#shivers for the second ''stay alive / stay alive for me'' holding harry in her palm and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

[volivolition]

[imagines animatics] cool. anyway. [start crying]

[muffindaddystyles]

I hope you’re doing well and staying safe💛

Would you mind writing something Harry x reader where the reader has asthma and in the middle of the night she has a severe asthma attack in the kitchen and Harry wakes up to the sound of glass breaking, please and thank you?

You can make it vamp!harry if you want!

Hi doveeess hope you're doing well too 💛💛

Warning: Disease of asthma, fainting and passing out.

//

Opposite attracts, right? Well the saying was proved to it's fulfilment with Harry's and Y/N's relationship. If he got broody shoulders and tiny waist, Y/N's his bean with hands 10x daintier than his's. If he's the diffident with certain people cause he has acknowledged this world way before than her, then she's the one to be a tweety with everyone. He could be amatory with his every action and she's the shy one; he's a romantic creature.

If he's the vampire, she's a tiny human. How bizzare.

If he got the cold heart because the blood doesn't rush inside him, then she got a warm heart but, . . . . . it's weak doesn't pump enough blood to her lungs.

In her words it's healthy and keeping her alive but for him it's a death clock. Scares him at the mere thought of it betraying her and that's the reason he's super conscious about her each step.

Doesn't let her take stairs. Takes care they don't go to rowdy places. If they get struck in crowds he always manages to make a way out. He always makes sure she doesn't get a cold and layers her into puffy jackets — because when she gets sick they've to be in the hospital for three days at-least.

He vehemently despises the view of her getting nabolized while he sits beside her, stroking her knuckles kissing her temple and whispering to her how strong she's.

He's in love with her braveness 'cos he's just too weak — so so weak in knees for her.

He made a promise to himself that he'd never let anything happen to her and sometimes she scolds him for restricting her from things she loves to enjoy. Like rollercoasters. Teases him that it's the fact it makes his tummy all jumpy but he knows when she gets excited to a peak she nearly gives out in his arms.

She wanna live life to fullest.

Wanna love him to fullest.

They went for a picnic. Even though the sky was too murky and cloudy she insisted, he gave in. That's the only weather they could be out together.

They picked olives together. She'd dot them at him and he'd chase her. She loves to get chased!

"I've a lil bunny, whose ears are soft as silk, eyes round as saucers and m'bunny loves to get chased but she only twitches her nose. I can tell she's happy as twitchey-twitch she goes." He sing-song his one of the favourite poem for her with a grin pretending to be afooled by her hiding skills and startles her by pulling her to himself from behind the tree. She squeals with all her might thrashing playfully in his grasp.

They had the most fun Y/N thinks but at the moment under blankets with Harry's arm looped round her waist and face smushed in the crook of her neck, she's feeling suffocated. Her ribs cackles in her flesh, She caught a nasty cold.

Sweaty. Her toes curling as she felt her heart doing a dopey-doop.

Quietly she slids from under his hold tip-toeing downstairs and till then her lips went blue, her throat scratchy and lungs feeling clogged. Her chest heaves and perspiration beads at her forehead reaching for the faucet, trying to multi-task with her shivering hands.

Harry wakes up anxiously when he doesn't feel the fuzz of his bunny and the slow thump of her heartbeat against his ear that croons him to slight unconscious even though vampires couldn't sleep (when they do they're either teleporting to their pasts or their fantasies).

Upon hearing her heartbeat drop to zilch and a glass shattering with a loud echo he dashes down the stairs.

"Y/N!!" His voice dripping with panic as his eyes fall over his bunny hunched on her knees fisting the thick warm sweatshirt she's wearing where her heart is, her knuckles out of blood and face splashed with purple as she wheezes out for help, "Ha — " Her words strikes in her airpipes painfully making her fall but it never comes instead she lays like a petal into his arms eyes nearly rolling.

"Baby stay calm, yeh?" His voice trembles as he gets her out of the heated clothing and sits her upright as instructed by her doctor. He rubs her back tilting his chin to inhale a large breath while gazing her square in eyes with a firm grab at her chin — a gesture to make her do the same, "Breath . . . 's okay baby love 'm here." She does but fails and he makes her do it many times squeezing her hand.

"Wh -- where goin — " She manages to spurt out when he quickly stood up, "no where promise jus' bringin' ye'r inhaler be a mo'." He tumbles upstairs and in their room rummaging through the drawers, his frustration bubbles and spills through the pot when he couldn't spot it. He hits the leg of night stand cursing loudly.

"Fuck you." His pink chubby lip wobbles as he wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his pyjamas sighing out of relief when he finally found it.

Doesn't even take a second before helping her inhale it and massages the knots over spine with sweet nothings in her ear.

"Feeling okay? Should I call — " She cuts his concerned inquiry with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder nodding, "good . . good." He holds back his tears for her. Tremulous to bring her closer to him palming up and down her thighs to soothe her down.

Without a word she turns around wounding her forearms around the nape of his neck taking a pacifying breather of his heavenly scent and it for the very first time brings fat sad tears in her eyes, silent ones not to worry him.

"'M sorry for always making you panicky, it has become s' normal 'cos I don't listen to you." His eyes bolt shut and he gives out a pathetic gruffly sob tightening his arms around her waist. She apologises every time it happens to her and it breaks Harry's heart into tiny million pieces.

He still remembers their first date. He won a floffy, snowy stuffie bunny for her and she was such a clapping mess bringing him down swiftly to smother him in kisses but the next moment passed out against his chest. He felt lost at that time and he still does. With her eyes shut to the world he always feels this way.

They also have polaroids of their first date in the hospital with her in a white gown and a beeping machine in the background, she had the largest grins and he had the saddest pout.

"Look at meh buns, ye don't 'ave to, yeah?" He cups her cheeks gazing into her soul deeply, wish he could read what goes in her mind, "I love ye' s'much. I love y'in yer sickness 'n in yer heartiest moment, I love you even when we fight and when ye're not your best self . . . 'S not gonna change, nothin' would change me 'n you baby." She wipes his tears with delicate touch and even though she's unable to speak her love for him shines in the glossiness of her eyes.

"Wanna take some fresh air?" He asks. firmly sliding his arms under her knees and other under her shoulders to carry her when she nods, "you feel cold." She whispers and he quickly fetches her a snuggly blanket muttering guilty-ly.

"Sorry." She giggles giving him an eskimo kiss and pinches his cheek.

"You're the only vampire i love." He kisses her neck softly to convey his thanks and melts into her arms when she yawns, "I love you."

"I love you too, bunny."

[celtics534]

At Least for Tonight: Part II

Part 1

As promised, part 2! I hope y’all enjoyed these little hinny moments! Again, thank you anon who sent me the ask! 

Read both parts on: FF.net or AO3

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny breathed in deeply, her eyes drooping closed. 

 “Ginny, dear.” Her mother’s voice was soothing as a hand ran along her back. “Why don’t you head up to Gryffindor tower, try to find a place to sleep for the night?”

 She opened her eyes to look into the ones that matched hers perfectly. The sorrow in Molly’s normally bright eyes was overwhelming, even after just one second. It was like the pain Ginny’s mother was feeling was palpable. Yet, Molly was putting on a brave front, trying to care for her daughter… for her children that had survived.  

 “Mum.” Ginny wanted to stay with her mother, to try to comfort her, but her treasonous body denied her the chance, forcing a jaw-popping yawn out of her. 

 Molly gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Go on now, love.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head before gently guiding Ginny from her shoulder.  Ginny shakily rose from her vigil beside her mother. Her steps were uncertain as she started towards the marble stairs. 

 For all her years at Hogwarts, Ginny had never minded the trek up to the Gryffindor Common Room. Especially when she was dreading the potion essay awaiting her, or when she and Harry had —

 Harry

 Harry

The name was like an invocation in her mind. Harry Potter, who had just stopped the most heinous monster for years. Harry Potter, the man who had practically disappeared off the face of the Earth for nearly a year. Harry James Potter, Ginny’s ex-boyfriend and the man she had missed with every fiber of her being. 

 Ginny’s mind started thinking back to the last time she’d seen him, the last time they’d been alone long enough to have a real moment. That moment had kept Ginny sane through the most arduous year of her life. When she crawled into bed at night, Ginny had replayed the feeling of his fingers teasing her waist, the softness of his lips, the intensity of his eyes as he held her close to him in the dim moonlight of the Burrow kitchen. 

 God, that felt like a lifetime ago, yet at the same time, the phantom feeling made it feel as if it were only yesterday. With a sudden realization, Ginny remembered Harry hadn’t been in the Great Hall when she’d left. A wave of panic coursed through her. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? 

 She forced her overtired mind to think. Where would someone go after fighting for their life? It was hard to keep her mind straight when she was so tired… tired… Bloody hell, Harry would be exhausted after everything he’d been through! Hell, the reports about the Gringotts break-in had been less than forty-two hours ago. And knowing Harry, and that was something Ginny prided herself in, he would go to the place he’d slept for the past six years while at Hogwart. Ginny’s stride quickened as she climbed flight after flight, ignoring the destruction around her. She couldn’t think about what had been her life for the last twenty-four hours. Ginny refused to replay the violent memories that were trying to push to the forethought of her mind. Instead, she kept them at bay with one thought -- or better yet one person. Harry. She needed to see him with her own eyes. Just at least for one minute. 

 She came to a dead halt in front of the Fat Lady portrait, for the first time considering she hadn’t known been at school in months and the password had more than likely changed. “Er —”

 The Fat Lady simply smiled at her before swinging wide.

 “Thanks,” Ginny murmured as she climbed into the common room. Her left foot caught on the edge of the portrait, nearly making her land flat on her face. Ginny cursed as she caught herself. That would be the last thing she needed, a sprained ankle. 

 Letting out a long sigh, Ginny looked around the seemingly untouched tower. Everything looked exactly as it had for the last six years. Tables in the corners, comfy couches strategically in front of the fireplace. If Ginny didn’t know better she’d be able to pretend a war hadn’t just come to completion mere hours beforehand. 

 She looked over towards the girl’s staircase. That’s where her mother would expect her to go, back to the sixth year’s dorm and her old bed. But Ginny’s heart and feet had other plans. She was halfway up to the seventh year’s boy’s room before she even realized she’d begun to move. The door was ajar, making it easy for Ginny to peek inside. No sounds could be heard, nothing seemed disturbed… except one bed by the far window. She could see his mop of messy black hair. 

 There she’d seen him. Ginny could now go back down the stairs and find her own bed... Except, again her feet pulled her towards him. 

 Ginny stood beside his bed, taking in the man before her. He lay on his back, seemingly dead to the world. Hell, if Ginny hadn’t seen his chest rise and fall she might have thought he was truly dead. 

 Harry Potter is dead. 

 The words came back to her with the sharpness of a knife, making her breath hitch. Fuck… hearing those words… The way it had echoed all around her. Never before had words suffocated her, but as she’d stood beside her brothers in the Great Hall and Voldemort’s cruel voice reverted off the stone, Ginny had lost her ability to breath… to think.

 “Gin?” 

 She blinked rapidly, forcing tears she hadn’t known about, to fall down to her cheeks. Her focus fell onto his eyes. The eyes that had come haunted her dreams. His brow was creased as he blinked up at her. 

 Ginny swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Hey.”

 Hey… that was the first thing she said to him after so long! Ginny wanted to smack her forehead, but Harry simply smiled at her. 

 “Hey.” He started to sit up, but Ginny’s hand shot out to land on his chest stopping him.  

 “Don’t move, you’ve got to be tired.” 

 He blinked at her, his breathing labored. After a second he leaned back onto his pillows, his chest rising high with every breath under her palm. They stared at each other, neither seeming able to break the silence between them. Hell, all Ginny could do was drink him in. Take in every bit of him… there… alive. 

 Harry’s gaze took on a new intensity… something about it Ginny couldn’t place, but it still sent shivers down her spine. 

 “Ginny,” Her name on his lips is what did it. It broke the dam that had been holding back everything in Ginny’s chest. A sob rose into her throat and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Then another and then she was crying as she stood there beside his bed. 

 Before she could even try to regain her composure, Harry had taken her hand and tugged her into him. Her body covered his as he held her close. His fingers caught in the knots matting her hair, but Ginny could feel the pain. No, she was consumed by the truth of all that had happened. The fact that her brother was dead, Voldemort was gone, that Harry was there with her. Her face fell into the crook of his neck, tears dampening his skin.

 “Shh.” His murmur vibrated in his chest, his fingers still brushing the knots out of her hair. “Ginny, shh.” 

 “Holy hell, Harry,” Ginny spoke through her sobs, her words muffled. “Holy fucking hell.”

 “I know, love.” His voice was comforting, though she could feel the tremble in his chest. “I know.”

 She breathed in deeply, trying to control the rapid emotions. Blood, sweat, and dirt all came to her senses. But most of all she smelled him. Harry. His naturally woodsy scent that brought her back to warm sunny days around the lake. How a smell could make her feel so… safe made no sense to her, but with every inhale she was able to breathe a little better.

 Her chest hurt as the sobs slowed and the tears trailed off. She breathed in one more shuddering breath before pulling away from Harry’s neck. Harry was silently crying, tear tracks stained his cheeks. His eyes were focused on the ceiling as he tried to silently handle his grief while comforting her. Ginny’s heart broke for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, her thumbs wiping the dampness. 

 His eyes came back down, locking onto her hers. The way his bottom lip quivered made Ginny’s chest tighten. “Oh, Harry.” She pressed her lips to his trembling ones. She could feel his breath hitch as their lips connected. There was so much pain… so much anguish... But in that moment Ginny didn’t feel any of it. She only felt him, the way his lips felt against hers. 

 It wasn’t passion driving them, but a need. A need for each other, for solace, that she could only seem to find in him. 

 They broke apart slowly, her forehead coming to rest on his. Ginny’s body felt as if it weighed a million tons. With the last of her strength, she rolled to her side, bringing Harry with her so they lay side by side facing one another. 

 Her eyes started to close on their own accord, between the comfy mattress and Harry’s warmth Ginny thought she might sleep for a year.

 “Ginny, there is so much —” Her eyes opened to see Harry’s wide green ones. He looked so overwhelmed. “I need to tell you — Everything. I need to tell —” 

 She placed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “It can wait.” Her lips replaced her finger. “Just sleep, at least for tonight. Just sleep.” 

[weasleytentia]

I’ll meet you there

 ↳ I’ll meet you there, Fred Weasley

fred weasley x fem!gryffindor!reader

summary: after the disaster at Bill and Fleur’s wedding you and Fred share one of the last tranquil moments together before the Battle of Hogwarts.

warnings: slight mentions of sex between consensual adults, almost non-existent, mentions of blood, violence, death and lots of angst. some fluff at the beginning tho <3<3

comments are very much appreciated!!

a/n: i cried writing this so i really hope u like this. i spent more than five hours working on this even tho i’m not satisfied at all. please lemme know if u like this, i may have changed some things in the story since i got pretty carried away haha. xx

Your fingertips traced circles of various sizes on his chest and you could still feel his fastened heartbeat through that touch, the love marks you had left on his skin were still of a very intense purple. His left arm was holding you closer to him while the other was calmly and tenderly caressing your hair, your messy locks were spread across the pillow. 

“What will be of us, Freddie, in a few years?” You hummed with a raspy voice while the first rays of the sun made their way through the curtains, and you could feel their timid warmness on your bare skin. “What will be of all of us?”

A few days had passed since Bill and Fleur’s wedding and since the Ministry of Magic had fallen. You had yet to recover from that night, Ron, Harry and Hermione had disappeared leaving you with nothing but worries, and the scars that event had left in your heart would probably never go away. Things weren’t surely going too well in the Wizarding World - well, actually - you couldn’t even force yourself to remember those days in which you had no worries at all: the only thought of you, an eleven-years-old girl, entering the gates of Hogwarts for the first time almost made you want to go back and live your first year forever. 

That year you had met Fred and George Weasley, a very odd couple of twins - you had thought - but since that day in the Gryffindor Common Room you became inseparable: there was no Fred and George Weasley without Y/N Y/L/N. You weren’t actually the type to pull pranks on other students nor the one to misbehave, in fact, you were quite a bookworm and had an obsession regarding Hogwarts’ rules - nevertheless - you still were their best accomplice. One time the twins had tried one of their infamous candies on a younger student and he had to immediately go to the toilet: needless to say, professor McGonagall had questioned Fred and George and before you could even say “Quidditch” you were in detention. “I can’t believe that I got in trouble with you guys.” you had hissed while writing the one-hundreth sorry on a paper. “The truth is that you just missed us too much.”

“I think we will be just fine, darling.” Fred murmured with a relaxed tone in his voice, never stopping to play with your hair. You knew he just said that to calm you down and to not cause you more stress, but how could you ever believe him? 

Your chin raised up just a little so that you could see the expression on his face, and you contemplated the man that had accompanied you for so many years, never leaving your side. His thin lips were still reddish and almost plumper, recalling the sweet night you had passed together, and his eyes were closed as if he had nothing to worry about, as if in the whole world there was no one but the two of you. His way of being impassive to difficult situations wasn’t really odd to you since he rarely showed any kind of concern, but there were times in which you had witnessed an unknown part of Fred: during your third year at Hogwarts you got seriously injured during one of your Quidditch matches, falling from your broom and hitting your head. You were asleep for a couple of days and when you woke up in the middle of the night, you were utterly surprised at noticing a sleeping Fred right beside you, barely fitting in the chair Madame Pomfrey had given him. As soon as your hand touched his thigh he opened his eyes wide, immediately reaching for your hand, and you almost remember seeing a different glimpse in his eyes as if he had cried, That night, you shared your first timid kiss and since that cool spring night, he never left your side.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” you slightly got up sitting on the bed that was never meant for two and turned your head to look at him. “Your brother has just gone poof” and you gestured that with your hands, “What if the-they are gone? What if they found them and, and we just don’t…”

“Love,” The redhead quickly got up too and came closer to your face. “They are not a bunch of idiots and they surely know how to protect themselves.” He took one of your locks and put it behind your ear, “What about us?” you asked, your eyes searching for a source of reassurance in his. “O-Our family, our friends…”

He parted your lips but your heart was burdened of so much weight that you didn’t let him speak, quickly talking before he could. “The battle is imminent, Freddie, we cannot pretend that everything is going to be fine,” Your eyes were now watery as his never stopped staring into yours, not even a glimpse of sadness or worry. “It’s just a matter of time and I don’t want to risk it.” You breathed out, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Fred was quick to wipe your tears away with his thumbs as he took your face into his palms, lightly kissing the tip of your nose as he always did when you were about to cry, which - in some way - calmed you a bit. As the warmness of his hands left your cheeks you felt the soft material of the blanket on your shoulders, which made a light smile appear on your lips. 

“You’re so beautiful when you smile,” he hummed, “that’s what makes me go through this shit, your smile Y/N, I never want you to stop smiling, alright? ‘Cause your smile it’s my only source of happiness now.”

“What if…”

“You won’t lose me, love, I promise you that.” Fred got up and picked up his shirt from the floor. “I’ll always stay by my pretty girl’s side, alright?”

From the first time in a few days you found yourself to smile sincerely.

You opened your arms demanding one of his tight and endless hugs, and as you snuggled more into his chest you closed your eyes, cradled by the same perfume you had smelled in your Amortentia during your fifth year: fireworks, candies and the familiar scent of the Burrow.

                                                         ∘◦❀◦∘

“Expelliarmus!”

Your right leg incredibly hurt as you limped into the cold and oddly emptied hallways, a few witches and wizards still battling against each other, throwing colourful spells from their wands that made the place look like a show of fireworks. Your leg had been cut by a spell casted by a Death Eater and was now bleeding uncontrollably, the aching pain made you bite your lip.

You couldn’t recognize which of the many hallways you were crossing which was odd since you had walked those very steps during your seven years there, but everything was chaotic and... different.

In fact, Hogwarts wasn’t the same place anymore: some of the walls had fallen down and the candles that once lit up the school were now extinguished, the same place in which you saw yourself and your friends grow up, full of happiness and friendship, was now a gloomy and cold grave. Although the thought of encountering another Death Eater made shivers run through your spine your main concern was not finding Fred anywhere, since you both parted ways just right after the beginning of the battle. 

“Stay with dad, you got me?”

Fred’s eyes looked at Arthur, his father, who was standing just a few meters away from you while the two of you had found a corner apart from everyone else. You had felt the urge to embrace him, squeezing the fabric of his coat. 

“Why?” you cried into his chest, “why can’t we stick together?”

“Y/N, love” he tenderly cupped your cheeks with his steady hands looking at you with the same Love with which he had looked at you during your first Yule Ball together. “I have to stick with Georgie, he needs me.”

You closed your eyes biting your lower lip.

“Dad will protect you, alright, darling?”

You nodded in response unable to utter a single word.

Chaos started to fill the room as Voldemort’s army broke the protection spell but you never stopped looking at Fred, still searching for that reassurance.

For the first time his eyes weren’t sparkly but had a glimpse of uncertainty and fear.

 “I’ll find you.” you murmured, “At the Great Hall.”

“I’ll meet you there.” You could feel the tension build between the two of you and in a matter of seconds, your lips crashed together, as he held you close to him as if he wished to do anything but to let you go. That kiss didn’t last long since, one moment Fred was standing right in front of you and after a few seconds you had lost him along with Arthur.

You were all on your own.

“Y/N.”

You heard a feminine voice that made you immediately turn around the corner, finding one of your close friends, Luna Lovegood, standing there. You instantly couldn’t think of anything else but to hug her tightly, her being the only familiar face you had seen in a while. You couldn’t say that you seriously understood Luna and her ramblings about weird Magical Creatures, but her personality and her immense loyalty to you had made you love her a lot. After breaking the hug you noticed a cut on her cheek and you sighed in relief. 

“I’m so glad that you’re alive.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, “Have you seen Harry?”

“No, I haven’t seen him at all, have you seen Fred?”

Luna looked at the ceiling as if she was thinking very hard to remember what she had seen, given that many things were happening at the same time.

All of a sudden, your head started to spin as you heard a hissing voice coming from an unknown location: then, you realised to whom that voice belonged. 

The words were very clear, the battle was now over and all of Voldemort’s minions had retreated. You glanced toward Luna who put her wand down and your brief moment of happines was soon replaced by a strange feeling.

“Luna, please tell me if you have seen him.” “I reckon he was with his brother, George.”

She then lowered her gaze to your bleeding leg as she started asking question on how you wounded yourself, but her presence was now minor, you had to figure out where your boyfriend was. Your brain was trying to work out a few places in which he could find him and suddenly, it hit her.

“The Great Hall.”

You murmured to yourself more than to Luna and quickly nodded a thank you to her before sprinting away toward the place in which you had spent most of your days. As you ran - trying to ignore the aching pain your body was in - all of the past years spent by his side started to resurface in your mind: the long walks toward Hogsmeade holding hands like little kids and the multiple butterbeers you would drink in just one evening, the various nights where you snuck out of your dorms and explored the castle using the Marauder’s Map, the hours of detention spent together cuddling and giggling at his jokes about Snape’s nose. The kisses he gave you everytime you won at Quidditch shouting to everyone in the Common Room: “That’s my girl!”

As soon as you crossed the immense doors of the Great Hall all of your thoughts vanished like dust in the wind. The first person you saw was Ron and you smiled widely limping toward him, but there was no smile, only a simpathetic sad expression. You felt a strange sensation at the tip of your stomach as something didn’t feel quite right.

“Ron.” You mumbled with a dry mouth. “Where’s everyone?”

Ron didn’t answer, instead, he just lowered his gaze and took a few steps to his right, revealing a scene you had only thought of in the worst of your nightmares. George was standing still, looking at you with tears streaming down his face, sobbing uncontrollably. His eyes were now void as if he had been deprived of his own soul. Molly was kneeling down just like Arthur and Percy, while Ginny was crying in Harry’s arms, and as you stood there all of their eyes were on you. 

Every step you took was like being stabbed in the heart, each time by a much sharper knife. You started to feel your legs go numb and you didn’t even feel the pain of the wound anymore, because the pain irradiating into your chest was much more stronger. You fell to your knees, arms immediately reaching for the fabric of his clothes, squeezing them tight making your knuckles become white, and you contemplated his face.

“Fred,” you whispered as your tears fell on his shirt, “Freddie please, please, wake up.”

His once brown eyes were now closed, his face was covered in ashes and seemed to be paler. He looked as beautiful as the last time you had seen him, but when you sweetly brought your hand to his check, you found it cold to the touch. “What happened, Molly?” It came out as an odd murmur, your brain still not processing what you were seeing, “Did he, d-did he hit his head? We should-, we probably should bring him to a muggle hospital.”

The woman couldn’t stop herself from crying as she reached for the top of your head, caressing your hair. “Oh, Y/N, dear...”

“Fred?”

You asked once again and checked for a movement, a wink, anything. 

Maybe he was just faking it to scare everyone and then, when no one saw it coming, he would stand up on his feet at laugh at all of you for believing such a stupid thing. Fred Weasley couldn’t have died like that.

The more you looked, the more his chest didn’t move an inch, but as you desperately searched for any sign you noticed his lips curled into a small yet visible smile, and then you realized.

He was gone.

Fred Weasley was gone and had left you in just a couple of hours. 

The one person who had never judged you, the one person who had planned a forever with you, had just left you and there was nothing you could do about it. 

Fred Weasley was dead.

The screams of agony were almost muffled by all of the voices into that crowded place and by George’s embrace. As he held you tight the both of you cried the unjust and unexplained death of a brother, a partner in crime, a lover.

Even in death Fred Weasley had left you with one of the best gifts you could have ever asked for and that had made all of your days bright... his smile.

[ginwhitlock]

Southbound ch1/?

After the Cullens leave her behind, Bella is left to pick up the pieces by herself. A year after her eighteenth birthday, a split second decision lands her in her truck, running far away from everything she has ever known. She decides to go south. What will she find in San Angelo, Texas?

THIS IS A TEST CHAPTER TO SEE IF THERE IS ANY INTEREST, feedback appreciated

I’ve been feeling as though my life has become some country road split wide, a cracked spine of one of the novellas sitting in my bookcase back home. Like a slick tarmac launch pad which only holds dead bodies. An overgrown forest with invisible party lines.

The truck bed freezing below my back is the only thing which reminds me that the cool slip of midnight is not some waking dream.

Skimming my fingertips over the flannel laid down beneath me keeps me grounded. It binds my roots together in manageable chunks. The broken gospel in my head is quieting. A child left behind her home. A cluster of lambs waiting out in the rain. A hand held out.

The sky is a thousand different shades of silence tonight. Stars dotting the hills in swirls of white. I can see my hand start to reach up, as if to touch them, as if the universe were my personal mobile.

I rein myself in to just watching. Lying in the back of my rusted out Chevrolet, breathing in air that belongs to Nowhere, Texas. A puckered hole in the eastern stain of one of my father’s maps.

I remind myself that staying in one place for longer than a breath wouldn’t kill me. But the gravel in my tires just might.

With a sigh I fold my body in the tightest curve I can muster. Clamping tight to bring the muscles in my spine to their regular shape. A stretch of the palms, a shake of the ankles brings a crease to my brow. My sightline refuses to stray from the tapestry before me. Blooming gardens of constellations and stories all larger than any I’ve ever wanted to hear.

A rogue blink to the fields stretched out before me reminds me of a particularly dry summer. It held my mother’s horrible quilting stint. Eight weeks of constant skin pricks and busted needles. I was still finding cotton swatches behind the couch the day I left Phoenix. The mismatched familiarity of the wheat sprouts and milo bushels does nothing for the hurt in my chest. The only thing I care about though—the green of Forks can’t reach me here.

No matter how sharply the memories flash in front of my eyes, I don’t believe I could ever collect enough rain to keep such things alive this far south. Just sugar and tobacco and everything else you’re not supposed to have.

A considerable jump down from the bed covers my boots in a fine layer of red dust. Not enough for the soles to even budge-- just to be nit-picked about. A kick to my tires sheds it.

The walk to the front of the truck is almost silent, the crunch of rock dissipating in the air like locusts. But a step up on the ancient running board almost lands me flat on my ass. A loose bolt being the only chance in hell of holding the sucker to the chasse. The old metal arm of the side mirror proves to be my safety net as I cuss at my own forgetfulness. Six months gone it's been. And I still make the same mistake every night.

Another roll of duct tape to put on the shopping list.

Wedging open the metal door frame, I slide in— my jeans becoming a lit match on the vinyl seats. The keys, decorated in dime store blue nailpolish, are already hanging out of the transmission. My hand goes to twist for the millionth time that month—and I stop. A tsunami of lethargy hits, smacking me in the chest. I bring my hands outwards, nchoring then onto the cracked steering wheel as I press my forehead to the edge.

Drawn out and slow, my heart lowers into the pit of my stomach. A silent alarm. Crossing my eyes, I roll my neck to the ceiling, as if in prayer. The cuts and the tears in the roof lining allow them to refocus. Absently, my wrist finds the ignition, bringing the beast alive with a hard twist.

The roar of the engine fails to shake me fully awake. So much so that it has become second nature to hold myself in the steel cab when the shadows start to appear at the corner of my vision. Ghosts haunting my every move, even still.

The sheer brightness of the 40 year-old headlights momentarily stings my retinas to attention. Just for long enough.

Involuntarily as it was, a shiver runs from the back of my skull to the skin of my toes. One hand gripping the steering wheel, the other wrapped around the shifter. It passes in waves. The ocean calling me back to that night Harry Clearwater died. Its siren song not strong enough to still me. Putting the behemoth into gear I ease onto the gas pulling me out of the ditch. I only clench the wheel tighter in response.

The pull of the Texas sky sinks in deep around the headlights— leading me south.

[missyoumaybank]

Where were you in the morning?

Based on the song ‘’Where were you in the morning?’’- Shawn mendes

Smut warning (18+)

It was a busy atmosphere, body’s pushing off everyone as the room became full by the second. The music echoed off the walls, sending vibrations throughout. A pint was held in Tom’s hand as he stood in the smoking area, smoke melting into the air. He payed no attention to Harry’s story about getting stuck in the elevator after the show, his eyes were glued to your body.

He was mesmerised by you, he wanted to know you. He sipped lightly on his cider, wincing at the strong taste. He turned to the boys, not realising that they were looking at him. ‘’What?’’ he questioned innocently, taking notice of the smirks on their faces. ‘’We know you want to talk to her’’ Sam said with an obvious tone. Tom shook his head, curls coming loose in the process ‘’Uhh no I don’t’’.  Harrison laughed at the oblivious boy, pushing him in the direction of you.

While in the process of the boys taunting Tom, your friends were encouraging you to go talk to him. ‘’He’s been staring at you for the past 25 minutes and so have you!’’ Your friend exclaimed, the drink taking control of her mind and voice. While you shook your head, the girls in front of you glared at you, almost threatening you to go over to him.

As you finally surrendered to their threats, you got off your seat and received a push from the girls, you ran straight into a hard structure. That structure being Tom. He turned to you and his expression filled with surprise. ‘’Is it bad that I was coming over to talk to you?’’ He said sheepishly, hands resting in his pockets.  You laughed at the boy, a warm feeling in your stomach. ‘’No of course not, my friends were threatening me to talk to you so’’. He smiles, taking you over to a relatively quieter area of the pub. You sit in a booth in the corner, under the heat. He nervously rubs his hands, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. ‘’I’m Tom’’ He stuttered, mentally telling him to grow a pair. You sensed his nervousness and tried to over come your nerves. ‘’Well Tom, I’m y/n’’ you grinned, taking a sip of the cocktail in your hand.

After that the conversation flowed naturally, from Tom telling stories of him being on set of Spiderman (which you quietly freaked out about) to you both taking videos on snapchat with the filters.  A few more drinks were consumed between the pair and eventually they found themselves on the dance floor, touching each other closer than they had been all night.

Tom had his arms wrapped around her waist, as she moved her hips to the beat of the song. The attraction for one another was obvious from the very beginning and the tension was so tense you could cut it with a knife. Her hands were placed around his neck, having her face placed in the crook of his neck. She placed light kisses along his blank skin, sucking on it ever so softly. His grip tightened on your waist, pulling away from your touch. He looked at you, a soft smile resting on his face, trying to find any signs of discomfort. You leaned in, his lips meeting yours half way. You pulled on the short curls at the nip of his neck, moaning into his mouth.

He pulled away for breath a short while after, his heart racing. ‘’Do you want to come back to mine maybe?’’ He questioned, holding your hand in his. ‘’Do you even have to ask?’’ you smirked, allowing him to lead the way. He whistled for a taxi, one luckily just passing by.

 Once you reached his apartment, your shirt was already off the minute you were in the door. His lips loitered your neck with love bites, hoisting your figure up, your legs wrapped around his torso. As he pulled you on top of him when you were on the bed, your lips joined together again fighting for dominance. You palmed the outline of his clothed cock, hearing him grunt while doing so.

‘’Don’t tease me’’ He whined, as he bucked his hips up to relive pressure. You bite your bottom lip, unzipping his jeans and pulling them off of him. You took his member in your palm, lightly stroking it. He shivered at your touch, needing more of it. You took him in your mouth, slightly gagging as he hit the back of your throat, taking in as much as you could. He caught on to a fist full of your hair, taking control of your movements, encouraging you to go faster. Your jaw cramped but it wouldn’t hinder your actions. He moaned out, an angelic sound to your ears, his cock twitching in your mouth. As you bobbed your head faster his whimpers became louder as his high took over, spurting his load down your throat. He panted as he came down from his high, heart thumping in his chest.

You climbed on him, straddling his waist, you placed your lips on his softly. Rubbing his cheek with your thumb, he moaned feeling your clothed heat against him. He turned you over, his dominance over ruling you. He bit his lip as he felt your wetness layer on his hand, rubbing your clit softly. You moaned in pleasure, as you slipped into a state of numbness. He sped up his finger against your heat, adding a finger into your entrance, sending you quickly in to an orgasm. ‘’Tom, f-fuck’’you whimpered as your body shook as an orgasm waved over you, legs struggling to stay still.

He grabbed a condom from his bedside, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. He slid it over his cock with ease, feeling himself become hard once more. He hung over your numb body, ready to fulfil his pleasure. ‘’Do you want to do this?’’ He asked quietly, needing reassurance from you. You smiled at the man in front of you, truly admiring the beautiful, kind hearted and attractive person.

‘’Yes, I want to Tommy’’ you said, pulling him in for a needy kiss. He eased himself slowly into you, groaning as he felt the tightness of your walls. You moaned as he filled you up, never experienced the feeling of it before. He thrusted faster and faster, pulling you closer each time. ‘’Fuck I’m close’’ he said, his breathing picking up with every movement. He rubbed your clit, helping you build up your climax. You let out a quiet scream, relaxing your muscles as you cum all over his cock. He flopped down beside you, trying to regain his breath while removing the condom.

While Tom went to get a cloth to clean you up, you couldn’t help but feel guilty because you were going to hurt him. You wanted to get to know him as the person behind the scenes of his glamourous lifestyle but you couldn’t get caught up in it. It would make things bad for the both of you and ruin his image.

He pulled you into his embrace, your head resting on his chest. ‘‘Are you staying?’‘ he questioned, playing with a loose strand of your hair. ‘‘If it’s okay with you’‘ you smiled, half asleep in his arms. ‘’That was amazing’’ you whispered, tracing patterns on his chest, Goosebumps rising on his skin. He left a short but meaningful kiss on your lips. ‘’Goodnight’’ he whispered, finally allowing himself to go to sleep.

You couldn’t sleep, the guilt eating you alive. You hadn’t known tom even a day but you could tell he was going to make a major impact on your life, even though you don’t want him to. When it hit 6:30 am, you quietly made your exit, trying not to awaken the sleeping boy, leaving nothing but your scent mixed with his sheets.

 Tom had a rude awakening as his phone rang multiple times, the boys trying to find out what happened with the girl. Tom wandered the same as he felt a draft and an empty presence where your sleeping figure should’ve been.

‘’Where were you in the morning’’ he thought, distressed trying to figure how you could just walk away, leaving no phone number. He was upset and nauseated at the same time, thinking did you want to use him like he was nothing this whole time.

Why you gotta get my hopes up?

[stuckwith-harry]

Any ship + the “two sugars” prompt please?

A/N: This was at least 30% inspired by the fact that when I waswriting it, I was very much freezing my butt off in a Costa while waiting for @ronaldswheezy to finish her lectures. So Jessie from thepast is going to grab a hot chocolate now. Also, this contains somereferences to a poem you might know, which I‘m pretty excited about,so if that‘s something you dig, keep your eyes peeled. Leave me anask when you‘ve figured it out!

Warning for a few words Molly wouldn’t approve of, threestraight pages of pure, undiluted self-loathing, and Ron being shamed for his teapreferences when he isn’t even there to defend himself.

It’s two sugars, right?

“Okay.Light’s coming on now.”

Thewarning helps a little, but Harry still feels himself flinch when theBurrow’s kitchen lamps light up. Ginny squeezes his handbefore letting go and quietly walks over to the kitchen counter, barefeet on old wood. Harry slides into the nearest chair and wills hislegs to stop shaking while she fills the kettle to the top.

“Ican ask Dad about them”, she says, looking back at him over hershoulder. “He can put a Dimming Charm on them, so they don’t comeon so fast.”

“It’sno big deal”, mumbles Harry. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“He’dbe happy to be bothered about that. It might help, Harry.”

“Really,it’s … fine. I feel bad enough about burdening you with … allthis.”

Mostnights, when Harry wakes up,he can’t remember how tobreathe. He gaspssilently into the darkness of Ginny’s bedroom, withtense muscles and bright eyes, and the shadows on her walls growtogether like trees over hishead, and he’s sure theworld is ending – for a fewmoments, or maybe hours, who knows – nothing and everything isreal: the mattress is deadland and opens up under him,and drags him down,head-first, until he’s gone, without ever making a sound, awhimper, nothing more.

Butwhen she does wake up – when it’s so bad he can’t hide it –when he wakes up with a bang – thereis a small,shameful part ofHarry that breathesa secret sighof relief. Shespeaks warm, reassuring words, and strokes his hair, and holdshim until he stops shaking.

“It’sokay. It’s okay. Just breathe. Shhh. Just breathe.”

Sohe does. And he can.

Buthe could never, ever – admitit.

Becausewhen thelights come on, and he looks into Ginny’s red-rimmed, glassy eyes,he wants nothing more than tocurl up into himself and disappear. Heknows it’s his fault, how tired she looks. And there’s no hidingfrom the lights: They lay bare exactly how weak, and vulnerable, andpathetic he is.

Ginnytucksa strand of red hair behind a freckled ear. It’sgrowing past her shoulders again, and falling over her collarbones. Harrystill hasn’tgotten used to it: Every timehe looks ather, he expects tosee the same waist-lengthshock of hair shesported back in his sixth year, that impossible, sunny summer.

Butthat is long gone.

„You’renot a burden.“

Thekettle behind her starts to whistle – she turns her back to Harry,who issitting on the other side of the kitchen tableand allows himself to shiveras soon as she isn’tlooking anymore. He watchesher shoulder blades dig through her pyjamas asshe works – eager to dedicate every thought in his head to thesimpleroutine of placing tea bags in mugs and pouring steaming water ontop, and the way her arms move when she does.

Butfuzzyimages from his nightmares keep seeping back in, distantand solemn voices, and hischest tightens the more he tries to fight it – and the terriblyfamiliar feeling of struggling to breathe, and beingtrapped, and then drowning infreezing water, takeshold of him.

„Idon‘t want to wake you up, that‘s all…“

„Iknow.“ She disappears from his sight momentarily when she bendsdown to grab sugar out of the bottom drawer. It‘s the one that sitsin its cabinet at an odd angle, Harry remembers. Probably the resultof untamed childhood magic.He‘s not sure whose. „Ijust wishyou would. You’reso … determined to do it all alone, and for no reason.”

Whenhe doesn’t respond, she adds:“I wake you up, too, don’t I?”

Harrydoesn’t bother to argue. She knows justas well as he does that if hedid, they’d be here every night – that she’s getting better, and he isn’t. It’sbad enough that some nights,she wakes up anyway, finds him shaking and gasping on the mattressnext to her. She never says anything, never complains, but he’d bean idiot not to see it’s wearing herout, too.

It’sbad enough she knows herboyfriend is scared of thefucking lights.

Harryshuts his eyes and waits for his body to stop humming – listens tothe singing wind, theharsh, icy October rain as itdrums on the Burrow’swindows. Fivemonths have passed, and he’s as disoriented as ever: thereis no future ahead of him that he can see, and the feeling that he isoverstaying hisvisit creeps up on him almost as frequently as the nightmares do.

„It‘stwo sugars, right?“

Harrysnaps out of his spiral. „One‘s fine.“

„One‘syour regular.“ He can see her smile, though faintly, even under thesharp kitchen light. „You drink it with two when you‘re upset.“

“I’mnot upset.”

Hedoesn’t even know why he’s trying to pretend anymore. Ginny justlooks at him with that odd look of defeat he’s grown to hate somuch, because he’s always the one who puts it there.

“Ican’t believe you remember that”, he says, when the silencebecomes too much to bear. Ginny lets him guide the conversation awayfrom the heaviness without comment.

„Couldn‘tforget if I tried.”

Whathe doesn’tknow ishow much comfort ahot tea with two sugars holdsfor her. How much it meant, to have something so simple and warm toremember him by, when the world around her was falling apart. Whenthere was nothing left of him to hold on to, duringall those lonely, drearymonths, when she didn‘t know if he was alive – orif anyone would be, when it was over –there was still the way he liked his tea. And that when comfort wasneeded most, it came with twosugars.

Butthat part, Ginny – afterall a firm and life-longdefender of the fact that tea should be enjoyed without sugar –withholds, for now.

„Here.“She slides into the chair next to him with her own cup of tea, andHarry traces the chipped rim of his own mug with his index finger.Bees and butterflies and bugs, all clearly hand-painted, andclearly by a child, decoratethe red porcelain.

„Ithink Ron did that“, says Ginny, who must have been watching him.“He was maybe five.”

Harryallows himself to smile at the thought.

„Andthis must be from Charlie“,she says, pushing her own mug around on the wooden table. It‘s palegreen – yellow lines flow together to form a map of Europe. TheRomania-shapedspot next to her thumb ispainted in faded gold. “Gotit for us a few years ago.”

“It’spretty.”

“Hm-hm.”He watches as she closes her eyes over the steaming mug, andhis stomach sinks.

“I’mserious, Ginny, you don’t need to stay up forme.”

Shegrimaces and rubs her eyes. “You’re not the only one who can’tsleep, babe. Not by a long shot. You’re just the only one whoinsists he couldn’t use some company for the bad nights.”

Harryholds on to his mug until his numbpalms burn from the heat.“I’m sorry.”

Ginnysighs. “Look– just let me talk to Dad. Everyonein this house would be happyto help you out. It’s not nearly as embarrassing as you think.”

“I’mshit at asking for help.” His voice is barely audible.

“Iknow.” There’s a short pause, in which Harry intently watches histea, willing his cheeks to stop burning; knowingthat Ginny hasn’t looked away.“It doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want.”

Harryopens his mouth, and the seconds stretch. His confession is just awhisper. “I like it when it’s you.”

“Good”,says Ginny. “I make better tea, anyway.”

Harrygrins weakly.

“It’strue. Ron drinks his with three sugars, it’s disgusting. And hemakes it so strong it could drink him.”

“Yeah,so it balances out all the sugar.”

“Disgusting,I tell you.”

She’sstill smiling at him when he looks around. Tired, and sad, sure, butalways smiling. Always there, without ever complaining.

Hemouthes a Thank you, and Ginny rubs his arm before resting herhand on his, tracing his knuckles with the tips of her fingers likeshe always has. “You’re cold”, she says quietly.

Harryshrugs. He forgets about it when she’s around – the way his sweatsticks to the back of his neck, and how the cold air licks his skinwhen he wakes up, and how his t-shirt clings to his sore body.

“Wannatell me about it?”

Harryswallows. He’s still looking at her hand, desperate to learn everyfreckle by heart again, and right now that’s everything he can bearto think about.

“It’sthe same”, he whispers. “The forest.”

Andthough Ginny nods and holds on to his hand, like it’s nothing, hecan see her shoulders sag. She knows, just as much as he does, thatthere’s not much she can do about it. And he hates it just as muchas Ginny does.

“I’msorry”, she says softly. “You don’t deserve to relive it allthe time.” She holds his hand a little tighter – and Harrydoesn’t look at her, he just stares at his steaming cup of tea, andblinks and blinks and blinks until his eyes stop burning. “But Ican keep making tea, if you’d like that. And remind you that you’regoing to be okay.”

Andthat doesn’t make the ghosts go away. It doesn’t wipe Voldemort’swhite face from the back his mind – blurrier now, but always there.It doesn’t change the fact that every sudden, bright light takeshim right back.

Butit makes him feel a little warmer.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes up in a grave by the road ten years after he died. Things have gone a bit wrong since then and he might be the only one who can set things right… since it’s the Mighty Nein themselves who’ve gone wrong. AU: Where Molly comes back to yell at his super-powered Level 20 friends. (AO3 - part1) (AO3 - part 2) (AO3 - part3) (AO3 - part4)

Molly hits the ground. Not hard, but he hits the ground, like someone dropped him gently. The grass cushions his head, presses into the nape of his neck. For a moment he lies there blinking. The air’s warm, his jacket pooled underneath him, his fingers slack in the silk and embroidery, one knee bent up while he lies there breathing. A silver bowl of moonlight hangs full in the sky above him and the sight feels so familiar, so comforting, Mollymauk feels a sting suddenly of homesickness and relief he hadn’t been previously aware of.

He sits up slowly.

There’s a person with long black hair sitting cross-legged at his feet. They’re hauntingly pale, beautiful, and familiar. Their armor bristles with raven feathers and shines in places but consumes the light in others. Their cloak gathers as shadow on the ground beneath them and they’re looking at Molly with an expression he interprets, faintly, as the sorrow of bystanders. A helpless empathy. When Molly just stares blankly at them for a full ten seconds, they get up and move to kneel beside him. When he doesn’t knowledge the move, the stranger touches his shoulder. Gently. Like they might brush a wound. 

“Hey,” says the stranger.

“What happened?” Molly rasps. He presses palm to his face, realizes there are tears on his cheeks. “Shit.” Molly wipes the dampness with the back of one hand, swallowing. “Why did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” says the stranger. “But I’m sorry.”

“Heh, I thought I was supposed to fix things.” He reverses his hand, finishes drawing off his tears with the heel of his palm. “He looked… he knew I was me. I could see he – fuck.” Molly drops his face briefly into his hands, breathes, drops his arms again. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

The stranger shakes his shoulder until he looks up at them. Their eyes are dark, holding his gaze fully, drawing him in with physical gravity that pulls Molly’s head to the left. They touch the side of his face with the back of two fingers and before Molly can wonder what they’re doing… the façade buckles a little. Their brow knits with a phantom pain. 

“Do you want to stop?” they ask.

“What?”

“I’m your guide and your guardian, Mollymauk Tealeaf. I can do either. Just say which.” And when Molly just stares, confused, he goes on urgently, “I’m tasked to you. I’ll guard you here while you fight on… or I’ll take you up right now and guide you back to the Moonweaver. It’s your choice, alright? Always. I’m with you either way.”

Molly slips a wry smile. “I can’t stop. Not really.”

The stranger, who Molly knows now is certainly a reaper, falters. Then sobers.

“No. Fuck that. You can stop. You don’t have to do this –”

“No,” Molly says. “I have to.”

There’s a pause. “What do you want to do?”

“Give me a minute. Do we have a minute?”

“We always have time here.”

Molly pulls his legs up a little, arms draped over his knees, staring down the slope of the hill to the quiet meadows beyond. When this goes on long enough, the raven knight takes a seat beside him, mimicking his posture, and likewise waits in silence. Eventually, because it seems like the thing to do, Molly tips over slightly so he’s leaning on them, his cheek resting against their shoulder. The feathers tickle a little. The stranger doesn’t seem bothered.

“Oh, fuck me, I guess.” Molly sighs and sits up again. “Alright. Send me back.”

“Hey,” says the raven knight. They move to kneel in front of him, taking Molly’s face gently between gloved hands. They slap him gently on the cheek and smile. “Just stay alive.”

“Easier said than –”

They grab his shoulders and shove Molly straight down to –

 Molly jolts alive, hard, sucking a loud, ragged breath. He’s lying on his back in the sand and someone is cradling the nape of his neck, a hand pressed against his chest. It takes a dizzy moment for the stars to clear from his eyes and his vision to refocus, the face overhead sharpening slowly and for a strange moment Molly is baffled by the anxious pink and gray firbolg that clarifies over him. He’s not sure who else he was expecting though.

“You’re okay?” Caduceus says sounding shaken.

“I am?” Molly says.

Caduceus ignores his question.

He makes a hand motion, says a word, and presses his thumb against Molly’s forehead. It’s familiar. Molly recognizes the Death Ward magic as it takes root in his soul again. A warm net to pull him back from the cold. It’s only then Molly notices that Caduceus is bleeding from the forehead, red slick soaking the downy fur from his right temple to his throat. He doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Are you okay?” Molly manages.

“That’s a funny thing to ask considering you were dead a minute ago.”

“Yeah. Funny that. Ugh. My head’s ringing.”

“Yes, being dead will do that,” says Caduceus and then he pushes Molly down in the sand. “Can you just hold still for a minute?” He waits to see if Molly resists. “Okay. Thanks. Just need to do one thing…”

His hand withdraws and he yanks a pouch from his belt. There’s pre-mixed vial of what looks like ground red crystal and spice which he crushes in his palm, ignoring the blood it draws. He uncorks a flask of what must be holy water and pours it over his closed fist, then he starts to speak. Molly feels the air… twitch, then shiver, then hum. Caduceus is completely thralled by the spell, speaking non-stop, softly, eyes closed. Steam rises off his closed fist.

Which is about the moment Molly hears something explode.

He sits up on his elbows and looks past Caduceus.

There, sitting on the beach and glowing faintly, is a large pale dome of solid magic. At its center is Caleb Widowgast. He’s looking very, very harried. He’s pulled a scroll from his pocket, has it open in front of him as he reads it, mouth moving, glancing distractedly up from time to time.

It’s admirable concentration considering what’s going on outside.

Yasha – lovely Yasha whom Molly knows best from the road, from nights under carnival tents, and the chaos of circus lights and laughter – is presently a screaming pillar of lightning. She hovers a full twenty feet above the beach. Her wings are out, but they don’t move or seem to carry the air beneath them. Rather, sheets of shadows are spread like the thin skin along their frame of bone, sparking with black necrotic energy. In Yasha’s fist is the massive black sword he saw before.

She’s presently hammering her sword against the top this dome.

Which doesn’t fully encapsulate the scene, because every time she swings the sword, the air ignites at the point of impact, detonating outward in a furious wind that tosses Yasha’s hair and knocks sand across the beach. She’s hitting the shield so hard, with such force, Molly can feel it in his bones it would cleave stone like butter. The air stinks like ozone and the cold tang of necrotic magic. Over and over and over she hits, tireless, machine-like. Psychotic.

Molly’s never seen her like that before.

“I said don’t move,” says Caduceus, starting Molly out of his horrified trance.

The firbolg firmly plants a hand against Molly’s chest and thumps him flat on his back again in the sand. His other hand, the one he used for whatever spell he was casting, is empty and covered in ash. He peers down at Molly, frowning.

“I’m serious. Don’t move.”

Molly gives him a baffled look and hisses, “You want me to play dead?”

“Yes.” Caduceus rather industriously brushes Molly’s hair into his face, ignoring his sputter. “Stop.”

Molly obeys mostly because he’s too indignant and confused to be contrary. Caduceus looks over his shoulder toward Yasha. She’s breathing heavy, bare shoulders heaving, having swung back in the air to wind up for another attack. But the moment she sees Clay she freezes.  As if she’d been waiting for him to signal her… and the cleric shakes his head.

Son of a bitch, Molly thinks and starts to get up, but Clay gestures and Molly feels the familiar seizing wrench of Hold Person, the spell latching into his spine like a creeping vine around his nerves. Molly still manages to snarl, struggling invisibly against the enchantment, through his teeth.

“What the bloody fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Caduceus says beneath his breath, “but she won’t win if she doesn’t keep her rage.”

Molly immediately looks (with just his eyes) to Yasha. She’s still floating aloft but is shaking her head frantically. She presses her fists to the sides of her temples, the sword in her hand like it weighs nothing. Her face contorts with silent, animal agony and for a moment she curls in on herself. Then she screams.

Lightning strikes and burns the beach bone white and in the split second between one moment and the next, her hands slam into the dome, her sword pinned flat against it.

“CALEB!” Her voice is deafening. She slams her fists against the barrier, screaming, “WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Then almost sobbing, “WHY!? WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

But Caleb doesn’t seem able to answer. He’s frozen, staring up at her through the shimmering pane between them, just watching the fallen aasimar as she wails. As she hunches like she’s wounded, her fingers digging into the layer of magic and sparking with current where she touches it. She stares down through it like glass in a shop front to the man who just killed her friend and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the ocean on the shore.

“Drop this spell,” Yasha says.

“So you can kill me?” Caleb asks, almost in wonder.

“Drop this spell,” Yasha snarls. Her eyes ignite. The sword in her fist reacts to her and the blade flares, burns white phosphorous bright and becomes blinding shard of pure bottle blue starfire. Yasha’s eyes are composed of the same arrested lightning. She rears back and slams a fist into the dome. She screams, “DROP THIS SPELL AND FACE ME!”  

“You’ll forgive me,” Caleb says. “You’ll forgive me when I get Beau back.”

Then the scroll in his hand disintegrates.

Immediately, a screaming tear opens with a crack in the air to some 200 meters behind the dome and disgorges a massive, howling, two-story tall mass of rust-red muscle and bone. Giant gorilla-like arms slam down, driving enormous twin pincers into the sand. The beast pulls itself from the hell dimension it was summoned from, its head a horror of distended fangs and a crown of jutting horn, fiendish eyes burning red in deep sockets of bone. The air goes sour with the stench of the fire plane before that brief, shrieking window tunnels shut behind it.

And then there’s a glabrezu standing on the beach.

“Oh,” says Caduceus. Then, “Darn it.” He brings his wrist to his mouth, speaking into the charm on his wrist. “Yasha. I just cast Forbiddance on the ground around Caleb. Sorry. I didn’t want him to run.”

“Height?” comes Yasha’s voice, distracted.

“Sixty by sixty by ten.”

“Good. No matter what he says, you keep him here for me.”

Yasha looks up from the dome, staring at the snarling pit-beast across from her the way you look up when a door opens in a room, then she looks back down into the dome where Caleb is still looking up at her. Her palm is pressed still against the barrier and from there she pushes gently off its surface. She floats up and back, until she’s over thirty feet up. Her sword hangs by her knee.

“Keep your wall,” she says. She grips the hilt of her blade and black veins begin to pulse slow from her eyes, spidering her face in dark capillaries. “I am deathless, Caleb! You can run if you want but I am coming for you!”

And then she vanishes. A lightning strike of magic leaves an after image. She reappears simultaneously directly in the air above the glabrezu. Screaming, she slams her sword point down straight into the top of its spine. The sky splits again and a bolt of lightning forks from the sky, jagging to the hilt of the sword like a grounding rod and the glabrezu howls. Yasha tears the blade free just in time to be backhanded by a gigantic forearm, the force of the blow sending her in a rocketing trajectory straight into the side of a cliff-face 200 meters out. She craters through the rock like a meteorite… then immediate wrenches herself out from the rubble.

“Caduceus,” says a Caleb’s voice suddenly, distracting Molly from the extremely upsetting vision of his best friend fighting a pit fiend. “Dismiss your spell or I’ll summon something actually dangerous and I’ll put it right on top of you. You have ten seconds.”

Clay blinks, one long ear flicking up slightly. “Hmm. No.”

Then, clearly from the pendant, “You think that casting ring makes you powerful? I gave it to you, Caduceus. Don’t try this.”

The firbolg shrugs. “Killing me won’t dispel the effect. Do it if you want, but you’re not teleporting away now.”

There’s a pause.

Then Caleb says quietly, “You want her to kill me, Clay?”

Caduceus says nothing and across the beach, Yasha dives out of the sky. She rips her sword across the titan’s back with a massive two-handed swing that knocks it staggering into the sea. Lighting strikes again, illuminating it as Yasha cleaves her blade down again with such monstrous, unfathomable force it splits one giant clavicle, snapping ribs as it carves down. Blood floods the waves. Her wings flare, dripping blood and sea water.

“You think I won’t kill you too?” Caleb asks, ignoring the battle entirely.

Caduceus kneels there. Says, “You just killed a dear friend. I don’t think you’ll kill another.”

Across the beach, Caleb slams a fist into the inside of the dome wall. “Drop the spell, Caduceus! Don’t make me hurt you!”

“No,” says the cleric.

“You were never one of us,” Caleb hisses. “You were just Mollymauk’s replacement. I killed Molly! Do you understand? You think I won’t kill you too? Because let me tell you: of all the Nein, I’ve always found you the most expendable.”

Caduceus’ enduring calm seems to flicker, for just a second. “You don’t mean a word of that.”

“Drop the spell or I’m going to –!”

The gunshot rings out across the beach.

There’s an impact against the top right of the dome, a spark of arcane light that implodes to a single, burning singularity… then the bullet unleashes a wave of arcane power that Molly cannot identify and the dome shatters. No. It disintegrates. Caleb lunges back from the wall, stumbling. As he dome falls, a fresh shield of blue magic spins up from his hands… just in time as the second gunshot puts a slug into the magic at Caleb’s knee.

He looks… honestly, devastated.

“Nott?” he rasps.

The third gunshot ricochets off the shield and Caleb immediately starts to run. As he does, the makes a two-handed gesture, presses his hands to his chest and – with sudden and a shocking burst of speed – sprints straight to his left.

Caduceus immediately says a spell word. Caleb shouts one back. Nothing happens. Caduceus lunges to his feet then. The firbolg’s voice, usually so steady, takes on a sudden lion-ish sub-vocalization and he roars, “STOP!”

And Caleb, seized by the sudden arcane command, doesn’t quite stop… but he trips, staggering, forcing his way through it...

The fourth shot hits him in the back of knee.

So he doesn’t make it to the edge of the anti-teleportation field. He goes down.

Nott appears then, as if from thin air, on a cropping of rock about twenty meters away to Molly and Caduceus’ left. She’s standing up, her hood sliding from her hair as she shells a spent cartridge from the chamber of her weapon, the long metal barrel weirdly matte in the half light of the coming dawn. Her eyes glow slightly, lantern yellow as the wind buffets her hair around her small, round face. For a moment she just stands there, unmoving, listening to Caleb scream though a shattered kneecap.

Through the communicator, Molly can hear Caleb wailing, over and over, “Why?” Saying Nott’s name and just, “Why are you with them?!”

“I’m sorry,” Nott whispers. She’s shaking. “I’m so sorry, Caleb.”

Then she turns and immediately shoots Caduceus. He wasn’t expecting that so it nails him, easily, in the upper right torso and puts the firbolg down like a sack of bricks. Clay hits the sand on his back, crying out just once, his long body curling instinctively in the sand. He clutches at his ribs, at the collar of his armor, choking as shell-shocked lungs fail to draw in oxygen. There’s no blood though. Just the airless stunning effect of being shot, almost point blank, through his armor.

Nott is sobbing at this point. She’s doubled over, her weapon still braced against her shoulder. Two teammates felled in less than ten seconds and she’s weeping.

Clay’s hold person charm unlatches itself from Mollymauk’s spine about then.

“Nott,” he says immediately. He pushes himself into a sitting position. “Hey, Nott? Nott, it’s okay. No need to get dramatic. Okay?”

Her head snaps up. She stares down at Molly from her sniper’s perch.  

“Molly?” she croaks. Her eyes are the size and shape of two coins in her face.

“Hi,” he says. “Please stop shooting people?”

“How are you not dead?” says Nott. She sounds like she’s in shock. “He… he killed you. You’re dead. No one can survive that.”

Molly tries to be calm in the face of his own rattling terror. “Clay brought me back again.” A beat. “I think.”

“You can’t… that’s not… You can’t do that! No one can–!” Nott’s eyes go wide, horrified. “You have to stop Yasha,” she whispers, dread welling in her pretty gnomish face. “You have to stop her! She’ll kill him! She’ll kill Caleb! Go! GO RIGHT NOW! PLEASE! I know he hurt you but–?!”

Molly is already on his feet.

He sprints, bee-lining it straight toward the water, a blur of magic-accelerated tiefling as Nott’s enchanted rings launch him at twice his usual speed from a runner’s crouch toward the shore. He glances, just once, in Caleb’s direction as he comes parallel and sees the wizard staring at him. Time slows, not truly but in that infinitesimal second of recognition Caleb’s face is rigid with shock, confusion, and a strange undercurrent of terror as the thing he just killed goes running past him. Untouched. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Molly thinks he looks a little relieved.

Then Molly keeps running, headlong into the sea.

“YASHA!”

Beyond the breakers, he can see: The glabrezu is dead. The enormous mass of its body floating like a whale corpse in the waves. Yasha is literally kneeling on top of it. Screaming and covered in gore, she just keeps hacking, each blow spraying another burning gout of blood. Soaking her hair, covering her shoulders, her armor, dripping off every line of muscle. Lightning flashes in the distance, illuminating the waves around her, shining off the blood that coats her skin so thoroughly she herself looks like a flayed thing tearing into the corpse. Some primal aasimar instinct driving her into a frenzy against the hell-spawn.

Molly hits the water, wading out to his knees in to shallows.

“YASHA!” He cups two hands around his mouth. “STOP!”

She freezes halfway through a downswing, startled from her killing. The sword drips in her fist. She turns to face him, her soaking hair swinging heavily from her head. Her eyes, burning like twin suns, seem to extinguish when she sees him. Molly drops his arms and waits. He watches her stand to her feet on the mass of demonic flesh beneath her. She bends at the knees, then launches into the air and in a single arching bound is propelled the full distance.

She lands heavy in the shallows, clumsy in her haste. She drops her sword and it blinks away.

“Molly?!” She sprints toward him, water splashing up behind her. “Mollymauk!?”

She slams into him before he can reply, instantly closing him in a blood-soaked bearhug that staggers them both for a moment. He ignores that and grips hold of her armor, fingers digging into the sticky hot slick. Her hair is a stinking, sulfurous rat nest of gore against his face, but he ignores that too. Her fists are knotted in his cloak and in the back of his hair, gripping so tight it hurts a little.

“He killed you.” She’s whispering frantically. “He killed you again. I thought…” She makes a strangled noise. “I didn’t think how much worse the second time would be.”

“I’m okay, Yasha. Alright? Come back to me for a second.”

She makes a gutted sobbing sound. “Don’t do that again!”

“I’m really trying, dear.” Molly’s throat feels raw. He grips at the leather straps that crisscross her back, breathing slowly. “Hey, don’t kill Caleb. I know he did that business back there but don’t. Alright?”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, I won’t.”

Molly glances over his shoulder.

Caleb has dragged himself another ten meters on his elbows through the sand. He has some kind of glowing stone in his fist and he’s looking at the pair of former carnie performers standing together in the ocean. Yasha’s cradling Molly’s head against her shoulder. The waves fill Molly’s boots with sea water. The cold doesn’t bother him because Nott’s enchanted earrings stave off the chill. Caduceus’ Death Ward lays warm in Molly’s chest. None of that seems like much protection against the echo in Mollymauk’s head – the one with a hand on his shoulder and a hand over his heart saying, softly, regretfully, “Die.”

But Caleb just lays back, his head falling in the sand like he’s very exhausted… or like a man who’s giving up on something. He grips the stone and in a flash of blue light, he vanishes.

And Molly feels something small, something loadbearing inside him, fracture.

“Shit,” he mutters into Yasha’s shoulder. He grips her tighter. “Fuck.”

If she feels him shaking she doesn’t comment. She just pulls closer until the tremor subsides.

Eventually, they walk out of the ocean.

  “No, no, no,” Molly says, rushing up and shooing Nott away from Caduceus.

She’s currently helping the cleric sit up, gently, looking very, very sorry about shooting him with her rifle, but upon seeing Molly’s furious approach, she hops back like a startled hare. Molly stomps across the sand and with zero preamble seizes the front of the fibolg’s armor and yanks him very, very close. Almost nose to nose. Molly grins because he’s still nerve-shot and full of adrenaline and but also, he’s so angry he could bite something. A presumptuous fibolg will do.

Smiles are just the intermediary step to biting.

“You want to explain what the hell you did back there?”

Caduceus seems confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, no,” Molly grits, still smiling. “Don’t do that. I don’t take very kindly to people making assassins out of my friends. So let’s try that again.” Molly shakes him a little. “Why the hell did you fake my death?”

“You weren’t fake dead,” Caduceus says, puzzled. “You were actually dead, Mollymauk. I have to revive you. I don’t understand –”

“That’s not what I bloody mean and you know it. The moment I woke up, you cast a spell to trap Caleb on the beach. Then you told Yasha I was dead. You held me down to do it.” Molly glares. “If you want my friends to kill someone in my name, then you better do it when I’m actually dead. Not a second before. You understand me?”

Nott looks at Caduceus.

“Is that true?” she whispers.

Caduceus says nothing. Then, “I didn’t want Yasha to kill him… I just wanted him wounded.”

“Well, okay,” Molly says brightly. “That’s fine. Considering he literally talked me to death, I think wounding him a bit is warranted, but I think that’s something you need to tell your teammates. Why is just telling them not an option?”

Silence for a moment. 

Nott and Yasha look at Caduceus and Mollymauk can feel it like gravity getting denser as they do. Two of the strongest women in the realm deciding what terrible thing they might be doing in the next thirty seconds. 

“Because,” says Caduceus blankly, tiredly. “Nott loves Caleb. She loves him more than anything, in fact. She ran the moment he appeared, like I knew she would, because she didn’t want him to know she’s not quite on his side anymore.” He glances toward Yasha. “You swore to never use your battle trance again even on enemies, much less a friend. I’m sorry, but we need the Deathless Storm. We need Nott the Brave. Caleb Widogast is beyond us otherwise because you know, this time, he was holding back because he loves us. You know that.”

Yasha, standing off the side now, unfolds her arms from where she’s had them crossed over her chest. She is literally covered from head to foot in demon blood, her pale mismatched eyes bright spots in a canvas of wet red gore. Her face is blank as she moves forward. Her wings have faded but there’s a nimbus of darkness still along her shoulders, behind her teeth, and living in her stare as she kneels down and takes Caduceus’ left forearm in her hand and pulls him nearer.

He doesn’t resist her.

“You tricked me to break my vow?” she whispers.

To his credit, Caduceus looks pained. “Yes.”

“We are out here for the purpose of killing friends and you made me believe I’d lost Molly again… so I might kill Caleb too?” The empty horror in her stare is fathomless deep, her soul living out this dark alternate universe where Molly didn’t get up in time and she stood over Caleb Widogast’s corpse on a beach. “Do you think I would have survived that?”

“You’re strong, Yasha. You –”

“I am not strong!” she cries, grabbing him now by the shoulder as well, forcing Molly to let go and withdraw. She pulls Caduceus close, shaking him. Yasha’s eyes are running over now, a wildness in her that cracks her voice. “I am not! I ran to the storm because I could not face what happened after Thrazidun!I could not face what I did! I became a monster because I am not strong and you almost made me one again, Caduceus?!” She shakes him harder, mouth twisting. “Why?”

Clay seems frozen, paralyzed by the yawning wild grief in Yasha’s face. “I’m sorry. I – It’s just so important we don’t fail. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” Yasha grabs him by the back of the neck, bloody fingers digging into the pink mane at the base of his skull. She yanks him close, pressing them forehead to forehead and she says, ragged, “I need to trust you! You’re our healer. I need you to be the one that takes care of us, Clay.”

“You can trust me,” Caduceus whispers. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Swear to me!”

“I swear, Yasha.”

And that seems to be enough, because Yasha makes this raw, animal sound and pulls the giant firbolg into a bone-crushing hug, getting blood all over him but he doesn’t seem to care. He goes rigid for just a moment, then wraps his arms around her and Molly sees a faint shimmer of healing magic start up in his hands, then spread across Yasha’s back, smoothing away scrapes and cuts along her arms, closing a gash on her brow. Yasha’s eyes are twisted so tightly shut, tears running clean tracks through the blood to her chin.

“We can’t fall apart,” she rasps.

Caduceus’ calm is very much gone. He grips her tight. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet for a moment. The ocean waves roar steadily in the distances, rolling relentlessly and indifferently forward while they struggle through a moment of terrible uncertainty – each looking at the other and wondering what terrible thoughts might be racing behind familiar eyes. The silence goes on for a while, the pale glow of coming sunrise expanding across the horizon in pale purple and pink.

Then, very quietly, Nott says, “So that’s still the plan?”

Everyone looks at her. She’s sitting cross-legged in the sand, shoulders slumped, head bent.

“I mean… I knew it was, but if Yasha is saying it out loud then it’s real, isn’t it?” She wipes her face with one hand and sniffs. “No point hiding it from Mollymauk. He’s already died again in the name of this thing we’re doing, so let’s be clear.” She looks up at Molly. “We’re bringing the others together because it took all of us to kill a god before. It’ll probably take all of us to do it again.”

Molly shakes his head.

“I don’t…” He looks back and forth among them. “You mean…?”

Yasha is not looking at him. Caduceus and Nott are watching him though.

Molly, who is covered in blood and four times dead, sitting on a battle-blasted beach and so emotionally spent it feels like there shouldn’t be a drop of feeling left in him… he feels a sting of panic looking into their sober, battle-worn faces. His instinct, immediately: To run away from it. Yell at it. No. Absolutely not. No. But in the face of their scars and the history of violence ten years old at this point, he feels paralyzed by the weight of everything they’ve done without him.

He’s suddenly a million miles away from the three warriors sitting on the beach with him.

“We have to kill Beauregard,” Molly says, finally. “That’s why Caleb tried to stop us. Because you’re coming for Beau.”

Go to part 5

[twohearts-hs]

‘A Devious Act IV’ - H.S. Divorce Series

Words: 1,407

Pairing: Harry Styles & (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of divorce.

This is part four, please request for part 5, plus ideas.

Requests are OPEN

Part One Part Two Part Three

The drive to Niall’s place was slow and silent. The only audible thing you could hear was Ivy’s soft snores in the back; it gave her time to think. The clock on her dashboard said nine thirty, it was late to her. Tomorrow she’ll have to get up and get Ivy ready for school, and Alfie will have to go to daycare, since (Y/N) has work. It’ll be the same routine, just at a different person’s house. The thing that worried her is that she asked Niall to stay the night, not stay the week or stay the month or just live there. She’ll need to find a rental soon, as fast, as she can.    Driving made her think. Harry’s reactions were unthinkable, the faces he gave responding to her. He treated Karla like his world revolved around her. He did this to (Y/N); she’ll always come first, and he’ll always protect her, even if she is not there.    The one thing that was positive that came out of this fight or decision, was that he was happy, or will be happy. That is all that she wants for him, to live life to the fullest and to just be happy. Is it too much to ask?    The process was repeated, traffic light, go, traffic light, go, traffic light,  till she pulled in front of Niall’s apartment. Her hand flew to her phone, lighting up and seeing that Niall left some messages for her. Niall: Text me when you’re close. I wanna help. Xx    She replied, saying that she didn’t see the message till now and that she was outside the building. (Y/N) turned the car off and opening the door. The warm, yet feverish breeze came in contact with the back of her neck, making her shiver a tad bit. She closed the door of her red SUV and started to open the door to Alfie, gently taking him out. Looking up she spotted Niall running across the street to her, a smile on his lips. He didn’t ask what he needs to do, or what happened, he did the same thing to Ivy, taking her out and holding her against him.    “You’re ok?” he questioned once they all came upstairs to the flat; suitcases and all.    “I think I’ll be,” she said in a quiet voice, trying to convince herself. She began rocking her baby back and forth while following Niall to the guest bedroom, each of them placing the youngsters down and putting the covers on them. They both exited, closing the door gently and smiling to one another.    “Thank you,” she whispered, looking at him.    “No worries,” he replied, walking back to the television that played lightly and sitting down. (Y/N) followed him, sitting a few inches away, at the other side of the couch.    “Can I ask what happened?” he asked, looking over at her, interrupting the few minutes of silence. She was drowned in the TV, but she was in a posture that looked uncomfortable. It was like she was scared to make herself feel like home.    “You know I trust you Ni. I’ve always felt closer to you than the rest of the boys. You were my first to call.” she told him, still looking at the TV.    “I’m glad you do, I feel the same way,” he told her, still looking at her, “You know what, you look like you need a beer, so I shall get you a beer.” Niall got up, heading towards the kitchen. (Y/N) sat looking the flashing images on the TV. She could trust him, he’ll won’t beat up Harry, he won’t judge or feel a strong pity towards her. Therefore, she blurted it out.    “Harry asked for a divorce.” it caused Niall to almost drop the two bottles on the way back, “I also caught him cheating,” she added. Niall was in shock, giving her the beer and sitting down back in his usual spot.    “That fucker,” he replied, creating her to chuckle and shake her head.    “Not only that, but he was fucking her for a year,” she added, him just groaning. (Y/N) began laughing at the whole situation, creating Niall to smile. She didn’t care anymore, she had a few glasses of wine, now a beer; it must’ve been the alcohol.      “Who can throw away ten years of love?” Niall pitched in.    “That was what I was thinking, but fuck him, and fuck Karla. Let them fuck each other, because I don’t need them in my life anymore. The kids are better off without them, and he isn’t really present in their life anymore.” she told him.    “Amen, sister!” Niall replied, “Are you going to try and get full custody?” Niall asked, minutes later.    “Oh fuck yeah. He, he is a special one. In that, I mean he is a total dick, and as long as I am alive, those kids will never have him as a major role in their life, anymore.” she said, raising her beer, and clinking it with his.   (Y/N) came closer to Niall, leaning her head upon his chest. Her hand came into contact with his white tee, scrunching it into her palm, and just laying there. Niall’s arm wrapped around her, hand about to come down to her butt, but stopped, and settled it on her lower back. They stayed like that for minutes. (Y/N)'s shallow breathing filling the silence. Niall just looked at her, watching her slowly fall asleep, her stomach raising with each exhale, and her breaths becoming gentle. He couldn’t help but smile, she really was precious, and Harry destroyed her. Niall realised half an hour later that she was fully asleep. He was tired, his eyelids said so with slowly coming down, therefore he got up, gently, moving her to rest on the couch. He quickly cleaned up the bottles, and turned the TV off and went to her. Niall picked her up, bridal style and walked to his guestroom, laying her on her bed, and tucking her in. He watched her for a second, seeing her in so much comfort, that he couldn’t help but bring his lips to her forehead, leaving a lingering kiss. * The exhaustion happened between them, the sweat present and loud breathing filled the room. They just had sex, made love, no, screw that,  they fucked. Karla rolled off of him, cuddling up to his side. It felt odd to him. He was alone in this house with her. Harry does love her, he left his wife for her, but it felt weird. It must’ve been the fact that it is at his house.    She fell asleep shortly after, making him listen to his own thoughts. This felt weird, no wrong. Everything that he loved has been stripped from him, his kids and his wife. His mind started to worry, he just kicked her out with the kids. Where would they go, and with who? This made him go and grab his phone, texting her a quick question about her whereabouts. He knew that she would not text back fast, or ever, but at least it is out there. He didn’t want to bother texting his mum or sister. They’ll be disappointed in him, taking (Y/N)’s side and yell at him. He didn’t need that at the moment.    The kids were something that kept him worrying. They are just gone. Yes, he has not seen them a lot lately and he was a bit cold, but that didn’t matter, he still loves them. All he had to do is listen to Karla. The court date is sent, all is about to happen is that (Y/N) will be informed about the topic, and hopefully, he’ll win.    Divorce is simple, you just sign a paper if both agreed, and it will be done. The only hard part of divorce is knowing who is who’s, and what is what. But, when you add kids into the picture, everything goes sideways. He would like full custody, no, he wants full custody. All he had to do know is listen to Karla, create what needs to be created and do what needed to be done. 

Part Five

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Cosy

Day 30 of 31!  @doctorroseprompts

@timepetalsprompts bingo - mentions of boxing day

This is another sequel to the fake dating/coffee shop au from last week!  

Ficmas Masterlist 2017, Day 30

#3 in the Cosier With You Universe

Human!TenxRose

AO3

Still breathing hard, James settled beside Rose.  She immediately rolled into him, snuggling into his arms as she sighed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Me neither,” he agreed, hugging her tightly to him as their legs tangled beneath the sheets.

“What time is it?”

“Uh…” he craned his neck to see his clock.  “Just gone midnight.”

“Happy Christmas, then.”

“Happy Christmas,” he hummed happily, pressing kisses to her hair.

“Started with quite the bang, didn’t it?”  She joked, giggling when she felt his chest shake with laughter.

“Hard to beat,” he agreed, and they stayed cuddled together for long minutes.

“I should probably get home,” Rose eventually said regretfully, though she didn’t move a muscle.

“Why?”

She smiled up at him. “You picked me up fourteen hours ago to take me to lunch, and she hasn’t heard from me since.  My mum’ll be going spare.”

“Ah,” he sniffed, “just give her a call.”

“And say what? ‘Sorry, Mum, won’t be home for Christmas morning, I’m having my brains shagged out?’  There won’t be anything left of you by the time she got done.”

He shivered.  “Good point.”

She nudged her thigh further between his, brushing against him.  His breathing hitched, and while he was far from hard there did appear to be signs of life.  She pressed a little harder, and he twitched against her.

“Should get up, then,” James huffed, and Rose smirked against his chest.

“Trying.  Seems like you’re getting there.”

He simply stared down at her.  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Good to know,” she said suggestively, bringing one hand down between them to help bring him to life.

“Rose,” he groaned, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of her joke or the way she began to stroke him.

She leaned up to kiss him, and he’d just rolled her onto her back again when her mobile chimed.  She ignored it, more interested in him, when it rang a second time.

“Ugh, hold on,” she sighed, wiggling out from under him to lean over the side of the bed and dig out the device.  “Hi, Mum.”

“Rose, you’re alive!” Jackie cried, making her roll her eyes as she settled back on the bed, James spooning up next to her.  “Where are you?”

“At a friend’s,” she said vaguely, and James kissed her neck.

“At this hour?”

“Yes.  I’ll be home soon.  Well, soon-ish.”

“How’d the lunch go?”

“Decently,” Rose replied neutrally, elbowing James when he laughed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Mum, we’re watching telly,” she evaded, snuggling back into him.

“Sure,” Jackie replied suspiciously.  “Anything more to say?  Where are you?”

“At a friend’s,” she repeated.  “I’ll tell you more when I’m home.  Don’t wait up though.”

“Rose, it’s Christmas morning, you should be home.”

“I will!  Soon, I promise.”

“All right,” her mother reluctantly capitulated.  “Soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, sweetheart. Be safe, it’s started snowing.”

They rang off soon enough, and Rose stretched to put her phone on the nightstand.  “Mum says it’s starting to snow,” she reported, turning to face him.

“Christmas miracle,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.

“The snow?”

He shook his head. “You.  Here.  I’ve dreamed of this,” he confessed, and her heart lurched.

“Me too.”

The smile he gave her in reply was so brilliant, she immediately resolved to commit the rest of her life to seeing it often.

“Want to get on the road, then?”  He kissed her again, before nibbling his way down her chin and neck to mouth at her décolletage.

“In a bit.”  She brought her hand between them again, delighted when he lengthened and hardened in her palm.

“Your call,” he agreed, working his way slowly down her body.  He stopped just at the bottom of her belly, not daring to go further as he mouthed kisses on the area.

“James…” there were too many things in her voice for him to translate, and he looked up at her.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She bit her lip, and her thighs widened a bit.  “Do you want to?”

He propped himself up on an elbow to better see her eyes.  “I’d love to go further, but only if you want.”

“Really?”  She lit up, and he grinned back.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“Well, all right then,” she agreed breathlessly, and he wiggled down to be face to crotch with her for the first time.

“Blimey, you’re beautiful,” he said, awed.  They hadn’t bothered with too much foreplay before the first round, and he took a moment to appreciate her.

“If you say so.”  She propped herself up on her elbows to better see him.

“Can I-”

“Please.”  She watched with bated breath as he used one long finger to trace along her slit.  It was quite literally something out of her fantasies; she wasn’t ashamed to admit to herself that more than one lonely night had been spent with her vibrator, thinking about the way those long fingers curled around a coffee cup.

He traced her full length several times before moving up to circle her clit twice.  When she gasped and tensed, he brought the digit back down to investigate her opening.  “Still okay?”

“Better than.”  She slumped back against the pillows, closing her eyes and focusing on his touch.

He pressed a kiss to one thigh before easing the finger inside.  There was a trickle of new wetness, and she clenched around him in a hopefully soon-to-be-familiar way as he learned her body.

James took his time, eventually bringing his tongue into play as he followed her cues until he built her up and over, and she came with a soft cry.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, scratching her nails lightly through his hair.  “That was brilliant.”

“You’re brilliant,” he replied, kissing his way back up her body to her lips.

“I’ve honestly never been so cosy in my life,” she confessed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Good,” James said. “Me too.”

Rose laughed softly, smiling too much to be able to kiss him properly.  “Your turn, I think.”

“I’m alright,” he deflected, and she giggled again when he twitched against her thigh.

“It’s only right that I taste you,” she argued, and he shook his head.

“I’m hoping we’ve got plenty of time for that later.  For now, though – Rose, can I make love to you again?”

“Oh, please do,” she begged, sighing in delight when he hitched her thigh over his hip.

As he slid inside, she hoped they’d have the rest of their lives for this.

-

“Here we are.”  James pulled into Rose’s driveway, letting go of her hand to put the car in park.

“Right.”  Rose stared out the window at her yard, watching the snow fall.

“All right?”  He watched her, worried.  Since they’d dressed and left his flat, she’d been oddly quiet and he was beginning to panic he’d overplayed his hand.

“Yeah,” she said softly. She glanced at him, and smiled widely at the look on his face.  “Oh, don’t pout!  I’m not having regrets,” she reassured him, and he slumped in relief.

“Me neither. “

“Good,” she reached out a palm to cradle his cheek.  “I was just thinking how this may be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had.”

“Me too.”  It felt inadequate, but he didn’t think he could put it better.  “Uh, now what?”

She sighed.  “I suppose I go inside, and go to sleep, and wake up and have Christmas morning with my mum same as always.  My mate Mickey, he’s coming for lunch with his gran, and so’s a cousin or two, and Mum’s friend.”

“I’m going to my Mum’s,” James replied, crinkling his nose.  “That’s bound to be a laugh a minute.”

Rose giggled.  “She seemed all right – if a little over protective.”

“Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Earlier, before Donna’s I mean, we discussed dinner?”

“Boxing day?” she suggested, and he lit up.

“Really?”

She bit her lip, before deciding that every brave overture she’d made so far had worked out splendidly, and she might as well go for another.  “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

He simply stared at her. “Did you just quote When Harry Met Sally?”

“You know that movie?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Donna.”

She’d only met his sister the twice, but that was enough to paint a fairly clear picture.  “Right.”

They sat there staring at each other for several long moments.

“OH!”  He suddenly exclaimed, slapping his forehead.  “Sorry.  Yeah, I want to spend my life with you too.”

She burst into laughter, and he thought it might just be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“I think we’re doing this wrong,” she told him once she calmed.

“How so?”

“Well,” she considered, turning fully to face him, “first I met your family, then we said ‘I love you’, then you got me naked, and only after all that will we be going on our first date.  A bit backward, don’t you say?”

“Maybe,” he allowed, taking her hand again.  “But it’s our story – only we decide how it gets told.”

“Sounds perfect.”  They met in the middle for a kiss, and by the time they pulled back they were breathing heavily.

“Don’t suppose I could tempt you into the backseat,” he muttered, blinking his eyes open.

“Definitely not.  My mum’s likely watching from her room as we speak,” Rose smirked.

“Course.”  James cleared his throat, flushing slightly. Considering how many rounds they’d gone at his flat, he hoped she didn’t write him off as an insatiable maniac.

“Maybe after our date on the 26th, though,” she teased, and he tried to quell his reaction.

“Whatever you want!” He cleared his throat again, trying to get rid of the squeaking.

“So, I’ll see you then?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Um, I’ll be in the shop that morning, and we can set a time and all?”

“All right,” she agreed warmly, already looking forward to seeing him.  “And you have my number – feel free to use it.”

“Will do,” he promised, leaning forward to kiss her again.

“Bye,” she said breathlessly when they parted.

“Until later.”

She gave him one last, longing look before climbing out of the car and hurrying inside.  Making her way to her bedroom, she looked out the window to see him watching.  She waved, and he returned the gesture before pulling away.

Rushing through a shower and throwing on pajamas, she climbed into bed and snuggled down.  She tossed and turned for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable, before she realized the problem.

Not even one full night in James’ bed, and she’d never cosy anywhere else again.

Checking her phone, she saw he’d already text her.  Opening the message, she smiled to see two heart emojis and sent him a kiss back.

At least on the 26th, she could stay til breakfast…

She fell asleep dreaming of their future.

[stylessemantics]

*~ Believe in Magic ~* (ch.4)

- 4 - HALLOWEEN IS TRULY MAGICAL

Once upon a time there was a witch, mighty and powerful, with a deep hatred towards witch hunters and most of the mortal world. She stood high and proud, walking herself through the villages and scaring the poor souls. It was her way to establish that witches were of course much better than mortals. And then one day the witch fell in love, with another witch, he wasn’t as powerful, but he was warm and nice, which shocked her. How come he wasn’t using his powers to avenge his fallen brothers and sisters. How come he tried to mix in with the mortals, instead of claiming a superior state. She never knew, all she was certain of was that they had fallen for each other. Opposites attract do they not? It didn’t take long for a witch pregnancy to ensue, and a beautiful baby girl was born, grew up to be like a princess, powerful like her mother but kind like her father. This girl was one of the best accomplishments the witch had, and her heart slightly softened, no longer did she chase humans for the sake of it, no longer was she considered the scary mom by the mortal friends her daughter had made.

And then the witch was pregnant once more… This time birthing a boy, a beautiful baby boy, that would grow up to be nice like his dad, and clumsy like his dad as well. His magic got him in trouble and his mother sneered. This boy definitely didn’t get all the good genes her daughter had, but she loved him anyways. Although her way of showing it was weird, she truly cared for her clumsy baby boy. Her dorky Harry.

Harry opened his eyes, his alarm clock startling him awake. He sighed and groaned, not ready for the couple of days that lay ahead of him. He got up, swayed on his way to his bathroom but eventually got there. With a long hard look at himself in the mirror, he started his routine. Soon Harry was out, all clean and much more awake to face the day. Coming out into the hallway was a quick reminder of what he had to do. Y/N’s flat was decorated to the brim. Her door had, among other various festive things, spiderwebs, with plastic spiders on it, and there was a small cauldron bubbling and lighting up different shades of green. God, she really liked Halloween.

Harry sighed. When was he going to get any rest? If it’s not Salem getting him in trouble, it’s Nina making Salem go crazy, or the fact that he doesn’t know where he stands with y/n. And to top it all off, he hadn’t heard from his mother.

God, his mother was going to have his head. You see, Harry had decided that he needed to stay and make sure y/n doesn't get eaten alive by demons lurking during the festivities, rash decision, even Salem had his say on how wrong that was. But the worst thing wasn’t really the reactions, or how the hell was he going to insert himself into whatever she was doing the next day. The worst thing was his mother. He was too scared to call through the cauldron, or to travel to her to let her know that he was not going to be attending to the Witch Family Reunion as he did every year, as he was supposed to, not that he fully mastered the teleportation spell anyways. So what did he do? He sent a letter. “ Oh, that’s grand.” “ Shut up Salem, don’t try t’ talk me out of-” “ No, no… I really want to see how this goes. Your mother hates letters” Salem scoffed before hopping off the table, graciously onto the ground and over to his bed, getting comfortable. “ I think this is going to be a hilarious Halloween”

Y/N came up the stairs as Harry trimmed the small tree outside his door. She was carrying more bags - groceries, maybe even more decorations- it took everything in Harry not to roll his eyes and smack them out of her hand. It was annoying he couldn’t tell her just how bad this was, how badly she had to stop before demons took over her or something. Well that was dramatic but still kind of true. “ Hey there! ” he found himself starting the conversation.

Lately, y/n had been feeling a lot happier than usual. Her already smile-y self turned even… Smilier? Anyways, she was happy Halloween was coming up, she loved it, she got to bake really delicious and pretty treats, she got to dress up and watch scary movies, she already had started her marathon! She liked them, a lot. But it wasn’t just Halloween that had her excited.

She had to admit it was him. Her neighbour. Harry.

Y/N was the kind of person that liked everyone to be friends with everyone and comfortable and smiling, it was one of her goals in life that everyone she came in contact with, left with a nice impression of her. She wanted people to be happy, was that so bad? Not one bit. Which means that finally getting to talk to Harry meant a whole lot to her. She felt like she accomplished some impossible mission, as if this were some sort of movie, because she cracked the tough code of Harry. Even though nothing was set in stone, and it wasn’t like she knew all about him or they interacted enough to consider herself a friend, she was happy that there was so much progress that had been made between them. I mean, Harry did just start a conversation with her. “ Hello neighbour!” she smiled at him opening her door. For a second she stopped, looking over at Harry’s door and back at hers. The spiderwebs and silicone ghosts, spooky gooey numbers and letters, the light she’d left off on purpose so that it seemed scarier… This was truly an indication that Halloween was just a day away. Turning to Harry’s though. It was another story. He had… nothing. “ Uhm… Not doing any decorating?” she pointed. In her head it was impossible that Harry could just skip decorations, it was impossible that someone could dislike halloween. I mean, she thinks, it’s one of the best holidays the year has to offer. Harry stops trimming his small tree to look at his bare door and walls. He shrugs. “ Nah. I don’t do the whole spooky house thing” y/n’s mouth opens in shock… What? “ I… You know I thought you’d like halloween…” “ Uh, why’s that?” suddenly his palms are a bit sweaty. Could it be that she’s figured out he’s a witch? Maybe she’s smelled the potions? Or heard him conjure some spell. Fuck, this was it, he was doomed. “ Well, you have a cat named Salem for god’s sake” y/n giggles and Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Of course. How could he forget he had a cat with the most obvious witch name possible. Harry shrugs “Jus’ seemed fitting… Black cat and all” “ Then I suppose you’re not doing much tomorrow night?” Harry shakes his head. All he was doing was hiding behind walls so he’d be able to ward off demons. That’s all his plans consisted of. “Would you… Forget it” “ Wha’?” Harry chuckles leaning against his door frame. Harry doesn’t think he’s seen y/n get flustered before, but he discovers it’s a dangerous sight. Makes him want to… Nothing. He’s being silly. Witches don’t feel those things humans do, and he’s going to stop his brain right there. “ There’s this party. Maybe you’d like to tag along?” she says. It takes unbelievable effort to put those words out, but finally she does it. Sure she’s made progress, but not that much. He’ll say no, she thinks to herself, that was stupid of me to ask. The fact that y/n thought Harry had little to no friends, since he never had anyone over or seemed to go out with people, had led her to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be that. Inviting your almost friend to a party is not weird, is it? After all, Spencer did say she could bring a plus one.

Harry on the other side, can only think about how this, right here right now, is horrible. Him? At a party? Surrounded by mortals on Halloween? It was a recipe for disaster, but something inside him told him 2 things. 1. Even if he said no, she would go, and that would complicate things for him. And 2. What better way to blend in and be able to keep an eye on her than going with her to this party? “ Sure” he finds himself saying without much thought. Y/N seemed shocked, and for a moment, so did Harry. “ Uh, great. Uh so… We can leave at 10… I’ll… I’ll just, uh… come over and knock, then… And we could… go… t-together” Again Harry thinks the air conditioner in the hallways has got to be ruined. His palms are sweaty and his stomach feels weird. Does anything in this building ever work properly? “Sure…” “Oh! It’s a… It might sound silly, but it’s a costume party so, uh…” He just nods at her and moves from his plant to enter back into his apartment, he gives her a short thumbs up before stepping fully into it. The door is shut tightly behind him and he rests his forehead on the hard wooden block. He was going to need a costume.

There’s only a couple things one can find 24 hours before a costume party. That list is really limited, and Harry had learned that last night. Running to the closest party shop that was open and getting whatever fitted him best. He didn’t pay it much mind; it would have to do.

He flips himself a pancake and takes sips from his juice as he hums Tiny Dancer to himself. It was officially Halloween. The moment he woke up, shivers went up his spine, the rise in his powers, the feeling that there was something around. What, he wasn’t sure, but it was the same thing every year. The same feeling he was experiencing now, as he plated his breakfast and licked his fingers clean of syrup. He was in a good mood, hips moving clumsily from side to side as he got everything ready.

Harry didn’t know he was about to find out why the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, chilly and fuzzy. He turns around with his food, ready to sit by the balcony and get some yummy breakfast in his system when. “AH!” Harry finds himself screeching, screaming even, and dropping his plate that shatters into a million tiny pieces and a syrup-y mess on his wooden floors. “Mum?!” In front of him stood his mother, dressed in her usual long, drape-y dress and with her smile big and bright. Gemma was also there, with her short blonde hair, all black attire and usual fierce red lipstick, she was looking around his apartment when the noise startled her. “Oh, Harry, look at this mess” Anne rolled her eyes shortly and proceeded to pick up the broken pieces, with magic of course. There’s a strange thumping in Harry’s chest at the sight of floating glass and pieces of soaked pancakes. And the thumping matches the thumping of someone’s steps on the hallway. Harry feels her before he sees her and he panics looking at the door. Fuck. Before he can tell, y/n’s opening his door in a frenzy. He jumps and pushes at his mother’s hands, slamming the flying shards of glass back to the ground. “Harry are you ok?! I heard screaming! Oh-“ y/n finds herself a few steps into Harry’s apartment when she stops to take in the scene in front of her. The smashed plate on the floor, Harry’s shocked face and awkward stance, and the two pairs of unknown eyes that were staring her down. She could feel herself shrink at the stance of the two women in Harry’s living area. Although their eyes looked familiar, too familiar, she could place that they were in some way related to Harry maybe, they were too similar not to think so, the way they seemed to be judging her or scanning her ready to pounce as if she was prey, made her fear for her life more than they made her trust them, something Harry’s eyes often did. “ I-I’m fine!” He states walking over to y/n slowly. What was he going to do? He could feel his mom already analysing y/n and quite possibly thinking about how to eliminate her from Harry’s life. He knew his mom too well to know that she’d figure out y/n was partially the reason he wasn’t going back home for Halloween. But everything was fine as long as his mom didn’t place that y/n was the reason he wasn’t going back home for Halloween. “ Harry” his mother said and he winced at the tone. Fuck fuck fuck. “ Yes mother?” “ Who’s the lovely young lady?” Harry panics even more. What, oh lord, how was he to explain to his mom that this mortal was his friend? Was she even a friend? They have gotten close over the months but his mom would never take it, his mom would never understand. There’s no way y/n would leave unharmed by his mother’s spells then. Anne wasn’t the nicest witch when it came to humans. She never really believed in hiding and blending in, she believed they were powerful, and humans not so much. Maybe Harry’s dad had changed a bit of her opinion on the humans, but even that wouldn’t really apply if Harry had a mortal friend. Not her little Harry, lowering himself to the same level as a petty mortal. She never let him and she never will.

“ Uh…” there’s no way he can say that. There’s no way he can make this scenario have a good outcome. Y/N can’t be his friend, so he doesn’t make her one “This is… This is just one of my neighbours, mom” he sighs and finishes the walk over to y/n, grabbing her softly by the arm and rushing her to leave his apartment. It’s surprisingly easy to lead her out of his house, as she’s still in a bit of shock. Harry doesn’t blame her, dealing with his mum isn’t the easiest task, specially when you’re under her strong magical gaze. He quickly closes the door after a short “It’s ok. G’morning” to y/n, and turns back to find his mom with her arms crossed over her chest and Gemma biting on her nails. Fuck. He’s in deep trouble. Anne scoffs and turns, going back to lifting up the pieces of glass from the floor and throwing them in the trash. Salem casually walks into the room, tail waggling high and with his majestic strut. The moment he sees Anne though, his tail lowers and he turns right around. Harry knows very well that even Salem, no matter how much he says he isn’t, is a bit scared of his mom.

“ So Harry, I assume you know why I’m here?” There’s a debate in his head. Lie and say he’s surprised to see her, not knowing why she’s around, or… Harry opts for saying the truth. After all, his mom will definitely catch him in a lie like that, such an obvious one as well. “ Yes mum” he mutters lowering his head and staring at his bare feet. His thumbs play with each other as he fidgets. 23 years, a 123 actually, and he can’t deal with his mum’s moods. But then again, who could? His dad only, maybe. “ Can I know why you’re not going back home this year?” “ Mum” Gemma is quick to jump in the conversation. One thing Harry will always be grateful for, is the strong bond he shares with his sister. A quick glimpse and she could read him, even faster than his mum ever could. It’s like they are twin witches. “It’s not a big deal, is it? I mean… I missed my first Halloween when I was 23 as well…” she tries to soften the path so Harry can walk a bit more secure. Anne looks at her with a pointed bored look “well ok, 123. You know what I mean” Of course, witch years weren’t the same as human years but, if we’re acting like Harry looks like a 23 year old lad, then might as well throw in the fact that he’s a witch, living in a mortal world, and acting like he’s 23. Anne sighs and Harry rushes to give her a hug, trying to soften the blow before meekly asking if they would like a cup of tea and to sit and talk about things. With a doubting face and her nose pointed high, she agrees.

He doesn’t know how he does it, but between showing his mom how well he’s kept his apartment, his magical plants and his books, making some more magical tea, and of course a few little comments here and there about Salem’s adventure when he was missing and how Louis and Niall have given good reports about him, he finds himself hugging his mom and sister goodbye while the cauldron boils in the kitchen for their travels. “ I just…” he starts “I want t’figure out some things, and… I thought this was the best time o’year to get it done, mum.” by some things he completely doesn’t mean y/n. Nope. Maybe if he doesn’t think about it, it’ll be true by the end of the night. “ I don’t understand it. But I’ll try to be a good mother.” Harry has to keep himself from jumping. 3 hours. It took him 3 hours to divert his mum’s attention enough so he could settle his thoughts and properly explain to her why it was better for him and his development as a witch, to stay here for the holiday. Harry has never been more glad to suck at the teleportation spell than today, because it was his main argument. “When I was your age Harry I could do a lot more” “Which is why I think I have t’stay… There’s something happening today… can feel it” “Well, yes there certainly is, I feel it too.”

He bids his mom farewell before she casts a spell and teleports herself through the cauldron to god knows where. The moment she’s gone Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, forgetting completely that his sister stands right there. “ So…” Harry jumps up scared, her voice startled him, but he turns to his sister with a smile. “I hope you know what you’re doing” Harry is confused. “ I… I thought you’d scold me?” Gemma has to know something is happening. The sibling connection is too strong for her not to sense Harry sort of lied to their mother and surprisingly got away with it. Gemma sighs and pats him on the shoulder. Her eyes speak a million words and have him feeling at ease. Gemma could always calm him down, read him easily and bring him back when his mind drifted. “ There is something Harry. I feel it. Don’t know what it is but I feel it… I just don’t know if you feel it too” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before teleporting herself out of his room.

The thing with Gemma and Harry’s sibling connection is that, sometimes, she knows Harry better than he knows himself.

Y/N is giving the finishing touches to her costume and makeup. She tightened the bun a top her head and smiled at her reflexion in the mirror. This year she had outdone herself with her best rendition of one of her favourite Disney characters. Decorated her shoes herself and all. There’s a knock on her door as she finishes throwing her essentials into a small cross-body purse, and she sighs before walking to it. The fact that she had gotten him to agree to go to this party with her had her over the moon. The biggest progress she’d had with her friendship with him. But after… whatever that was this morning, and he shoved her out of his apartment, called her just another neighbour… Yeah… A friendship wasn’t exactly what it was, and that morning’s incident had made it clear for her. She shook her head, throwing away the thought. She had to enjoy her night and she would. It just hurt a small bit that she’d tossed away all of her lavender products, in hopes he would be able to come over, if he ever needed or wanted to, and wouldn’t end up sneezing until his heart couldn’t take it anymore, and then there he goes, completely smashing the thought that she was getting closer to him. She didn’t know why she cared so much, but she figured that after the past month, almost two of whatever interaction she’d had with Harry, it was about time she could consider herself a friend. Today had been horrible so far, and her mood was on the ground. She needed a good party and some time with friends… And the idea of a friend that could have been was not going to spoil one of her favourite nights. She smiles in the mirror. She will keep smiling.

Opening the door, she comes face to face with an awkward smiling Harry, dressed like… “ Really?” “ Wha’?” he says looking at himself. The black drape-y robe, pointy hat and characteristic wand, and a fake mole at the tip of his nose. “ A witch?” she says giggling “ok.. nice…” Harry looks up at her in panic. Maybe she knew? Oh lord had he given it away? Was it too obvious. Harry’s thoughts are interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, y/n was pushing him to move so she could come outside and close the door. “I don’t know, I just never pegged you for the type” Harry stops in his tracks confused. She didn’t think of him as a witch type. Well that was a relief certainly but… Why? “Really? What did yeh peg me fo’ ?” “ uhm… A werewolf maybe” she says shrugging and walking towards the stairs. Harry stands in shock and nods slowly. “ Huh… Would yeh look at that” he says before walking behind her. He rolls his eyes. Ugh, he hated werewolves, and he seemed like the werewolf type? He scoffs under his breath before shaking his head slowly and continuing to follow her down the steps.

The only problem of the witch costume was that Harry was getting a bit cold while they stood on the sidewalk waiting for the UBER y/n had ordered. It was the best he could find on such short notice but the fact that he’d worn just black everything under - black shirt, jeans, and boots - with the robe as his cover, left him slightly underdressed for the quickly dropping temperature. He was a bit nervous about the costume, happy when he bought it but nervous when he found himself just 5 minutes shy of walking over to y/n’s flat, and with Salem laughing hysterically at his look. “ You.. you’re a witch…” and then proceeded to roll around laughing. Harry rolled his eyes at his cat while he applied the sticky black mole on his nose. He didn’t completely get why the costume brought that attached on a little plastic bag until he remembered that mortals saw witches this way… Absurd.

He moved his nose around, it was so sticky. He played with his wand as he stood, still waiting for the car. Surprisingly, y/n wasn’t being really talkative tonight and Harry sort of thanked all he had for it. He doesn’t think he could make out a full sentence to her. And it had nothing to do with her cute Tinker Bell costume. Harry sighs lowly as she bounces on the balls of her feet, pretty y/n like, pretty Tinker Bell like. Although it felt weird without her talking and making small conversation, harry was shockingly at ease. He had never been to a costume party before, and fortunately no spirits had shown to cause any harm to y/n or anyone in the building, that he knew of.

Getting in the car, Harry decided that he had to say something. “ So… I’ve never, uh… been to a… costume party” “What?” she asks as she settles in her seat and greets the driver. “No way!” Harry shrugs and shakes his head. As a witch, halloween parties consisted of something completely different. And no one else really threw costume parties at some other point of the year, so no, Harry had never been to one. “ Well then we have to make sure you enjoy your very first!” she says smiling from ear to ear. That was the y/n he knew. Always chirpy to where it sorta irritated him. But it certainly irritated him a lot less than when she wasn’t smiling.

Arriving at the place without a sticky nose - “ just take it off. It’s a bit gross looking” y/n had said and he needed no more convincing- Harry took a look around. It looked like those young people parties he saw in movies, nothing like a witch party. People walked around and mingled, with red cups in their hands. Girls sported short costumes and guys sported… Well most sported “no shirts” and Harry felt out of place. The scent was immediate. Harry looked around while slowly walking up the pathway behind y/n. There was something here. He gulped. He wasn’t nearly as strong of a witch to fight everything off of everybody. He looked at y/n as she pulled him by his hand through the mesh of dancing bodies. He’d fight them off her, for sure.

It took around 15 minutes for Harry and y/n to wound up in different corners of the house. After a bit of forced conversation and Harry worrying over people coming too close, shining his eyes to dark spirits that just looked at him and walked away, he ended up with some kid named Matt and some of his friends as they told jokes in a small circle, overlooking the crowd of bodies every once in a while to check up on y/n. Every time he looked she was taking a sip of some drink. Then she started dancing, though he doesn’t want to think much about that, since when did Tinker Bell looked so cute? Soon Harry could tell she was more than tipsy, and that’s when he started getting closer and closer to her. So far two guys had come over to her as well and Harry’s eyes shone golden and blue, marking territory, making the evil spirits walk away, at least they were decent enough, Harry thought. He grabbed her by her shoulders and made her turn to him. He was quickly taken aback by the fact that she rolled her eyes at him and scoffed in his direction. What had he done? “ Y/N, hey hey… Listen t’me” She pushed him off her shoulders and walked to the kitchen of the house, pouring herself another drink. Wine this time. She downed it with fury, in 3 quick gulps, only to continue shaking her hips. Harry sighed and followed her, making sure to take the bottle of wine off her hand. Harry felt so lost. What was happening? Was she possessed or something? Had he not noticed when someone put a spell on her or something? He was starting to get annoyed at the amount of people crashing with him in their drunken haste to try and get to dance. It was bump and bump and bump. This had certainly filled his human interaction quota for a century. “We are leaving!” He screamed over the music and reached to grab her phone from her purse. All it took was a simple trick and he had unlocked it, focusing on the uber app. Now how did this work? Request… Ok, the destination… There.

Unbelievable. He turned for 10 seconds tops, to figure out the sleek application and then, before he can even blink, Y/N’s being sweet talked by a guy with a… Very distinct smell. Harry groaned as he walked over slightly pushing the guy off her with a quick shove to the shoulder. Just one look and he knew. Stupid werewolves. He hated them. His hatred for them and the fact that he was a bit annoyed at how the night was turning out, how so many spirits just lurked around her, and how she’d gotten drunk and seemed mad at him made his blood fire in his veins. He was… He was angry, really. He was truly angry, which doesn’t happen often to him. “ Fuck off wolf!” he says harshly, pushing at his shoulder again, this time with his magic touch that immediately burned holes at the wolf’s shirt making him scurry along, not before giving him a snarl and barking, his eyes shining. Harry rolled his eyes, it’s not a full moon, witch wins, wanker, he thought and grinned. The phone beeped in his hand signalling their ride was close, thank heavens, now his task was to get a drunk y/n to obey him and follow him towards the front of the house.

He was lucky that getting her into the car wasn't the biggest of his problems. After she was settled in, her wooziness made her talkative again and Harry felt a bit more at ease. Surprisingly. Even when she kept talking nonsense and got amazed at every single thing “ Look! I can make the air hot… or cold!” “ I see, that’s cool…” Harry entertained her distracted mind, the way you would a child who’s curious, discovering new things, and holding in his laughter.

She allowed herself to be carried out of the car when they arrived at their complex, after all her legs were wobbly, and she wrapped her arms around Harry as he accommodated her in his arms. His cheeks felt like burning but he wasn’t allowing much of that thought in his brain. Instead his main thought was that she was safe. Halloween had been ok, with the exception of the few pricks -magical or not- that hovered around her through the night and her drunken self. It had gone so much better than if he had left her alone. The other only thought in his head, he can’t help it, is how smooth her skin is, how he’s touching her after wondering for weeks if she’d feel as soft as her rug looked back on that day. “ You know?” she started as he walked inside the lobby “it’s not fair, and it’s annoying” “ Wha’ is?” he asked mindlessly. He figured he’d continue her conversation, but his mind drifted… How was he going to get her settled into her house without having to rush cause of the Lavender attack that was going to fall on him. “ That you’re a dick” this made him stop in his tracks up the stairs. What? “ W-why do yeh say tha’ ?” “ Cause I try and try to be nice, and then you have friends or family over and say I’m just a neighbour” Harry breathes in deeply as he continues his trek up the steps and reaches her door. “I thought we were friends!” she wails. “ I… I just…” she scoffs in her drunken moment. She’s so drunk. He didn’t give much thought and opened the door with a small spell.  “ To think I cleaned my apartment. For you” He stepped bracing himself for the whiff of air that was going to put him into three weeks of sneezing, but was struck with a surprise when he took a big gush of air in his lungs.

No lavender…

His nose didn’t itch and his eyes didn’t water. He looked in awe at the girl in his arms, with her cute small dress, rosy cheeks and pouty face, legs crossed and the pom-poms atop her shoes looking as soft as her rug, the one Harry still feels like running barefoot through. She… She had removed the dangerous smell from her house… For him? “ Do you know how much I loooooooooovee lavender?” she drunkenly pouts even more as Harry awkwardly steps further than he’s ever been inside her house, if her corner apartment is anything like his balcony one that means her bedroom must be… He opens the door to the left and finds himself in the bathroom. Well, to the right then. “ I just want us to be friends! Like Salem and Nina” she giggles. It’s almost as if she casts a spell because Salem comes speeding through Harry’s legs as he places one drunk y/n on her bed. She refuses to let go of his neck and he ends up sitting with her on the bed. It’s every little bit like Harry imagined. Well maybe a few things surprise him, like the kind of books that litter her space, and the vinyls on the bedside table, and the colour of her walls. But the bed… Lord the bed is as soft as he had imagined and the smell is… It’s not lavender for one, but it’s something else, strong but sweet and delicate. It isn’t feminine, but it’s a girl smell. He can’t place it. Apples? Cinnamon? Both? Vanilla? He doesn’t know the name for it so he calls it ‘Y/N’. It is so incredibly ‘y/n’. “ Ugh” she groans snapping Harry out of his thoughts as Salem hops on the bed. The cat gives the man a look like ‘is she okay?’ and he nods. “I hate drinking. It makes me sleepy sooooo quick” she giggles “… Like a potion” “ Yeah… Magical, isn’t it?” Salem says rolling his eyes as much as a cat can roll its eyes. “Harry, I think I had too much wine. Your cat is talking to me” she whispers giggly. Her eyes are open but she’s thinking a million things, and Harry’s hands come to shoo away the black cat who scurries down the hall and possibly out the door. She can’t tell, Salem’s really silent, and all she can focus on is that she’s sleepy and she wishes with all her might that Harry would stay with her for the night, but something keeps her from asking. “ Harry?” “ Yeah?” he says in a voice so soft and low it’s making her float almost. “ Can… Can we be friends, please?” she mutters before closing her eyes, slowly and, without wanting, falling asleep, or half asleep? He sighs as he dares himself to reach over and caress her cheek. It’s soft. Must everything about her be soft? Pristine and perfect? Nice and warm? He reaches over to undo, however he can, the bun on her head, letting her hair cascade freely, out of the -he thinks- uncomfortable do. Placing the bobby pins on her table he sighs. “ I… I want to be your friend…” he smiles softly. “Let’s be friends. I’ll try. I promise yeh. I’ll try t’not be so… me…” It’s incredible how he finds it so easy to talk to her now. Maybe it’s cause she’s drunk and wont remember a thing, so Harry allows himself to be a bit more open. Maybe it’s cause he feels like he’s inches away from her, when in reality he’s a good arms length away. Maybe it’s cause there’s this magic of Halloween that’s given him some sort of power. “ Harry” she says after a moment, sitting up however she can on the bed. For a short moment he worries she might feel sick, or she might push him off. He doesn’t really know what’s happening or what to say or do. “ Wha’ is it?”

Witches don’t feel things the same way humans do. They don’t get this anxious feeling in their guts when they ride a rollercoaster and are at the very top, seconds from falling down. They don’t get nauseous when they are nervous, if they get nervous at all. Or that weird gut feeling when things go wrong. They don’t get… They don’t get butterflies in their tummy, and they don't get rushes of heat when someone’s lips touch their cheeks.

Y/n leans back after drunkenly pressing her lips to Harry’s unusually hot cheek and she lets herself fall on her bed, officially passing out and softly snoring, more like letting out puffs of air as she cuddles up to her pillows. Harry breathes in and out slowly, shakily, trying to get himself to react. All he does is silently remove her cute shoes and wrap her up in her blanket. He heads to the kitchen and makes sure to leave a glass of water by her bed, he’s read it helps human hangovers, and he’s seen it in countless movies. Usually they leave pills too but he doesn’t feel like he should start rummaging through cabinets for a pair of advil, and if only he suffered from the common headache the way mortals do, he would have some at his place that he could just bring back to her, but he doesn’t so he settles for water only.

He takes the softest of steps as he leaves her apartment making sure to lock the door on his way out. They literally are the softest he can take and he makes not one sound. What a night. He smoothly walks back to his apartment, his head everyplace, thoughts running wild and he can’t seem to grasp one for more than a spare second. His stomach feels weird, fuzzy even, like he’s had something bad or like he’s scared. He doesn’t know where to place the small feeling. After all witches don’t get butterflies in their tummy the way humans do. He doesn’t wait much longer after coming into his house and he’s removing his robe and his shirt. Weird, he thinks as his knuckles graze the textured ceiling of his flat. No way he was that tall… Maybe he’d stretched too far “ Harry!” he looks at his cat startled by the loud screech that he’d let out as he mindlessly and without looking steps out of his boots pushing at each with the opposing foot. Salem looked shocked, like he’d seen a ghost but worst or something. “Harry… y-you are…” the black cat looks at Harry’s feet and he just gawks. The tall lad is instantly concerned. Is something wrong? Had he stepped on something? He hadn’t felt a thing…

He gasps when he looks down at his feet. He hadn’t felt a thing because he was… He was… “You’re floating!” Immediately Harry forces his body to drop and he tugs at his hair letting out huffs and puffs of desperate breaths.

A witch with butterflies in their tummy can be a strong and dangerous thing. You see witches didn’t get butterflies in their tummy, at least not the same way humans do. They get them, and when they do it’s always obvious because… The small insect makes them… Float.

——

Witch!Harry continues! Halloween is here and it was NOT what either of our characters expected! Oh fuck! Butterflies? In a Witch? It can’t be! Tell me what you thought of this chapter, after all it’s the longest chapter so far and idk if chapter 5 will be this long, who knows. Tell me if you’d like it to be, or what your favourite part was. WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN IN CHAPTER 5? I WANT TO KNOW!!!

Chapter 5 : Coming Monday, February 6th *Disclaimer it might not be on time next week, I’m trying my best but I made some mistakes (cause i’m a piece of shit) and my laptop got all funky as well and chapter 5 is suffering...But I promised and forced myself to keep a schedule and I will!!!

#BIM tag. ||  Intro Here. ||   Ch.1 * Ch.2 * Ch.3 * Ch.5 *  ||   Schedule Here.

——

Iv. xo all the cuddles, always.

[thespecialrelationship-phff]

Chapter 4

FLOTUS POV—4 weeks until Invictus

It takes a week for shit to hit the fan.

It’s a Thursday morning, I’m sitting in my office when my phone rings. Through the open door I hear my Secretary answer it, Office of the First Lady

A pause and then, Oh, wow, uh yes sir.

I wince. Sir can only mean one of two things and neither are good options. A second later my secretary has popped her head in, “Good morning Miss, pardon the interruption but that was the President on the phone.”

“Personally?” I ask, surprised. My father rarely uses my office phone to reach me. If he’s calling it’s usually my cell phone.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Well this can’t be good.” I stand, closing my laptop. “Do you know where Anna is?”

“No Miss.”

“It just keeps getting better and better. “If she comes back just let her know I’m headed to the Oval.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.”

And I begin the long walk from the East Wing, where I plan parties, to the West Wing, where my father runs the country. I’m followed by my two secret service agents, closely on my heels.

We take the elevator down to the lobby of the East Wing, the dark paneled room, empty this morning.  Then we walk down the East Collonade, enclosed, unlike its counterpart. The wall of windows does little to keep out the April chill. I suppose it will be nice to enjoy the sunshine of Orlando in a few weeks.

My heels click and echo across the tiled floor of the visitor’s lobby. The lobby connects to the ground floor of the residence which will then lead me to the West Wing. Coincidentally my office is one of the farthest rooms from my father’s office. I imagine that the separation has kept many Presidential marriages alive. Today though, it’s just a pain for my feet.

I open the door and walk into the vaulted center hall. I shiver, it’s always cold and a bit gloomy down here. Not to mention that the marble faced walls are dated, old-looking. Perhaps next term we could redecorate.  I’m sure that’s a project Jenkins would love for me to waste my time on.

The plush carpet muffles the sound of my heels as I keep walking. Belatedly, I notice the dividers towards the end of the hall.  The staff only puts those up if there’s going to be…

A door creaks open followed by the sound of shuffling feet and then a booming voice, “Yes, that was the Vermeil Room, or sometimes known at the Gold Room.”

A tour. For fuck’s sake.

I’m walking swiftly trying to cut in front of the group but the tour guide sees me. She’s one of the older women who has been here longer than I’ve been alive. Unfortunately for me she’s part of the generation that believes in the duty of the First Lady to see and be seen. “Or casually known as the First Ladies Room, due to the number of portraits of First Ladies.  Speaking of which, we’ve run into a special guest.”

The group files out as I wait patiently, caught in the docent’s trap. We both know that I can’t leave now. My secret service detail step to either side of me and a few steps back. Far enough to be unobtrusive, but near enough to help.

The group ohs and awes when they notice me. I smile and wave slightly.

The guide clears her throat, “May I introduce Miss Margaret Kennedy Penelope Frances Conrad Randolph, First Lady of the United States.”

Wow, I can’t believe she went with the full name. Again, I smile, noticing that a few people are frantically fumble for their cell phones. “Welcome to the White House, I hope you’re enjoying your tour. My father and I consider it a privilege to be able to open the Residence to tours.” I recite the speech that was written for this very occasion.

The group of large, probably Midwestern tourists continue to stare at me. I nod slowly, “Well then.  Unfortunately, I’m on my way to a meeting with the President.” The word elicits the response I knew it would, wide eyes, nervous glances. It’s really too easy.

“Perhaps just one photo for the group?” The tour guide says, shit I really should remember her name.

“Of course,” I say looking at the eager faces of the group. My smile is plastered on, “Why don’t you hold the camera, uh Jane.”

A little boy towards the front whispers, “I thought her name was Mary.”

Oh fuck all.

I chuckle, a lie quickly springing to my lips, “Oh, it is. That’s just my nickname for her since she’s just so sunny, like a June day.”

It’s absolute bullshit but Mary doesn’t say anything. She knows it’s her duty to make me look good. Luckily the little boy is satisfied.

I stand in the middle of the group and they all crowd around.  We take a few photos and I promise to post them on twitter for the families to have. As I turn to leave a little girl with bright red hair blurts out, “Are you dating Prince Harry?”

The question throws me for a moment. I almost ignore the question until I see that the whole group is waiting for the answer. Usually, questions like these are dismissed by the adults of the group as childish fantasies. But this time it isn’t.

“Oh, no we’re not.” I say. “We’re working together on the Invictus Games.”

“But the internet-” A woman, I’m assuming her mother places a hand on her shoulder. The little girl is quiet.

I think I know why I’m being called into dad’s office.

As the awkward silence descends on the group I realize I have to salvage the situation or this is all the group will remember. “He’s very nice though and I’ll be seeing him again in Orlando.  Have you been there?”

She nods.

“Well in a few weeks the city will host the Invictus Games.  All of you should tune in, it should be great.” Smiling, I step back slightly. “Please, enjoy the rest of your tour.”

With that I leave them, quickening my pace slightly.  The last thing I need is to be stopped by another tour. My brain is spinning. Obviously there’s something in the news today about Harry and I.

I had thought we escaped with little press since it’s been a week since the visit.  Apparently not.

The palm court is thankfully empty and I choose to use the colonnade instead of walking through the press offices. A little chill is worth avoiding the prying eyes and questions of the press corps.

The agents open the doors and I pass into the West Wing, gone is the relative tranquility of the East Wing or Residence. The West Wing is never tranquil. I walk through the rather small corridors, assistants and interns pause as I walk past. It’s odd, most of them are around my age.

I follow the familiar hall to the secretary’s office, the gateway to the President.

“Morning Beth.” I wave. “I believe I was summoned.”

Beth was hired on during the transition. Truthfully, I don’t think anyone knows much about her at least not much beyond the fact that she came highly recommended from some high-powered law firm. She’s a force of nature in her smart business suits and tightly coiffed hair.  There are very few people who can inspire fear in the hearts of Washington’s elite and Beth is one of them.

“Yes, just one more minute.” She smiles. “You look beautiful today.”

“Thanks. I suppose I’m not dressed for an Oval Office meeting.” I say, glancing down at my over-the-knee boots.  

“Nonsense.” She says. “You can go in now.”

“Thank you.” I walk through the thick door leaving my secret service detail behind.

Walking into the Oval Office is still a little jarring even three years after we first moved in. I can't help it, I don't think anyone can. It exudes confidence and power.  The plain beige walls aren't ornately decorated nothing in the room is, and yet it's intimidating as if it was gilded. The cream contrasts beautifully with the deep blues of the curtains and rugs.  

Of course, it doesn’t help when it’s your father sitting behind the large, dark wooden desk. This really isn’t going to be good. He’s in full presidential mood. If this was a casual call he would be sitting on one of the couches. To make matters worse, Jenkins is standing just off to his left.

He looks up when I walk in. “You’re late.”

“I ran into a tour group, dad.”

“I see.’ He gestures to the delicate chair in front of his desk, “Come sit Margaret.”

I take the seat offered and look at my dad. He’s in a full suit, immaculately tailored, his eyes are tired. In the last few months the strain of the job has really started to show on his face.

“So what’s going on?”  I ask, even though I already have a good idea.

“It’s about Invictus.”

“I’m sure it will blow over, gossip always does.”

Both men look at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

Dad speaks first. “Margaret, what are you talking about?”

I narrow my eyes, not the reaction I was expecting. “What are you talking about?”

Jenkins steps forward, “I received your official and final schedule for the Invictus Games from Kensington Palace.”

I stay silent, waiting for him to reveal more. Instead he hands a sheet of paper to me. I scan over the minimalist document. When I return to the top of the page I have to school my features.

May 8th:

 7:00 AM Interview with Ramona Robinson (also attending HRH Prince Henry of Wales)

6:00 PM Opening Ceremonies begin—opening remarks FLOTUS

He did it, just like he said it would. Triumph washes over me. I’m going to make a speech. I could get my voice back.

The silence apparently eats away at Jenkins. “They have you scheduled for a joint interview and a speech.”

“I see.”

I’m going to pretend nothing is wrong with the arrangement as is. Even though we all know an interview with me will make headlines not to mention a speech.  It’s their own fault really. They’ve kept me from the public for this long.

“They didn’t run this through my office.” Jenkins practically growls.

His office? Fuck this.

I sit up straight and glare at him, “I think Kensington went through my office since the appearance doesn’t involve the President and therefore not the President’s office.”

“That’s not how it’s done.”

I shrug, “What would you like me to do?”

Jenkins looks grave, but smug. “Decline.”

My eyes widen then glance to my dad. He’s looking at me thoughtfully. I wait for a second, wondering if he’ll disagree. Quickly, I realize he’s on Jenkin’s side, hence why he’s here.

I’m giving him an opportunity to be on my side, to fulfil his promise to me. But he sits there, staring at me impassively.

So, this is how it’s going to be. I cross my arms. “That might be a little rude. We’re a month away from the games.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“Harry was very adamant about having my speak.”

“So it’s Harry now?” My dad finally speaks up. He sounds just like he did when I brought my first boyfriend home

“Really, dad?”

He shrugs, smirking a little bit. I figure it won’t do any good to remind him that I’m almost thirty years old.

Jenkins clears his throat, “Sir, we have a meeting with the joint chiefs in a few minutes. We should resolve this.”

My dad nods, standing. “Margaret, do you want to do the interview and the speech?”

“I think it would be a good gesture towards the Games and the Royal Family.” It’s the appropriate answer.  The other answer is hell yes I want to do it.

“Keep it.” He strides around the desk and places a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll lend you my speech writer.”

“Thanks dad.”

He nods, “Now go, I don’t like the way that General Mitchum looks at you.” I know he’s only half joking about the General. “And send in Beth as well please.”

“Of course.”

I step out into the secretary’s room and let out a breath I had no idea I had been holding. Dear God, that was nerve-wracking. “Miss?” Anna is standing there.

“And where the fuck have you been?” I demand.

“I think there’s something you need to see Miss.” Anna is holding her tablet out to me as I begin walking the trek back to the East Wing.

“What?” I ask as hit the colonnade.

“It’s about the trip to-”

“Miss Randolph!” I curse. Jenkins has followed me down the colonnade. Anna and I both turn. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Yes?” I say tersely.

“These are for you.” He hands me a stack of magazines and newspapers. “You’re front-page news, not like you aren’t accustomed to it, but nevertheless congratulations.”

I ignore his taunting words and focus on the stack of publications he’s handed me. People happens to be on the top of stack. It’s a split picture of Harry and I with the bold lettering ‘ROYAL ROMANCE’ emblazoned across the tops of our head.

Today is just not my day.

I don’t have to look through the rest of the stack to know they hold more of the same. Moreover, I refuse to stand here and read them in front of Jenkins’ ugly face.

“We’re not going to issue a correction.” I say.  It’s not a question, it’s a statement. If my Office bothered to address every tabloid they wouldn’t be doing much else.

“No. We’re not.” Jenkins smiles. “And these are only the print sources. I’m sure Anna has the digital ones for you.”

He’s really starting to get on my fucking nerves.

I hand the folder to Anna who staggers under the weight of it for a second.

“Being a sore loser isn’t attractive Jenkins.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says shrugging.

But he does. He’s pissy that I bested him in front of my dad this morning. For once in the last three and a half years he didn’t get what he wanted. Boo-fucking hoo.

I realize I have nothing else to say to him today. I walk away Anna trailing at my heels.

She knows well enough to not say anything, at least not yet.

When we pass through the residence I stop and veer upstairs. I don’t feel like going over this in the East Wing offices.

We arrive in my bedroom, “Anna, set those things down in the sitting room. I just want to take off these boots.

Carefully I tuck my boots in the storage beneath the large federal style bed that dominates my bedroom, usually referred to as the Queen’s bedroom. I preferred the lighter federal style to the dark Victorian décor of the Lincoln bedroom.

When we moved in I simply asked that the antique furniture be reupholstered with light blues and dark creams instead of the ghastly green that was in here before.

“Kennedy?” Anna calls.

“I’m coming.” I grab a bottle of wine I have stored in one of the cabinets. I think the secret service pretends that they don’t know that I have it. I appreciate the semblance of privacy. “Wine?”

“I’m fine Kennedy.”

I sit down and sip. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Well…” Anna fans out the magazines and swipes through her tablet. “You’re on the cover of every major domestic tabloid and made it into the fluff sections of the few major ones, the Times, Journal and the Washington Post. Internationally, the coverage is there just not as strong.”

“They even picked up this gossip?” I ask incredulously.

“Affirmative.”

“And what are they saying?”

“Most of the tabloids are running a variation of the instant chemistry angle and that the two of you are excited to see one another at the Games.”

At least they’re talking about the games, I suppose. So it’s not a total loss. “How about the actual newspapers?”

“Unfortunately those stories allude to a possible conflict of interest.”

“What?”

“Well they cite sources that say you’re speaking and giving interviews, something you don’t normally do and they’re wondering why.”

“They think Harry is motivating me.”

“Exactly.”

Today keeps getting better and better. And here I thought people would be anticipating a more public role.

“But, they are also looking forward to your involvement.”

I sigh, “Find me a British publication please. I’ll read People first I suppose.”

I settle in to read the bullshit. Usually, I stay away from the tabloids but this is unchartered territory for me. When I was seeing Trevor I got a little coverage, but nothing like this.

London-U.K. Apparently sparks flew last week when POTUS and FLOTUS visited the United Kingdom. The world anxiously watched Margaret Randolph’s first visit overseas but no one quite expected this. Inside sources reveal that Margaret and Prince Harry hit it off. Apparently, Prince Harry had always had a bit of a crush on the eligible bachelorette and meeting her in person did not disappoint.

           Photos from inside Kensington 1A, reveal the two speaking closely, chuckling over something. There’s a definitive sparkle in the Prince’s eyes.

           And now it seems the feeling is reciprocated. The First Lady scheduled a brunch meeting for the following day, squeezing in some extra one-on-one time into her busy schedule. She arrived to the trendy restaurant off of Grosvenor Square in a pair of tight skinny jeans, a white floral blouse and a camel hair jacket we need in our closets.

           Other diners remarked that the two enjoyed a long brunch complete with two bottles of prosecco! The couple were laughing, the source continued, “Overall I would describe the atmosphere as flirtatious. It seemed like a date.” A date!

           Prince Harry and the First Lady are officially our favorite couple.  We’re already designing our hats for this royal wedding…who knows.

When I finish I down my glass of wine before pouring another one. That was mind-numbingly painful. How do people actually believe this nonsense.

“So brunch is turning out to be damning.” I remark.

“Yes, I think that is fueling most of these stories. Apparently the waiter was not discreet.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” She hands me the tablet. “Here’s the DailyMail.”

“Oh goody.”

ROYAL ROMANCE: Prince Harry and First Lady, Margaret Randolph meet for romantic brunch after stuffy Kensington Palace introduction.

§  Clandestine brunch arranged by FLOTUS

§  Prince Harry and Margaret were “flirtatious” while sharing bottles of prosecco

§  Sources say FLOTUS was smitten with the gallant Prince

           Apparently, FLOTUS prefers one-on-one time with the Prince. After what Kensington Palace referred to as a productive dinner between the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince Harry and the First family, it seems that the First Lady wanted to be ore productive.

           The Prince and Margaret Randolph met at a trendy restaurant off Grosevnor Square.  The brunch was not on the First Lady’s official agenda. That didn’t stop a crowd of paparazzi and admirers from camping outside the restaurant. The First Lady’s first overseas tour was closely followed by her international fan base.

           Twitter was nothing short of obsessing over photos of the couple from the brunch.  Multiple users proclaimed that the two were perfect for one another. And it didn’t take long for the photoshops to come rolling in. Miss Randolph does pull off a tiara rather well.

           Without question international eyes will be fixed on Orlando in just four short weeks when the potential lovers reunite.

“This is nauseating.”

“I would agree Miss.”

“Kensington hasn’t commented on any of this correct?”

“They’ve issued their standard, ‘Kensington Palace does not comment on the personal life of members of the Royal Family.”

“They realize that just makes it worse, right? If they had called it a business meeting, we could have deflected it.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want it deflected? Apparently you’re worth more as a potential love interest than a First Lady.”

I realize she’s right. By flirting and being casual I played right into Harry’s hands. I should have stayed distant, remote. So much for being the user for a change. “God dammit.”

“Kennedy?”

“The good news is that I’ve confirmed the interview and speech. Jenkins tried to take it away, it didn’t work.”

“Good.”

I nod, thinking over the best way to minimize this romantic drama from here. “I just have to be the picture of professionalism during the Games. I must prove that I’m in control. I’m not doing the speech and interview for anyone else but me.”

Anna coughs, “Um and the veterans of course.”

I blink, “Right, well that goes without saying.”

Two weeks later things have begun to settle down.  The papers have stopped dragging out the no story of Harry and I’s relationship, for now. I know that it will pick up again once we get to Orlando. But I have my plan, be professional, distant and untouchable.

Most of all don’t flirt with him. I must resist that urge.

I’m in my office prepping for an engagement later today when there’s a knock on my door. ''Come in.''

Anna walks in with a rather concerned look on her face, unusual for her. ''Miss, Prince Harry has been calling you for the last thirty minutes or so.''

''What do you mean?'' I blurt out.  Immediately my eyes stray to the phone on my desk, which has been mercifully silent all morning. ''My phone hasn’t rang.''  And then I add. ''Also, why would he be calling me?''

''He's calling on your personal cell phone.''

“My cell-” My office is silent as her words sink in. Then I explode. “My fucking cell phone?”  

To her credit Anna doesn’t flinch. ''I'm investigating it Miss. I have confirmed that is indeed the Prince calling though, it would be best to answer it.''

I shake my head, ''Why on earth would he call me on my cell?''

Probably because I flirted a little too much.

The giggling, my hand on his hand, the entire end of the brunch. Yeah, he’s probably calling to set up a fucking date.

I take a few deep breaths. ''Find out who gave him my number and start with Jenkins.  He's up to no good.''

''As usual.''

I take one more deep breath and focus on my cellphone. I had silenced it this morning but looking at it now I can see the numerous missed calls from an international number. Here goes nothing, I return the call.

''Hello?'' The familiar voice comes across the line.  

''Prince Harry? It's Ke- Margaret Randolph, I'm returning your many calls.''

''Ah, yes Margaret.  Thank you for returning my call.'' I wince at his use of my first name or maybe it's the way he says my name. His accent somehow adds another syllable, drawing it out just slightly with a bit of lilt that threatens to bring a smile to my face.

I revert to formalities for distance. ''Of course, Your Royal Highness.''

''Of course I wouldn’t have had to make so many calls if you had answered one of the first five you know before I had to make the next ten.''

He says the sentence so dryly that for a moment I think he's actually offended. If anyone should be offended…

''That was sarcasm Margaret.''

And I can perfectly imagine the smile on his face as he says it. This man is going to kill me.

I cough slightly. ''Well good. To what do I owe this pleasure, on my personal cell phone nonetheless.''

He chuckles, a purely masculine sound. ''Your father's chief of staff gave it to me.  His name was Steve something or other I figured it would be alright.''

''Right, of course.'' I immediately say. No one outside of the White House needs to know how much I despise Jenkins.  

''And considering we'll be working together. It might be easier to forego some of the security surrounding both of our persons. When we get to Orlando we'll have easy access to each other.''

I try not to visualize any alternative scenarios for the words 'easy access to each other.' Did I imagine that his voice sounds a little deeper over the phone? I must have.

''Margaret?''

''Oh, sorry.  Yes, that makes sense.''

''Lovely. So the reason I called was that we are about to post the full video of your challenge and our response. Would you like to watch it first?''

Yes, but I don't really want to prolong this conversation any longer. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay steady against his accent. ''I'll watch it on the internet a bit later. I trust that our teams did a good job.''

''Come on, it will just take a moment.'' There's pleading in his voice but he's clearly joking.

''Okay, send it to me.''  I rattle off my e-mail and sure enough there's an email with an attachment at the very top.

I play the video, it starts with what's obviously a brochure for the Invictus Games and Harry's voice. The camera pans out and Harry isn’t alone. He's sitting next to the f-ing Queen. ''Oh fuck me.'' I curse under my breath.

''Did you say something?''

''Nope!'' I say a little too loudly. ''Looks great so far!''

Harry's phone rings and he says that it's a message from me. The short video my dad and I made last week plays.  I roll my eyes, not even the president of the United States can make that face look cool. But it's definitely a challenge and most people will probably think it's funny. When our video is over the Queen looks at Harry, brow raised and goes 'Oh really?'  Harry turns to the camera and 'drops' the mic. Oh my god, the internet is going to lose their shit.

When the video is finished I try to take a moment to fully comprehend everything: the bond between the Queen and Harry, the Queen's side-eye (which was one point) and that challenging glint in Harry's eyes. Even through a computer screen he manages to be mesmeric.  

''So, what do you think?''

''It looks great.'' I decide to say, then focus on the practical. I can't quite say I'm jealous that your social media video was better than ours or that I found it difficult to drag my eyes away from your stupidly handsome face. ''It will definitely generate interest.''

There's a long heavy pause before he answers. ''Yes, it definitely will.''

Well this feels awkward now. I wonder if I've hurt his feelings.

''Um, please give our thanks to the Queen. It was a surprise seeing her.''

''Believe it or not it didn’t take that much convincing.'' He says, his voice back to that friendly quality. ''She's planning on winning you know.''

''To finally put us colonists in our place?'' The teasing phrase slips out before I can stop it. My dad wasn’t kidding when he said we were competitive.

He scoffs, ''Please, allowing you all to leave the Empire was the best thing to happen to us.''

''Oh was it now?'' I laugh lightly. ''Spending 80 million pounds and fighting for eight years is allowing? And here I thought we spoke the same language.''

''You do speak the Queen's English and the language of the Bard, you're welcome.''  His words are teasing and quick. And of course he ignores my statistics about the cost of the revolution.  

He laughs loudly now.  Ashamed to say that even his laugh is infectious and I start to laugh as well. It feels good to laugh even if I'm not quite sure what I'm laughing about at this point. Something about the inane conversation I'm having with a Prince of our former colonial motherland.

Harry eventually quiets, ''This went better than I thought it would Mar.''

The shortened name draws me back to my sentences. Focus Margaret, anything much more than a friendship with him is going to ruin everything. I can't let his enticing, no annoying, laughter or banter make me forget that.

“I was nervous it would be awkward…” belatedly I realize he’s still speaking.

“Awkward?”

“All of the tabloids a few weeks ago.” He says and I know he’s referring to our brief stint as the top news story.

“Yes, that was quite surprising.”

He’s not speaking and I’m wondering if he waiting for me to say something else. Resolutely, I keep my mouth shut, less chance of me saying something dumb, or flirtatious that way.

He sighs, “Any publicity is good publicity I suppose.”

The familiar annoyance creeps up again. He could at least have the courtesy to admit that he’s using me. Could at least do me the respect of not treating me like an idiot. But he doesn’t, he’s just like the others.

If I remember that it will be easy to maintain the distance no matter how charming he might be.

''Yes, well I'm glad you thought so sir.'' I respond briskly. ''Is there anything else you needed from me today?''

There's silence on the other end, my abrupt change in tone no doubt causing it. ''Uh, no I don't think so.''

''Perfect. Then the next time I'll see you is in Orlando.''

''Well, yes but-''

''Unless your office has bestowed any other duties upon me or my staff.'' The sentence ends up sounding a little harsher than I originally intended. I bite my lip.

''No, we do not.''

''Then I'll see you in Orlando.'' I infuse some cheer and gratitude in my voice. ''And of course, thank you to Her Majesty, it was an honor starring with her.''

''Well yes, and thank you to your father as-'' I hang up.

I stare my cell phone like it's betrayed me for a few seconds before I scream in frustration. Anna immediately bursts in followed by a secret service agent. ''Miss?''

''I'm fine, I'm fine.'' I wave the agent away with a smile. ''Can you stay Anna?''

''Yes Miss. Is there a problem?''

''Prince Harry is the problem.''

''Oh?''

I sigh, ''He's annoys me, doesn’t think much of me.''

A perfectly arched eyebrow raises, ''Oh?''

So Anna has never been overly loquacious. ''But still manages to be so damn charming.''

''I'm confused Miss.''

I hold my head in my hands for a second, desiring nothing more than a large, a very large margarita.  ''Just make sure I remember that I care more about my reputation, and making a difference than a pretty face.''

''I doubt you'll forget that.''

''Just remind me on the off chance I do.'' I groan. ''It's not like we would even get along.  We're complete opposites.”

''Complete opposites.'' Anna agrees vehemently.

I look up quickly, ''What do you mean by that?''

She blinks, ''Just that like you said,'' She stutters for a moment. ''You and the Prince have completely different approaches to life.''

''Riiiiiiiiight.''  

Chapter 3                                                                                             Chapter 5