#wishing everyone a new year full of peace pleasant surprises and that everyone gets what they wish for

[onegroovyrose]

Happy Lunar New Year 2024!! 🥳🐉

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt. 1

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut 

↳ (3.7k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread. 

➟ Warnings: This series will involve themes of graphic violence, depictions of blood, major character death and hints of trauma. 18+ rating. Reader discretion is highly advised. 

gif credit. 

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 22 

Love is a strange thing. 

It pulls individuals together, sparking fireworks and blissful rays of euphoria within seconds. It renders people affectionate, words dripped with honey and caresses full of tenderness transcending  without a means of stopping. To be frank, it’s majestic through the eyes of the beholder. 

But love is indeed a strange thing. 

It’s history has been plagued with moments of weakness and hesitation, moments that rip away layers to reveal raw, vulnerable selves from every individual. It’s inability to forget and move on clutches onto the minds of those that chose to associate with it, invading their memories and never granting them a single second to run free. Love is a strange thing, but it’s most putrid use has always been the necessity to use it like a tool. 

A deep breath escapes your tinted red lips, cold hands clutching onto the delicate bouquet that’s been thrust into them. The petal pink and lilac purple flowers rest against the chaste white of your dress, the awaited arrival of yours long passed as you raise your head and sneak a peek at the person standing in front of you behind your veil. 

Clad in a special tailored suit for the occasion, his dark brown hair has been brushed back and neatly tucked into the corners of his hair. He stands tall and confident, seemingly captivated by the words the priest mumbles through as he drags on through every dull phase written in his book. As if he can tell your eyes are on him, he suddenly looks in your direction and you return your gaze back to the ground, clutching onto the array of petals in your hands. 

The priest goes on to dutifully declare the responsibilities you must carry, including the very ones that tie you to each other. 

For better, for worse. Rich, poor. Sickness, health. 

Love. Cherish. 

“Until death do you part?” The priest peers up with fatigued eyes, glancing in between you. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes fixating on everything except for the man standing on the opposing side.  

“I-I do.” You hastily mutter, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat. Patiently waiting for his answer, you try not to focus on the collection of eyes gawking at you from the altar. 

“I do.” He states, firm and resolute with his answer. It shakes you to your core, eyes immediately flickering up to meet his warm ones. 

You’re perplexed for a moment, but you’re not given time to dwell any longer once the priest shuts his book, content with your answers. Relief floods you in an instant, yet it’s short-lived and has your stomach churning instead. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest steps back as if you needed room for the grandiose gesture, eagerly awaiting the showcase with the rest of the people seated in front of the altar. Nevertheless, your hands begin to quiver despite your best wishes and you remain planted in place. 

Before you even know it, the delicate veil resting against your forehead is being pulled up and tucked away, projecting your dolled up features on full display. You can only fidget when he draws near, preparing for the worse until he pauses. 

Glancing up in surprise, you’re caught off guard from the lines crossing his forehead and the dismay clouding his eyes. For a second, you could have sworn that you were gazing into a mirror, an image of your combined concerns being painted right in front of you. 

You’re caught in between a daze and bewilderment when he advances again, however all you feel is a soft peck against your skin before your veil is placed back into place. Your audience seems to be at loss with the action, but once he turns around to face them in the midst of holding your hand, loud cheers and roars flood the room as congratulatory confetti bursts into the room. 

Unconsciously, your hand drifts over to your cheek with furrowed brows and you steal another glance at the man you will be bound to for eternity. 

***

The L/N Family. 

Tactical and resourceful, known for their skillful strategies and trade explorations, a business they would go on to proudly pronounce in the arms industry. Others would look to them for support and reassurance, and they would in return cohesively make protective deals that would ensure no harm. Yonghwa, their head, would go on to make a legacy out of his family name. 

The Kim Family. 

Discreet and powerful, known for their relentless determination and invokable hunger, characteristics that would eventually seep into their weapon manufacturing business. They know how and with whom to pick their fights, vigorously acquiring a steady position in the industry within a flash before everyone’s eyes. Namjung, their head, carved the Kim name into a status no one would have ever imagined. 

Trade and manufacturing, two able sides of the same coin. They seeked to forge an union that would unite their two sectors, to create a harmonious flow of success within their collective industries. 

But not all deals, go as planned. 

On the fateful day, Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood while Namjung was left visibly shaken. Catastrophe seemed to only follow the event there on after, with both families seeking revenge on the other. Their union seemed to be the last thing on either mind, but after the years passed and stained relations had been fully dragged out, there only seemed to be one solution that could bring peace to the two of them. 

*** 

The wheels of the large suitcase hit the polished ground. 

It’s lavish and grand, crystals littering the high held ceiling and lilies spread over the handles of the spiraling staircase. It ends right at the large chandelier, with more crystals dangling down opposite the shining marble that your slippers find purchase in. 

You remain in place, staring with wide eyes and an agape jaw the scenery before you. 

“Please,” A girl bows before you, dressed in a simple pale blouse and skirt that’s paired with an apron. There’s a small twinkle in her pleasant eyes paired with natural pouting lips; the delicate features drawing out the sheer youth the girl embodies. “Follow me.” 

You snap out of your daze once she advances forward, her hands careful weaving through yours to clutch onto your packed luggage. At first, you’re a bit unsure as to if you should let her carry the heavy load up the stairs, but you’re pleasantly surprised when she manages to hall it all the way up.

She roughly pushes herself against a large wooden door, revealing the grand room behind it. It’s decorated similarly to the main portion of the house, however the sheer size of it has your jaw dropping again, eyebrows furrowed as its appearance. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right away, “This will be your room, Miss Y/N.” 

“I-I…” You can’t help but hesitate, “Are you sure?”

She nods, placing your luggage now. “Of course, Master Kim asked us to prepare it for you.” 

You instinctively flinch at the sudden mention of your husband, but the girl tilts her head to the side, curiosity peeking through her. 

“Don’t they have such rooms in the L/N residence?” Her eyes suddenly widen, and she slaps a hand against her mouth, “Oh no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!” 

A smile curls on the corners of your lips, “What’s your name?” 

She gazes at you with surprise, like she had been expecting a scolding fit for her lifetime. Nonetheless, she hastily answers your question with a bow. 

“I am Eunjoo, one of Master Kim’s most faithful servants.” 

“Little flower.” You decipher, “Sounds like a fitting name.” 

“It could have been summer’s grace.” Eunjoo offers with a shrug, “Though I don’t really like summer, so I’ve tried my best to ignore that meaning.” 

You let out a genuine chuckle from that, something that has Eunjoo instantly beam. The news of her own Master getting married to someone from the L/N family was initially difficult for her to digest, but it appears that she was too early to judge. 

A lopped smile etching onto your features, “And to answer your previous question, unfortunately the L/N’s don’t have such a residence. We’ve lost much of our wealth after‒…” You pause, biting back your words, “...after, you know.” 

You wave your hand away in the air and Eunjoo understandably nods, no need to delve into the long-lived history of your families that is known to all. She hurriedly aids in you in unpacking much to your reassured protests, following and assisting you around like a little fairy. Her company ends up being both interesting and comfortable, especially since the two of you discovered the other wasn’t well in adapting the titles you carry. 

A knock resounds against the door, drawing out your attention. Immediately Eunjoo drops the clothes in her hands, right before she straightens up and takes a graceful bow. 

Her reaction is telling of who's at the door, so with pinched lips and a creased forehead, you turn around. 

He remains glued to the door frame, still adorned in his tailored black suit. Aside from the similarity in his put together appearance though, his shoulders are no longer hiked up in a noble stance, nor is there any remaining amount of warmth spreading through his eyes. Instead, he appears akin to how he was in the split-second before your ultimate union was official, the memory causing the skin of your cheek to slightly burn. 

Swaying from side to side, he hesitates to step into the room. 

“I see you’ve met Eunjoo.” He mentions. On cue, the servant straightens up, a huge smile on her lips. 

“I was just helping Miss Y/N unpack!” 

“Oh that’s nice, perhaps I can assist to‒” He isn’t able to finish his sentence, because the next thing you know you jolt at the sound of a loud crash that echoes through the room. 

“Master Kim!” Eunjoo immediately rushes forward, scurrying to help the fallen man. He instantly rises up to his feet and dusts off his suit jacket, but remains of glass are scattered all over the ground. 

He lets out a groan and Eunjoo sighs, “Master, you know you have to be careful.” She begins to quickly pluck up the shards of the vase, raising one up to eye level with a pout, “I especially picked this one out for your newly wedded wife.” 

At the mention of you, Namjoon instantly glances up, pupils shaking. “I-I can get you a new one soon, it might take around a week but if I put in a request now‒” He scrambles around for a moment, before checking the inner pockets of his jacket for something to write on in a haste. 

Unconsciously, a small smile cracks through the seam of your lips, increasing as he tries to intervene with Eunjoo to pick the shards, and she protests that he shouldn’t get his hands soiled with her errands. He eventually has to sheepishly stand to the side, staring at her defeated like a child that had just gotten scolded for misbehaving. 

Eunjoo eventually collects all the pieces and ushers herself out, reminding you of the pending family dinner you’ll need to attend in the evening. She leaves the room and you decide to resume unpacking, until you come across the realization that you’re not alone. 

“Do you need help?” He peers at your suitcase behind you, “I’m usually more capable with things that aren’t easy to break.” 

The abrupt proximity catches you by surprise, but you merely shake your head at his kind offer, “I should be fine, thank you.” 

He nods and you assume he’ll excuse himself after a moment, but he lingers and that’s when you crane your head over at him. 

Appearing to be in between a deep ponder, he snaps back into reality once your questioning eyes fall onto him. “Uh I‒” A lengthy sigh leaves his lips, “I know this is strange.”

You wonder what he's referring to until you notice him gesturing to the gap between you, “It’s strange for me, and it’s strange for you. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, a deep crease forming between his brows. You’re frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. 

He suddenly sucks in a breath, looking up to gaze into your eyes, “But I’d like to get to know you better….a-as my future wife.” 

Your eyes round and his declaration only receives dead silence in its awake. Flabbergasted, he attempts to correct himself amidst your prolonged response. 

“T-That doesn’t mean right away! We can take our time and I’m not expecting anything from you, so you don’t need to worry and‒” 

“I’d like that.” 

He freezes, “Wait, really?” 

You hum, a corner of your mouth lifting, “You’re right, it’s strange. But I’d like to get to know my husband better as well.” 

His eyes immediately sparkle, like you’ve said the very words he’s been aching to hear, “That’s great!” A breathtaking smile overtakes his features, “I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

You nod with a smile,  and he departs, the euphoria never once leaving his lips. 

***

Evening draws near and long gone is the dilatory white piece of garment that’s forever confined you to your fate. Instead, it’s replaced with a delicate fabric of rose gold, perhaps to represent the luxury you have of being present in such a place or in the new beginnings that will soon follow you. 

Regardless, you prepare yourself. Although you’re simply arriving to dinner, there’s a family waiting at the table that you don’t know of yet. 

Eunjoo brings you down with her after putting your hair up and presenting a pair of matching heels your way. You’re wary as you walk down the spiraling staircase, barely balancing yourself on the elevated shoes. Luckily, Eunjoo notices and helps you down, but the split moment of relief is met with a jolt of surprise when you notice someone waiting at the bottom.

“I’ll take it from here, Eunjoo.” The women amiably bids. Eunjoo swiftly bows, mumbling something along the lines of Mistress Kim, before heading into the dinner room. 

You immediately whirl around, eyes on alert like a deer in headlights. She mirthfully smiles at you, carrying a warm tone in her eyes that feels familiar. 

“You don’t have to look so worried,” She reprimands, “I’m not going to bite your head off.” 

Your eyes widen even more, “I-I’m sorry?” 

She bursts out into laughter, concealing her ruby red lips with a hand that is glittering in assorted jewels. 

“Nothing, dear. I��m just teasing you.” You nervously laugh at that, and she places a hand against your back, guiding you forward. “Come, I’m eager to know what my son’s wife is like.” 

Politely nodding, you follow behind her and nearly freeze. If you had expected your bedroom to be astonishing, then you weren’t prepared for the enormous buffet that waits for you ahead. 

Pieces of food are scattered all over the decorated table, ranging from freshly cooked to foods you would have never imagined yourself eating. It reminds you of times your family could barely manage to have a decent meal for one night, lost scavenging for food that wouldn’t make your empty pockets hurt. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you don’t feel someone brush by you. There’s suddenly a warm hand planting onto your shoulder, drawing your attention with a smile full of dimples. 

“Do you want to sit down first?” He gestures to the table, where his mother sits next to his father and opposite to his sister. Embarrassed that you’ve been just gawking at the table, you hurriedly take a seat and so does Namjoon. 

Even though you’re only just sitting at the table, it seems like all eyes are on you, burning into your skin and tracing every move. The impending silence eventually does crack though, and it’s done by a person you would have least expected. 

“Is that chicken?” Namjoon’s father blurts out, his eyes following a tray one of the servants brings by. His wife immediately interjects, dismayed by his reaction. 

“Indeed,” She points a demanding finger at him, “But none for you, there’s a reason why your health hasn’t been the greatest as of lately.” 

He pouts at her response, longley staring at the dish once it arrives. The childlike display catches you a bit off guard, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s unreasonable though.” He suddenly looks in your direction, “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t she being unreasonable?” 

The abrupt inquiry leaves you speechless, no coherent words manifesting at the tip of your tongue. His wife whirls around, cocking up a brow in his direction. 

“Why are you dragging her into this?” She faces you with a smile, “Y/N is the newest addition to our family so we should make her feel welcome, not bring her into such trivial matters.” 

The pleasant response astonishes you, but more so the mention of your inclusion. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging his wife’s sentiments. 

“You’re right.” He turns to you, “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

His mother hums, “I’d like to hear about where you grew up, Y/N.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really special,” You grow bashful, “I was raised in the outskirts of the country by my parents.” 

The two of them nod, intently listening to you, “Before coming here, I studied in the imperial academy for a while.” 

“Ah, involved in the industry I see.” He praises, “You must know a lot about how our businesses are conducted, right?” 

“Not quite.” There’s a strained smile on your lips, “I didn’t want to actively participate in it.” 

Although your answer seems to have taken both of them by surprise, his wife hums in approval. “So I’m assuming that was your personal choice?” 

When you nod, a giant smile stretches onto her lips, and she elbows her husband, “A gutsy one, don’t you think?” 

He smiles in retaliation, “Just like you.” 

She blushes at his sudden compliment, but a voice from afar breaks the two out of their daze. 

“Gross - we’re eating here.” 

Appalled at the feminine voice, you notice the young girl seated across from Namjoon, a deep frown etched onto her stern features. 

“Leave them be, Geongmin.” Namjoon coaxes his sister, but she lets out a grunt of disapproval in the midst of eating soup.

The corners of his mother’s lips turn up and his father faces you again, looking as if he had a million questions up his sleeve lined up just for you. 

Much to your surprise, the rest of the evening is spent exchanging pleasantries with them and keeping conversation light. There even comes a moment when both you and Namjoon end up reaching out for the bread basket, only to pull away once you discover your hands had ended up meeting halfway. As you grow bashful, you notice his mother smiling tenderly and his father chuckling at the abrupt affiliation. 

Once the evening begins to come to an end, you excuse yourself through the use of your own fatigue and request to head to bed first. They waste no time in understanding, with Namjoon’s father even wrapping a hand around his son and expressing that he needed to discuss some things with him anyway. 

You leave the room as he heads off with his family, granting you with some much-needed time and space. 

***

Treading back, you pause at the large wooden door that leads into your room. Your eyes briefly skim over the fine carvings on the wood, instead choosing to scrutinize the direction of your right and left side. A shadow casts over your pupils and your hand presses against the door, letting it slowly creak wide open. 

Step by step, you stroll inside and let the light fade out, replacing itself with only darkness. 

The moment the source of luminescence disappears, you move within a flash. The handle is locked, tugged at for a confirmation. There’s a speck of radiance coming from the small lamp you’ve turned on, enough to see the large suitcase you’ve brought get yanked out. 

Zippers are flying and the cover is ripped off. Clothes are frantically thrown astray, dumped into a careless heep without much of a second look. Your hands are weaving through the material and running rampant, eyes flickering with something akin to desire and alloyed with increasing unease. 

Once your hands meet with metal, a twinkle emerges within your orbs. The spindle of ore is unwound; detangling the material in a quickened manner. It looks distinctly similar to what one would use for electrical purposes, set with the intention of providing light in grim areas. 

Right. The intention. 

Unraveled, you cautiously drift over to the large window by the bedside and crank it open. Peering outside, there’s no glimmer or streak of luminescence meeting your eyes, only a dark, simple gray sky. 

Unconsciously a breath of relief leaves your lips and you reach out, reclining your body just enough to reach above and then below the window’s hilt. The instrument effortlessly blends in, appearing like a simple cable that’s been tightly strung around. 

You lean back and rummage through the luggage on the ground, pulling out a small plastic box that doesn’t appear to be much, but more or less, is the sole thing you couldn’t have departed without. With a small hinged click, it connects to the thin barbed string you just unraveled and right when a quiet buzz resonates through, does a smile tugs on the corner of your lips. 

A knock resonates through the box. Followed by another, and then another. It’s succeeded with a prolonged silence on your part, your entire body remaining in a frozen state. 

Static echoes and you let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding from your lungs. 

Within seconds, you are nimbly knocking against the box in repetitive notions. Your actions range from different types of knocks; heavy, light, twice the sound. 

More static echoes and your eyes immediately widen, hands balling up into tighter fists. 

A heavier one. 

“I have….” 

Lighter. 

“...successfully infiltrated….” 

One last firm knock. 

“....the enemy household.”

[multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer]

Bet On It (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey!! Here’s a fun little Draco Malfoy fic. I love him and have been in the mood to write for him recently, so I cooked this up! I hope someone enjoys it :) And requests are open! Thanks :)

Summary: You’re the it girl of Hogwarts, and no man can seem to tie you down. Draco’s the it boy of Hogwarts, and no girl can seem to keep him long. What happens when Draco approaches you with a bet that could make or break your reputation?

Bet On It

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 8,281

Warnings: a little bit of angst and a whole lot of fluff. like one mild curse?

“Look, it’s (Y/n).” You hear the whispers surround you as you walk to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. This is a natural dinner-time occurrence since you are the most popular girl in school. You’re the player of the school, the girl who can get any guy and always drops them in the next couple of months and breaks their heart. It’s a reputation you love to uphold.

“Hey, girls.” You sit down next to your friends, flashing them all a blinding white smile. Every boy within a ten-foot radius swoons at the mere sight.

“Hey, (Y/n). How was potions today?” One of your friends asks, completely ignoring every boy nearby. 

“It was alright. You know I don’t like Snape, so that’s never fun, but at least my potion didn’t blow up this time,” You chuckle, the smile never leaving your face. Part of your charm to boys is your natural confidence and kindness. Even though you have the reputation of a heartbreaker, you’re still kind to everyone. It’s an odd dynamic, but it’s the dynamic you’re known for.

“Hey, (Y/n).” A boy sits down next to you. You’re not quite surprised, just startled. You turn to see Harry Potter next to you, a smile donning his face at seeing you. You smile in return.

“Hi, Harry.” You turn to face him. You had already been down this road before. You dated Harry in sixth year, and it’s currently seventh year. Maybe he thought time would change things, but it hasn’t for you.

“How was your day?” He asks, fiddling with his hands in his lap. You feel bad for making the poor boy so nervous, so you try to be as casual as possible. You’re still human, after all.

“It was decent. We had potions together today, right?” You hum, turning slightly to your plate to eat a bit as you chat.

“Yeah, we did!” Harry brightens at the fact that you noticed him in class. You give him a polite smile.

“Well, you know how Snape can be. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like him,” You say, a small laugh escaping your lips. Harry looks triumphant at your laugh in the conversation.

“Yeah, I get it. He’s a pain.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. As much as you enjoy a pleasant conversation with someone every once in a while, you really wanted to get going. You needed to get to the astronomy tower for some alone time. Boys had been hanging off of you all day long and you’re looking forward to a much-needed break.

“Indeed, he is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go. I’m terribly sorry, but I’m feeling the beginnings of a headache and I’d like to lie down.” You smile pleasantly at him and stand up from your seat. You had finished your food quickly so you could go to the astronomy tower sooner.

“Oh, of course. I’ll see you around, (Y/n).” Harry gets up and heads over to Ron and Hermione, talking animatedly to them as he arrives. Ron’s ears perk up at something he says and he immediately gets up and walks over to you on your way out.

“(Y/n)!” Ron grins at you as you approach the door to the Great Hall. 

“Hello, Ron.” You smile politely again. This was tiring every day.

“I heard you have a headache. Do you need any assistance?” He asks, real concern swimming in his eyes. You chuckle softly.

“No, but thank you, Ron. You’re very sweet for asking.” You brush past him in the politest way possible. You had dated Ron just a little bit before Harry in sixth year, and he was as persistent as anyone to get back together with you. Before Ron, you had even dated Fred, George, and Cedric back in fourth and fifth year. Like you said before, you’ve dated quite a bit and you’re always the one to break up with them.

Once you’re past Ron, you make a beeline for the astronomy tower. No one stops you on the way.

Once you arrive at the top of the astronomy tower, you finally let your guard down and relax. You look up at the stars, closing your eyes and relishing in the moment alone. That is, until you hear a voice next to you.

“Needed to get away?” 

You whip around, seeing Draco Malfoy sitting in the corner, likely annoyed that you had shown up. Draco’s one of the few, if not the only, boy in Hogwarts who isn’t throwing himself at you at any given moment. You hadn’t talked to him much, but you also didn’t plan on it in case he turned out like the rest.

“Yes. Sorry for bothering you.” You scramble to stand up. Draco shrugs.

“Suit yourself, leave if you want. I’m not one of your fanboys, though, so if you stay I’m not going to try and endlessly chatter with you. I’m here for peace and quiet, too.” His voice seems offended that you immediately wanted to leave, likely because you thought of him as a “fanboy.”

“Right. I suppose I’ll stay, then.” You sit back down, relaxing slightly when he doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation. 

You decide to test the waters after a few moments of silence.

“So, why are you up here?” You hum, looking up at the sky instead of at him. He grunts in annoyance.

“For peace and quiet, didn’t you hear me the first time?” He grumbles, obviously annoyed that you’re disturbing his peace. You chuckle. You’re not used to this reaction from guys, so this is a nice change for you.

“I did. Just wanted to see if you’d change your answer, that’s all.”

“Change it to what? Because I wanted to see you? Please, I’m not one of your meddling nosey little--”

“Fanboys?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you would be.” You smirk, finally looking over at him. He looks like you just slapped him across the face.

“Excuse me?” He growls, annoyance spreading across his features.

“You would be. If you knew me.” You smirked. You’re not sure where this arrogant confidence came from, you would never dare talk to another boy like this.

“Yeah, right. I bet I’d have you groveling at my feet before I fell for you.” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Not true. I’d break up with you like every other guy I’ve dated.” You sigh, looking away again.

“Is that a challenge?” Draco asks, standing to his feet and walking over to you. You hate how he looks down upon you, so you stand up in front of him.

“And what if it is?” You quirk an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the conversation.

“Let’s make a bet, then, shall we? Whoever falls in love first loses and gets broken up with.” He holds out his hand for you to shake. You look down at it.

“And what does the winner gain?” You ask, eyeing his hand cautiously.

“The satisfaction of humiliating the other person, being right, and ruining their player reputation in school.” He states matter-of-factly. You narrow your eyes at him.

“And the conditions? What are we doing exactly?” You ask.

“Well, that’s easy. We’ll be a couple. We will date until one of us falls in love, which will be you, and I’ll break up with you.” He smirks arrogantly. You grab his hand and give it a firm shake.

“You’re on. I won’t lose this bet.” You scoff, letting go of his hand immediately after. He chuckles.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, darling.” He lets the pet name roll off his tongue gracefully, annoying you. He walks down the stairs of the astronomy tower, a new pep in his step. If he’s already using pet names then he’s going to fall for you so much harder and faster than you would for him.

Oh, yeah. You’ve got this in the bag.

~+~

You walk down the hallway to your next class, hips swaying absentmindedly as you carry your books. You ignore the whispers around you, silently wishing that people would stop talking about you behind your back. Whether it’s good or bad things, you’ve always been talked about. It’s been getting on your nerves lately.

“Hey, (Y/n), is it true?” One of your friends sidles next to you, matching your pace down the hall. You furrow your brows.

“Is what true?” You ask, turning slightly to look at her.

“That you’re dating Draco now,” She states matter-of-factly. You deadpan. Right, you had almost forgotten about the stupid bet you made with that slimeball.

“It...is.” You force a sweet smile onto your face as if you’re happy about dating Draco of all people.

“Wow. I never took him for your type, but I’m happy for you! Although, I know other people aren’t so optimistic…” She trails off, frowning. The smile almost immediately drops from your face.

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” You hum, pretending to care. You honestly don’t give a crap about who likes or doesn’t like your relationship, because you have half a mind to tell everyone that you don’t like it either. But that would be forfeiting. 

And you’re no quitter by any means.

“Oh, well I just mean some of our other friends who had a crush on Draco. They won’t be happy. And also...Pansy. But you can take her! I have full confidence in you.” Your friend pats you on the shoulder, a small yet nervous smile resting on her face. You frown.

“Take her? What do you mean? She’s a just another girl, what could she do--”

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n),” You hear your name shrieked down the hallway. Your head swivels to see Pansy Parkinson standing at the end of a hallway branching off to your right. You internally sigh. Of course, at the moment you’re on the verge of saying she’s no big deal, she shows up.

You look back to your friend only to see that she’s already gone. So much for backup.

“Hi, Parkinson.” You deadpan, continuing your walk to class. Only a little bit left to go before you’re at potions class.

“So, tell me, is the rumor true?” She matches your pace much like your friend did, except her footsteps are more akin to stomps than anything.

“That I’m dating Malfoy--”

“Yes, that you’re dating Draco!” She interrupts you with her horribly shrill voice. You clench your jaw in annoyance until you see the potions classroom coming up.

“I’ll let you figure it out for yourself, Pansy. See you around.” You suddenly duck into the potions classroom, looking triumphant for getting rid of her so easily. She wouldn’t dare yell at you while in the presence of Snape, mostly because he already finds her annoying and doesn’t seem to mind you so he’d probably give her detention. 

“(Y/l/n), care to have a seat?” Snape asks you, one brow arched at your arrival. You realize that you’ve just barely made it to class on time, and everyone is already in their seats. Good thing Snape doesn’t already hate you.

“Yes, sorry.” You timidly look around for the remaining seat and making your way toward it.

Oh, great. Look who it’s next to.

“Glad you could finally join us, darling,” Draco says, smiling maliciously at you. You roll your eyes and sit down.

“Says you, Malfoy.” You groan, taking out your potions book. Draco tsks next to you.

“Calling your boyfriend by his last name? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t like me.” He sneers. You shoot him a glare.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re taunting me.” You growl. 

“Malfoy, (Y/l/n), are you listening?” Snape eyes the two of you, anger evident in his posture and tone. You duck your head, embarrassed. 

“Yes, professor,” You and Draco murmur. Surprisingly, Snape lets it slide this time. 

“You’re lucky you were talking to me. Otherwise, you’d be in big trouble.” Draco smirks at you. 

“And what does that mean?” You whisper back.

“I’m a Malfoy. I don’t get in trouble. For hardly anything.” He winks at you.

“Oh, shut up and listen.” You hiss.

“If you insist, darling.”

~+~

Things had been going...amicably, to say the most. You’ve been “dating” Draco for about two weeks at this point. Your first tactic was to just hate Draco and then you’d never fall in love, but it was easy to see that it wasn’t going to work. First of all, you may not fall in love with him, but….he also wasn’t going to fall in love with you that way, either. So you decided to switch things up a bit starting today.

“Hey, baby.” You smile and sit down next to Draco in the Great Hall. It’s lunchtime and you cannot wait to throw him off for the rest of the day.

“Ba-” Draco chokes on his drink as soon as he hears your new pet name for him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You fake concern, trying to make it look as real as possible. If he believes you’re in love with him, then he’ll fall in love, too. At least, that’s the plan.

“Y-Yeah I’m...fine.” He clears his throat, setting his drink back down. You smile and get your own plate, making sure that you’re sitting as close as possible to him while still being able to eat.

He seems slightly uncomfortable, but easing into it since the two of you are in a “relationship” and it’d be weird for him to be uncomfortable around you. Besides, he’d had his fun with his pet names and smooth lines. It’s your turn.

“God, you’re a bit much don’t you think, (y/l/n)?” Pansy groans from across the table. You look up at her, a passive smile gracing your face.

“I’m sorry you think so, Pansy. Fortunately, you’re not my boyfriend, so I don’t quite care what you think. Isn’t that right, darling?” You muse, turning to Draco and using his own nickname on him. Draco smirks, knowing the game you’re playing and how he’d get to poke fun at Pansy at the same time.

“Of course, love.” He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you even closer to him. You’re startled, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lay your head on his shoulder and smile. Pansy snarls and gets up, leaving from the Great Hall. 

Surprisingly, neither of you move, you just stay there wrapped up in each other. You can feel Draco’s heartbeat under your head, getting slightly more rapid as the seconds drawl on.

“Oi, are either of you two listening?” Blaise Zabini asks, waving a hand in front of you and Draco. The two of you break apart and turn to look at him, sheepish smiles on your faces.

“Sorry, what were you saying, Blaise?” You ask, a heat creeping up your neck. You wave it off as embarrassment.

“Couple of lovebirds, you two are. I was just saying it was funny how you showed Pansy up.” Blaise rolls his eyes. You turn back to your food, hyper-focusing on that instead of a quiet Draco next to you. Then it dawns on you.

Love? He called you “love.” Is that a new nickname?

~+~

It’s been another month since you and Draco had started dating. In total, it’s been a month and a half. By now, Draco has caught on to your lovey-dovey style and has followed suit. Now it’s a true battle. 

“(Y/n)? Love?” Draco grabs your hand, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“Hm? Sorry, baby, I got lost in thought.” You smile, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. This has become a regular thing for the two of you now. Hugging, holding hands, his arm around your shoulder, pretty much anything up to kissing. You had yet to kiss him, and you didn’t plan on it any time soon. 

“I was just asking if you’d meet me at the astronomy tower tonight?” He hums, affectionately leaning the side of his head against yours. You smile out of habit.

“I’d love to, what time?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder to be more comfortable.

“Does eight sound alright?” He asks, his thumb raking smoothly over your hand that he holds in his. You keep from shuddering at his touch. No, you’re not in love. You don’t even have a crush on the boy. This is all a game.

A game that you’re going to win.

“Sounds wonderful. I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you tonight.” You stand up straight and turn to him, a small smile resting on your lips. He smiles back at you, but you can tell it’s more of a forced smile. That’s one thing you’re better at. Hiding your true intentions. He may be smooth, but smiles are not his strong suit.

“I’ll see you tonight, dear.” He lets go of your hand. You turn and walk to your divination class. What does he have planned for tonight?

~+~

When tonight rolls around, you’re not sure what to wear. You don’t want to dress too informally in fear that he’d not like your outfit and it would hurt your chances of wooing him, but you also don’t want to dress too nicely and look like you’re expecting too much. So, you opted for a nice blouse and a skirt. A good middle ground.

“I cannot believe you’re still dating Malfoy,” Hermione sighs as you step into your common room. Although she’s not Slytherin, you had let her in so she could be there for you. You needed someone to rant to, and she has been a saving grace during these times. See, she doesn’t know that you’re not really dating Draco, but that’s exactly what you need. She hates him, and you need a person in your life telling you that he’s no good for you. Every other girl just swoons over him and says how you’re so lucky. 

“I know, ‘Mione, you say it every time.” You smile at her as you descend the stairs. 

“Just making sure I keep you on your toes,” She says, giving you a small smile back. You know she disapproves, but she’s been a good friend recently. And disapproval is what you need, too, so she’s helping more than she realizes.

“Thank you. I’ve got to go now, but thank you for helping me get ready tonight. I owe you one,” You giggle as the two of you step out into the dungeons.

“Yeah, you do. Now...go have fun.” She gives you a weird smile. You laugh and walk away from her, making your way to the astronomy tower.

You walk up the long set of stairs up to the top of the tower, nerves gnawing at you the whole time. Why did he ask you here? This is private. Why did he need to talk to you in private?

“There you are. I was afraid you weren’t going to show.” You hear Draco’s voice as you reach the top of the steps. When you reach the peak, you look before you to see that Draco has set up a cute little picnic in front of the railing. You’re taken aback by the gesture.

“Draco, this is…”

“Is it too much?” You look to him and see that there’s...genuine worry written on his face? No, this is some cruel trick.

“No, no. It’s perfect.” You smile and sit down as he sits down next to you.

“I had some chocolate strawberries prepared for us. That, and I got some chocolate frogs. I know they’re your favorite.” He smiles what seems like a genuine smile at you. You’re surprised. When did this Draco show up? And what game is he playing here?

“Draco, I don’t know...I just--”

“Shh, I know...I know you’re going to talk about the bet. I don’t...I don’t want to think about that for tonight, alright? Let’s just...relax. Talk. Be normal, for once.” He takes your hand in his, and now you’re beyond confused. But you play along. Although you’re confused, this is still...really nice. You don’t hate it. You don’t hate him.

“Alright.” You agree, relaxing next to him. You lay your head on his shoulder and the two of you gaze up at the stars.

“Are you familiar with constellations?” He hums, picking up a chocolate strawberry to eat. You think for a second.

“No, not really. Are you?” You hum, getting more comfortable by the second. In all honesty, this is an ideal date if it were under better circumstances.

“More than. Would you like me to point out a few to you?” He asks, suddenly turning the chocolate strawberry to you. He raises his eyebrows as if to offer you the strawberry. Is he...planning on feeding it to you?

“For me?” You giggle, looking up at him. He smiles bashfully and nods.

“For you. Open up,” He says, leaning the strawberry in more. You open your mouth and take a bite of the strawberry, relishing in the sweet chocolatey taste. You hum and grin up at him. 

“Delicious,” You say, smiling widely. You’re not sure you’ve ever had this much actual fun with him before. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

“Oh, you’ve got something,” He leans in a bit and locks eyes with you, “...here.” He wipes something off the corner of your mouth. For a minute, you’re locked in each other’s eyes, neither of you able to move.

You break out of the trance first, ducking your head to avoid him seeing your blush. This is still a bet.

“Thank you,” You murmur, hoping he didn’t see your blush.

“Of course. Constellations?” He asks, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as well. You smile.

“Please,” You hum, leaning your head back on his shoulder. The two of you spend the next three hours pointing out constellations and talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Once the date is over, you help him pack everything up, and the two of you sneak downstairs and back to the Slytherin common room. It’s past curfew, so you try not to get caught. You’re successful.

“I had fun tonight,” Draco says as the two of you walk back into the common room. You stay between the two sets of stairs leading to the differently gendered dorms.

“Me too,” You admit, smiling truthfully at him. He gives you a small smile back. You’ve decided that you like his genuine smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow...love,” He gets slightly closer to you on the last words. Your breath hitches in your throat. Is he about to kiss you?

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” You mutter quietly, not daring to move a muscle. He swoops in and plants a sweet kiss on your cheek before swiftly turning around and walking up the steps to the boys' dormitory. You stand there for a moment, speechless, until you follow suit and leave to go to your room.

One question plagues you as you walk back to your dorm, the trip seeming agonizingly longer than usual. Why would he go to such lengths tonight if the two of you were in private? There was no reason to do this since it’s not putting on a show for others. No, he knew this was just for the two of you. So why do it?

This leads you to another startling conclusion:

You’re starting to have feelings for Draco Malfoy. And you think he might feel the same.

~+~

A week after the date, things are going swimmingly. The dynamic has shifted just a bit, with the two of you being even more affectionate than you were. The hand-holding and hugs have turned into that and more. The small brushes of hands, his hand on the small of your back, have all elevated your feelings toward him and you’re just hoping that he feels the same way. You’re not in love. At this point, he can still fall in love before you and you can break it off. Just because you have slight feelings for the boy does not ruin the bet. Besides, you’ve had feelings for all of your other boyfriends at one point, and look where they all turned up. Dumped. You’ve still got this in the bag.

“Are you going to the quidditch game tonight, darling?” Draco hums, intertwining his fingers with yours as the two of you walk to potions class together. You grin at him.

“Of course. You told me you’d let me wear your old jersey, so I’ve got to go out and support my boyfriend, right?” You smirk, nudging his shoulder with yours. You don’t miss the small blush that spreads across his cheeks. It’s like he becomes a different person when no one’s watching the two of you and he has no arrogant reputation to uphold.

“Well, with your support, I know I’ve got this win against Gryffindor in the bag.” He grins and kisses your cheek. You bite your lip to keep from smiling so widely.

~+~

That afternoon, at the quidditch game, you find your spot amongst the crowd. You’re sitting with a few of your Slytherin friends as well as Ron and Hermione, surprisingly. They’re still wearing their Gryffindor scarves and hats, but you’re glad they’re sitting by you. You know Ron’s still infatuated with you, so you’re not surprised that it didn’t take a lot of convincing to get him over here, but you’re glad Hermione’s with you. Besides, Ron has stifled most of his flirting now that you have a boyfriend.

“Blimey, you look great (Y/n).” Ron smiles at you. You did say most of his flirting.

“Thanks, Ron. It’s Draco’s old jersey. I figured I’d better support my boyfriend.” You smile and show off the jersey, throwing Ron off. He grumbles something under his breath but keeps up his happy act.

“Well, I’m just hoping to get this game over with soon. I need to get back to studying for the test in DADA tomorrow.” Hermione huffs as she finds her seat next to you. 

“Hermione, you’re literally the smartest witch at Hogwarts. You’ve got this test without even studying.” You snort, watching the players take their place on the quidditch field.

“Says you! You’re just as smart, (y/n).” Hermione scoffs. You laugh and shake your head, mostly focused on finding a certain platinum-haired boyfriend of yours. You find him off to the side, looking for you. Your hand shoots up and waves. You see his head turn to your area and he grins at you, winking. You blow him a kiss back and he pretends to catch it as he mounts his broom.

“God, you two are sickening.” Hermione gags next to you. You scrunch your nose up.

“Are not.” You huff. She laughs.

“Sure.”

“Hey, (Y/l/n),” You hear a shrill voice to your right. Great, she’s back.

“Do you mind, Parkinson? I’m trying to watch my boyfriend play quidditch.” You groan, not even turning to face her.

“Too bad your precious boyfriend was snogging me before charms earlier today,” Pansy smirks as you finally turn to face her.

“That’s nice... if I believed you. God, Pansy, everyone knows you’re desperate for my boyfriend. I can smell your lies from a mile away. Try tricking someone more gullible next time.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the field, easily finding Draco hovering as he looks for the snitch. You hear a high-pitched ‘hmph’ and footsteps walking away from you.

You see Draco’s eyes light up as he spots something across the field. He’s off in a flash and you see Harry try to follow behind him. 

You watch as the golden blur darts around the stadium, coming close to a stop almost right in front of you. Your eyes focus on the two boys dashing after the golden snitch that are about to run into you. Your eyes widen as they approach.

Harry, to avoid hitting you, veers up at the last second and misses the snitch. However, Draco flips over you sideways at the last second and grabs the snitch mid-air, landing not-so-gracefully behind you. He holds the snitch up and the entire Slytherin section goes insane.

“And Draco Malfoy catches the snitch! Slytherin wins!” You hear the announcer shout.

“Almost hitting me, huh?” You turn back to Draco, a smile playing on your lips. He grins at you.

“But I didn’t hit you, did I? Made sure of it.” He smirks playfully. You look down and lock eyes with a seething Pansy Parkinson who’s glowering at you with Draco. Thinking back on it, that’s probably why you did what you’re about to do next.

You reach up and cup Draco’s cheek, bringing him down to you and connecting your lips. You feel him tense up in shock for a moment before he relaxes and kisses you back. The seconds feel like an eternity before you pull away, breathless. You hear cheers around you, most likely from your kiss and the win. You’re not sure if he’s breathing heavily from the stunt he just pulled or that kiss, but he looks at you with his lips slightly parted and a faraway look in his eyes as he processes what just happened. 

“Hey, Draco, get down here!” You hear one of the Slytherin teammates call to him. He shakes off some of his shock, blinking a few times before he mounts his broom again. A wide smile finds its way back to his face and you’re left wondering if you made the right decision or not. It was a heat of the moment thing, it didn’t mean anything...right?

Right?

~+~

“What was that?” Draco asks you once the two of you’re alone after dinner. 

“What was what?” You feign innocence, not really wanting to talk about it in the first place.

“The kiss,” He states incredulously. 

“Oh, that! Yeah, um...it was a heat of the moment decision to get back at Pansy. Sorry.” You laugh it off. That’s not the entire reason, but it’s also not a lie, so you roll with it.

“Oh, that’s it?” He asks. He seems almost...disappointed? No, that’s not right.

“Yeah, why?” You ask, concern finding its way into your voice.

“No reason. I’ll, uh, see you around. I gotta go.” He presses a hasty kiss to your cheek before walking off.

He didn’t want it to be real...did he? Did you?

~+~

Another month later, you’re officially in deep crap. It’s been almost three months, and that was the deadline you had set for yourself to make Draco fall in love with you. In reality, the opposite had happened. You’re afraid that you’ve fallen in love with him. 

Scratch that, you know that you’re in love with him, and that makes you very afraid. However, he seems to be reciprocating everything you’ve felt, so you’re wondering if he’s in the same situation. No, you’re sure he’s in the same situation. It’s written all over his face every time you kiss. You see the love in his eyes.

Yes, you kiss regularly now. It’s been happening quite a bit since the quidditch match, and in all honesty...he sneaks in kisses when you’re in private, too. Which is why you’ve planned when you’re going to confess to him.

“You ready for our date tonight, darling?” Draco hums, a smile playing at his lips as he walks up to you and slides his arms around your waist. He lifts you up and gives you a small peck on the lips. You giggle.

“Of course I am.” You grin, kissing him again. 

“Remember, the Room of Requirement. Eight o’clock.” He sets you down, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Can’t wait.” You start to walk off, blowing him a kiss. He “catches” it and stuffs it in his pocket.

“For later,” He whispers, winking. You giggle and part ways with him.

Yeah, you’re definitely in love.

~+~

When eight rolls around, you’re ready. Draco told you to dress nicely for this date, so you opted for a nice winter dress. You make your way to the Room of Requirement, finding it quite easily despite its reputation for not showing up a lot of the time.

Inside, Draco has set up floating candles all around the outskirts of the room and you see a small speaker in the corner of the room.

“What’s this?” Your eyes light up, taking in your surroundings. 

“I set up some candles and this….phonograph, I think is what the muggle-borns called it? It’s supposed to play music, and I thought it fit the atmosphere…” Draco trails off, looking at you for your opinion.

“It’s beautiful, Draco. And it fits the mood perfectly. I mean...I know I’m special when the Draco Malfoy uses a muggle contraption for our date.” You tease him, walking up to him. He bows his head as a blush takes over his features.

“You know I want the best for you, (Y/n/n).” He lets your nickname slip, meeting you in the middle of the room. You smile fondly at him and he mirrors your expression. 

“I love it.” You murmur quietly. You want to say something else instead of ‘it’ but you hold your tongue. It’s not the time yet.

“Care to dance?” Draco holds out his hand to you as a soft ballroom song starts to drift out of the phonograph, flowing through the room, giving it a sweet aria. 

“I would love to.” You take his hand and the two of you start to glide across the floor. You’re no expert dancer, but you’d been to a Yule Ball before, and you’ll be going to another one this year. You like to be prepared.

“You’re quite the dancer, (Y/n/n),” He murmurs, capturing your eyes in his. You can’t look away.

“I have a good partner,” You blush, moving to a more intimate dancing stance. Your arms wrap around his neck as his wind around your waist. Your inches from his face, staring into his eyes. 

The music seems to fade away as Draco leans down and kisses you deeply, stopping your dance across the floor. Your eyes flutter closed and your hands find their way up into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

When you finally break apart, you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. You feel ready to conquer the question that’s been aching in your heart for the past few weeks.

“(Y/n/n), will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Draco murmurs, stroking his thumb across your cheek. You smile fondly at him.

“Of course. I...I have something to tell you, Draco.” You whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly will scare him away from you.

“Yes?” He asks, his eyes so full of love that you want to just shout it out right now. Him asking you to the Yule Ball only fuels your desire, since that’s at least a month away. He expects you two to be together for a long time.

“I...I love you.” You admit, feeling a large weight lifted off your chest. A large grin breaks out across Draco’s face.

“You do? You really do?” His eyes light up and you want to cry tears of relief.

“Yes, I really do.” You laugh a little, tears of joy pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Oh my god, I thought...I was afraid you were just really good at acting,” Draco lets out a puff of air, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I-I love you, Draco.” You smile, feeling your heart soar. He loves you, too.

“That’s a relief. Well, I suppose I can drop this facade, now.” His hand drops from your face and he takes a step back.

You feel your heart shatter at those few words. 

You look at his face to see that his usual genuine (or so you thought) fond smile is gone, replaced by his usual arrogant smirk.

“W-What?” You ask, your tears of joy turned to tears of devastation. 

“I mean, really? You really thought that I was in love with you? Maybe I should go into acting, I mean, I seemed to fool you.” He laughs, crossing his arms in triumph. Your lip quivers as tears spill down your face.

“You- you liar!” You cry, wiping madly at your face to stop the tears but they’re too fast.

“Come on, (Y/n/n), we’re through. We both knew it was going to end this way. Spare me the heartache. I won.” He spits bitterly at you, rolling his eyes in annoyance. The cocky smile never disappears.

“I thought it was real,” You choke out, feeling your breaths coming out raggedly as you go through the heartbreak you thought you had avoided.

“Well, you thought wrong, darling.” The sarcasm drips from his words heavily.

“Don’t call me that! Don’t- don’t speak to me ever again!” You scream, running out of the Room of Requirement.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” You hear him call as you run out. You dash through the halls wildly, not sure of your final destination. You finally find a closet that you hide in, locking behind you as you sink to the ground and cry your eyes out. You stay in there for a while, sobbing into your knees until your heart’s content. Although you stop crying after a while, you still feel the heartbreak and suffering. The pain doesn’t go away. Not for a long time.

You thought he felt the same.

“You thought wrong, darling,” Draco’s cruel words echo in your mind endlessly. You thought wrong.

You thought wrong.

~+~

You don’t get out of bed for the next two days. On the third day, one of your friends finally drags you out of your bed and makes you go to class. 

“You can’t let your grades slip, (Y/n),” She had told you.

You were honestly willing to let anything slip as long as you didn’t have to see Draco anymore.

On your first day of going back to classes, you try to block out the whispers.

“Did you hear that Draco broke up with her?”

“That’s the first guy to break up with her right?”

“What happened to being the playgirl of the school?”

“I guess she’s not all that anymore,”

“I doubt boys will even give her a second glance after this,”

You try to block them out, and you’re partially successful until Pansy comes along. 

“What’d I tell you, (Y/n)? Draco would always come back to me. We both knew it,” Pansy says snarkily as you pass her in the hall.

“Oh, shove it, Pansy. He’s not even with you, he just--”

“Oh, that’s right, you haven’t been here for the past two days because you’ve been pathetically staying in bed. He asked me out yesterday,” She cackles, her freshly manicured hands taunting you as she laughs.

“He...what?” You’re dumbfounded for the second time this week, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. He never had feelings for you. At all.

You didn’t get out of bed the day after that, either.

~+~

After another day of staying in bed and letting everyone’s words get to you, you finally get up again. You put a little effort into your hair and makeup, trying to maintain at least some of your dignity as you force your way back into the world.

“(Y/n)! You’re back!” Hermione runs up to you as you walk into the Great Hall. She tackles you in a hug and you numbly hug her back, not sure if you’re feeling anything right now besides heartache still. 

“Hi, ‘Mione.” You mutter, your eyes finding their way to the Slytherin table on their own. You see Draco hand in hand with Pansy, striking your heart with a sharp pang.

“Come on, come sit with me and the boys.” Hermione leads you away, forcing you to tear your eyes from the platinum-haired boy. You don’t feel his eyes on you as you sit between Harry and Hermione across from Ron at the breakfast table.

“Hi, (Y/n).” Harry and Ron speak up sympathetically. You give them a pathetic wave, digging into your breakfast quietly. No one says a word.

“Well, (Y/n), you have quite a bit of school work to catch up on. We have a test in transfiguration today, and of course, there’s always potions to catch up on, Snape is quite the…” Hermione continues on, but you tune her out as you continue to eat. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry sets his hand on your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts. You turn to look at him, eyes glazed as you take in the concern on his face. You force a small smile on your face.

“Never been better.” You lie. You see a small frown form on his lips. He knows you’re lying, it’s not hard to tell.

~+~

It goes like that for a couple of weeks, the same draining day after day after day. You get used to the lifeless routine, hoping that one day color will return to the world. Everything seems duller than it used to be. You can’t bear to look at the constellations the same way anymore, either.

That is, until one day.

“(Y/n), can we talk?” You hear a pained voice behind you. You turn around, a blank look staying steady on your face.

“No.” You deadpan, seeing Draco standing there.

“Please...I need to speak with you. Alone.” He begs, going as far as to stop you when you try to walk away from him.

“You already won, what more could you want from me?” You ask, your tone staying even and deadly with venom.

“It was...Please, let me speak to you alone--”

“No!” For once, you’re feeling more than heartache. You’re feeling anger.

“(Y/n/n)...”

“You don’t get to call me that! You lost that privilege when you ripped my heart out, tore it to shreds, and stomped on it right in front of me! Sure, it was in our little bet to break each other’s heart, but you didn’t have to be so cruel.” You seethe, letting your pent up frustration go on him.

“That’s what I want to talk about-”

“You can save your apology because I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear how you still hate me but you--”

“It was a mistake, okay!” He yells at you. You see people start to stare at the two of you. You grab his arm and shove him into the empty hallway, slamming the door behind you.

He starts to say something, but you hold your hand up to silence him.

“No. You do not get to waltz back into my life with your smooth lines as if you didn’t completely ruin it with your words just a few weeks ago. You said it yourself, Draco, we’re through. You even have Pansy now.” You growl, tears pricking at your eyes again. No way would he get away with this. Not again.

“Please just...hear me out. I know it’s not as easy as just saying sorry--”

“No, I’m done, I’m leaving. I can’t-- I can’t…” You start to choke on your own words again, the tears finding their paths down your cheeks. The barricades have broken again and you’re left with the rivers you thought had finally dried up.

“No. I’m not leaving you alone until I tell you this. I do love you. I did back then, too, I just...I let my pride get the better of me. I couldn’t tell what love was until I lost it. You left a void in my heart and...and I tried to fill it with Pansy but I didn’t need another girl I...I needed you. I broke up with Pansy just a few days after being with her.” You hear his voice turn hoarse and you look up to see tears running down Draco’s cheeks, too. In all your years of knowing him, you had never seen him cry.

“Your smooth lines…got us into this mess. You and your stupid bet,” You growl, wiping the tears off your cheeks furiously.

“And I hate myself for it! I had feelings for you back then, dammit, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to ask you out normally with you accepting. I’m not even sure I knew that I had feelings at that point. I messed it up...I mess everything up... with my reputation and pride.” He admits, reaching a hand out to you. You look at it and shake your head.

“I’m not...I’m not convinced,” You sniffle.

“Please, I’ll do anything to convince you. No matter how long it takes. I want you back (Y/n), and I promise I’ll do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to gain your trust back little by little. Until you’re mine again.” He promises. 

You look into his eyes and see through the cracks tiny pieces of hope. You think maybe, just maybe, that the genuine smiles and love that you saw were real. The genuine kindness that you so ache to see again. And maybe now you have a chance to see them again. What does he have to gain at this point? Why is he confessing all of this right now? It’s ruining his reputation as a player and flirt, which is exactly what the bet was all about. Why?

“....One more chance. And it’s not coming easily. You’re working for it, Malfoy, I am not one to win back easily. Any wrong moves and you’re gone. For good.” You promise him, the tears finally slowing down until they’re reduced to occasional sniffs.

“That’s all I’m asking for.” He reaches for your hand, but you pull it away from him.

“We’re not a couple. I’m not ready for that. I hardly trust you anymore. We’re friends and that’s it right now. We’ll see how it goes.” You warn him. He nods vigorously.

“Anything for you.” He nods.

For the first time in weeks, there’s a small kernel of hope in you that wasn’t there before.

~+~

It’s been two years since that day, and you and Draco are back together and happily dating. You have been for almost a year at this point. You’re sure he’s the one after he went through a year of torture trying to get you back. He finally earned your trust and love back and the two of you have been happy ever since. He hasn’t done anything to deter you. Nothing big, anyway.

“Draco, fetch me the mistletoe, will you?” You hum, grinning at your boyfriend as you finish decorating your new apartment for Christmas. The two of you have been out of schooling for a year and a half, happily enjoying the new freedom. You’ve both gotten amazing jobs as Aurors, getting to work side by side in the ministry of magic as you catch dark wizards and put them behind bars. Things honestly couldn’t be better.

“Here you go, love.” He goes to hand you the mistletoe, holding it slightly out of your reach above your heads. You giggle and lean in, kissing him deeply. He kisses back, wrapping a hand around your waist as the other continues to hold the mistletoe above you.

“That was sweet, but I do want that mistletoe now,” You joke, reaching up and taking the mistletoe from him. He complies.

“I was thinking...it’s a few days before Christmas, would you mind opening one of the gifts I got you early?” He asks, gesturing to a big box sitting next to the tree.

“Draco, we’re supposed to wait until Christmas to open gifts,” You jokingly complain and he grins, knowing you won’t say no to opening a gift early. 

“Oh, come on, it’s just one gift.” He teases, sliding the box over to you. 

“Oh, alright, if you insist.” You grin at him, tearing open the outside wrapping paper. You open the big box and find another slightly smaller box inside, only to open that one and find another smaller box inside. You giggle as you continue to open boxes and find smaller ones inside until you finally reach a small box that fits into your palm, wrapped neatly in wrapping paper.

“Go on, open it,” Draco coaxes you on. You smile.

“But it’s so small and cute,” You hum, admiring the cute little wrapped box.

“I think you’ll like what’s inside more.” He chuckles. You giggle and tear the wrapping paper off of it, showing a small velvety box. You gasp, tears pricking at your eyes. Draco takes the box from your hand, getting on one knee as he opens it up to you, revealing a sparkling diamond ring in it.

“Draco, I--” You choke on your words, tears of joy brimming your eyes.

“(Y/n/n)...you make me the happiest man alive. I’m so lucky you gave me another chance because I cannot imagine my life not by your side. So...will you do me the absolute honor, and marry me?” He asks. You notice his hands shaking and you let out a short burst of air before nodding vigorously.

“Yes, yes of course I’ll marry you, Draco!” You cry, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Draco stands up, excitement clear on his face as he takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger. He delicately lifts you in his arms and kisses you passionately. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. 

Now, truly, things can’t get any better. And you mean that with all of your heart.

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[tooweirdforyou]

Okay okay okay so hear me out, Ik ik there a lot of dad propmts out there but I have never ever ever seen a Luffy one. I need dad Luffy 🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you so much for doing this request 😘😘😘😘

Monkey D. Luffy As A Dad

A/N : this was absolutely so adorable and I hope you liked it! Sorry for the delay, though. But thank you for requesting!

Both scenario + headcannons—

Summary : just a typical day of Luffy as a father.

-

Luffy would be one chaotic father.

I believe Luffy would want his first child to be a boy. He wants him to be just like his father after all, and having a son would allow him to make him into a man!

When you tell him you’re pregnant, he’s a little confused because he’s not too smart on that. But then when you explain to him that you’re going to have his kid, hems ecstatic.

Immediately throws a huge feast in celebration and you receive many congratulatory words from your crewmates, and even other pirates that Luffy calls up to tell the news.

-

“OI, TRAFFY, GUESS WHAT?!”

“CREST-HEAD, CABBAGE! DID YOU HEAR?!”

“HEY HANCOCK! IM HAVING A KID!”

-

When you start showing more and becoming weaker, Luffy is extremely protective. He never leaves your side, no matter what.

He orders Usopp, Zoro and Sanji to bring in his food and keep careful on you as well when he can’t, and if you even move an inch and he hears the slightest sound of discomfort from you, he lectures you for not telling him if you want anything and forces you to stay still and in bed.

-

When you’re in the middle of giving birth, Luffy wouldn’t quite know what to do. He’d be so unprepared and hearing your screams of agony and pain fills him with so much pain as well and he feels helpless. Almost as if he’s having an anxiety attack.

He wishes he can be there with you but he’s too worried now. But eventually he does make it there and sits by your side until you’re done, holding your hand tightly and just allows you to scream into his ear.

He wouldn’t know what to say but his presence is there enough for you, and his comforting and assuring grin to you is even better to help ease the process.

-

When it finally happens, Luffy’s a bit emotional. After the waterworks go which is somewhat quick, he has an never ending wide grin on his face as he sees your tired form cradling his new born.

He becomes extremely soft and spends the whole day by your side, making sure your comforted and watches as you take care of his son closely, like treasure.

It’s one of his happiest days and memories, and he couldn’t contain his excitement as he tells everyone once more and just shows you and your son off to everyone they meet while on the seas.

-

Luffy isn’t one to help out with the many chores that comes with having a kid, like changing the diapers and feeding them, but fortunately Nami and Robin are willing to help out. Even Chopper when he can.

But Luffy makes up for it by spending a ton of time with the baby while you rest. Which can be both good and bad.

It does take Luffy and LONG time to understand that the many things he used to do and play around with can be dangerous for [ Son Name ], and slowly learns to be much more slower and careful when he’s around.

It takes a couple rounds of ‘convincing’ from you, but you manage to get it into his head.

Luffy can be occasionally careless, or perhaps it because you were raising a child on the ocean, but with the support and help of the crew, you two managed and it was a pleasant experience. It was pretty fun.

-

And Luffy was always full of smiles whenever he saw you and his son together, reminding him of just how you two met and honestly,

He couldn’t love you two more than he already did. Every time he saw you both, his heart was filled with so much warmth and love.

-

“LUFFY, I SWEAR IF YOU HURT HIM, I-“

“Stop worrying so much and being so lame, [Name]! [ Son Name ] is perfectly- AH HE’S ON FIRE!”

“WHAT?!”

Sprinting into the kitchen, you slam the door open in a panicked state, just to find Luffy on the ground with Nami standing beside him with a fist out, and your son perfectly fine on the desk with Chopper and Brook watching him.

Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, flames suddenly bursted from you and a heavy dark aura enveloped you.

“Luffy..”

Clenching your jaw and fists tightly, you calmly and slowly made your way to the Captain, even Nami and Brook sweatdropping at your aura as you stopped in front of the collapsed male.

“Hey.. [Name]..” Luffy weakly mutters out and you glared daggers at him as you crouched down. “What. Did. I. Tell. You?”

Silence filled the air, other than Chopper’s soft pats on your son’s head and his little noises and giggles.

“Not to carry and take him to dangerous areas of the ship.” He responds, it a bit muffled due to the various bumps on his head from Nami.

“And what is included in those areas?”

“..Sanji’s kitchen..”

“And why?”

“.. because of fire.”

Like a child being reprimanded and lectured, Luffy slowly sat up and looked down at his lap quietly and you placed your hands on your hips, exhaling.

“That’s right. Yet, you still brought him into Sanji’s kitchen. And I specifically and literally just heard you yell, ‘AHH HE’S ON FIRE!’, just before I came in.” A very quiet and stifled laugh can be heard from him at the sound of your imitation of himself.

You scowl, raising your fists, ready to hit him once more before you heard cries, and your motherly instincts immediately kicked in.

Turning over to your son, you rush over to Chopper and picked him up, pulling him into your arms and smile softly, a complete 180 from earlier.

Kissing your son’s head, you sway softly back and forth, bringing the little toddler in your arms into a soothing quiet state.

Nami, Chopper and Brook smile at the sight.

“Yohohoho~ you really are indeed a great mother, [Name]-san!”

“How cute.~”

“Look how peaceful he looks!”

Luffy looks up from his lap and smiles softly to himself at the sight of his beautiful wife with his amazing child.

He then thought back to when you first gave birth. You were in so much pain, even Luffy started to tear up and he felt so bad because he didn’t know what to do nor help you.

Luckily, Robin and Nami were there to support the both of you when it happened and assured him that it was alright.

And after a couple years with your new son, and having to deal with Luffy’s crazy excitement and cheeriness of playing and spending time with his child, he couldn’t believe you were still able to handle and deal with him.

Much less, the two of them, since your 2 year old son seemed to be acquiring all of Luffy’s qualities.

Luffy stands up from the ground and dusts his pants before walking over to you. Going up behind you, Luffy places a hand on your shoulder and peers over, seeing the sleeping look of his own kid.

“Do you want me to take him in for you?”

Glancing at Luffy with a soft expression, you peck his cheek gently. “Sure, I have to clean up his mess here anyways.”

“No need. Already done.” Nami grins as she finishes wiping off the table whilst Brook and Chopper worked together to clean up the toys on the ground.

You smile at the three of them and chuckle. “Thank you, you guys.” You whisper, to not wake your son up and Nami gives a thumbs up.

“Go rest, you two. Sleep in. If you need anything, we’ll be here. We’ll keep the others down too.”

Nodding, you turn to Luffy and motion him to follow in which he does, heading over to the door first and opens it wide for you to exit.

And so, you both walk back to your bedroom in silence, allowing your son to sleep peacefully during this.

-

Gently setting down your son into the center of your bed, you sit on the edge and tucked him in, making sure he was safe and secure.

Luffy closes the door and takes off his straw hat, placing it onto the nightstand beside the bed.

Smiling softly at you, he walks over to you and sits beside you, placing a hand onto your knee and watches you.

“He looks just like you.”

Both of you turn to each other and blink a bit before sharing a laugh.

“No, seriously. He has the looks of his handsome father.” You smile gently, pulling away from your son to let him sleep and lean into Luffy a bit. The said male only chuckles softly and leans in to peck your nose. 

“He has your cute eyes and smile though. He may take after me but his kindness sure comes from you.” He reaches to hold your hand and grips it tightly, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m lucky to have given birth to your child..” You murmur, laying on his shoulder and Luffy pulls you hand to his lips to kiss gently. “..I’m lucky to have met you.”

Even though Luffy was still the crazy, reckless and weird captain that you knew so well, Luffy certainly has also matured over the years. It still surprises you but you loved him regardless.

“Thank you for being in my life, Luffy.”

“Of course. I love you, [Name].”

-

A/N: I apologize this took so long but I absolutely loved writing it! :DD thank you and hoped you enjoyed! I love dad! Luffy. 🥰🥺❤️

[tayaminaka]

Yandere shin sokuko and sokuko(probably spelt that wrong) falling dor their rival’s sister

Note: I’m not experienced in Yandere writing so maybe I fucked up and I’m sorry if I did.

Yandere!Akutagawa Ryūnosuke falling for Atsushi’s sister :

He would be fully confused about this new feeling. The first weeks he would just deny it . Why should he feel something for Jinko’s sister? But even if he tries the feeling doesn’t go away

It would take rather a long time until he finally makes his move, but when he makes it you won’t get away so easily

First it would be more "harmless". You would just see him a little more on the street, nothing more

But after some time you would feel something dark is following you. You didn’t say anything to Atsushi. After all, this boy has so much on his plate, you simply don’t want to add your problems to it

You brushed it of, thinking it was only your imagination or that you simply got a little paranoid. You thought that maybe this feeling would get away after some days

Big mistake...

The feeling started to get stronger. Now it was like that thing was coming closer and closer to you. Crawling in the darkness, waiting for one mistake to devour you whole...

You started to sit more at home, even your brother noticed this suddenly change. Fear was always surrounding you even when you were togheter with Atsushi. The bad feeling like something bad is gonna happen didn’t let you rest

Until one day it’s simply disappeared. Gone, simply gone like it wasn’t even there. You started to go out without fear, without this pressure, without this feeling

Everything started to become normal again. You went normally to work, went for a walk with your brother nearly every evening

Until one night you went home from work, a little bit later than usual. You felt nothing, everything was peaceful...you didn’t even notice something until it was simply too late

Congratulations. Because of your carelessness you ran directly into the fangs of the silent rabid dog, isn’t it wonderful?

Now you are fully at his mercy. Hope that your brother will find you because you’ll have a great and painful time with him.....

Yandere!Atsushi Nakajima falling for Akutagawa’s sister:

First he won’t even know that you Akutagawa’s sister. You were kind to him, helped him a when he was a little lost in the city, maybe a little could but the whole opposite from your brother

That’s until you two meet your brother on your way. After several attempts of killing him he said in a rough and cold tone that he should stay away from his sister

But that didn’t work. Behind your brother’s back you still met each other ,maybe not very often but still. And slowly this feeling started to grow in him

Every time he talked to you his cheeks were slightly red, every time he met you the warm feeling started to get stronger and every time he saw you with an another man, who was getting to close with you more than he should a dark feeling rose in him

Everything was fine until one day you said the most painful thing „I love you. You are my best friend.”

Best Friend? Best fucking friend?! Nothing more, nothing less. How painful it was to hear that. But did he really expect more? He doesn’t even deserve you, right ?

After that he went silent. He tried to act “normal”, act like nothing happened but slowly it started become hard acting like that

Even the Armed Detective Agency notices that something was particuly wrong but even they didn’t know how dark his thoughts already were

Now it’s only a question of time until he snaps and be sure it won’t be pretty when he does

Yandere!Dazai Osamu falling for Chuuya’s sister:

The first time he met you he offered you a beautiful and romantic double suicide, only to be drop kicked by your brother Chuuya. Ooh how angry he looked as he told him to fuck off from you

He was surprised and exactly that catched his interest in you. Interesting, would chibi be mad at him if he starts something with you?

Even after the unexpected meeting with your brother he didn’t back off rather did the complete opposite....

Your paths started to cross a little more and because of the full work schedule of your brother it was easy to hide it from him

You started to hang out a little more. Casually going to cafés or simply searching some adventures for you two

Even with his mind pitch dark with dark thoughts you didn’t noticed what hid behind his twisted self

This little cat and mouse game behind your brothers back went on for days and then days became weeks and then weeks became even months

But don’t take everything so simply. On the inside his dark self is already taking control of him, eating up his good thoughts and mind and devour him fully

Now that you even go to his place out of boredom, it’s hard for him to hold himself under control and not claim you fully

And because of that don’t be surprised if you once wake up in a dark room with your foot chained to a wall on a long chain

After all, it’s your fault

You let your guard down and didn’t listen to your brother who actually knew this man better than you. You didn’t know where to stop and let him manipulate you

Now you are fully under his control. And don’t think it is easy to run from this little devil, he won’t let you go

Yandere!Chuuya Nakahara falling for Dazai’s sister:

Ooh he was suprised that you are Mackerels sister. You two were just sitting in a little but elegant bar, drinking some wine while talking with each other

It was very pleasant to be honest. His knowledge about wine, fashion and hats was big and it was interesting to listen

Everything was funny and pleasant until you heard your brothers voice abruptly stopping in his excuse. His eyes were a cold and a sarcastic but at the same time dark voice as he asked Chuuya what he was doing

He was only a little late, the people on the street were in his way. For years he hid your existence from everyone in the mafia but now he can’t do anything

He went to Chuuya and bow down to him, telling him that he should stay away from you only to receive a simply “tch”

He stood up, not bothering to look back at your brother he took your hand and kissed it and wishing to meet you again

Seeing Dazai’s pissed face was worth it but the fact that he managed to slide his phone number into your back was even better

Chatting behind your brothers back was funny. You knew it was bad to do so but the adrenaline rush was too good. It was like you are doing criminal stuff

And the rush was even better when you met him secretly. Sometimes you even met at his place but why not ? He didn’t hurt you or anything and you were ready to lower your guard

Everything was fine until one evening you received a message from your brother that he’s gonna come home a little earlier. You quickly rushed to the door to run to your home

But a invisible force suddenly forced you to the ground. As you looked to the door you saw Chuuya standing in front of the door

As an answer for your questions you received a simply “I’m not letting you go” and a piercing pain in your legs

Now it is fully sure that you won’t leave. How should you if you’re laying on his bed with teary eyes and broken legs?

Your phone disappeared as your freedom. The only thing that is left is the hope that somebody will find you

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt18 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang returns to the Cloud Recesses, and meets the people he's meant to befriend

Much to his surprise, Nie Huaisang realised upon returning to the Cloud Recesses that he had missed the place. Or rather, he had missed the friends who lived there.

All winter, Su She and him had exchanged letters, mostly to complain about every single thing that bothered them. When they finally met again in person, they were quite happy to do more of the same. They also discussed all the things they might do for fun that year. 

Su She, at long last, had risen in rank and been given more freedom than he used to have. He would have less classes to attend since he was now trusted to take charge of his own training to some degree, he would join more Night Hunts, he had been given a new jade token that allowed him to leave the Cloud Recesses at any time of the day as long as curfew was respected, and he would even be included among those juniors who patrolled to enforce the respect of the rules.

All this made Nie Huaisang so happy for his friend, that he did not realise at first all the implications this had regarding the amount of time they would get to spend together. Su She would be very busy in the future, but he promised he would do everything possible to still make time for his best friend, and Nie Huaisang easily believed him.

The other joy to be found in returning to the Cloud Recesses was not immediate. By the time Nie Huaisang had arrived there, Lan Xichen had not yet returned from a Night Hunt he’d gone on with Nie Mingjue. That was hardly a surprise. These two were usually far too serious in all things, but when they went Night Hunting together, they always stayed a little longer than really necessary. Nie Huaisang usually found that greatly amusing, and never missed a chance to tease his brother about skirting his duties. They seemed to have taken a particularly long time on this occasion, but since Nie Mingjue had complained a few times that he hadn't seen his friend in such a long while, it was not so odd. Nie Huaisang would have mocked his brother so much if he'd seen him before leaving home. 

Since he didn’t have a chance to do it that time, he instead teased Lan Xichen when he finally came home, on the same day most of the guest disciples were set to arrive, on the eve of the lectures' start. Of course if Nie Huaisang had been a good and dutiful person, he would have gone to the main gate to see those other guest disciples, and maybe try to strike a friendship with them as early as possible. But between trying to catch a glimpse of the boring friends his future self wanted him to make, and dropping by Lan Xichen’s house to see the friend he actually liked, the choice had been easily made.

Lan Xichen offered him tea and smiled when accused of dodging his responsibilities, but less warmly than Nie Huaisang had expected. In fact, he found that the older boy looked rather more tired than he should have been, and more nervous as well. He tried to ask about that, but Lan Xichen refused to dwell on the subject.

“There is just a lot to do, and you are right that I was gone longer than I should have,” Lan Xichen said. “Especially since Wangji is in seclusion… he was supposed to come out of it today, but I saw him earlier and convinced him to continue meditating alone for at least another month. There will be many energetic people among our guests this year, and I doubt he will enjoy their company too much.”

Nie Huaisang, who had found the Cloud Recesses even more fun without the constant threat of Lan Wangji being around to enforce the rule, could only nod. He didn't mind waiting a month to set in movement his older self's orders.

“And this had nothing at all with you wishing to have a little peace without your brother constantly enforcing the rules, does it?” he teased.

“I am nowhere near as rebellious as you seem to have decided,” Lan Xichen replied with an indulgent smile. “Though I suppose Lan Wangji does take a stricter approach to them than I do. I’m sure in time, he’ll learn that they are meant to be a guidance, not a restriction.”

“And that he should let his brother eat candies sometimes.”

Lan Xichen smiled, trying to hide a chuckle. That was enough to comfort Nie Huaisang. As long as he still enjoyed his jokes, Lan Xichen could not be doing badly. And after that the conversation soon moved on to music, giving Nie Huaisang a great chance to show off how hard he had worked all winter. By the time Nie Huaisang had to leave, Lan Xichen appeared in good spirits again, for which he congratulated himself.

-

When morning came, Nie Huaisang got up as early as he could manage after falling back on his old habits during winter, and headed toward the lecture hall with the other Nie disciples. There were a number of other boys assembled at the door, all waiting for the teacher to arrive. 

Among those, the ones dressed in purple attracted Nie Huaisang’s attention the most. He recognised Jiang Cheng of course, with Meng Yao next to him whose attitude seemed more that of a babysitter than a fellow disciple, perhaps because of that other boy standing near them who had a mischievous smile on his lips. Then, behind them, there were two other boys dressed in Jiang purple, plain and quite forgettable. Perhaps Wei Wuxian wasn’t there after all, or perhaps he had already entered the class to study on his own, as befitted someone who was destined to fall for Lan Wangji.

Even if that person was absent, Nie Huaisang decided he should go greet Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao at least, since he already knew them. But before he had taken even one step in their direction, he heard someone call out for him.

“You are Nie gongzi, right?” a haughty boy asked.

He was dressed in that shade of yellow that only the Jins ever thought pleasant, and his face bore a passing resemblance with Jin Zixun’s, except with much nicer features, and a far colder expression. All of this made it rather easy to guess his identity, even if they had never met.

“And you must be Jin gongzi,” Nie Huaisang replied with a polite nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Jin Zixuan said, returning the nod. “Since you are my cousin’s friend, I hope we can become better acquainted.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at the other boy.

“I’m what?”

“He’s too proud to use the word, but I know Zixun. He wrote about you several times last year, and he told me you helped him pass his exams.”

That this would be anywhere near enough to be considered a friend said a lot about Jin Zixun’s overall popularity. Nie Huaisang himself, who wasn’t exactly rich in friends, wouldn’t have used the word to talk about Jin Zixun, but he still felt flattered. In fact, he wondered if the acquaintance might be worth sustaining. Surely Nie Huaisang could try to write to Jin Zixun perhaps? He’d promised he would write to Xue Yang already, to give him a chance to practice reading and writing without the pressure of a classroom. If he was writing anyway, one more letter could be easy to fit into his very full schedule. Jin Zixun was a prick, but on occasions he'd been almost tolerable, so he wouldn't be the worst friend Nie Huaisang could make.

“He also said you became friends because he broke your nose,” Jin Zixuan added, his tone dripping judgement at the idea that anyone could ever put up with something like that.

Nie Huaisang self-consciously raised a hand to touch his nose, before quickly dropping it to his side, embarrassed by this habit he’d picked up.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he grumbled. “But I guess I did help him pass. And, well… if you want to be friends, I have no issues with that.”

“We’ll see about it,” Jin Zixuan retorted, before turning around and returning to his own group, as if it might dirty him to spend too much time with people who weren’t Jins.

Jin Zixuan was lucky to have such a pretty face and to be so rich, because it certainly wasn’t his personality which would make him friends, Nie Huaisang thought. He was at least as annoying as Jin Zixun, even though it was in a different manner.

He must not have been the only one to have that impression. When he turned his attention back toward the Jiang disciples, all of them save for Meng Yao were glaring in the direction of Jin Zixuan. Worse still, when their eyes wandered toward Nie Huaisang, it was clear that mere association with Jin Zixuan had instantly branded him as unpleasant to them. That was odd, though. Everyone knew that there was an engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, so surely there should have existed, if not friendship, then at least some degree of cordiality between disciples of their two sects. 

Nie Huaisang feared what starting with a disadvantage might do to the mission forced upon him, when already he wasn’t the best at making friends. But his eyes then met Meng Yao’s who, after whispering something to Jiang Cheng, walked toward Nie Huaisang and even bowed to him with far more deference than anyone had ever bothered to show before.

“Nie-gongzi, I am glad we meet again,” Meng Yao said. “I never had a chance to thank you before for your help that day.”

“I hardly did anything at all!” Nie Huaisang protested, waving his hands in embarrassment. “In fact, you were even hurt by my fault that time!”

“And yet I must insist in expressing my gratitude. If not for you and Lan gongzi standing up for me, I would not have been given a chance to become a cultivator, which has been my greatest dream since childhood. For this, I am in your debt.”

Nie Huaisang blushed a little. “Really, it was nothing. Any decent person would have done the same! And with a potential like yours, it was only natural that someone would take you as a student someday! How’s Yunmeng treating you? Are they nice to you? You can tell me if they’re not, and I’ll tell my da-ge, and he’ll tell them to be nice. But it’s Yunmeng, of course they’re probably nice, right?”

His rambling surprised Meng Yao, who appeared a little unsure how to answer. Probably he’d expected the young master of a great sect to be a little more eloquent than that, the way Lan Xichen was, or even Jiang Cheng. But it was difficult to keep cool in front of the boy who would have become the man who had killed Nie Mingjue.

How could that have even happened? Even after months in Lotus Piers, Meng Yao remained shorter than Nie Huaisang, and barely any heavier. How could someone like that…

“I think we’re treating him fine,” Jiang Cheng said in a dry voice as he joined them. “Though your concern commends you, Nie gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang jumped in surprise, and quickly bowed to him.

“Of course I didn’t mean to imply… and, well, he’s here to study, so clearly he is well treated, and your father must be quite impressed with him,” Nie Huaisang said, fidgeting with his sleeve. “I’m quite glad that things worked out so well!”

That other Jiang boy, the tall and handsome one, also joined them and threw an arm around Meng Yao’s shoulders to pull him close.

“It’s not Jiang-shushu who’s impressed with Meng Yao, it’s Yu-furen,” the boy said with a bright grin. “She’s the one who said he should come, because we’re less stupid when he’s with us.”

“She said you’re less stupid,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Don’t drag me down with you.”

“Yu-furen also thinks that having Meng Yao with us means that stupid peacock will keep his distances,” the other boy continued, unbothered by that interruption. “She’s really so scared that we’ll start an argument with him.”

“You would!”

“Only if he insults Shijie! Which he would, because he’s nothing but a self-important…”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng hissed. “Can you not shut up just for a moment?”

The boy just laughed, while Nie Huaisang stared.

Surely there had to have been a mistake. That couldn’t be Wei Wuxian. There was simply no way that Lan Wangji would ever become even a little attracted to a person such as this, who was bold enough to insult Jin Zixuan within earshot, who was so careless regarding Meng Yao’s obvious discomfort at having the connection mentioned. Sure Wei Wuxian wasn’t half bad looking, but with a personality like that, Lan Wangji would only try to murder him, not kiss him.

“You know, if the teacher isn’t here yet, we can probably leave,” Wei Wuxian said. “That’s what we’d do at home. Let’s ditch the lesson and go have fun!”

Oh, Lan Wangji was so going to murder him when they met. Surely Nie Huaisang’s future self had to be mistaken about those two. 

“Hey, Wei-xiong, you shouldn’t say things like that,” Nie Huaisang advised. “There’s some people that might punish you if they heard you talk like this!”

“Sure, but the point is that the teacher isn’t here, so I have nothing to fear. Come on, Nie-xiong, it’s your second year here, right? Surely you’d rather run off to have fun with us than sit through some boring lectures again!”

As a matter of fact, Nie Huaisang very much wanted that. Considering how badly his studies went the year before, he had no reasons to think he would do any better that year either, so having fun would be a great use of his time. But that would upset Nie Mingjue, who didn't need that. And it might also disappoint Lan Xichen, which would be the worst thing ever. Having discovered that he enjoyed being praised, and how willing to do just that Lan Xichen was, Nie Huaisang didn't want to risk upsetting his friend. 

"When I say there's people you shouldn't make angry, I don't mean just Lan Qiren," Nie Huaisang warned. "He's mostly manageable, if you just avoid talking back and cry a little when he gets angry. But his nephew Lan Wangji is a real terror, and they've put him in charge of overseeing punishment for the juniors. You're lucky he's in seclusion at the moment, because just for speaking of skipping classes, he'd have your skin. He takes rules very seriously!"

"The teacher's nephew, uh," Wei Wuxian said with an odd smile. 

"You're thinking something unwise," Meng Yao accused. 

"Please don't go bother that guy as soon as he leaves his seclusion," Jiang Cheng warned. "Mother will murder you if you disgrace our sect!" 

Wei Wuxian's grin only grew wider, to the great anxiety of the other three. 

"That nephew, he wouldn't happen to be a very handsome boy?" Wei Wuxian asked. "About my size, very handsome…" 

"His brother looks much better," Nie Huaisang interjected without thinking. "Lan Wangji always looks so crossed… but he has a fine enough face, yes."

"And a silver sword that gives off a cold impression?" 

"Did you already meet him?" Nie Huaisang asked. 

"Yes, last night." 

"Last night?" Jiang Cheng repeated. "How… there's a curfew in place here! Are you already breaking rules?" 

Without a shred of regret or shame, Wei Wuxian started telling the story of his escape to buy wine, his attempt to return in secret, and his fight with Lan Wangji. Upon hearing that tale Jiang Cheng was furious, Meng Yao was worried, and Nie Huaisang so delighted he had to cover his mouth with both hands not to laugh. 

Lan Wangji losing his temper! Lan Wangji getting in a fight, and not even winning it! Lan Wangji failing to punish a criminal! It was the funniest Nie Huaisang had ever heard, and he couldn't wait to share all of it with Su She who would surely be just as entertained. 

This Wei Wuxian was a much more interesting person than anticipated, and Nie Huaisang could see himself becoming quite fond of him, even though he'd been determined to dislike him before. But that had been when he thought that his future self and Lan Wangji approved of him, two people whose opinion he didn't value much. 

"Wei-xiong, you are so dead," Nie Huaisang cheerfully announced when the other had finished his story. "It's going to be a matter of pride now, he's going to have his eye on you for the entire time you'll be here!" 

And for more than that, if Nie Huaisang’s future self was to be believed. That old prick didn't seem the sort to prank others, but it was also difficult to imagine Lan Wangji falling in love with someone like Wei Wuxian. People said that opposite attracted, but there were limits. Then again, it would be immensely funny if these two did become a couple. If it happened, Nie Huaisang might laugh to death. 

"That Lan Zhan is probably too busy to bother with me," Wei Wuxian claimed. "And it's not like he comes to the lectures, right? So I'm not worried in the least. Besides, I'm more than his match in a fight!"

The arrival of Lan Qiren, who seemed in as bad a humour as Nie Huaisang had ever seen him, cut short that conversation, though Wei Wuxian still looked quite sure of himself as they all entered the classroom. He only deflated a little when they all noticed that there already was a student sitting there, a Lan boy who only looked up from the scroll he was reading to glare at Wei Wuxian. In turn, Wei Wuxian did appear a little startled, having clearly not expected that his new nemesis would be there.

It took Nie Huaisang all of his self control not to laugh at this situation.

The plot to help Lan Wangji find a cultivation partner had held little joy when he had believed Wei Wuxian to be the second Jade's equal in temper. But discovering that Wei Wuxian was a wild spirit, sure to drive Lan Wangji mad with annoyance and to distract him from his duties, delighted Nie Huaisang. It was the funniest thing in the world.

It was the stuff of great romances, something which might blossom into a love story people would talk about for ages. Two people of opposite temper, of opposite values even, learning to see each other’s worth… it would be quite fun to watch that unfold, and even more amusing to give it a push here and there.

Helping the romance of others was the closest to living his own that Nie Huaisang was likely to get, so he’d have to content himself with that.

His lack of appealing skills made it unlikely he’d ever provoke the sort of strong sentiment already at play between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. But even a more talented nature would not have changed his delicate position as his brother's heir. Until his brother married and had children, Nie Huaisang knew it would be unwise of him to flirt with anyone of his own choosing, not when the Nie clan might someday require him to make a good match. The only reason he wasn’t already engaged to anyone, he suspected, was because there weren’t many girls of the right age among the greater sects, and because his brother disliked the idea of using him as a political tool unless absolutely necessary.

It was not easy, being next in line to inherit a sect, and Nie Huaisang was quite happy that he wasn’t in love with anyone at all. He only wished a little to be like Wei Wuxian, as a servant's son, free to live as he pleased as long as he did not bring any scandal for his sect. And it was lucky that Lan Wangji's status was not quite as dire as Nie Huaisang’s, not when he had a brother who was more likely to get married than Nie Mingjue, and even a relatively young uncle who could well have children of his own if needed. 

Lucky them indeed, but Nie Huaisang was determined not to envy them.

He’d just have his share of fun watching them… and maybe he’d see if Lan Xichen could be convinced to help too, just so they’d have another thing to laugh about together.

[midnighter13]

the world in mutable delight

Y'all I'm so full of feelings. So many of them. Anyway I've been shouting about Caleb using his Transmuter's Stone on Molly to anyone who will listen for actual years so now, please have more soft pre-widomauk feelings about it.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31672169

The process of recovery, Caleb knows, can be a strange one. Of course, there is hardly anyone stranger than the singular Mollymauk Tealeaf, to begin with. Between the circumstances of his deaths, his lives, and all the magic that brought him back to them, it is hardly a surprise that he needs some time to gather up all the patchwork pieces of himself again. Caleb has no doubt that he will reclaim everything he wishes to, in time; after all, he has never known anyone better at creating beauty from shattered glass. The massive stained-glass tribute within his tower is as close as Caleb could come to capturing the artistry with which Molly created his style and his life and his whole self, and seeing him in vivid, vibrant life again has reminded Caleb that even his best effort could never possibly do him justice.

It is best that way, though. Mollymauk Tealeaf should never be captured in something so still as glass, so static as paint. A whirling dervish of color and laughter and terrible ideas and sheer wonder needs a living canvas to flourish, and thanks to a miracle, he has that chance again.

 One day soon perhaps, Caleb would like to ask Molly about the decor of the tower. He is still fond of his best effort, the beauty that Molly’s memory lends to his library, but it needn’t be the same forever. It would be equally wonderful to listen to Mollymauk create something new, to see if Caleb can create with magic what Molly’s endless font of color and bullshit can imagine.

… Of course, that would require Caleb to overcome the way his mind goes blank every time he thinks about approaching Molly. There are so many things he wants to say, needs to say where Molly can hear him this time, but he doesn’t seem to have the language to express the maelstrom of emotions trapped inside his chest. There is so much happiness and relief and affection and amusement and delight and and and— 

And it is all stopped at the back of his throat by the sharp point of the memory that springs up every time, the fact that the manifestation of all of Caleb’s magic, all of his drive and talent and hope and hunger, failed when Molly needed him. Again. Nine months ago, on Glory Run Road, Caleb’s magic was not enough to keep him alive. And two days ago, in the crumbling city in the Astral Sea, Caleb’s magic was not enough to bring him back.

So. There are a few things he must grapple with himself, before he can indulge in everything he wants to say to Molly.

It has been fairly easy to hang back, so far. He has managed to distance himself enough from the celebrations to keep from spilling his heart across the ground at Mollymauk’s feet. Simply looking at him, vibrant and energetic again, is enough to sustain him—simply hearing his voice, the handful of words he speaks with endless inflections, is a feast when he has been starving. So Caleb stands a handful of feet away at all times, and watches the rest of his family hug and touch and reconnect until his eyes go dry.

The first night of their return to the Material Plane would have been no good, anyway. With how tired they all are, how nearly broken and still very bruised each and every body among them is, it is not the time to show Molly around the whole tower. There will be time for that later, always time for that later, to his greatest elation—later, he will take Molly by the hand and show him everything that he built, every piece of his heart that he conjures to house his friends, his family. He will show him that no matter the time that passed, he kept Molly safe in his mind and gave him a place here, always waiting for him to come home. 

But that will have to wait until Caleb’s hands no longer shake with the phantom weight of his Transmuter’s Stone; and besides, he would have to wait anyway until Molly and Yasha willingly part from each other, and those two certainly have shown no signs of budging from each other’s sides, not through the exhausted pile the (whole, finally whole) Mighty Nein slept in that first night, nor at meals with the welcoming Clay family the next day, nor the hours full of odd conversation and new acquainting and re-familiarizing that followed. There has been plenty to occupy Molly upon his return, more than enough to let Caleb sit outside of arm’s reach and drink in everyone else’s stories, and pretend that his heart has not leapt every time Molly’s bright, lively eyes have turned to him and lingered in return.

Now, basking in the afternoon sun on the second bright day since their family saved the world and was made whole, Caleb knows that he should be taking more action to recover his arcane stores. But each time he tells himself that he will get up and look for a suitable stone, his throat becomes tight again. He makes excuses to Essek, to Veth, when they ask: they are safe here in the Grove so he does not need the protection it grants him; they are among a family that seems very partial to glowing crystals as light sources, so he is in no rush to regain the darkvision he lost with the Eyes; why bother to make himself quicker to move, when they are all enjoying a well-earned rest? Neither of them question him further on it, though there is deep understanding in Essek’s eyes and a shrewd worry in Veth’s. They let him lie back and look up at the endlessly-shifting canopy of green, and try to reorganize his thoughts in peace.

Someone, however, does not abide by that peace. Only a half-hour into his meditation, and having made very little progress in unsnarling his tangled heart, Caleb hears the soft sound of bare feet on moss approach, and stop beside him. When he turns his head, there, of course, is Mollymauk.

“Magician,” Molly says firmly, and plunks himself down on the ground beside Caleb’s head. He settles in, wiggling his toes in the moss. One foot has nails freshly painted in bright teall, the other in charming pink. Both colors, of course, suit him perfectly. Then he says, “Mister Caleb,” with a widening grin, and Caleb’s breath catches once more in his throat.

“Hallo, Mister Mollymauk,” he says in return, the smallest greeting that settles sweetly on his tongue. He pushes himself upright, and turns to face Molly in kind. “Your words are returning to you, it seems.”

“Some,” Molly says, and the word that is not empty is accompanied by a decisive little nod. It takes effort, it seems, but Mollymauk has always been an obstinate individual. Regaining all his words may be like trying to pick up pieces of confetti one at a time, but if Mollymauk wants them back he will have the time to do so now. And hopefully, his friends can continue to help.

“That is very good to hear,” Caleb replies, and he cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face at Molly’s pleased expression.

“Magician,” Molly repeats, and holds out a closed fist between them. Caleb hesitates, unsure if this is a greeting or a request—then Molly shakes his hand a little, impatiently, and Caleb obligingly holds out his own open palm beneath it. Mollymauk’s tail swishes in broad strokes behind him, and he opens his hand to drop something into Caleb’s palm.

A blue-grey stone the size of a hen’s egg hits his palm with a soft sound. There is no ring around this one like his first, but when it catches the light it sparkles with countless tiny deposits of mica, glittering like stars. Caleb blinks at it, then up at Mollymauk. “Ah… thank you?”

“Magician,” Molly insists; then, after a pause, “lucky,” accompanied by that little flicker of his fingers that he used many times before, whenever he mentioned how little he understood about magic or asked Caleb if he could cast a spell. And perhaps it is not elegant, no kind of official communication that even a Comprehend Language could parse, but Caleb understands him perfectly, and his throat stings as though he might cry.

“Oh,” he says, and stares down at the stone in his hand. “Th-thank you, Molly. How did you know…?”

“Joy—” Molly clears his throat, a quick little cough and a wrinkle of his nose that spells frustration with his voice. “Jester,” he says carefully, clearly, “told me. What—hmm. Happened. Empty—”

He takes a deep breath, seems to gather his thoughts. He reaches out and closes Caleb’s fingers around the rock in his palm. “Empty,” he says again, softer now. Then he says, “Caleb,” and brings his hand up and presses his lips to Caleb’s fingers.

Caleb’s heart is nearly tripping with how quickly it hums. His ears are hot, and he knows that the afternoon sun cannot be to blame in the pleasant shade of the Grove. “Molly,” he says, helplessly. “Molly, I—I’m sor—”

Molly’s tail smacks gently into his knee. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Caleb, somewhere between playful and warning. Caleb swallows hard. He takes in the sight of Mollymauk’s face before him, and memorizes the new weight of the stone in his hand.

“Ja, okay,” he manages. “I can use this, Molly. Thank you.”

“Ja, ja,” Molly says, grinning wide and cheeky once again, and the laugh that bursts from Caleb feels like lightness, like relief, like forgiveness.

Molly is still smiling at him, his tail tapping softly against the moss. He releases Caleb’s hand from his grasp, the stone safely inside. Then he puts one hand up and crooks his finger at Caleb, in a universal gesture of come here.

Obligingly, Caleb leans forward, narrowing the space between them and trying very hard not to blush all the way to the roots of his hair. Molly puts his hand on the side of Caleb’s face—warm, his touch is so warm and firm and real again. It’s almost enough to distract him, enough that it takes him by surprise when Molly leans forward and kisses him firmly on the forehead. Then he lingers there, and Caleb lets his eyes close just for the moment as he memorizes the feeling of being here, with Mollymauk Tealeaf, safe and happy once more.

When Molly sits back, he folds his hands in his lap, contentment written so plainly across his face that he hardly needs the words to say it. Caleb thinks of five things he could say, a dozen, a hundred possibilities like fragments of fate. But Molly only has so many words to give, and it is better, for right now, that Caleb can speak his language in return.

He holds up his free hand and crooks his finger at Mollymauk in the same gesture of come here. Molly’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his tail patters rapidly against his shin—but he leans forward, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips, just enough to show the dimples in his cheeks and the light dancing in his eyes. Caleb puts his hand to Molly’s cheek, and gives in to the temptation to run his thumb gently along the vibrant peacock feather there. Molly’s smile grows wide, showing teeth and crinkling the corners of his eyes, as Caleb leans forward and presses his lips gently to Molly’s forehead. He holds him there for a long moment, savoring the warmth of his skin and the once-again inescapable whiff of sandalwood and incense.

Words are few and far between, right now, but words are not the only thing they need. For now there is touch, and there is warmth, and there is magic, and there is Molly. And for anything else, there will be time for that later. 

[yodawgiherd]

You Were Never Truly Gone - END

>>>Read on AO3<<< Rating: M

So this is it, the final chapter. It was fun to share this with you all, and I do hope that you enjoyed the ride at least a little bit ;) check end note ( on AO3) for a surprise

The room where the most honored and powerful individuals of the Hizuru nation resided was a spacious one. Intricate paintings decorated the walls, cuts in the wood created beautiful carvings and the pottery alone was worth more than what a decent-sized village would eat through in a month.  Overall, it triumphed everything Mikasa saw in her life, easily topping the castle back on Paradis, and a single thought flashed through her head.

Those guys are lucky that all this pomp wasn’t trampled during the rumbling.

Unlike the room, the council itself was almost exactly what Mikasa expected. Old men and women sitting in expensive chairs and wearing expensive robes – kimono, was it? – studying her with cold and calculating eyes. Unlike Kiyomi, who Mikasa respected despite their recent disagreements, these were the ones who lacked the spine of iron she possessed. They never took an active part in the war, never braved the sea to assist the struggling nation, never stared down a barrel of the gun.

Never kicked Floch’s ass either. Heh.

They inspected her - a curiosity, a trinket shipped from across the sea to be pinned on the Shogun’s chest, a strange yet beautiful ornament. Vultures, carrion eaters, exactly the type that Mikasa despised, as they reminded her of the same individuals who were responsible for the fucked up political situation back home. Then again, Mikasa was not here to change them, she could never do that, she wasn't a politician. She was here to blow their minds.

Summoning her courage and combining it with the steadfast presence of masked Eren at her back, Mikasa took a few steps forward until she was standing in the middle of the room. Easy to be seen, easy to be heard. Kiyomi, who followed close behind, saved her from the awkward need of introducing herself. An unnecessary formality, as they definitely knew who she was.

“Lady Mikasa Ackerman of the Paradis Island.”, Kiyomi said out loud, “The Shogun’s descendant.”

A wave of murmurs ran through the seated council members.

“Lady Mikasa,”, one spoke up, a man whose facial features closely resembled Daigo’s, “It is an honor.”

“The honor is all mine.”, she replied quickly, knowing how important first impressions are.

If this was indeed lord Sawamura, as she suspected, he was the one holding the most power in Hizuru's shattered government. A man who expected his son to be the next Shogun, a plan she was here to disrupt. Thread carefully…

“We hope that your journey was pleasant.”, a woman council member said, a neutral smile on her lips, “The seas can be cruel at this time of the year, but we had more than enough suffering.”

“The journey was fine.”, Kiyomi spoke up, moving past Mikasa and taking her seat on the vacant chair.

It was her right, of course, as she was a full member of this council.

But exchanging formalities would get them nowhere – yet before Mikasa could say anything Sawamura took the word.

“I feel like we all know why we have gathered today.”, his eyes found Mikasa’s, “I know that this is rather sudden, but we would like the wedding to be held in a few weeks at most, the people need something grand to focus on and this event will give them just that.”

"The royal tailor is here,", the woman from before chimed in, "We can have your measurements taken today if you are not too tired lady Mikasa. The sooner he can start working on your dress, the better."

“I-“

“The florist is here too, so we can discuss the choices of…”

“….the carpets…”

“Number of guests?”

It became a blur around her, the council talking together as if Mikasa wasn't even there. It was exactly as she suspected – she was a trophy from the distant lands, a status shipped over because of the blood in her veins. But did anyone care about what she had to say?

Hell no.

Finding Kiyomi Mikasa realized that the old woman was looking straight at her, the message clear. This was her show, and if she wanted to be more than a pretty face she had to speak for herself, Kiyomi wouldn’t bail her out this time around. Closing her eyes and preparing the speech, Mikasa inhaled deeply.

Eren being here was stupid, she knew that, but was glad for it regardless. His presence behind her, however masked, was something she could draw strength from. It was them she was fighting for now, the whatever they had because it filled her with joy like nothing else. She had to defend that, no matter what.

“I’m not marrying.”, she said.

Everybody ignored her and yammered on about the wedding, while Kiyomi’s ironic smile grew.

“I’m not marrying!”, she shouted this time around, finally getting the council’s attention.

“What do you mean?”, someone asked from her right.

“I won’t marry anyone because I will be your Shogun instead.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The silence was so thick that Mikasa could probably cut it, lasting for three seconds before it imploded into another heated debate. There was a lot of shouting suddenly, disbelieving shaking of heads, and lord Sawamura was among the loudest, immediately getting Mikasa’s attention.

“A woman can never be a Shogun!”

“A woman never was a Shogun,”, she replied, “and I would like to remind you all that these circumstances we find ourselves in are also unprecedented.”

“Why would we ever vote for you? You are an outsider, you know nothing of Hizuru!”

“Fair point,", Mikasa agreed, “Let me explain…”

The commotion died down as they stared at her – the sheer audacity of her words taking the winds from their sails.

“I had no ties to Hizuru, no deep need for a reconnection with my people. My mother died before she could tell me about you all, before the spark in me was ignited. All I was given is this-“, Mikasa raised her hand, letting everyone see the tattoo on her wrist, “This ink, this mark of a clan I didn’t know, that was nothing to me back then. I kept it secret because my mother wished it so, but didn’t pay much attention to it, as you can all agree that I had quite a lot on my mind.”

Eren smiled behind the Faceless mask, very much remembering how privileged he felt when Mikasa peeled those bandages from her wrist and showed him the mark for the first time, years and years ago. In the middle of the room, she continued her speech.

“Then Kiyomi came, telling me all about your nation and my heritage, and I was taken aback. So this was what the mark meant, this was why I should have kept it hidden – suddenly I was royalty.", she chuckled, "You could imagine that I wasn't exactly thrilled by that."

“The war happened, rumbling destroyed the world and I was left to sit in Paradis and watch it become a militaristic stronghold. And that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore.”, for the first time in her speech, Mikasa raised her voice, “I have seen too much death, too much war, too much suffering for it to repeat again and again, for humanity to be stuck in some never-ending loop of violence. I have decided to use this mark, this status of mine for one thing and one thing only.”

She spread her arms.

“Peace. And not only peace of a shocked world that is slowly rebuilding from the ashes, but a peace that will survive not only us in this room but our children too. That’s why I’m asking for your support as the new Shogun. I am not a skilled and experienced politician, I am a soldier who was burned out by the violence I was forced to endure. Yet it gave me something, it gave me the status of a hero and I will use it to help you.”

One by one, her eyes moved to the occupants of the room.

“Hizuru needs a symbol, a figurehead to rally behind and I will be that for you. In return, you of the ruling council will help me in securing the peace I long for, by guiding me in these trying times. I do not care for the power that a status of the Shogun brings, I care for the possibilities it opens.”

“Such as?”, an old man spoke, guarded expression on his face.

“Paradis needs help. It is a powder keg that is bound to explode, if not today then tomorrow, if not now then in dozen years. I want to defuse it, and in return provide Hizuru with a stable and profitable partner.”

“How?”, the same old man questioned her.

"The feelings of supremacy and prejudice towards the outside world can be dispelled with only one thing – information. If we make the trade and people flow between our nations, they are bound to integrate into the society. Those who come here from Paradis will see that we are the same as them, those who move from here to the island will help them overcome their destructive mindset.”

“That is all very nice and all,”, a woman was speaking now, sitting next to Kiyomi, “but what is your guarantee that it will work out?”

"I have none, only the feeling that the world had enough death and destruction for a long, long time. I believe that the Yeagerists are scared, afraid of retaliation from the outside world, and if we don't do anything this fear will in time change into a deep hatred."

Another round of murmurs ran through the council before the old man spoke up again.

“It is nice that you have a plan for Paradis, but what about Hizuru? As a Shogun our nation should be of the uttermost interest to you.”

“I’m still learning about this nation, I am an outsider after all. I think that this opening of borders with Paradis will help us economically, and I can assure you that queen Reiss will be more than open to negotiation. The island is a goldmine, or do I have to remind you about all the iceburst stones?”

Playing on their greed – shifting in her seat Kiyomi couldn’t help but be impressed by how Mikasa was leading the council, and her speech was not done yet.

“Selling those is a very lucrative activity, and I am sure that I would be able to get us an exclusive partnership… With Paradis, I am very experienced, but the subtler points of ruling elude me.”, she bowed slightly towards the man, “That’s why I will leave a large part of power in your hands, esteemed council, because you will help with the best interests of Hizuru at heart.”

Even more murmurs appeared between the seated men and women as they realized what Mikasa was offering them. A leading figure while they would keep most of the power, something to rally behind and guide Hizuru out of this fractured state they found themselves in post rumbling.

“We will need to put this to more discussion and a vote.”, the old man took the word, “We thank you for your time, lady Mikasa, and will let you know of the result.”

With a last bow she left the council room, Eren in his Faceless uniform just a step behind her. Kiyomi watched them leave with a tight expression, very much knowing that once the door closes the eruption of words will be enormous. Taking a breath, she steeled herself, prepared to defend Mikasa’s points.

To a limit, of course.

It wasn’t until they reached the solitude of her chambers that Mikasa collapsed into Eren’s chest, emotionally exhausted.

“Do you think that we have a chance?”, she asked in a small voice.

“You presented yourself very well,”, he soothed her, rubbing small circles on her back, “They would be fools not to take you up on the offer.”

“You think so?”

“With you, the council can keep much more of the leverage than it had, and they are all power-hungry fools – let me remind you that Kiyomi told us these are the ones who tore the country apart.”

“That’s fine, but I have no intention of letting them turn me into a puppet.”

“I know that, Kiyomi knows that, but they don’t. They see an outsider that they can use as a symbol to say – we have this hero of the Rumbling on our side, rally behind her because she is among those who saved the whole world.”

“Officially, Armin is the one who killed you.”

“I know, but you were there with him.”

They stood in silence, hugging each other, until Mikasa spoke up.

“Can you remove your mask for a second?”

“Uhm, sure, but why?”

A snicker.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Just a kiss?”

“Don’t make me tear it off, Yeager.”

“I would not dare, my lady.”

It took several hours, and the day outside slowly progressed into the night. Mikasa was nervous, walking around her room like a caged tiger, replaying the conversation in her head and wondering if she could have said something different, something better. Eren watched her, unsure of how to calm the storm that she was, and in the end decided to just passively stand there and hide behind the Faceless mask. A bit of a cowardly move but he really didn't want to get in a fight with her, especially not now.

The tension was broken when the door slammed open, a red-faced courier appearing. From the way his chest heaved, it was easy to guess that he ran the whole way.

"Lady Ackerman,", he bowed low, "The council has reached a decision, if you would be so kind to accompany me?"

Self-consciously smoothing the wrinkles on her uniform that formed from all the marching, Mikasa nodded at the man.

“Lead the way.”

Every step bopped the heart farther up Mikasa’s throat, and not even Eren’s presence was enough to calm her. This is it – here she would find out what the future held for her.

In no way, shape or form would she ever go along with the marriage – either she gets what she wants or she and Eren are doing a dramatic and most likely bloody escape from the palace. And if they die, they can finally be free and together in the afterlife – Mikasa had no doubts that if there was a place after death, they would find each other again.

The door was familiar, even the guards who opened it for her, and Mikasa stepped into the room with Eren in tow. Eyes of everyone swung to her and the conversation halted – the expressions of the council members remained unreadable, even Kiyomi betrayed nothing.

"We have talked about your proposal extensively, lady Mikasa.", lord Sawamura began, "We weighed the pros and cons, went over everything you said slowly and carefully."

He looked her straight in the eye as he continued.

“You must understand that Hizuru is this council’s primary concern – no individual, no matter how big or small, can take precedence over the nation. In light of that, we have reached an almost unanimous decision.”

Mikasa held her breath, eyes instinctively searching for escape routes from the room. Behind her, a tiny clink could be heard as Eren's fingers curled around the handle of his sword. This did not sound good.

“And so with all that in mind,”, Sawamura went on, “The council has decided to…”

Half a step back, the door was right behind her, she could…

“…accept your offer, lady Mikasa.”

“I… W-What?”

“We will let you take up the mantle of the Shogun.”, Sawamura grimaced, “It wasn’t an easy call to make, but lady Azumabito was very vocal in her support.”

Kiyomi’s face didn’t move, remaining neutral.

"You will, of course, share most of the power with us, and all the decisions must be signed by the council before going public. We have decided to take this opportunity not only as a change of a Shogun but as a shift of our nation towards democracy…"

In other words, they were exactly as power-hungry vampires as Mikasa hoped them to be, but she couldn't care less. She listened as Sawamura went on but his words couldn't truly find purchase in the mush that her brain became. It worked – however bold and stupid her plan was, they went along with it.

It was over, finished, she had won, and everything else was worthless padding.

It wasn’t until about an hour later when she was permitted to leave. The council would continue in their session, most likely tearing up the power into small pieces and stuffing themselves full with it, and they didn’t need her to witness that. Elated to be free, at last, Mikasa took off in the direction of her chambers, feet beating the floor in a steady staccato.

“What’s the rush?”, Eren huffed behind her, burdened by his armor.

Checking left and right that they are alone, she stopped and turned, coming face to…. mask.

“I have been on the edge for several hours,”, Mikasa muttered in a heated whisper, “so we are going back to my room and there you will help me get rid of some of the frustration.”

She slapped his breastplate.

“And that’s an order, soldier.”

Despite the mask, she could hear the grin in Eren’s answer.

“Yes ma’am.”

He didn’t complain after that.

After everything coming together and an evening and a night of great pleasures, Mikasa expected a lot of happy reactions from her body – she didn’t expect to throw up in the morning.

Eren refused to stay away, holding her hair and rubbing her back while she retched into the toilet. One of the disadvantages of having long hair, it gets in the way.

“I’m sorry,”, she murmured once she could speak again, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You are sorry because you are feeling sick, that’s…”, he chuckled, “that’s so you, Miki.”

Yet while Eren would be fine with just leaving it at that, knowing that Mikasa was exactly as boneheaded as him if she wanted to, their new patron disagreed. Kiyomi wouldn’t hear about just “walking it off”, that was literally the worst thing that she heard in a long time. Was that how they took care of their health on Paradis? Well, ultimately it didn’t matter as Mikasa was the future Shogun, and keeping her healthy was the old woman’s utmost priority. The doctor she summoned was probably the best in all of Hizuru and his prices reflected that, but money was not a concern anymore.

What a strange way to live, Mikasa thought to herself.

He was the perfect professional, examining Mikasa with quick and precise hands, all of it while Eren’s eyes never left him. The Faceless guard was truly expected everywhere, and the doctor didn’t have the slightest problem with him staying.

It didn’t take long, and when all of the symptoms and tests finished, he had exactly one thing to say.

“You are not sick, lady Ackerman.”

“No? Then what is happening to me?”

“I believe that congratulations are in order.”

That did nothing but confuse the poor girl even further.

“What?”

“You are pregnant.”

It took every single fiber in Eren’s body not to explode right there, his knuckles tightening so much that they cracked audibly. Kiyomi on the other hand had a completely different reaction.

“Pregnant? But how?”

The doctor sighed.

“Do I truly have to explain that?”

“What? No, no we… I mean…”

“Good, I’ll be taking my leave then.”

With a bow the man disappeared, leaving the three of them alone and finally giving Eren the chance to do what he wanted. Ripping his mask off and closing the distance to Mikasa in two steps he picked her up, spinning her around while laughing like a maniac. She was still half in disbelief, keeping silent.

Which was okay, because Kiyomi had a lot to say.

“Do you have to destroy everything that I plan?”

Eren was stuck in his happy place, content with laughing, so Mikasa answered for them both.

“It’s not like we planned it…”

“Of course you didn’t…”, Kiyomi rubbed her forehead, “This is so….”

“Great!”, Eren finished for her, “I can’t believe it!”

“Troublesome,” Kiyomi disagreed.

Deep in thought, she tapped her foot once, twice, three times before saying something that drastically changed the atmosphere in the room.

“You should get rid of it.”

“What?”

As gently as he could Eren set her down, getting between Kiyomi and Mikasa as if the old woman would charge her and try to carve the baby from Mikasa’s stomach.

“It’s the most logical way,” Kiyomi argued, “getting pregnant out of nowhere while not being married? It will bring nothing but trouble.”

“We are not getting rid of it.”, Eren cut her off before realizing that there was someone else in the room they should ask.

“Or… Are we?”, he turned to Mikasa, worry creasing his forehead.

She stared at him for a second, wondering if he just did that – if he asked: Do you want to get rid of something she and Eren created from their love, a proof oh much they adored each other, an offspring that would…

“No.”, she said out loud, “I don’t.”

The relief was visible on him, same as the irritation on Kiyomi.

“Oh good…”

“Lady Mikasa…”

“I’m not getting an abortion. Not an option.”

It was one of the fights that Kiyomi knew she could never win, so she did the smart thing and backed down before it even started.

Stupid kids. Dumb stupid kids risking everything just for… well… whatever. They wouldn't take the easy way out, and Kiyomi was stuck with them. Maybe she didn't like the plan at first, the way Mikasa led her in blind, manipulated her, but Kiyomi would be lying if she said that it wasn't impressive. For a former soldier who had no training in such things, guile and outsmarting came naturally to her.

More importantly, Kiyomi did like the girl, despite all her claims that this is all just for the greatness of the Hizuru nation. Mikasa was everything she wanted in a leader, or in the daughter that she never had. Which would, in some strange twisted way, make Kiyomi a grandmother, now that Mikasa was pregnant. Too bad that the child would be cursed with having Eren Yeager for a father, that guy could go burn in hell for all Kiyomi cared.

Anyway, if they didn’t want to get rid of the kid, there were certain changes to be made, to make sure that the plan didn’t go down in flames.

“Then we have to accelerate this whole thing.”, she said out loud.

“How so?”, Eren questioned her, still in that defensive stance between her and Mikasa.

Please, as if that girl ever needed protecting, the memory of her sweeping in and taking out half a room of armed men was still in Kiyomi’s memory. A nice gesture though.

“The preparations would normally take time, and Mikasa can hardly show herself on the day of her coronation day with a belly, can she?”

“Will the council accept this?”

“I don’t know, but I swear that I’ll do my damnedest to make them. Maybe I can twist it, paint the situation more desperate than it is, lie that the people are restless and that they demand the new Shogun to be crowned as soon as possible…”

“I’m going to start showing sooner or later…”, the to-be-Shogun peeped from behind her heroic protector, still in disbelief and staring down at her stomach, “How does this help?”

“Once you are the Shogun I can figure something out, but first we have to stick you up on that chair.”, she nodded at her, “One problem at a time.”

Slow and uncertain, Mikasa nodded back.

“One at a time.”

It would appear that while Kiyomi was anything but elated with her plan, she was going all-in right now. Same as the situation with Paradis – once she committed to a cause she was the best schemer and supporter one could ask for.

Excusing herself, Kiyomi left the two of them alone, already making a list of people she needed to talk to in her head.

The room grew quiet now that she was gone, the facts slowly anchoring themselves in their brains as reality.

“We are going to be parents.”, Eren finally said.

“So it would seem.”, Mikasa agreed in a whisper.

“And you are going to be a Shogun.”

“Yes.”

Turning around he pulled her into a hug that would be bone-crushing if used on anyone that wasn’t Mikasa Ackerman. She didn’t complain in the slightest, clutching to him with strength that squeezed the air out of Eren’s lungs.

“We are going to make it.”, he claimed, only for the statement to waver at the end, “Are we?”

She nodded against his chest, once again taking refuge in the beating of his heart.

“One thing at a time.”

The next ten days were one of the most chaotic that Mikasa ever lived through, and keep in mind that she was a survivor of not only a titan war but also an apocalypse. Kiyomi was a hyperactive bee, buzzing between the other council members and her at such speed that Eren wondered if she ever rested.

She didn’t.

There was hundred and one traditions Mikasa had to learn for the coronation process, a thousand dresses to try out, and million visits where she had to accompany Kiyomi while she convinced yet another noble that the ceremony should take place as soon as possible.

“If planning a wedding is anything like this,”, she hissed to Eren one day during the short break she had, shoveling food into her mouth “Then I’m never marrying you.”

“We are married already, did you forget?”, he grumbled from behind the mask that was his day-to-day accessory now, “Night under a tree, rings of grass, cracked bed frame… all that.”

“I wish this ceremony could also be made by weaving together a few blades. Do you think that I should ask Kiyomi about that?”

He chuckled.

“You can try.”

No, Kiyomi was not amused, and no, grass was out of the question. Very well.

Eren shadowed her almost everywhere, as a Faceless guard he was permitted to even the most private meetings. The other, true members of the order, didn’t give him any problems either, being exactly as obedient as Kiyomi described them. If the future Shogun wanted a fake to protect her, they had no issue with that. The orders were absolute.

Worst case scenario – the girl gets assassinated and then a new Shogun will be chosen, one that will respect the proper Faceless guard and not a wannabee.

And finally, it was here, the day D, the grand happening. Mikasa’s body moved mechanically through the ritual – every motion was explained and trained hundred times over until Kiyomi was satisfied. Still, it was fairly difficult in the ornamental kimono she had to wear, the damn thing was so heavy that she almost tripped several times, despite all the practice. Having a skirt around her legs made Mikasa wish for a good pair of pants too, but gender wouldn’t save her here. The men of the council also wore very similar robes. It was a small price to pay for getting things in motion though, so Mikasa gritted her teeth and carried on.

Eren was there as well, of course, and so was Kiyomi. The old woman stood among the council members, looking exactly as important as her fellow nobles, while Eren was hiding in the shadows, one of a long line of Faceless who guarded this ceremony. It would not be disturbed by anyone or anything, they made sure of that, and the number of guards played right into Mikasa’s hands. She could hide her lover easily now, he was nothing but another mask in the line, here to give his life in defense of the new Shogun.

Instructed by a priest that was so ancient that his skin resembled wrinkled paper, she repeated the words told to her, she bowed where required, and stood tall when it was time to show strength. She prayed to gods she didn’t know and showed respect to ancestors whose names Mikasa couldn’t even pronounce.

Several times the priest stopped and shook the incense he carried left and right, filling the air with its sweet smell. The council members watched every step like hawks, and she could feel their nervousness. It was one thing to talk about a foreign woman being elected as the head of state, it was another one to see it happening in front of their eyes. Luckily, she was prepared and did everything exactly as was expected, following the script to the letter.

Yes, it was one big theatre performance, but that didn’t matter to Mikasa at all.

Because when she finally sat down on the throne and looked over the council members, gathered there in front of her, Mikasa felt a huge weight fall from her chest. Her fights were still far from over, one might say. The position she was put in was anything but secure. Her pregnancy would complicate things, as would the fact that she had no intention of letting the nobles jerk her around. Eren's existence would have to be kept secret, same as the fatherhood of her child, and…

No, there would be time and place to worry about these things, and it was not now. One thing at a time, Kiyomi said, and Mikasa agreed with those words. The old woman was on her side, she had Eren right behind her, and a whole new culture to discover, one that her mother originated from. And as she adjusted her position on the throne, Mikasa Ackerman – the new ruler of Hizuru and the first female Shogun in the history of that nation – did that one thing that happened so rarely in her life.

Mikasa smiled - This was a beginning of a new adventure for them all.

[supertransural]

thinking about dean cas and baby jack going on a road trip. dean’s used to being in the impala for long lapses of time, but it’s usually stressful, it’s tiring, it’s always in the expectancy of another job, another monster to be defeated. it’s always going from point A where a killer was killed to point B where another one awaits. it’s always about the job.

so this time, concentrating on the road as dusk was slowly creeping up on them, with cas dozing off beside him or maybe thinking hard about... something (this was cas after all, how was dean supposed to know what went on in his (his!! he still couldn’t believe that) angel’s head), squinting as always, his eyes almost shut; with 4yo jack in the backseat, drooling all over the fine black leather (if this wasn’t his kid, dean would’ve stopped the car already and thrown the child out just for this punishable-by-death-atrocity) and dreaming about a future dean gets to be a part of (goddammit how did he get so lucky), he was surprised when he didn’t feel the much-too-common tension in his shoulders. he felt... relaxed, yes that’s the word. it’s a word he was beginning to understand, a word that cas was teaching him how to feel.

a small smile cracked its way through dean’s face as he turned his attention back to the road. they were on their way to Louisiana, not set on a town yet. he may have been retired, but dean hadn’t lost his taste for adventure, so he had convinced his little family to just, wing it. he wondered if he should switch routes and see where the new one lead him, but that might upset cas who was really excited about eating the good food he’d heard his husband talk so much about. louisiana it is, then, he thought.

in the corner of his eye, he could see cas breathing deeply, no doubt already mapping out every possible resting spot for tonight, every corner store that sold kids food, maybe emergency stuff (cas could get a bit overwhelming when he listed off every single potential thing that may go terribly wrong with jack when they leave the safety of their house) or diners that cas deemed appropriate enough for their special kid. because he really was special, every smile, every laugh, every new drawing or string of words he puts together seemingly just so he can see his dads smile, every single thing this baby does is special. unique. and dean gets to see all those things, he gets to be there for everyone of them. jesus he’s getting emotional, should stop that now or cas will be teasing him about it for the rest of the trip. ok, deep breaths now, he thought. the road, the wheel in his hands, baby’s engine humming quietly. right. got it.

they packed frantically two days prior, because cas. jack was giggling the whole way through, observing them from his stool, since apparently dean looked really funny with peach fuzz he hadn’t had the time to shave yet (cas woke him up in a panic at 6am dammit) pink pajama shorts, his boots and a unicorn tshirt he only wore in cas’ presence (sam is a lovey kid, but hell if dean is ever going to let him see the collection of tshirts this one comes from). 4 suitcases, a couple inflatable duck-floaties, way too many towels, every single one of jack’s stuffed animals (except the little purple dinosaur one that jack was firmly holding onto during his inspection of his parents’ packing ordeal) and a thousand other useless things cas seemed to find essential to their survival.

“jesus, it’s only a couple weeks, honey!” dean had told him, trying to fit the last suitcase into the trunk of the impala (and miserably failing, to his own bitter disappointment).

“yes, a “couple weeks” within which we will apparently be doing things and going places we cannot foresee, as was your wish. i simply want to be prepared for any alternative your resourceful mind might come up with. and jack requires all his stuffies, he cannot sleep without counting each one of them before bed. you do not wish to see your child cry for two weeks, do you? you would not purposely cause him any pain, would you? right then the matter is settled. these items must find their way into this car you love so much, and i must attend to our son. his breakfast awaits!” cas had responded, mischievous smile growing larger with each sentence. “good luck!” he then added, giving dean a long and deep kiss, as if this was to be their last.

after a kiss like that, how was dean supposed to keep on complaining? he wasn’t, and that was exactly what cas intended, dean knew that. doesn’t mean he protested, or argued against his miraculous-bitch of a husband. so he had finished packing, muttering to himself, but unable to push down the grin that cas’ kiss had brought upon his face. or the flush of his cheeks for that matter.

here he was, happy as he’d ever been, relaxed for the first time ever while being on a long drive (first of many times, he hoped), with the love of his life on his right side, and the other light of his existence in the backseat, little hands still clutching the purple dinosaur.

“hey.” he heard a raspy and sleepy voice say. cas had indeed been asleep for the past 30 minutes.

“good morning, sleepyhead!” answered dean, chuckling.

he looked at cas’ beautifully hazy face, his icy blue eyes shining in the pink-orange light of the fading sun. god, how could this man be his, and how could dean ever refuse him anything. he reached out his right hand to place it on cas’ left thigh, stroking it lovingly in round patterns with his thumb. smiling at him, he wondered if giving him a quick kiss would cause his husband to start lecturing him again (for the thousandth time probably) about driving safely when jack was in the car.

fuck it, he thought. he glanced at the empty road, and lunged quickly towards cas before the former angel could refuse, and placed his lips on his for a few seconds. grinning to himself as he sat back, directing his gaze back to the highway, he waited for cas’ annoyed voice, no doubt already preparing a stern talking-to and threatening him to rat him out to the police to get his license taken away (not that it would matter, dean still had all his fake ID’s in a secret box back home, carefully tucked between baby clothes and pacifiers at the bottom of a drawer).

“dean.” cas started, a frown already carved into his forehead.

“oh no you don’t” dean cut him off. “if you lecture me, jack’s gonna feel it and he’ll wake up from what seems to be a very pleasant dream. save it for the hotel room, i know a few ways you can make me feel the weight of my wrongdoing.” he added with a wink.

cas turned to look at his son, still happily asleep in the back. frown disappearing, a sweet smile starting to lighten his expression (wow, he really could just look that magnificent whenever he felt like it) he turned back to face his partner.

“fine. just because he’s asleep. where are we?” cas said, squinting disapprovingly, then yawning silently.

“just passed the northern border of arkensas.” answered dean with a sigh. “gonna be a pretty boring drive from here on out”.

“i see. there’s a motel not far from here, with a town nearby where we could find sustenance, appropriate for jack too.” cas said, not even looking at his phone: he’d memorized each town’s location, every name of every motel, roadhouse, diner that they might encounter, because he was like that. and god did dean love him for it. “it’s getting a bit late, and i would rather see jack in a bed tonight than sleeping in the car” he remarked. “no offense to her” he added hurriedly when he felt dean’s glare after what could be interpreted as an insult to his baby.

“alright. when’s the exit for this town of yours?” dean asked absentmindedly.

“15 more miles, i believe.” cas answered, propping up an elbow on the windowsill.

“cool. tell me when you see it, i might forget, with you looking so handsome right next to me and all. tired father really is a good look on you.” dean whispered with a side smile.

“oh stop it. jack is right there.” cas answered, chuckling and fiddling with his wedding ring.

they stared at each other, peace settling comfortably between them.

“you know i love you, right?” said dean, without a hint of humor in his voice.

“yes, you’ve taken the habit of telling me, roughly 28 times a day, give or take.” joked cas as he saw dean scowl. “i love you too, now and forever, when the seas rise and swallow the land, when the heavens fall and the stars burn out, i will still love you, the only light that ever mattered, the first soul i ever really saw, the one i followed to hell and back. but you already knew that, right?” cas uttered with warmth, with the same voice he’d used at their wedding.

“jesus, cas. if you’re not careful, i might just end up falling for you. oh wait, i already did.” answered dean, face reddened and heart full. this is where he belonged.

dean’s hand was still on cas’ thigh, and their gazes were still locked together when jack woke from his sleep in an adorable mumble. he immediately started babbling to his fathers about the dream he had had (probably making up new details, but you could never know with that kid). as the family laughed together, dean looked to his window, and time stilled for a split second.

he saw a ghost of who he was, staring back at him in his reflection, eyes glossy with tears (joy? terror? sadness? love? hate? too hard to tell). the face in the makeshift mirror seemed to ask “is this really what is coming? will i truly get to where you are one day?”. dean smiled, nodding a silent “yes, yes you will. in time.” and the face faded away slowly, a little less scared than it had seemed at first.

when he looked back towards his husband and his son, his own eyes were glossy too.

“what’s wrong?” cas asked, worried.

“nothing, i’m just happy.” dean answered, wiping away a tear that was slipping down his cheek with a sure smile. “i’m just... happy.”

they drove until cas pointed at the exit, ate, and fell asleep contentedly.

18 years ago, dean dozed off without the need for strong booze in the very same motel, and the same tear (joy, maybe?) danced down his face into the pillow. a low hum of a voice saying “in time” ringing brightly in his mind, he fell asleep into the deepest slumber he’d ever gotten. “all will be well”, a voice kept repeating.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE WOES OF MRS. WEASLEY

Lily had to demand the book from Sirius as he was still scrutinizing Dumbledore's departure like that, and he handed it over reluctantly. Before she could get started he said, "can we please take a break, just a quick thirty minutes to do something other than this mess. I really don't want to get started with something all over again already." Harry looked just as exhausted as him and eagerly agreed, and the moment everyone agreed he at once demanded of his Godfather if he could hear some more fun stories of the Marauder's pranks at school. Sirius easily roped James into that conversation and Remus would never resist breaking in as well. Lily watched them peacefully go through several stories, her favorites usually the ones on each other, but the longer they kept going the harder it was to keep leaving one person out. They'd spent seven years as a foursome after all, and it was getting more obvious by the moment they couldn't blot him out of all their adventures.

Still it had been worth it when finally all of their laughter subsided and they all looked almost normal and peaceful again while Lily got herself started.

Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief.

Harry was all the more happy for the little break he'd just had, it gave him some distance so he wasn't as hurt by that as he was at the time, and he did feel a bit better when he watched those around him either frown or scowl at this rather rude dismissal. Sure it wouldn't do for Dumbledore to show favoritism to Harry in that moment, but even a quick word goodbye would have been better than nothing.

The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet preparing to leave. Harry stood too and nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toad like witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at him instead of Dumbledore.

Harry felt that nasty, prickling feeling returning at once at her mentioning, and he wished he understood why. Surely she had nothing to do with his life.

  He turned to leave, hesitated in case someone called him back, but when no one did he began a very fast walk to the door.

"Escape while you can before they throw something else at you," Remus sighed in agreement.

He reached the door practically at a run, then nearly collided with Arthur who was pale and looking even more apprehensive than when Harry had gone in as he asked what had happened, Dumbledore hadn't said.

Remus tried for a more open expression in regards to saying, "well if he didn't even say anything to Arthur then I'm positive it really was a matter of something else other than this place he had to attend to."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry agreed, feeling only the smallest margin better it hadn't just been him who'd been dismissed like that.

Harry explained his current circumstances as cleared of all charges, and Arthur's face broke into a wide grin of how good that news was. Of course there was nothing to convict, he hadn't been guilty, but nobody could pretend- he broke himself off,

"Honestly that's for the best, he can't have gone anywhere pleasant from there," James shook his head fondly, regretting not having done something similar to his son when he seemed so pleased at Arthur's reaction, but now it would just look silly when the moment had passed.

because the courtroom was pouring out behind Harry now, and Arthur was gaping in shock he'd been tried by the full court.

"Can't wait for him to pass that along," Lily huffed, "I'm hoping it'll drop Fudge's credibility even more."

One or two gave Arthur a nod as they passed, such as Madam Bones who even greeted him with a good morning, but most ignored his existence as thoroughly as the wall like Fudge. The toad like witch,

"Are you going to keep referring to her like that?" Sirius snickered, honestly amused at what he considered a running insult from Harry after he'd gotten her name.

"Yes," Harry said back flatly, causing his smirk to disappear at once as they all scrutinized Harry's look. What had this woman done to him to cause such bad feelings when she hadn't actually done a thing yet? He was acting more hostile towards her than Fudge.

took one last moment to watch him as she passed by. Last to leave was Percy.

Lily winced at even the idea of having to read out such a harsh reaction she expected a parent to have around their own child, yet Arthur utterly deserved whatever was said to Percy, it still left a bitter taste in her mouth before she even knew what was to be done.

Aside from the tightening lines around his mouth, Arthur turned away with no notice he'd just seen his third child.

Lily groaned and shook her head miserably, there was no way that could have been good, but did the boys really have to look so hateful while she said it. She supposed it was better than the lashing argument she'd just pictured herself.

He waited until Percy had vanished before beckoning Harry that he could go back and tell the others the good news now, Arthur still had to see to that toilet in Bethnal Green.

"Was honestly hoping you'd go along," Sirius gave a believable smile to that.

"I'm sure I can give you details later when he tells that night," Harry chuckled at the enthusiasm.

Harry asked what was going to be done to the toilet with a grin, everything seemed five times funnier than normal to him.

"That's usually how it works," Remus smiled in full agreement as the feeling poured back over him he hadn't felt in a few years now but he honestly missed, this must be ten times more powerful to something so strong as what Harry had just gone through.

It was starting to sink in: he was cleared, he was going back to Hogwarts.

"Knew it all along," James gave a pompous smile. "Course all you had to do was look at this books length, or Merlin we could have even skipped ahead."

"Oh, now you suggest that," Harry chuckled.

Arthur began explaining the charm used was a simple enough fix, no the real problem was the vandalism itself and what it stood for. Muggle-baiting was an expression of a much deeper- he stopped himself in mid sentence.

"That always seems to happen during the important conversations," Lily sighed as she'd completely agreed with what Arthur was saying.

They'd reached back to the main landing where the lift and door were, to see Fudge speaking to a tall, blond figure with a pale face.

Harry extra despised that cold feeling of dread wrapping around him, forcing him to relive a memory he'd already regained just because of the sight of this man. Though he hadn't seen his face, the last time Lucius Malfoy had been in his presence was in that graveyard, groveling to Voldemort-

His recurring nightmare was interrupted by his dad whispering hatefully, "unless he's in handcuffs, I hope Arthur has the sense to keep you away from him."

"Considering the last time his name was mentioned in relation to Fudge, I wouldn't hold your breath mate," Sirius could already feel his lip curling into a sneer.

The second they'd arrived, the other two broke off whatever they were speaking of as well, Malfoy's cold grey eyes fixing Harry with a stare as he called to him Patronus Potter.

"I see where the young Malfoy gets his wit from," Remus rolled his eyes at the lame insult.

Harry felt winded, as the last time he'd been in the presence of this man was in the graveyard, listening to that voice jeer at him through a Death Eater's hood for Voldemort to continue torturing him.

James could feel himself going for his wand again, now regretting his angry actions this morning just because he wanted to be back beside his son now. It only helped ease his hand away but worsen his mood when Sirius gave Harry a soft nudge and muttered something to him, and he blinked around before smiling at him.

Too see him here, talking to Fudge just weeks after Harry had told Fudge this left Harry breathless.

Mr. Malfoy continued by saying the Minister had just been informing him of Potter's lucky escape.

"The fact that you call him mister," Sirius scoffed while trailing more silently in mutters about that.

It was astonishing really, how he kept wriggling out of tight holes, almost snakelike.

"Well he'd know all about that," Remus snapped, "glory, I think that was almost a compliment."

"Then I'm all the more insulted," Harry groused.

Mr. Weasley gripped Harry's shoulder in warning.

"I'm sure Arthur needs that just as much to hold himself back," Lily's lip was shaking with anger as she forced herself not to start cursing something. "I still treasure the idea of him hitting that man with a book on toadstools."

"You and me both love," James agreed.

Harry quietly agreed he'd always been good at escaping.

Sirius gave a soft, bitter laugh that he couldn't feel, but Harry deserved someone to admire his humor in the face of that.

Malfoy turned his attention to Arthur now, asking in astonishment what he was doing here?

"Escorting a friend, not that he'd understand what that meant," Remus muttered, not having missed the fact that the two people who should have been there for Harry were busy hiding out.

Mr. Weasley gave the curt reply that he worked here.

Malfoy raised a disbelieving brow as he demanded not here, he'd been under the impression his job implied bewitching useless Muggle artifacts.

"I really didn't think there was a bad way to say that, but Malfoy really managed it," Sirius huffed.

Arthur just said a simple no, his nails now digging into Harry's shoulder.

Even as Lily winced in sympathy Harry's face didn't even do that for the remembered feeling, he was too busy glaring at nothing and wishing he could punch Malfoy in his face already.

Harry demanded of Malfoy what he was doing here, and Malfoy stated that was none of Potter's business while smoothing out his robes.

Harry was distracted from his anger at Malfoy to really ponder that question though, since for some reason he couldn't identify he didn't like the answer given. Why? It wasn't even unrealistic, but something about that corridor and Malfoy was trying to be much louder in his mind than he would allow it.

Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold.

"Subtle," James snorted in disgust.

Fudge still pointed out this should be taken somewhere more private, and the two swept off for the lift, Mr. Weasley not letting go of him until they were out of sight.

"Again, I feel that's more for his benefit than Harry's," Sirius sneered, knowing he'd have to have someone hold him back as well when faced with that man.

Harry demanded why Malfoy hadn't just been waiting in Fudge's office if they had business. What was he doing down here?

Lily froze, cocked her head to the side, and stated, "that's a really good question."

"I, err, well maybe he was meeting up with some other Death Eater that works at the Ministry," Sirius offered. "Arthur said it himself, that's not a commonly frequented area, and I don't think Malfoy probably hadn't known the times were changed, so maybe he just got caught being down there and made, something up," he trailed off unhappily, but Harry was watching with wide, eager eyes for him to keep going. Harry was entirely sure Sirius was very close to being onto something, but none of the others looked very convinced as this was very blatant and almost dumb for Malfoy to be trying to do such a thing.

Mr. Weasley suggested trying to sneak into the courtroom,

Harry fidgeted with unease, as sure that Mr. Weasley was lying as he was that Sirius was far more on track. The two just would not come together for him to make sense of.

looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, starting to shake slightly as word vomit threatened to blow his head off as he was confident in that moment Arthur was looking back for an entirely different reason! To check on-

"Whoa Harry," James finally lost his compulsion so that he was sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Harry. "What's gotten into you? The trial's over, you're going back to school, I'm confident Malfoy won't do anything in the meantime."

Harry had to concentrate very hard on the sound of his voice to unscrew his face and take a deep breath before offering a shaky smile at him, and even that wasn't enough to erase the build of unease that left him sitting that much closer to Sirius.

James, finding himself more intruding than anything when he saw that, went back to his spot and tried to pretend like he hadn't seen any such thing.

Harry asked what private business they had that was so important anyways, and Arthur explained gold. Malfoy kept himself well connected with everyone by constantly donating to whomever he pleased.

Lily would have normally been trying to subtly comfort her husband for what had just happened, but she was too busy grinding her teeth in frustration that was all it took to get in with people, money. Apparently morals weren't worth as much!

They got into the elevator by themselves, and it took Harry a few stops to ask if Fudge was seeing Death Eaters in private, what if he was under the Imperius Curse?

"Honestly if you hadn't had that moment with him at the end of last year, I'd agree," Remus grumbled. "Sadly, as no one at that time had the chance to Imperius him before he acted the way he is, I think he's just an idiot all on his own."

"Jr. could have done it before he took me to his office," Harry persisted even if he didn't feel anything telling him this was the right line of questioning, he should in fact still be more focused on that door-

"I don't see it, he was too busy watching you, it just didn't seem part of the plan," Lily shook her head. Harry was at least grateful he'd asked then just to make sure that train of thought kept getting cut off.

"How do you even prevent a Minister from falling under that though?" He pushed for more, some distant part of him still afraid for this fact.

"The Minister works in very close contact with a lot of people," Remus reminded. "Why do you think Crouch got 'sick' while he was Imperiused, there's just no way to have someone fake it for a long enough period of time it wouldn't get suspicious and someone would look into him, start asking questions. Sorry Harry," he finished truly apologetically, "I guess it would be easier to blame someone else on this problem with magic, but that doesn't usually work."

Harry just sighed but let the matter go.

Arthur agreed the thought had crossed their mind, but for now Dumbledore was sure that Fudge was acting of his own accord, which the headmaster also agrees, isn't much comfort.

Sirius snorted lightly as he realized Remus and Dumbledore had essentially said the same thing, but he didn't really want to compare Moony to Dumbledore right now.

Then adding on more quietly it was best not talk about this right now.

"That's true to," James agreed, "you are in enemy territory."

As they made it to the atrium and were fixing to leave, Harry paused at the golden statue again, and asked Mr. Weasley to wait for him as he reached for his money bag.

Lily felt the happy giggle slide from her with what felt like the first true ease in this book. Something as whimsical as her son keeping this promise was a treasure to her.

Harry got a much more close up look at the designs now, and found that the handsome wizard looked weak and foolish up close. All of the others admiring expressions upon seeing this man were entirely ridiculous from what Harry knew of centaurs and goblins. The only accurate one was the house-elf.

"I'm glad you see the truth in that thing," James happily agreed.

"I honestly think that's why that attempted assassination on Spout-Hole happened," Remus smirked, then catching sight of Harry's bewildered look he explained, "a group of centaurs tried to kill a past Minister, Faris Spavin, and I've no doubts it really had something to do with the timeframe this statue was put up."

Harry didn't have it in him to deny someone deserved a good reality check for thinking up this statue.

With a grin at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf,

Harry felt a nasty tug on the edges of his memory, thinking he was now being ridiculous that Hermione and him at the Ministry at the same time shouldn't cause any bad feelings...

as he turned his moneybag upside-down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool.

Lily let out a whistle in surprise, as she knew she kept a few galleons on her, but no one could do anything but smile at Harry for this spot of kindness.

Harry in no way regretted his actions of course, but he was thinking hard to himself why that felt so ominous to him, that statue and also that hospital...

Ron punched the air in triumph as he screamed he knew it!

"So I'm guessing you're back at that place." Sirius hadn't been in a particularly good mood while hearing of Harry at the Ministry, but this was honestly only making him feel worse.

As a natural reaction but also hoping it would cheer him up, Remus gave a sarcastic little applause for Sirius' brilliant thinking, while Lily was ignoring them both.

He always got away with stuff!

"Well he's not wrong," Remus snickered while Sirius released a bark of laughter for that being true.

Hermione was still shaking from anxiety as she told him this was bound to happen, there hadn't been a case against him.

Harry smiled around at them all that they seemed quite relieved considering how convinced they all were he'd get off.

"That's right Harry," James nodded in pure agreement, "mock them for trying to comfort you to your face."

"So long as they were silently worrying while you weren't watching," Sirius giggled in agreement.

Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face with relief as well, while Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a war like dance, chant around the room about how 'he got off!'

Sirius didn't even consider denying his spark as he got to his feet, James moving only a step behind him as the two began bouncing around their own room doing the exact same thing. Remus only watched long enough to see the pattern the two quickly took to before joining with a stupid grin in place as well.

Harry was about ready to fall off the couch laughing any second and Lily in no way looked like she was going to be stopping them any time soon. They all, especially James, had been so tense lately that it was good to see him acting like an idiot goofing off with his friends again. Finally though, she did pick the book back up and kept going over their noise.

Arthur tried without emphasis to get them to stop while turning to Sirius and telling him about Lucius Malfoy hanging around the Ministry. All the while in the background the three were going as loud as ever while Mrs. Weasley cut in for them to be quiet.

Lily read that part just a bit more loudly, hoping they'd take a hint soon even if she couldn't wipe the smile off her face while doing so, but the lot of them ignored her.

Arthur just explained what they'd briefly seen, and as soon as Sirius promised they'd pass this along to Dumbledore, Arthur said he had to get going. There was a vomiting toilet waiting for him.

"A once in a lifetime experience I'm sure," Harry snickered to himself, his eyes still dancing as he watched the three of them still mimicking his past with amusement.

Mrs. Weasley finally cut off her three noisy children in a sharp voice,

Lily had said that in such a sharp 'mother' voice, that Sirius stumbled in surprise, Remus tried to catch him, and the end results were all three on the ground still laughing like crazy people. Lily was still going as if this was all perfectly normal background to her reading, which it honestly was.

then she turned on Harry and insisted he eat something.

His friends sat down around him as Harry felt the warmth and friendliness of this place for the first time. Even Kreacher's ugly snout like nose poking around the corner seemed friendlier than usual.

Harry's good mood could find no reason to dampen in here either, as for what felt like the first time in ages he was confident that house should always feel like that to him. It was so nice to watch the boys untangling themselves and still smirking at their spot of fun and his mother's purely happy smile he almost wanted to ask her to stop just for a moment so it wouldn't end, but he'd sadly already come to the conclusion time stopped for no one, not even someone out of time.

Ron was dishing food onto everyone's plates.

"That's how I love to celebrate," James snickered as he settled back into his seat next to his wife.

Harry explained Dumbledore was the man to be grateful to, only just managing to stop himself adding it would have been nice if he'd just looked at him once, but that sounded too childish.

"I don't find that childish at all," Sirius pushed his hair out of his face just in time for a frown to reappear there as he thought back to Dumbledore again. "He really was acting off right there, couldn't be bothered to look at you once that whole time. That's most certainly not normal."

Harry wished that nasty tingling sensation would vanish already instead of agreeing with Sirius.

As he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he clapped his hand to it.

Lily jolted in surprise of reading that, knowing if she hadn't just cut the boys off seconds ago that would have as they all paled for this being mentioned again while Harry's smile flickered before vanishing entirely as he was reminded of that.

Sirius was entirely ready to get up and start the jig up all over again before he realized Harry was trying to sit so close to him, and decided for now the best course of action was just to remind his pup everything would turn out okay by staying right where he was.

Hermione looked at him in concern, but he just muttered it was nothing and that it happened all the time now. No one else had noticed a thing, they were still gloating over Harry's newest escape.

Sirius' frown was starting to make a reappearance as well, feeling like smacking himself upside the head if he really hadn't noticed Harry's moment of pain. What exactly had he been doing not to have seen that?

Remus was thinking the exact same thing, and was honestly even more annoyed with himself he didn't even seem to be in the room. What business had he done that was so important he wouldn't have stuck around the house to hear this news as soon as possible?

Fred, George, and Ginny were still singing, but while Hermione was still looking anxious Ron was saying Dumbledore would probably make an appearance tonight to celebrate with them.

"I sure hope he does," James hated watching his two friends suddenly dim right back down into that somber mood this whole book seemed to be leaving on all of them after just a few moments and vented that by saying, "the man needs a few good words said to him by both Harry and Sirius now."

"Here's hoping," Lily agreed quietly.

Mrs. Weasley corrected her son that most likely not, while setting a whole plate of chicken in front of Harry,

"Did she expect you to eat all that?" Sirius did a very good attempt at putting up a smile back in place.

Harry helped nothing by not answering, still seeming distracted by running his hand over his scar which seemed to be bothering him more this year than any before.

but was cut off by saying anything else by her three kids reaching shouting levels of their chant, which she matched in telling them to shut up.

Over the next few days though, Harry noticed one person in particular didn't seem overjoyed at Harry's return to school.

"Kreacher ruins everybody's good mood," Sirius agreed solemnly.

Sirius had at first congratulated him upon the news like everyone else, but directly after he was hardly seen around Harry or anyone, spending most any moment shut in his mother's room with Buckbeak.

"Oh," Lily uttered by the end as they all looked like they'd been hit in the gut. "Oh Sirius," Lily tried to start, not even sure herself what was going to come out, but Sirius snapped back at once with his eyes flat black.

"Don't you even Evans-"

"Potter," James corrected on instinct, though he too looked ready to say something, Sirius continued even louder-

"Potter then, the both of you." He sat there struggling for a moment to put into words that he didn't want to hear their sympathies on his sad state of a future if he even for a moment was acting like that towards Harry, but at the same time the words just wouldn't come as he could all to easily picture it. The only thing that had gotten him through his summers there were waiting on the letters from his friends, and he no longer even had that in that miserable place. Now he was looking at even more of that away from Harry, and even Remus it seemed as he'd been mentioned there all of three times instead of up Sirius' butt like he'd have hoped his friend would be to keep his mind off where he was.

He was almost grateful he didn't have the chance to say any of that as Remus cut in with an almost gentle scolding, "haven't we been over this. There's no point tearing into him when he isn't treating Harry that way now, he's never going there, so this won't ever happen."

Lily still felt like she should say something to him, either a promise she didn't blame him even if he was secretly wanting that or to offer up some suggestions of how to make this even a bit better, but Sirius was clearly relieved at avoiding this all together so she kept going in hopes the whole topic would pass quickly and they could just be with Harry in school again where hopefully nothing too eventful would happen.

James didn't entirely agree, he was a bit convinced there was something else going on with his best mate entirely and so avoiding Harry was just a byproduct of that, but he supposed his Sirius wouldn't know what anyways and kept his mouth shut, for now.

When Harry pointed this out to his friends one day while the three were cleaning out a cupboard, Hermione's first words were to sternly tell him not to go feeling guilty, Sirius was being selfish if he thought Harry should not be going back to school.

"Hey!" James snapped at once, his eyes flashing with such protection Harry was suddenly grateful his wish had never come true and Hermione wasn't here with them, she'd be getting an ear full from his dad.

He couldn't even think up a defense for her, he'd have liked to snap at her right now as well for speaking of his godfather like that while he was talking about his problems, a little sympathy wouldn't have hurt for as much as she showed towards Kreacher.

Remus was flushed in anger as well, he was almost glad of his absence now as he liked to think if he had been present for that he'd have snapped at Hermione for speaking about Sirius like that. He was many things, yes even selfish at times, but not for such an important matter as Harry continuing going to school.

Lily's lip seemed to be curling a bit in that sneer she so often got when speaking about Snape lately. Hermione had always been a vivacious child when she was speaking of what she thought, but while Lily encouraged and even admired that about her, now she was turning what she thought were her ideas on her friend, and she did not read this bit lightly.

Ron scolded her that was harsh, pointing out she wouldn't want to be shut in this house all alone either.

Sirius blinked sourly at the stupid book, still wishing more than anything he could find something in him to deny that claim...and coming up empty.

Hermione reminded he wouldn't be alone, this was Headquarters, he'd have company over all the time.

"Being around the Order all the time holds nothing to being around family," James hissed under his breath. His most daunting missions he'd ever taken were the extended ones away from his own, even when he did have a partner. That person, while a mutual friend, still couldn't replace who he really wanted to see.

He'd just gotten his hopes up Harry was coming here permanently.

Harry corrected Sirius had never agreed Harry could stay here with him.

"It only would have made you feel like the answer was inevitable," Sirius told Harry quietly, who nodded in agreement, he hadn't really held that against Sirius. He'd never thought Sirius would turn him down, but it was nice to still get a reason.

Hermione wisely said he just hadn't wanted to get his own hopes up all the more.

"Not my choice of words," Lily huffed, "more like pompously."

"She'll be the next Percy if she keeps telling people how they should be feeling," Remus agreed, thinking back to how she'd been acting in third year as well.

He was probably feeling his own guilt, hoping Harry would lose, so that they could both be outcasts.

Harry hadn't felt this angry at Hermione since she'd gotten his firebolt taken away, and this was so much worse than that. Sirius was on the run for the murder of his brother because of a long standing friend who'd left him framed and for dead, while Harry was about to be kicked out of school! They weren't comparable problems, and Sirius would never think to insinuate otherwise!

Harry shot back she was being ridiculous, but Hermione shrugged without remorse as she said she believed Ron's mum might be right, and Sirius seemed to get Harry and his own father confused.

Sirius felt like he'd been slapped. He certainly felt the hot burn rushing his throat and threatening to overflow onto his face through his eyes as he found that was proof of what Molly had said earlier. If even Hermione had caught him doing or saying something-

"That arrogant little shit!" James howled, looking as angry as when Sirius had been sent off to Azkaban without a trial. "He's been living in hell for how many years now, and she goes turning any sign of him wanting to reminisce to Harry about me into him being a loon! For Merlin's sake, he's done nothing but try to do everything for Harry since he got out, has everyone just forgotten that!"

"Prongs." The soft little voice was the only thing that could have cut him off, and James had to work hard to focus on him through blurry red vision to see such a resigned expression.

He wasn't having that as he hissed back, "I'm getting sick and tired of hearing people talk about you like this, when none of them can claim to know you worth a damn. Why am I the only one getting hacked off about this?" He finished more towards Remus than anyone.

"You're not," he said at once in short, clipped sentences to keep his own anger held in, "but you were doing such a good job vocalizing I'd be remiss to cut you off or even add in."

"Stop, please," Sirius cut in with more force before any return could be made. He faltered a bit, knowing he'd catch hell in here if he told them the real reason he couldn't work up the steam over this was because he honestly feared how true it was, so instead he put out, "I just, can't get worked up over thinking of myself in any sense in that future, so I'd rather, you know, not think about it anymore than I can." He finished in a tiny voice, clearly not doing as good a job as he'd intended in keeping his real thoughts out of his tones as James's face suddenly flipped to concern, but Lily seemed to understand best of all as she respected his wishes and wouldn't let anyone say another word as she kept going.

Harry was getting angry as he demanded if she thought his godfather was touched in the head?

Hermione denied that claim, but did say he'd been lonely for a very long time in a simple voice.

Remus had to work very hard not to spit out, 'so that's a sign of insanity now?!' When in all honesty that was the most true thing Hermione had ever said, and no one, clearly not him, seemed to be going out of their way to help Sirius anymore than keeping him at arms distance from the one person who could have made that more bearable.

Mrs. Weasley came in then, asking if they were finished cleaning this cupboard they'd been working on this whole time.

"That's gratitude for you," Sirius muttered just for something new to say and still not looking at anyone.

Ron said bitterly he'd been hoping she'd come to give them a break.

She reminded they'd been so keen on helping the Order, they were doing just that by making this place livable.

Lily gave a hollow laugh as the phrase, 'be careful what you wish for,' flitted across her mind.

Ron grumbled they'd been working like house-elves in here, while Molly just turned to leave.

Hermione rather liked the idea though, saying maybe now he'd take a real interest in SPEW.

Lily had to work very hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice Hermione so easily flipped subjects like that. As if talking about Sirius were inconsequential and instead she could make them hear more about house-elves, again. Those boys clearly cared nothing for her thinking on this, and this one just never seemed to take a hint. They were all in such a bad mood, none of them even had the fun to point out Hermione had just referred to her own organization by Ron's stupid name.

Then she added to herself this could bring more awareness to all Gryffindor's if she sponsored a common room cleanup, all proceeds going to the campaign of course.

"More like she'd have to pay them to be doing any such thing," Sirius sighed as he still couldn't find a smile in himself to put up. It wasn't helping no one, not even Harry, was playing along.

Ron muttered he'd sponsor her to shut up about SPEW, but so only Harry could hear.

Sirius gave an obnoxiously loud laugh for himself just having mimicked Ron, at least making Remus roll his eyes again, something Sirius was confident he'd never grow tired of.

Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again,

Harry had some sad little frown on his face he didn't seem aware of at the mention of that,

to play Quidditch,

and no one noticed him wince slightly as without fail, the other boys managed some small enthusiasm for that word alone.

and to simply stroll across the vast lawns. He was always sure to talk about this when Sirius wasn't in the room.

Sirius wished a Bludger would come knock him stupid already just so he didn't have to see Harry look shameful at that!

The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it.

James ran his hand furiously through his hair as he realized what Hermione had said clearly wasn't going to come back up so he could keep going, and he wasn't even sure if he could have anyways after his brothers pitiful little attempts to deflect him from it. That didn't make his simmering anger feel any better, but he managed a mask that at least resembled his joking tone as he told Harry, "nothing ever is."

Harry had to push through his mind to force himself back into this conversation before he simply responded, "Quidditch," and was thankful a second mentioning of it only left another dull sadness in him he didn't have to examine.

"Okay, most things," he conceded.

Members did still frequently come and go, but Mrs. Weasley always made sure all ears, extendable or not, were no where in the area. No one, not even Sirius, had done a thing to give Harry more information since his first night there.

Harry gave an exaggerated groan and a playful nudge to his godfather that went completely ignored.

On the last day of term, the book lists finally came in.

"Oh wow," Lily blinked in surprise and almost relief at this new topic. "I thought that was just glossed over like last year, hadn't realized you hadn't even gotten them yet."

"What are they playing at sending that the day before school starts," Remus agreed in surprise. "Can you imagine how packed Flourish and Blotts is going to be, everyone trying to get that last book for their Defense class. At least the others the parents could have gotten already."

"You do bring up the fun question of who it's going to be this year," Sirius was really trying to put some enthusiasm into chatting about this, but Harry very clearly did not agree as he pleaded his mother to cut him off and go on, they'd get their answer soon enough, and he already had a bad feeling about it.

Harry was standing on a chair cleaning up some owl droppings from on top of their wardrobe as Ron passed Harry his. He chucked the waste into a basket that swallowed the lot with a belch and accepted his letter.

"One of the few good features in that house," Sirius chuckled, "my favorite part being, it spits whatever you threw in there right back up a few minutes later. Great for saying you cleaned your room so you can scarper and then blame the mess on someone later."

"I can't imagine how someone would find a use for that," Lily told him deadpan.

He opened his letter and found only two new books, the Standard new charms book, and Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.

"That sounds extraordinarily boring," Sirius snorted, forcing himself to get into this now despite Harry's lack of enthusiasm. "Are you sure you can't come back Moony? At least you wouldn't be caught dead assigning anything that has such a title you'd use it for a pillow."

Remus gave an exaggerated eye roll for what he felt was a stupid question, while James sighed and forced himself to add in as well even if he'd prefer to hold onto his anger some more. "You know, it never even mentioned what book you did assign," with a curious look at Harry.

"We only ever studied out of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," Harry shrugged, "he didn't assign any other specific books. I was grateful, as the only other thing I'd used it for before then was just to look up some creature I heard an older student mention and I didn't know." He finished himself off with a curious look though before adding on, "how come that's a first year book anyways? Care of Magical Creatures isn't even mandatory."

"It's intended for individual studies," Lily told, "so that you have a basic understanding of magical creatures on hand even if you don't take the class. By making it part of your first school list, someone likes to think that you've cracked it open at some point."

Harry gave a sheepish smile for that, as the only real time he'd ever done much of anything with that book was a few things for Professor Lupin out of it. He'd managed to accidentally rip out a few chapters at some point he'd never bothered repairing, like his section on boggarts for instance, and at the end of his fourth year him and Ron had skimmed through the whole thing by themselves on one of their off periods in one of their silent 'don't want to talk right now' agreements on Harry's part.*

With a now familiar crack, the twins had Apparated themselves into the room. Harry was so used to this, he didn't even fall from his chair.

Sirius really did laugh that time, though he'd yet to fail when mention of them making an appearance so he was at least happy for that consistency.

The two examined the boys lists and found they'd all gotten the same book, all wondering who the person was to assign this new book. George reminding Dumbledore was having a hard time of finding any new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Did it really take them the day before term to pull that together?" Lily asked with honest concern.

"I knew it must be getting harder all the time to get someone in, but this is just getting sad," James agreed with a very pointed look someone was very pointedly ignoring.

Fred said it must be a chore, considering what they knew happened to the most recent ones.

Harry agreed one had been sacked,

"Sacked?" Remus repeated with a snicker. "Really, that's all the reference I get?"

"Besides, he technically quit," Sirius reminded, giving him the stank eye for the reminder as he finished, "with protest."

Remus ignored the jab.

one dead,

"Deserved it," Lily muttered bitterly.

one's memory removed,

"Still my favorite," Remus savored.

and one locked in a trunk for nine months.

James shuddered all over again in renewed horror of that.

Harry agreed it was easy to not want the post.

"You'd think the job was cursed or something, oh wait," Sirius smirked.

"I wonder what happened to the twins teachers before those came along," Remus puzzled.

"Guess something far more boring," James shrugged.

Fred looked around at his youngest brother and asked why he hadn't spoken up, but Ron made no move he'd heard, he was still gaping down at his letter with his mouth hanging open.

"What's got his knickers in a twist?" Remus asked too enthusiastically, anything to get back off that job he honestly wished he'd never taken, it's not like he'd done much good at it that no other competent person could have.

When he got no answer, his brother snatched the letter away to see for himself, and his own mouth fell open as he mouthed the word Prefect.

"You said perfect, right?" James was staring at her oddly. "What's perfect?"

"You heard exactly what she said Prongs," Sirius corrected, his eyes growing steadily wider as the shock sunk in. "Prefect! Oh wow, go Ron!"

Remus was snickering lightly while Lily was shaking her head fondly at these boys, thinking this was most likely similar to how they'd reacted upon Remus' Prefect status as well. A little humor, some congratulations and then trying to move on by looking at her like, 'get on with it.' Clearly they didn't put much of a big deal into the matter, which made sense considering how often they went through their life ignoring any and all resemblance of authority.

Neither twin could believe this, it must have been a mistake!

"Now that was just hurtful," Lily couldn't stop her twitching lips as she tried to read in Fred's mocking tone, perhaps not doing it as well as the boys, but still almost hitting that playful way she imagined them using.

They turned to look at Harry and insisted everyone thought it would be him, looking at Harry like he'd tricked them himself.

"Harry would never do such a thing!" James gasped in mock outrage. "He's going to be far too busy avoiding Ron the rest of the year to join him!"

"You were a Headboy though," Harry suddenly blinked as he realized this. "Do you not need to be a Prefect to get that?"

"Nah," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I honestly have no idea how they pick them, I feel like they just pull a random name out of the Sorting Hat, it makes more sense than going with any 'qualifications,' which neither of them had to be holding any such title."

"Thank you Padfoot," Remus snorted.

George did remind his brother all the mad things Harry had done must have left him out of it. Fred readily agreed, saying Harry had his priorities right and kept himself in trouble enough for this not to have been his.

"I must applaud them on seeing this in the proper lighting, someone I know never did see it that same way," Sirius said tragically while Remus hadn't stopped laughing this whole time for how much of a flashback he was getting to his friends ribbing on him through the whole, very long, train ride when he'd told them. It had been almost a relief to attend his Prefect duties first, at least they'd had enough time to laugh it off with each other so by the time he came back they'd almost been ready to ignore the whole instance.

George's next thought was to realize how revolting their mother was going to be when she heard about this.

Some of Lily's humor did fade at that, while the boys just laughed harder, though a bit harsher in remembrance of Molly especially so fresh after Hermione's pot-shots. She however was thinking the twins could show just a bit more of both praising and picking on their brother at once, hadn't they learned after they'd dealt with Percy sometimes words could hurt after all those years. They were making the same mistake with their younger brother as they had been with their elder one in treating him like this just because he'd gotten an accomplishment he'd had no real control over. They didn't necessarily have to approve of it, but couldn't they at least not take the mickey out of him for it.

Ron, still with his mouth hanging open, handed the badge to Harry as if in confirmation it was real. Harry gave it a brief examination to see the exact same one he'd seen on Percy's the first time they'd met..

"Which he wore for the next two years straight as well," Harry muttered in remembered disgust, managing to ignore the old conundrum he'd always had at school of having twenty-two Prefects at once running around, plus the Head Boy and Girl, not to mention all the teachers always seeming to keep an eye on all things. It really did boggle his mind how the Marauders got away with anything like that, though it must have helped in fact to have a man on the inside.

The door opened with a bang, and Hermione came in squealing with delight about how she'd gotten- then she spotted what Harry was holding and shrieked that they were both Prefects now!

"Wow, both of his friends got it!" James's tone came out much harsher now as he was still waiting for an apology from her as well as Molly to Sirius' face. "I'm thinking she'll do worse than Ron, she'll be too busy with all her studies to deal with Prefect duties. Least he'll enjoy the attention it gets him from some of the younger students."

"So long as he doesn't let it go to his head," Sirius said a little uneasily, still remembering last year and how Ron got because he thought he wasn't recognized enough. Now the opposite problem could occur.

Harry quickly corrected while pushing it back to his friend this was Ron's.

Hermione at first didn't understand,

"That timing though," Remus muttered at how awkward this could get.

before she turned surprised on him to ask if he was sure?

"Ouch," Sirius winced hard for that one. "Yes he's sure woman, the schools never sent someone the wrong envelope before." He got out quickly before anyone could make a more snide comment about her.

Ron's expression turned defiant as he stated that was his name on the school's letter.

Hermione continued to stand there bewildered for a moment,

"Wow, she came skipping in when she thought it was Harry's but now it's Ron's and she's actually at a loss for words, for once," James huffed.

before finally beginning to congratulate him. This was really-

George input for her unexpected.

Hermione tried to say that wasn't true, Ron had...

the door opened again for Mrs. Weasley carrying clothes, cutting off Hermione's trailing words.

"Saved by the Mum," Sirius looked a bit relieved, that couldn't have been going any more awkwardly.

She wasn't surprised by everyone holding the envelopes, Ginny had already told her letters were in. If they passed them all to her, she'd go into Diagon Alley today and fetch it all for them. Then she turned on Ron and asked if he'd like a new color for the pajamas she was going to get him, the ones he had now were far too short.

"Why does she bother asking? I thought she always gave him maroon just to color coordinate her kids by this point," James snarked, clearly his mood getting worse now that both people of his ire were in the same room, and hardly even reacting when Lily pinched him to get him to stop.

George said for his brother he should have red and gold to match his badge, while Molly rolling up a pair of maroon socks didn't understand what he meant.

James gave Lily a pointed look which she ignored.

Fred emphasized Ron's new prefect badge, his every tone conveying the worst news.

It took a moment for the words to get past her preoccupation with pajamas.

Sirius got a happy snort of laughter for that sentence existence, after all pajamas were a very fascinating conversation topic.

She turned in confusion Ron wasn't a -

"He is as of five seconds ago," Lily giggled.

Then she spotted the badge in Ron's hand, and squealed with delight! Saying how wonderful and perfect this was, that was everyone in the family!

"Hey!" All three Marauders yelped indignantly on behalf of the twins, Sirius persisting the point, "what happened to the other two that are in the room?"

Lily nibbled on her lip for a moment before continuing, feeling just as bad for the twins as she would have if Ron hadn't gotten this reaction. Ginny hadn't even made the status yet, so she really wasn't sure if that was the right thing for Molly to say there.

James wanted to ask if that meant even Charlie had been one, but he honestly wasn't sure if this should be counted as Molly had just brushed aside two of her kids, she might have done it for three in that moment.

George demanded what he and his twin were, neighbors, while Molly brushed past him and threw her arms over Ron, seeming not to have heard him.

"Wow," James rubbed at his shoulder with his own hurt filled eyes. "I'm not even a Weasley and that hurt my soul."

"You'd be just as snarky if she tried to play it off and not single out one of her children for doing something so good," Lily sighed, hating having to deal with her husband when he was in his petty moods, which seemed to be happening more often than not of late.

She kept going on about how proud she was, and his father and brothers would be to! All while Fred and George pantomimed vomiting.

"He'll be lucky if they don't do far worse to him," Remus muttered, knowing the twins, like his friends, might just take this as a new challenge to prank their little brother and see how well they could get away with it. They'd yet to clearly be doing things to Ron at school, but he wouldn't put it past them for this to be a start.

Mrs. Weasley did not notice as she held eyes only for her youngest son, continuing to kiss his face, who was quickly growing as scarlet as his new badge.

"That woman has no shame, the boys in front of his friends," James grumbled.

"Howler," Lily reminded, clearly Molly held absolutely nothing of the world outside her circle.

He finally managed to stop her stream, only for her to continue by asking what he'd like.

Ron at first couldn't dare to understand, as she exclaimed he had to have a reward for this!

Lily crooned, just a bit, as she truly did see the value in doing this for her kids that had done such an accomplishment. It certainly made sense, even if she felt for the twins as one of them would have always been left out of this tradition. There really was just no winning with this.

She at first offered some new dress robes, before the twins reminded they'd done that one, clearly regretting their moment of generosity.

"It was part of Harry's doing, so I forgive their moment of kindness." James rolled his eyes.

"You know, I just realized, Ron and Hermione weren't there when you did that," Sirius pointed out just to change the subject. "Did you ever tell them what you did for the twins?"

"No," Harry shrugged, the thought had never crossed his mind. "I suppose they just told Ron they did it so they wouldn't have the humiliation of seeing him in them again. They were so awful Ron just believed them on the spot."

She at once switched to some other things he could want, like a cauldron, or a new rat, he had always favored Scabbers-

Lily winced hard at getting out the name of that old thing which effectively managed to turn every person in here into a gargoyle like face.

but Ron cut her off instead asking for a broom.

Her enthusiasm faded a bit, broomsticks were very expensive.

"Go big or go home," Remus winced as he easily saw both sides to what both parties were feeling in that moment.

Ron quickly tacked on not the newest model, just a new one for a change...

Her smile was right back as she agreed of course. Then she left the room in high spirits, saying she really had to get going now if she had all this shopping plus that.

They were all surprised she'd so easily agreed to this, but then the boys were suddenly bouncing in place with pleasure as they were begging Lily to get to the part where they hoped to find what exact model Molly would get!

Still muttering happily to herself how she was all a dither.

Lily was giggling herself by the end of that, looking lovingly at her son for a moment and knowing she'd be just as bad if he had been made one. She did a double take in surprise as she saw how off his face looked, like he was really thinking about something, but she supposed it may still be mention of that rat like the lingering darkness in the boys still showed so she didn't press him.

The twins hardly waited until she was out of sight before turning falsely anxious looks on him, asking if it was alright they didn't kiss him as well?

George at least offered they could curtsey.

"That I would like to see," James snickered.

Ron just told them to shut up, while Fred gave an evil grin and asked what if they didn't? Was their baby brother going to put them in detention?

"No, no," Sirius corrected at once, a look of intrigue now dominant. "That is what I want to see! Hermione tried it last year, now I really want to know who would win, the twins or Ron. With Harry as backup of course," he finished with a smirk at his godson who did not show a hint of listening.

"My money's on Harry and Ron," Remus kept going, clearly not noticing the same thing. "The twins owe Harry big, if he asks them to take a dive and fall into detention, they just might for him."

"I don't think it'll ever come to that," James rolled his eyes. "I can't think of a moment where Ron cares enough to go at them that hard, he's hardly a ruler himself when it comes to school boundaries."

Hermione snapped he just might if they didn't watch themselves.

"I feel like that's more her part than his," James sniffed, there she went again, speaking for everyone.

The twins burst out laughing while Ron told Hermione to drop it.

They kept going as if Ron hadn't spoken, Fred speaking to his brother about how they'd better watch their step this year, George agreeing he was shaking in his boots at the thought. The two concluding their rule breaking days were over.

Then they vanished with a loud crack.

"They're off to a great start," Remus snorted.

Hermione shot a nasty look at the ceiling where laughter could still be heard from them as she told Ron not to pay them any mind, they were just jealous.

"I don't think jealous is the right word," James grinned, "but I'd think something was entirely wrong with them if they didn't have some fun with Ron about this. Then again, I'd think Hermione wasn't acting like herself if she didn't say what others are thinking as well," he finished with a huff.

Ron disagreed, they'd always said anyone who was a prefect was a prat.

"Am I the only one remembering Bill?" Lily chuckled, thinking he hadn't sounded one bit like a prat.

He cheered himself up though that at least he was getting a new broom out of it, and then decided to himself he'd like a Cleansweep model.

"Not a bad model at all to choose from," Sirius snapped away from watching Harry curiously, who hadn't pipped up in ages now, and still wasn't showing much interest in this, which meant he must really be thinking of something in his head.

"You think he'll put it to any good use?" James said wistfully as he remembered a large portion of his agitation last year. "There's a spot open on the Quidditch team with Wood gone, and assuming Anglina or one of the other Chasers might have graduated, that could mean some new potential on the field."

Harry did blink a bit at this news and looked around curiously to find them still talking about Ron just getting the broom, so he smiled happily and forced himself to engage in his own hopes that this would happen with a distant smile the whole time before Lily cut off the Quidditch talk for her own sanity.

He jogged out of the room to go tell his mum this, while Harry was left alone with Hermione, whom he didn't feel like looking at all of a sudden.

"Least I'm not the only one holding a grudge," James grumbled to himself, half wishing Harry had said more to his friend in defense of his godfather earlier, but he'd long accepted Harry was not the confrontational type much.

Hermione began to say something tentatively, but he cut her off with a hearty congratulations he didn't really seem to feel.

"Oh," they all muttered, looking to him in surprise and quickly away again as Harry's eyes widened with panic, realizing what he'd just been thinking about all this, and how that most likely was fixing to end up in this stupid book!

She began again, asking if she could borrow Hedwig, to send an owl to her parents and tell them about this.

He agreed at once, keeping his back to her as she took his owl from he room, and he sat down by himself on the bed, his mind spinning. The only noise left was the waste basket spitting the owl droppings back up.

Sirius opened his mouth to repeat his joke, but in fact performed a small miracle by instead taking James's small little head shake as warning and closing it again.

He had forgotten prefect badges were on the way, far to anxious with his upcoming trial.

"A daunting enough fear, you're forgiven," Remus muttered under his breath, as they all now realized they were hearing exactly what Harry had just been thinking without having shared. No one had really missed how silent and speculative he'd just gotten, but they'd left him alone with his head for a moment since it clearly had nothing to do with poking at his memories. Now, well this just felt a bit invasive as shame began burning up his face. They were all starting to feel more than just pity for him, it really couldn't be fun for him not to have had a single private moment while he was here.

Lily suddenly stopped altogether and began running her thumb down the length of the page, and the moment Harry realized what she was doing, he took a deep breath and told her, "don't bother skipping, I guess you lot may as well hear it."

"We don't have to," James said at once to no one disagreeing. "Honestly, it doesn't even occur to me half the time, but really Harry, you can tell us to shut it at any time for hearing every single thing you think."

He took another deep breath, but looking more accepting than defeating now, insisted, "you've heard far worse than my being jealous for a moment by now, may as well get through it."

Lily waited a moment longer to realize he truly meant it, before going on.

But if he had remembered, what would he have expected? A small little voice in his head pointed out, not this.

James went to say something, but Lily gave him a small kick to get him to stop, she was trying to get through this as fast as she could. Up to this point the books, while centered around him, hadn't exactly delved into his head quite as much as this moment, and she was at least going to try and stop her boys commenting on his private thoughts no matter her opinion on them.

Harry buried his face in his fingers as he couldn't deny that, wondering now if he really thought himself arrogant like Malfoy.

Sirius didn't take the hint as he rolled his eyes and said, "not even close. Thinking you should have gotten something doesn't automatically make you a self-entitled little berk. It's how you act when you do or don't get it. You aren't going to treat Ron any differently now that he has it, so you're fine pup," he finished with utter confidence, at least making Harry smile again.

Did he really believe he was better than Ron? No, was his own instant rebuttal. Still Harry anxiously probed himself to admit he was better at Quidditch, but that was the only thing, they were equal in class. Outside of lessons though, both Ron and Hermione had risked worse than expulsion with him on those adventures.

"The fact that you refer to those as adventures, rather than life or death moments that you really shouldn't have been in except for extraordinary circumstances, really gets me in this moment," Lily muttered.

Not at the very end though, Harry had always done those alone. Especially in that graveyard...

"Thank you for detailing all of that," Remus shivered, though they all had at some particular moment Harry had brought up.

All those bitter feelings over the summer swelled in him again, how he'd done far more than them!

Lily had to fight her own insistence now not to say anything in comfort for her son. He was having a human moment after all, but she restrained herself from pointing out again badges weren't chosen because of things you'd done. Honestly no student had a clear idea who was chosen and why, it was simply the Headmaster's decision, and he really could be picking at random or for any arbitrary reason.

The small little voice was back, pointing out badges weren't necessarily chosen because of dangerous situations you'd lived through.

"I really love the way you worded that though," James gave a bit of a laugh.

Harry buried his face again to remember Fred's words about no one would make Ron a prefect, and Harry snorted with disgust at himself.

"That was a bit harsh," Sirius gave Harry a sympathetic pat he still didn't really feel like he deserved. "I'll bet a ton of other kids are having far worse reactions than just a bit of jealousy for their friends getting something. Imagine how Malfoy's going to act when he didn't get one and Ron did," he finished triumphantly. That did make Harry laugh again, albeit a bit more held back than he understood why.

Ron hadn't asked for this, nor was it his fault. Harry was not going to sit around sulking, nor mocking his friend behind his back for this, just because Harry had been beaten at something.

"The thought never even crossed our mind," James rolled his eyes, causing Harry to flush anew as he realized just how well those around him seemed to know him in these few short days, and it didn't really seem it was just because of a bunch of books.

Harry could hear footsteps on the stairs again and immediately put a much more welcoming smile in place as Ron reentered, telling his best friend congratulations. The smile disappeared from Ron's face instead.

"Well geez, clearly he didn't want to be congratulated," Remus frowned in surprise.

Ron at once said his own surprise, he'd thought it would be Harry.

"Everyone thought it would be Harry, even Harry," Sirius mocked, pleased Harry stuck his tongue out at him for the picking like normal again.

Harry echoed Fred from earlier, saying he'd caused to many problems to get picked.

Ron agreed with a laugh while beginning to pack up his things. He seemed to be having a bit of a problem though, as he kept moving the badge around. First to his pocket, then the nightstand, and then putting it onto his schools robes and gazing for a moment at the red on black.

"He's acting better than I was," Remus smirked in remembrance, "I hid it in with my knickers until we were all on the train and it was moving before I managed to spit out the words. Which I regretted, since it only then occurred to me they could pitch me out of a moving train."

"The thought occurred to me," Sirius agreed, "but only because you actually dropped a pair of those on my head while getting the badge out to show us."

Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk.

"I wonder if we'll get a return on the badge pranks," James said curiously.

"I'm having trouble picturing it," Remus shrugged. "Despite their jokes already, I can't see them having at Ron every opportunity like they had Percy, mostly because I don't see him dogging the twins to deserve it."

"I wish I could be following the twins around," Sirius sighed wistfully. Remus grimaced at his own choice of words, never admitting to his dying breath he'd done it on purpose to keep the good mood alive.

Mrs. Weasley came back from Diagon Alley and was at once pounced upon by her youngest son, but she scolded even while handing him his new broom she'd have dinner ready in no time and now wasn't the time for him to be using that.

He still ripped the wrapping off the moment she was out of sight.

"A proper response," James giggled in agreement.

When they did make their way downstairs, it was to find a large banner already in place congratulating Ron and Hermione on being the new prefects, while Mrs. Weasley was looking in a better mood than Harry had seen her all holiday.

"That is so sad," Lily murmured to herself, really thinking back to how she'd acted towards Sirius now, and seeing the strained mother protecting her family as opposed to this side where she saw Sirius as her family and Molly the threat. It was hard to keep both perspectives in line at once, but she tried her best to shake off the last of her ill will towards the woman, even if she did maintain Sirius hadn't deserved what was thrown at him.

She explained to them they'd be having more of a party tonight, she'd invited everyone along. Some of the guests were already there in fact, as she made her way over to Moody and told him she'd been wanting to ask for ages if he could take a peek inside the desk in the drawing room to see what was in there. They were sure it was a boggart, but just in case it was something worse.

Moody agreed at once, turning his magical eye in that direction while repeating her instructions, and agreed yes they were right on the creature inside.

"I'd actually like to watch that," Remus said eagerly like he'd just been invited to his own show. "See what Moody's Boggart would be before he dispelled it."

Harry agreed, honestly hoping that was exactly what had happened. Why would he be getting such a bad feeling from such a silly little thing like a boggart, those hadn't frightened him in ages.

Molly insisted she'd do it later, for now he should be enjoy himself down here, pointing out this was a party while gesturing at the banner.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought he'd notice," James rolled his eyes.

Moody turned his normal eye on Ron now, his magical one remaining out the side of his head, and Harry got the eerie feeling it was on him as he moved towards Sirius and Lupin.

"Glad we can be of some help, even if it is just to protect you from scary Alastor," Sirius fixed a smile in place, Harry really starting to feel bad both continued to twitch uneasily whenever they were mentioned.

He could still hear though, as Moody congratulated Ron for this new authority, saying Dumbledore must not be worried about him withstanding jinxes.

"Well he's not wrong," Remus blinked in surprise at such advice while James and Sirius got a chuckle out of that.

Ron looked unsure how to take this news, but was saved answering by the arrival of his father and eldest brother, who'd also brought along Mundungus.

"Why?" Lily balked at the idea.

"Suppose they ran into him for any number of reasons, and I can guess Arthur was just too polite to not invite him," James shrugged.

He was wearing a long overcoat that was oddly lumpy and declined the offer to remove it.

"Because that's not suspicious at all," Sirius said with chipper.

Tonks was telling Hermione and Ginny that she'd never had the honor of being prefect, her Head of House said she lacked certain qualities.

"The fact that she asked for a reason really makes me question her sanity," Remus smirked.

"I remember asking McGonagall who possessed her to make Remus one," James reminded, "she just told me to move along."

"What house was she in?" Sirius suddenly demanded curiously, thinking it would be interesting if she'd been yet another Slytherin.

"Hufflepuff," Harry informed, she'd mentioned Sprout as her head of house to Hermione at some previous time.

Sirius smiled all the wider his little cousin had broken even more traditions instead.

Ginny asked what that could be, and Tonks happily said the ability to behave herself.

Causing everyone to burst out laughing.

Ginny laughed, while Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.

James scoffed heavily, even more annoyed than usual at Hermione's inability to laugh at anything, even a harmless joke!

Ginny turned and asked Sirius next.

Sirius pretended to faint at the very thought.

He gave a bark-like laughter and said no one would have been insane enough to do a thing like that, he was in detention with James too much. It was Lupin who was the good boy and got the honor.

"Good boy?" Remus asked of him, poking him slightly as he was still theatrically slumped over. "That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said about me."

"Wasn't saying it to your face, but to others, and you know I always covered for you," he told while still miming unconsciousness causing the others to just laugh harder.

Lupin jumped in saying he was under the impression Dumbledore had done it to try and exert some control over his friends.

"If that's what he was going for, he began with a lost cause," Remus said in surprise, as the idea had yet to even occur to him that's what it had been for.

"Wonder what made you think that," James agreed, "we all thought it was Dumbledore's subtle way of rewarding our winning personalities and keeping the school's spirits up."

"You lot and your fat heads," Lily muttered.

He'd failed dismally.

Harry suddenly found himself in an even better mood, his father hadn't been a prefect either!

"Best hope neither of them pass along my Head Boy badge then," James muttered for Lily alone, who agreed. It was apparently a good thing he'd forgotten Hagrid mentioning this right now.

Ron was rhapsodizing about his new broom to anybody who would listen.

"Honestly, his mother's lucky he was just talking about it rather than trying to be on it in the house," Sirius chuckled.

While Hermione was chatting with Lupin about elf rights.

"I'd rather go back to hearing about the broom," Remus muttered, everyone else looking just as disappointed except Lily, who hushed them so she could see a conversation she'd actually been looking forward to. If anyone could get through to Hermione how she was acting regarding house-elves, she'd put money on Remus.

She was saying how the segregation on them was the same as werewolves, stemming back to how wizards thought they were superior to other creatures...

"That's all we get," Lily pouted as she saw the next line changed topics.

"I wasn't really listening to them," Harry said apologetically.

Molly and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair, the mother even asking of Harry that wasn't it too long.

Harry was alarmed at being asked,

"Boys," Lily muttered.

and quickly slid away to where Fred and George and Mundungus were in the corner.

"Now we're tuning into the important conversations," Sirius' grin turned eager to hear about this.

When Mundungus saw him coming he stopped talking at once, but Fred quickly said Harry was good to hear this, he was their financial backer.

"That's an excellent term for that," James brightened, before turning a calculating look onto his friend and saying, "hey Moony-"

"Don't even start you," he shot back without looking over, so James put a pin in the idea for later.

Fred eagerly held out what was in their hands, Harry finding tiny shriveled up black pods that were making a rattling noise though they were still.

None of them considered themselves Herbology experts, the closest one was Lily who could recognize a wide variety of plants for her potions, but they were all curious to hear what the twins had gotten their hands on now.

George explained they were Venomous Tentacula seeds, but since they were a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance, it was really hard to get them outside of people like their friend here.

"What on earth would they need those for?" Lily yipped in concern, thinking they could get themselves killed by just one little accident.

"Well they'll certainly get sick enough by them," James said uneasily, hoping for more details as well.

Fred offered ten Galleons for them, but Mundungus corrected he wouldn't take less than twenty with all the trouble these tings had caused him.

George gave a heavy laugh, saying that was a worse deal than the time he'd tried to sell them a bag of Knarl quills for six Sickles.

"Now I know he's been off his rocker," James shook his head in disbelief at that one.

Harry warned someone could be watching, like Moody's magical eye.

"Really should count our blessings he isn't around more I guess," Sirius chuckled.

All three agreed it was best to wrap this up, and then they all departed, only Harry staying in the corner as he watched Mrs. Weasley with a sudden fear. He'd never informed her or anyone he'd given the twins his Triwizard Winnings to start their joke shop, and it suddenly occurred to him what if their mother, who greatly disapproved of this idea, had a row with her kids about it. What if it caused another Percy-like estrangement? Would she still care about Harry in the same way if she knew he was helping them along with something she found so unsuitable.

Lily had already tried to instill into her son how unlikely she found that, and while Harry was looking anxious again at the returning topic, he'd yet to really start working himself up over it so they let him be on this one for now.

He was dragged out of his own thinking by hearing Kingsley say he'd been sure Dumbledore would make Potter a prefect, while Lupin returned he was sure the man had his reasons for doing otherwise.

"I don't think you were too enamored with Hermione's house-elf topic if you're already hanging around someone else," Sirius said, easily slipping into another topic to take that look off of Harry.

"He always thinks Dumbledore has his reasons," Lily muttered to herself.

Kingsley persisted it would have shown the world he had confidence in Potter though-

"Or it could have done worse, and made Dumbledore really seem he was playing favoritism with Harry," Remus shook his head. "Nah, best to not let you have this one honestly." Giving the others a moment of odd amusement as they were sure that's what Remus would have said back to Kingsley at the time.

"Not like I ever really wanted it," Harry shrugged in agreement, the idea had never crossed his mind until it was gone.

Harry did not look around, not wanting them to know he'd overheard.

"If they didn't want you hearing," James rolled his eyes at this idea, "they wouldn't have had the conversation with you in the room.

Though not remotely hungry, he followed Mundungus back towards the table. His pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had come; he wished he were upstairs in bed.

Both Lily and James were leaning into each other just that little bit closer than was strictly necessary, just for that moment to remind each other they were here now instead of a constant source of some painful memory for Harry. The cheer of knowing that little bit more about his father had been tarnished by his now fear of what the woman he looked to as a mother could think about him. There was just no winning.

He heard Molly yawning and telling her husband she was going to take care of that Boggart and turn in, telling Harry goodnight as she passed.

"Why did she only say goodnight to you," Sirius quickly pointed out just to give Harry some moment of singularity in Molly's eyes which he had clearly been wanting a moment ago, but now he looked all the more distracted and distant as he was clearly trying to ignore some bad feeling.

He got caught by Mad-Eye next pulling him to the side and saying he wanted to show him something.

"Well this should be interesting," Remus said, Moody singling Harry out could be, fun...

It turned out to be a photo, original Order of the Phoenix according to Moody.

"Wow, don't think we've had this picture taken yet," Sirius blinked in surprise.

"I'm surprised Moody has such a thing, you'd think it would be considered a security risk," Lily agreed. "Even we're not entirely sure who everyone in the Order is."

"Guess Dumbledore may have asked for one at some point, and no one turns him down," James muttered without much enthusiasm, as he'd already been keeping a mental list of all the people he'd heard of dying already. He was entirely sure he didn't want to hear much more about this.

He'd found it the other night since Podmore hadn't returned his Invisibility Cloak and he'd been looking for his spare, and he'd decided to bring this picture along to share. He began pointing people out, like himself, whose nose was still intact at the time.

Harry had already once seen Moody before his face was really a mess, but even seeing it again a photo right next to the real thing could be a shock for his mind.

Then Dumbledore, Dedalus Diggle, Marlene McKinnon, while he added in she was found two weeks after this was taken dead with her whole family.

Lily paled to a ghastly white color and couldn't seem to keep going for a moment, just concentrating instead on that warm spot her husband provided while Sirius tried wildly to point out, "well, now we have a time frame! Dumbledore asks for a group shot, we put Marlene on extra watch!" He said this too loudly, but it gave Lily enough of a reminder this hadn't happened yet to another person she knew, she could still be saved.

Then there was Frank and Alice Longbottom, whom Harry could have picked out all on his own as the woman he was seeing so resembled his dorm mate Neville.

Sirius ran his hand through his hair bitterly as he remembered the details of that being recounted, of who all had been involved. He was now more than jokingly considering asking Lily to please skip this part already, it didn't feel worth it to hear how their friends were soon going to turn out.

Moody adding for himself better dead than what happened to them, then flipping to Emmeline Vance, Lupin, Benjy Fenwick, they'd only ever found bits of him.

James retched and couldn't help but recoil from her for just a moment.

As well as Edgar Bones, late brother of Amelia, she was the last of her line now because they'd gotten his family, Sturgis Podmore, Caradoc Dearborn, he'd vanished six months after this and nobody ever found a body, Hagrid, Elphias Doge, though Moody had forgotten he used to wear that dumb hat.

Remus had to blink slowly, but he couldn't quite erase his blurry vision even as he tried to picture Doge without his hat considering he wore it all the time. This was by far the easiest thing to be comparing in these time frames though, so he forced himself to linger on this rather than having to keep listening to these wretched details.

Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they died like heroes,

Harry tried desperately to think of some way to erase those haggard looks from their faces, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "so the Weasley's aren't in the Order now?" Figuring Molly and her husband would be mentioned next to her brother.

"Oh, err, no they're not. I think they were offered, but both declined. I really don't know much about them honestly, only met them once through Gideon," Lily murmured.

Next was Aberforth, Dumbledore's brother,

"Wow, what?" James had to snap himself back into paying actual attention to what Lily was saying just in time to hear that, and he frowned at her in confusion. "So I guess Dumbledore does have a brother that's in the Order."

"Wonder what he gets up to," Sirius agreed with honest curiosity, thinking this group meeting might be worth it just to meet this man of such a famous wizard. He was suddenly sure this Aberforth had all sorts of amusing, blackmail, stories about a younger Dumbledore.

Harry could feel a bead of sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck with mentions to this, of Dumbledore and his sibling, or more than one...

that was the only time Moody had met him, strange man. Then there was Dorcas Meadowes, she'd been killed by Voldemort personally,

This group had never even heard that name, and it was a kind distraction just for a second to try and theorize how they could go to Dumbledore and warn this woman as well without gaining suspicion of how they'd know such a thing.

Sirius, when his hair was still short,

Sirius brushed his hand through his now shoulder length hair curiously, wondering just how long it was in Harry's time.

and the last three on the list hit Harry the hardest of all, his smiling parents, along with Peter Pettigrew.

Lily's voice hitched, and then failed her all together at that coming up twice in this chapter now. The hurt was always sitting there in the back of her mind, waiting to pounce even without someone explicitly bringing it up, now she really could feel a traitorous tear slipping through before she brushed it furiously away and kept going entirely too loud, but it was all she could do, otherwise she'd break down. She couldn't even bare to glance at her boys again or she'd lose herself entirely.

Harry could think of nothing to say, and looked to Moody who had the expression he'd just given Harry a treat. Harry at once tried to retreat out of here, and was saved an excuse by Sirius calling over what Moody had there, giving Harry the chance to slip away as Moody turned to answer.

Sirius ran a shaking hand down his face, but the words failed of him trying to say he'd been looking out for his pup, perhaps seen something of Moody talking to him bothering him, it was just hard to pretend he was thinking of anything except removing a spine from a spineless creature.

He didn't know why it had been such a shock, he'd seen pictures of his parents before, after all, and he'd met Wormtail.

Remus could still feel the permanent mark those encounters had left on them all.

It was mostly just having them sprung on him like that, and he began to grow angry as he thought no one would appreciate that! He kept thinking of all those, left timeliness in the picture, so many dead...Moody may have found that interesting, but Harry found it disturbing.

"Glad we're not the only ones," James whispered for himself, but Harry heard anyways and they met eyes just for a moment in silent understanding.

He went silently back towards his room, but stopped curiously outside the drawing room as he heard sobbing.

Lily shifted uncomfortably, she was still reading in a too strained and tight voice, and if she was forced to deal with anymore bad news she'd likely toss the book away and turns into James chest any moment just to be done with her feelings for a change. Who else could be having a breakdown now? It was her burning desire to try and help anyone out if they were in pain that managed to help push her own away so she could find out.

Harry pushed the door open curiously, and found in the center of the room, a dead Ron.

Sirius really almost did faint in surprise as scenarios began flipping through his head, of Death Eater's storming in and catching Ron off guard while he'd snuck upstairs to check on his broom, of the poor kid being attacked by something in that house they hadn't managed to exterminate yet, his falling down those stairs and someone coming across his body-

Harry gasped wildly and lunged forward to snatch the book away from her. He'd just had to relive the sharp experience of his parents being out of his life all over again, he couldn't stand losing someone else!

"Harry breath," Remus reminded coolly, even if his face was still a bit too pale from what he'd just heard from Moody and the honest shock of that scenario ever being a thing. "There was a boggart in this room, remember. Molly wandered off to go get rid of it, I think you just walked in on some bad timing."

Lily got the book back from her son while he was still wavering with understanding this, and quickly kept going even more loudly than before, every last bit of her hoping beyond all hope that was really what was going on!

Harry stumbled in fear, his brain flooding with ice this couldn't be real!

Then the sobbing continued, and he looked wildly around to find Mrs. Weasley cowering in the corner, and as he watched, she pointed her wand and got out Riddikulus.

The book nearly fell out of Lily's shaking hands, a combination of relief at such a drastic misunderstanding and still lingering sorrow of her own for this mother whom she now completely could sympathize with. She had so many she cared about, it was only natural this was any mothers boggart.

Harry watched those around him relax even as he couldn't shake this nasty feeling that his fear still pounding through him wasn't so unfounded, he had a very good reason to be worried about a dead Weasley...

Crack, the body changed to Bill instead, eyes open but lifeless. Mrs. Weasley kept sobbing harder than ever as she tried the spell again, but instead crack, it was now Mr. Weasley with blood dripping from his mouth.

Harry choked and shook his head furiously to push away something so powerful it was rearing up inside him to strike him down now if he lingered on that idea.

She kept trying in-between broken no's, but instead crack, dead twins,

James was running his fingers in agitation through his scalp as he fought whether to break in and ask if the boggart had managed to create both at once or was he just simplifying another two bodies. He came to his own silent conclusion it must be the first, even in death Molly couldn't picture the twins apart it seemed.

crack, dead Percy, crack, dead Harry.

Lily's voice wavered and nearly failed her as she was forced to imagine the same thing, while James wrapped an arm tight around her in comfort and a sudden tightening in his throat finally dispelling the majority of his anger at Molly. She'd still said some way to harsh things to his best friend, but at least now he could see she'd truly meant it in her heart of seeing his son as her own, and he couldn't really hate someone like that.

Harry shot at her to just get out of here, let someone else handle it, but then Lupin, Sirius, and Moody came into the room behind him.

Harry almost felt his own sob of relief escape him for this finally being cut off, he just couldn't imagine if that thing had kept going, he'd be forced to see even more people he cared about. Maybe even Ginny- his left hand suddenly spasmed and he clasped them tightly together in his lap instead to ignore whatever that moment was.

Lupin grasped the situation at once and shot his own spell, and while the boggart at first turned on him instead and changed shape to a silvery orb, he'd put enough force into the spell it finally vanished.

Molly was still a crying mess on the floor as Lupin went over to her, and the next second she was sobbing her heart into his shoulder.

Lily was fidgeting with the last page of this chapter, finally, as she all too easily envisioned that. She wondered if Remus was having any other flashbacks to comforting a redheaded mother in fear for her child.

He tried comforting it was just a meaningless boggart, but she brokenly told him she saw that, all the time! All of them dead...she dreamed about it!

Remus was staring vacantly at nothing as those words registered. Molly wasn't the only one who had those kinds of nightmares, though at least she'd never been the featuring monster doing the act to her loved ones.

Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart pretending to be Harry's body had lain.

Sirius felt his vision tunnel, a ghost crawling slowly up his spine and wrapping tight around him and refusing to let go of the idea that this would be the second time in his life he'd see his dead best friend, now somehow actually made worse as the fear of losing Harry all at the same time was shoved in his face...

"Sirius?" Harry gave him a hard poke, all of them watching him fearfully for that haunted look he usually only got when Dementors were being spoken of. Going with that assumption, Harry tried to laugh off, "it was gone before it could zone in on me, nothing else happens because of it."

"Right," he nodded hard, still staring steadily at his brother and forcing himself to watch the odd, curious look in place rather than the vacant eyes he'd envisioned.

Harry saw Moody was still watching him, and he had the feeling his magical eye had tracked him up here and told the other two about this.

Molly was still half sobbing out not for any of them to tell Arthur, he'd think she was being silly...

"Hardly," James murmured with conviction while Lily snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm.

Lupin continued comforting her while she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose, before she turned watery eyes on Harry and said how foolish he must think her, not able to get rid of a Boggart.

"I would never," Harry said almost indignantly, unable to picture such a fierce woman and mother as less because of her greatest fear.

Harry at once told her not to be stupid as he tried for a smile.

"That's not something to be saying to a crying woman," Sirius told purely because the words had escaped him without him even realizing it, there was no trace of him that could find mocking humor in this.

Tears spilled back over as she couldn't seem to stop herself from continuing how worried she was, it would be a miracle if everyone survived!

Harry made a terrifying, rasping noise of fright, his whole body tensed as if ready for a fight while he was seconds away from reliving something of what that boggart had just shown him-

"It's going to be alright Harry," Sirius marched into his train of thought with a comforting squeeze on his shoulder, clearly taking his own fear he'd just experienced and forcing it aside to pay attention to anything else, even Harry's resembled one. "That Weasley family is as tough as they come, things will work out. You're fine, everyone's going to be fine."

Harry forced himself to meet his eyes even if he in no way felt the comfort.

Percy wasn't even speaking to them, what if something happened and they never made up!

Lily couldn't read that without a hard hitch in her throat as it was exactly the fear she held for the woman and child. She'd always felt pity for Percy, could almost see how his offense could have lived with his parents choosing some outsider of the family rather than refusing to see his side, but as she knew her son was the one in the right all she could really do was cling to the now bleak hope it all somehow just had to work out.

And Ron and Ginny were still so young, what would happen to them if her and Arthur-

Lupin cut her off firmly that was enough. Explaining the Order was much better off than the last time where they'd just been picked off one by one.

James hated that it all kept floating right there as a constant reminder. His friends, his wife, how soon they'd all succumb to this war... and who's fault it was. Even if he hadn't raised the wand, even if some of them would have died without the intel that had been provided, he could never look another member of the Order in the face again without always knowing there was one member to kill them all.

Sirius abruptly cut in telling her not to worry about Percy.

Remus was honestly grateful Sirius had stopped him, even now he didn't think that was the best line of comfort, he'd just been trying to fling around facts in hopes she'd quiet which is what normally worked for himself.

Sirius wasn't at all surprised that's what he'd caught on. He knew a little something about regret when it came to losing estranged family. He was still living through that highlight.

He'd come around when the Ministry had no choice but to admit Voldemort was back, he was bound to come into the open soon and then everyone would be begging them for forgiveness, which Sirius bitterly finished with he wasn't likely to give.

"Absolutely no one will blame you at that time mate," James agreed nastily while Harry gave an obligatory laugh for the statement while ignoring some vicious little thought popping up in his mind he hoped his godfather lived long enough to see that day. He stamped that right back out and refused to acknowledge it as anything other than his pessimistic side having some bad timing while watching Molly fear the same for her own loved ones.

While Lupin gently finished with of course Ron and Ginny would be looked after, the whole Order would see to that, no one was going to let them starve.

Harry had never even imagined the idea of where his best friend would live if not with his parents. His first assumption he supposed would be one of his older brothers, Bill seemed the most likely, but what Remus had just said really struck a chord in Harry as he realized how much Remus did care. Making him want to question all the more where his stance had been back when Harry had gone to live with the Dursleys. He was growing more confident by the day though he did not get an answer to that.

Mrs. Weasley gave one little smile for the lot of them as she again told herself how silly she was being, but as Harry stepped back out to finish going to his room, he could not find her silly for a moment.

It suddenly hurt James too much just to even look at Lily. To see the emotions that caused to play out on her face, to hear how broken her voice came out with that, so he turned busy eyes anywhere else while unable to remove himself from her side to keep her soft warm body as his comfort.

Without warning, the scar on his forehead seared with pain again and his stomach churned horribly.

This was certainly a big enough thing anybody normally would have eagerly flipped topics, to discuss and try to figure out why Harry's scar would be burning at a time like this, but for once they were all to clammed up in their own heads for fear of this future for that to have even made much of an impact past the smallest bit of registering it happening, and Harry immediately brushing it off.

He rubbed at his forehead and told it to knock it off, while the empty painting snidely told him the first sign of madness was talking to yourself.

"Absolutely not," Remus muttered to himself, "talking to yourself is perfectly normal."

"Most people still bother keeping it in their own head," Sirius remarked quietly, leaning just a bit more closely to Moony than normal for that reminder he still had one friend with him in this bleak future.

Harry ignored the jab, feeling suddenly old as he sunk down onto his bed and realized just hours ago he'd been worried about stupid little things like a prefect badge.

"I'm done," Lily snapped with triumph, wishing she could go back to that moment, to so many before of her sons more childlike memories rather than having the harsh reality of the life she was living slammed down around them.

"I know it's hard love," James promised, running his hand up and down her back and still looking vacantly around the room, "so if you need me to fini-"

"No, I meant with the chapter," she corrected, all of her features still brittle with everything she'd been feeling in these moments. James finally looked back over at her, and it took a moment to drag himself out of the depth of her eyes to remember he had a book to grab.

HPHPHPHP

I'm not sorry for how harsh I was on Hermione in the portion of this chapter you all know I'm talking about. She really ticked me off while she was talking about Sirius, just like Molly before. Both women just seem to have this high and mighty status when it comes to him where they think they know everything about him and are trying to correct his everything, thinking they know and understand the reasons he acts the way he does, and I just want to smack both of them and tell them to leave the poor guy alone because both aren't true even one little bit. The closest person is Remus and even he lost a lot of rights in telling Sirius anything after twelve years. Molly earned back some sympathy here at the end, but now Hermione's in the hothouse which probably won't last long because...well honestly because it doesn't really come back up again which really makes me mad, but doesn't hold much focus so there's no point in continually revisiting it.

I've heard that in some of the original drafts of this book Ron was slated to die at some point, and I feel like that's made pretty clear in this chapter in particular. Am absolutely not saying I wanted it to happen, I love Ron to much, but credit to this woman for constantly setting up so many things.

* I do realize I created my own little plot hole in saying this was the book Lupin used as boggarts can't be found in that, but rather than just making one up on the spot I wanted to incorporate that into cannon a little better, and just pretend that the actual book is longer than the version we all get.

[chestnut-b]

Clueless (Art + Fic)

Iruka’s sense of self-awareness has never been his strongest suit.

“Good afternoon Iruka-sensei.” he greeted. Kakashi turned to the back of the room. “A busy day in the mission room I see.” The silence was deafening. “There are some reconstruction projects near the Forest of Death that could use some extra manpower. Anyone keen?”.

In all his years in the mission room, Iruka had never seen a room clear out that fast.

He’d been receiving his second report of the day when he felt the sudden release of tension, but Iruka was nothing if not professional. Without even skipping a beat, he pulled his hitae-ate to his neck, tucked the curtain of hair behind his ear and out of his face. Iruka issued a quick apology to the Jounin before him and smiled amicably as he put away a freshly approved report. But the shinobi, whom Iruka had known to lack a chatty disposition, had not moved immediately as he usually did, and instead opted to stare at Iruka in a way that made him feel just a bit self-conscious.

He must have looked more of a mess than he thought.

“Is there something else I can help you with, Jounin-san?”

Iruka only received a mumbled thanks in response before the ninja quickly removed himself from the room. Quickly, he dug into his new vest pocket and felt absolutely nothing. He groaned inwardly, realising that in equipping his newly issued vest, he’d neglected to include his supply of spare hair ties.

“I’m getting a bit too complacent now that the war’s over.” he chided himself. It was too late to excuse himself to look for a spare; Iruka could only sigh as he ran a hand through his  now loose, tousled hair, attempting to make himself look, at the very least, presentable for the day’s duties. So lost in his own thoughts he was, that he failed to notice the sudden dip in chatter that usually filled the room.

The back of the mission room had always been a bit of a watering hole for the returning shinobi of the village, but as the hour passed Iruka was starting to wonder if he’d missed a memo somewhere. Between reports he took the chance to scan the room. Too many people whom he knew had no business here, some weren’t even on active duty at the moment. Heads kept peeking through the entrance and disappearing just as quickly. As he read the latest report before him, he resisted the urge to grip the knot of tension that had been building up at the back of his neck. But of course, by the time he could look up any shinobi worth their salt wouldn’t be caught dead looking in his direction.

Two hours in, and Iruka was starting to get annoyed. The line stretching in front of him was not only growing, but seemed to move at a snail’s pace. He’d had to engage in more than the usual small talk, and for some inexplicable reason, received three invitations to drinking parties and just as many invitations to a meal or tea.

While it was nice to see that Konoha’s peaceful days were bringing good business to the village eateries, the proposal for a new Academy roadmap he was to present to the Rokudaime and elder council in the coming week wasn’t going to finish itself. He’d had to politely decline each invitation, prompting a chuckle and snicker from Kotetsu and Izumo, who were manning the table beside him. The pair looked disturbingly amused by it all.

Speaking of the Rokudaime - he glanced at the clock across the room. It was about the usual time he’d spot the Hokage wander past the mission room door on what Iruka guessed, was his afternoon break. If Iruka knew anything from having assisted Tsunade-sama in her bureaucratic duties before, it was that Kakashi must have been drowning in more paperwork than the former jounin sensei had ever seen in his life.

The teacher smiled to himself; it didn’t feel like that long ago since he’d last received reports from Kakashi right across this very table. While the man wasn’t the most meticulous shinobi in that regard, Cell 7’s reports always made for an entertaining read (when they weren’t missions gone horribly awry, anyway), and Iruka found himself looking forward to receiving them on their return. Their argument during the Chuunin exams naturally caused some awkwardness between them, but when Naruto had left to train with Jiraiya, it was to Iruka’s pleasant surprise when of his own accord, Kakashi offered to buy drinks on the rare occasions Naruto wrote back home. Iruka hadn’t known what to expect, but their conversations had flowed as easy as the sake on those nights.

A sound of shuffling papers made Iruka pause. Hmm. The heat of the late afternoon sun on his back was making him feel unusually nostalgic today.

There was one Autumn, he remembered, when the first saury had come into season; Iruka passed a home-made bento to the older shinobi, along with an omamori containing soldier pills from their village shrine. Kakashi was due for a long mission that would see him away for a few months, and Iruka had wanted to thank him for all he’d done. Naruto’s absence had been unexpectedly hard on him, and Kakashi’s efforts, he’d realised, had kept the worst of the loneliness at bay. He’d regretted not bringing something for the rest of his accompanying team though, because Gai-sensei, upon witnessing this exchange, burst into a flood of tears in front of the village gates.

Really, he never knew Kakashi could look so pleased. Naruto was right, his sensei really did have a soft spot for saury.

Dragging his mind back to the present, Iruka added another report to the stack. The kunoichi before him was looking strangely flushed, but he just couldn’t muster the energy to suggest a cautionary visit to the infirmary. When she’d finally scuttled away, Iruka’s musings continued. Could a mere teacher and desk worker be friends with a Hokage? He wasn’t quite sure. But he did miss the conversations they’d shared over the letters in those years. Pein’s attack and the war had brought the meetings to an unfortunate end.

The reality of their situation; the new shinobi age, and Kakashi’s appointment as Hokage meant they couldn’t just pick up where they left off, Iruka thought. It’d been only two months since everyone had returned from the front lines. Many people were still mourning, but many were trying their best to move on with their lives.

Perhaps that why he’d received so many invitations. Iruka felt a twinge of guilt at the possibility of this, but remained firm in his decision. It would simply have to be another time.

As Hokage, Kakashi made few appearances in this room now, but on the days Iruka spotted him slouching past, the former jounin would send a surprisingly enthusiastic wave in his direction. Though the teacher never felt quite comfortable casually waving to the leader of their village in the middle of work (and a room full of shinobi), he never failed to send a genuine smile of acknowledgement back. An interaction that lasted mere seconds, but always gave Iruka the boost he needed to finish his shift.

Something he could really, really use right about now. That, along with a cup of tea. His throat was uncomfortably dry from all the extra talking he had to do today. The line at least, was making some progress.

Mere minutes later, as if summoned by an unsaid wish, a silver headed figure ambled by the door. Having noticed him out of the corner of his eye, Iruka looked up, ready to return a smile he was sure was waiting for him. However, there was none to be seen (though with the mask on, he couldn’t be completely sure). Instead, Iruka could only blink as he made eye contact with the man, who had stopped dead in his tracks at the door, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and weirdly enough, a tinge of......panic?

What?

He wasn’t sure if it was a teleportation jutsu or just sheer speed, but in the next moment, the person standing in front of him wasn’t a stammering chuunin, but one Rokudaime.

“Good afternoon Iruka-sensei.” he greeted. Kakashi turned to the back of the room. “A busy day in the mission room I see.” The silence was deafening. “There are some reconstruction projects near the Forest of Death that could use some extra manpower. Anyone keen?”.

In all his years in the mission room, Iruka had never seen a room clear out that fast. His line mysteriously looked shorter too.

Looking rather pleased, Kakashi turned back to face him.

“Working on a new image?” The Hokage beamed at him, gesturing to his own head of silver. Two grey eyes, Iruka noticed, the same colour as his new vest. It suited him well. Two eyes though, he’d have to get used to that. Kakashi emoted so well with one, that two seemed a bit overwhelming at this point. Iruka felt his face grow warm. To be seen in such a disheveled state by his leader. How embarrassing.

“Please forgive my attire, it was certainly not my intention.” Iruka apologised, with a slight bow of his head. Kakashi merely shook his in response.

“No need, sensei. If anything, I should be the one apologising for interrupting your work, but it wouldn’t do to have everyone so distracted.”

Kakashi turned to Kotetsu and Izumo, who’d been enjoying their front-row seats to this scene a bit too much. 

“Kotetsu-kun, could you kindly take over Iruka-sensei’s duties for the rest of his shift?”

“As you command.”

“Do you need something from me, Hokage-sama?” Iruka was getting more confused by the minute. This wasn’t how he’d imagined their first proper conversation in months going. Kakashi merely nodded. Kotetsu took no pause and began shooing him away from his seat.

“Regarding the Academy proposals next week. I’d like to hear your thoughts about it so far. If you have the time to spare, of course.”

Well, he’d just had the rest of his shift taken over, it wasn’t as if Iruka had much of an excuse. Not that he minded at all. There was an unsettling energy in the room right now, and Iruka was more than happy to end what was an odd stint, by any means. Gathering his things, he said his goodbyes to his comrades, and made his way to the exit, where Kakashi was waiting for him. Iruka startled a bit when he felt a pat on his shoulder, but exited with a small smile on this face anyway. Even if they were just talking about work, he found himself looking forward to it more than he realised.

As soon as they’d left, the mission room seemed to take a collective breath, and the world returned to its natural state.

Izumo turned to Kotetsu, who was stamping the report Iruka had left unfinished.

“Think Iruka will ever get a clue?”

Kotetsu grinned and shook his head.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s notes:

Thanks for reading! I’ve been thinking a lot about Iruka these days and felt the need to just write and draw something! It’s been so long too. 

I think Iruka has always been fairly sharp to everything around him, but himself. A little awkward and self deprecating, but that’s what we love about him! 

I’d love to know how you think about it. It was really fun to draw and write after years of just lurking. :D

[mytwilightimagines13]

Amnesia (Book Three)(Part Three)

Revenge

It had been very empty. Maeryn had no idea what to do with herself. When Felix told her Alec was dead, she was empty. But she had noticed something else as well. She no longer felt loyal towards Aro as she used to feel. She guessed because he was dead and now the Volturi had no longer a leader. As a matter of fact, it no longer existed . Her whole coven was gone in just mere hours. She was one of the remaining ones alive, but she knew she was hunted on. She had to be alert, but at the same time she wanted to end it all. Perhaps it was alright if the Romanians came back for her, to kill her off. At least then she would be with Alec, even real hell would be better than staying here without him. Empty. “Maeryn, come on. You have to hunt.” Felix said. Maeryn just laid on her side like she had been for the past three weeks. She never moved. The thought of hunting made her throat dry and burning with the desire, but she couldn’t feel the mental energy to get up. “If you hunt I will have a surprise for you. Come on. It will be fun.” Felix said. Maeryn sighed, her first sigh in three weeks, and finally sat up. “Fine. Let’s go then.” Drenthe had many forests, and many ways for people to get lost and not be found. So they started the hunt. They soon found two hikers with their dog. A woman and a man. The thing was, Maeryn didn’t feel that comfortable killing anymore. She took a closer look and realised these two humans looked a lot like her birthparents. The woman had thick, black, curling hair that fell beautifully around her pale, oval face. Her eyes where as green as the forest around her and she was thin and short. The man on the other hand was tall, he had a slightly tanned skin and had deep blue eyes. His hair was graying but streaks of his dirty blond hair was still visible. He was well build, maybe slightly overweight but due to his tall figure, his extra weight was well spread over his body. And then there was their little dog. A beautiful, blond Labrador. His coat was shiny and had different shades of yellow. His beautiful brown eyes showed he loved life, and he was curious for the different smells he smelt on the trees and the sounds he heard. Of course his hearing was much better than a human’s hearing, so he had heard the deer a couple trees away, but he didn’t even think twice about leaving his humans. “Ready?” Felix whispered. But Maeryn couldn’t do it. She shook her head no and ran off. Why she couldn’t do it was simple. It would feel like killing her parents all over again. Of course she knew this wasn’t her parents, but they looked so much alike that she couldn’t even bear the thought. She came into a meadow and collapsed onto the ground, her arms hugging her body, sobbing dry tears. Dry tears for Alec, and for her parents she had totally forgotten about the past eleven years. She had learned that humans are worthless. They had no greater purpose than to feed on. And for a very long time she believed it. But now, she was doubting herself. She made the decision to at least no longer kill innocent humans. Only the trash. No one would miss them. No one. Felix ran to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked. The same phrase he had been repeating lately, trying to help her at least continue her life the best way she could without her mate. Felix never had a mate so he wasn’t very familiar with the feeling himself. Of course he had seen the impact it had on Marcus but he never could imagine the feeling of losing your other half. “They looked so much like my parents, Felix. So much. Even the dog resembled my old dog. I just couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.” she said. Felix sighed. “Come on then. Let’s go to Amsterdam and grab some pimps and junkies. How about that?” he said. Maeryn nodded her head and followed Felix to the Dutch city of sin. Maeryn groaned in satisfaction as she dropped the pimp on the ground, completely drained from his blood. “Feeling better?” Felix asked. Maeryn nodded her head. “Much better. So tell me, what is the surprise? You have my full attention.” Maeryn

said as Felix and her made their way back to the cabin. “Well, how about a little revenge?” he asked, a huge smirk plastered on his face. Maeryn looked at him confused. “What do you mean by that, Felix?” “I mean that I happen to know that Vladimir and Stephan are here, in the Netherlands. They are in Rotterdam trying to gain more vampires for their new forming reign.” Felix explained. Maeryn stopped dead in her track and smirked. “Let’s go then.” Maeryn followed Felix and soon a huge mansion came in view. It was white, with a black roof. Ivy was growing on the sides of it, leaving the windows open. There was a huge fountain before the entrance and a fence that protected the property. Maeryn and Felix climbed over the fence and quietly made their way into the mansion. Maeryn felt her energy flowing back through her body. The thought of killing her mate’s killers was exciting and the thought of their dead was very satisfying indeed. Felix killed the guards before they could alarm the owners and Maeryn quietly climbed into the attic. The attic was empty, apart from a few very old paintings in paper wrap to protect them from the damage of time. Maeryn walked around the mansion and found that the owners where not home yet. So Maeryn decided to be dramatic and grabbed a bag of blood from the fridge and poured it in two of the remaining wine glasses. “Better have a drink while we wait.” She said as she gave Felix a glass. Felix chuckled and took the glass, quickly taking a sip. “Hmm, AB. And quite a good one that is. No traces of alcohol, nicotine or drugs.” Felix said. Maeryn took a small sip and the cooled liquid quenched her thirst slightly. She indeed could taste that the blood was really clean. It was delicious. She quickly took another sip and sat down on the sofa chair. She crossed her legs and waited patiently while playing with her glass, occasionally taking a sip. Then the moment came where the two vampires had been waiting for. Stephan and Vladimir walked in, ready to attack. Without a doubt had they smelled the two hostile vampires on their property and they were very cautious. None of them possessed any special talents and Maeryn was sure to kill them quickly with her gift. “Welcome home gentleman. Drink?” she asked as she poured another bag of blood into the last two remaining wine glasses. The two vampires where frozen in their place. “Oh come now. I first like to have a small chat over a drink. We have much to discuss.” Maeryn said as she stood up, grabbed the two glasses and held them out for Vladimir and Stephan to take. They hissed slightly and Felix cracked his knuckles. “If you’d like to live, you will take that drink and sit down.” He said threatening. Vladimir and Stephan shared a quick look before they took the glasses and sat down on the couch, opposite of the sofa. In between the sofa chair and the couch was a coffee table made of glass. “So, now that we can have a polite conversation, I would like to ask you a few questions. First off, where are Tanya and Kate?” Maeryn asked, taking a small sip of blood from her glass. “They are dead. We disposed of them. Weird ones with their weird diet. They are quite a shame to the vampire world.” Vladimir said. “Hmm. Too bad.” Maeryn said and she let a short silence fall between them. The tension was clearly feel able in the room but no one dared to break it yet. “Who where your allies besides them and who survived?” Maeryn asked after a few seconds. “Basically everyone who also was there the 31st of December back in 2006. Except for the Cullens. They refused to play a part in this war. I guess they never did any of us any harm, so we let them be.” Stephan said. “For a coven of that magnitude, they are sure very peaceful. They just wished to live in peace.” Vladimir said, admiration gleaming slightly through his words. So Cullens had no part in her mate’s death. “How many survived?” Maeryn asked very calmly. “Almost no one. The amazon clan went back to their home afterwards, along with the Irish coven and French coven. Gerratt is still out there.

We have no idea what happened to him. He fled after Kate died, after first putting his head back on his body, of course.” Stephan said quickly, feeling the threat growing. Maeryn nodded her head and took another sip of her blood. The two vampires on the couch hadn’t even drank a single drop of blood. They knew that the chances of survival was slim. “Hmm. It is sad actually.” She said calmly. Stephan and Vladimir shared a look of fear before Vladimir softly asked. “What is?” “That your answers where not really satisfying.  Meaning I will make your death as slow as I possibly can.” Maeryn stood up and dropped the glass, spilling blood on the white, fluffy carpet that laid beneath the coffee table. Vladimir and Stephan hissed and jumped up, but Felix grabbed both of them and made them kneel down, just like Kate made Alec kneel down when they killed him. Maeryn smirked and watched the two vampire’s struggle under Felix’s strong grip. “So, who will have the honour to live the longest? After all, you will go down in history as the last, remaining member of the Romanian coven. Exciting, isn’t it? Knowing that a coven who survived for centuries is about to end, for good. Oh, how I am going to savour this moment for the rest of my existence.” A small, girlish giggle escaped Maeryn’s lips. But it did not sound pleasant at all. No. It sounded evil. This was the giggle of a woman who was about to avenge her mate. “Well, let’s see. Stephan you held me down while Vladimir here ripped Alec’s head off. So I guess it only seems fair that he will get the honour, don’t you think?” she asked in a sugar sweet voice. Stephan growled and tried to break free of Felix’s grip but to no avail. Maeryn smirked. “Now them. Let’s really get down to business, shall we Stephan?” Maeryn said as she held her hand out in front of her, her hand open. She felt her rage fill her body, making it feel warm as her gift slipped through it to the palm of her hand and fingertips. She locked her gift on Stephan’s body and kept him there. Very slowly, she closed her hand, feeling his life flow out of his body and into her hand. Stephan was barely alive, cracks forming all over his body and face. Maeryn felt his life in her palm, and she slowly closed her hand completely, crushing his life and his body. All that there was left was a pile of ash. Maeryn smirked, feeling very satisfied as she turned to Vladimir. The one who had done the deed and had ripped her mate’s head off. He looked at the pile of dust that had been his most loyal companion for centuries just mere seconds ago. And he knew that it would not take long before he too would lay in a small pile of ashes. Vladimir realised in that moment that he had killed the wrong mate. Maeryn was still fairly young, but the love she had for Alec was amazingly large. Vladimir knew that there was nothing he could do about it and closed his eyes. He imagined that he would soon lay back in his beautiful mate’s arms. The one that had been taken away from him many centuries ago. In the last battle with the Volturi before only Stephan and he where left. Vladimir slowly felt the cracks forming, he felt them breaking every limb in little pieces. It hurt really bad. Not even vampire venom was this painful. He could feel every little crack from, and then the most painful moment of his life happened, but shorty is was all black around him as his body was no longer more than a pile of ashes. Maeryn felt really satisfied and Felix smiled. “Come on. Let’s go. Oh, and remind me to never get on your bad side.” Maeryn laughed. “I will.” “So are you sure? We could travel together if you’d like?” Felix asked. Maeryn had decided she wanted to see the world for her own. She wished to be alone for a while. Maybe a few decades. “I am sure Felix. I need this. Besides, I will make sure to contact you as much as I can.” She promised. Then, Felix did something he had never done before. He carefully hugged her small frame. Maeryn was shocked but slowly responded the hug by wrapping her own arms around his waist. “Be careful out there. I

will miss you little one.” He said as he brotherly placed a kiss on top of her head. “I will miss you too.” She said before letting go. She gave him one last smile and then she ran off. Off to see the world for her own.

[sp00kworm]

Vermillion (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Wounds, Injury descriptions, Gore, Kidnapping, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Sexual References.

A/N: I forgot to cross post this! It took me a week to write for my favourite Sinclair so I’m happy to finally share this long piece with everyone. I love metal and figured Bo would too so this is sort of where this came from! Please enjoy!

----

It wasn’t often that Bo Sinclair couldn’t stand the sight of his home, but when it did happen, he was always the first to escape in his truck, leaving Vincent in peace in the basement. Lester was rarely there to begin with, so it wasn’t like he was missing much when he was out of town. It was just them. Them and the dog, he reasoned as he cranked the volume of the rock station down in his truck. The bars he could easily drive to were run down little things, often just off to the side of a fuel station. Truckers and the large sort frequented them, laying down in their truck cabins for a few hours of sleep after a beer. They were run down, but the beer was cold and the food usually greasy enough to take his mind off whatever was itching at the back of his neck. Bo took a breath, strangling the steering wheel in his grasp as he listened to the last of the song on the station. When it finished and the annoying presenter droned back in, he turned the engine off and hopped out of the truck, locking the door as he took in the run-down establishment. Thankfully he was in his mechanic overalls still. He didn’t look out of place among the fat-bellied truckers that had just walked in.

 The inside was just as dingy as the outside. The old wood was dark and the pictures on the walls were from when the area was known for its mining. He listened to the quiet hum lull on as he moved into the corner of the bar and eyed what was on tap. Truly he would be fine with a bottle. He didn’t care much for what it was so long as he could have the alcohol to destress. He snarled when his elbow was jostled, the trucker apologising gruffly before taking his tankard off back to a group of his friends. They clicked drinks before setting their scruffy lips to guzzling whatever it was in the huge cups. The music was some sort of rage metal, playing over the speakers in the corner, though not loud enough for any of the older men to complain about it. Bo was surprised by the choice but noted it as a reason to come back. Too many places played cheesy charts shit that he couldn’t stand. Heavier music had been his outlet since he was young.

 The bartender was the one making the swap it seemed, beer bottles clutched to their chest as they flicked through an old ipod and changed the tracks to something heavier still. Bo would come back if he could drink beer with this sort of music on.

You felt burning eyes on your form as you clicked through the tracks of your little ipod. Dark blue gazed at you from the bottom of the bar and you took that as a sign that your little music switch had taken too long for some of the patrons’ tastes. With a smile you dumped the bottles in the box for collection and placed the glasses in the other one for the kitchen to wash. You were unassuming to him. Yet your music taste made him want to cry with joy. He was god damn sick of the classical music Vincent had on in the house. The only place he was free of it was at the garage with his battered tapes.

“Hey stranger, what can I get you?” You asked as you drew out a cold glass from under the polished counter.

Bo looked at you hard, chewing a toothpick as he gazed at the beers and shrugged, “I ain’t picky. Stronger is better but nothin’ that’s a spirit.” He flicked the wood and watched you hum and pull him a pint of a lighter coloured beer, placing it in front of him with a smile as the next riff crashed through your small speaker set up.

“Tab or cash upfront?”

“Open a tab. I’ll pay before I leave.” He offered before taking the beer and sliding himself into the seat on the end, “We alright to smoke inside?”

“Sure, just make sure to stub it out in the ashtray. If I see ash on the counter, I’ll charge you double for the beer.”

 Your sour smirk drew a chuckle from the man in the cap. He placed the bleached, blue baseball cap on the bar before rubbing at his wild brown hair and drawing out a packet of cigarettes, wasting no time sparking one up before he took a sip of the beer. His face was pleasant as he took another, then chugged four great mouthfuls. If he was driving, you hoped he wasn’t going to have too many. Ignoring the new stranger, you tended to the other men, drawing beers and whiskeys before returning to your docked ipod, flicking to something metalcore before humming your way back to behind the bar, taking to cleaning glasses as the drum thundered softly behind you. The new band drew Bo’s attention back to the speaker as a vicious low noise growled over the wood. Some patrons rolled their eyes, and the male didn’t miss their chuckles at the music. It seemed like the regulars were used to the heavier stuff. A few seemed like the sort to enjoy this music. Bo felt his gaze linger on you as you canted your hips left and right, humming along to the song as you worked quietly before people came up to ask for drinks.

 The eyes were on you as the male drank, his dark eyes peering over the rim of his glass, searching perhaps for something he liked. Maybe the music was pissing him off. You couldn’t find it in you to care about what he thought.

Bo raised his hand with a smile, “Bartender! I’ll have another of whatever that was, please.” He was still smoking, slowly dragging on his second cigarette.

“Sure thing. Half?” You watched him drag on the cigarette, as though he was actually deciding.

“Sure. Half. I gotta drive home.” He ground the stub out in the ashtray, “Thoughtful of you.” He hummed before pushing the ashtray away, handing you back his glass, “You got a name, sweets?”

“As much as I wish it was sweets, it isn’t.” You chuckled, pulling another half a pint for the man before offering your name with his drink, “What about you? I’ve worked here about a year and I’ve never seen you before.”

“Bo. Don’t stand for nothin' either before you ask.” He gave you a smile full of teeth, sipping the beer you put in front of him with something of a relaxed slouch.

“Well, Bo, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, doll. Might see more of me with that music taste of yours too.” Bo winked and glugged the rest of his drink, as though the liquid would get rid of something he was thinking about.

 You’d seen his sort before. At least he had the spoons not to drink himself into a stupor. He had to drive home after all. The mechanics overalls moved enough to reveal thick, scarred wrists, the marks puckered, pink and white. You pretended not to see and took the glass from him as he sparked his third cigarette. A man with plenty of baggage. One to avoid. Yet as he cracked another smirk, taking the drink from you, you couldn’t help but smile back, watching him poke at his tattered hat, his hair messy. Something about him was off, yet he hid it behind a southern smile and a honey accent. Bo raised the crisp glass to his lips, drinking slower now, puffing on the cigarette between his lips as he turned to listen to a gruff exchange in the corner. The regulars were getting a little rowdy. The music chugged on in the background. Bo chuckled and turned his eyes back on you, watching under his lashes as you wiped down the counter with a cloth. The burning gaze followed you as you served another patron, and then another. He didn’t ask for another drink, just nursed the last one you had given him as the last of the men emptied out of the bar.

 It was close to two o’clock in the morning.

 Bo took his hat from the counter as the last man walked out, “Thanks for letting me stay, doll. Sweet of ya considering I haven’t bought more than two drinks.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, “Keep the rest as a tip.”

It was a kind gesture considering his drinks only came to about six dollars, “Thanks. You off back home now?” The glass clicked as you put it back in the box of washing, “Must have been something on your mind to keep you here until close.” You clicked off the chugging guitar of some metalcore song as Bo pulled the brim of his hat lower.

Bo chewed the edge of his lip before releasing it and smirking, “Ain’t nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He tugged the sleeves of his coveralls and stood from the bar stool, tucking his wallet back into his front pocket.

“I’m not worried. You haven’t drunk enough to make a rat tipsy tonight. I’m sure you’ll be safe on your way home.” You put the cash in the register and took your four dollars for your tip jar on the end of the bar, “Thank you for the tip by the way. Not many tend to leave them.”

The male nodded and took a deep breath before moving to the door, “See you around, sweets. Your music taste really might just keep me around.” With another wink, he was out of the door, leaving you wiping your hands on your rag.

 Bo licked at his lips as he closed the bar door, looking at his truck in the empty parking lot then back at the door. It was tempting to wait, to drive a little way down and trail behind you. He could, but it was late, and he had a few errands to run early. The man smirked and walked to his truck, tucking the card with the address of the bar into his pocket. Maybe next time he’d get himself a little souvenir?

 You didn’t see Bo for a while.

 The typical men and women were tucked in the back of the bar. It was still early for a few of them, so most were only a drink or two in. You’d taken liberties with the music once more, bobbing your head by the fridge at the back of the bar as you stocked beers and ciders into it. When the door went, you peaked up over your shoulder, watching the new familiar face saunter in. Bo was earlier this time. Dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, he walked in with heavy boots on his feet and a smile on his face. He seemed brighter, less in a mood than the last time. He pulled his baseball cap off as he entered and gave you a bright, toothy smile, dangerous as he prowled over to the bar.

“You look like the cat that got the cream, Bo.” With a laugh you pulled out a glass, “What will it be this time?”

The man rolled his shoulders, still happy with the ego stroking, “Same as last time, doll-face. Tab too.” Bo sat down on the same barstool, his elbows on the bar top as he rummaged in a pocket for his crushed packet of cigarettes.

You pulled the pint of drink for him and placed the cool glass in front of him before pulling along an ashtray for him, “What brings you back to our humble establishment?” Joking, you leaned on the top on front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “Maybe the music?”

 Bo drew back slightly, sparking the cigarette before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with half lidded eyes, “Something like that. Maybe it was the beer. You got a good choice.” He shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know there’s plenty more where that came from.” With a smile you headed off to make the next round of drinks for the truckers sat in the far corner, humming along to the next song on your new playlist.

Bo watched under his eyelashes as you swayed and handed back drinks to the bearded, burly male, taking the cash and handing him his change with practiced ease. They seemed to all like you here, and respect you. It was nice to see. He waited for you to come back and continue the conversation. You ignored him and his gaze in favour of changing up the music, this time to a faster beat.

 Bo pulled his old phone out to see a brief message. Something from Vincent. They both had little pay phones, though Vincent only tended to send him anything if it was urgent. Apparently red paint at seven o’clock at night was just that urgent. With a snort, he sent a haughty reply about picking it up tomorrow afternoon. Thinking of a way to get you back over and talking was more important right now than his brother’s painting hobby. He’d been away for the week chasing new little victims for their collection. One had hidden out in the woods not far from Lester’s cabin, and had mistakenly banged on the door, and ended up right back in their clutches. He’d enjoyed hog tying the brat a little too much, and maybe enjoyed throwing him down the stairs to Vincent a little bit more. A violent part of him had wanted to beat the young man for the trouble he’d given him, but it wasn’t right. Vincent wanted that one alive for some reason. His younger brother had pointed wildly to some new pose in his notebook and Bo had been loathe to pay attention outside of a ‘Do what the fuck you want’.

 Bo settled for finishing his drink before calling your name, “Can I get another one please, sweets?” He asked, sugar on top of the honey that was his accent.

“Sure thing.” You took his glass with a smile and set to getting him a refill as he watched on behind you, his packet of cigarettes perched by his hand, his metal lighter clicking in his hands as he sparked it up, closed it, and repeated.

“You been working here long?” He asked as he snapped his lighter closed, blue eyes crinkled around the edges with his smile. It was a handsome smile.

Blowing air out of your mouth you thought about it, “Just over a year now, I think? Its not a bad job when you get the tips and the crowd seem to like me enough. Definitely makes it more bearable.” You placed his refilled beer next to his hand as he pocketed his lighter.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled as he took his glass in his hand.

“What about you, Mister? What do you do for a living?” You stood next to him as the metal music turned soft, “Something hands on?”

 It was probably a bad idea. Definitely.

 “I’m a mechanic. Have my own little place. Not real busy but the work comes and goes.” Bo couldn’t stop himself before he was spouting too much, “Out in a little piece of land. The town’s quiet but we all make do. Like the peace ‘n quiet.”

You nodded with a smile, “That must be nice. I always wanted to live out in the country.” Confessing it to the man felt odd, but you were convinced no harm could really come from it, “But there aren’t that many jobs so far from civilization.”

Bo chuckled after a swig of beer, “It ain’t as bad as you think.” But didn’t say anymore as he fingered his pack of cigarettes.

“So Mister Mechanic has his own land and a little town to look after. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing too bad for yourself.” You joked, easing the tension, “All you need now is a little family.”

Bo felt something akin to bile rise in his throat, “Somethin’ like that. Though maybe playin’ happy families isn’t my forte.” He rubbed at his forehead with a frustrated smile, “One can only hope, right?” He laughed, brushing off the gloom with another drink, “You want the easy life I take it? Stayin’ at home. Lookin’ after kids?”

 Bo swallowed the sour taste in his mouth as his heart leaped in his throat. A little house-spouse. Something about the idea of it made his gut twist in his belly. He licked at his lips again before taking a few deep swallows of beer.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants? The easy life. No worries.” You smiled and tapped your fingers along the bar counter before sighing, “Though it will probably never happen.”

“Who knows, sweetpea?” Bo smiled over the rim of his glass, “Be careful what you wish for.” He flicked open his lighter to light another cigarette.

Scoffing, you reached for your handkerchief to wipe at your forehead, the summer heat still permeating the bar, making it hot inside, “Thanks, Bo. You’re a real mood sucker, you know that?” You smiled at him.

The smile made his worries ease a little, “Maybe everyone will get what they want in the end, doll.” The toothy smirk was known to you now, and you smiled back as metal thundered over the speakers, pulling him another drink before serving the rest of the clients.

 Bo grinned at his hand as he walked out that night, your handkerchief in his hand, your smell lingering in the material. As he sat in his truck, he pressed his nose into the material and groaned.

 At first Bo came by weekly. You knew he was busy. Looking after his brothers and running errands while trying to manage a plot of land didn’t leave him much time for socialising. Bo made time. The more he visited, the more time he made. Weekly visits became twice weekly all too easily, and Bo looked forwards to listening to you snark at customers, or music taste, though you both liked the same bands anyway. The handkerchief was still in his pocket, the red cotton kind on his rough fingers. He pushed a finger into the material before he ordered another drink.

“Heineken today, sugar.” His smile was infectious as he seated himself properly, hands on the bar, his cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket this time.

“That’s a weak one for you Bo.” You teased, cracking a bottle open for him with a quick flick of a bottle opener. You placed the top by his hand and held up your pad, scribbling down his drink at the top of a new page.

 Bo gave a lopsided grin before pulling a cigarette out and thumping over his pockets with a curse, “You got a light? My lighter is back in the truck.” He asked and held out the cigarette to you.

Rolling your eyes you grasped the spare lighter from under the counter, “You’d think a nicotine addict like you wouldn’t forget your lighter.” You let him hold the cigarette in his mouth before you lit the end with a raised eyebrow.

For your sass, Bo made sure to blow the first lung full of smoke in your direction, “For a bartender you’d think you’d be a lot nicer to the clients that pay your wage, sweets.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew that, so you laughed at him and turned to give a lady her whiskey before answering him, “I thought you only came here for the music anyway?” You teased.

Bo scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.” And drank a few mouthfuls of beer before tapping his cigarette on the ashtray edge, “Maybe I like the company.”

A grin was his reply, “Mister Bo Sinclair, hard man of the century, just wants a bit of company.”

“Carry on with that sass, doll, and I’ll make sure you don’ do it again.” Bo snatched your wrist from the counter with a dark look, “If you catch my drift.” His eyelashes were low, touching his cheeks as he leaned over the bar.

 Bo was coming on to you. The Bo Sinclair, was coming onto you.

 A thick wad of spit was hard to swallow, and you managed with a soft gulp as he eyed you, fingers tight around your wrist.

“And just how would you do that?” You knew you were playing with fire now, daring Bo to spout all the things he had been thinking about.

Bo took a drink before twisting you closer, his free hand dragging up over the soft skin on the inside of your wrist, “Maybe I’d rather your mouth be sayin’ other things?” He leaned up to make sure no one would overhear, speaking hotly into your ear, “Or screaming them for me. Bet you sound divine all worked up.”

That was a little too much. With a furious blush on your face, you pulled away jerkily, eyeing Bo with pursed lips, “What makes you think I’d let you, Mister Sinclair?” You really were putting your foot in it.

“I don’t.” He let go of you in an instant, “It was just an offer, should you want to take me up on it.” Bo sat back in his seat, pulling at his shirt as though he was hot before downing the rest of his drink, “Think about it, doll. I’ll be back tomorrow. I gotta run an errand before I head home.”

 Like a proud cat he was out of the door, chest puffed out as though he had just achieved the impossible. When you turned over his beer coaster, his number was scribbled on the back, everything blocky and rushed. As a drum thundered you entered his number into your contacts and thumbed at the text button. A customer called for another drink and you tucked your phone back away before pulling another round of pints for the group in the back, smiling and chatting friendly.

 The number felt odd in your phone. After your shift, you pulled out your phone and eyed his number again, thumb tapping the little message button once before you made your decision. Typing out the message you took a deep breath before pressing send. His reply didn’t come. It was sent, and as you locked up the bar you held your phone tighter, hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t be awkward. You climbed into your car as your phone buzzed with a response.

‘Did you see me writing my number or is this by accident?’

You swallowed and replied, ‘Thought I’d take you up on your offer ;)’

‘After your shift tomorrow?’

Your fingers shook as you typed, ‘See you then tiger.’ and exhaled, trembling as you turned on the engine and turned on the radio. The late-night talk show didn’t calm your nerves any as you pulled out and chewed on your lip.

 One night turned into two, and two turned into four faster than you knew. It wasn’t even a hook up the third time. Bo took you out for breakfast. It was still a little motorway diner, but the pancakes were to die for. It was nice. Almost domestic. The next time you met it was the same. Going for breakfast in another little place. The time after that is was back in the motel, teeth clashing and hands groping handfuls of one another as he fucked you hard into the bed. It was a stark and scary difference, but as Bo placed his hand over yours in the diner, you found it hard to care about the shadows under his eyes and the strange glint in the corner. You looked down at your waffles and hummed, sipping a hot beverage tentatively as Bo chewed his pancakes with a noise of glee. Anyone would think he never ate the way he shoved quarters of cooked dough into his mouth.  The coffee didn’t seem to bother him, and he swallowed a few mouthfuls before finally slowing down.

 “Anyone would think you’ve never been fed, Bo.” You shook your head as you cut up your waffle.

Bo struggled to swallow his mouthful before he replied, “In truth, I got to get home, doll.” He confessed quietly, strong fingers resting on the table edge, “Something’s come up back home.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” You hid the upset in your eyes.

Bo shook his head, “Nothin' serious but I’m worried about Vincent.” He tapped one finger on the table and drew his lips back, half of his teeth exposed as he sucked air through them, “He...He can look after himself but people keep comin’ up to the house and I get a lil' worried for ‘im.” If he was lying you couldn’t tell. Bo pursed his lips before releasing the tension, licking at them before he posed the question to you, “How about we get the rest to take out? I can show you the house if ya'd like?”

“Mister Sinclair, it’s only the third date and you’re already taking me home to meet the family?” You teased as he leaned over to ask for boxes.

Bo's eyes went low, looking at the dip of your neck into your collar bones before he replied, “Seen as though I’ve already taken you elsewhere, seems about right I take you home.” His tongue made a round over his lips, imagining the taste of you before he leaned back to let the waitress take your food and box it up.

 This was the moment. Bo knew it. You could reject him and go back to your little bar job, or you could come with him. He wanted you. He needed you like a dying man. It was like an itch in the back of his head, constant, fogging his brain with something like joy when he thought about you. The cruel part wanted to snatch you now, hunting knife to your neck as he dragged you back to the truck and hid you back in the middle of nowhere, back in Ambrose. Home, he thought, as he looked at your face. He wanted you home. To greet him when he came in, to greet him like a good little spouse. The sick part of his head wanted that and nothing else for you. The sicker part enthused if you were wax, he could have you forever. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t a sick enough fucker to think wax people were real, nor would he do anything with it. He just wanted you to stay. The scars on his wrists ached when he rubbed at them, a subconscious, anxious movement as he waited. His Mama had left, and their Papa had driven himself mad. All he had was their town and his brothers, but now he wanted you as a part of his little family. A perfect little house-spouse. The words thundered in his head before you opened your mouth.

 “Sure then, why not?” You smiled at him as the waitress took the money for the food and returned your leftovers in Styrofoam boxes.

Bo felt a smirk widen across his face, “Come on then, sweets, let’s get back to the house.” He took the food and held the door open for you to walk through, his smile infectious as you both dragged yourself up into his pickup and pulled out onto the highway once more. Bo’s hand went to the radio as a comfortable silence settled over the both of you, and turned the knobs, trying to tune into the station he liked. When the rock station came on, he sighed with relief and listened, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm propped up out of the window.

“It’s a bit soft for you isn’t it?” You teased, holding up your little ipod and a cord, “I’ll put some good shit on.”

Bo only chuckled and let you fiddle with his old radio plug in, watching you struggle with a snort as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. When you finally managed it, Bo When you finally managed it, Bo felt the tension ease, the heavy drums rattling through the old speakers as he sped past the junction to civilization and onwards.

 “You sure do live in the middle of nowhere, Bo.”

“Somethin’ like that, doll.”

 The ride to Bo’s home was odd. The town was off the beaten track, obscured in a small corner of the country that no one had seen in years. The path was well worn, and the town was simply a single street left to rot. It seemed desolate, that was until you saw an old woman peep from behind her curtains, curlers in and tv fuzzing behind her. There was some life still here. There was no one around still though. One woman didn’t make a town. That was when the famous House of Wax came into view, yet Bo didn’t stop to let you see much of it, quickly turning the truck up towards the house, away from the museum and the rest of the town. He turned off the engine and applied the handbrake before taking a breath and getting out. You let him open your door for you and smiled.

“It’s a big old house.” It was more an observation.

Bo shrugged his shoulders, pulling his cap from his head as he walked towards the front door. It was open, and he turned the handle, cringing at the insides ass you walked past him.

 A ‘pig sty’ was probably the nicest way of describing the inside of the Sinclair home. It was chock full of junk and stuff from so long ago you were sure it wouldn’t work anymore.

“It’s certainly unique.” You shrugged and perched yourself on the couch with a wave from Bo. He shoved his way into the kitchen and placed a kettle on the stove before walking back into the living area. His eyes were looking at something you couldn’t see as he walked through into another room in the back. The kettle was screaming on the stove. Your heart rate picked up when Bo didn’t come back. With a breath you dared to enter the kitchen, looking at the suspicious brown stains on the sink before you took the kettle away with a towel and placed it on the side, wondering where the cups were.

 “Doll?” Bo shouted from the living room, “Shit.” He whispered it before you replied to him.

“I’m in the kitchen! The kettle was screaming!” You shouted through the door and waved, hot kettle in hand, “I don’t know where anything is.”

Bo seemed relieved to find you there, but quickly pulled two chipped mugs from the cupboard over your head and some cheap brand coffee, “Sorry its not the fancy shit. We don’t have no fancy machines for any of the grounds.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you go and check on Vincent?” You asked, pouring hot water into the mugs.

As though you had summoned the man, a presence lingered in the doorway, “He’s uh, come up to see you.”

 You turned around, coffee in hand, and almost jumped a mile in the air. A man the exact same height as Bo stood in the doorway, apron over thick jumper and tough cargo bottoms, boots covered in globs of white wax. His hair shadowed his face, hiding the features.

“Its nice to meet you, Vincent. Bo talks about you often. Only good things of course.” You offered him a drink and watched the man shake his head before he peered upwards, fingers cupped around the perfect skin of his chin. It looked like a medical prosthetic covering his face. It clicked that is was indeed a mask. Made of wax. You felt unnerved but held fast as you took your coffee back. A dark eye looked at you through the mask, analysing you on a level you couldn’t comprehend. The dark curtain of hair covered his face again as he tugged Bo’s shirt.

“A guest, not one of your projects. Well…” Something in the room churned then, darkening, souring the air with something you have never seen on his face, “Maybe if…” The words fell on deaf ears as Vincent reached for the bone handled knife on his thigh.

“Baby, don’t be doin’ no running now. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” Bo smiled and crowded your space, following you around the table as you felt the urge to panic rise in your gut, “What happened to breakfast? We were gonna eat here and have a grand old time!” He spread his arms as you watched Vincent by the door. Bo snatched your face in his hands, “Eyes on me, sugar.” White teeth snapped in front of your face, “We ain’t gonna do nothin’. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason!” He let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your frame, “I swear, you got an overactive imagination or somethin’.”

And like that, the atmosphere was calm. Vincent looked at you before taking a coffee and walking back out of the door, a dog barking and trailing behind him as he headed back towards the back rooms. As the door closed, you heard the scream that followed and the howl of the dog behind the wood.

 “What the fuck is this, Bo?!”

 Bo smirked, pulling his hat off before grappling you by the backside, pressing your hips together, “This is your new life, doll.” He snatched your wrists before you could smack at his face. The man leaned over, hand pinching your cheeks before his tongue ran over your hot face, licking you from the bottom of your jaw to the top of your cheek. He pulled away and pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in as the screams in the other room died down, and the dog stopped howling, “Better get used to it.” His hands trailed over your ass as he hugged you tighter.

The air in your lungs seized, “What do you mean?” and the screams started in the next room as the slick sound of a knife cut through the air. A door slammed open and you heard feet thump towards the kitchen. A girl ground her nails into the door frame, a stolen scalpel in hand as she glanced at Bo then back to you in his grasp.

 The scalpel glinted before she moved with wild eyes, “You sick fuck!” She howled, launching herself towards the both of you. Bo moved quickly, hand catching her wrist. His grip slipped and the knife sliced his palm, the surgical weapon wet with bright red blood. You panicked, grabbing the girl by the wrists as Bo fisted his hand, blood dripping onto the kitchen floor.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She thrashed with the blade and you grunted as the two of you clattered onto the table. With a heave you rolled enough to smash her hand into the wood, watching her fingers recoil, the blade dropping from her grip. Fat tears dripped onto your face as she howled again, fighting to retrieve her blade. Silently, you snatched the knife and pushed her back. Vincent dashed into the door, grabbing the escaped girl by her hair, hunting knife pressed to her throat, the sharp edge glinting against the soft skin of her throat.

 Clapping echoed around the room. Bo was leaned against the counter, his hips pressed back as he watched you gasp and hold the scalpel. You’d nicked yourself in the fight, arm bleeding and shirt sliced open, stained red with your own blood.

“What a show.” He hopped forwards and grinned, fingers moving over your shoulders as Vincent watched from the doorway, “Cut her real good, baby.” The purr made you clench, slick fingers unfurling from the scalpel with a shaky breath as you watched Vincent take the girl away, her tears dripping over her cheeks and onto the hard wood floor.

“You made me...” A sob choked in your throat before you steeled yourself, “I’m just as guilty as you.” It was a whisper.

Fingers pressed into your shoulders, a soft voice shushing your sniffling, “You ain’t done nothing wrong. She wont die. Vincent makes ‘em real purty.” They trailed a path down your sides before he held you by the waist, “Breakfast is getting cold.” He uttered behind your ear, breath hot against the skin, “I hate to waste good food.” Bo pressed a kiss to your neck before steering you to the table, pulling out a small first aid kit to patch up the cut until Vincent could stitch the both of you up.

 The stitches in your arm ached. Bo’s palm was a mess, wrapped for a long time before it stayed closed as he moved it. Vincent had put stitches in carefully and watched Bo hiss and pick them sore for days before holding his brother still, disinfecting the stitches, and wrapping his palm so he couldn’t play with the wire. Your arm healed quickly as you tentatively settled into the new life, gazing at the sculptures Vincent often positioned in the House of Wax. Bo didn’t like your silence. You refused to eat for two days before he stirred up an argument. A screaming match on his side that made you swallow the mashed potatoes on your plate and think hard about what you were doing there. Another kid rolled into the town a day later, his hair a mess and his backpack hanging from one shoulder. You sat on the porch swing-seat as Bo sweet talked him inside.

“Fan belt? Oh, sure thing. I got a few in the house. You want to wait here with the spouse?” He nodded and Bo walked past you with a smile. A warning was hidden in his eyes somewhere. The warning was silly. You knew that ratting them out wouldn’t be good for you.

 A smile curled on your face as you placed down your lemonade. It was cheap, flat almost, but it was refreshing in the sunshine as you sat with one of the boy’s books on your knees. Bo had been kind enough to drag you to your apartment, but not kind enough to let you ring work. Better you just disappeared, he said.

“Not from round here?” You asked, pushing your sunglasses up to reveal your eyes, “We don’t see many round these parts. A miracle I found Bo here in the wilderness.” The accent was choppy, but you’d been practicing enough to have a twang.

“Its a ghost town.” The male observed, “Just shit luck that my fanbelt snapped. It looked like it was done with plyers or something.”

You shrugged, “Shit happens.” And laughed before offering him a drink of lemonade. Bo was still inside; no doubt piecing together repair stuff to take to the truck.

“I will have a drink, thank you. It took me three hours of walking to find this place.” He took the glass of icy lemonade and drank great mouthfuls.

 Bo came back through the door, startling the young man into choking as he glugged lemonade.

“A man goes inside, and a boy is already moving in on his turf. By all means,” he gave a sharp grin, “Make yourself at home.” He smirked at the boys stuttering before holding up a spanner, “I’m playing with you, boy.” He twirled the metal around his fist before placing his tools to the side. You saw Bo's shoulders tense before the metal tool smacked the boy over the head. It sent him spiralling, unsteady on his feet as he let out a squawk.

“What the fuck?!” He held out his hands, dropping the lemonade over the porch, the glass shattering.

Bo was on him quickly, pulling his arms back with a sneer, “You think I gave you permission to make yourself at home, huh?” He threw the boy into the wall of the house.

“Bo!” You clutched your book and gave him a snarl of your own.

In a fury, the man turned around, fists clenched, “I’ll talk with you later, doll.” The words were purred against your ear, Bo pressed into your personal space, before he recoiled like a viper and grabbed the unconscious boy. He pinched his face, looking him over with mild disgust, “You get on with making dinner.”

 He left without anything else, descending into the basement, dragging the boy’s dead weight body behind him to try and calm down by exercising his muscles a little. Jealously wasn’t something you’d seen before. It was even deadlier coming from a man like Bo. You swallowed and sighed before pulling the pots out for dinner. You needed to get changed out of your lemonade sticky clothes before anything though.

 Dressed in a soft shirt and bottoms, you leaned over the stove, cooking a basic meal for those that wanted it. You’d already shouted to Vincent about food. He hadn’t replied with a knock, so you assumed he was busy with his latest creation. It was probably the boy Bo had taken down. Bo hadn’t resurfaced since, other than slamming the door to the basement link to the House of Wax and storming upstairs for something. You sighed, pinching at the shirt over your torso, wondering if the outfit would appeal to him enough.

 Listening to your own thoughts was sick. But you wanted to impress him. Bo was special. It was fucked up, but this whole thing was.

 “Bo?!” You dared to shout up the stairs, “Dinner is ready!”

The door slammed open. You made yourself scarce, escaping to the kitchen to turn off the hob. Footsteps made the stairs creak as Bo came down, sighing heavily before he shouted, “Where you at, sweets?” He called before entering the kitchen. He was a state, face red and wrists sore from rubbing and gouging at them.

Your eyes caught the redness, “Baby? What happened?” You knew. The abuse as a child. He'd sobbed one night in the bar after far too many beers, before taking you to the cheap motel you both often went to, and fucking you hard against the wall.

“Nothing.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, “Its all fine now you’re here, sugar.” Bo pressed his face into your neck and sighed again, breathing you in as the food cooled on the stove, “I love you.”

 The world froze as you felt the warmth from the man behind you seep into your back.

 “I love you too.”

 Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But was it true? You adored Bo like no other before all of this. Did this change him? You leaned into his touch and made your decision.

 Bo purred at your reaction; lips pressed to the hot skin of your neck. The shirt was hooked out of your trousers, flapping over your stomach as he pressed you towards the side. His fingers slid teasingly along your sternum, pressing into the flesh as they danced over your stomach, aiming lower. A hot breath blew over the back of your ear as Bo's hips pressed you firmly against the counter. His fingers dipped underneath your bottoms, stroking as he kissed a spot behind your ear. His fingers slipped around before teasing the flesh, ignoring your grunt against the counter and the cant of your hips towards him.

"Make some noises for me, sugar, I'm a man dyin' of thirst."

You slid your hand around instead, grinning as you pressed your hand to his crotch, fingers splaying over the rough material of his old jeans.

Teeth snapped by your ear, “You better hang on. I’m gonna see what noises I can get out of you.”

[theshy1sout]

Inseparable - Chapter 6

So, I don't describe their outfits and looks on purpose. I just don't want to focus on those, they are not an important part of the story, besides the Staff and Branch's grey capote. But I want to draw something and maybe one day I will xD Enjoy new chapter

Tags: Not rated, Broppy, Slow Burn Fluff, Trolls Mythology AU

Ao3 here

Summary: - It's ours - She smiles at him. - But it's nice of you that you asked. I'm sure it will be in the right hands.

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Poppy has to say, even doing it a thousand times, she never is less amazed by The Light slowly beaming from the Gold Sphere and filling the sky with warm, pleasant colors she made for it - red, orange, pink, purple, yellow... The goddess of the Day is really proud of sunrise.

Birds start singing lovely serenades for her taking care of Earth. She begins calmly opening cups of flowers on the fields, and the soft sound of the god's in the dark hoodie steps follow her in polite Silence.

- So... What is your plan? - Poppy asks, doesn't stop her duty.

- I will be trying whatever I can - Branch announces.

Pink eyes turn to the black space in the hoodie and spark with amusement.

- You have no plan!

- You don't understand - The god says. - My plan is to improvise.

Poppy giggles and smiles at him. But she can't see his face under the darkness of his hoodie. She knows he doesn't like the light, but... She wishes to see his smile. He can do it in such a subtle, calming way.

- I will follow you thinking and trying things - He adds. - Just ignore me.

- Okie - Poppy shrugs her shoulders airily. - I will pretend that I won't see a wraith in the big dark capote with a hoodie drifting after me across the world.

A loud sound of Branch's chuckle makes her satisfied and proud of her joke. She can't stop herself but smirks dorkly while turning back to the flower she was opening.

The goddess of the Day is always happy doing her job. But turning back from time to time and seeing the dark silhouette who's watching critters, plants, and trolls living their lives below the light of the Staff, is a bit nicer than walking alone through the Earth. Poppy likes to stop and watch at Branch, as he stands a few steps behind her staring at the tree like on something really interesting or just walks carefully through some trolls' village, trying to not step on anybody. He is so gentle when he touches oak leaves or puts a hand on the rough bark. He acts like he sees a living world for the very first time.

Poppy is going to give wheat a bit of gold color and let them fully ripen when she hears a familiar voice.

- Yall, Poppy! - Holly yells at her and waves a hand at the other side of the field. Then she starts galloping to come up to her.

- Holy! - Poppy beams with joy seeing her friend. - I haven't seen you for a while! Where have you been?

- Doing my stuff, yall! - The goddess of Hospitality smiles widely. - I have my hands full a week before the Fest! I want to be sure that every troll will be prepared for that Day!

- Oh girl, I can't wait for the Fest!

- So can't I! I was waiting the whole year... Have you prepared something special?

Poppy smirks.

- I'll blow everyone's minds.

- But you know you can present only one thing?

Holly giggles at Poppy's surprised face.

- I didn't know!

- Don't worry, yall! You have the whole week to choose one thing.

- You're right, but... It still sounds hard for me... How do I suppose to choose only one!

- Sh! - Holy interrupts her sharply with upset on her face. The pink goddess freezes. They stand like that for a while.

- What's wrong? - Poppy whispers.

- Behind you.

- What is it?

Holy stares at something behind Poppy's back for a long, frightening moment, until she says with the very serious tone:

- It's Branch.

Poppy breathes a sigh of relief and then giggles.

- You're afraid of Branch?

Holy looks at her like at the idiot.

- And you're not?

- Of course, I'm not! - She puts her hands on her lips. - He's my friend!

Now it's Holly who collapses a giggle.

- You're kidding!

- No, I don't! - She throws, a bit exclaimed. - He's a really nice guy! You even... You know what? I show you!

Poppy grabs Holly's wrist and leads her to the dark grey capote. Holly walks with her willingly, but with a very visible upset on her face.

- Poppy, I'm not sure if that...

- Branch! - The pink goddess screams to make the black hoodie hole turn to them. He stands under the big oak and waits patiently for Poppy to come.

- Branch, meet Holly - She points at the orange skin goddess who can't hide her awkwardness right now. - She's...

- The goddess of Hospitality - Branch interrupts her with his calm voice. He nods to Holly politely. He adds: - Poppy, I know every Immortal.

- But not personally! - She beams. She ignores his heavy sigh and turns at Holy. - Holly, this is Branch!

Holly forces herself to grin, but the black shadow from the hoodie makes her uncomfortable the whole time.

- Nice to meet you! - She throws.

- It doesn't look like a nice experience for you.

- Branch!

- I'm just saying - He turns to Poppy. - You put her in a really uncomfortable situation.

- I just wanted to show that you aren't scary!

- But Poppy, I am scary.

The loud, sudden giggle interrupts them. They both look at the orange skin goddess feeling pretty confused.

- Yall, I'm sorry - Holly giggles. - But you said it in a really calm way. - She puts her hand on her hips and smiles, this time it doesn't look forced. - You are not scary! Yall, I don't know why I thought you would bite me or something.

- Maybe because I can. - Branch says blankly.

Girls look at him with surprise.

- No no no! - He shows hands in the peace offering. - It was a joke, I swear I'm not a dog!

Goddess laugh.

- Yall! So whatcha doin' here at the Day? - Holly asks, now fully confident.

- He helps me! - Poppy beams. - It's a big plan!

- What's the plan?

- I was up to make it - Branch murmurs.

- Okay, so maybe I shouldn't bother you - Holly chuckles. - I also have a lot of stuff to do before the Fest. Good luck with your plan!

- See you at the Fest, Holy! - Poppy waves after her galloping away.

- I told you I don't like talking with others - Branch points out with such a cold tone. She looks at him with surprise.

- But she got to you.

But he just groans out and turns back to the oak. He starts doing something near its roots, getting down on one knee. His upsetting is visible for Poppy, but she isn't sure what to do with it. She steps to him and sits down nearby. She leans the Staff against her shoulder like he does when he sits with it.

- You're angry? - She asks shyly.

He ignores her for a while and when she starts thinking he would never answer, he sighs.

- It was awkward and unnecessary.

The goddess says nothing. She just doesn't know what. It's understandable for her that it's weird to talk to others when almost everybody finds him weird or scary. But she has no solution or advice for that. She wanted good for him and she doesn't think she did the wrong thing this time. It was just a little try to socialize Branch and it went kinda awkward, but it was okay.

She sits for a while like thinking and enjoying the moment. It is a nice, warm summer Day. Trollazart makes today a pleasant breeze. Above them birds are jumping from twig to twig, playing and singing softly. Branch stops doing his thing and sits next to her. After a while, he sighs again.

- And my joke was so stupid...

Poppy laughs softly.

- You really scared us then!

- I know...

She collapses a giggle once again. She wishes she can see if he's amused too.

- About the Midday... I think I have an idea...

- Wow, you have?! - Poppy beams at him with the whole sunshine energy she has.

- I guess... - His voice sounds unsure. - I think I could make shadows like in my hoodie to make colder places to rest for creatures.

- You could? - The pink goddess is all curiosity. - How?

He hesitates for a while.

- Stealing the Light.

She opens her eyes with shock.

- Like this.

Branch takes a single leaf from his capote and lifts it to let Poppy see. He grabs the leaf with his other hand and moves through it like he strips something off it. And then he gets the leaf down, stopping a few inches above the ground. Poppy opens her mouth with disbelief. Under the leaf, there is no light. Just a round, grey spot in the shape of the leaf. And then Branch shows her his other hand. He holds between two fingers a little tiny ball of the Light, shining bright and vivid. And... Blue? She isn't sure, but it looks like the tiny ball shines blue, or Branch's fingers are blue. But both the things sound weird. Light is while. The god of the Night is grey. She looks at his fingers overanalyzing the blue color on them.

- So that's how the Night works? - She asks, trying to ignore the blue color. - You steal the Light?

- No - Branch starts playing with a tiny ball, rolling it between his fingers. - I know as much about the Staff and the Sphere as you. I just grab it

- So... - Poppy tries to process the information she gets. - If you take the Light from the plants, you never put it back?

- It wouldn't have any sense if I put it back - He points out. - Cause I'm supposed to make places for rest, right? I'll do it once or forever, but the process is reversible. Besides that, I will take the Light only from one side of things. See?

Branch starts moving the oak leaf in different directions and the shadow is always on the other side. Under the leaf. He gives the leaf to Poppy and she plays with it. Indeed, it works as he said. She is curious and amazed.

- What will you do with the Light if you're not going to put it back?

- Umm... - He hesitates a bit. Then he clears his throat. - Can I keep it?

The goddess of the Day looks at the god of the Night. As the guard of the Light, she is responsible for It. Should she keep It always in the Gold Sphere? Or maybe she shares this responsibility with Branch? Are there any rules of sharing the Light with other Immortals? Why doesn't anybody tell her? She isn't sure, but... She guesses, the Light is as much her as Branch's. And even if not, she trusts him.

- It's ours - She smiles at him. - But it's nice of you that you asked. I'm sure it will be in the right hands.

Poppy can't see it, but she feels it, she feels that he is staring at her. She bites her tongue to not ask what he wants to keep it for. He won't answer and she wants to show him her trust.

- Thanks - The god says so softly, with all the gratefulness he has, and it makes Poppy smile so dorkly. He stands up like he's ready for the hardest work of his life, and he views the horizon full of glory, sunny Light, the Light so vivid that makes everything vibrate from a plethora of life energy. His Silence speaks from him. He is overthinking.

- You start?

- I don't know where I should start first - He admits.

- Well, maybe from this oak - She puts her hand on the bark. But he is still standing and thinking, even if now he's staring at the tree instead of the horizon.

- Ok, what's wrong. - She asks in an order to explain.

Inhale. Really long, really deep inhale.

- Can you leave me alone with that? - He asks oddly shyly.

- Why? I want to see like you steal the Light.

- It's kinda uncomfortable when you stare at me working.

- When we walk during the Night you never mind when I follow you...

- But it's a Day and I haven't got a sack!

Poppy frowns.

- You know what? - Branch throws a sudden strong tone. - Never mind! That was a weird thought... I mean! Do what you do! Whatever. It's fine.

And then sharp and nervous he takes his hoodie off, and quickly like something is chasing him he unclips the silver buckle in the shape of the sickle, getting off his big grey capote, and the first time she sees him in all of his deictic glory, in the Light of the Day.

When Branch is folding his capote, turning it into a big sack to collect the stolen Light, he tries nervously avoiding her sight, cause she is staring at him with her eyes fully opened and her mouth frozen in awe. Her mind just can't process what she sees.

Branch.

Is.

Blue.

He is blue. He is all blue! The bright, soft azure, the calm shade of the ocean, the joyful light color of the bluebird. And his vivid sapphire eyes looking shyly away from her, and his deep cobalt hair shining with a hidden navy tone. He wears a simple leather shirt and very simple black pants, which highlights his strong, supple silhouette. All those things weren't visible either during the Night and neither during the Day, when he never walked without his hoodie on his head. And Poppy can't understand why he was hiding it this whole time. She knows it makes him uncomfortable, but she just can't stop staring at him. She can't stop adoring him.

Meanwhile, Branch, trying to ignore her existence, grabs all the Light around the oak and puts It into the provisionally made with his capote sack. Now under the tree is a pleasantly cold shadow, birds start singing cheerfully to celebrate refreshment. Their happy twitters fill Branch with pride and the smile light shows on his face. He turns to Poppy with it, and even if he drops it really quickly, the goddess sees it and feels her heart beats faster for no reason and feels her chicks get warmer and turn red, and feels her lips forming into a soft little smile she's never done, and this whole her body overreaction makes her sudden turn all shy and looks away, fluttering her eyelashes.

Branch clears his throat.

- What do you think? - He points at the oak, trying to pretend that everything else is normal as usual.

She looks up at him, cause she is still sitting, and then she looks around the tree. The nice breeze flows through her hair and makes leaves rustle. It is quieter here now, darker and calmer. It is like a really pleasant place to hide from the hard parts of life.

- It's perfect  - Poppy says much calmer and softer than usual, and she has no clue why. She just said it like that. Accidentally.

- It looks like you added a bit of the Night into the Day - She continues with a much normal voice.

Branch chuckles slightly and the light smile stays on his face. It is so nice to see him like that. With full of body language, poise, and gestures, with his bright blue face filled with nighly smile, with his vivid sapphire eyes looking dreamily at the world he takes care of.

He looks so genuine and alive.

- Are you coming with me?

His voice wakes her up from the thoughts. He feels much more comfortable and confident. Maybe a bit of working calmed him down, or maybe he saw that she liked him with his blue shades. Cause she likes him like that. She wishes he would never wear the capote and hoodie again.

Poppy jumps up from the ground and beams at him sunshiny.

- Of course, I'm coming!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Index

[alwaysmychoices]

Today, I had this idea for the ending of another project I’m working on, and I couldn’t sleep until I had written it out. 

Because I am nowhere near finished with this project and wanted to share it, here it is. It has absolutely nothing to do with Ethan Ramsey (sad), but it is my ending to a story I came up with that mirrors Ethan x MC. 

You may not know Ellis and Ben’s story, but here’s their happy ending. 

I thought about turning back at least a hundred times.

I imagined running through the airport during my layover, demanding an outrageous ticket back to London. I imagined catching a cab and walking back into his apartment only to find him reaching for his keys to come after me.

That image got me through the eight-hour flight, but when I landed in New York for my layover, I didn’t book another flight. Instead, I bought a cup an overpriced cup of coffee – strong, black, and secretly sprinkled with sugar, just like he liked it – and posted a picture to my Instagram story. For the rest of my layover, I checked to see if he had seen it yet.

He hadn’t.

I don’t know why I was surprised.

I gave him every opportunity for him to ask me to stay, and he never did. Instead, he wished me luck, kissed my cheek, and waved my cab off as we drove to the airport. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me to stay. Instead, he wanted me to go off and have all the adventures I could. He wanted me to remember the last year as one of those great stories you share in crowded bars, when your European escapades feel particularly exotic. He was a stamp in my passport, and I was a pleasant surprise.

Benjamin Clark didn’t mean for me to look back. He gave me no reason to hope, yet I did anyway.

I almost turned back before boarding my flight to Charlotte. I let myself have one last fond daydream of returning to him and spending the fall by his side, but at the end of the daydream, I still knew that winter would be a mystery.

Benjamin Clark wasn’t the kind of person you run out of an airport for. If you did, you would only be disappointed in the end.

We weren’t a grand romance. We were, at best, a humorous coming of age film with an exotic locale.

So, I flew home. For a few months, I lived with my parents and applied to every job I could find. While I waited, I hit up childhood friends and visited my old haunts. Sometimes, I would post photos and watch my notifications to see if he liked it.

He did once or twice.

He even viewed my story a handful of times, but he knew better than to message me.

In October, I got a job in D.C., and with two suitcases and a lively early 2000s playlist, I drove up alone. I rented a small bedroom from a friend of a friend, Jessica, in Alexandria, and as soon as I met Jessica, I decided we would be friends. She helped me unpack, and to celebrate my first night, we went to a nearby bar.

It took me four tequila shots for me to message Ben.

He didn’t reply until my sixth.

I didn’t realize it was five in the morning in his time zone. Even if I had, I don’t think I would have cared.

In the middle of a crowded bar, I told Benjamin that I was going to unfollow him and that I wanted him to unfollow me, too.

I don’t know what he felt when I did that. I like to think he was just as heartbroken as I was. Because I don’t know, I get to tell myself whatever I want. Some days, I need to think that he was devastated and enjoyed the remaining connection as much as I did. Some days, I need to think that he was just being nice.

Whatever it was, he messaged me back that he understood.

After a minute, he added that he would miss me.

I didn’t respond to that.

Instead, I unfollowed him. I deleted our DMs. I unfavorited his contact. I deleted our text thread.

I never thought about flying back to London for him after that.

I still harbored the fantasy that he would come to me, though…

I kept all the pictures. I even put one on display in my room. His back was turned to the camera, so I could tell myself that it didn’t mean anything when I taped it to my corkboard. I said I just liked the view.

Of course, Ben was an integral part of the view. Maybe even better than the view.

I lived in that apartment for a year. I went part-time at my job and started grad school. I wanted an apartment closer to campus, and Jess moved with me. I took special care of packing that photo, but when I got to my new apartment, I never displayed it. It lived at the bottom of my desk drawer, safe but out of sight.

I started dating someone that semester. His name was Daniel. He was a classmate, and everyone in my life loved him. We were together for six months, and in that time, I only posted one photo of him. When I posted it, I watched to see if Ben would like it. He never did. I took that photo down when Daniel and I went our separate ways.

In the year following, I cut four inches off my hair, repainted our kitchen, and made new friends. I started drinking gin, and I changed my coffee order. I was close to finishing my masters, and I was already looking for jobs all over the city. I even flirted with the idea of leaving DC, though I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I didn’t think about Ben much during that time. I doubt he thought of me either.

If I was a woman who believed in fate, I might think that there was some grand plan that brought me to that dive bar in April.

But I don’t believe in fate. I believe in coincidences, and it was one grand coincidence that I accepted a friend’s offer to meet at a bar downtown. It was also a coincidence that my friend was late and that, while waiting for her, I took a seat at the crowded bar.

It was even bigger coincidence that the man trying to get around me to order a vodka tonic was Benjamin Clark.

Three years after Ben kissed me goodbye in London, he looked exactly the same…

And even more startling, he looked at me just like he had all those nights before in Sarajevo, like he was astounded how much he liked me standing beside him.

“Ellis?” he was so happy to see me that I instantly forgot the last three years I’d devoted to moving on from him. I was happy to see him, too, if just a little more wary than he.

He was thirty now, and I could see the age on his face when he stood close. Experience etched his skin around his eyes, but after years of frowning and scowling, his smile lines hadn’t been touched. He was still infuriatingly handsome, even more so now that his hair was longer.

“Ben?” I couldn’t erase the amazement from my voice, nor could I do anything other than stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He invited me back to his table, and against my better judgement, I joined him.

There was a woman waiting for him. She couldn’t have been much older than me, but she had a bronze, sultry glow I had always lacked. I immediately worried she was his girlfriend, but she was so friendly to me that I soon let the thought go. Either she wasn’t his girlfriend and didn’t care who he brough to their table, or their relationship was so strong that she wasn’t intimidated by me in the slightest. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do.

He introduced me as an old friend, one that was “one of the best” in our field. It was a complete lie, and I called him on it. He met me when I little more than an intern at an NGO he didn’t even work at. If he wanted to brag on anyone, it was himself, because he was the one who trained me.

He rolled his eyes and ordered a vodka tonic and a mojito for me.

Mojitos had been my favorite drink when we knew each other.

“You’re being too critical,” Ben corrected me with the same voice he used to use when I made a mistake at work.

“You’re being too generous.”

“You were full of potential, even when you couldn’t work a coffee maker to save your life,” Ben scoffed, and not for the first time, I was offended.

“I didn’t burn your fucking coffee,” I asserted forcefully.

The first day we met, he said I burnt his coffee, and I hadn’t.

“Yes, you did,” Ben insisted.

“No, I didn’t!”

We argued for a while.

At some point, my friend arrived, and sensing I didn’t intend to leave this table, she introduced herself and took a seat next to the beautiful tan woman. They talked among themselves as Ben and I disagreed.

He argued that I had been the one who messed up the paperwork for the festival in Belgrade. I called him a liar.

We made peace when he offered me a drink but said we had to stop fighting if I took it.

I seriously considered not accepting that mojito.

But I did.

And he asked what I was doing in D.C.

I told him my story – the job, grad school, my impending graduation, and my tiny apartment at the end of the metro line.

“And you?” I asked, already half-done with my mojito. He had hardly taken a sip of his vodka tonic. Always a slow drinker.

“Moved here a few months ago,” he explained, taking one tiny sip that made me hate him, “I took a job downtown.”

I raised my eyebrows accusatorily, “Downtown?”

“I didn’t sell out,” Benjamin stopped me before I could even suggest it.

I raised my hands innocently, “I didn’t say you did.”

“You were thinking it.”

He was right. I was.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope you’re happy,” I was telling the truth, but I also hoped he would give me every detail so I could finally decide whether or not he had actually sold out.

“I am,” Ben watched me, rightfully suspicious.

“That’s great.”

“You’re judging me,” Ben accused.

“I am,” I boldly confirmed, “I distinctly remember being warned time and time again not to sell out, but look at you…” I shook my head like I was ashamed of him. I wasn’t. I really was happy if he was happy. I just liked to torture him a bit to make up for all the times he had judged me.

As I predicted, Ben was outraged.

He spent the next hour justifying his career and his decisions.

Our friends left us at midnight. I honestly had forgotten they were even still there.

Near one am, I was convinced and gave him my approval. He knew he didn’t need it, but he seemed happy to have it.

It was surprisingly easy to be with him.

I always thought that, if I ran into him again, I would be awkward and pained. I thought that, once you loved someone like I loved Ben, you could never encounter them casually again. I was wrong about that. Sitting and talking with Ben felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I only stumbled once.

That was at 1:30 am, when he checked his watch and told me that he would need to get home soon to check on Porter.

I recognized the name. It was a name we came up with together. It had been a blisteringly cold winter day, and from the comfort of his kitchen, we dreamt up ridiculous, silly names for the dog Ben dreamed of having. At the end of the conversation, we settled on Porter, short for Portobello Mushroom. Ben poured me a second cup of coffee, and I asked him why he didn’t just get a dog if he wanted one.

He told me that he wasn’t ready. As long as he kept moving across the continent every year or so, he couldn’t take care of a dog. His career wasn’t stable enough for a dog, nor was he.

When he got a dog, he was ready to settle down.

Now, he had the dog…

I didn’t mean to, but I did it again.

I dreamed up a future with Ben. I allowed myself to hope for him. I began to long for his attention and affection.

I was scared when I realized it. One night had erased three years of work.

But I didn’t stop doing it.

When we parted that night, I wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I didn’t. He kissed my cheek, helped me in my Uber, and waved me goodbye from the pavement. It was exactly the same scene as when I last saw him in London.

I felt ridiculous for hoping for more.

He followed me on Instagram that night.

He texted me the next morning.

I met him in a coffee shop after class, and I stayed so long that I had to cancel dinner with Jessica.

I would love to say that I never saw the rest coming, but that would be a lie. I knew.

I knew that coffee would turn into dinner, and that would turn into nights in his apartment. Playful texts in the middle of the day would turn into celebrating our first anniversary. My drawer in his apartment turned into dominating half of his closet, and playing with his dog would turn into claiming Porter just as much as Ben did.

Two years after our grand coincidence, I got a job offer in New York, and I walked home slow that day. I didn’t know if our sweet little fairy tale extended beyond the District of Columbia. The first time, he hadn’t asked me to stay. But this time I asked him to come with me.

Three months later, we packed our life into a U-Haul, and from the passenger seat, I looked over at Ben and had the distinct feeling that I might just get to look at him for the rest of my life…