance and the landscape around them was stunningly breathtaking. He was sure he was going to enjoy the few nights he had here.

After a bit of small talk of how their summer breaks had gone so far they settled into a comfortable silence. Lando took this as his opportunity to check his phone. After he’d replied to a few texts and checked a few notifications he placed the phone back into his pocket. He wanted to put a story on of chauffeur Carlos, but he was sure that would overload the Carlando world. These few days were supposed to be about them two finally getting to spend time together and having fun so there was no point in advertising it to the world this early on into the trip.

Once they got nearer to Carlos’ house Lando asked “So who’s at the house then, which members of the Sainz family do I have the pleasure of spending time with?” Carlos looked at Lando with confusion and he thought maybe he’d said something wrong until Carlos responded “I thought I’d told you, it’s just us two. My mum and dad left a few days ago and my sister and her husband left yesterday.” Oh, Lando thought. He was sure Carlos hadn’t mentioned it because he was definitely not under the impression that it was purely just them two for five whole days. Wait. “What about Isa and all of your friends?” “What, you don’t want to spend time with me, you want to see everyone else but not me?” Carlos said as he laughed. Back to teasing again Lando noticed. “No it’s not that, I just didn’t know it was just us two in one big house, I saw everyone on your Instagram and presumed we’d have lots of company.” Carlos just looked at him funny “Yeah my friends were here but they’ve all left too, I thought I’d get rid of them because they all talk far too much Spanish for you.” WHAT. Carlos had gotten rid of his friends for him? Before Lando could panic too much, Carlos added “Just joking mate, they all had to go home back to their lives and Isa has some work in London so she left a couple of days ago too.” So it really was just them two, not a single other person. Lando could swear that Carlos always knew when he was panicking because he always managed to swiftly change the topic of conversation. “Anyway we’re having burgers for dinner tonight, thought I’d cook your favourite for your first night in Casa Sainz” he said with a very thick Spanish accent. And with that swift change of topic Lando didn’t have anymore time to think about it just being them two, he’d also remembered the dogs where there so at least he had someone. Even if they were animals.

Lando’s first opportunity to have some time for his own thoughts came half an hour later when Carlos had shown him to his room and excused himself to go and start dinner. Lando hadn’t seen quite as beautiful of a view before. He was lucky he had this from his balcony attached to the room Carlos had gave him, the sunset was gorgeous and he had the perfect shot from where he was to view it. Time for a quick story he thought. Once the story (without a location) was posted he unpacked his things and changed into a comfier shirt and shorts. His mind drifted off to the conversation they’d had in the car. Carlos had definitely not told him it was just them two for the five days, so why did he think that he had. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him but it definitely was for Lando. How could he have failed to mention it. He was already worried about any awkwardness due to the lack of time spent together this year, so the news of it being just them two had caused full blown panic in his head. How would he cope. He quickly realised he may be overthinking this way too much and he didn’t want to turn into a complete mess on the fist night so he grabbed his phone and took off downstairs, that way he couldn’t give himself any more time to dwell on it.

“You like the view, yes?” Carlos asked as Lando approached him in the kitchen, Carlos held up his phone to show him that he’d seen his story. He added “Im glad you didn’t tag the location, I put a story on this morning of me lying next to my boat, so the Carlando world would, how’d you say it, go crazy wild? You know if they knew you were in the same place as me.” For the record, Lando had seen the story but Carlos didn’t need to know that. “Oh really? Good job I didn’t then, to be honest I thought the same before in the car, I wanted to post a chauffeur Carlos story whilst you were driving, but the Carlando world is not ready for that” he said as he laughed. Carlos laughed too and smiled at him acknowledging that they were both on the same page. Maybe a story in a day or two would be fine but not just yet. The world could wait for Carlando content, they’d already waited the whole of this year so what was a couple more days for the previously promised Carlando content. “As for the view, yes I love it, it’s stunning. Thanks for giving me that room and letting me stay.” Carlos smiled once more and Lando could’ve sworn the thanks had made him blush for a second. “No problemo Mr Norrisio.” “Go and set the table outside for me, dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

The two men sat and enjoyed their burgers outside under the night sky and spoke like no time had passed at all since Carlos had left for Ferrari. They didn’t even have to discuss racing to fill any awkward silences. Carlos had even persuaded Lando to have a few glasses of wine with him. It wasn’t often Lando drunk, but he was on his holidays and he was with Carlos so why not he’d thought. Maybe it was the warm air or maybe it was the wine but Lando started to notice Carlos’ gazing eyes more and more throughout the evening. Carlos was practically staring at him. Eventually he’d had enough of it and plucked up the courage to say “why do you keep looking at me like that?” Gulp. Had he really just said that, why did he say that. Oh dear. He had no clue why he had just out right asked that. No more wine for him. To his surprise, carlos didn’t even hesitate to answer. “Sorry, I just noticed for the first time how much you’ve grown. You’ve seriously changed...Not a little boy no more si?” The smile on Carlos’ face was accompanied with another blush, and it was noticed by Lando for the second time that night. Lando laughed and posed with his muscles by his head. He was no body builder but he had been working hard to build muscle. He was tired of being the small one on the grid so him and Jon had been working on bulking for quite a while now. Carlos laughed in response to the pose, “You’ll get there mate, not there yet, but you’ll get there.”

Once they’d finished dinner Carlos had sleepily asked Lando If he wanted to watch a film before they settled for the night, Lando of course had said yes, he couldn’t wait for another movie night with Carlos. This would be their first movie night since Austria 6 weeks ago. He felt lucky to even have that, Carlos had been so busy this season that their movie night in Austria had been there only one this year. Their movie nights always consisted of great films and great banter, it was usually films Lando had never seen before that also happened to be Carlos’ favourites. He wondered what they’d end up watching tonight. “We’ll watch shawshank redemption tonight, ok?” “Yes sure. Never seen it so should be interesting.” “Landooo I don’t understand how you never seen any films, do you live under a rock, yes?” Lando laughed at how he’d said his name, god he’d missed that. Gulp. No don’t admit that. Moving quickly on from that. “I never have time, too busy beating your ass on the simulator.” He wasn’t wrong. Carlos laughed and said “ahhh yes true, but you will never beat me in FIFA.” More laughter was the reply.

They settled into the film. Lando was sat down comfily with his back pressed up to the enormous couch pillow behind with his feet up on the coffee table in front of them, Carlos in the exact same position next to him. Lando grabbed a pillow to hold as he felt he needed something to cling onto for comfort. About half way through the film, Lando noticed Carlos was getting sleepy as he was slouching and leaning into the couch more and more, must be the wine he thought. Why was he not feeling sleepy also though? Maybe because his mind was on overdrive about the FACT that it was just them TWO. Up until this moment he hadn’t given himself time to actually think about it. FIVE whole days with Carlos, he couldn’t believe it to be honest. If someone had told him a month ago this would be the case, he would have laughed at them and told them to stop chatting nonsense.

As if he’d noticed Lando’s panicking, Carlos shot over a look at him, and whispered “are you enjoying the film?” “Yes it’s good, your getting tired though so it’s ok if you want to settle down for the night.” “How do you know I’m getting tired, huh? Are you a reader of the mind?” He poked him in the ribs as he said that and made Lando jump a bit from the unexpected feeling in his ribs. Lando couldn’t help but laugh at him, he knew he was tired yet he didn’t want to admit it to him because he had 100% noticed that Lando was not tired, it was cute really. Carlos was cute. Gulp. Best not to think on that too much. Gaining some composure after being poked in the ribs, he thought about saying let’s just finish watching the film but he settled on “Carlos, you are obviously tired you’ve got that sleepy look and I don’t want to keep you awake any longer than you need to be, come on, lets just finish the film tomorrow, we have plenty of time over the next few days to finish watching it.” “Huh, sleepy look ai? What does the ‘sleepy look’ look like?” He responds whilst continuing to poke Lando some more. Ok Lando thought, he wants to play poke wars. We’ll see about that, Lando pulled a funny face and poked him back “You go all slouchy like this” as he slid himself down the couch and then said “and your eyes go like this” as he flickered his eyes open and shut. Carlos was laughing loud now at the sight in front of him. The wine had definitely encouraged the silliness from the two grown men who were supposed to be watching quite an emotional and serious film. However, the film was long forgotten about at this point.

The poking continued as did the laughter for at least another 5 minutes. In fact you could argue that they were full blown play fighting now. 2 adult men play fighting. From a distance if you were viewing this sight of them, you would think there was more in this than two friends play fighting. They grabbed each other so harshly that knuckles were white. Also the looks they gave each other were way too intense, Lando wondered if they’d be able to do this if Isa were here, maybe it was best she wasn’t. That’s what made him stop immediately. He let go of Carlos immediately which must have been unexpected as Carlos literally fell on top of him with a small thud. A short-lived silence fell amongst the two of them. Carlos spoke first. “Ouch, why’d you stop?” He gazed down at Lando without moving almost like he was frozen on top of him. Lando hadn’t a clue what to say back, he was stuck gazing back at him, also frozen. After what felt like an eternity of staring into his eyes, he finally spoke. “Ha ha, sorry. Figured you were gonna win anyway so I gave up.” Cool as a cucumber. Played that smoothly Norris. He thought he’d deflected really well from the real reason he’d stopped. But why was Carlos not moving off of him. Lando really thought he’d move any second now or more hoping he would because his stare was becoming unbearable, what was going on? Was something wrong? They’d finished play fighting what felt like an eternity ago so usually Carlos would well be off of him by now. But here he was, flat out on top of him, gazing down at his face literally centimetres away from him.

“God I’ve missed this.”

WHAT.

Where had that come from?! Lando just opened his mouth forming an o shape. The shock took over and he was sure Carlos was looking back at him wondering what on earth was he thinking. They were both so still, not a single bit of movement at all. They were so close that it looked like they’d been moulded together like a sculpture. This was probably the longest look they’d ever given each other. Neither knew what to say. Carlos looked surprised he’d said it. Lando looked surprised he’d heard it. He had to say something. The silence couldn’t continue. The first thing he could think of. Quick. “I’ve missed this too.” SHIT. WHAT. No. What had he done. What a stupid thing to say. Carlos was smiling now. Gulp. That smile was everything.

Without another second passing Carlos decided he had to make a joke out of this, it had become too intense between the pair of them so some light hearted humour was needed. “Awww mate that was sooo cute” the exaggeration of the words so and cute was very much needed. Carlos finally climbed off of him. Lando shuddered from the coldness he felt without Carlos on top of him. If he’s completely honest he didn’t want him to get off of him. He didn’t mind it. But surely that was crossing a line. Yes definitely crossing a line. Lando sat up straight almost immediately dismissing the thought, he had to go to bed. Carlos definitely had to go to bed. That gave him a thought of how to make a joke out of this. “Awww there’s that sleepy voice, told you that your sleepy.” Carlos looked down at him (as he was now standing) almost in disbelief that he’d managed to gain the upper hand. This boy had gotten braver than he used to be, it was true, Lando had changed and Carlos had definitely noticed it. He had especially noticed it today. Having the one on one time with him had made sure of that. Not only had Lando physically changed but he’d grown way more confident. If Carlos was completely honest with himself it made him feel a bit sad, his little friend was not so little anymore and perhaps he maybe did not need him as much as he used too. Had anyone of asked though, he would never admit to this making him sad.

Lando got up from the couch and placed the pillow that had fell on the floor during their play fight back on the couch neatly. He turned back round to Carlos and wished him goodnight, a quick hug and he was out of there. Practically running up the stairs to his bedroom. Leaving Carlos stood there all alone to think about what had just unfolded amongst the two of them. He hadn’t quite meant to let slip he’d missed them play fighting or whatever it was they did. And he definitely had not meant to express it the way he had done to his younger friend. But truth be told, he really had missed him. And having him back here now in his house had got him so excited he just had to tell him. Of course he did. It’s not like he regretted it but he could see the complete shock in Lando’s eyes once he had.

As Carlos tidied the living room he thought about Lando’s response. First the shock and then the silence and then finally…he missed it too! Even if he knew he had said it in a panic it still meant something. He could tell it was said in a panic because Lando never admitted anything. Especially not missing him, it had even become a joke in their press conferences last year. The joke was how much Lando did not want to admit he would miss Carlos. You could not get him to say it to anyone. But he did. And that made Carlos very happy, probably more happy than it should. Once he’d finished tidying the living room he turned off the lights and walked up the stairs. He thought about knocking on Lando’s door just to say another goodnight and check if he needed anything as he had run off rather quickly. But he decided against it. He knew not to bother Lando when he ran away, and he didn’t want to make things awkward, that was the last thing either of them needed. Once he got to his room he quickly checked his phone. A message from one of his friends thanking him for the week away showed up and that made Carlos beam, he was so happy he was able to share his house with his friends. It had been such a good week with them all. Once he’d replied to that he saw another message pop up. It was Isa. Shit. He hadn’t text her all day. Hadn’t even thought about it. He’d been too busy getting the house ready for Lando and buying dinner to cook for him. He was sure she’d be a bit annoyed he hadn’t messaged to ask how London was. And as he read the message this thought was confirmed. It read ‘Hi, haven’t heard off you all day? Everything ok? London’s as rainy as usual, missing the Spanish weather!’ Yep she definitely had noted that he hadn’t text her. Nor had he text her back. He only just realised that her message was sent 4 hours ago. Shit. Before he had time to start replying he heard a noise out in the hall. He looked towards the door. Someone was definitely moving out on the hall. It must be Lando, maybe he wants to talk about what happened, probably not. He got up to go and have a look and sure enough he opened the door to find Lando standing in the middle of the hall looking confused.

Lando was just about to close his eyes and try and get some sleep when he realised he hadn’t set an alarm for the morning. Nor did he know what time to set the alarm for the morning. He’d just ran out of the living room as quick as possible and now he needed to go and find Carlos to ask what time he needed him up for in the morning. They were going running together and he knew Carlos liked his early morning runs. Oh god, 1) why did he agree to the run and 2) why would he not just ask Carlos downstairs instead of running off. Because now he had to see him again right after that incident (if you could even call it that) had happened. Without a second to think he quickly climbed out of bed and walked out into the hall, suddenly realising he hadn’t put a shirt on so was just in his boxers and he didn’t actually know which room was Carlos’. Right at the moment he heard a door open. Shit. It had scared him slightly in the dark. He glanced over to the door to find Carlos looking at him confused. “Uhh hey, sorry I realised I never knew which one was your room when I came to find you.” Carlos was even more confused now, why was Lando trying to find him and why did he practically have no clothes on. Lando looked very awkwardly over to Carlos noticing the look Carlos had give his body and said “sorry yeah I just forgot to put some shorts and a top on. I’d gone to bed so had took them off”. God he was rambling he knew he was but he couldn’t be stopped. “Sorry err did I wake you up?” Before he could ramble some more Carlos suddenly walked out into the hall to join him, so he could see him better. “Well thank god you weren’t sleeping in your buff.” The laughter from Lando echoed through the small hallway they were standing in. If it’s one thing carlos was good at, it was breaking the ice. The joke had immediately removed any possible awkward atmosphere between them. Carlos spoke softly “this is my room” motioning for Lando to follow him as he stepped back into his room.

If Lando had thought the view from his balcony was incredible. Well, the view from Carlos’ balcony was unbelievable. It was beautiful. He was immediately drawn to it and had walked straight over to the window. At night time it was so pretty, he imagined how pretty it must have been in the day also. Carlos noticed Lando looking at his balcony and smiled. “Here, come look outside.” He opened the door and motioned for him to follow him again. As they both stepped out onto the balcony the stars above them shone so clearly that both of them couldn’t help but look up. It was the clearest night sky that Lando had ever seen, it was filled with stars and a moon that was so clear it looked like it was right by them. The lighting of the town centre could be seen as could the port where Carlos’ boats floated quietly on the sea water. You could pretty much see the entire island, it was so calming to Lando. He had never felt peace quite like it before. The way they both just appreciated the view and enjoyed the silence made it even more peaceful. Lando stood in just his boxers on Carlos’ balcony really should have been awkward. But it wasn’t. Thank god for the view.

“It’s really beautiful isn’t it” Lando couldn’t help but say. “The island?” “Yes the island but the view of the island from this balcony is incredible, especially with it being night time, look at the sky, it’s like a photograph hung up on a wall but your looking right at it in real life.” Carlos couldn’t help but smile at Lando’s words. It had been quite some time since Carlos had seen Lando so happy by something that he had been able to show him, he used to be able to show him new stuff and make happy all of the time, but that was rare these days. So Carlos was thoroughly enjoying this. Lando had noticed Carlos smiling at him and suddenly felt a bit self conscious. Also a bit chilly. After all, it wasn’t sunny anymore and he was literally just in his boxers and nothing else. “Do you wanna maybe finish watching the rest of the film in here” Carlos suddenly asked as he pointed back to inside his bedroom. Lando wasn’t expecting that. Lando hadn’t expected any of this to be honest. Never the less, yes, yes he wanted to spend more time with Carlos. “Yeah sure.”

The two settled on to the bed and Carlos put the film on where they were up to. Lando actually did want to know how the film ended. Not long into the peacefulness of them both being engrossed with the film he realised he hadn’t actually asked Carlos what he’d needed to ask him, he’d gotten so distracted with Carlos scaring him in the hall and then the view from his balcony that setting an alarm for the morning had been completely forgotten about. He chuckled. Carlos heard the chuckle and looked over at him confused once again. It was definitely not a funny part in the film so why was Lando chuckling. “Sorry, I err, wait, pause the film a second so we don’t miss any.” Carlos picked the remote up and paused the film almost immediately. “I just realised I hadn’t actually asked you what I meant to when I came looking for you before when you found me in the hall.” “Ohh yes, did you need something?” “No, I just remembered that you wanted to go for a run in the morning and I needed to set my alarm, because I know you like early morning runs and I will definitely not wake up early. But I didn’t know what time to set it for.” Carlos smiled. It was adorable that Lando had remembered at all that Carlos wanted to go for a run. He had asked him hours ago before they’d drank the amount of wine they did. “Don’t worry, we are on holiday. Let’s not set any alarms. We will go for a run once we are both awake.” A wasted trip Lando had took into the hall then. Maybe not though, because he had got to see the most amazing view ever and now he was in Carlos’ bed enjoying the rest of the film. That made him happy and for just this once he’s ok with admitting that to himself. As if Carlos knew what he was thinking he smiled at him. Lando smiled back. The smile between them was sweet. Too sweet really. But neither man cared at this point. They were both too sleepy and too happy. To hell with a smile being too sweet mattering right now.

Carlos put the film back on and they both became engrossed once more. Lando was getting way too comfy in Carlos’ bed and was starting to drift off. He felt himself get sleepier and sleepier but he was far too tired to move. This resulted in Carlos finding his friend fast asleep next to him at the end of the film. As if he’d missed the end of the film, it was the best part. Carlos made a mental note to make him re watch the end of the film tomorrow. In the mean time, he needed to sleep himself. He turned off the tv and then his bedside light and settled further under the duvet. He looked over to Lando and whispered “good night, sleep tight.” God he hated to admit it but Lando did look cute whilst he slept. Carlos hadn’t ever seen him in such a deep sleep so close to him before. This suddenly made him panic about sharing a bed to sleep in, it was a first for the two of them to actually fall asleep in a bed together. After some thought about whether he should let Lando sleep alone in his bed he decided on did it really matter if the two of them slept next to each other. They were both shattered. So it really did not matter at this point. It didn’t take long before both of them were fast asleep dreaming peacefully. The moon and stars glimmered through the window as the room became silent.

Anon, first of all: thank you so, so much for sharing your writing with me! 🧡 I've already told you how much I enjoyed reading this, but I just want to reiterate that I love how you well captured the dynamic between Carlos and Lando, and that you had me completely hooked! This afternoon, I still keep thinking about the scene where they wrestle on the sofa and THAT LINE (“God I’ve missed this.”) because it's packs such a punch!

I really hope you do feel encouraged to write more Carlando, because you have a real way with these characters. I am smiling so much after reading this, and I'm sure others will enjoy it as much as I did 😍

So, with Anon's blessing, I'm sharing this publicly so you guys can also enjoy this absolute gem of a Carlando fic! 🧡