#idiots to friends to lovers

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Happy 8th of July!

When - we’ve jumped in time to the Prison Era, during that nice interim that for reasons I am making months long.

Genre - fluffy and fun. It’s the Fourth (Eighth) of July! You and Glenn want to make it a good one for people, then you enlist Dary-bear to help. He doesn’t realize it’s to set off fireworks, though. (Was that a double entendre? Might could be...read to find out :D )

Relationships - mangy hick be admitting something big to himself and it’s a huge step for him (Daryl x reader). As always, found family and slight adherence to Bechdel also means we focus on you and the gang! In line with your character, you have yourself an adopted younger brother, now, too.

Pronouns - neutral time, y’all

Perspective - I did the 2nd person you and 3rd person him thing again

TWs - just some casual crude language

Word Count - enough to explain why setting off fireworks is in fact a great idea

Plot references - the water pistols you found in Bad things happen*, you and Daryl discussing holidays in A f----n’ great Christmas, your medical skills (friend, they are increasing), T-Dog and Daryl’s growing friendship as has been hinted at (esp in It was a pragmatic cigarette.)

There are more plot references in the story to be found in the series, so click on this here link: The Masterlist. It’s got what you want, slowpokes :) And as always, feedback is savored greatly.

“This is insane.”

“We’d drive real far away, way passed the three-mile mark—which means no kid walkies, we’ll need to use the police radio. And the booms wouldn’t attract nothing here because we’ll be settin’ them off so far.” You’ve got a whole list of reasons to convince him. “And it’ll help us and the Woodbury group and all the new survivors bond with each other more.”

“No, I meant ‘insane’ as in I love it!”

Yes! You raise your hand for a high-five, which Glenn promptly returns.

“So, which direction?” he asks.

“North.” You point out in the direction of the old radio or maybe utility tower several miles in the distance.

“Okay, I’ll see about clearing out the north guard tower so people can have a better view. Dude, the kids are gonna love this.”

“I hope it makes people smile.”

His smile then changes into an unsure kind of grimace.

“Glenn?”

“What do you think Rick will—are our asses gonna get handed to us for this?”

“No, Rick’ll love it, too!”

Nah, Glenn’s unconvinced.

“I’ll shoulder the blame when—if—it comes to it,” you’re quick to assure him, adding with a shrug, “You know I get a moderate pass when it comes to him.”

After he scrunches up his nose in hesitation, he relaxes and elbows you. “Just don’t mess up the problem shoulder again if you do.”

You check the time on Dale’s watch. “Let’s leave to set it up at 3, Eileen’s appointment will be done by then and you’ll be off-duty. That’ll leave us plenty of time to go back to that house, go to the spots, set them up, and still grab supplies. We can probably get paper goods from the Bojangles near it...”

“...And there’s an office building across the street from the Bojangles. Looked fairly un-window-smashed, should be some good supplies there.”

“That’s perfect, offices tend to have pills and other useful medical stuff in the desk drawers.” Maybe another epinephrine injector to stock up?

“And there’s that crate of soda I forgot to take out of the Chevy last time, so we’ll bring that in, too. Make us look very productive.”

After another high-five, the plan is set, and you two stare out from the guard post.

“I can fill up the water balloons at the stream if I rinse off one of the siphon hoses. Will you do the water pistols?”

“Surely can! If only we had…” your stomach grumbles almost immediately, “Hot dogs.”

“And burgers.”

“And marsh—”

“—Marshmallows!” he finishes for you. Sighs. He’s been wanting rice crispy treats since you’d first met him at the quarry. “Oh my God, I miss marshmallows. Carol told me she once made them from scratch.”

“What?”

“Dude, right? She said she’d show me how, but it uses a stand mixer.”

“Can’t you mix it by hand for her?” you playfully complain.

“It’d be worth it.”

Maggie’s voice pipes in from down the stairwell. “What’d be worth it?”

“Mixin’ homemade marshmallow batter stuff by hand,” you call back.

“It’s ‘mixture,’ Y/N,” Glenn snorts to you.

“Marshmallow batter?” Maggie repeats, now at the top of the stairs.

Glenn is over there and kissing her before you can blink. Giving them privacy (somewhat), you promptly turn your eyes back to the fence and walls around the prison’s perimeter.

“Y/N and I were talking about how Carol said she’d made homemade marshmallows before,” you hear Glenn say.

“Ah, I see.“

She joins you in staring out at the perimeter. Still beaming, her smile at him is so sweet that it’s probably got more sugar than a whole bag’s worth of marshmallows.

And you aren’t jealous by any stretch, that wouldn’t be an accurate word for it. You’re as happy as can be for them, you love them both!

You’re simply feeling that (annoying) longing to have that yourself, too. That must be you still feeling all hopeful following their wedding.

And you’re not slipping into thoughts about your redneck friend, no sir. That would be...just don’t. His friendship is a blessing, you love him as your friend, leave it at that. Besides, he doesn’t have an interest in you that way. He’s probably into Michonne if anyone; they’ve been out tracking a lot, she's gorgeous, and they're both the silent, strong badass type with an underlying softness. Or Carol, they’re buddies.

And you're not slipping into more thoughts about how wonderful his growth as a person has been from how he was when y’all first met at the quarry and how insanely attractive that is, no way.

Caleb is more likely to house an interest, to be honest, and you spend plenty of time with him training. There’s no reason for you to feel disappointed at that prospect. Caleb is a great guy and easy on the eyes, just like Dar—oops, there you go again.

“It’s too bad we haven’t done that inflatable pool idea yet,” Glenn comments, bringing you back topside.

Maggie shakes her head and grins. “We been a tad busy.”

“We got the kiddie pool. It’s passable for soakin’ your feet to cool off,” you offer.

“At least we found those water balloons.” His breath catches when he adds, “And kept that bag of mini water pistols from that day on the highway. They’re finally gonna be used.”

What a day that had been. Screw that day. Sophia, rest in peace, little one. But yeah, at least they were being used now.

Oof, you need to stretch your back and arms. Rounding your shoulders and bowing your head down, you take a deep breath as you feel the tension easing. Next, you stick out your chest and pull your arms back to stretch the other side. It is nice to not have your problem shoulder acting up.

Then, it hits you. “Oh, Mags, since you’re here, this means my shift is over!”

“Why, got big plans?” she teases.

You share a look with Glenn, then peek back at her with a tiny grin. “Might could.”

“What have y’all been up to?”

“Scheming, Mrs. Rhee,” is all you say as you sprint down the stairs and back toward the main hub.

Moses, it’s hot out today. Great for what you have planned later tonight, if the skies stay clear, but absolute torture during the day.

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Hey, Patrick!”

He’s leaning against the cool cement wall in the shade, the water bottle in his hand nearly empty. “Are you off guard duty?”

“Mm, thank goodness. Though, Glenn and I are gonna head out in about two hours for a quick supply run. What about you, y’all done with the pigs?”

“No, I still have to get them fresh water, I just n-needed some water myself.”

Yeah, you were thinking he looks a little queasy. The kid’s prone to getting heatsick.

As you step up next to him, you reach out and feel his forehead just to make sure he feels normal or cool, not too hot. Heat stroke is no joke.

Okay, he still feels damp and clammy, and as gross as that sounds, it’s a good sign.

“Let me refill this for you, you just rest here,” you tell him, having him finish the dregs in his water bottle before you take it. “I don’t want my favorite little brother passin’ out from dehydration, it ain’t fun.”

Overheated as he may be, he reddens a little more. That shy kid gets that way every time you remind him that you consider him family. Pat just looks so much like Shane did when he was a freshman in high school (tall, lanky, messy dark hair, Irish given name) that you couldn’t help but adopt him when you found him.

There are so many new faces as you make your way to the outdoor dining area that you don’t quite have the names down yet.

Well, Eileen and Sra. McLeod are easy because Eileen is pregnant and Mrs. McLeod is the only other resident of advanced age here other than Hershel.

You head to the water cooler and fill the bottle. Sasha is walking over, too, and by the looks of it just finished up clearing walkers at the fence. You reach for a fresh cup and fill it for her.

“Wanna sneak away to the stream to cool off? I’m gonna fill up the water guns in a bit.”

“Water guns?" she repeats before taking a big gulp of the water and sighing. "The stream sounds perfect—hey, thank you for the drink.” She empties her cup in seconds and wipes the sweat off her upper lip and forehead. “But if I have to see one more biter within the next hour, I’ll scream, and you know we’ll see at least one out there.”

“Shower it is, then.”

“I cannot wait. Cold water!” She refills her cup and drinks it all down just as fast. “Oof, I’m smelly, too,” she murmurs to herself when she gets a whiff of her underarms.

You scoop two spoonfuls of sugar into Patrick’s bottle, then add ¼ of a spoonful of salt, cap it, and shake it up.

“You look patriotic, Y/N.”

“It’s the Fourth of July!”

“It is?”

“Eh, the 8th. But we missed the 4th entirely and it rained the past two and a half days. Check it out,” you say, holding up your wrist so she can view the little date dial on Dale’s watch that states Jul 8. Giggling, you add, “Don’t worry, Hershel’s date book confirmed it. You know how I tend to forget to wind this thing.”

“Well, guess I gotta find me some red to put on.” She already had a white t-shirt and jeans on, so she’s ⅔ ready. “Y’all have fireworks planned or something?” she jokes, filling her cup a third time.

You don’t have a response at first. She notices.

She turns her head but keeps her eyes on you. “Y/N?”

“Fireworks would be great, wouldn’t it?”

She’s trying to look friendly but is nervous, it’s plain to see. “But it’s loud. If you set off fireworks near here, I’d whup your ass, tell you what.”

“Ah, but what if it wasn’t near here at all, but was in fact far away?”

She raises her brows. “Oh my Lord. Did you and...” Finger pointed, she figures it out quickly. “Nah, it has to be you and Glenn if it were anybody.”

Your grin must look as awkward and guilty as it feels. “...Wanna help?”

She’s shaking her head but smiling. “Now I know why your group calls you ‘troublemaker’ every so often.”

Nooo, not the nickname. Ugh. “I ain’t a troublemaker,” you mumble, half-serious. Then, taking her by the arm, you start to walk away with Pat’s refilled water bottle. “Come on, I need to get this back to Patrick. I’ll walk you to the doors on the way there.”

“And I’ll go to the stream with you after I shower and decompress a little, if you can wait maybe an hour?”

“Yeah, Eileen’s got her check-up, anyway. How’s 1:45ish?”

“I’ll meet you at our usual table.”

Once you drop her off, you see that Caleb is with Patrick. “Hey, Dr. Subs. I brought him this. Two regular spoonfuls of sugar, about ¼ teaspoon of salt, are those ratios good?”

“They’ll do great for now, he just got sick.”

“Oh, kiddo!”

“It happens, Y/N,” Patrick groans, trying to sound upbeat.

You start to rub his back, mindful of the vomit on the grass near him. “See? We both got kinda weak stomachs, Pat, runs in the family.”

“Relax in your cell for a while, okay?” Caleb instructs. “I want you to lay down for at least 30 minutes before you go back outside in the sun. Have a snack and some more to drink, too.”

“Yes, Dr. Subramanian, sir.”

Caleb snorts. “You keep calling me ‘sir.’ I’m gonna have to start saluting back, man.”

“Sorry, sir.”

The doctor blinks. You hold back a giggle.

Giving you a dry look of amusement, Caleb then reminds you that Eileen is having a checkup and to be washed up and ready for it, after which he escorts Patrick inside.

Meanwhile, you jog to your guard tower to wash up, set the egg timer so you can zone out read for 20 minutes, then pick through your growing stack of medical books. All the midwifery, prenatal development, and obstetric books you take, plus the Merck Manual and your notepad before you jog back down and across the yard to the doors.

Hershel, on his way there also, holds the door for you and for Maggie after he notices her hurrying down to join you. Carol is most likely already there, she always beats y’all to it. You personally may or may not have a minor competition going with her, but dang it if she doesn’t always seem to arrive first.

Fast forward, the check-up is boring and uneventful, just as you all want the check-ups to be; mother is good, baby seems good, all is as it should be.

And it’s 1:45. You need to fill those water guns at the stream with Sasha, grab lunch, then it’ll be time to head to the cars!

Him

Still didn’t find the bastard.

Michonne and him shared their usual disappointed sigh and choice of cuss word before turning around to head home. He lit up a cigarette, as usual. She declined his offer for a puff, as usual.

They had a good thing going, minus the part where they still hadn’t found that psycho pirate sumbitch.

Y/N came a few times a week on days when, you know, there weren’t baby checkups for the pregnant chick or Judith or other medical stuff or regular duties conflicting.

Sometimes, he felt this stupid feeling almost like jealousy when he saw them together, Y/N and the new doc. Which was dumb, because Caleb was teaching Y/N all sorts of important stuff and they’d become friends with each other in the process.

And Y/N and Daryl were good friends and had been for a while, so what was the problem?

Maybe it was more of a want-type of thing, he didn’t know. Not that he was lonely, but sometimes he felt this weird kind of…loneliness.

It’s just—he’d heard Y/N mention once that the doctor was “nice lookin’.” Sure, Caleb was a fair-looking dude, true. Seemed real decent, he’d spent some time with him, too. But...nah, ain’t nothing, I’m being dumb. With a glance up at the sky, he added T-Dog, can it.

Anyway, the days when Y/N came along or when they went on a hunt for food or to forage, those days were always nice. He enjoyed those days a lot. Less quiet, generally, but there were a lot more smiles. It was better with them.

“Why are you lookin’ all happy?” Mich asked. “I’d love a good reason to smile.”

“Just how Y/N reminded us to wear red, white, and blue.” Y/N tried to convince him to wear T-Dog’s red Dawgs shirt. He said he’d put it on it after he got back. Didn’t want to rip it or nothing.

“Well, I’m still loving rockin’ the socks Y/N tossed me.”

He had to snort a little. Yeah, Mich had on one red and one blue sock, both ankle-length and worn over her pants to show them off.

“Heard ’em say it was your favorite holiday?” she said, inspecting something on the edge of her sword-thing. ‘Cabana’ or something, right?

“Yeah, used to be.”

She sheathed it and started walking faster to the car, waving him to pick up the pace, too. “Too bad we can’t hit up the beach, light some sparklers.”

He matched her pace, feeling the disappointment kicking him in the nuts again. “That or light a firecracker up the governor’s ass.”

You

“Mischief managed, mothafucka.” He’s holding his hand up for a victory high-five.

“Mischief managed, mothafucka.” And you return it enthusiastically! “I’ll grab the police radios when I bring Mr. Greene the yarrow. I’ll drop one off with you before Daryl and I leave, yeah?”

“Cool, and Maggie and I will check out the north tower.” Glenn then awkwardly tries to follow this up with, “We’ll, um, c-clean it and stuff.”

Why did that seem a little forced...

You don’t intend to give him a look and blurt out, “Y’all gonna have sex in it, aren’t you?” but you do in fact blurt that out.

And he probably doesn’t mean to make that goofy, I-just-got-caught laugh in response before elbowing you with a very lame, “Shut up, dude.”

Yeah, so either he’s suddenly sunburned or he’s blushing.

Groaning, you call back “Just name your first baby after me!” as you go to check on Judith. She should be waking up soon. Beth has had her most of the day today, she's due for a reprieve.

Time to give baby Lori dinner and bring her to see her mom.

Him

“Nice shirt, Daryl. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you not in a cut-off button-down. You’ll get you a nice farmer’s tan.”

He turned around to wave hi when—lil’ asskicker? Shit, he needed to put out his cigarette ASAP, you can’t just smoke around a baby, that’s a trashy-ass move.

“We’re downwind, you’re cool, man. You’re still working on cuttin’ back.”

“Exactly.” He dug that thing into the dirt until the smoke was gone.

He’d been down to only five a week, ain’t that something? Then…T-Dog and Lori died, and he found his brother again, and then his brother was killed by that asshole, then so was Andrea.

He’d smoked over half a pack and had taken down almost an entire bottle of vodka before Carol and Y/N found him and brought Hershel. That was one hell of a time. Real hell of a morning after, too, fuck.

Anyway, sometimes he shared a smoke with T-Dog at his grave.

Y/N visited the graves every day. Generally, they’d bring Judith while feeding her. They’d sit and just hang out, read, or if the baby was with them they’d do that ‘tummy time’ thing and practice standing.

Carl was usually with them, too, but water balloons and water guns had appeared out of nowhere, so he was having fun with the other kids. Surprising, but good that he was acting like a kid, at least for today.  

Call him soft but he loved that shit. Except for the part where seeing ’lil ass-kicker kicked into gear that weird feeling of want. And it got so much damn stronger when she was with Y/N.

Shut up, T-Dog he told the memory in his head.

“Michonne said today you found evidence of somebody havin’ camped out in a car wash?”

“Could’ve been anybody, though.”

“Could’ve been that unhinged, one-eyed sex abuser, too.”

For what he almost did to Maggie, Y/N saw red. Hell, he himself saw red about that kind of shit.

Their voice sounded gentler when they told him, “So don’t lose hope, Daryl, that ain’t like you. We got us a cell with his name on it ready to go.”

That damn feeling twisted in his stomach when they’d placed their hand on his arm.

Okay, maybe he actually did need a long drag from his smoke. He curved to the side, quickly lit up again and took a nice, long inhale…okay, he felt better.

…Actually, he didn’t feel better, he felt more nervy. He put out the cigarette and pulled the neckline of his shirt forward and back to get some damn airflow. It was balls-dripping hot outside.

Then he stole a peek over at Y/N as they began to burp Judith, regretting it almost immediately because that feeling surged through him again. He swallowed, hoping to tamp down the understanding he wasn’t sure if he could put the name to yet.

But he also wanted to talk to them. “Mich and I also checked out a liquor store. Other than peach schnapps and Natty, guess what we found?”

“Capri Suns?” flew out of Y/N’s mouth almost immediately.

He laughed. “Two shotguns and a pistol.”

Their eyebrows went up. “Where in the store were those hidin’?”

“Under the register counter.”

“All three right under the front register?”

“Plus a taser and a knife.”

Making an oo with their mouth (don’t stare at their lips, come on), Y/N tutted, “Pity the soul who tried to rob those guys.”

“Mmhm.”

When they moved to start feeding Judith again, he held out his arms to take her instead.

It’d been like three days since he fed her, and he missed it. That feeling tugged at his chest again, but he didn’t mind it so much, not when he had the little girl in his arms.

“Hey, Daryl? We need to do a thing tonight, okay?”

A thing? “What thing?”

“A late run.”

“Might as well, I guess. What d’you mean by late?”

“We should oughta leave around 8:00…”

“…Why?” Sure he was on board, but what was Y/N up to? He jiggled the bottle in Judith’s mouth to get her to start drinking again, she’d gotten distracted.

“Non-disclosure agreement. Can’t say.”

“Weirdo.”

Their first reaction was a smile, but the next second it was as if it blew away in the breeze. That had been their big brother’s nickname for them. Hearing it from somebody else got to them sometimes.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Troublemaker?”

He got a playful whine out of them for that one. Not their favorite nickname either, even though Dale had been the one to give it to them.

Maybe, maybe he’d bug them with the dumb thing he’d called them that time...“Slowpoke?”

At that one, Y/N cracked up. Leaned forward and kissed the baby’s head, even though they had to lean over him to do it. “Your Uncle Daryl’s a mangy hick.”

You

You’re almost there, you can make out the first set. You lightly shake Daryl’s shoulder and signal for him to pull over.

He stops the bike, puts the kickstand down, and turns his head back to face you as he pulls down his bandana.

“Gonna tell me what we’re doin’ in the middle of nowhere?”

You gotta take off your helmet before anything else, ugh, it’s so hot in there. Then, you click on the radio to let Glenn know you both got there safely.

“Hey, we’re good. Made it,” you murmur into it.

Then, you look up at Daryl and try to look innocent and casual as you explain, “Please drive slow for the next quarter-ish mile, then once we’re at the spot, I’ll tell where to park the bike. We need to do the thing, then head up that way,” you tell him, pointing up toward the radio tower.

Okay, and maybe you might could’ve not actually told him was going on just then, but…you don’t want him to get huffy or not help, is all.

He says nothing, only squints at you.

You copy it.

He grumbles.

And instead of copying that as well like you usually might, you bite your lip and point to the first set of fuses.

Why are you getting all nervous? He’ll be cool with it.

He squints again, but this time because he’s actually trying to see what it is. “Y/N, what is all that?”

Him

Whatever they responded, he couldn’t hear.

“Huh?”

They repeated it.

Fireworks.

Fireworks?

What the fuck. No way.

He kicks down the stand, hops off the bike and stalks over to what they’d gestured to.

Fireworks, holy damned hell. Glenn had to have been in on this, too. This had those two written all over it, hot damn…

“Y/N,” is all he said because he didn’t know what else to say as he slowly steps toward them.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat, reaches them again, and spreads his feet, hands on his hips, fully expecting (and proven correct) that they’d just stand up and mirror his stance.

“Y/N.”

“Daryl.”

And before he could say anything else, they held up their finger and stumbled their way through a whole lot of explaining.

“We’re seven miles away from the prison, so the risk to them is minimal.” They took a deep breath. “The set-ups are every 25 feet heading north, the wicks Glenn and I attached get longer the further back we go. The plan is to light the wicks, run to the next set, so on and so forth. Then, there’s a paved path that leads up to that radio tower where we’re gonna speed for when we’re done, on the bike. But the final set up of fireworks is way far away over there with super long wicks, or fuses, whatever they’re called.”

They then pointed opposite of the utility tower. “That way the final boom will get any walkers drawn towards the noise and lights to get shufflin’ in that direction, away from the tower. That way, after a spell, we,” Y/N pointed from themself to him, “can mosey on home without them following us back like baby ducklings please don’t be mad!”

Well, that was a whole lot at once. Y/N seemed out of breath, they nervous or whatever?

“Don’t be mad, friend, it-it’s your favorite holiday! And our new people need a pick-me-up, you remember how awful it was to lose the quarry, and, and the farm? They just lost their homes and loved ones, so...” Yeah, they were nervous, just look at that awkward grin they’ve got on. And that stutter.

“Ohp, he’s started smiling—hey guys, Dary-bear is smilin’!” they called out next because, yeah, he couldn’t help it. In a softer voice, they checked, “You ain’t mad?”

“I ain’t mad,” he decided to grumble. ‘Decided to grumble’ because on the inside, he was actually so fucking stoked for this, oh my God. Fireworks!

Y/N then got all excited.

That made him feel that same weird but good feeling in his chest, even though he should probably be feeling dread or worry or telling them no or something. But fuck that, it’s the 4th of July!

Well, the 8th.

“Come on, I’ll show you the route, we’ll put to rest any walkers we come across—oh, speak of the devil. I can do it, or would you like to?” There was one stumbling down the road as if on cue.

“I got it,” he said. Y/N still counts them, even after all this time, so he tried to get them first when he could.

He set up a bolt and aimed his crossbow at the geek…done.

They begin to walk to the body to get that bolt back. “Thank you.”

“So, when are we gonna start this thing?” he asked, secretly pumped completely resigned.

“When the lightning bugs come out,” they reply, closing their eyes to pull the bolt out of the skull. “We’ll need it dark enough. Won’t be too much longer.”

You

It’s getting darker and darker.

This is gonna be awesome! Minus the all bugs, and the amount of insect spray you’ve inhaled. Daryl lit up a cigarette to deter them, too.

He taps you on the arm and points. “Hey, firefly over there. We gonna start?”

You click on the police radio and hush to Glenn back at the prison. “Ready.”

That delicious sensation you get while a roller coaster approaches the first drop starts to spread through you as you pull out your matches from your satchel. “Got your lighter handy?”

He rummages through his pocket. Pulls out a Zippo.

And surprising you, he full-on giggles, “Alright, slowpoke, let’s do this!”

Him

The two of them lit the fuses, sprinted toward the next set, lit them, and kept going like that as the booms and whistles sounded from behind them. He felt like a little kid again, it was so…this was fun!

Y/N and Glenn had found a ton of fireworks. And shit, Y/N was fast, he’d forgotten just how quick they could get. He had to work to keep up the pace.

And he was having so much fun as he and Y/N sped off on the motorcycle toward the last setup, the one far in the opposite direction of the radio tower, that he almost didn’t notice their hands wrapped tightly around his waist instead of on his shoulders like they'd always done before.

 But once they’d lit the final, very long fuses together and zoomed off toward the radio tower, that their arms were squeezing his middle was suddenly all he could think about.

He liked it.

A lot.

And he wasn’t good about physical touch, most people knew that pretty quick about him. But Y/N doing that didn’t feel like too much. It felt good. Safe. Natural.

T-Dog, shut up, he again thought in his head, tossing a glare up at the sky as he pressed down the kickstand and turned off the motorcycle.

You

After pushing aside this silly desire that popped into your head that told you to keep holding onto him, you hop off his bike and sprint to the radio tower stairs and climb the stairs and ladder as fast as your legs will carry you. You don’t want to miss the finale!

“Pick up the pace, dude, here I thought I was the slowpoke,” you call down to Daryl.

Rushing up the ladder only made your ‘problem’ (read: previously injured and reinjured and now permanently funky) shoulder pinch a little.

At the top, you reach back into your pocket to take out your matches and light the final firework duct-taped to the railing—but you discover that all the excitement’s rendered your hands and fingers tingly and shaking.

“There’s another?” you hear Daryl pant. He takes the last step up the ladder with a groan as he stands up and joins you.

“This one’s to let Glenn know we made it to the top okay. Just havin’ trouble here, my hands are all wobbly.”

“I got ya, let me.”

His hands are shaky, too, you notice. Must be all the excitement catching up to the two of you.

Him

The firework had a very short wick and shot up just a few seconds after he’d lit it.

With a high-pitched hee, the green flare soared before it fizzled into a small shower of sparkles.

He’s just glad he had a Zippo so he could light it in the first place; his hands were shaking.

Shaking! That shit didn’t happen to him.

If he didn’t have what T-Dog told him that time chasing around his thoughts all afternoon, he would think it must’ve been solely due to all the running around and fun.

But when Y/N took his arm and pulled him to the other side of the radio tower and stared expectantly into the distance, he couldn’t help but accept how it felt right.

They’d touched his arm before, he’d casually touched theirs, too, no big deal (anymore). They’d hugged him before. Gave him a massage, hell, he did that for them when they had migraines or when their messed-up shoulder was causing them grief. They even danced together after Glenn and Maggie got hitched.

T-Dog. This is your fault. Merle, you too.

All Merle had asked him in the woods that day was if he’d turned “All soft for the square?” And when he didn’t answer the right way, his big brother had snickered, “Shit, I guess findin’ another prude is what finally done it for you.”

But it’s what T-Dog had said to him that kept poking through his memory.

“You know what the word for it is just as much as I do, man. Now, I ain’t gonna say the word out loud, though, I think that’d be too much for ya. But I’m looking forward to the day you own up to it. Y/N is worth it. And so are you, brother.” Then he’d cracked up and added, “And obviously I’ma want your first kid named after me. Theodore, Theodora, it all works.”

So, he tried not to look at Y/N.

Not that he didn’t want to look at them, but fuck, man, it was getting real. He wasn’t gonna be able to not ignore this much longer.

He wouldn’t even want to ignore it anymore, and that was the scary part.

Until he realized that it didn’t feel scary.

Not when the finale began and Y/N squealed and flung their arm around his shoulder while doing a little victory dance. Not when they stopped jumping and relaxed, moving their arm from around his shoulder to around his back as the last of the fireworks shot up and lit the night sky. Not when his arm wrapped around their shoulder, either, as they watched the lights fizzle away.

Everything about Y/N felt safe.

Cheers began sounding through the police radio on Y/N’s belt along with a louder voice that was Glenn’s, although nothing was coming through clearly with all the background noise.

He could feel Y/N breathing heave up and down against his side, could feel them giggling as the last of the adrenaline wore off. Their head leaned against his chest for a moment, then pulled back.

They unhooked their arm from around him.

He didn’t want that, he wanted them to stay that way.

Fuck.

If he had any balls, now would be when he would kiss them.

You

If you weren’t so careful and if you thought he’d want it, now is when you’d probably kiss him. But, that’s just the adrenaline and the longing talking.

“So, good news,” you stammer, a wide smile stretching across your face. “The house Glenn and I got all that from? There’s more fireworks in there. The folk who lived there must have sold illegal fireworks on the down-low or bought in bulk to stock up or some such,” you babble. Adrenaline.

You angle your head up to see if he’s happy about it and to hear what he thinks, but he’s just looking at you. Not in the eyes, but lower, by your chin? You don’t have soot on your face, do you? You brush off your mouth and chin just in case.

Likewise, you brush away the idea that he was staring at your lips. It’s adrenaline and longing, calm down, Y/N.

“M’sorry, what’d you say?” he asks, then blinking a bunch of times and stepping back.

Oh, got it, he must not have heard you. The booms were noisy, you suppose. Must be tired, too.

When you repeat what you’d said, his eyes crinkle and he makes that shy smile you love where just one corner of his mouth peeks up. “Next year, I want in.”

“Awesome! I almost asked you to help this year, but figured a surprise was better the first time around. You, you told me it was your favorite holiday, and you’ve been havin’ a rough go of things…”

Him

“You know what the word for it is just as much as I do, man. Now, I ain’t gonna say the word out loud, though, I think that’d be too much for ya. But I’m looking forward to the day you own up to it. Y/N is worth it. And so are you, brother.”

His hands were still tingly. His stomach may have floated away, he wasn’t too sure. He was sure about one thing, though. Finally owning up to it in his head, at least.

That his friend that he loved and was goddamned in love with was standing there smiling and chatting away while he couldn’t seem to find any words at all.

“We can probably go home in like 10 minutes, what do you think? And do you want me to drive us back? You seem a little out of it. You’ve had a long day, I don’t blame you, and I haven’t ridden in like tow weeks, I’d be cool with it. Oh, and we gotta use the secret side entrance, I’m being silly about keepin’ Rick without concrete proof about whodunnit—don’t worry, it’s my head on the chopping block, you and Glenn are safe from the guillotine, as it were.”

After a very deep inhale and a shake of their head while they exhaled, they then apologized. “I think I’m still a little jittery from all the excitement, sorry for gabbin’ on. On that topic, when we get back, I think we should have beer. I,” they shrugged, “I hid three in my tower, one for me, two for you. You said ‘hot dogs, fireworks, and a shit ton of beer’ were what you liked about the Fourth. Two beers ain’t a lot, I know—but you know me, dude, m’kinda a square. I care about you and your liver.”

Y/N then crossed their arms and relaxed on the guardrail. He had enough brains at that moment to lean next to them, arms crossed just the same, his shoulder close to touching theirs.

“What did you and Merle do on the 4th of July? Lots of good ’ole American fun? Your Uncle Jess must’ve been there, too. What about your, um, your father?”

“What about you, with your brother and sisters, foster siblings, nieces and nephews? Must’ve been a damn powwow. Carl was prolly there, too, with Rick and Lori? Grandma Jean?”

He wanted to keep hearing them talk, to look at their smile and not need to think about anything other than Y/N.

He didn’t want anything else other than Y/N.

All the fireworks that night, and the thing that was giving him the biggest thrill was the person standing next to him.

He barely took notice when “Happy 8th of July!” got shouted particularly loud over the police radio next.

Pausing mid-sentence and still smiling bright, Y/N lifted the radio between them. “On three, yeah?”

He wondered what it would be like to kiss them right then and there.

But instead, he nodded and held up three fingers, counting down.

Three, two:

“Happy 8th of July!”

taglist: @spenciepoo338​

The taglist is new, please feel free to comment or hop into the open inbox if you’d like to be added

#twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x you #daryl x reader #slow burn #canon compliant #idiots to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #shy love #reader insert #reader-insert #happy fourth of july #the slowpoke series #glenn rhee #maggie greene #maggie rhee #sasha williams #patrick twd #judith grimes #caleb subramanian #dr. subramanian

[ninjasteve]

Moment’s Silence.

Fandom: Stranger Things Ship: Steddie Rating: E Length: 20-30k Summary: Eddie survives the demobat attack only to fall into a coma. The doctors tell the gang to talk to him, Steve, believing that the coma is his fault stays with Eddie until he wakes up; he finds peace in talking to Eddie, even though Eddie can’t answer. When Eddie does wake, the bond they started to build has reached a level neither expected. 

Read it on Ao3 (hyper link above!)

(WIP)

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic rec #my fic #strangerthings #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #hurt/comfort #idiots to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #slow burn #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #steveddie #vesties

[honnelander]

tart

HERE WE GO EVERYONE. the long awaited jealous!Sanji fic!! AKA a prequel to the main go fish! storyline!! this fic takes place before the main events in go fish! but after they met at the Baratie. and don't worry, part 3 for the main series will be on the way. enjoy!! request: i was wondering if you’d consider making a lil imagine/blurb about sanji being jealous of someone flirting with the reader? like imagine zoro and the reader just talking and then zoro suddenly leans closer and whispers to her “it seems we’ve got an audience” or smth like that

WARNINGS: none

word count: 3.7k

pairing: jealous opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: Sanji watches Zoro and reader talk and gets jealous. Nami tries to calm him down but fails.

go fish! series: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @nimtano @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera

“Reading that garbage again?” a voice called out. 

At hearing the question, you glanced up from your well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, only to see a calm Zoro casually stroll over to you with a hint of amusement on his face.  

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it, oh great sword master,” you playfully jabbed as you shook out the book to him as he leaned his back against the ship’s front railing, resting his elbows on top of it. “The almighty Zoro isn’t allergic to reading, is he?” 

Zoro snorted, glancing down at your cross-legged position on top of a crate before returning his sights to the Going Merry’s deck and the open ocean. “Yeah, I am allergic,” he agreed. “Allergic to reading that monstrosity you call a book.” 

“Ooo, ‘monstrosity’. That’s a mighty big word for a non-reader like yourself, Zoro. Good job,” you teased as you marked your page before closing the book and joining your friend in looking across the deck and out towards the ocean. 

The green-haired swordsman crossed his arms. “I read.” 

“Mmhm,” you hummed, not convinced. “Sure you do.” 

“I do,” he defended in a gruff voice. 

“Oh yeah? Here, I’ll make it easy for you: tell me about one book you’ve read.” 

Zoro scoffed. “I can tell you about way more than one.” 

You couldn’t help the surprised noise that came out of you. “Oh, yeah? ’More than one’?” you asked with a raised brow and glanced up at your fellow straw hat, trying to wipe off the grin on your face.  

You were certainly surprised that Zoro has read more than one book in his lifetime, but you weren’t surprised that he took your earlier question as a challenge. Classic Zoro, you thought in amusement. The guy could never pass up a challenge, no matter what it was about. 

So, you repositioned yourself on your crate, making yourself comfortable for the discussion ahead. “Alright, come on,” you said and sat up straighter, urging Zoro on, “let’s hear it. Tell me all about them.” 

From the back of the ship, on the upper deck above the kitchen, a certain chef took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched you and his least favorite swordsman be engrossed in conversation. Sanji removed the butt of his cigarette from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, keeping the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, his eyes never leaving the two of you. 

“Daaamn, Sanji,” Usopp drawled as he messed with the sails on the ship’s mast nearby, glancing at the chef for a second before returning to his knots. “You look like a smoking dragon. All ferocious and mean. And....extra smokey.” 

Sanji’s gaze didn’t budge, Usopp’s words not fazing the cook in the slightest. “Oh yeah? And what of it knot-boy?” he asked with a slight edge to his words, taking another drag on his cigarette and exhaling through his lips. 

At Sanji’s snarky question, Usopp recoiled and looked back at Sanji more closely with a confused expression. It was rare for Sanji to lose his cool or be in a bad mood for no reason, unless he was going back and forth in an argument with Zoro but even then, the blonde chef usually took those in stride with a smile, much to Zoro’s annoyance, so this was new. 

“Aren’t those things supossed to calm you down?” Usopp asked as he nodded to the cigarette in the cook’s hand. 

“I am calm,” Sanji rebuked a little too quickly to be true.  

Usopp then noticed how intent Sanji’s stare was towards something at the front of the ship and raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was staring at must be pissing him off because the chef’s gaze looked absolutely lethal. What the hell could be making him so mad? Usopp followed Sanji’s gaze, looked towards the front of the ship, and saw....y/n and Zoro talking? 

To Usopp, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation, but when he saw y/n laugh at something Zoro said, hitting his arm with a grin and Zoro having a slight smile, he heard Sanji scoff loudly in disgust and mutter something under his breath. 

And in that moment, it dawned on Usopp what was up, and it was hard for him to contain his shit eating grin: Sanji was jealous. Sanji was jealous of y/n and Zoro. To Usopp, it looked like a completely normal conversation between friends since he knew of y/n’s affections for the blonde cook. But to Sanji? It probably seemed like a complete flirt fest, and he was jealous. 

Up until this point Usopp had thought y/n’s crush was only one sided. Sure, he’s had his suspicions ever since Sanji seemed to stare at y/n more often than not, but Usopp was still just a guy at the end of the day, so he never considered if Sanji might actually have feelings for y/n too.  

But now? Oh boy- Usopp was all caught up to speed and he couldn’t wait to meddle in their budding relationship and tease the heck out of them both for it (when the time was right, of course).  

Usopp looked back over at Sanji and wiped off his grin as best he could. “You say somethin’ Sanji?” he asked innocently, knowing damn well the chef said absolutely nothing. “I thought I heard you mutter something.” 

Sanji flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “No.” 

“Oh. Must just be the wind then...” 

Suddenly, y/n’s laughter could be heard from the ship’s front and Sanji nearly snarled in disgust and shook his head. “What the-” Sanji started but let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s not even funny,” Sanji complained before taking another hit on his cigarette. 

Usopp couldn’t help himself, he had to poke the bear. “Who, Zoro? I think he’s funny.” 

The blonde chef let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, funny looking.” 

He also had to twist the knife. “Well, y/n seems to think he’s funny.”  

Sanji chuckled to himself and stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating Usopp’s words. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out and immediately lighting up a fresh one. 

Unbeknown to the cook and slingshot fighter, standing underneath them and near the tangerine trees was the Going Merry’s orange-haired navigator, who had heard their whole conversation. 

------------- ----- 

“Zoro!” You laughed loudly and hit your crewmate on his bicep. “Reading books on how to dismember your opponents doesn’t count as real reading!” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Zoro’s face as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Says you. Can you tell me fifty different ways on how to cut up a body? No? I didn’t think so.” 

“Fair enough,” you relented good naturedly with a small laugh as you shook your head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” 

A comfortable silence fell over you both as you let out a small sigh, watching the waves crash. 

After a few quiet beats, however, you felt Zoro lean into your personal space as he lowly murmured, “Don’t look now, but it seems like we have an audience.” 

You blinked in confusion as your eyebrows pulled together. “What? An audience? Where?” Completely disregarding Zoro’s instructions, you immediately started looking around the ship. “Watching what?” 

“Us,” Zoro said simply and returned to his full height. 

You shook your head in disbelief. “What? Us? Now who would be watching-” you started to say but the rest of your sentence died in your throat when you saw piercing blue eyes staring right you both. “...us?” you finished slowly.  

Sanji? Sanji was your audience? But- why? What? You were so confused. Even from this far away, you could tell something was off with him. His posture was stiff and the usual smile that adorned his features whenever he saw you was nowhere to be seen.  

“When did he get here? I didn’t know he was on deck...” you trailed off, about to move to hop off the crate and make your way over to Sanji to see what the matter with him was when something stopped you.  

Before you could hop off the crate, you saw Sanji put out his cigarette and make his way off the deck and head down into the kitchen, not sparing you another glance. As you made your way across the deck, about to follow him into the kitchen, Usopp quickly called out to you from up on the ship’s mast, asking for your help with knot tying since ‘yours were so much better than his’. You agreed with a small sigh, not wanting Usopp to struggle by himself, so you made your way to the mast and started climbing, but not before sparing the entryway to the kitchen one last glance. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sanji flittered around, grabbing random ingredients he saw at first glance. Mushrooms? Grabbed. A block of cheese? Sure. Corn? Ok. Tomatoes? Sure, whatever. 

As he looked down at the growing pile of ingredients on the counter, he stopped for a second to examine the pile, putting his hands in his pockets. What the hell was he supposed to make out of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight, and it was bothering the absolute hell out of him. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could always rely on to decompress and escape from his thoughts as he got swept away in the act of cooking that came so naturally to him. Usually. 

But today? His natural instincts weren’t there. He felt his chef’s mind drawing up a blank on how to mix all of these items together and the longer he stood there, the more ticked off he became. On a normal day, he’d have thought up of 15 different dishes he could make and already have been busy at work making one of those ideas come to life. But now? There was nothing. No ideas swirling around in his head, nothing.  

He could feel his face twist up in irritation the longer he was standing there until finally, he let out a short, brusque sigh, muttering, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?” 

“You’re the chef, aren’t you supposed to figure that out or something?” 

The blonde chef glanced up from the pile and saw Nami casually strolling in from the deck and up to the counter opposite of him, hands clasped behind her back, with a curious eyebrow raised.  

Instantly, to cover up his sour mood, the cook plastered on a fake smile. “Well, it seems my mind is a little blank at the moment, Darling. Why don’t you come over here and help me come up with an idea or two?” he offered with a wink, taking his hands out to lean against the counter. 

But Nami saw right through him. “I’m good, thanks,” she declined bluntly. Nami wasn’t sure when she had become the Going Merry’s pseudo-therapist, especially since this crew hadn't been together for more than 3 months at this point, but someone had to be, and she figured the only way to get Sanji to talk right now would be if he was doing something he loved: cooking. “Actually,” she started offhandedly, “I have a request for you.” 

Now that immediately got the cook’s attention. “Oh?” he asked with a raised brow, straightening up as he dropped the fake flirty persona. 

“Yeah,” she said aloud, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself that she actually had a request for the cook. From behind her back, she pulled out a couple of tangerines. With a slight smile and raised brow, she said matter-of-factly, “If I remember correctly, I believe I was told I could ask for a tangerine tart anytime I’d like?” 

A genuine smile came across Sanji’s face at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he laughed with a nod. “The Madam is correct.” He took the fruits from Nami’s hands and placed them on the counter, pushing away his bizarre pile of ingredients to make room. “One tangerine tart coming right up,” he said and started bustling around the kitchen with purpose this time, pulling out the necessary ingredients, a far cry from his movements a couple of minutes ago. 

Seeing Sanji occupied, Nami took a seat at the table, sitting where she had left her charting journal and reading glasses from breakfast that morning. She opened her journal back up and put her glasses on, flipping through the pages and resuming her sketch of her latest map.  

Both of them worked in silence for a few minutes, both engrossed in their respective activities until Nami broke it. Before speaking, she snuck a glance at the chef, making sure he was preoccupied before she started prodding and sure enough, he was. Perfect. 

“You know, I never told anyone this before,” Nami started, laying the groundwork for Sanji to open up, creating a tit for tat sort of thing, “but I actually love tangerine tarts.” 

Sanji huffed slightly with a slight smile, not looking up from his work. “Oh yeah? Well, be prepared to fall in love with them all over again.” He started pouring heavy cream into a separate bowl, adding sugar before whisking it all together. “Even Zeff used to say I made a mean tangerine tart.” 

Nami hummed. “Maybe you can make Zoro fall in love with them too,” she said casually, sneaking a quick look at Sanji, only to see him press his lips together in a firm line and start to whisk the cream harder at the mention of the swordsman. “Or y/n,” she added quickly. “I don’t think she’s ever had one either.” 

At the mention of you, Sanji’s face and motions relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...think you’re right about that.” 

The orange-haired girl rotated her journal ninety degrees. She decided to prod a little harder. “I think I saw them talking earlier.” 

Sanji simply hummed in agreement, cracking eggs into a bowl, staying silent. With the third egg, however, he cracked it a little too hard on the counter, causing the raw egg contents to splatter everywhere and onto his black blazer.  

“Ah- fucking hell,” he muttered in disgust, throwing the broken eggshell into the trash before cleaning his hands off in the sink. 

Nami looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow at her crewmate. “You good?” 

The blonde cook shook his head once with a sardonic smile. “Never better,” he quipped. 

Ok, she couldn’t do this dance anymore. Nami closed her journal and took off her glasses, looking straight at him. “Alright, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? You’re acting weird, even for you.” Sanji opened his mouth to protest but Nami spoke before he could. “And don’t lie to me.” 

Mouth still open, Sanji exhaled slowly and deflated. “I- I’m fine.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Sanji-” 

Upon hearing his name, Sanji blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nami rarely called him by his name.  

“Cut the bullshit,” she continued. “I heard your conversation with Usopp and you certainly didn’t sound ‘fine’.” 

Sanji was caught red-handed. With what exactly? He didn’t really know but he did know he was caught in a lie because he definitely did not feel fine. He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I...” he sighed and took off his ruined blazer, draping it over the back of an empty chair, rolling up his sleeves as he avoided Nami’s expectant stare. He grabbed a dirty rag and started cleaning the egg off the counter. “I don’t know...” 

“Sanji, you can barely crack an egg.” 

That brought out a short bark of laughter from the chef. “Yeah,” he relented. “Obviously.” 

“Is this because of your jealously over y/n and Zoro?” 

“My- my what? My jealously?” he sputtered and scoffed, still not looking Nami in the eye. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I be jealous over that stick in the mud?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nami played along, tapping her temple, pretending she was deep in thought. “Maybe because you saw and heard them laughing from all the way across the ship?” she pointed out. When Sanji tried to wave off her accusations with an unconvincing smile, Nami decided to just go in for the kill. If Sanji wasn’t going to admit his obvious liking towards her female crewmate and friend himself, then she’d have to do it for him. “Maybe....maybe because you might have a little crush on y/n?” she offered with a raised brow, staring right at him. 

“Wh-what?? A crush?” Sanji quickly rebuked, jerking his head back. “What are we? Little kids?” 

From her spot at the table, Nami could swear she saw a faint dusting of pink appear on his cheeks. She smirked to herself. She got him. “Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter how old we get, we all get crushes from time to time.” 

You? A crush? Sanji shook his head as he resumed making the tangerine tart. Labeling whatever feelings he had for you as simply a ‘juvenile crush’ didn’t feel right to him. You were more than that, and you didn’t deserve to be labeled as such. “No, she’s not a crush.” 

“Oh, so you like-like her?” Nami said like it was obvious. “You like her as more than just a friend.” 

“I-” Sanji started but stopped himself and sighed, feeling his irritation grow the longer this conversation went on. Now even the kitchen wasn’t bringing him peace? First, smoking and now this? What was next? “Why does it matter? All of a sudden, my love life is interesting to you and up for debate? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” 

Nami watched his jaw tense and his body become stiff as he started zesting the tangerines. Clearly whatever feelings Sanji was dealing with, he wasn’t ready to openly talk about them, so she decided to back off.

She put her hands up in surrender, slumping back in her chair as she said, “Hey, I’m...I’m sorry. You’re right.” Deciding to give the chef his space, she gathered her belongings and stood up, making her way to the counter. “If you ever need to...talk or anything, I’m here,” she offered quietly. In a normal tone, she added, “Let me know when the tarts are ready. I really do want y/n and Zoro to try one.” 

Speaking of the devil, you came into the kitchen from the deck, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sanji cooking. Seeing Sanji cook was one of your favorite things and you always loved to guess what he was making. “Sanji! Ooo, what are you making?” 

Nami watched as Sanji’s whole demeanor change at the sight of you, like a switch being flipped on. She couldn’t help but smile knowingly between you both. “I’ll be in my room,” she announced before making her way out of the kitchen, leaving you both alone. 

Sanji had a wide smile, shoulders relaxing as his eyes lit up. “Why don’t you guess? Give it your best shot.” 

“Oh! I love this game. Ok, let’s see,” you said as you surveyed the ingredients laid out before you. “I see flour, sugar, butter and tangerines...are you making a tangerine cake or something?” 

Whatever jealousy or anger he had been feeling all day just instantly disappeared once he was with you. He felt like himself again, all carefree and lighthearted as he chuckled at your guess. “Not quite, Missus. But nice try,” he said as he looked into your eyes with a crooked smile. 

Missus. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and you felt your insides became all warm. You hoped your face didn’t give away your swooning. He's never called you that before and you hoped to God that he would never stop. 

“Ah, my bad,” you laughed embarrassedly. “What are you making then?” 

“I, am making a tangerine tart,” he proudly stated as he grabbed another egg, perfectly cracking it this time. “At the request of the ship’s navigator.” 

A wide grin broke out across your face. “No way!!” you squealed eagerly, causing Sanji to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to try one!”  

The blonde chef nodded. “Yes, she did mention that actually.” After a beat, he added, “I hope you like it.” 

“Of course I will,” you said without hesitation. “I know I haven’t known you for that long, but it seems like everything you make is phenomenal. You’re the best cook I know.” 

Normally, nearly everyone compliments his cooking (except for Zoro) and he never really thought anything of it. He knew was the best cook in the East Blue and someday, the whole world when he found the All Blue. But hearing that compliment from you? How you said it so easily and with such certainty? He felt a funny, warm feeling deep within his chest and when he looked at you, just like how you knew for certain that he was the best chef around, he knew right then that you really were the most beautiful woman he’s ever known. 

So, yeah. Nami was right. He guessed he did have a little crush on you, or ‘like-liked’ you- whatever she was saying.  

“Do you mind if I watch?” 

Your question broke the little staring trance he was in, blinking and tearing his gaze away from you as he tried to refocus on the task before him. He truly had to make sure this was the best tart he’s ever made. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. God, he was probably acting like an excited puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Of course you can,” he agreed with a small smile. 

As you pulled up a stool to sit on the opposite side of the counter, Sanji realized something: him cooking in the kitchen with you sitting nearby? That’s something he could get used to and get used to very quickly. 

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x reader #sanji #sanji fanfiction #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #opla!sanji #opla fanfiction #fluff #jealously #mutual pining #idiots in love #go fish! au #friends to lovers

[hairmetal666]

Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #oneshot #angst #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #idiots in love #mutual pining #famous eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #pathetic gay yearning #fluff #the one that got away #second chances #getting together

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “friends don’t look at friends that way” prompts

“Your mouth says you don’t like me but the way you stare at me tells me everything I need to know.” 

“Stop staring at me like that, it’s making me feel things I don’t want to feel.”

“Your eyes are always on them.” “…Are they? I haven’t noticed.”

“You’re being very unsubtle with your heart eyes for them.” 

“You look like you want to devour them.” “Shut the fuck up, that is so not true.”

“Why do you always look at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like you… Want me.” 

“You staring at me like that is giving me false hopes so I’m going to need you to stop.”

“So like… Do you like them or something?” “Why would you think that? How could you think that?” “Because you keep staring at them like you’re in love or something.” 

“Stop eyeing them like they’re a piece of snack, you fucking weirdass.” “The fuck? I do not do that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t help but stare at you because you’re just so…” “So…?” “Breathtaking. You’re breathtaking.”

#friends to lovers prompts #friends to lovers #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #fluff prompts #angst prompts #idiots in denial #prompts #listen to tate mcrae's that way the title is inspired by that song #that song had me writing a whole 10k oneshot for one of my ships lmfao

[runninriot]

...✍️

“I want that too, y’know. The touching and kissing, everything. But the problem is, that I- I want all that from someone I can’t have. And that sucks.” Steve chuckles bitterly.

Isn’t that funny? That there he is, the wonderful man that stole Eddie’s heart, being just as miserable, just as heartbroken as Eddie is. It’s hysterical, really. Eddie wants to laugh, wants to ask who Steve is talking about. Finds it impossible to think there could be a single person in this world that would pass on the opportunity to be with Steve in all the ways Eddie would kill for.

   “Guess that makes two of us,” Eddie confesses and Steve perks up at his words, opens and closes his mouth as if he, too, doesn’t know if it’s okay to dig deeper.

There’s a sadness in his eyes Eddie thinks must mirror his own; two sets of brown eyes searching for comfort in each other. Eddie feels so small, so angry for Steve and himself because love could be such a beautiful thing but isn’t when the rhythm of your heart doesn’t match the one it’s beating for. When love is a one way road with no exists.

   “What do you mean?” Steve asks but Eddie just shakes his head and smiles weakly, trying to take some of the heaviness away for both their sakes.

People don’t choose to fall in love, it just happens. And when it does, there is always a fifty-fifty chance that your love is requited. That the person you fell for likes you in the same way, wants you just like you want them.

Sadly, Eddie has yet to be one of the lucky ones to experience that. The real thing. And while they are still staring at each other, each wallowing in their own sorrow because being in love hurts – he realises that this is so much more than a stupid crush. That this goes deeper than anything he’s ever felt before. That maybe for the first time in his 25 years on earth he understands what true love feels like. Feels the crushing weight of it. Knows it won’t fade so easily. But-

   “You’ll always have me.”

He can pretend. He can be Steve’s friend even if it hurts. Eddie would rather pull his own heart out than not to have Steve in his life. He’d rather be Steve’s friend than nothing at all.

   “What?” Steve seems confused at his statement and Eddie can’t blame him.

   “I’m sorry you can’t have who you want but you’ll always have me.”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “Because I mean it, Steve. No matter what, you’ll always have me. It might not be enough for you and I get that. But for me, this is everything I need even if I can’t have all I want. You wanna know why I came home so early? Because when you texted me, I realised that I don’t need to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”

    I just wanna be here. With you.

Eddie bites his tongue to stop himself from saying more, knows he’s already said too much. Probably shouldn’t have said any of it.

The confusion in Steve’s eyes turns into something else – anger maybe? Frustration? He pulls away from Eddie, jumps up off the sofa and walks a few steps back.

   “You- you can’t just say things like that, Eddie.”

Eddie hates that there is so much space between them, so he stands too, approaches Steve like he would a scared animal, taking slow steps to close the distance between them.

   “I can’t say the truth?” He doesn’t think about his own words, just lets his emotions take over his brain and mouth, doesn’t care about the consequences.

   “N-no! You can’t just say it like it means more than what you’re actually saying. You’re doing this enigmatic bullshit I never understand because I’m too dumb to read between the lines!”

That causes Eddie to freeze on the spot. He’s only inches away from Steve now, could lift his arms easily to reach out for him. But Steve’s words stop him.

He’s right, isn’t he? Eddie does that a lot. Says only half of what he means or says one thing and means another entirely. He just never realised Steve knew. That he can see right through him.

   “You’re right,” he agrees.

Steve huffs annoyed, rubs his hands roughly over his face.

   “Then tell me what you mean. What you really mean.”

It doesn’t matter now, does it? He already said too much anyway. Steve is already onto him, knows Eddie is playing a game of hide and seek with himself – hiding the truth and seeking for an easy way out. But it’s too late to try and turn this conversation around.

   “What I mean is-“ Eddie takes a deep breath, summons all the courage he can find in himself. “It makes two of us because I feel that same way you do. Wanting someone I can’t have? Because you’re my friend, Steve. I can’t have you the way I want you and that’s fine. It hurts like hell but it’s fine. I can live with that. You’ll never be alone because you’ll always have me as a friend.”

Steve stares at him with eyes full of rage.

   “But I don’t want you as a friend.”

Steve’s words hit him like a fist to the face. But before Eddie can let them sink in and start spiralling about the meaning behind them – Steve not wanting to be friends anymore because of Eddie’s confession, obviously – Steve closes the distance between them in one swift motion, grabs Eddie’s face on either side, looking at him with determination in his eyes.

   “I want you as more than a friend, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #idiot friends to lovers #wip

[brairslair]

(i debated whether or not to ask this anonymously)

so yknow how eddie has a W.A.S.P pin on his vest? can you plz write an eddieXreader scene inspired by their song

Animal (F*** Like A Beast) ?

😅😊

i absolutely love this reqqq, tysm for letting me run with this! hope you like how it turned out @nerdyhooker

Like an Animal - E.M.

18+ ONLY (minors please dni)

a/n: finally figured out an idea i liked for this, and i think it turned out pretty good! although i may have gotten a bit carried away lmao. not sure if this is as rough as you might have had in mind, but i tried to pull as much from the lyrics as possible! i hope you like what i ended up with <3

wc: 5.8k

cw: eventual smut, fem!reader, bartender!eddie + english teacher!reader, kinda fuckboy eddie vibes?, enemies to lovers vibes, light bondage (handcuffsss), p in v sex, unprotected sex (do not do this), oral (fem receiving), pet names (princess, sweetheart, honey, baby), technically drinking and driving, smoking (cigs + i don’t smoke so idfk what i’m talking about), brat reader but she gets super subby, kinda mean but soft dom eddie?, light dacryphilia, these idiots have been head over heels for each other since high school and neither of them knew it bc they’re stupid and stubborn, extremely vague mention of aftercare, not proof read, lmk if i missed anything!

don’t forget to like, reblog, follow, and comment to support my work! it always makes my day, mwah

“well if it isn’t the little princess”

Just like that, nine months down the drain. You massage your temples as you recall the past few days. The countless arguments between you and your, now ex, boyfriend form a persistent migraine between your eyes.

In hindsight, you really should have seen it coming. Your relationship had been rocky for months, but you were so busy with other obligations that you hadn’t had the time to confront any of it head on. Fortunately for you, he was more than willing to step up to the plate.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it out loud, but you almost felt relieved with his absence in your small apartment. That was until you remembered the loss of his half of the rent.

Everything happened so fast, it was hard to process any of it. It all felt like it was swirling around and around too quickly for you to pick any one thing out. Your solution? Alchohol.

You grabbed your keys and hopped into your polished, clean, mint green beetle, setting off for the local dive bar. You could only recall one other time you had been to the small bar, having been dragged there by colleagues in the name of “bonding” after a particularly long day at work.

Drinking wasn’t something you did often, reserving a glass of wine for holidays and special events. Tonight, you decided you needed to make an exception.

As you parked and stepped out of your car, you felt nerves twist in your gut. The place was undoubtedly busy, which wasn’t shocking for a Friday night. People were smoking and talking out front, and you couldn’t help but notice how out of place you must’ve looked.

A knee length grey skirt fell loosely over your hips, paired with a rose colored, ruffled blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings to top it off. Not a single tattoo in sight, and certainly no cigarette in hand. Your heels clicked against the pavement, smoothing down your skirt as you made your way inside.

The second you enter, you’re hit with a haze of smoke and the overwhelming smell of alchohol, nicotine, and sweat. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before you head for the bar.

You shuffle your way over to an empty stool at the front and take a seat, plopping your beaded purse on the counter. As you wait for the bartender to make their way to you, you take a better look at your surroundings. The place felt oddly cozy for being in such a frumpy looking building, and a band was playing some sort of aggressive rock song you had never heard before. Despite it being a little too loud, and a little too cluttered, you were already starting to relax a little.

“Hey there, what can I get for ya?”

You whip your head around at the voice, and your stomach instantly falls into your shoes. It would be impossible not to recognize the dark mop of curls that you got so used to seeing bouncing about the halls you shared all those years ago.

Although now it was pulled back into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, loose curls falling around his face. You’d hate to admit it, but he looked really nice.

“Well if it isn’t the little princess.” he laughs, and you feel your fists clench at the old nickname. “Didn’t think this was really your scene.”

“Well that would be a correct assumption, Munson.” you bite, bouncing back from the initial shock, “Unfortunately, it was the closest bar to my apartment, and I wasn’t in the mood to drive across town.”

Your grumbling makes you feel like a petulant child with a grudge, but you can’t help it. Eddie just always has getting on your nerves.

“I didn’t know you worked here, or I would have made the sacrifice.”

Eddie smiles his big, toothy, infuriatingly smug smile, and shakes his head, “You haven’t changed one bit, huh princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” you demand through gritted teeth, holding on to every ounce of restraint you have not to scream at him to just get you a drink.

He leans forward on the counter with a lopsided, goofy sort of expression, invading your space and ignoring your little outburst. “So what brings you in here tonight, princess? Boy troubles?” he mocks with a pouty tone.

You glare daggers into his skull, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Just a beer will do.”

He gives a small salute before leaving to get you your drink of choice.

The rest of the night is spent drinking, wallowing, and actively avoiding any and all interactions with the familiar bartender. The minimal interaction you did have involved him pushing every button in sight, and you fighting to maintain an ounce of self control.

Any time your eyes made their way over to him, of their own volition, his eyes were already on you. He had this look, like he knew something you didn’t, and it infuriated you. Oh how you hated him.

It had always been this way, ever since high school. He made it his mission to push you to your limit, and you always had to one up him somehow. It became almost like a game. You weren’t surprised to see he hadn’t changed after all this time. It was almost comforting in way, if you thought about it long enough.

As the night went on, the activity slowly started dying down, and the atmosphere got quieter. You were on your second beer of the night, trying to let the cold liquid take the edge off. Even still, you felt your fingers tap against the counter with anxiety.

How could he leave you to fend for yourself at the drop of a hat? After nine months? Did your relationship hold that little of value? How were you supposed to afford next quarter’s rent? There’s no way you could afford to live in your current apartment. You would have to move. How would you find somewhere decent to stay in such a short amount of time? You were screwed.

“Hey sweetheart, we’re gettin’ ready to close up.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up to see the one person you wanted to see the least right now. His expression was soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen it aimed in your direction. It made you want to dig your nails into his skin.

“You alright?”

The question takes you aback, your brows furrow at the uncharacteristic behavior. “Fine, thanks.” you mumble, taking another gulp of your drink.

He looks at you with what can only be described as sympathy, and you feel your chest tighten. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You mull over the words for a moment. The answer should be so simple. You don’t smoke. In fact, you’ve never smoked once in your life. Why would you ever agree to smoke with him of all people?

But then his hand is outstretched across the bar for you to take a cigarette, and his eyes look so… kind? You’ve never thought of that word to describe him before. Maybe it was the alchohol, or maybe he put some sort of curse on you, because suddenly you’re taking the cigarette and following him out front.

You can’t help but watch as his thumb flicks at the lighter, putting it up to your lips before bringing it to his own. You follow his lead inhaling the smoke, and then you’re instantly coughing and spluttering it back out of your lungs.

He laughs lightly as he cooly blows the smoke to the side to avoid getting it in your face. “I take it you’ve never smoked before? If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, Munson.” you spit out, face heating up with embarrassment as you make another attempt, ignoring the burning in your throat.

It’s silent for a while, before anyone decides to break it.

“So,” he starts, “You a big time writer now?” he asks, staring at the pavement.

He remembered you wanted to be a writer? You didn’t even think he knew that about you. “English teacher, actually. Hawkins High.”

He looks at you then, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “You stuck around that hell hole? No wonder you’ve still got that stick up your ass.”

You scoff bitterly, “Well I guess some of us are more academically inclined than others.” you glare, “I actually enjoy my job, shocking as that may be to you.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart.” Eddie replies smugly, causing you to grit your teeth as he leans against the brick wall of the building. "Gettin' to boss people around all day must be a dream come true for you." The parking lot is almost completely empty at this point.

Of course his civility was just a calm before the storm. You mentally pinch yourself for your momentary lapse of judgement. “God, you are such a-“

“Comedian? Kind soul? Sight for sore eyes?” he offers dramatically, eyes twinkling at your grimace.

“I was going for obnoxious, conceited, prick.” You hiss, stomping out your cigarette, “and I do not have a stick up my ass!” you shout, turning on your heel to leave.

Eddie rushes to catch up to you, laughing boyishly in a way that makes you speed up. “Aw come on, princess, don’t be like that. I was just teasing.”

“I said not to call me that-” You whip around to face him, and suddenly you’re practically chest to chest, craning your neck to meet his eyes. You’re so close you wonder if he can feel your heart racing behind your ribs.

Then he’s looking at you with that look. The one that makes your insides bubble over with fury. The one that makes you feel like he knows some sort of deep secret about you. It makes you want to slap him in his smug face. Yet, for some reason, you can’t seem to look away from his gaze.

Finally, you pull yourself away, and march over to your car. Just as you open your door, you hear a retreating shout of, “Next drink’s on me, princess!” and then you’re out of there faster than you can process your heaving chest and shaky hands.

After that, you somehow end up back in that same bar every Friday. Some sort of force, unbeknownst to you, seemed to draw you in like a magnet. As promised, the next drink was on him… and the next, and the next, no matter how many times you tried to refuse.

No matter how much you tried to talk yourself out of it, you always ended up sitting on the same stool, at the same time, with the same drink in your hand. Every week, without fail, you would leave the bar a fuming, heated mess with only one thing on your mind. Eddie fucking Munson.

This week in particular was different. You were absolutely swamped with assignments that needed to be graded, and you spent all of Thursday night and Friday working on getting them done.

It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you noticed the hiccup in your routine, and for some reason it made you sad. It wasn’t like you were obligated to go every weekend, but a part of you had grown to enjoy your Friday nights at the bar. Then some sick, twisted part of you wondered if he had noticed your absence, but you shoved the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

As the day went on, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t hurt to just go tonight instead. After all it was a Saturday night, and you had already cleared your workload for the week, so it’s not like there was any real harm in it.

Alternatively, it was a Saturday night. Eddie’s band performed Saturday nights. You didn’t want him to think you were there to see him, because you most certainly were not. You just didn’t want to miss out on your weekly drink, that’s all. Nothing more.

Still, it was a Saturday night. It would do you some good to look a little nicer, right?

You start to regret it the second you park your car. The shift in the air is blatantly obvious as you enter walk towards the crowded space. Men out front whistle at you as you walk to the door, and you can feel eyes practically digging into your skin as u head for your usual seat at the bar. Your leg bounces with nerves at the attention. You've never worn this dress before. Never had a reason to. You don't allow yourself to wonder why you chose to wear it tonight.

You ask the bartender for a long island iced tea, and catch yourself checking the small stage in the back of the room. You internally scold yourself and glue your eyes to your drink.

It isn’t long before cheers are heard around the bar, pulling your attention up to see Corroded Coffin walking out on stage.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Eddie’s voice booms out of the speakers, causing people to whoop and holler in reply. You feel your leg begin to bounce.

He continues talking to the small crowd while his band finishes setting up, and you can’t stop yourself from ogling at him. You desperately want to pull your eyes away, to look at anything else, but you can’t.

He’s wearing an old band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his arms, chest, and a sliver of his waist. Your eyes trail across the exposed skin, noticing he has quite a few new tattoos littering it, and your stomach twists. He has leather and chain bracelets decorating his wrists, curls falling wildly around his face, and you notice light bouncing off of his signature rings still adorning his fingers. You definitely don’t remember him looking like this in high school.

As he moves around the stage it’s abundantly clear how confident he is up there. His stage presence is truly impressive, and his voice is really something. It's gotten deeper since the last time you heard it. You subconsciously wet your lips as you watch his fingers move around the neck of his guitar. He’s come a long way since the last time you saw him perform. You can’t help but smile as you watch him in his element.

Then the smile is wiped clean off of your face when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the bar. You freeze, feeling like you suddenly have shards of glass lodged in your throat. Has he known you’ve been sitting here the whole time? If he saw you smiling you might have to run into oncoming traffic.

Then you notice what he’s singing.

“I'm on the prowl and I watch you closely I lie waiting for you I'm the wolf with the sheepskins clothing I lick my chops and you're tastin' good”

Your stomach flips and you can feel your whole body heating up. Something tells you he notices too, which makes it a million times worse. What the hell is wrong with you?

“I do whatever I want to do ya I'll nail your ass to the sheets A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya I fuck like a beast”

You shift in your seat, the eye contact becoming far too overwhelming. You opt to look down at your lap for the remainder of the song to prevent yourself from doing something embarrassing.

Soon enough the set is over, and the band starts breaking down their set up. You’re so deep in your own thoughts by the end of it that you fail to notice the man approaching you, until his arms are caging you against the bar.

“Well hello there, pretty lady.” You gasp at the familiar voice speaking directly into your ear, feeling his shirt graze your back. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He beams down at you, watching you huff and roll your eyes as you turn to face him. Your fingers wriggle with the efforts not to hit him.

“It was an impulsive decision.” You mutter quietly, eyes briefly darting to his toned arm beside you before snapping back to his face, “I didn’t come yesterday.” You concede, unsure of what else to say.

He smiles, seemingly amused. “I know. Your seat was empty all night.” he says lowly, face so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your lips. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s pushing off of the counter to head back behind the bar and help clean up.

So he did notice. Did he miss you? Was he saving your seat, or is it just a coincidence?

You feel dizzy with a million questions. Why did you let him get so close? Why were you going to let him kiss you? Why does he look so good. Why do you care so much? You should have said something, anything.

You finish your drink in silence, watching Eddie as he flits around tidying up the place, and then the bar is closing. You feel your gut twist at the thought of going home, and you don’t quite understand why, but you blame the alchohol.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie jogs up to you as you grab your purse, arm outstretched and offering a cigarette. His hair falls prettily around his shoulders, and you only now notice that he takes much better care of his curls now than he did in high school.

“Care for a smoke?”

His charm must be cranked up to 100 tonight, because, once again, you agree with less hesitation than you would have liked.

You stand out front, Eddie waving goodnight to Garret as he heads to his car, and you watch as the last car whirs out of the lot. Then you are alone. Just you and Eddie. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“How’d you like the show?” he asks, exhaling a puff of smoke in the process.

You handle the burn better this time, holding back a cough from erupting as you take a drag. “It was… good.” You say hesitantly.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, “Just good? Wow, then we really need to get our shit together if we're gonna-“

“You were amazing.” You blurt out, unsure of why you felt the need to boost his ego. You clear your throat before amending your statement, “It… The show was amazing.”

Eddie hums in satisfaction, smile tugging at the corners of his lips around his cig. “You know, you didn’t have to dress all fancy for lil ol’ me.”

You wore a tight, low-backed, black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, sheer black stockings, black boots, and some dainty silver jewelry. Nothing too crazy, but definitely much different from how you would normally dress. Admittedly, you felt a little self conscious.

“Well good thing I didn’t dress fancy for you.” You huff, starting to feel a little silly for trying so hard to fit in. God, did he always have to be so cocky?

“I mean, I’m not complaining.” He starts, pushing off the wall to step towards you. “You look fucking incredible. Of course, you always look incredible.”

Smug bastard.

“Thank you.” You feel yourself flushing at the words, immediately getting sick to your stomach at how much you care what Eddie Munson thinks about how you look. “Glad I got your seal of approval.” You quip sarcastically, desperately trying to pick a fight. Anything to stop you from feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.

Why did he always find a way to get under your skin? No one else makes you feel as utterly frustrated as he does.

He’s absolutely unbearable.

You force down another inhale of smoke as you watch Eddie slowly make his way closer to you. The way he’s looking at you makes your mouth go dry. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You know, you don’t always have to be such a brat.” He exhales casually, pausing in front of you. Your heart stops. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me every once in a while.”

“It might.” You rasp out curtly, just now realizing how out of breath you suddenly feel.

He laughs, and the sound makes your insides flip.

“You have such a big fat crush on me, don’t you sweetheart?” He smiles down at you wolfishly, and it almost makes you shrink under his stare. You suddenly are acutely aware of your surroundings.

You scoff and cross your arms defensively, “I most certainly do not have a crush on you, Munson.” You spit out venomously. How dare he even suggest such a thing? It couldn’t be farther from the truth. You loathe him.

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, taking a stride closer to you, making you step backwards.

“Think I don’t notice how you stare at me? How you sit up a little straighter when you see me?”

Your back hits the wall.

“You aren’t subtle, princess.”

You feel like a fucking deer in headlights.

“Staring and glaring are two very different things.” You pant, desperately searching for oxygen. Anger burns in your throat at his absolute audacity, and your skin feels like it's buzzing.

“Is that so?”

You can feel his chest press into you as the brick digs into your shoulders. He takes a long inhale of smoke, and your head is screaming at you to push him off of you and curse him the whole way home, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as he grabs your chin, and then, unexpectedly, he‘s pulling your jaw down to part your lips. All you can do is stare at him and his cocky fucking smile at your compliance. You feel like you’re in a trance.

Before you can even think, his lips are pressed against yours and pushing smoke past your lips. You gasp at the contact, effectively inhaling the smoke and sighing against his lips. Your brain short circuits and goes completely numb. His lips feel like the cure to a disease you've been plagued with for years.

For a moment, you almost forget who you’re with, until he pulls back to look at you.

“Well if you hate me so much, then why are you squeezing your thighs together?”

You immediately rip your legs apart, not even realizing what you were doing until it was too late. You can feel steam pouring out of your ears at this point.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He’s right. For some reason, you do love it. Something about him makes you crave more, and you’re starting to believe he may be an incubus. It’s making you go insane.

So you finally wave the white flag.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Munson.”

So he does. Again, and again, and again, until somehow you end up back at Eddie’s trailer with your wrists handcuffed to his bed frame and your clothes thrown around his room.

Hard rock music plays faintly in the distance, and the room smells vaguely of incense and weed. You feel like you've been transported to an alternate dimension.

His lips feel like they’re everywhere. Your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and then he’s leaving sweet little kisses on your tits, making you whine and arch your back towards him.

“Gotta teach you how to let loose, yeah?”

He gently tugs on one of your nipples and you gasp, and Eddie can’t help but laugh as he kisses his way further down your body.

“You’re fucking adorable when you’re not being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You groan as he spreads your legs open, kissing and biting at your thighs. “Shut up, Eddie.”

“Oh I’m Eddie now?”

Your hips buck up in frustration, glaring down at him with a scowl. It feels like he’s been teasing you for forever. “Eddie” you whine out, “Stop teasing.”

He slowly starts kissing closer to where you need him most, but not quite close enough. “You don’t think you deserve it? Why do you think your wrists are locked up then, sweetheart?”

You wiggle and writhe beneath him, but don’t answer. Eddie moves his face closer to your cunt, and you finally think you’re going to get what you want, and then he blows on your clit. You whimper and clench around nothing, flinching away from him. It's absolutely pathetic, getting so worked up when he’s barely even done anything yet.

“I asked you a question.” Eddie tries again, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your thigh while he waits for a response.

“My wrist’s are locked up because…” You take a deep sigh and force yourself to just spit it out so that he’ll touch you already. “because I was being a brat." you grumble. He’s lucky your wrists are locked up right now, you think.

Eddie kisses your thigh in approval, “That’s right, and bratty girls don’t get to call the shots. Right?”

You huff and pull against your restraints once more, before ultimately complying. “Right.”

You figure it won’t do you any good to act out, especially given your current position.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Eddie grins up at you, before finally leaving a gentle kiss right on your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillows, immediately feeling relief at the small touch. He then runs his tongue up your slit, swirling it nice and slow around your little button, making you sigh and melt into the bed. His curls tickle your thighs where he works diligently.

It quickly becomes apparent that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that makes you wonder how many other women have been in this exact same position. The thought makes you dig your nails into your palms, but the it’s is quickly forgotten when you feel him slide a finger into you.

"See?" He starts, words muffled by your folds, "Just needed someone to put you in your place, huh? To take the reigns?"

You flutter around him, and every fiber of your being wants to say something snippy in response, but all you get out is a blissed out sigh. He hums happily.

His fingers are much thicker than your own, calloused from his years of playing guitar. Looking down you notice he took all his rings off and set them next to you on the bed. He never takes his rings off, ever, you remember that. For some reason the simple act makes your heart leap out of your chest.

He pulls his face back from your slick for a moment just to watch the way you suck in his finger, and he moans at the sight of you. The sound makes your brain feel like static. “Fuck, baby, you needed it bad, huh? You’re fucking dripping all over my sheets and I've barley started.”

All you can do is nod your head and hum in response, and your jaw drops open with a soft moan as he slides in a second finger with ease.

“How long have you been wanting me like this, sweetheart? Be honest.” He asks, never faltering in his pace.

You whine at the question, embarrassment flooding your features as you turn your face to hide it in his pillow. He quickly kisses up your body, gently turning your head back to look at him. “You can tell me. No need to be embarrassed.”

You take one good look at his face, and you know that he already knows. He’s giving you that look. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Mm… Since-” you hesitate to finish your sentence, and then a particularly hard thrust of his fingers does it for you. “Since fucking high school! Christ, Eddie-”

A groan erupts from the back of his throat as he kisses you hard, licking and biting at your bottom lip, and then suddenly his mouth is back on your clit and you feel like you’re floating. He picks up the pace, eating you out like a man starved, flicking his tongue in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You feel your hips start to move against him, and he groans into your pussy making you cry out. “Yeah, that’s it.” He mumbles against your core, “Ride my face, honey.”

You can’t control the plethora of sounds that escape you, and your body seems to have a mind of its own. You writhe on the bed as Eddie devours you, holding your thighs over his shoulders. He searches for your sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers, and he knows he’s found it when your eyebrows pinch up, a high pitched whine reverberating throughout his bedroom.

You can feel him smile against your cunt, continuing his assault against that spot that makes you see stars. He never stops looking up at you to watch your face contort with pleasure. His already dark eyes are now fully eclipsed with lust and need.

“Oh my god-” you gasp out, heaving for air as your legs begin to shake around his head.

He can tell you’re close from the way you’re squeezing his fingers and writhing under him. He doesn’t speed up or change his pace, he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, moving the flat of his tongue back and forth against your clit and curling his fingers up into you just right.

“Eddie, mm… i’m so close-”

The second the words leave your lips, he pulls off of you. His mouth and fingers are completely gone in an instant, and you feel like you’re about to cry.

“What the fuck?!” You shout at him, voice weak with tears threatening to spill, “Why did you stop?”

Eddie grins from ear to ear, lips and chin glistening with your slick, “We talked about this, remember?” he says cockily, leaning down to lick a bead of sweat from your chest, “Brats don’t get to call the shots. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you sweetheart?”

You grumble and kick your legs out in frustration, but he kisses you to make it better. You slowly let him melt you back into putty in his hands, tasting yourself on his tongue. He presses his knee directly against your puffy cunt, groaning at your wetness against his skin as you sigh into his lips. You go to move your hips against him but he quickly stops you, moving his hand up instead to push down his boxers, his dick already hard and aching to feel you.

“Promise I’ll make you feel so good, just gotta be good for me first alright?”

You nod your head frantically, completely and utterly at his mercy. He looks like sex personified, and you just want to feel him. “Please, Eddie-”

He smiles sweetly at you, kissing your cheek as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds. “Awh, look at you and your manners.” he taunts, but this time you can't seem to care. In fact, you realize, you kind of like it.

You like hearing his voice.

You like it when he’s mean.

He pushes just the tip against your dripping hole, and you’re practically sobbing. “How can I say no when you asked so politely?” and then he’s sliding all the way into you, and you’re already a wreck.

“Holy shit- you feel so fucking good” he groans and huffs as he starts to slowly pump in and out of you, making sure you feel every drag of his cock inside you.

You’re already panting, stretching your hands against the cool metal to try and grasp for anything that can ground you, but you come up empty. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be, and the stretch is practically making you drool.

“Eddie, fucking- god”

“That’s it, keep screaming my name just like that baby.” He encourages, kissing and biting at your collar bone, sure to leave marks, “You sound so goddamn pretty when you say my name.”

Eddie adjusts your position, pulling your leg over his hip and pushing it against your chest. The new angle has your back arching off the bed, a whimpering mess as you claw at the handcuffs.

Eddie leans his head to rest in the crook of your neck, panting and whining into your ear. “Shit, princess-”

Your cunt squeezes him at the nickname, and the moan that slips past your lips is guttural. “Oh, fuck-” He clamps his eye shut with a deep groan, gripping your thigh so hard it’s sure to leave little bruises.

That’s the first time he’s used that nickname since you started, and he knows it. He did it on purpose.

He lifts his head to look at your blissed out face, a goofy, lopsided, fucked out grin on his lips. “I knew it.” he gloats, thrusts getting harder, “Look at me.”

You muster up the energy to flutter your eyes open and look at him. The pretty smile on his face makes your legs shake.

“You like it when I call you that,” he beamed, “That’s why you hated when I used that name for you in public, huh. Cause’ it made you fuckin’ soak your panties?” he laughed meanly, watching tears fill your waterline. He leans down to brush his lips against yours, voice lowering into something sweeter. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you practically scream. He looked so pretty, and he felt so good, and you wanted him closer. It was all too much, you needed to hold something, anything. You needed to pull yourself back down to reality.

“Eds- Eddie, please can I touch you?” your fingers twitch where they’re held above your head, “Wanna feel you- please, i’ve been so good-”

Eddie whines at your sweet pleas, but maintains composure. He wanted to stick to the plan.

“Oh, honey, no” he pouts out at you mockingly, watching the way you strain for anything to grasp and his dick twitches inside you, “No, you gotta give me one first. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Too fucked out to formulate a simple response, you simply sob and nod your head. Your hips start to rock up into his thrusts, but Eddie grabs your hips with one hand and pushes them back down into the sheets. You feel like a live wire.

Then he brings his thumb down to your clit, gently rubbing circles on it, and your eyes clamp shut. He kisses your open mouth and you try your best to kiss him back, but he’s moaning into your mouth, and he’s touching you, and fucking you, and Eddie Munson is fucking you, and it’s all so good that you just can’t.

“Eddie, i’m gonna-” you babble, almost incoherent, feeling the knot getting tighter and tighter, “Please please please don’t stop!”

He puts more pressure on your clit and leaves sweet little kisses on your neck, “I’m not got stop, it’s okay.”

You’re so close you feel like you’re about to explode.

“You can cum for me, princess”

That’s all you needed to see stars, black clouding your vision as he rides out your high, not once stopping or slowing down his pace. You can vaguely hear him talking you down, but nothing registers past your ears ringing.

Then your wrists are released and he’s flipping you over so that you’re on top, straddling him, and your hands and lips are all over him in an instant. In this position he hits your g-spot perfectly, and you can’t help but sob against his chest at the overstimulation.

“Just one more for me, I promise.” he soothes, gently rubbing your hip as his guides your hips back and forth on his cock, making you both cry out. You start to set your own pace riding him, leaning back against his legs to give you the perfect angle.

“You’re so perfect.” He mutters, breathlessly, “My pretty girl- fuck.”

Eddie was now moaning and whining louder and more freely than before, you can tell he’s getting close now too, and you’re already reaching your second climax of the night.

“Wanted you for so long,” Eddie admits, gripping your hip tighter, “can’t believe this is real.”

You whine at the confession, leaning forward to press your lips to the shell of his ear. You make sure to let your pretty noises and praises flow freely, just for him. Your fingers gently brush hairs from his forehead before scratching your way down his chest.

“You fuck me so well, Eds”

“Oh my god- you feel so good”

“Please, Eddie, I wanna feel you cum”

He’s an absolute mess, wrapping both hands around your hips and bending his knees up so that he can fuck you down onto him. “Wanna cum with you sweetheart. Want you to give me another one.” He rambles against your chest, and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red marks behind.

“I’m so close, honey, c’mon. You can give it to me."

You bite and claw at his skin, so close to tipping over the edge.

"Soak me.”

You collapse forward as tears of overstimulation fall onto his inked skin, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder to ground himself while he paints your walls white. You ride out your highs, clutching each other like a lifeline. When you’re both back on planet earth, he cleans you up nice an gentle, and whispers pretty little praises into your skin as you fall asleep with your limbs intertwined.

“Knew you had a crush on me, princess.”

Let’s just say you no longer have to go apartment hunting!

asks are open!

#brairslair #brairs fics #eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #smut #angst #fluff #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #idiots in love

[theoldkyokodied]

Uploading all my Tomgreg art at once from the past few week before season 4 hits, who knows in what kind of mental state i'm gonna be once it does :')

#tomgreg #succession #dont even talk to me i started watching this show when i had nothing to do at work and now i watch it with averiel my good friend averiel #and we are going to watch s4 together and i feel physically ill from bein so excited #so ya thats what ive been up to... anyway. i love these idiots they desever nothing but the worst (affectionate) #im also a tomshiv lover btw. im the one who yells 'THIS IS HOW TOMSHIV CAN STILL WIN' while they are actively losing on screen #thats the kind of person i am #dont look at me (lying on the floor) #okay i was not going to say stuff in the tags and let the art speak for itself but i NEED to point out details in the wine Painting.. #i put a lot of work into that one. thinly veiled metaphors and symbolism yknow.. #greg is gripping the stem of the wine glass with his full fist. tom and greg are dressed in the same outfit (sock garters included) #greg look appalled but he is not doing anything about the spill. tom is fondly pouring greg more and more wine. he is doing him a favor #i colored the red wine the same way i would color blood :) oh and tom is not really touching greg #only holding the chair in place. greg is making himself look smaller than he is like usual #oh and @ the person who said that it's the inverse of the tom and nate scene i love the way you think. i did not think of that before #but god. yeah. i actually thought about the scene change from when roman uhh.. christens his office in s1. the one with the coffee machine #i always go insane at that cut. this is not exactly the same since it's more.. about emotions but yknow.. it can be.. the same...

[8thmuse]

i think a lot of people miss the part where zutara is not enemies to lovers

its an enemies to friends to lovers, which is just such a better trope, and it highlights their friendship while not denying the fact that they definitely had some romantic feelings for eachother

#enemies to friends to lovers is the superior trope #enemies to friends to idiots to lovers actually #enemies to friends to lovers #zutara #atla zuko #zuko #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #how do i use tumblr #chronically online #im never shutting up about zutara

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

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[spaceyaceface]

Snow, Scarves, and Schemes

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader (unspecified Hogwarts House)

Word Count: 14.8k (oops) 

Content Warnings: Slight angst 

Summary: Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only. 

Or, the classic friends to lovers, idiots in love, fake dating scenario. 

Also available on AO3

---------------

Y/N paced back and forth nervously in the Undercroft. This was a stupid idea. Utterly rubbish. She considered going back to her common room, but knew it was already too late–she’d sent him an owl, after all. A bloody owl with a bloody note asking for help and to meet her in the Undercroft. She couldn’t flee now; he’d just track her down and badger her about later.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to the Undercroft opened with the boy she was waiting for waltzing through. He’d shot up in height the summer after their fifth year—he now nearly had to duck coming in the doorway. He’d been a twig for a brief moment after his growth spurt (a fact that Y/N had taken to her advantage and teased him with) but he had quickly filled out in the months that followed. Now, Sebastian Sallow stood tall and broad before her, the changes from the last two years evident to her eyes. It made her feel a little intimidated. Not that Sebastian himself was intimidating—she knew him too well to ever fear him. And he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t put up with any of his nonsense. The last two years of friendship had made them very close—of everyone in Hogwarts, Sebastian was easily the person she trusted the most, despite some of the difficulties throughout their time together. He’d really come far in proving himself redeemed—the fact that Anne now spoke to him attesting to his progress. It was her trust in him that led to this moment now.

“I got your owl, what’s happened?” He’d seen her nervous only a handful of times before. For the most part, Y/N was a girl who didn’t let things get to her—she made a habit of running headfirst into danger, thinking of the consequences only in passing. So, the way she was wringing her hands was most unusual. “You said you needed help, are the poachers back around Hogwarts?”

She shook her head quickly, finally meeting her eyes. “No, nothing like that. It’s just—oh this is stupid, I shouldn’t have sent that owl—”

“Too late,” Sebastian teased. “I know something’s afoot, I won’t rest until I find out what it is.”

“I know, I know!” She sighed. “You can’t laugh, alright?”

A signature smirk settled on his face. “No promises.”

She groaned. “Look, you know Leander Prewett, right?”

The events leading up to Y/N’s hastily scribbled note came back full force. Leander had followed her from her Herbology class down to Potions. Most of the time, Y/N had Sebastian and Ominis by her side, and could quickly dismiss the arrogant Gryffindor. But today, Sebastian had ‘accidently’ spilled a bag of dung all over Garreth Weasley’s feet, and Professor Garlick had insisted Sebastian stay behind to clean it up. Poor Ominis, guilty only by association, had been roped in as well. So Leander had taken his chance and walked out of the classroom with Y/N.

Because their conversations were usually cut off by Y/N running off to Sebastian and Ominis, Leander would typically ask how she was, make some snide remark about a Slytherin, and then ask her out. Sometimes she answered with a simple “No, thank you,” sometimes she made excuses of how busy she was, and sometimes, when she was really at her wit’s end, she’d pretend she hadn’t heard the question before claiming she saw Ominis’s blond hair up ahead and running off. But today she couldn’t find a reason to run.

And so, Leander strode up to her in the hall. “How are you, Y/N?”

“Just fine, thank you,” she stated simply, not even meeting eyes with the red-headed boy.

“Pretty low of Sallow to dump that dung all over. Typical Slytherin. Serves him right to have to clean it all up.”

She didn’t give him a reply this time, electing to roll her eyes instead. The whole Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry had always seemed pointless and melodramatic to her, though she had to admit she disliked it coming from Leander a lot more than hearing it from Sebastian or Ominis.

“What would you say to a trip to the Three Broomsticks with me this weekend, eh? My treat, of course. Could make a date of it.”

She let out a sigh. “I’d say no thank you, Leander.”

He scowled a bit. It was no secret to the majority of the students in their year that Leander had been chasing after Y/N for some time now. Ever since she became the “hero of Hogwarts” (a title she loathed to be remembered by), he’d had his eye on her. She had always felt it was less than actual attraction and more of a claim to fame that had him on her tail. But he was persistent.

“Why won’t you let me take you out, Y/N? We could end up enjoying ourselves, you know. I pride myself in being good company.”

“Because I don’t want to , Leander.” She was growing exasperated with him quickly.

“Want to? Or don’t think you can?” Leander frowned at her. “I know your friends with Sallow, and if I’d hazard a guess, I’d say he’s trying to poison you against me.”

She stopped walking, aghast. “I’d say it’s yourself who led to any ill-feelings I have toward you.”

“Then why not give a chance at settling some of those ill-feelings?”

Her fists clenched at her sides, and before she knew what she was saying, the words came tumbling out of her mouth—the words she almost immediately grew to regret.

And now in the present, Sebastian's eyes narrowed. “That prat? What about him?”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his sour reaction. “Well, it’s to do with him. You see, he keeps asking me out—”

“You’re not planning on saying yes, are you?” he asked, an edge to his voice. Ah, that Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry.

“Of course not! Like you said, he’s a prat. A prat who won’t take no for an answer. Well, at least he wouldn’t, until I told him was already seeing someone…” She bit her lip, looking away from him.

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised. “You’re seeing someone? That’s news to him and me both, though I thought as your best friend I’d be a bit more entitled to that information.”

“That’s the whole problem, Sebastian! I’m not seeing anyone. I just needed a way to get him off my back, and now he’s suspicious, it was obvious he didn’t believe me—”

She was interrupted by a laugh. Sebastian was holding his arms over his stomach, nearly bent in half with the laughter shaking his body.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I said no such thing.” He stood up straight again, still chuckling. “So, you need someone to pretend to be courting you, is that it?”

She blushed deeply, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, Sebastian. That’s what I need help with.”

“Well, I’m honored.” He grinned ear to ear. “What made you choose me over Ominis, if I may ask?”

“For one, most everyone has heard he’s courting Anne now, which would add some tension if he was supposedly courting both of us—”

“Ah, right,” Sebastian conceded. Ominis and Anne’s developing relationship was rather new, one that had completely blindsided Sebastian (which was ridiculous in Y/N’s opinion, she could see it from a mile away. The protective twin had simply been in denial), though he had approved nonetheless.

“And secondly, to be quite frank, Prewett… has a stronger distaste for you than for Ominis. I figured it would throw him off his game a bit more.”

“Strategic. I like it.” He clapped his hands together. “So, when do we start?”

Y/N brightened. “You’ll help me then?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend, Y/N, I’m happy to keep a slimy chap like Prewett off your back any day.”

She launched herself forward, tackling Sebastian in a hug. “Oh, thank you! You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?”

He gave a sly smile. “‘Course I do, though it’s nice to be reminded of it now and again.”

The two sat side by side, snacking on some of the nicked food they’d stored in the Undercroft. After practicing spells for a bit, they had gotten hungry and decided to take a break. Y/N broke a roll she was holding in half, setting one part into Sebastian’s outstretched hand. It was an unspoken system between them—always sharing what they ate.

“So,” Sebastian said between bites. “We should probably discuss the details of our arrangement, shouldn’t we?”

She glared at him. “You want some sort of payment for it?”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Not at all. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. And seeing Prewett’s humiliated face.” He smiled at the chuckle this brought out of her. “I meant things like how long we plan to ‘court’, or how we want to go about… displaying it.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, the Yule Ball is coming up. I think it’s part of why he’s upping his game.”

He hummed in agreement. “That’s in what, three weeks, is it?”

“Precisely. I figured we could court until a few days before the ball, then ‘break it off’. That way, you could ask whoever you wanted to be your date, and I could attend with Ominis as he helps me through my devastating heartbreak, like the true friend he is.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Sensible. Speaking of Ominis, you know we’re going to have to tell him we’re faking it, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. He wouldn’t believe it otherwise. He’d call it out for what it was, and it’d all crumble before it started!”

Sebastian laughed. “He’s a decent liar. And he hates Prewett too, he won’t have any qualms with it.”

A chuckle made its way past her lips as she pressed another bit of food into Sebastian’s hand. “Now, as far as the ‘displaying it’ nonsense goes…”

Sebastian nodded solemnly. “This will be the most difficult part. I’ll have to tolerate your company, won’t I?”

The shove she gave him nearly tipped him over.

“Come on now! You know I’m joking!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s me that tolerates you , we both know that. We’ll have to do a bit more than tolerate, anyway. I don’t imagine it’ll be too much, though. Perhaps holding hands, and occasional loving embrace, that sort of thing.”

“So I’m not getting a proper snog out of you is what I’m hearing?”

This time, the shove did tip him over. “You’re nothing but an overconfident rake, Sebastian Sallow!” Even as she said it, she smiled down at him.

“I’m not, and you know it. I’m a right and proper gentleman.”

“Right and proper gentlemen don’t talk about snogging in front of young ladies.”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N, you hardly count as a lady.”

There was a slight twinge of pain in her chest as he said those words. Since when did she not count as a lady? Sure, she preferred trousers to skirts and dresses, but they were simply more practical. She could out duel any witch or wizard who stood against her, but she liked to think she kept some amount of poise while doing so. And she thought herself quite respectable, at least until she got talking to Sebastian… perhaps he had a bit of a point. Most ladies would be aghast at arranging a fake-courting situation, and talking so plainly while doing so, but it was Sebastian . He felt more of an extension of herself at times than a boy she had met just over two years ago.

Y/N was in the middle of rolling her eyes when another voice joined the conversation. “What was that about snogging? Do the two of you need a moment alone?”

She grinned at the sight of Ominis walking toward them, his wand outstretched. “Oh, thank God you’re here Ominis. I don’t know if I could have spent another moment in the hell that is Sebastian’s company.”

“If that’s really how you feel, Y/N, our plan is doomed to fail,” Sebastian said, gathering more of their nicked food to share with the new addition.

“Plan? What trouble are you trying to get me into now?” Ominis asked as he sat on the floor beside them. Sebastian pressed an apple tart into his hand.

“Oh, nothing horrible, unless you think giving Prewett a heart attack is indecent,” Sebastian said.

“As… un-fond of Prewett I am, I still need to know what’s happening before I let anything proceed. What is it?”

Y/N sighed. “Well, Ominis, as someone who shares similar sentiments about Prewett, I… needed a way to get him to stop asking to take me out. I stupidly told him I was seeing someone, and Sebastian has graciously decided to step in and be that someone. Pretend to be that someone, I guess I should say.”

Ominis frowned. “And you need my help in what way?”

“Not in any way, really. Just go with it. Confirm it if people ask. Spread rumors when possible,” Sebastian said.

Ominis thought hard. Y/N could practically see the gears turning in his head, calculating every which way things could backfire. After a few moments, he seemed to come to the conclusion that nothing could go too terribly wrong. “All right. Whatever keeps Prewett at bay.”

Y/N threw an arm around him, startling him a bit. “Thank you, Ominis.”

He chuckled. “Anything for you. Now, if only I had someone to place bets with on how long the pair of you last.”

Ominis and Sebastian walked side by side back to the Slytherin common room. Y/N had departed a while before them, needing to catch up on a bit of her homework.

“Seems like an interesting plan the two of you have conceived,” Ominis said.

“Interesting indeed. Though I do have to say, it was pretty much Y/N who conceived it,” Sebastian replied easily.

“It’ll be… fascinating to see the two of you pretend to be a couple.” Ominis sounded thoughtful.

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, if I’m honest, there’s been times I thought the two of you might have something between you.” Ominis tilted his head to face Sebastian a little bit more. “Never certain of it, though. Should I have been certain of it?”

His frown deepened. “Are you trying to say that one of us has feelings for the other?”

Ominis shrugged. “More or less. Any truth to that?”

Sebastian found himself thinking about the thought of that. Truth be told, he hadn’t done much of it before. He enjoyed spending time with Y/N, of course. It was always fun to throw her off by saying something unexpected. What was more was how well she did the same thing back. It kept him on his toes, always letting him expect the unexpected. She was talented, too, of course. He’d never forget that first duel they had, nor the ones they fought side by side in afterwards. She was an incredible witch. Beautiful, too, though that was common knowledge among most of the students in their year. It was just a fact. A statement. Y/N was beautiful, talented, funny, and exciting. Sebastian knew all of these things–-that didn’t mean he liked her, did it?

He realized there had been a bit too much of a pause after Ominis’s question. He quickly spat out the conclusion he had drawn to. “No, Ominis. She’s my best friend, right beside you. I haven’t felt that way, and I seriously doubt she’d ever feel that way towards me. Purely platonic.”

Ominis nodded, seeming like he expected as much. “Figured. Was just curious if this whole arrangement would bring anything out of the two of you. Perhaps it’s for the best—if the two of you really did start courting, I have a feeling the very walls of Hogwarts would have their days numbered.”

“Are you saying we’d be an awful couple?”

“Awful, or perfect together. I don’t think the castle would stand a chance at your mayhem in either case.”

Sebastian chuckled before changing the subject. What he had told Ominis had been true… hadn’t it? She was his best friend. They were nothing more, never had been, and never would be.

So why was he so glad Ominis couldn’t see how flushed he’d gotten at the thought?

Y/N picked at her breakfast the next morning—she’d only eaten a couple bites of her tart before setting it back on her plate, moving her eggs around instead. She imagined this is what it felt like for those on the Quidditch teams before a match. It was only by sheer luck that none of her friends around her seemed to notice her unease; perhaps they figured she got a bad night of sleep or something. They talked animatedly to one another. Y/N tried to listen, but found herself distracted with constant glances at the door.

It was very usual for Sebastian to be late to breakfast—or at times to miss it entirely. With all his late night mischief, he tended to sleep in as much as possible before coming down at the last minute to grab some leftover pastry and rush off to class. She started to wonder if he would show at all before they had to start heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As if the thought had brought him into existence, Sebastian Sallow strode through the doors of the Great Hall, Ominis trailing behind. He glanced quickly around the room before his eyes landed on Y/N, a smile appearing on his face as he walked over.

Seeing him let something settle in Y/N’s stomach. What was she so worried about? Of course he would show up for her. He always had, hadn’t he?

Sebastian arrived at Y/N’s table and didn’t hesitate to reach over her, grabbing an apple off her plate. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Y/N scoffed. “Have you even looked outside yet? It’s a blizzard out there. I’m only grateful we don’t have to walk to Herbology in this mess.”

He shrugged. “Just because it’s snowing doesn’t mean it’s not lovely.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “I suppose.”

He held out a hand to her, a prompting to head to class. “Come on then. Best we start our way over.”

The gesture wasn’t unusual coming from him, so she dedn’t hesitate to take his hand and stand. However, instead of letting their hands slide apart, his grip tightened as he laced his fingers between hers.

She turned away from him quickly, heading straight for the door. With their hands interlocked, he had no choice but to follow. She hoped she had turned quickly enough to keep him from seeing the blush that had crept up her cheeks. He had done that so… naturally. It stirred something inside her. She figured it was just her being impressed with his acting skills, and God knows Sebastian’s ego was already big enough—no need to let him know her astonishment of his actions to boost it further.

Once she felt she had collected herself enough, she turned her head to face him. “Did you finish your essay yet?”

He frowned. “What essay?”

“The one Professor Sharp assigned us in Veritaserum. Figured you’d find the topic interesting.”

His eyes lit up a bit. “Ah, yes, that one. Haven’t even started it, actually. Though I’m not nervous—I’d say the both of us know plenty to fill eleven inches of parchment.” He winked down at her, eliciting a smile on her lips. He was right about that. There was a period of time in their sixth year where Sebastian became determined to brew as many restricted potions as he could get the ingredients for. Veritaserum had been included in these, and the batch had resulted in an interesting night with Sebastian, Ominis, and Y/N spilling secret opinions on their classmates. “Perhaps we should brew another batch. I have a feeling Ominis isn’t telling me all the details of his letters with Anne.”

Y/N laughed and bumped shoulders with him, their interlocked hands keeping them both balanced. “Don’t torture your best friend for details about love letters, with you sister, no less.”

“Exactly! She’s my sister, I have a right to know!”

“I have the distinct feeling you wouldn’t want to know all the mushy things they write to each other.”

He rolls his eyes, but any annoyance comes across as ingenuine with the grin plastered on his face. “I’m not going to admit it, but maybe you’re right.” He leads them into the classroom, walking to the desk where Ominis already sat. Sebastian pulled out Y/N’s chair, allowing her to sit before taking his own beside her. A nice touch, she thought. Very in character.

Ominis chuckled to Y/N’s side. “The rumors have already begun. I overheard Poppy whispering about the two of you holding hands to someone, now that she’s got ahold of it, it’ll spread fast.”

Y/N grinned, meeting eyes with Sebastian beside her to see the smirk that had settled on his face. He stretched his arm above him, letting it settle on Y/N’s chair behind her. This was all too simple

The rest of the day continued on much the same. Sebastian was quick to hold her hand between classes, and with that the whispers around them became increasingly pronounced. It seemed too easy, really—Y/N supposed her close friendship to the boy leading up to this gave them some credibility as a believable pair.

By dinner, she couldn’t help but notice Leander Prewett positively fuming at the sight of them. He glared past all the tables, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away from Sebastian as he helped load food onto Y/N’s plate. She had to stifle a laugh.

“God, would you look at the awful sight of him?” she said, pulling her plate in front of her. “He’s livid.”

Sebastian smiled mischievously. “It’s beautiful to behold, really.”

Ominis frowned. “Well don’t leave me out of it.”

“Oh, you’re not missing much,” Sebastian replied, finishing up with his own plate and getting ready to dive into the meal. “Just Prewett tried to curse me with his glare alone. I suppose I should be grateful he never took to nonverbal spells.”

It wasn’t long until Imelda came over to the trio, Poppy and Natty trailing close behind her. Y/N held back a wince. Besides the two boys sat on either side of her, these three were her best friends. It was inevitable that they would confront her—especially with Imelda being, well, Imelda.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, a determined look in her eye. Natty stood off to one side, looking fairly unconcerned. Poppy, on the other hand, seemed nearly fearful.

“So,” Imelda said, looking between Y/N and Sebastian. “There have been rumors.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “About me? Pray tell.”

“About the two of you. ” She gave a tilt of her head to indicate Sebastian.

“I’m right here, you know,” he said.

“So am I,” Ominis interjected. “Though go on treating me like a broken broom, if you’d like.”

Y/N held back a laugh, trying to remain serious. Imelda rolled her eyes. “Just tell us if it’s true or not. Are the two of you… courting?”

Y/N shot a quick glance at Sebastian. The slight up-ticks in the corners of his mouth were all the reassurance she needed. “That we are. I’m surprised it took you all the entire day to ask me about it.”

Poppy let herself smile a bit behind Imelda. Funny, Y/N thought. She looked pretty happy about the development.

“We were surprised we weren’t the first to know,” Natty said.

“Well, to be fair, it’s a very new thing.”

“Long time coming, though,” Ominis mumbled.

Imelda’s suspicious eyes softened. “Well, alright. We just wanted to… confirm it, I suppose. It all seems a bit out of the blue, to be fair.”

Y/N shrugged, thinking fast. “These sort of things almost always are, aren’t they?”

“Not usually,” Poppy piped up.

“Well, this one was. In any case, I promise I’ll tell you all the whole story soon enough.”

“You better, L/N, or I’ll knock you off your broom,” Imelda said, smiling.

Y/N grinned back. “If you can catch me, that is.”

Imelda chuckled, waving a quick goodbye and leaving. Natty followed, but Poppy lingered for a moment. “She means well, you know. And for the record, I think the two of you complement each other.”  After that, she scurried away.

Y/N turned back to Sebastian. Was his face a bit red? No, couldn’t be… though she admitted that last comment from Poppy had thrown her off a bit. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag.”

Sebastian smiled. “That it is. Seems like you have a story to come up with, too. I only ask you don’t make me too pathetic.”

Y/N groaned. “Bloody hell.”

When the next morning rolled around, Y/N somehow wasn’t surprised to see Sebastian standing at the entrance to the Great Hall. It seemed that his dedication to ‘courting’ her had trumped his need for a little more extra sleep. As she walked toward him, she watched his eyes scan the throng of students rushing back and forth. Something stirred in her stomach as she saw how intently he looked through everyone—the fact that his eyes were searching for none other than her.  

How wonderful to have a friend who looked forward to seeing her that much.

Finally, his eyes landed on her. He… lit up, for the lack of a better term. A smile settled onto his face, and he pushed off of the wall he’d been leaning on, standing straighter. It was only a moment later he met her by her side.

“Morning, darling,” he said, as if he’d been waiting since the day before to say it.

That silly feeling in her stomach flared up again. “Good morning. I see the weather hasn’t gotten you down.”

His grin widened. “Down? You’re joking me, you know I love the snow.”

That much is true. She’d been teasing him all winter for that very fact; he’d looked like a child when Mr. Moon had started putting out the Christmas decorations—that elation only grew as the first flakes of snow settled on the castle grounds.

“It’s beautiful, Y/N, I seriously can’t see how you dislike it,” he says, taking her hand and leading her to the table.

“I don’t dislike it, it’s just… cold,” she replied. It was an honest answer. She’d always appreciated the snow from the distance; it was quite lovely to see Hogwarts and the surrounding hamlets covered in a blanket of snow. However, she wasn’t a fan of the chill–-it greatly limited her ability to go out and explore.

Sebastian sat down beside her. “Well then, I’ll take it as my responsibility as your companion to keep you warm.”

She wished she had something witty to reply back with. Instead, a blush fought its way to her face and she frowned. “You… yes. Do that, then.” She cleared her throat, looking around. “Where’s Ominis at?”

“Common room. He’ll be down shortly, he was just sending another letter to Anne before coming.”

She nodded. “We have Herbology today.”

“That we do.” He chuckled. “Merlin, am I excited to see Prewett’s face up close.”

“I hope it’s not too close. I wouldn’t put it past him if he were to try to duel you.”

“I almost hope he does,” Sebastian said, pulling some of the food off of Y/N’s plate. She slapped his hand away, but it was already too late. “I’d love to hex him onto his arse again.”

She shot him a warning glare. “Don’t you go starting anything. Ominis would kill us both if he had to pull his strings.”

He puts his hands up in a surrender. “Any spells I cast will be in self-defense only. I promise you that.”

It’s not long after that Ominis joins them, and then they were off to class. Once again, Sebastian’s hand found Y/N’s. There was still that slight pull in her stomach, a trace of unease in his fingertips. Normal things, she was sure, to have when holding hands with your best friend.

When they arrived in Herbology, the trio set themselves up at a table. The rest of the students came piling in and Y/N distinctly ignored the piercing gaze of Leander Prewett. She felt it on the back of her neck as class began and Professor Garlick gave instructions. It lingered as Sebastian pulled the pot they would be sharing onto the table, not giving her the chance to do it herself. And as the three of them spread soil into the pot, it bore into her still, not letting up for even a moment.

She felt she was about to combust from the heat of it when she noticed Sebastian’s grin beside her. Of course he was enjoying the whole thing—she’d have been a fool to think he’d feel any differently. She lightly slaped his arm with her gloved hand.

His eyebrows raised, not even phased by the ‘attack’, if one could consider it that. “And what was that for?”

“You’re enjoying yourself entirely too much .”

“Really? I was about to step it up a notch, I feel I’m not enjoying the moment to its fullest.”

And obviously, she couldn’t help but laugh at that. She always seemed to have a weakness for his quick remarks. His grin stretched further, if possible.

“Now, my dear, allow me to gather some seeds.” His face became terribly serious. “Don’t fret, I’ll only be gone a moment.”

She wanted to roll her eyes as he left, but instead, another chuckle made its way through her. Ominis let out a sigh. “And I thought he was insufferable before the two of you started this nonsense.”

The class carried on and Y/N found herself baffled again and again by Sebastian’s antics. First he insisted on not letting her leave the table for anything, running back and forth in the classroom to gather supplies. (Ominis didn’t complain about this aspect; he was completely content letting him weave through the tables like a mad-man.) Then he pulled the bag of soil away from her. When she tried to reason with him, he rattled on about how no lovely lady like her should get her hands dirty, to which she reminded him of all of the many, many times she’d proved herself most unlady-like in that sense. He didn’t relent. And finally, when class was over, he stood faster than a blink, offering his hand to help her up—to which, she rolled her eyes and took. It wasn’t this that surprised her—no, helping her up wasn’t extreme. It wasn’t something she would have even found outside of their friendship on a normal day. What caught her off guard was the bow he bent into as she stood, and the lips that pressed lightly, so very lightly , on the back of her hand. Her eyes widened.

He really was insistent on milking every last ounce of Prewett’s agony, wasn’t he?

In the bustle of students getting up and heading to the door, she doubted that many, if any at all, had seen this supposed display of affection. Even so, a tingle shot throughout her, settling right onto her warm cheeks. It was nerves, she reasoned. She was nervous about being caught in the scandal of one such as Sebastian Sallow being so physically affectionate toward her.

But as a figure stormed out of class, she realized the action had not gone completely unnoticed—as was the intention, she was sure. Leander Prewett strode past them, ears redder than the accents on his robes.

She’d have slapped the self-satisfied smirk off of Sebastian’s face if it didn’t look so bloody good on him. You know, in a completely platonic way.

Obviously.

They walked to Potions, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice that Ominis seemed in an awfully good mood, too. “I’m assuming the tantrum-like stomping I heard leaving the class was Prewett?”

“Tantrum-like,” Sebastian echoed. “A fitting way to describe him.”

“The two of you are awful, you know that?” Y/N said. She couldn’t help but be quite pleased with the outcome as well, though.

“‘Course we know that,” Sebastian replied.

Ominis grinned. “We’re not in Slytherin for nothing. Though to be a little fair to Prewett, I myself was getting a bit nauseous in there listening to the two of you. I only kept it together knowing it’s an over-the-top ruse.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Over-the-top. Not in the slightest, my dear Ominis. You just don’t know the first thing about romance.”

Y/N made no comment, though she was fairly certain Sebastian didn’t know much more about romance, either… He was doing a decent job at pretending to know, though.

They were fast approaching the classroom, and she winced to see Leander standing in the corridor leading up to class, arms folded and leaning against the wall in a sulk. His eyes shot up when he heard their footsteps, and he glared daggers directly at Sebastian. As they approached, he stood straighter, glancing between the three of them. She could see the nerves hidden behind his eyes.

“Could I talk to you, Y/N?” His eyes narrowed at Sebastian coldly. “ Privately?”

Sebastian tensed beside her. She was well aware of his protective streak. It was as deeply rooted in him as his charm, immovable as the freckles on his face. It was a part of her dear friend she both admired and grew tiresome of. But she was (almost) always good at talking him down, wasn’t she?

She tightened her grip on his hand. This time, it was a gesture of reassurance, not any sort of display for Leander–-though it could easily be taken as such. She looked up at him. “Go ahead into class. I’ll be right there, alright?”

He took a deep breath. It shuddered a bit on the way out. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright. But if it takes more than a few minutes, I’m coming back for you.”

He let go of her hand, and she found herself missing the comfort of the contact as he and Ominis continued down the corridor. She now faced Leander alone. “What is it you wanted to speak about?”

The red-head’s frown deepened. “It… seems,” he started, speaking as if each word physically pained him. “That you and Sallow are… involved. ”

About as much as she had been expecting. “And how is that your business?”

He gaped at her, as if she dare question his involvement in her affairs. “Because I thought you were a sensible person, Y/N. I still think you are, you’re just lost in this… nonsense.”

A small flame flickered somewhere in her chest. “Nonsense, you say?”

“Alright. It’s more than nonsense. It’s complete and utter rubbish. You’re blinded by Sallow, his false charm and party tricks.” Leanders fist clenched at his side, voice growing louder. “You’re better than this. Better than him. ”

Her jaw tightened. The flicker grew, sending heat down her arms and legs. “You’ll stop talking now, if you know what’s good for you.”

“No, Y/N. It’s I who knows what’s good for you. And what isn’t good for you is that conniving, sorry prick with no life ahead of him. He’s in detention every night. He’s ambitious for nothing but trouble, bound for nothing but a penniless life and an early grave.”

She hadn’t realized she’d pulled her wand out until it was aimed squarely at the Gryffindor’s chest. A raging fire burned inside of her, aching, needing to burst in a wave of fury. She had never felt anything like it.

It surprised her how steady the words were when she spoke them, how in control she was of the fire. “You are a fraction of the man Sebastian Sallow is. You know nothing of who he is, how it’s me who is undeserving of him . I would happily live a thousand penniless lives by his side before I ever even considered wasting a mere moment with you. So I’d suggest doing the greatest kindness you have the ability to provide, and piss off.”

Leander Prewett was stunned speechless. He stared at the girl–-no, the beast stood in front of him, at the wand poised to end him, and in the wisest decision he’d ever make, fled.  

Y/N stood in the hall, just breathing for a moment. How dare he—how dare he even suggest he knew a single thing about her Sebastian? He saw only what he chose to, only what his jealousy allowed him. He was wrong.

It was a minute or two before she walked toward the classroom, still half-blind in her anger. It was this blindness that kept her from seeing the figure using a poor disillusionment charm, just a few steps down the hall.

Sebastian slipped into the classroom just after Y/N, charm dispelling as he entered the door. He saw Ominis’s head face toward them, and he’s sure he can feel the anger rolling off of her in waves. It was so tangible that there was no need for sight in sensing it.

She plopped into her usual seat next to Natty, not noticing how Sebastian sat after her at his own desk, even when he had been given very specific instructions to go on ahead of her.

As for his part in the incident, he was stunned .

He didn’t think he’d ever taken a Stupefy that had affected him as much as this.

While Ominis had continued down to the classroom, Sebastian had cast a disillusionment charm over himself and hid against the wall. He was very aware that this was likely an invasion of privacy, and that Ominis was right in scoffing and rolling his eyes at the action, but he was Sebastian Sallow, for Salazar’s sake. How could he resist listening in to a conversation bound to be about him, especially when the circumstances for eavesdropping were so simple?

(There was also the fact that something could go wrong. And if it did, he couldn’t leave the girl he was supposed to be courting to fend off Prewett on her own, as capable as she was.)

He’d heard every word leave Prewett’s mouth. He’d been ready to jump out and defend his honor when Y/N had done so for him.

And what a bang-up job she’d done, hadn’t she?

The words still echoed in his head. A thousand lifetimes… the ridiculous claim that she didn’t deserve him. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it.

Ominis leaned over to whisper, pulling Sebastian out of his head and into the reality of Sharp’s droning about their assignment. “Seems like the conversation went swimmingly. Is she mad at you for butting in?”

“I didn’t butt in,” Sebastian whispered back. “She handled herself just fine.”

“It is Y/N we’re talking about, we’ve both known she’s completely capable for years now,” Ominis said. He frowned. “She’s still angry, though, isn’t she?”

“Oh she’s fuming. ” It was true. Natsai was looking quizzically at her friend, concerned at her stiff posture and clenched jaw.

“What is it she’s mad about?”

“She—” He found himself not wanting to say it. Not wanting Ominis to read into the things she had said, make them into something they weren’t.

He didn’t want to allow himself to read into it, either.

“Prewett was being a pratt. Said he knew her better, tried to convince her he knew better than she did. She told him to piss off. ”

That was enough of the truth, wasn’t it?

Ominis seemed to think so, giving a low hum. “Serves him right.”

Y/N didn’t calm down, even when the instructions were over and she and Natty went to gather the ingredients for their potions. Sebastian kept an eye on her, watching her chop ginger with much more force than was necessary. It doesn’t look like she told Natty anything–-the poor Gryffindor looked at her friend, completely at a loss. Blimey, he might’ve thought he was looking in a mirror. Sebastian decided he better do something about the situation.

He abandoned his meager start to the assignment and strided over to Y/N’s table, approaching her from behind. “I do believe the textbook says to cut the ginger into even slices, not to mutilate it.”

She gave a small start, turning to face him. He sees just a bit of the fury drop off her shoulders as they meet eyes. She let out a sigh, looking down at the ginger and wincing. “I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I?”

“I bit, if I have to admit it.”

She groaned. “I’m sorry, he’s just… it was infuriating.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor ginger. Let’s put it out of its misery, shall we?” He pulled out his wand, vanishing the sorry mess on her table before summoning the untouched ingredient he’d left on his desk. He set it down, smiling at her. “There. A fresh start.”

“Thank you.” He can tell by the look in her eyes that it’s more than just the ginger she’s talking about

“No, thank you.” As if it had a mind of its own, his hand found hers, giving it a light squeeze. “I quite hope he takes your advice and pisses off for the foreseeable future.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could say a word, he winked and walked back to his table.

The next few days went off without a hitch. Y/N and Sebastian played the part of the ideal courting couple, and none were the wiser. With each passing day, it became easier to hold hands, to lean in close and share conspiring whispers, to flirt and blush and play pretend.

(Curiously, the strange feeling in her stomach didn’t stop, as natural as these things became. Always nervous someone would see through it, she supposed.)

The rumors that had once been the very exciting topic of meals and corridor whispers turned slowly into accepted truth. There seemed to be no denying it. And as the Yule Ball loomed nearer, Y/N felt more and more at ease that she would not be asked to attend with Leander Prewett. He’d kept his distance since the Incident, as she’d taken to calling it, but felt that she’d be celebrating too soon if she thought he was done for good.

The Incident seemed not only to have an effect on Prewett. She hadn’t foreseen the consequences of Sebastian overhearing what she said, but really she didn’t think she would go back and change a single word she’d uttered. It had all been true. She knew him very well, as a friend, and she’d spend a thousand lifetimes with him, as a friend, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve him, as the bloody brilliant and completely wonderful friend he was.

Sebastian knew that.

Neither of them had spoken about it. They didn’t need to. There was nothing to address. Prewett had been stupid, Y/N had defended Sebastian, like a good friend , end of story.

So why did she still feel the weight of it whenever she saw him?

She figured it must be the leftover anger that coursed through her when she thought of Leander’s words, or the guilt that he had ever had to hear such things said about him. Yes, that was it. She wanted to reassure him. Say it straight to his face that that prat Prewett had it all wrong, and that he shouldn’t ever even consider things he said as truth. But that would have been an awkward conversation, and it was all implied anyway, so each time she thought about the Incident, she’d push it to the back of her mind.

She had been doing just that when Imelda caught her arm in the courtyard. “There you are! We’ve been trying to talk to you for ages .”

Y/N smiled at her, seeing Poppy in tow. “Oh? What about?”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy, L/N. You still never told us the story about you and Sebastian. I mean, it's increasingly obvious the two of you are courting, but how? When? Why?”

“And have you kissed him yet?” Poppy added, grinning.

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Poppy!”

The Hufflepuff smiled not-so-innocently.

Y/N shook her head in exasperation. “Look, it’s not as exciting as you both seem to think it is. We were walking together one day, he said he cared for me a bit more than friends, I said I felt the same, and here we are. And no, we haven’t kissed.” She’d thought carefully about the story she’d tell them, coming to the conclusion that a short, safe story was best. Fleshing it out with extreme detail would make it outlandish.

It was also hard for Y/N to think about how she and Sebastian might get together, for some reason. It caused that silly feeling in her stomach to turn.

Imelda frowned. “If I’m honest, I expected there to be a bit more to it. It is Sallow we’re talking about.”

Oh dear. Y/N shrugged, trying to hide any discomfort in the action. “Don’t know what to tell you. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You two have been getting along, though, haven’t you?” Poppy asked. “It seems like you are.”

“Of course we have been,” Y/N answered. “I mean, we were best friends before. Most of it feels… natural, really. Just a few added things. It’s… nice.” She was surprised that she didn’t get that uneasy feeling she normally had when telling a lie at those words.

They stopped pestering her about Sebastian (thankfully, she wasn't as good at coming up with lies on the spot as he is) and instead caught up on other things—homework, poachers, Quidditch, the usual. It was good spending some time with them. She almost didn’t notice the cold of the courtyard. Almost.  

She started shivering at some point—with just her uniform and robe, the chill was quick to settle in. The slight breeze didn’t help, either, whipping away any warmth before she could keep it.

“And just what are you doing out here without a proper coat?” a voice said from behind her. She felt a bit warmer already. Sebastian smirked from beside her, looking over her shivering frame.

“I wasn’t planning on spending a lot of time here, we just… happened to meet,” Y/N explained.

He gave a playful scoff. “Ridiculous. Here, take this,” he said, removing the scarf from around his neck. Her hand opened to grab it, but… there was no need. Instead, he stood directly in front of her, passing the scarf over her shoulders and tying it snuggly without a word. He ran a hand against it, smoothing it out and pushing her hair out of her face. “There we go. Color suits you pretty nicely, too.”

He seemed very satisfied with his handiwork, taking a small step back to admire it. There were several moments of silence until Y/N realized she should probably say something.

“Um, thank you. That’s… much better now.” She was in fact, very warm now.

He chuckled. “I’ll see you later, darling.” And with that, he left.

She didn’t feel the chill at all anymore. Her stomach fluttered with that silly feeling, and her head spun with the scent of old parchment and fireplaces.

The snow fell in gentle flakes around her, and she realized it really was beautiful when she could feel the cold.

The Yule Ball was now only ten days away. It had come up faster than Sebastian thought it would—very recently, three weeks had seemed like a lifetime. Now each day went faster than the last.

With the winter chill growing ever stronger, Y/N had taken to wearing Sebastian’s scarf constantly. She could have swapped her own scarf out and returned his own, but… she hadn’t. He reminded himself that it added a very believable level to their act. It was physical proof that they were tied together, present even when they weren’t standing side by side. When they were apart, Sebastian sometimes thought of her somewhere off in the castle, his scarf tied around her neck, and Ominis would have to tap his shoulder out of his distant thoughts.

He wasn’t really sure what that was all about.

But right now, Y/N was by his side, sitting in the grass as they listened to Professor Garlick’s lecture. Herbology was mostly a hands-on event, but as they progressed toward their N.E.W.T.s, there were some plants to study that even Professor Garlick hesitated to put in front of them. Today she had ushered them outside, insisting that if they had to listen to her ramble on, they should at least feel the sun while doing so.

The snow had melted over the last couple of days, leaving the ground drier than it had been all winter. Sebastian missed the white blanket that had coated the trees and fields. He hoped it would snow again before Christmas. While the sun was out, it was still rather cool. Which was why, even in her coat and scarf ( his scarf), Y/N had begun to shiver.

Sebastian chuckled. “Still cold, are we?”

She frowned, giving him a small glare. “What gave it away?” She looked back at Professor Garlick. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through class without turning into a block of ice.”

“I’ve got an idea. Come here,” he said, scooting closer to her. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her softly into his side.

He wasn’t sure what had made him do it. Instinct? His natural and irresistible flirtatious charm? Who knows. But as soon as he had done it, the weight of it settled on him. Other things had become normal. But this, Y/N pressed against his chest, where she could likely feel his rapidly beating heart, this was new. His body stiffened at the realization. Was this ok? Had he gone too far?

For a moment, she also seemed surprised—but only for a moment. He felt her body relax a bit against his, allowing herself to lean into his warmth. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and did the same.

Class continued, and Y/N stopped shivering. (Sebastian found this very fulfilling.) He was hyper aware of her breathing; he’d never heard it so close for so long. Over and over again he found his gaze drifting down to look at her, eyes unconsciously following the slope of her nose and curve of her lips. As soon as he’d realize he was staring, he’d whip his head forward again, begging himself to keep it that way. It never seemed to work.

After what felt like eternity, class ended. Y/N moved to stand, but Sebastian was quicker, jumping to his feet to offer his hand. A mischievous glint twinkled in her eye. She laid back on the ground, reaching up for his hand lazily. “The class really took it out of me. I’m not sure I can go on.”

Sebastian feigned annoyance. “Are you trying to take advantage of my kindness?” He grabbed her hand anyway, attempting to pull her up. She acted like a limp doll. He couldn’t help but laugh at the way she slumped forward when he finally pulled her into an upright sitting position. She stuck her tongue out at him. Leaning down, he grasped her other hand, forcing her to her feet. Still halfway committed to her game, she rose off balance, and to steady her, Sebastian placed a hand on her waist.

When she finally stood straight, he noticed how close the action had made them.

He was still holding her hand, still gripping her waist. He could feel her breath on his lips—it made his heart lurch. For a split second, he could only think of getting closer, seeing how not only her breath felt, but her lips against his—

His hands dropped to his side and he took a large step back. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t see the expression she was wearing. He didn’t know what he wanted to find.

So instead, he cleared his throat. “Lot of work to get you on your feet. Come on, those potions won’t brew themselves.”

Smooth, Sebastian.

Ominis Gaunt was no idiot. In fact, he fancied himself pretty sharp, especially when it came to certain topics.

One of these topics happened to be Sebastian Sallow.

He didn’t need working eyes to see that something was changing . Well, less changing, really, and more uncovering what had been there all along. He could hear it in the tone of Sebastian’s voice when he spoke to her, the way it went all soft. He felt it in the way Sebastian froze in place every time she entered a room. There was this small stupid sigh he’d let out when he couldn’t walk her to her next class, a lingering frown that wormed its way into his speech every time she wasn’t around.

They were little things. But they were there.

And now, after that Herbology class, his friend walked beside him in silence . It was something he had scarcely beheld.

Ominis wasn’t completely sure—not yet. But if he’d hazard a guess, he’d say his best friend had fallen in love—he just didn’t know it yet.

It finally hit her when she realized she missed his smell on his scarf.

She’d worn it every day since he gave it to her—it was cold out, why wouldn’t she? Why not appreciate the gift her friend had given her?

Why not take the chance to always feel he was near her, even when he wasn’t?

Over the days, the scent of fireplaces, old parchment, and a trace of his cologne faded away.  She sat in her room and took a deep breath, realizing in that moment that she had spent every moment she could basking in it. It was in the absence that she finally figured out that silly feeling in her stomach. And now that she had a name for it, it was painful.  

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way for a friend—her best friend . She wasn’t supposed to be excited when he held her hand, wasn’t supposed to feel the burn of his hold on her waist, wasn’t supposed to wish he had closed the distance and kissed the life out of her .

She wasn’t supposed to be in love with him.  

Because that’s what it had been all along, hadn’t it? She couldn’t even trace back to the beginning of the feeling, it was like it had been there all along, lingering, waiting to be discovered.

Now that she had, she worried it would destroy her.

There was no chance he felt the same—he would never have agreed to her stupid plan if those feelings had existed. He would have said something a long time ago. Perhaps he would have kissed her in Herbology.

Where was she supposed to go from here? How could she continue with their awful, awful plan, longing in every moment that it was the truth?

How could she give up the chance to pretend it was real, if only for a few days more?

She wouldn’t ruin this. The plan. Their friendship. She would continue on, and when the day came for it to end, she’d be heartbroken, and pretend to be that damn good at acting . She’d get over it, and she’d never let anyone know that she had ever been in love with Sebastian Sallow.

Ominis bounded into the Great Hall, which was a distinctly un-Ominis thing to do. Sebastian raised an eyebrow as his friend approached, grinning ear to ear. “Have you gotten a letter from Anne?”

“I haven’t checked my post yet,” Sebastian answered as Ominis sat in one of the empty seats beside him. Y/N hadn’t come down yet, which was a distinctly un-Y/N thing to do. Blimey, was everyone off today?

“Then I’ll do the pleasure of sharing the good news myself. She’s been feeling well these last several days, and if it keeps up, she plans to come to the Yule Ball!”

Sebastian understood his friend’s good mood immediately—his own heart soared at the thought of his sister enjoying herself and dancing the night away, and didn’t even feel bothered that it would likely be in Ominis’s arms (he had given his approval, after all). “Really? Have you asked her then, officially?”

“Of course. I’ll be right beside her, Sebastian. You won’t have to worry.”

Sebastian patted his oldest friend on the shoulder, grinning right back at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“This does leave a bit of a complication, though, doesn’t it?” Ominis said.

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean?”

His friend sighed. “I was supposed to be going with Y/N after the two of you broke it off… it wasn’t official, or anything, but—”

“Don’t worry about it, Ominis. She wouldn’t want you to miss going with Anne.” Sebastian thought for a moment. “It is rather close to the ball, anyway. Perhaps it would be best if I went with her. Left the ‘breaking it off’ until afterwards.” Why did that thought make his heart beat faster? “If she’ll have me, of course.”

A strange expression crossed Ominis’s face. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t you ask her once she arrives?”

“I will.”

For some reason, it became infinitely harder to eat after that conversation. Each bite of Sebastian’s toast had lost its taste, no matter how much butter he put on it. His pumpkin juice was the same.

What if she said no? What if she was disappointed to go with him, her longing lying elsewhere?

And why did he care so much if it did?

He pushed those thoughts aside as she arrived in the Great Hall, uniform slightly rumpled and hair askew. Had she stayed up too late studying?

In any case, he had a question he needed to ask. He rose to meet her, unable to wait for her to sit at the table. She started a bit, looking up at him.

“Morning, Sebastian,” she said.

“Morning. I had… a question to ask you.”

She tilted her head. He wondered if she heard the worried tone in his voice and quickly cleared his throat, trying to get it to leave.

“What’s the question?”

“Well, you see, there’s a bit of great news, and a little bad news that comes with this question.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Anne is feeling well–well enough that she plans to attend the Yule Ball.”

Her eyes lit up. (He was glad he got to tell her, just so he could see that.) “That’s wonderful! I’ll be so excited to see her! What’s the bad in all of this?”

“She plans to attend with Ominis, who was going to be your date.”

She shakes her head. “That’s alright. I would never want to come between the two of them, I can stay in that night. Be heartbroken, and all that.”

Sebastian shifted on his feet, nervously. His arms came up to cross over his chest in a protective gesture. “But that’s where my question comes in. I thought—and, please feel free to say no to this—that we could go together? Most people would be expecting it anyways, and we could push off the end of our courting a bit, I wouldn’t mind. And it would keep Prewett trying to ask you last minute, I wouldn’t put it past—”

“Sebastian,” Y/N said, smiling. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll look forward to going with you.”

He held back a wide grin. “Good. I figured it would beat sitting in your dormitory being miserable.”

She laughed, and something shifted inside him. “That it will.”

And with that, he took her hand and led her to the table, his smile refusing to be hidden any longer.

The week leading up to the Yule Ball was a frenzy. Students were restless in class, whispering about who was going with who, figuring out if someone didn’t have a date yet, making plans on buying dresses and robes and discussing how to style hair. By the time the last class was out, a mere three days before the dance, the professors were sick of it. There was an excitement in the air—it was difficult not to get swept up into it.

It was inevitable, Y/N realized, that she wound up in the dress shop in Hogsmeade. Imelda, Poppy, and Natty were with her, all trying to find dresses of their own. Poppy had settled on a lovely gown with a light floral print. Natty found a deep maroon one, accented with flecks of gold–-the perfect dress for a proud Gryffindor. Imelda was set on a navy dress, a little less fancy than some of the other ones, insisting she needed to be able to move properly to dance.

Y/N, on the other hand, was at a loss. She felt like she had tried at least a dozen gowns on and hated every single one. She was nervous—more than she’d like to admit. She knew Sebastian didn’t feel the same for her as she did him, but she still wanted to put her best self forward. And part of that meant the perfect dress.

She sighed as the shopkeeper put away yet another reject—this one a frilly pink number than Y/N had nearly vomited on. She buried her face in her hands. “It’s hopeless.”

Poppy came to her side. “Of course it isn’t! We just have to keep looking!”

“What about this one?” Natty asked, pulling a dress forward for them to view. The Gryffindor had a proud glint in her eye, as if she already knew she had won. “I’m sure he’ll love the color.”

That much was sure to be true. It was a deep emerald green, one that Y/N thought would compliment Sebastian’s lovely brown hair nicely. She blushed at the thought, looking closer at the dress. “I can try it on and see.”

As the shopkeeper helped lace up the back, Y/N knew before looking in the mirror that this was the dress she would wear. It was a simple, but a little scandalous—the neckline allowed her collarbones and tops of her shoulders to be put on display, and the short flowing sleeves showed off her arms. It was lovely. She felt lovely.

When she was dressed, her friends grinned at her. “If you don’t get that dress, I’ll force you into it,” Imelda said.

“No need for force,” Y/N said. “I love it.”

She could only hope Sebastian loved it, too—even if it was just as a friend.

Sebastian’s fingers drummed on the table as he stared at the ground of the Undercroft. Ominis gave an annoyed hum. “If you don’t stop that tapping, I may have to blast your fingers off.”

He frowned at his friend, but stopped his tapping. “You act like I killed your puffskein.”  

“If I had a puffskein, and you killed it, I promise I’d act much worse. ”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, trying to read the book on the table in front of him. The words had no meaning to him.

“You’re tapping again.”

Sebastian groaned. “I can’t help it.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t used to get so antsy without seeing her all day.”

“Y/N’s been gone for hours . Aren’t you a little concerned?”

“She’s dress shopping, Sebastian. I hardly think that’s an event to worry over.”

Sebastian pouted, arms crossed to keep from drumming the table.

“I didn’t say who her was, by the way.”

His head shot over to look at Ominis. “What do you mean?”

“I never mentioned who you were antsy about not seeing. Could have been Anne. Could have been Professor Weasley, for all the context there was. But you thought of Y/N. ” Ominis smiled to himself. “I wonder if it means what I think it means.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. “And what exactly do you think it means?”  

He shrugged. “That you love her.”

It was like a fire ignited inside his chest. “What are you—why would—I don’t— ”

“With that reaction, I rescind my previous statement.” Ominis grinned. “It’s no longer what I think it means. It’s what I know it means.”

“You don’t know anything, Ominis. I’ve told you before, she's my best friend, I don’t…” he trailed off. He couldn’t say he didn’t.

“Are you quite certain of that?” Ominis closed the book he’d been tracing his wand over with a gentle thud . “Let’s review the facts before we come to a conclusion, dear friend. You’re nervous about the dance tomorrow.”

“It’s a ball, why wouldn’t I be–”

“Hush now, Sebastian. You’re going to listen to me for once in your life. You’re nervous because of her . Think back, is there anyone else you would have asked to the ball?”

Of course there bloody wasn’t. But that was a rule Sebastian made for himself, wasn’t it? Not to think about it? Not to let his heart race, his days revolve around her. Not to admit what these things meant.

“You’re insufferable when she’s gone—and believe me, I know the difference between normal Sebastian and insufferable Sebastian. You trusted her from the moment you saw her. You’d do anything for her, including torturing yourself by going along with this ridiculous scheme of hers. You lie to yourself, again and again, and for what? To protect her? To protect yourself? You love her, Sebastian.”

Sebastian held his head in his hands. He’d put up so many barriers, so many walls around that truth, that he felt himself crumbling. He couldn’t love Y/N, not because she wasn’t worthy of it, not because he didn’t, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her. That was torture. That was insufferable.

The walls had been demolished. The rules all broken. The truth was out there now, spoken into existence by Ominis, and as much as Sebastian longed to put it back in the careful little corner he’d made for it, he couldn’t.

He was supposed to deny every word Ominis said. He was supposed to push these things aside and lie and go back to the way things were. But instead, his voice came out small, uneven, and raw.

“What am I going to do, Ominis?”

For all the snark he gave, Ominis truly cared for his friend. At the sound of his weak voice, he placed a gentle hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Telling her would be a good start.”

Sebastian gave a humorless laugh. “As if that wouldn’t ruin everything.”

“I seriously doubt admitting you care for her deeply would result in her hating you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ominis said. “If she had the capability to hate you, I feel you would have crossed that line long ago.”

“Which is exactly why she could never feel the same.”

Ominis sighed. “Sebastian, throughout everything, she has always been right at your side. I’d say that loyalty reflects feelings a bit deeper than friendship on her part.”

Sebastian didn’t have a reply to that. Admitting to Ominis, to himself, the feelings he had for Y/N had been challenge enough. To consider that Y/N might feel the same… It was too much. Ominis seemed to recognize that. “Look, just… think about it, alright? Go to the ball with her tomorrow. Let yourself enjoy it. Stop acting for one night, and see how it goes.”

Ominis gave him a pat on the shoulder, then rose to his feet. “I’m going to the dormitory. Anne is arriving tomorrow; it’s best if we both get our sleep.”

Sebastian scoffed as his friend left. As if he’d sleep at all after any of that.

The ball was only an hour away. After greeting Anne, Natty, Poppy, and Imelda had whisked Y/N away to begin getting ready. At first, Y/N didn’t understand why so much time was necessary—but as the minutes ticked away, she found herself nervously scrambling to pin her hair. They had all settled themselves in the Room of Requirement, figuring it was the perfect space for all of them to prepare. The other three girls had left just minutes ago, rushing off to see the other girls their year, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire their lovely gowns.

As she was leaving that morning, Y/N had hastily explained to Anne how to get to the room; she could only hope her instructions were clear. Evidently, they were—Anne came bursting into the room, bright smile on her face. She held a dress in her arms. Y/N tore her stare away from the mirror in front of her to turn to the girl. “Anne! You’ve made it! You haven’t left much time to get ready, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, settling in front of the mirror beside her. “But I couldn’t tear myself away. It was wonderful seeing Ominis again.”

“I’m sure he made up for the hardship of seeing your brother,” Y/N joked.

Anne laughed. “And then some. Sebastian left a while ago to get ready. I’m glad he’s taking you, seeing as I stole your intended companion. Quite the plan the three of you had, hm?”

Y/N froze with a pin clutched between her fingers. “Ominis told you about it?”

“He did. I have to say, I’m sorry I missed seeing Prewett’s reaction. From what I’ve heard, you gave him quite the talking to.” Anne turned to the mirror, beginning the work on her own hair.

“O-oh? Well, um, yes, I suppose I did,” Y/N said, trying to distract herself by looking at her reflection. “I do appreciate Sebastian’s help with all of it.”

“He’s horrid, but he’s always there when it truly matters.” Anne glanced over at her. “Your hair looks perfect, why do you keep fidgeting with it?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to maintain a look of innocence. “I just want to look my best.”

“Nervous, are we?”

She froze. “W-why would I be nervous?”

Anne gasped, reaching out to grab Y/N’s arm. “You are nervous! Please, you must tell me, do you fancy him?”

“That… that’s ludicrous, Anne, he’s my best friend, you know that.”

The brunette smirked, and it looked much too like her brother—mischievous glint and all. “I won’t tell him.”

“I…”

Oh, what was the point? Why try to keep it in any longer—it was bound to drive her mad, might as well let someone know why she was doomed for an asylum.

“I do fancy him, Anne. In fact, I fancy him so much, I hardly know what to do with myself.” She sighed heavily. “It’s maddening . I’ve only realized it recently, though I now know I’ve felt this way for much longer than that. And now, with this idiotic plan—” She held her face in her hands. “Well, it’s easy to see how things… how it could be , if he only felt the same.”

She was too busy wallowing in her misery to see Anne’s grin widen with her words. “Perhaps tonight will change things.”

Y/N groaned. “I doubt that. He only asked me because he wanted to make sure Prewett didn’t.”

“And why would he want to make sure Prewett didn’t?”

“Because… because he’s a good friend, Anne.”

Anne shrugged. “I’m going to ask you to do something tonight, Y/N. Oh, quit groaning like you’ve been cursed, it’s not difficult —keep an open mind. That’s all. Try to see what’s there, and not what you’ve been so focused on avoiding. Let yourself be happy tonight.” Anne turned back to the mirror, finishing up her hair. “I won’t push you any more on the subject as long as you try to do that.”

Y/N didn’t think she had much choice but to accept.

As they walked to the ballroom, Y/N could only repeat the words don’t trip over and over again in her mind. Anne had gotten ready quickly, and she looked stunning in her blue dress. Her health had improved greatly in the past few months—a nurse and St. Mungos had been experimenting with different potions to ease her pain, and it had been working. Her face was no longer as thin, and Y/N could finally see her as the trouble-making girl she had always heard about.

Together, they turned the corner that led to the top of the stairs. Ominis and Sebastian stood at the bottom, speaking to one another. They hadn’t noticed them yet. The sight of Sebastian’s well-fitted black suit left her a bit breathless. She took Anne’s hand as they began down the stairs. Sebastian looked up.

If she thought she had been breathless a moment ago, now she was simply drowning . There was a softness in his eyes that traced over her, looking down at her gown and then back up to her face. For a moment, he seemed too stunned to move.  And then, he smiled.  

Oh, God, Y/N. Really don’t trip now.  

He walked with Ominis to the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t take his eyes off of her. He took a deep breath, she thought, and then… relaxed. Something about his disposition changed, ever so slightly.

Her hand slid into his as he offered it. “I can’t begin to describe how wonderful you look.”

His words made her heart race. “You clean up nicely yourself.”

He grinned, holding up his arm to escort her. “Shall we?”

She looped her arm through his. Anne and Ominis followed them. Y/N smiled. “They look happy together, don’t they?” she said softly.

Sebastian hummed in agreement. “There’s a part of me that thinks I should disapprove, but really, I couldn’t ask for someone better for my sister.”

The ballroom was decked ceiling to floor in Christmas decor. Floating lights twinkled through the air, making Y/N stare in in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Sebastian said quietly. She turned to face him, his own head swiveling away from her. Around them, couples were preparing to dance. He cleared his throat. “May I take this dance?” he said in an overly posh voice, bowing to her.

She laughed. “Careful, you’re sounding a bit like Ominis there.”

He grinned before taking her hand, leading her to the floor. A wave of nerves came over her—she wasn’t much of a dancer. Sebastian seemed to notice this. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you step on my feet. For long.”

She hit him on the shoulder. Rolling his eyes, he brought her into position, stepping closer to her. His free hand came to settle on her waist. He held it softly—she could barely feel the weight of it. It wasn’t hesitant, but… gentle. It was careful. She brought her own hand up to his shoulder—only then did she realize how close they truly were.

She could have counted every freckle on his face—and wouldn’t have minded the time it took to do so. His lashes were longer than she remembered. And his eyes—had they always had those flecks of green in them?

The music started, and he began to lead her in a dance.

Any nerves she had felt faded away once she realized how competent of a dancer Sebastian was. He led her effortlessly, bringing her in and out of twists and spins with ease. She found herself getting lost in the motions; it was rather like a duel, in some ways. Her awareness of her body was heightened, having to be ready to react to each move Sebastian made. She and Sebastian had proven themselves to be excellent dueling partners—why would dancing have been any different?

He pulled her into the basic position as the song shifted from one to another. This one was slower, less complex. It allowed them to stay face to face. Y/N grinned. “You never told me you could dance.”

He smirked a bit. “You never asked. My parents taught Anne and I when we were young. Thought it would only be proper for us to know, they at least tried to raise a gentleman.”

She chuckled. “Their efforts have been noticed. Although, it does make me wonder what other secrets my Sebastian might be hiding from me.”

His eyebrows raised. “Oh? Your Sebastian, is it?”

Her mouth opened quickly and then closed. A blush fought its way to her face. “I… This is about you and your secrets, Sebastian. Don’t try to change the subject.”

He laughed. “All in due time, my Y/N .” He didn’t give her the time to reply, pulling her into a quick spin that left her dizzy.

Several more songs came and went, each leaving the pair more restless than the last. It was only with great hesitation that Y/N asked to stop for a drink, thoroughly enjoying the exhilaration of it all. Sebastian led her to a table, returning a moment later with Butterbeer for each of them. Y/N sipped at it eagerly.

“Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, don’t they?” Y/N said, watching Imelda dance stiffly with the Ravenclaw boy she had come with. As well as she flew, she didn’t move nearly as well on the ground. However, this fact didn’t keep her from smiling and laughing as she danced.

Sebastian nodded from beside her. “It is a bit crowded, though, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t help but agree. The room was nearly stifling. “It is a bit warm.”

“Then let’s go somewhere to cool off for a bit.” He smiled down at her, twinkle in his eye.

“Oh? Do you have something in mind?” she asked with a tilt of the head.

“You’ll see in just a moment.”

He led her out of the ballroom, and even the hallway alone gave her some fresh air she desperately needed. But they didn’t stop there. Instead, he dragged her through hallways and up staircases (and she didn’t even care how far it was—she’d go anywhere with him) until finally, they were at the top of the Astronomy tower.

The cool air hit her skin as she took deep, appreciative breaths. It had been a while since she had been up here—she hadn’t pursued a N.E.W.T. on the subject. The view was astonishing—how had she forgotten it?

Sebastian sat on the ground, overlooking the world around them. He patted the ground beside him, a clear indication to join him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been up here,” she said, sitting. The moon was dancing in and out of the clouds, its pale light reflecting off of the Black Lake below them.

“I still sneak up here sometimes, to think.”

“Isn’t that what the Undercroft’s for?”

He smiled. “Sure. But sometimes a little risk of getting caught makes things a bit more worth it. Besides, the Undercroft has nothing to this view.”

She hummed in agreement. The heat of the ballroom had disappeared by now, and she found herself starting to shiver in the cold winter air. At the very first trace of this, Sebastian removed his coat, leaning over to wrap it around her shoulders. She was grateful the moon had hidden behind a cloud, concealing the redness in her face. Old parchment and fireplaces. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He laid back on the ground, staring up at the sky above. “I’m going to be sore until next Tuesday with all that dancing we did.”

She fell back, laying beside him. “Maybe that’s their plan. Tire us all out at the beginning of the break so we don’t have energy to cause any mischief.”

He snorted. “You really think a lack of energy is enough to stop me?”

“Absolutely not. But perhaps the professors underestimated you.”

“Then I’ll have to show them how wrong they are then, won’t I?” He shifted, bringing one arm up behind his neck, resting his head on it. The other—the one next to her— stayed stretched out by his side.

She mirrored his position. “Don’t go too far. Ominis might have your head if he has to save you from expulsion. Again. ”

“He’ll forgive me. He always does.”

It was then she finally felt the heat of his gaze. She turned her head to look at him, meeting his eyes. How long had he been staring at her? There was a softness there—one that had been there all evening. She hadn’t realized it until then, but it dawned on her that the uneasiness, the fear that she had felt before the ball, had disappeared completely from the moment he smiled at her. It occurred to her that she should do something with that courage. She looked him right in the eye, a voice whispering in her mind— tell him. Just tell him you love him.

But he looked away, back up into the clouds. She let out a small sigh, doing the same. Was it really all so hopeless?

A warmth overtook her fingertips as Sebastian took her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined. She could feel the calluses of his thumb brush against her knuckle.

“It’s snowing,” he said softly, barely more than a whisper.

It was. The flakes came down slowly in fluttering paths that made her head spin as she stared up at them. They caught the moonlight, flickering just like the lights in the ballroom.

“It is,” she said. “And you were right. It really is lovely.”

She half expected some witty remark, a Sebastian-esque reply of obviously , he’s always right.

But instead, he just tightened his grip on her hand and watched the snow fall around them.

Four days. That’s how long it had been since the ball, since something had shifted.

Y/N didn’t know how to explain it–-her and Sebastian hadn’t spoken about that night, yet the weight of it was felt in every moment they spent together. They both continued on, pretending to be more than friends, while toeing that very line in reality. The first day or so, this shift had given her hope. Perhaps Sebastian did feel the same. He had held her hand without the world watching. He had looked at her with that softness. It had to mean something, didn’t it?

But the days continued to pass and nothing else changed. If they were still following the initial plan, they were supposed to break the whole thing off any day now. And yet… neither of them had brought it up.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t keep living with this in-between thing, caught between a blissful lie and a heartbreaking truth. With every passing hour, it felt heavier and heavier. The words between them piled up. She worried she would soon drown in them.

They were in the courtyard when it finally happened. With the Christmas break, most students had returned home—the quiet wouldn’t last long, though. They would all be back for class the next day. Maybe the thought of the coming hustle and bustle is what drove Sebastian to speak. Y/N had cleared off a bench for the pair of them to sit at, snow lazily falling around them.

“What are we doing?”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his question. “I thought we came out here to enjoy the snow. Isn’t that what we planned on?”

He shook his head, sighing. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I think we both know that’s not what I’m trying to talk about.”

Oh. Oh. “I… I’m not sure, Sebastian. If… if you want to break it off before everyone gets back, I understand. It would cause less of a stir that way.” I don’t want to break it off. I want to start over. I want to do it right this time around.

“You really want to break it off? After everything?” Where had that softness in his eyes gone?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sebastian. Wasn’t that the plan?” Why was she getting angry at him? If he felt the same thing she did, why couldn’t he just say it?

“That damn plan. Is this really all that’s about?” His voice rose in volume. “Still some stupid ploy to keep Prewett away?” He stood up from the bench, moving to pace in front of her.

“I…” She faltered. She watched his movements, back and forth, the way his brow furrowed and his lips fell down into a frown. “I don’t know, Sebastian. Maybe this was all too much to ask from you, but you’re my best friend and I—”

He interrupted her with a scoff. “ Friend. Don’t you know how it kills me to hear you say that?” He turned to face her, eyes aflame. “Since that bloody ball, every time I’ve even thought about you in that way, it tears me to bits. Each time I look at you, all I see is that night in the Astronomy tower, you, and the snow in your hair. It took everything in me not to kiss you that night, don’t you know that?”

She swore she could hear each snowflake hit the ground in the silence that followed. “You… you wanted to kiss me?” Her voice was timid. “Why?”

“Because I love you, Y/N. That’s why.”

And there it was.

Like a dam bursting, the truth poured out. “You asked me to help you with Prewett, and of course I agreed. You’re everything to me, why would I not help you? But then I realize, well I realize it’s you, and it’s always been you. I want it to be real, Y/N. Every last bit of it. I want—”

He hadn’t processed her jumping up from the bench until her lips were pressed against his in a short kiss. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes before she pulled away. Her hand still held his cheek.

He gaped at the girl in front of him. “I… I want… what was I saying?”

She smiled— really smiled, one of those ones done more with the eyes than the mouth. “I'm pretty sure you were telling me that you love me. You kept going on about it, though, so I thought I’d interrupt to say I love you, too.”

He didn’t waste another moment before kissing her. His hands cupped her face, pulling her closer than she ever thought possible. Her own hand skimmed across his cheek and then on the back of his neck, and goodness, was his hair as soft as it looked . The other hand held tightly onto the front of his coat—she swore it was the only thing keeping her on the planet.

It was him who broke the kiss, and she instinctively leaned forward to chase after his lips. He chuckled, pressing his forehead on hers. “I’ve had a thought,” he said, breathless. “I think I’d like to court you, if you’re interested.”

She laughed as he kissed the corner of her lips. “We’ve gone a bit out of order, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, moving to kiss her again.

The last coherent thought she could make was that the snow made for a very, very lovely morning.

When the students all arrived the next day to continue classes, no one paid much attention to Y/N L/N and Sebastian Sallow. Old news. An obvious pairing, looking back at it. No one really cared that she wasn’t just sporting a Slytherin scarf around her neck, but a green sweater that was much too big on her.To most, there was no difference in the grins on their faces, the excitement in their voices.  Well, no one except Ominis.

When Sebastian took a seat beside him, Ominis chuckled. “Seems I was right. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but his wide grin countered any annoyance he might have felt. “Don’t start.”

As Y/N sat beside him, giving a quick kiss for good morning, he thought that maybe it was ok that Ominis was right every once in a while.

A/N: I really hope you all enjoyed this! I definitely had a lot of fun writing it. This is my first work with Sebastian, and I’m very much looking forward to writing more! I have plans for a few mores oneshots and a series, so stay tuned for those! Thanks for reading :)

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #fake dating au #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #idiots in love #first kiss

[mblue-art]

idiots

#it's a bit messy but whatever lol i wanted to visualize this idea #worked on this longer than i should've lol #self insert #cross!sans #epic!sans #mblue art #campus au #cm #cm route #(FAAAAA HE LOOKS SO SMOOCHABLE IN THE THIRD PIC IM HRHSHDBSJFJDJ💘💘💘🗣️🗣️🗣️) #(celebrate small wins as they say) #(idiot friends to lovers my beloved)

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should��ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji #sanji x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #sanji fanfiction #one piece live action #sanji live action #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #opla #opla!sanji #opla!sanji x reader #fluff #mutual pining #idiots in love #friends to lovers #basically 2 fics in a day?? crazy #i wanted to write more one shots so they were shorter and take less time but idk how to stop once i start oops lol #sorry not sorry #i think i'm gunna make a tag for this “universe/timeline”? #idk what it would be tho #the #go fish!timeline #? #maybe the “idiots in love” timeline #i'll workshop it #go fish! au

[hairmetal666]

Steve parks at Eddie's, a plastic wrapped bouquet of roses so purple they're almost black carefully buckled into the passenger seat, and a nervous twist to his stomach. He didn't plan to do this. It's just, he was agonizing about his crush to Robin and she goaded him until it seemed like a great fucking idea to ask Eddie out on Valentine's Day, of all days.

The flowers were an accident. He saw them in the front window of the little flower shop in town, and it felt like fate, like they were practically made for Eddie Munson.

With a deep breath and a gritted teeth, he swings out of the car, flowers in hand. He's doing this, he's got this, he can ask Eddie out.

Music rocks from the trailer, drowning out Steve's knock. They didn't exactly have plans tonight, only they hangout every night since Vecna, so he figured...well, Eddie never said they weren't getting together.

He's a little miffed when his knock isn't answered. Even when the music is up, the walls of the trailer vibrating, Eddie always comes to the door. But the minutes tick by with no response until the annoyance turns to anxiety.

He stretches over, up on tiptoe, craning through the window to see if he can spot Eddie, probably distracted by planning for dnd or working on a song.

The kitchen is deserted, pots steaming on the stove. The two-seater table is covered in one of those paper tablecloths they have at Melvald's for a buck, patterned with bright red hearts. The table is set, two plates, two beers, a candle burning in the center of it all.

God, he's stupid. So stupid, with his nearly black flowers and his silly crush. Of course Eddie already had someone to spend Valentine's Day with.

He stumbles down the stairs, stomach fighting up his throat. The loud music makes so much sense now. He has to leave. He can't stand the thought of Eddie finding him here, letting him down easy; can stand even less seeing him with the date he has over.

Steve almost makes it back to the car before he hears the screen door slam, Eddie's voice calling his name. For a second, he considers ignoring him; for a second, he thinks about jumping in the car and driving off and forgetting this ever happened. But he could never do that to Eddie, not even when the consequence is his own heart.

"Oh, uh. Hey, man," Steve says. He runs his fingers through his hair, swallows. "Didn't mean to interrupt, thought we had plans but I guess they weren't set in stone." He's rambling and he knows it, but can't stop. "I didn't realize you--I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie's eyes flicker from Steve to the flowers clutched in his fist, the wrapping now sweaty and rumpled. "Are those for me?" Eddie asks.

Steve's mouth open and closes a few times, thrown off the track of his monologue and trying to think of a plausible lie. "I--they're--it's--"

There's nothing for it. He has to tell the truth and eat the humiliation. "I saw them today and--They're perfect for you. So, I wanted--" he shakes his head, shoves the bouquet into Eddie's arms. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll let you get back to your date."

Eddie's face scrunches and it would be cute except for all the way Steve's heart is breaking. "Aren't you my date?"

"What?"

"Steve. We hang out every night. I thought--"

"But. For me--" He splutters. "The table?"

"Harrington, it's Valentine's Day! You bought me flowers!"

"Yeah, cause I was going to ask you out!"

This is what breaks Eddie, and he bursts out into helpless giggles.

"Don't laugh at me, Munson." But he's starting to laugh too.

"I'm sorry! I just--you," and Eddie isn't laughing anymore, he's looking at Steve with clear, shining eyes. "You brought me flowers."

Steve sobers too, hands over the bouquet. "I brought you flowers. You made me dinner."

"Yeah." He glances up at Steve from under his eyelashes. "I made you dinner."

"Sorry for--" He gestures broadly around himself.

Eddie shakes his head, soft smile on his lips. "You're something else, Stevie." The words are so fond they make Steve's heart flip. "Now, come inside before the food gets cold."

Steve walks to do the door, pausing before he climbs the stairs.

"What is it?" Eddie's eyebrows lift.

"Nothing. Just--" Steve licks his lips, notices the way Eddie tracks the movement. "I'm really falling for you, is all."

"No duh," Eddie says with a broad, smitten grin. "You bought me flowers."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harringon #eddie munson #ficlet #valentine's day #friends to lovers #fluff #a smidge of angst #misunderstanding #oblivious steve harrington #idiots in love #they're not dating but they're not NOT dating #getting together #feelings confession #no duh #working on a steddie “no duh” agenda now i guess

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “unrequited love but turns out!! it’s actually requited” prompts

“What, did you think I kissed you all these times because I was doing it for the shits and giggles?” “…Let’s be real, you did have a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public.”

“Oh my God, why are you crying? Does me liking you disgust you that much?” “No, you dumbass, it’s because you like me back but I spent all of this time thinking you’d never like me that way!”

“Look, we can pretend I never confessed if it means you’ll stay—” “What?! No! You can’t just take back your confession! That’s such a coward move and I’ll not allow that! Especially when I feel the same way towards you.” 

“I’ll get over you. I promise. These feelings, they’re— they’re only temporary, I swear. I—I’ll get over you. Just please don’t leave me—” “Did you ever think, that maybe, I don’t want you getting over me? What if I don’t want these feelings to be only temporary? That maybe I... Like you, too?”

“I didn’t mean to fall for you.” “And neither did I.” “…Fucking pardon?” 

“So according to _____, you’re in love with me, too?” “Oh, that fucking bast— wait, did you just say too?” 

“You need to stop kissing me like you mean it; I’m going to read into things wrong and end up breaking my own heart.” “That’s because I do mean it every single time. You’ve just been too dense to realise.” 

“Why are you apologising for liking me back?” “Because I don’t want to ruin— wait a second. Pause and rewind, what did you just say?” 

“You don’t have to like me back, you know? I just wanted to let you know how I felt, that’s all.” “Well, too bad! Because these feelings are mutual, and now you can’t get rid of me.”

“Why are you lying to me? You can tell me the truth, it’s okay. I’m strong enough for the truth, I swear.” “What? I’m not lying to you! You’d think you’d pick up on the signs that I’ve been in love with you, for fucking forever, but apparently someone’s too obtuse to realise that!” 

#unrequited love #requited love #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #otp prompts #angst prompts #fluff prompts #romance prompts #friends to lovers #mutual pining #pining #idiots in love #using my own ao3 tag in the title

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

gorgeous

Sirius Black x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, underage drinking & smoking, !poorly proofread!

summary: you hate Sirius & he hates you (or tries to but fails miserably)

Sirius Black masterlist

you’re so cool it makes me hate you so much

Sirius Black didn’t hate many things.

He hated assignments and losing in quidditch; he hated his parents and the rest of his snobby relatives. He hated having to wear formal clothes and brushing his hair. And he hated you.

It wasn’t something he could explain. You weren’t an evil person and you didn’t do bad things. But something about you drove him completely mad. 

And the only reason he had to deal with you was that you were Lily’s best friend and he couldn’t get rid of you. 

Your best friends were dating and you had to tolerate eachother. 

Be civil James always begged him, but then he would see your face; all uptight and frowning and your hands crossed in front of you; in a manner that reminded him of his old piano teacher who would scold him for not practicing enough. 

You didn’t acknowledge him, and when your eyes did land on him your eyebrows would be raised and your mouth slightly turned downwards, as if his face was covered in dirt and he smelled like garbage. 

The first time he actually talked to you, and realized he liked it better when he didn’t, was when Lily and James first started going out together. Their first date was a friendly get-together with the four of you.

It was not a double date. Sirius made sure to let James know; all he would be doing was distracting you so Lily would be free to talk to James. He was outgoing and charismatic when he needed to be, and he loved James like a brother so being a third/fourth wheel for him wasn’t that big of a deal. Plus, he liked Lily so how bad could her friend be? The answer is terrible.

You wouldn’t look at him, and weren’t impressed by his jokes. He tried telling you about his pranks but all you did was frown and criticize them, “if you cared about school half as much as you care about these childish things, you’d have graduated by the age of 14.” 

He didn’t argue with you, though, even if he died to, because one look at Lily and James and how happy they were (giggling at the stupid things James was saying) couldn’t let him ruin this.

So you sat quietly, eating and drinking, and then drinking some more, until Lily and you left together. Leaving an annoyed Sirius with a blushing James. 

What annoyed him most, was how his friends absolutely adored you. You played chess with Peter; and Sirius always heard him gushing about how brilliant you were at it. You studied with Remus in the library and discussed books together. The way you would speak to his friend about your favorite stories, and the way your eyes always gleam drives him completely insane. And don't get him started on how one day you introduced James to the "the proper athlete lifestyle”,which resulted in Sirius losing his drinking and smoking partner because, our bodies are temples and we need to treat them as such.

So; you have stolen his friends, invaded his life and he can't do anything about it.

One rainy Saturday morning he found Remus, reading a muggle book by the fireplace, about -elves and rings?-.

“Moony.”, he said and earned a quiet “mhm” from his friend, who was still focused on his book.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He said and looked around to make sure no one would hear them.

“Lilys friend, you know, the one in your little book club.”

“Not a book club.”, Remus answered turning a page in his book

“Yeah, whatever. She hates me, I think.”, Sirius said and earned no reaction from his friend “Would you happen to know why?”, he finished and looked at his friend, who closed his book with a sigh.

“Have you ever said anything that would make her hate you?” Remus asked patiently

“No, why, did she tell you anything?”

“Have you done anything to her?”, his friend asked again

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then she just doesn’t like you" he made a move to resume his reading but Sirius insisted.

“Why does it matter, you can’t be liked by everyone, you know that better than most”

“But I don’t get it, why would she hate me this much. She always looks at me with this f-”

Remus didn’t say anything, but gave his friend an amused look, softly smirking at his words.

“What.” Sirius said annoyed

“Well, instead of worrying about why she hates you, ask yourself why you care so much.”

“But I- I don’t care. In fact I hate her just as much.”

“Right.”

“Its true I don’t care!”

“Obsess then, better choice of words.”

“Sod off”, he said as he got up to walk away, leaving Remus laughing to himself and resuming his book.

As the year progressed , your interactions with Sirius remained the same, with the addition of an eyeroll here and there along with bickering that resulted in you being the first one to leave from gatherings.

“Good riddance” he always thought to himself, receiving a murderous look from you; as if you were able to read his thoughts.

December came and your friend group planned a Secret Santa gift exchange. It was a muggle thing, explained Lily, where the participants get gifts for eachother, without revealing their identity.

“Everyone, take a sit and pick a card from the bowl infront of you when it is your turn.”, instructed Lily “And remember, don’t let anyone know who you’ve picked, and you can’t switch cards with anyone!”

As he read Remus’s name on the card, he let out a breath of relief. He was worried, that with his luck, he would end up getting you a gift, and he really didn’t want that. Finding a good present for Moony would be a piece of cake, he told himself and then put off actually buying the gift for a couple of weeks.

He realized how big of an idiot he was, when Friday came, the last Friday before the gift exchange (that would be taking place on Sunday). Which meant he had exactly two days to buy something good for his friend.

He begged James for help, but he was too busy finishing up the last few details of his present; poor Peter had no taste and would be no help and Lily was caught up in Head Girl duties. Making you, the only person available, to advise him, which honestly wasn’t that bad of an outcome , since you and Remus were good friends. 

He found you alone, sitting on a couch with your homework on your lap and a cup of coffee in your hands.

“Goodmorning.”, he greeted 

Your eyes shot up and you looked around confused, before realizing he was talking to you, “Morning.”, you said calmly

“How is the Secret Santa shopping going?”, he asked trying to make smalltalk

“Um fine… And you?’

“It is good that you ask, because I actually need your help.”

“Mine? Why?”

“Well, you see, I delayed buying a gift, which means that if I get something that isn’t perfect now, I will be the the biggest idiot on Earth.”

“Because, you aren’t already?”

“I- ” he let out an annoyed laugh at that, not wanting to insult you now that he needed your help. “As I was saying, I need you to help me find a really really good gift. So, Hogsmeade, tomorrow morning? What do you say, love?”

“Ah- us two?”

“Yeah, well everyone else is kind of busy, so you are kind of my last hope.”

“Oh, oh, well, excuse me, but I have better things to do than spend my Saturday buying gifts for you, besides, you aren’t supposed to tell me who you have.”

“Remus.”, he quickly said

“Why would you tell me that?”, you screamed dramatically leaving him completely unbothered

“Now you kind of have to come, don’t you? You already know who it is and I am sure you have nothing better to do tomorrow.” “Ah, excuse you, but I am a busy person, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, ah, okay. Do you want me to beg? Please, just, do me this favor, this once. The holidays are coming soon and you won’t have to see me for two whole weeks, and after summer I will never bother you again. So please?”

You stared at him for a while, thinking over everything he said , he could swear your face turned red for a split second, before you answered “Fine, but we won’t spend the whole day there, I want to try and study before winter break.” “Great, thank you, we will finish early. So, after breakfast tomorrow? At 10:30?”

“9.”. You said

“Right, okay, bye.”, he said enthusiastically and went on his way to the quidditch field while you loudly said behind his back “Don’t be late!”

He was only ten minutes late, the next morning. But it wasn’t really his fault, practice had ended later than expected the previous night and he needed to avoid being caught by Remus on his way out of the common room. 

So he hurried down the stairs, skipped breakfast and coffee hoping he would have time to buy something when you reached the village, and found you, waiting for him impatiently with a frown on your face.

“You are late.”, you said

“Goodmorning to you too.”, Sirius replied with a sarcastic smile

Before he could say anything else, you held out your hands to give him a few cauldron cakes from the breakfast table “You can get coffee on the go, lets get moving.”, you said and passed him the food before heading towards the carriages.

“Ah, thank you.”, he said with his mouth stuffed, running after you.

The ride to Hogsmeade was…quiet at first. But not in the completely unpleasant and awkward way. You had also brought a notebook with you and made a list of all the shops you could visit, and all the presents you could buy for Remus. Sirius, could hardly keep up with you and mostly nodded while trying not to fall asleep.

“I was thinking,” you started saying as you reached your destination “There is this bookshop, that sells a few Muggle books, and Remus had been telling me about a signed copy he desperately wanted to get.”

“Let’s get it then. Lead the way.” 

“Yeah, but it might be too expensive and it might be sold by now, so just know that we need to have backups.”, you said anxiously 

He grabbed the notebook from your hands in a playful manner, tapping at the list you’d made on the way here. “Well, I think you’ve got that covered. Come on, lets go.”

Before walking inside the bookstore, you agreed to split up and look for the book “Don’t hesitate to hex anyone that tries to get it before us, alright?” 

“Oh of course, I will also stop brushing my hair and I’ll start shouting at people on the street. Perhaps by March I’ll have achieved the proper heathen look, and maybe if I try hard enough I’ll catch up to you.” You replied with a smile while batting your eyelashes at him.

“Ah hilarious, let’s go.”, he said dragging the words in irony

The bookstore was overflowed with books, old and new, and millions of maps, everywhere in the shelves. You were right, to be nervous, finding that one book would be a challenge. Thankfully it wasn’t busy this time of day and the only people inside were you two, an old lady organizing the bookcases and the shop owner who was currently feeding his owl by the window. 

You both spent at least thirty minutes searching, before Sirius heard you scream his name surprised “I found it!.”, you celebrate as if you’ve just caught the golden snitch. He ran to you then and without thinking he gave you a spin, causing you to let out a yelp. 

As he let you down, you looked at eachother awkwardly with a hint of warmth coating your cheeks. He took the book from your hands and quickly said, “Uh good job.” to which you replied “Thank you.” while playing with your sweater.

Walking up to the cashier register, the book owner asked “Is this a present?” ,as he wrapped the book, to which you both replied “Yes.” “Good thinking.” The man said, causing Sirius to ask “What do you mean?” with an awkward smile.

“I learned a little too late, that I should take my wife Christmas shopping with me, and make sure I get her something she actually likes.”, he said smiling 

That statement caused you and Sirius to cough and laugh awkwardly once you both realized what the man was implying.

“Oh no, no we aren’t-”

“We are just, friends.” You said red-faced

“Our best friends are together, and we starting hanging out because of that.”

“Yeah but not, not like that.”

The man observed the two of you in silence for a minute; stammering, with wide eyes and blushing cheeks before he let out a heartfelt laugh. “I see.”

“Well, either way, have a wonderful Christmas.”, he wished as you left.

You walked together in silence, for a while, not knowing what to do now that you had completed your task.

“Thank you for helping me today.”

“Remus will love it.”, you replied with a forced smile 

“Yes.”Neither of you said anything for a few seconds before Sirius interrupted the silence, “Hey, since we finished early, do you want to get some coffee or-”, he asked you, wanting to treat you for helping him with the gift.

“Oh I’d better get going, study now that I have more time. I’ll see you tomorrow for the exchange.”, you said and left him standing in the snow, outside of the Three Broomsticks, with the book in his arms and a stunned look on his face.

He was an idiot to think he misjudged you, of course you had helped him because Remus was your friend, and only that. But, would it honestly be that much of a torment for you to get a cup of coffee with him? Did he smell bad? Was there something on his face? Had he said something to you; to insult you without knowing it? Was it that old mans comment that bothered you that much? Was it that big of an insult; to be considered his girlfriend? He wasn’t thrilled about it either, but he obviously wasn’t that affected by it. He really couldn’t understand you. 

“Her loss.” He muttered as he went inside for some hot chocolate to treat himself.

Remus obviously loved his gift and the exchange went well. Sirius still remembers to this day singing and dancing in the common room and drinking a lot of mulled wine. He wanted to thank you, but he was met with the cold wall you had built around you and he really didn’t want to ruin his mood.

As April arrived, the days were starting to get warmer- as warm as Scotland could get-, and sunnier. And this year, being your last at Hogwarts the Marauders decided it would be a great idea to plan a Lake-picnic-swim-get together, with Lily of course and well you.

Sirius didn’t mind though, he would play in the water with his friends and avoid you, and if he was lucky he could manage splashing you a few times, without meaning to of course.

The boys arrived first, and Sirius took advantage of that and dragged James in the water so all of them could play a new game he invented which was a mix of quidditch and a muggle sport called water-polo.

It was the most fun he remembered having in a while, it brought him back to his early years, when the worries that come with graduation and adulthood had no place on his mind. 

Of course, fun doesn’t last forever, and you showed up. Your hair was loose and dancing gracefully as the soft wind blew at it. It was the first time he had ever seen you look so, free. You greeted everyone as you took off your clothes, staying in your bright blue swimming suit, causing; Peter to stammer like a Third Year, and then Sirius to splash him with water, to come back to his senses.

You placed your things underneath a tree, near the towel the boys had placed down, and then laid down to read your book as everyone swam.

“Let’s play chicken.”, James said childishly 

“That is a children’s game.”, protested Remus making Lily laugh

“Oh come on, just this once! Lets have fun, one last time.” He pleaded dramatically eventually convincing everyone.

“I am teaming with Moony.” Said Peter making Remus look at him sternly “What? You are the tallest, and I like winning.”

“Whatever.” He said and sank down, for Peter to climb on his shoulder.

Lily swam to James and kissed him, before looking around and asking “What about Sirius?”

It was a sensible question Sirius had also thought about, and he knew the only way to solve this problem would be asking you to team up with him, but he had some dignity saved and wouldn’t bring himself to do that.

James however shouted your name and asked you if you would play with them, since his friend was left alone.

“Um no.” you said apologetically, closing your book.

“What did you say?”, screamed Lily, causing you to get closer to the lake for them to hear you better.

“I said n-” you started but were cut off by Lily, who grabbed your hand while smiling and pushed you in the Lake, causing everyone, especially Sirius, to laugh.

“Well you are in now, so you might as well play.” She winked at you and you threw water at her face in reply

“Can we speed this up? Peter is going to drown us both.”, complained Remus whose head was trying to stay out of the water.

“So, what do I need to do?”, you asked 

“You push the other players off, darling, it isn’t that hard.”, replied Sirius with a sarcastic tone, driving you to give him a side eye.

“Just climb on his back and try to stay there.”, said Peter; pointing Sirius to you

Your face turned red as you swam to his side “Alright, okay.”

“I will count to three, I will sink down and you will sit on my shoulders, yeah?”, he asked

“Okay.”

“1, 2-”, he said calmly with his hands raised in front of you two, counting 

“Wait”, you stopped him and held his hands; preventing him from going anywhere “What if I drown you?”

“You won’t”

“What if I drown you and we both die?”

“We won’t”

“What if you slip and then I choke you with my legs.”

His face turned red at that “I- you won’t”

“What if-”

“Alright, 3.”, he said loudly and sank down, gently guiding you on him; coming up for air after making sure you were fully seated.

“There we go, not that bad, was it?”, he joked

“Nno.”, you said, while trying to maintain your balance, without breaking his neck or ripping his hair off.

He held your thighs with his hands, making sure you’d stay up, and then moved towards the others.

Peter was the first one to go down; both because you and Lily teamed up against him and because Remus had began to grow very tired of holding him.

Then it was yours and Lily’s turn to try and throw eachoter in the water; and you were determined to win to get back at her for forcing you into this game in the first place. Which you eventually did.

“Yes!”, you screamed with a laugh as Lily fell backwards dragging James with her, and earned a round of applause from Remus and Peter who were laying on their blankets and watching the game from over there.

Sirius held out his hand to you, to give you a high five, as he celebrated, before gently diving off his back and into the water with a backflip.

You both laughed together and then he teased you “Told you we’d be fine, you could trust me more.”

“I don’t think I will Black, this was a one time thing for both our sakes.”, you replied teasing him back.

Before leaving you alone and returning to his friends he dived in the water, grabbed your legs and sank you down with him; causing you to let out a surprised scream once you realized what he was doing.

You reached the surface together, your bodies close to eachother and your faces a breath away. As you realized how close you were, you splashed his face with water, while he tried to apologize.

After the day at the Lake, Sirius realized that he didn’t hate you as much. It still annoyed him how you wouldn’t acknowledged his existence when you were together, or how you would talk to everyone but him at parties. And you would better not get him started on quidditch matches and how you cheered for everyone else, but never him.

Bloody Moony had been right, he was obsessing over you, and for what? Why did he care that you didn’t like him. Many people liked him- loved him even.

Come to think of it, he was better off hating you, but now he couldn’t. No, now he had grown to know you. And he had decided you were, likable.

You were smart and funny, he had to give you that.

In charms he would always watch how you would cast the spells, methodically and calm. The way your mouth voiced the words was well, beautiful. And there was one time, when a group of Slytherins had stopped you, Alice and Remus in the corridors. James and him were talking to a group of Hufflepuffs for their upcoming quidditch game and he only saw you from afar. He didn’t like the way your eyebrows furrowed as you listened to the boys talking to you, nor the way your body had taken a defensive stand. He wished he could walk up to them and hex them out of Scotland, but he had no business doing that, he didn’t understand why he even cared that much.

But, why couldn’t he stop glancing over at your form, and loosen the grip on his wand?

Fuck it, he thought and muttered an “excuse me”, to James and the others while walking over you.

Before he could say anything though, and get into any trouble, he heard your voice, strict and irritated “Rosier, I’ve honestly grown tired of the blood purity bullshit, don’t get me wrong, insulting you was fun for the first two years, but we are graduating in a few months, maybe study for NEWTS, get a hobby, remove the stick from your ass?”

He smiled then, as he watched Rosiers face turn purple from trying to come up with an insult, and paid attention to your face, confident and smug.

He watched awestruck as you giggled with your friends, telling himself that this version of you; the relaxed and happy one is his favorite and he really wanted to see it more often.

He watched as you played chess with Peter and tried talking to you, but you were too focused to pay attention to him. He also tried commenting while you discussed with Remus, about the books you were reading, but admittedly he had no clue what he was talking about and you just stared at him, without saying anything back. 

It was hopeless; he couldn’t do anything to get you to talk to him, pay attention to him. He didn’t remember making friends to be that hard. He thought he was likable, and interesting but now he questioned everything.

One morning, during Slughorns potions class he woke up to the sight of you sitting next to him and whispering “James asked me to switch seats so he could sit next to Lily, for the Amortentia potion.”

“Oh, right okay.”, he replied back still half-asleep  “Wait, what potion are we making today?” “Amor-” you began to say

“Amortentia Mister Black,” interrupted professor Slughorn “And thank you for waking up to join us, it truly is an honor.”

“Now, who here can tell me what this potion is?” 

“Yes miss Evans?”, and as Lily started explaining Sirius felt his eyelids growing heavy once again.

The next time he woke up, was to the smell of his favorite pastries, the ones that Euphemia Potter made him every summer. He almost forgot he was in Potions class and thought he was laying in the Potters backyard, being served delicious strawberry muffins, but then he scented something different; less familiar but he could swear he’d smelled it before.

Suddenly the scent of oranges and hibiscus, overflowed his senses and he could clearly remember what it reminded him of. 

He thought back to the day at the Lake and how your body smelled on top of him. Then he was reminded of the way you smell every time he would tower over you in your chess games, or when you would be sat in the couch of his common room; analyzing literature with Remus. 

His Amortentia smells like you. You.

His eyes open fully now, and he can see the cauldron professor Slughorn has placed in front of him, while looking at him disapprovingly. As he turns his head he gets a glimpse of you, trying to gently reach the cauldron and smell the potion. 

Professor Slughorn calls you first and asks what you smelled.

You hesitated at first, and tapped your fingers on the desk nervously, “I smell old books and seasalt.”, he heard you say. He definitely does not smell like seasalt or old books. Brilliant, not embarrassing in the slightest bit. Of course he would fall for a girl, who didn’t give two shits about him, barely acknowledged him and looked at him as if he’d murdered her entire family. He desperately needed to take care of his mommy issues after graduation. 

“What about you, mister Black?”, asked Slughorn

“Strawberry muffins.” He said disappointed and under his breath, and then looked at you, wondering how he ended up in this situation.

A sunny Saturday morning, he found Remus sitting under a tree reading another muggle book of his, -about a woman who enjoyed walking and a man who loved her but despised her family?-

“Moony.”, he said as he sat beside Remus

“Padfoot.”, his friend replied, eyes glued to the book in his hands

“You remember that conversation we had about Lily’s best friend, you know the one-“

“In my little book club? Yes.”

“Well, complications have arisen.”

Remus shut his book and asked his friend “Complications?” 

“Yes.”

“What kind of complications.”

“I am glad you asked Moony, by the way, here is a chocolate bar I brought for you.”, he said handing out the sweet, which Remus cautiously accepted

“Well, you remember how I thought she hated me?” He waited for his friend to nod before continuing “For one, I haven’t made any progress with that and also I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I like her.”

“You like her.”

“Yes, painfully so.”

“Right, and- the complications?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you told me you like her, I don’t see anything complicated there, in fact I could’ve told you, you liked her months ago.”, Remus replied, chewing on his chocolate

“You are no help”, sighed Sirius dramatically

“Have you considered, I don’t know, talking to her?”

“Are you mental? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Did you not hear the part where she can’t stand me?”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know Moony, I thought you would know what I should do, has she told you if she likes anyone? Old books and seasalt, Old books and seasalt, old boo-”

“Wait a minute.”, Sirius muttered to himself and jumped at Remus sniffing him shamelessly.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Stand still, I am trying to figure out something, maybe if I turn into Padfoot-”

“She doesn’t like me you git! Stay away.”, his friend shoved him away

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“But how sure-”

“Okay enough, I am leaving and you need to talk to her, because you are ridiculous and insufferable” he said to his best friend as he quickly stood up, taking his book and chocolate with him leaving a confused Sirius behind.

The next few weeks were a complete torment for Sirius, how could he of all people be pining over a girl; especially a girl he couldn’t stand in the beginning of the school year. Humiliating, that’s what he would call this new…situation.

He would never talk to you about his feelings, and what exactly was there to say. “Hello, I can’t really stand you and want to hex you every time you frown at me but I also want to grab your face and snog you until you forget your name?” No, he couldn’t say that.

Instead, he did everything he could to forget about you. He started going out with girls, but always ended up comparing them to you. Which resulted in; him absolutely shitfaced crying to them about you and the misery of unrequited feelings. He thought then, studying and quidditch would help distract him from his infatuation, but he could never focus and your face and voice infected his mind.

“That is enough” snapped Remus one day “You are being ridiculous.”

“You don’t understand Moony, I feel ill. This is killing me.”

“You are so dramatic.”, sighed Peter “Just confess already, let her reject you and then move on.”

“Sod off.” Sirius replied “Honestly Moony, this was supposed to stay between us. Why did you tell him?”

“Because I cannot deal with you on my own. And Peter is right, you should tell her.”

“Tell who what?” Asked a grinning James who’d just arrived in the dorm room.

“Our dear friend here, is having girl issues.”, an amused Peter said

“Who? Remus? Who is the girl?”

“Not me.” Remus replied and pointed at Sirius 

“Padfoot?” James asked with an open mouth “You, are having girl problems? How the bloody hell did that happen?”

Sirius replied with a deep sigh and buried his head in his pillow.

“Unrequited love.” Peter laughed 

“There is no girl in this castle who isn’t in love with Sirius.” Said James “Well, apart from Pomfrey, Minnie and well your cousins. Even though that last one is up for debate.”

The boy in question, raised his head and gave his friend a disgusted look before saying “Well, Prongs, sorry to shock you but there is.”

“Well who is she? Tell me.”

Sirius stood up dramatically and walked to his friend. He gave him a desperate look and then whispered your name in his ear.

James said nothing, for a few seconds “Prongs? Are you still there?”, his friends asked and then James let out a loud laugh; loud enough for the creatures deep inside the Lake to hear him.

“Are you done?” Sirius said impatiently 

“Yeah, I just need to catch my breath.” Replied James giggling causing Sirius to roll his eyes.

“You should definitely tell her.” He said as he calmed down and sat between Remus and Peter

“So you can laugh some more?” Sirius said annoyed 

“Just tell her mate, school will be over in a month, you’ll never see her again if things go bad.”

“But they will go bad, haven’t you seen how she looks at me? Like she hates me.”

“Yeah, well you weren’t a fan of her either, and now look at you."

“I didn’t like her because of her stupid pouty mouth and the way her eyes are so… so beautiful.”, he said theatrically

That last comment caused the boys to laugh at their friend

“This is such a disaster, Prongs, mate you need to help me. Obliviate me and save me from this- this utter humiliation.”, he said shaking his friend

“Hey. Grow some courage and tell her or stay miserable. Now, I need to see my girlfriend, excuse me, lads.”

With that, the three boys looked at eachother in silence, which Sirius eventually broke as he asked “How would I even tell her?”

“Just wait for the right moment”, the boys advised him. But the right moment never came. You were never alone, and when you were alone you were either in the library or the common room with your face buried in a book. 

And that is why Sirius Black found himself tonight, on a Friday night, walking around the corridors of the castle alone, whilst thinking about everything and nothing.

He felt nostalgic about graduating and never seeing this place again and he also felt a pain in his chest as he thought of you and how much he wanted to have you, while you wanted nothing to do with him. 

As he reached the common room he prepared himself to quickly flee to his dorm and sleep off the nights melancholia, but soon he heard laughter and loud voices that informed him escaping wouldn’t be that easy.

“Paaadfoot”, exclaimed a drunk James “Join us, come on.”

“Yes, we were about to play truth or dare, come!” Lily said laughing

As he got closer to his group of friends he caught you sitting there, with your drink in your hand looking at him awkwardly. He hadn’t seen you like this, relaxed, in a long time; and he couldn’t blame you, NEWTS were a breath away and everyone was stressed. Your eyes looked tired and your hair was messy, but you still looked beautiful. He was surprised he didn’t notice it sooner; how pretty you actually are.

“I was heading upstairs, wanted to go to sleep early tonight.”, he said as an excuse, wanting to be alone

“Stay.”, he heard your voice as he made his way up the stairs and then froze in place “If Lily forced me to join and not study, you have to play also.”, you quickly said when you noticed his eyes glued at yours

“Alright” he muttered and took a seat between Remus and Peter

After a few rounds of James asking Lily when she first started liking him, and then Lily daring Peter to do his best impersonation of McGonagall it was Peters turn to ask Sirius;

“Out of every prank we’ve done all these years, which one is your favorite?”

He laughed as he remembered all the memories he’d made in this castle, not all of them were good, but they were his and he cherished every single one of them. And what made them even more special was that the people he’d spent his best years with, were sitting next to him, at this moment.

“Ah there are so many, maybe the feathers? Or or the red paint one.”

“Red paint? Asked Lily 

“Ooooh yes, that was a good one, when was it again? Second year?”, asked James

“Third.”, you said

“Yeah thi- wait how do you know?”, Sirius quickly said confused

“Because I was the one covered in red and golden paint you moron!”, you shouted

“What?”

“Girls Bathrooms, in the dungeons. I got in perfectly fine and left drenched in Gryffindors colors, yay for house pride.”, you said amused

“Wait, how?”

“What was the prank?” Asked Lily confused

“We jinxed the bathroom stalls, but in the boys bathroom, thinking Malfoy and his friends would end up with our House colors.”, Remus replied

“How did you end up-”

“Red and Gold? I don’t know Sirius, maybe you jinxed the wrong bathroom.”, you said amused

“What did you do after?”, asked Lily, who was laughing now

“I ran to my dorm, but not before Rosier and his friends saw me. I was called “lion cub” for the rest of the year!”

You exclaimed making everyone laugh; everyone except for Sirius. Is it because of a stupid prank that you hated him? He remembers now how you would look at him with distaste when he mentioned his pranks to you. His eyes were serious and his voice strict as he called out your name.

“We need to talk, outside.” He stood up waiting for you to follow him, but was met with your confused stare “Please”.

You were leaning against the walls with your hands crossed in front of you, as Sirius paced nervously before asking.

“That stupid prank is the reason you hate me?”

“What? I- no”, you said

“It is, isn’t it? You’ve been mad at me all these years for an idiotic mistake I made at 14!”, he said annoyed

“I have not been mad, I was at the start yes, but I got over it that same year when Malfoy ratted on you and you had to clean out the hippogriff stalls.”, you replied with a sincere smile, that caused him to grin before he asked again.

“Then why do you hate me, still?”

“I don’t hate you, why would you think I hate you?”

“Have you seen the way you look at me; like I’ve Avadaed your whole family. And you never talk to me, and when you do you’re sarcastic, as if you hate my whole being, but you talk to everyone else just fine.”, he said finally letting it all out, leaving his stupid crush out of course.

You remained silent for a while, thinking about what he had said to you, and what you would say back, or rather how to say what you wanted to say.

“I, sorry. Sorry about third year and sorry about now, its fine I’ve had a weird week.”, he quickly said, feeling bad for laying it all on you and causing you to be uncomfortable. He made his way back to his dorm, but you were quick enough to catch his arm and stop him.

“No, wait. You are right, I do treat you like that, and I am sorry. I don’t hate you, though.”

“Then what is it?” he asked confused

“I- you can’t laugh at me.”

“Okay.”

“I like you.”, you said at first and then continued “It was a stupid crush at first, but then we talked and you were funny and interesting and I felt like an idiot for liking you because you are you-“

His laugh was what interrupted your speech. And in all honesty, he couldn’t stop himself, everything seemed so ridiculous then. How he pined over you, and how dramatic he was being all his time. And, you, you liked him and that piece of information felt like a huge weight off his chest. Now, everything made sense. Before he could tell you everything and confess his feelings your angry voice stopped him.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”, you exclaimed and starting walking away from him

“No wait you don’t understand.” He said running after you

“Sod off, now that I think about it, I do hate you”

“Wait!” He begged

“No, goodni-” you replied without looking at him, but suddenly his hand was wrapped around your wrist and then his lips were on yours.

“What?”, you let out confused as you parted from him

“Sorry I didn’t know how else to-” , he said breathless before you kissed him again, grabbing his tie and wrapping your arms around him this time. He closed his eyes, and let himself bury his fingers in your hair and waist, pulling you impossibly close to him. Not wanting to let go, ever. You both sighed as you stopped, because of your lungs begging for air. You smiled at eachother and he looped his arm around your shoulders as you two walked down the corridors.

“So you don’t hate me.”, he said softly 

“No, and you, I take it, don’t hate me either.”, you replied with a smile and turned your head to rest at his shoulder.

“I tolerate you.” He joked and you raised your head and bumped into him with your shoulder. To which, he replied with a laugh and a soft kiss.

“I like you, incredibly much.”, he whispered to your lips.

You ended up underneath the tree by the lake, with your back to his chest and your hands intertwined.

“So, who smells like seasalt and old books, because I know I don’t.” He whispered in your hair

“It’s a bit early to start getting jealous isn’t it?” You grinned “I’ll tell you, when you tell me who smells like strawberry muffins.” 

“Is it that Hufflepuff girl talking to you at that party last month, because you both should know; I don’t share.”, you joked and turned your head back to look at him. He laughed at that and kissed your forehead before saying.

“Alright darling, I’ll let mrs. Potter know."

“What?” You said and the realization caused you both to laugh.

"Old books, sea salt and your cologne. That’s what I smelled”, you confessed and he looped his arms around you, keeping you close, so close you could feel the beat of his heart.

“Want to go back?”, you whispered after a while

“No, not yet, I want you to myself, for a little bit more.”, he said as he closed his eyes and you hugged his arms before answering with a satisfied smile “You can have me for a lot longer than that.”

fin

feedback and criticism are welcome and needed 🖤

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #enemies to friends to lovers #idiots to lovers #remus being a constant mood #inspired by a Taylor swift song