#one time I thought that if my friends were getting married they’d forget to invite me and it became a fear I’m trying to get over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

icallhimjoey · 10 months

Note

Love love love your writing! I’d be so interested to see your take on a friends to lover situation where the reader and Joe are good friends and the reader constantly gets the ick so Joe sets a challenge at a party (thinking Italian summer party) for her to find someone who doesn’t give them the ick.

And she realises that Joe is the only one that has no icks 👀

okay so ive had an INTERESTING (read: 18+, v spicy) suggestion from werepartnersnow who, by the way, claims she doesn't read rpf but then found herself in my inbox asking for very specific filth 👀👀👀 but, anyway, it was good filth, and i was trying to find a way to tackle her request, and then this request really brought it all together for me, so, THANK YOU! here we GO sluts! Wordcount: 3.9K

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Double Or Nothing

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Did Joe say he was coming?”

“Yea, I’m surprised he’s not been spotted yet,”

Heads craned back, and you grumbled into your beer. Conversation had been flowing so nicely, and now, suddenly, everyone had to look at the pub entrance to check if there was any sign of Joe yet.

Like he was the guest of honour missing still.

Like the night hadn’t started properly yet, because Joe wasn’t there.

Ugh.

Now… listen...

By no means did you dislike Joe. He was your friend just as well as he was all of theirs. It was just that, Joe had seemingly become a lot more interesting to a lot more people in a very short amount of time. Even some of your friends sort of… fell for the sudden hype that surrounded him. Wanted it proven to the outside world that they were friends with Joe. That they knew him. Were part of his group.

And you kind of got it, or... at least a little.

Joe got to do very cool and exciting things, met very cool and exciting people, and he'd bring anyone who had the time to join. Any time he'd drop a message with the question 'who's got time off for these dates' it was really a first come, first served sort of deal.

So it kind of made sense that people wanted in with Joe. However, he couldn't pay you enough to sit next to him for a full day, or several, as he passed out autographs like boring assembly line work. To see people fawn over him. Tell him how amazing they all think he is...

Because Joe was… he was just Joe.

There was a lull in conversation, and you felt the need to remind everyone of the time Joe spent a full night ordering drinks for everyone before dipping out and leaving the last people with the bill.

He paid for his own share later, but, still. That was a shitty move.

Or when Imogen and Lawrence had gotten married, and he thought it was okay to help himself to a piece of cake before they'd done the ceremonious cutting of it.

Or when he'd invited everyone over to a party at someone's house without informing the host he was bringing seven other people. That night you'd just stood around awkwardly, all of you, knowing you weren't welcome and afraid to have any of the drinks for fear of them running out.

It felt healthy to remind everyone that Joe was just your shit friend. This guy who they’d known forever and who they also sometimes didn’t like. Because he could be a bit of a boring loser, who’d cancel on events last minute. One that you liked - he was still your friend, supported you when you needed support, made you laugh when you needed cheering up and was just... overall was a fun guy to hang out with. Despite all the shitty things.

Joe knew this is how you felt, and, not that you'd asked, but if you would have, he'd easily agree with you. Would just smile as you glared at him for forgetting someone's birthday and then pretending a gift someone else had bought was from him too.

And he got away with shit like that every single time because of that stupid smile. All charming, all endearing.

All handsome, and shit.

You felt a nudge to your knee under the table after you'd rolled your eyes at everyone looking around to find Joe. You were given a brief smirk by one of your friends before eyes turned away from you and you frowned. Idiot.

You knew what was insinuated there, and didn’t appreciate it.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been very adamant and obvious about not being impressed with Joe, and people took it to mean something else. Like you were overdoing it to hide your real feelings.

You weren’t overdoing anything, though, and you wanted to say something, wanted to argue and bite back at that stupid smug look you got, but you noticed the eyes of the people on the other side of the table focus on something over your head.

You jumped, tensed up with shock, when someone suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders. It nearly knocked over every drink on the table as your knees shot up and banged the underside of it.

“Jesus,”

“No, just me,” Joe joked, and he got heys and hellos and big smiles and even a drink handed over that someone had gotten him before he’d even arrived, and oh my fucking God, you needed more celebrities in your group because this was getting a little ridiculous.

You composed yourself fast, recollected yourself and tried your hardest to push down the blush that had crept onto your face.

Like you’d predicted, the second Joe joined the group, you suddenly all became his entourage.

Now you were all Joe's friends.

You weren’t, but, that’s what it felt like.

To Joe’s credit, he didn’t really act any different – he was still his quiet, normal self. Kind of dull, nothing crazy, just there for a laugh, comfortable with the spotlight being off of him for a little bit. That was nice, and you appreciated that.

It was just that your other friends were big dumb idiots. Not all of them, but, enough of them for it to bother you a little.

Although, Joe had changed his hair... so, he'd changed a little since Hollywood had come a-knocking.

It was all fine, though. The conversation automatically sort of continued from where it left of before Joe joined and the small bit of annoyance you felt before quickly disappeared.

You paid close attention to not paying close attention to Joe.

It wasn’t until Joe cheersed his glass with your half empty one to catch your attention that the irritation you'd felt before crept back in a little.

Not because of the focus landing on you, but because of the question he asked.

Not how are you. Not how’ve you been. But, “No David?”

You gave a little sarcastic smile, tilted your head down to look at him through your eyelashes and confirmed, “No David.”

Apparently that was enough for other people to comment on the matter as well.

“Yea, how’s that going?”

“Are you still seeing each other?”

You took too long to answer either question, and when you look a slow sip of your drink to give yourself more time to think of how you were going to frame this, you could see one of your friends groan. The lack of information said plenty.

“Oh no, here we go again,”

“Should’ve known it,”

“Did you dump him already?”

The whole table seemed to feel the same way about you and David not hanging out together anymore. Made sense though, David was the first guy in a good while you'd taken along to meet some of them. Before David, there'd just been a lot of first dates that only sometimes graduated into a second, and then, usually, contact would sort of... fizzle out.

“I didn’t dump him– there was no dumping to be done, we weren’t dating,”

You got a few scoffs.

“What was it this time?”

And, okay, so, your track record wasn't great by any means. It's just that... you were very easy to turn off, you guessed. And once you found something about someone that got under your skin, you couldn't not see it. You couldn't not hyper-focus on it, and you knew that from that moment on, whatever you and whichever guy had together was doomed to fail.

“Just... we didn't really match each other,”

That was the polite, vague way of putting it. You looked at your drink as you said it but felt Joe's eyes stare you down. It burned your cheeks a bit.

“No, be honest,” Izzy said, speaking to you as if you were a toddler before she went for a sip of her drink.

“What? That's essentially exactly why he's not here right now,”

Izzy scoffed, and you silently cursed your best friend. She was going to make you say it. The thing you told her in private. You took a mental note to never be honest with her again.

“Can I tell them the story, or are you going to do it yourself? I'd love to be the one to share it,” she sat up and leant in. Ready.

The eyes of your friends moved between her and you, like they were watching a tennis match, absolutely not sure where this was going, but very exciting to see where it was going to go.

“Well, it wasn't one specific thing,” you started, and foolishly, left too long a silence after. Izzy filled it immediately, because it very much was one specific thing and she couldn't keep the knowledge inside any longer.

“Bad sex.”

It got some hearty laughs from the group, and when you looked at Joe, you caught his narrowed eyes. He looked a bit hesitant, small smile playing his lips as he hovered his glass in front of his mouth, like was about to take a sip, but couldn't because he had to see how you were going to react to Izzy.

“Okay, no,” you fought. “It wasn't bad sex... not, like, not overall, anyway, it wasn't... it wasn't the worst by any means,” you stumbled through your words and it made Izzy shoot up her eyebrows.

“Oh, are we doing specifics?”

You groaned and saw Joe perk up a little from the corner of your eye.

Fuck.

“Absolutely not, that's not... that's not fair on David,”

What you meant was, let's not talk about my sex life in detail in the middle of this pub, thanks very much. But Izzy didn't care though. She hadn't listened to you faking your orgasms through her bedroom wall for a few weeks for fucking nothing.

“What did he claim to be good at?”

“Isabella...” using her full name did nothing, unfortunately.

“He'd boast about it so much, even I started getting a little jealous,”

“I'm going to get another drink,”

Escaping seemed a good idea. Izzy could just talk about the things she'd heard David say to you in the other room without you there. But you were kind of closed in. Couldn't just get up and make your way over to the bar without people having to move out of your way for it.

“What was it?” Joe asked carefully, voice not too loud, the question definitely only aimed for you to hear. Curious. Not that he was being any kinder towards you than any of your other friends were – you could see that cheeky smile, could see how he was ready to let laughter escape him. Plus, everyone heard him anyway.

You saw your friend open her mouth, ready to answer for you.

“Izzy, don't,” you raised a finger, and you silently cursed at yourself for not being able to keep a straight face anymore.

She was going to say it.

“Head.”

Someone snorted into their beer which splashed into their face and that made people laugh more than what Izzy'd said, but now, that information was out there. It made you slump down into your seat so far, you were practically under the table.

“You told him to fuck off for eating you out wrong? Am I hearing this right?” one of your friends asked, not even judgmentally, but more to coax you out of your hiding spot.

It worked.

“Okay, so, listen,” you sat up, ready to justify your actions. You weren't a horrible person, and you needed people to agree. “If you claim to be amazing at something like that, I would kind of expect you to then also... you know, actually know... where things, are?”

You looked around, read your friend's faces and most of them knew exactly what you meant. Didn't need to use the actual words to describe in detail what David couldn't locate.

Izzy read your friend's faces different, though. Thought they did need clarification, and she was an accommodating friend. Wanted to help out. Also enjoyed embarrassing you a little too much, the bitch.

“Kept licking her leg, sucked on everything but her clit,”

“Oh my G–” you hid your face with both your hands, elbows perched on the table.

“David, David, David,” Joe shook his head, tutted at you, seemed to feel genuinely sorry for the guy.

“To be fair, it's a good reason to stop seeing someone,” someone else said, and you quipped a quick thank you. The comment prompted people to go over all of the other reasons you'd turned men down before, and the list was... extensive, to say the least.

Chewed on his food with his mouth open. Dressed like he was colourblind. Was into weird experimental music that really got under your skin. Bit down on his fork when he ate. Held his phone only an inch away from his face when he used it. Kissed with his eyes wide open like a psychopath. Ran after a beerpong ball in a half-crouch and failed in his attempts to grab it as it bounced. Puns.

Every ick came with it's own backstory and you were shocked by how much your friends remembered - you'd forgotten half the things they were bringing up, reminiscing about the batch of men that you'd turned down for reasons they all deemed ridiculous. It was a lot of laughing at your expense. It was a good thing you were a good sport and that you genuinely liked your friends, so you just laughed along. Knew they all would've probably gotten annoyed by the same things you had. You know, eventually.

It wasn't until someone looked around and said, “There's got to be at least one person in here who doesn't scare her off immediately,” and no, no, no, no. You didn't need your friends actually getting involved in you meeting men.

Not tonight, anyway.

But heads started turning and eyes started scoping out the place, gliding across and lingering on men that maybe stood a chance.

You checked and saw that Joe didn't join in. He was looking down below the table, seemingly to check what his feet were touching, or something along those lines, anyway.

It could be a way to opt out of the game that your friends engaged in mostly to just make fun of you. It could also be that his attention span was too short and he was bored. Both options were awful. The fact that you even looked at him to check was awful in and of itself.

You were no better than your friends.

“Okay, enough,” you held up a hand, elbow in the middle of the table whilst you squeezed your eyes shut. “If you're going to make me look at people and come up with an ick, we'll be here all night. I could even go over all of you and think of several icks for each of you, so let's not,” you laughed, hoping it'd put an end to it.

It did the exact opposite.

“Not for me!” one friend argued, and the whole table laughed. Everyone could easily name multiple things, and so it kicked off.

You all went around the table, named things about each other that would drive you mad if you were to date them. It ranged from obvious things like snoring and working too much, to more niche things, like how someone would continuously pronounce a word wrong whilst insisting that they were right (they weren't) and someone else not wearing socks in certain pairs of shoes (gross).

You were the deciding factor each time. If you agreed with what someone said, there was no more arguing and you'd move on to the next person.

Until you reached Joe.

“Let's go, give me all you've got,” Joe beckoned with both hands, welcoming the criticism like a trooper. It was all innocent fun, after all.

And your friends would name things. All sorts. How he sometimes wouldn't reply to texts for days, leaving people on read for ages. How he'd cancel on people by saying wild shit like, “Oops, sorry, can't make it tonight, I'm in Tokyo rn”. The fact that he'd always hold up the last cigarette from a packet and say, “This is the last one, I'm quitting after this,” and then he'd just as easily buy another packet straight after.

But an unsettling realisation dawned on you.

You silently, almost automatically, dismissed everything that your friends mentioned, that got them laughing and got Joe to jokingly gasp and pretend offense to because... none of it turned you off per se.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him.

Oh no.

You had to be able to come up with something...

“She fucking hates smokers anyway,” Izzy commented.

“Yea... usually, I do,”

Joe looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I don't know...”

Wide eyes looked at each other across the table, and Izzy couldn't fucking believe what she was hearing.

“That doesn't bother you?”

You laughed and gave your friend a panicked look, “It should! But... somehow it doesn't?”

You got a nudge of a knee under the table again and knew exactly what it meant. You pretended you hadn't felt it. That felt safer.

People started repeating things, waiting for you to go, “Ugh yes,” but you didn't, for none of it, and you thought of lying. Of just pretending that something did, but learning that none of Joe's personality traits actually rubbed you wrong was just as shocking to you as it was to everyone else.

Joe even joined in himself, said, “I'm always fidgetting!” but it did the fucking opposite. Made you look at his hands and notice how nice they were.

Shit.

“Is Joe ick-less?” a pair of astonished eyes asked you, and you couldn't fucking believe yourself when you slowly nodded, lips pressed together impossibly tight.

Joe was ick-less... what the actual fuck?!

“Uh oh,”

“We've found the one, guys! Game over!”

“So, when's the wedding?”

You scoffed. Loudly. Your friends were confirming they were big dumb idiots, you didn't even have to do any convincing of it yourself.

“Nah,” Joe said, and when you looked at him, you grew immediately shy. The little smirk and the mischievous eyes threatened trouble. “I can break her...”

Oh, fuck. The air between the two of you sparkled as your friends oohed, all eyes moving back and forth between the two of you. Even Izzy seemed intrigued.

“One week to give her the ick,” someone suggested.

“Easy,” Joe boasted, not breaking eye-contact.

“Why would you care abou–” you started, but were cut off by Joe who's smile got wider by the second as he challenged you, “And if I win?”

Despite the fact that his eyes were on you, the question was directed at your other friends. When they didn't answer, Joe turned to them, “What are we playing for?”

This... this wasn't happening.

“If you lose, she deserves some good head,” Izzy quipped, and you could've murdered her right then and there. Could've broken a glass on the edge of a table to slit her throat with, because what the fuck was that?

“Three days of head,”

“I said good head,”

“Guys, stop!” you tried, but you might as well not have been there.

“And if you win, she'll return the favour,”

“What?! Oh my God, fuck off, we're not doing this,” you waved both hands in a line, signaling that this was enough now. The joke was over. You weren't laughing.

“Three favours then,” someone else proposed.

“Like that's going to make a difference, he'll just ask for three days of head,”

“No, he'll make her his PA, for a con, or whatever,”

“Ooh, good one!”

“Yea, I'm not falling for that again,”

Joe snorted as your friends debated about a bet that definitely wasn't going to happen. You weren't going to shake on this, no matter how badly they wanted this free bit of entertainment for themselves.

“Okay,” Izzy said, smacking the table with a flat palm, shutting everyone up.

“Joe is going give you the ick within a week. If he does, you'll owe him three favours and if he doesn't, you'll be getting from Joe what you haven't gotten from David,”

“What if she lies?”

“She's a terrible liar, I see right through her,”

And Izzy did. Had always been able to.

“Jesus Christ, you're a bunch of delusional losers,” you laughed.

There was going to have to be a moment where Joe would side with you and you'd swipe the whole ordeal off the table together. At least, that's what you expected.

You expected wrong.

Instead of Joe telling your friends to leave you alone, to be sensible and kind, because you hadn't even gotten good sex in a little while, poor puppy... instead of all of that, you noticed how he waited for the commotion at the table to quiet down a little before he said, “Double or nothing.”

“What?”

“Double or nothing. One week of head,”

“Izzy said good hea-,”

“One week of good head, or one week of favours,”

You frowned slightly at him, dumbfounded that Joe seemed to be going with all of this.

He was actually going along with it.

Were you going to want to let Joe go down on you?

Wait.

You wrecked your brain and tried to think of everything that someone had ever done to you that had turned you off immediately. Would those same things be awful of Joe did them?

Probably not. But... maybe.

Shit, you kind of wouldn't mind a full week of Joe going down on you. Making you come on his mouth. It'd be weird, sure, but also, when was the last time someone made you orgasm with just their mouth?

Jesus, what a wild conclusion - you had no idea that Joe confused you this much. If anything, you'd learnt something about yourself today that you honestly never thought was something you were ever going to have to think about.

So the question maybe wasn't, would you let Joe go down on you... The question was, would you let Joe drag you along to be his personal assistant for a week? Because that was most definitely what he was going to ask of you. You had no interest in tagging along to watch someone do their job, and everyone knew this about you.

Fuck, were you... were you considering doing this?

Joe felt the second of hesitation and held his pinky out, hoping he'd get you to link yours with his before that window closed.

Your eyes glanced at Izzy, who somehow looked bored and giddy at the same time.

Should you do it? Joe's pinky flexed and he questioningly raised his eyebrows at you, a small smile playing underneath.

Just for shits and giggles?

What came out of your mouth next was so quiet, it was barely audible in the loud ambiance of the pub.

“Fine.”

But it was okay, people didn't need to be able to hear you. Because it was embarrassing, but also, because what happened next was one of your arms, moving from where it cupped your own face to half way across the table. Your pinky finger met Joe's and they linked.

“Deal.”

Joe's stupid face broke into a huge grin that made you instantly regret agreeing, but his pinky was stronger than yours and held you in its grip as he repeated your words back to you.

“Fine. Deal.”

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @frootvelvet @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @harringtonfan4 @emma77645 @tlclick73 @eddies-puppet @electricmunson @everythinghasafacee @a-time-for-wolvess @lucifers-side @barfightzanddiscolightz

(taglist currently full, sorry!)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #18+#Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #requested #double or nothing

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Note

Lysa Dion's daughter arriving home with a hickey in the detail she is secretly dating her son Manorian with gavriel alive seeing the situation later they discover that they are partners but the parents discover that they got married in secret

questionable decisions

Manorian's son x Reader (Lysaedion's daughter)

Summary: Your parents figure out how you spent your week in Perranth.

Warnings: drinking, not proofread

A/N: I love this idea

She adjusted her hair, pulling it over to one side and glancing at herself in the mirror again. That asshole left a mark on her, specifically when she told him to try and avoid it. At least it wasn’t too obvious, hidden behind her ear and easily covered by her hair.

“You said try,” he’d taunted her as she rolled her eyes. That asshole who also happened to be her husband, for gods-sake. They’d been quite drunk one night, meeting in Perranth, and found someone to marry them. Both of them were fully capable of acting sober, and thought it was a great idea at the time. In hindsight … maybe it wasn’t their smartest move. Everyone else seemed to think it was a joke. Still, neither of them had asked for a divorce. Not a soul beyond a few trusted friends knew they were together in the first place.

“Why is there a letter addressed to “Y/n Havilliard?” You stalked over and snatched it out of his hands. Sure enough, a very official looking large envelope with that name scrawled across it rested in your hands. You turned to the side, avoiding eye contact as you held it up to the light, squinting. Probably a marriage certificate.

“Probably a joke,” you laughed, fighting down any nerves and shifting your hair over your shoulder.

“She’s lying.” Gavriel said mildly. “And what’s that on your neck?”

Screwed. She was so screwed. “None of your business.” She snipped at him, and a knowing smile crossed his features. Aedion ignored that, in favor of the letter in your hands.

“Open it.” Gavriel said, not giving her father the chance to tell her. The words were a command, and she knew she wouldn’t leave the room without opening thats gods-damned letter.

“You’re MARRIED?” Lysandra heard Aedion yell, as she walked through the door.

“Who’s married?” She asked, spotting Aedion clutching a paper in his hands - thick official looking paper.

“I was drunk.” You turned with pleading eyes. Both Gavriel and Aedion had slightly murderous looks on their faces and she frowned. Immediately, she spotted the small bruise on your neck and gave you a small smile. Along with the scent of a particularly deceiving perfume. You’d spent a week in Perranth, how the hell had you gotten married? And where did that bruise come from? Well, Lysandra knew how that happened.

“And who are you married to?”

“The King of Adarlan’s spawn.” Aedion said. She cut him a sharp look, now was not the time to bring up old grudges, even if her husband had mostly let it go.

“I didn’t know you two were together,” she mused - eyeing the bruise again as you shifted your hair to cover it.

“We’re not,” you replied a bit too quickly.

“Lying.” Gavriel said from across the room. “Again.”

Somehow, he always knew when she was lying - or even just omitting something.

“Just.” You huffed, “forget about this.”

“I’m supposed to forget that my daughter is married?” She raised a brow, “and didn’t invite me to the wedding?”

“It was hardly a wedding.” She grumbled, snatching the paper back from her father.

“At least you haven’t consummated it, you can still get it annulled.” Aedion mused.

You, very firmly, avoided his gaze. Lysandra cut him a sharp glare, as if to say shut your gods-damned mouth.

“I wonder how Dorian’s reacted.” She commented. “Or Manon.”

Your face paled.

Lysandra debated whether writing to Aelin, or convincing you to shift with her and fly to Orynth, just so you could see the Queen’s reaction in person.

“Shift.” She announced after breakfast, “we’re going to Orynth.”

You groaned and dragged your feet. She watched you exchange a pleading glance with Gavriel, who only shook his head, giving you a look as if to say; good luck.

You both shifted, and took off towards Orynth.

You shot murderous glares at your mother the entire way to the capital, debating if it would be worth her dragging you back if you turned around. Both of you shifted back a mile or so out, grabbing the clothes they’d strategically stored for the two of you. Showing up at the castle naked was not ideal.

Your mother probably wanted to tell Aelin, and to torture you by making sure you saw your Aunt’s reaction. Dragging you to Orynth to share some gossip with the Queen. Although it was rather significant gossip - even if the marriage would likely dissolve or be forgotten.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” Aelin asked, meeting you at the gates and exchanging a hug with each of you.

“Y/n’s married.” Lysandra announced, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Mother,” you snarled, but Aelin looked at you, her head tilted to the side.

“To Manon and Dorian’s son?”

Your jaw dropped, but she shrugged. “He didn’t hide his scent from Rowan well enough, we were wondering if you would tell anyone.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Lysandra said, in shock outrage.

Aelin wrapped an arm around you, tugging you into her side. “I couldn’t betray our favorite niece.”

#next gen tog #tog next gen #next gen throne of glass #lysaedion parents #manorian's son #aelin makes an appearance

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innytoes · 2 years

Note

Another chaos prompt: You’d marry me if I asked, right? for Rulie pretty please?

And also for @bananakarenina who asked: Ooh, chaos prompt! 51, rulie.

Julie had long since accepted that her family liked her boyfriend almost more than they liked her. Her dad and Reggie had been friends since before they even started dating. Even back then, when Julie was still just nursing a massive crush on him, it had been cute. Carlos thought of all of the band as ‘honourary big brothers’ in that he liked to drag them whenever they were nearby. And of course Reggie had won Tía over with his earnest praise for her cooking and his big puppy dog eyes.

These days, Julie got flack if she came to family events without him. The one time Reggie had been sick and couldn’t come to her Abuela’s 85th birthday, only two people in her extended family hadn’t greeted her with ‘where’s Reggie?’. She’d gone home with three different soup recipes and a lot of conflicting health advice from various (great-)aunts and uncles, second cousins, and even her grandmother herself.

So of course Reggie was invited to family movie night. He had his own spot on the couch (wedged between the arm and Julie, where she could cuddle into his side). They’d watched some zombie apocalypse movie Carlos had picked first, and now some rom-com her aunt had chosen.

“That’s bullshit,” Julie whispered, when the Clearly Not Right For The Heroine starter boyfriend freaked out when she proposed to him, because it was ‘weird for a girl to do it, you have to wait’. “You’d marry me if I asked, right?”

“In a heartbeat,” Reggie agreed, watching as the Heroine went home to her Small Town to heal her broken heart and probably run into a way hotter dude who had like, a dog or a precocious kid or a really nice beard or something.

It had just been an offhand comment.

Which was why Julie was confused when a day later, the congratulations started rolling in. On the family group chat. In her Insta DMs. On her woefully underused Facebook. The band group chat was going insane, and she had no idea what to tell them. She’d managed to calm Flynn down by explaining that nobody was engaged, she had no idea what was going on, and for her to please help her hunt down Carlos just in case this was one of his pranks.

Reggie came back from the grocery run looking confused and flustered. “I just got off the phone with your abuela,” he said. “She was so excited, and wanted to know when the wedding was. Did I... did I hit my head and forget something important, Julie?” He asked it so earnestly, like he was actually concerned that was what had happened, she couldn’t help but laugh and kiss him.

“I have no idea what’s going on either,” she admitted. Also, she couldn’t help but be amused her grandmother had called Reggie before calling her. She was about to ask what he’d told her, when her phone started ringing. It was Tía Victoria.

“Mija, I am so sorry,” she said before Julie could even get a ‘hello’ out. “I was talking to your Tía Camila about the movie, and I mentioned that cute thing Reggie had said, and apparently she misunderstood...” Oh god. Oh my god, that made so much sense. Tía Camila lived for drama and gossip. Reggie was pressed against her so he could listen in, and he pulled back, eyes wide.

“Thanks, Tía. We’ll... we’ll sort it out,” Julie managed. When she hung up, the first thing she did was text Flynn a ‘stand down’ before she actually managed to hunt down Carlos. The second thing she did was turn to Reggie. Except he wasn’t next to her anymore, he was rummaging through one of the grocery bags near the door.

“Aha,” he said, beaming. Julie could hear something being opened, and then he came back, hiding something behind his back. “I think I have the solution to our problems.”

“Is it a tub of cookie dough ice-cream? Because I think I could use a tub of cookie dough ice-cream right about now,” Julie said. Reggie shook his head, grinning, before kneeling down in front of her and presenting her a ring-pop.

“I picked these up while your grandma was talking, just in case,” he said. Julie felt her breath catch in her throat. Reggie was kneeling in front of her. With a ring. A candy ring, but still. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, like he realised what he was doing, and he stood back up. She fought down her disappointment.

“Wait!” he said. “You’re supposed to be the one who proposed!” He pushed the ring at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh, taking the ring and his hand between hers.

“Really?” she asked, fighting back tears.

“I told you, Julie,” Reggie said, his free hand finding her cheek, thumb stroking away the first tears that spilled over gently. “I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

#julie and the phantoms #fanfic #reggiexjulie #julie molina #reggie peters #tía victoria #I wrote a thing #seriously 51 was so popular #and then Reggie insists she hasn't Properly Asked yet so Julie dramatically gets down on one knee and presents him the ringpop and asks #and of course he says yes and they giggle and she tries to carry him over the threshold to bed #and they finally have an answer for the family #and a very funny story for flynn and the brand group chat #she sends tía victoria a photo of her and reggie wearing the ring pops like: problem solved #and victoria doesn't know if she is relieved or incredibly smug because this means SHE'S THE ONE WHO GOT REGGIE TO BECOME AN OFFICIAL MOLINA #kind of #you 100% know Victoria saw the first 'congratulations' in the family group chat and immediately called Ray like: ooooh I fucked up #Ray was laughing too hard to be any help probably #he is very very pleased by the outcome

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frogtanii · 3 years

Text

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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harry-writings · 3 years

Text

The Happy Years

- The one where Y/n is unhappy in her engagement and finds an escape with her former lover

Part 1

Masterlist

(A/N) IM SO EARLY IM SORRY I KNOW I SAID 9PM BUT IM DONE SO MUCH SOONER THAN EXPECTED OKAY IM SORRY LOVE YALL <3333

Three years later.

The heaviest of thunderstorms hit the city of London by early morning, the loss of the sun and the gloom of the day leaving Harry bedridden for the first time in weeks.

He always tried his best to avoid days like this — trapped within his home, caged in memories that make every step he takes heavier than the last, wishing for just the smallest taste of salvation — because it’s when he’s left alone between these walls that the darkest parts of him come out, ravaging, feeding off of what’s left of him.

Rain reminds him of the day Y/n left. Thunder reminds him of Malibu. Malibu reminds him of all the things he ever used to do with her — on the bed, on the couch, in the hallways.

There’s no escape from what he’s done.

But when the time hits two in the afternoon and Harry still hasn’t gotten up from under his blankets, he decides that doing even the bare minimum with his day would be some sort of accomplishment.

He decided to get the mail.

And what a terrible decision that was, Harry thinks, as he sees an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting by an unfamiliar name. Something about it upsets his stomach and throws him off key, knowing in his heart that he shouldn’t open it, but it’s heavy in his hands and he can’t ignore the temptation of it all.

Another terrible decision he’s made.

Please join us for the wedding of Alfie Lexington & Y/n Y/l/n.

Saturday, September 25, 2021 at 3:00 PM.

Dartmouth House. Mayfair, London.

The downpour feels like a drizzle compared to the cries Harry lets out as he reads the wedding invitation, his worst nightmare playing out right before his very eyes and if he wasn’t already so fucked up, he’d try his best to ignore it.

Y/n played her move. She wants him to strike back. She wants to win and watch him lose more than he already has. That’s all she has left of him.

His lips tremble as he sniffles, the invitation shaking between his palms as he lets reality sink in.

Y/n is getting married.

Y/n is happy.

Y/n is going to spend the rest of her life with somebody other than him — somebody that was once his friend.

It's unfathomable to him. The connection him and Y/n shared was unlike any other. They were drawn to each other instantaneously, their feelings of infatuation never once dying down because it was simply incapable of doing so.

They put each other first. They made each other better people, helped each other grow through all the droughts and winter days, and continuously found ways to become closer to one another. They were so comfortable and confident in their company, and so every day they spent together within those four years had never been anything less than pure happiness.

They were meant to be. He didn’t see it then, but he sees it now, and now that’s all he sees because everything he sees is her.

To know that it’s no longer the same for her kills him from the inside out, because now she really doesn’t belong to him.

He lets out a sound that can only resemble what would be a whine and a groan made together, sobbing as he flips the invitation around, only to find another saved date he just doesn’t have the heart to see — an engagement party for all the invited to join.

He’s so overwhelmed with devastation that his brain becomes fogged, his body disassociating from itself as he rips the invitation apart, growling and screaming and wailing as he just keeps ripping it and ripping it and ripping it.

He’s destroying it in the same way it destroyed him until he gives up, slamming his fists down upon the counter, losing control of himself beneath all his pain and regrets. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. This isn’t what was supposed to come from this life.

He’s barely surviving as it is.

And he just needs to see her again.

But he doesn’t know how he’d react once he does. Whether he’d want to kiss her, to hate her, to love her all over again, he doesn’t know. His entire world is collapsing and he doesn’t know how to save it from falling apart. He can’t take any more risks when it comes to her.

But what is love without fear and danger? What would it say about him if he were to walk away from this now instead of trying just once more with her?

So with a heavy heart and a sobbing chest, he doesn’t take his chances.

And Y/n simply just couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

Harry is standing at her doorstep, soaked head to toe, shaking in his bones. His lips are a light shade of blue and his eyes an alarming shade of red, somehow wetter than the rest of him. And as the thunder rumbles beneath her feet and nearly sends her to her knees, it goes to show her that he really is here, standing at her doorstep, and it’s not just a dream.

And she must have been struck by the shock of his presence because her tongue is suddenly tied, her throat dry, her lips fallen open yet forgetting how to breathe.

She just looks at him, soaking him all in, trying to understand what exactly led him back to the biggest mistake of his life.

“Harry?”

“So that was your way of getting back at me?! After three fucking years?!”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowing in defense. How he could possibly accuse her of something she didn’t even do — considering she hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to him since the moment she left Malibu — makes her feel even more betrayed than before.

He should know her better than this. He should know her from the inside out at this point, but she supposed three years really is a long time, because she’s never seen this side of Harry before. He seems so different to her now.

“Don’t you dare come to my home and try to make an ass out of me! Since when have I ever been the kind of person to get back at somebody?!”

Harry stutters for a moment, his anger and jealousy and hurt blinding him from the truth that Y/n never goes out of her way to get even. Her heart is too big, but he can’t shake this feeling that the person who sent him the invitation was out to do him harm.

And nobody had more of a reason to hurt him than Y/n.

“So the wedding invitation, then? You had nothing to do with that?”

He speaks it condescending, as if he didn’t believe a word she said, but that’s not what it comes down to. It comes down to the fact that she has moved on and found herself somebody so much better than him, and he has no one.

She shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts, confused about how he even found out about the wedding considering Harry quit the firm just hours after he left Malibu, leaving him with no contact to anybody that had any string tied back to her.

“Of course I had something to do with the wedding invitations! I’m the one getting married!”

She pauses then, her cold demeanor dropping into something Harry wants to say resembles a hint of relief, but it’s much more cross than that, much more serious, and he doesn’t expect what’s coming next.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me getting married?” She speaks it through a small, bitter laugh. “I should have known the only way you’d fight for me was by being with somebody else. You never could stand being second to me, as ironic as that is.”

“I could give two shits about you getting married.” He lies through clenched teeth, his stomach sick at the mere thought of it. “But I do have an issue with you inviting me to your wedding after walking out on me.”

Her head snaps back up to him.

“Wait, Harry, what are you talking about?” She frowns, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”

Why would she?

They are no longer friends, no longer much of anything, so for her to take time out of her day to sabotage anything but herself wouldn’t feel right to her. Besides, it was her decision to never speak to Harry again, she wouldn’t ever take her word back.

Harry frowns then, too, because she isn’t faking her emotions. She’d always been terrible at doing so, and the way her eyes scream and beg for answers can’t go ignored. He, again, feels like the absolute worst person in the world.

“Then who did?” He whispers.

There’s only one possible answer.

Seven months ago.

Alfie insisted that he and Y/n had a New Year’s Eve party. They’d never had one before, as Y/n much preferred staying in with a bottle of champagne and celebrating with a lobster dinner and late night reruns of The Honeymooners.

But Alfie was persistent. Very persistent. Too persistent. So persistent she had no choice but to give in, and she just didn’t understand why.

She didn’t understand it as days passed and all Alfie talked about was the stupid party. She didn’t understand it when he rented out one of the most expensive venues. She didn’t understand it when he laid awake the entire night before, too anxious to fall asleep. She didn’t understand it when he asked her to wear his favorite dress.

She wished that she did the moment it happened.

The clock was ticking.

“Five!”

Alfie reached for Y/n’s hand.

“Four!”

Y/n noticed something shift in the air.

“Three!”

Alfie reached his other hand into his pocket.

“Two!”

Y/n knew what was coming.

“One!”

Alfie dropped to one knee.

“Happy new year!”

It was every girl’s dream — the fireworks, the balcony, the view, the prince charming that would whisk her away to spend the rest of eternity together — yet it couldn’t have felt any more like a nightmare.

It wasn’t what she wanted. Not then, not ever before, not once during the span of their relationship, and time seemed to have stopped moving forward.

There she was, in the center of the universe as everybody stopped and stared, gasping and gushing at the sight of a man on his knees for a woman. An act of vulnerability, of love, of submission, yet it didn’t feel like any of those things.

It all felt so wrong.

She began to cry.

To everyone else, it seemed as though she was crying from happiness. Her devoted boyfriend of two years finally asked for her hand in marriage, to be the mother of his children, to spend the rest of their lives tied together by a vow, unable to be broken. So it was no surprise when everybody let out an awe of endearment, nobody (not even Alfie) knowing her well enough to distinguish the difference between her happiest and saddest cries.

Harry would have known.

And that was all it seemed to come back to in that very moment in time.

Harry.

What she would have given to feel his hands on her waist, blocking her body from view with his, taking her away from all the unwanted eyes on her fragile body. He would have done it in a heartbeat because he always did — he always found a way to help her escape her horrifying realities, even the sweetest of ones.

What she would have given for it to be him kneeling in front of her… this all would have been so different.

Her lover of two years was promising her a future, yet all she could think about was somebody stuck in her past, yet so heavily prevalent in her present.

But she couldn’t say no. How could she when everybody expected the answer he was looking for, ready to toast to the bride and groom? How could she when phones captured the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to share for all to see?

But she couldn’t say yes, either.

She settled for a nod of her head.

The crowd cheered, some clapping, others clinking their glasses, lovers kissing. She only caught a glimpse of those celebratory moments before everything around her drowned in her tears, voices of congratulations so distant beneath her heavy, hyperventilated breaths.

Alfie embraced her, then, and she felt his laughs of euphoria rumbling in his chest as hers met his, and she couldn’t even pretend.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, her expression void of everything that she should have been feeling. And her eyes went blank as they caught a reflection of her through the balcony windows — the last time she ever saw herself for what she truly was.

That same day.

Y/n was a mess waiting for Alfie to get home.

Seeing Harry again filled her with so many different emotions, she didn’t know which one to start with. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything and everybody that dared get in her way, she wanted to disappear. Yet she had done none of it. All she could manage to do was pace around her bedroom, biting at her nails and getting lost in her scrambled thoughts, her mind and body moving at a million miles an hour, unable to be tamed.

This is precisely the reason Y/n never wanted to see him again.

He does things to her, he always has. She hardly has any control over herself whenever it comes to him and she fucking hates it. No matter how sad, how mad, how hurt or how upset, there was something about his presence that made her see past all of that. It saddens her how much she used to love it.

But her moods swing at her relentlessly, the sadness turning to anger because yes, she is angry. She’s angry that he still has this much of a hold on her, especially after everything he’s done, and she’s even more angry that he hasn’t yet apologized for it.

Because it was all getting better. The constant wondering about what he’s doing or who he’s with and the continuous string of thought always leading back to him was all finally falling into its place. She was finally finding her place.

And then her fiancè did this.

When she hears the bedroom door open, she hardly gives Alfie any time before she starts a fight, wishing nothing more than to take it all out on him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/n fumes, everything tainted red with anger as she looks into his eyes and feels nothing but hurt and betrayal. “Inviting Harry to our wedding behind my back?! Do you not remember what he did to me?! Do you not realize what you just did?!”

He frowns, not sarcastic or menacing, but he genuinely seems upset that she’d ever even ask him such a question.

“Y/n…” Alfie sighs, and she suddenly hates the way he’s always managed to remain calm in the most heated of arguments. She wants to start a war with it, to go for the kill, to make him crawl and beg and bleed for her forgiveness. “Of course I remember what he did to you, which is exactly why I did it.”

Her hands turn to fists.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I wanted to hurt him for hurting you! God damn it, Y/n… after finding out what he did to you all I could think about was ripping him to pieces and that urge never left me, especially after we got together.”

He slumps himself down at the foot of the bed, loosening the tie around his neck, almost too aggressively. And if she wasn’t so out of her mind enraged, she would try her hardest to understand his side.

But there is no excuse for this. There’s no excuse for any of it.

“So now you use our marriage as a way to get back at him?!”

Y/n may not love Alfie the right way, but she had never stooped so low to treat her marriage like a weapon, ready to strike at any moment in time. It wasn’t something she used to inflict pain onto anybody else but herself, no matter how hard it had gotten.

And though she once believed their engagement meant more to him than it ever meant to her, she can’t help but feel as if that’s just another lie she’d been forced to live with.

He went behind her back deliberately to hurt somebody even she never intended on hurting. He knew what was to come of this and yet here he is, letting it all happen for satisfaction’s sake.

It feels like all she will ever be is used.

“Is that what this is to you?! A point on your scoreboard?! A big ‘fuck you, i won!’?”

“Isn’t that what this is for you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into my problem.” She spits through clenched teeth, punching at the dresser beside her with the side of her fist, face burning with fury. “I’m not the one sending him our wedding invitations!”

“And I’m not the one staying up past midnight scrolling through pictures of him on my phone!”

Her mouth shuts then, her hard and pressed features softening at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

She had been looking at pictures of Harry almost every night since Malibu, she just never expected to get caught. She could physically feel Alfie fall asleep against her, so she always waited thirty minutes before she took her phone out, looking back at everything that once was.

It was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

It’s what she kept going back to — a habit that came as naturally as telling her best friend about her day, about her perspectives on the world, about the lack of guidance in her life — like a phone call at the end of the day as a way to unwind.

She had make believe conversations with him as she scrolled endlessly through her favorite photo album, the thickness of his accent engrained in her mind as she thought of everything he’d say to her if he were still around. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d live vicariously through the memories they made together and replay those moments all night, until they lulled her to sleep.

“I told you from day one that —”

“That you’re never going to let him go, I know. I know that he was the love of your life at one point but this is just pathetic now, Y/n. Absolutely nothing short of pathetic.” She frowns, his choice of words making her heart sink because he knows exactly how to do it. And he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face as if he were in agony. “I didn’t know this was the kind of shit I was signing up for.”

Her eyes brim with tears but don’t offer anything more, only upset that he couldn’t find a way to understand her when she’s trying so hard. But he never has and he never will — not in the way she needs him to and not in the way that could ever make this work.

“I’m not sorry for what I did.” She confesses sadly, her bottom lip between her teeth and fingers picking the skin around her nails as she tries, yet again, to make him see. “He was my best friend before he was anything else to me. There was a time in my life where he was all I had.”

And though her heart is still with Harry in every aspect of every way, it’s true. He was her best friend and that’s what she misses the most. There was so much to him that meant so much to her and none of it could ever be replaced, not even by Alfie.

“You know I love you but you also know I'm not the same woman you fell for in Malibu. I’m my worst self when I don't have him around and your favorite parts of me don’t exist without him. Don’t pretend like you don’t see that.”

His hands twitch against his lap, his shoulders slumping because it’s true. The most lively and brightest parts of herself had died the first step she’d taken away from him that night. Sure, she’s still the most resilient and beautiful woman Alfie had ever known, but she’s never been the same since then.

She’s still in love with him and there’s nothing for him to do about it. He didn’t see it until he saw the way she sulked over Harry that night, all those years later, with a diamond ring on her finger that just seemed to weigh her down even more.

None of this means anything to her.

“It’s been three years, Y/n. Just find yourself a new best friend and move the fuck on already. I’m getting sick and tired of this.”

What he doesn’t understand is that she is, too.

Two weeks later.

Y/n shouldn’t be this alone at her own engagement party, but it’s the impossible things that always manage to find their way to her.

The party consisted mostly of Alfie’s friends, considering Y/n is much more of an introvert than he is and the small number of friends she does have seemed to have disappeared within the sea of unfamiliar faces. She felt lost for a moment, but when she finally found her fiancè, he had been too invested in his own friends to spare her a single one of his glances, and it soon became disheartening to wait for him to acknowledge her when the thought of her never once crossed his mind.

So she ends up on the steps of their back porch, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the garden, breathing in the silence.

She closes her eyes and succumbs herself to the summer breeze, wondering what she has to do to find a single glimmer of happiness. Her life is just so sad, a labyrinth of betrayal and hurt and heartbreak she can’t ever escape.

Darkness is all she sees when she thinks about her future. There is nothing for her to look forward to. Every day will come and go the same way it has been — unwanted, dreaded, wasted, another failed attempt of contentment. It all seems so hopeless to her now.

The champagne doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to a lonely Y/n, and it isn’t nearly enough to curb her mood, either as she huffs at her empty glass, wishing she had taken another.

She sets it down next to her, placing both her elbows on her knees, getting lost in her world of sorrow, long forgotten by her lover.

Harry is the first one to find her.

He had parked his car across the street from her shared home with Alfie, and even from his distance he knew Y/n wouldn’t be inside. He knows her too well to know she wouldn’t find her place in crowded rooms where the attention is all on her, even if it was all in the comfort of her own home.

And the fact that Alfie didn’t know her senses of belonging well enough to accommodate them made him seeth. She is an independent, a lone wolf, a woman who moves solely in her own way and anybody who’s ever loved her knows that above all else.

He doesn’t care for her.

And he doesn’t need to go looking for her because he can feel her, as if the universe somehow bent its laws of gravity and pushed him straight to her back porch steps, where he finds her all alone.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand fall softly on her shoulder, but immediately sinks into comfort when she sees that it’s Harry moving to sit beside her, his hand refusing to pull away.

Finally, she has a friend.

“Hey.” She says softly, one of the corners of her lips turning slightly upward at his unexpected visit. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He smiles briefly at her before he overlooks the garden, his fingers squeezing at her shoulder before resting his palms over his lap. And there’s something about being next to her again that makes everything around him fall back into place. This is where he’s meant to be.

“Honestly, neither did I, all things considered.” They both let out a chuckle, the atmosphere between them so horrifically sad yet so incredibly right. “But I just really felt like I had to be here for you tonight.”

Despite the years that had passed and everything that drove them apart, Y/n remains who he loves most in this world. His connection to her never died, so the sudden gusts of off and disturbing feelings Harry used to get whenever Y/n was troubled had never left him. He felt it all just as strongly — her anxieties, her fears, her tears and everything in between. And he’s glad that part of them never died because the look in her eye tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s absolutely miserable.

She sighs, the corners of her lips falling as she stares at her engagement ring, her thumb and pinky twisting it around her ring finger, itchy and heavy no matter which way it's worn.

“Me and Alfie aren’t doing so well.”

She didn’t have to say it because he can already see how treacherous they are together, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to hear.

He lost his right to be selfish with her in Malibu, and though he does gain a sense of happiness knowing he may have a chance with her again, it’s significantly outweighed by her sadness. Nothing had ever pained him more than that.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shakes her head, her fingers reaching up to tuck fallen pieces of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t be. I don’t really know why he decided to do this, anyways.”

Harry’s lips fall.

“Marry you?”

Y/n’s leg begins to shake, her greatest and most absentminded nervous habit. And Harry had always been quick to place his hand over her thigh and rub at the surface, meeting her eye halfway and taking a deep breath in, to which she would always follow. He hesitates to do so tonight, but settles for it anyway.

She looks appreciative beneath it all.

She’d forgotten about Harry’s subtle favors over the past three years, so to feel it all again when she has been so low and neglected feels like a blessing to her. It feels like somebody finally cares for her, and that’s all she had been wanting all along.

Harry, she feels, is the only one who ever truly has.

“We just never talked about it. It was this big, ginormous, unavoidable, life changing question thrown at me with no warning at all.” Her forehead falls to her palms, as if humiliated by the memory. “In front of everybody.”

Harry’s heart crumbles from within him because nothing Alfie has given her has been anything she’s wanted, and that’s not what she deserves.

He remembers it so distinctively now — the way she poured her heart out to him just a few months before Malibu. It was the third Valentine’s Day they’d spent together and Y/n got so drunk, she spent nearly the entire night venting to him about everything she’d feared when it came to her future relationships.

With her head on his shoulder and her leg slung over his hips, Y/n’s thoughts were so destructive, she couldn’t bear to entertain them any longer, so she decided to let it all out.

“And what if my boyfriend proposes to me in a room full of people? I’d drown in sensory overload. And what if I want to say no? Or maybe? Or yes, just not right now? With all those people looking at me? I think I would pass away.”

Harry looked down at her in subtle curiosity, his fingers playing with her hair in the way they always liked. She was the only thing in his sight that wasn’t spinning out of his control.

“So how do you want to be proposed to?”

She hummed, as if contemplating her answer. But she knew. She already knew.

“In bed, probably. It’s so intimate and private there. So non-traditional. You’re the most done down at your first hour and something about someone wanting you at your worst, forever, is so poetic.”

She looked up at him with doe eyes merely seconds after.

“Will you make sure he does that for me, please? Promise me you’ll try.”

He smiled the best he could at her, pressing his lips down to her forehead. They lingered there for a moment, and Y/n’s breath was taken away.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

What makes the memory even worse was how much he really did love her and how blinded he was to it. He kissed her. He held her. He played with her hair. He slept beside her that night. He kissed her again goodnight. He brought her breakfast in bed the next morning. He did it all over again.

It couldn’t have been any more obvious.

But there’s something about the way she hasn’t expressed any of those concerns with Alfie that doesn’t sit right with him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Been with him for how long now, two years? And you really didn’t expect him to propose to you? Have you met you?”

She sulks herself deeper into her knees.

“I don’t know. I guess — I guess I just never really thought about it.”

Never thought about it?

“But you’ve always wanted to get married.” He says it more like a question than a statement, genuine concern and confusion in his tone of voice as his eyebrows furrow, trying to comprehend it.

She looks up at him with a void, empty expression.

“Yeah, but never to him.”

Her eyes linger on Harry’s for just a beat longer — just long enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips fall and the way his face drains of color — before she blinks away from him, turning her gaze back toward the garden. The flowers have never looked so lifeless.

“Y/n… if I had known how you felt, I —”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Y/n shakes her head, looking back down at her trembling hands, tears now burning in her eyes as the sudden sadness of the conversation starts to weigh down on her. “You had four years to feel the same for me and you never did. My feelings would have done nothing to yours.”

“And I never did?” Harry asks incredulously, his voice low and faltered behind the heaviness of her words. “Is that really what you’ve been living with the past three years?”

Loose tears begin to fall down her cheeks because yes, she has been living with his unrequited love for six years and no, it’s never gotten any easier. It’s pathetic and ridiculous and the most unexplainable form of grief she’d ever carried, but it’s the most devastating kind. “How could I think any differently?”

“Because it was real, Y/n. Fuck.” He lets out a strangled, dry chuckle upon his words as he runs his shaking fingers through his hair. He’s nervous, absolutely terrified because if he fails to show her how deeply he feels for her now, he may never get the chance to again, and losing her is no longer an option for him. Not when she’s so close. “Because you know me better than anybody else and you know I wasn’t faking it with you. How could I have been? You would have seen right through me and you know it. You always do.”

Perhaps the love blinded her. Perhaps her heart was so invested it deceived her to see only the things she wanted as a subconscious form of self-preservation. It’s not an impossible possibility, and it’s certainly one she believed in throughout all this time, but a part of her can’t help but find a hint of truth stuck somewhere between his words.

The kissing, the touching, the tasting, the laughing and the loving did feel real to her. It felt real when she saw the way he smiled after every one of their kisses, and the way he reached for her when it was just to two of them, like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he moaned against her, and the way he told her he loved her, like he meant it.

She knows all of his movements and all of his habits — knows all the signs of his stress, his sadness, his tension, his ease. She knows the emotions he wears and the ones he doesn’t, notices everything he does and doesn’t do, and never once did anything he did with her seem anything less than genuine.

She hates that it’s taken her so long to see that, but it doesn’t fix all that he had broken now that she does. She wishes that it could, this life would be so much easier for her to live.

“You really hurt me.” Her voice quivers, low and quiet as she speaks her truth, and it breaks his heart all over again. Never has he heard her sound so sad in his life, and it’s all because of him.

“You think I don’t know that? I hate myself for everything I put you through because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He pauses, waiting for her to say anything else, but it doesn’t come. All there is for her to offer are her silent cries and waterfall eyes.

“That night with Lydia… nothing happened. She caught me off guard and I panicked because how could I not? She was giving me everything I thought I wanted yet all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you.” Y/n’s breath falters then, a knot forming in her chest as she revisits the sight of that horrific night. “I tried so hard to talk it out with her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She kept persisting and persisting and she didn’t give me the chance to explain myself before you walked in on us.”

She didn’t truly know what happened between him and Lydia, but she had her ideas. Whether they kissed, touched, confessed their love or crossed bases, the truth would have only made it worse for herself. Ignorance was bliss when it came to them.

But she didn’t think nothing happened, either, especially when the first words that Y/n heard Lydia say to him that night was I love you, too.

Too.

Like he said it first.

She really hopes he didn’t, but she’s so afraid of his answer that she doesn’t ask.

But she doesn’t say anything else, either, because there’s so much more she needs to hear from him but she doesn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she wants to know everything.

“You were all I ever wanted and I’m so sorry for the way I had to find that out. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you to realize how ridiculously in love I am with you.”

And how ridiculous it’s gotten.

“It haunts me. It follows me everywhere I go. Every morning, I think about the way you slept beside me in Malibu and how perfect you looked before you even had the chance to wake. I still reach for you even when I know you’re not there just so I can say I tried. Every time I walk the street, I somehow convince myself that I see you walk past me and I always turn back just in case I missed you. Then I spend the rest of my day wondering where you are and how much happier I’d be if you were with me.”

And it’s all so true.

She is around him at all times. Her spirit lingers in the air he breathes, her shadow alive in every ray of sun that touches his skin, unable to be soaked away. The ghost of her is everywhere he is, always, and it pained him just as much as it comforted him.

“I come across all these women and go on all these dates in hopes to find someone that makes me feel half the things you do, just to go home hours later and watch all the stupid videos and photos I’ve taken of you throughout the years because it’s you that my heart is after. Nobody else.”

She melts into herself at his confession.

To know it wasn’t one-sided — the longing, the missing, the wanting so bad that he couldn’t help but look back at all their memories together. Whether he was beside those women or not, she had done the very same thing, and it’s almost as if those hidden moments of desperation were a silent call to one another.

He reaches his hand to her thigh again, his skin warming her to her bitter core, setting a fire in her that had burnt out many years ago. And she doesn’t stop staring at it.

“I love you, Y/n. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in this world. I love you so much that it drove me crazy to think about you spending the rest of your life with somebody else because I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of mine without you. But that’s my heartbreak to live with, not yours.”

But it is. It is because he’s the only one she’s ever wanted and living her life with someone else was once unimaginable. It still is. Even through her relationship with Alfie and everything they’ve built together, it wasn’t ever the same.

And it’s not a matter of her not loving him, because she does, just not in the way she loves Harry. He is a high she constantly fiends for, an intoxication that keeps her wild and free, an addiction like no other. Being without him makes her feel sober — in a constant state of withdrawal, falling down deeper into her urges, dependent solely on her relapses — and Alfie is just the mild distraction.

All of this is her heartbreak.

His fingertips rub softly at her leg.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don't know how I’m ever going to find a way to move on from you, and I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I had the chance to tell you everything you deserved to know. I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

She still doesn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect anything more.

He wishes he could stay with her for just a bit longer, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (if he could even call it that). And he starts to cry as he thinks about leaving her alone again.

She’s forever going to be his hardest loss.

“I have so much more I want to say to you, but this is your night with Alfie. I don’t want to be the one to hold you back from it.”

He squeezes the top of her thigh, dreading the let go. This may be the last time he sees her or speaks to her for a while, and that in itself is enough to make this so much harder on him.

“I’ll miss you everyday.”

He can’t even look at her as he says it.

His eyes are flooded with sadness as he stands from where he sat beside her, shaking fingers wiping at his tears, his heart the emptiest it’s ever been yet his chest heavier than ever before.

It suddenly dawns on her that she never wants to see him walk away from her again. She doesn’t want to go another dreaded day without him beside her, or go the rest of the night thinking of everything she could have said, but didn’t.

She wants him. She loves him. And she doesn’t want him to go.

“Wait.” She grabs his hand in both of hers before he can make it too far, her eyes wet but the brightest he’d ever seen them. “The party doesn’t end for a while and — and Alfie hasn’t come looking for me since it started, so…” She hesitates, his hands still in hers, and everything is right in the world again. “Do you want to take a walk with me? It doesn’t matter where just, please stay here with me?”

And how could Harry ever say no to her?

He lifts her up from where she sits, the first real and genuine smile he’s seen out of her since they’ve reunited spreading on her lips, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

They stray further than expected, catching up on everything they’ve missed throughout the years. It all feels so easy and so right, as if time had hardly passed between them, yet they’ve never felt more apart. Never once did they expect to live in each other’s world through late night storytelling and clandestine getaways.

They laugh. They cry. They reminisce. And they don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole night through.

Y/n returns to the back porch a couple hours later, grabbing the finished champagne glass she’d left on the top step to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Not that she necessarily has to, she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything wrong, she just couldn’t imagine what would come from this if Alfie was to find out.

She slides the back door shut quietly behind her, the remaining guests only giving her a small smile of acknowledgement, none at all suspicious. Some offer her hugs and mingle with her, congratulating her as if it were their first time doing so, telling her how perfect of a marriage she and Alfie are going to have.

If only they knew.

But it isn’t until the last of the lingering guests make it out the door that Y/n and Alfie are left alone — the most dangerous place for them to be. And neither of them speak a word to each other, just meeting eyes for a brief moment in time, as if avoiding everything else that came with the night.

The air is heavy, the chill brutal, but it’s what Y/n is so used to. This is her normalcy.

“I’m glad you had fun tonight.” Y/n says plainly, gathering all the littered champagne and wine glasses floating around the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, she would have stood her ground much more strongly, but the bitterness inside her subsided to something much sweeter after her time with Harry. The weight of the world is gone, it seems, the moon and sun and stars aligned perfectly in her universe. She is weightless, floating, her spirit dancing along the edges of her own personal heaven.

The silence Alfie responds with doesn’t strike a nerve like it usually would. It rather goes unnoticed, only furthering her into her illicit dreamland.

Harry’s touch lingers on her skin and she can feel it all the same even though he’s gone. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks back to the way his lips pressed against her cheek before parting ways, muttering the quietest goodnight, lovie against her skin, leaving her breathless.

She is endlessly hypnotized by him, forever under his spell, as if his lips were made of magic.

And Alfie’s heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. It’s been years since he’s seen it, yet it’s all so familiar once he does. It’s the same look he fell in love with when he first met her in Malibu.

It’s all so clear to him now.

“So we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave our engagement party with Harry?”

Y/n lifts her head to look at him properly for what seems to be the first time tonight, his question catching her off guard since she had so rightfully assumed he wasn’t concerned about her whereabouts, and Harry didn’t make his presence known to anybody but her.

But she doesn’t fight it, doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to scrape for excuses that’ll only dig her in deeper because she doesn’t regret what she did or why she did it. She has no reason to.

“And we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t completely exclude me from our engagement party?”

Alfie’s hands slam against the kitchen counter, a bitter and sarcastic laugh falling from his lips, as if she had said something untrue. “So I don’t give you attention for two minutes and you decide to run off with some other guy?”

“Two minutes? Try two hours on a night that was supposed to be for us.” It’s her turn to slam her hands down, except hers land on her thighs. “I was sitting on our back porch all night and nobody, not even you, came looking for me.” She sits down on the island stool with burnt-out eyes and heavy shoulders, drained from the reality of their relationship, tired of trying for somebody that’s never held her heart the right way. “Harry was miles away and even he found a way to find me.”

And just like always, it all circles back to Harry.

She’s never been one to compare — verbally, at least — so there is a gloom that hovers over her after she says it, the guilt settling in her bones, but it’s the reality of their situation. An old lover held his hand out to her while Alfie refused hers, and it ended up exactly where it had always belonged.

“All you had to do was ask me to be with you.” He sighs, depleted, because it’s true. He would have been there the second she called his name. It’s the fact that she didn’t that shows him how incompatible he is with her wants.

“I shouldn’t have to.” She frowns, fingers fiddling with the skin around her nails as she contemplates what there is to say next. “Is that how this marriage is going to work? Me begging you to be there for me all the time? Because I’ve never been that kind of person. I will never be that person.”

Alfie breathes heavily in response but doesn’t know what else to do or say to get her to stay. She’s slipping right through his fingers and he can physically feel it — can feel the way she feels for another man, can see the way her eyes refuse him, as if hiding away from something.

But this isn’t about him, it can’t be because it was all going so well, so much better than ever before and nothing ever pushed her away, until Harry.

This is all him.

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?” Alfie breaks the silence, her heart along with it, because she needs to be reminded how badly he had done her wrong. She wouldn’t be turning him into the villain if she did. “He lied to you. He used you to get what he wanted. He —”

“He does love me.” She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him to talk her out of this, no matter how much she should. But it’s on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking from its resistance, and she can’t swallow it back down now. “He was there for me more than you were tonight and he’s not even the one I’m engaged to.”

Another deafening silence.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He understood her, loud and clear, but she’s speaking between the lines. There’s a part of her that’s holding back from something and he already knows what it is, he just needs to hear her say it.

So she does.

“I’m in love with him, Alfie.”

If the confession of her disloyalty wasn’t enough to tear her apart, the choked back sob she heard from Alfie undeniably did so.

She shuts her eyes, pained, unable to take it.

He doesn’t deserve this, but she’s left with no choice. She’ll only hurt him more if she stays.

So she doesn’t.

The morning after.

Harry didn’t know what was to come after he confessed his love to Y/n — whether it be a new day of a new life away from her, or the beginning of something so beautifully timeless, he had no idea.

The closure warmed him enough to lull him to sleep, to keep him deep in a dreamstate where all he envisioned was sunny days and the touch of her hand in his. He had never felt so light, so free, so liberated from the cage of guilt and unspoken truths that even if he were to never see or hear from Y/n again, it would have been okay.

He said what he needed to say, she heard what she wanted to hear and that’s all he could have done without interfering with her relationship.

But what he wakes up to is far from anything that ever crossed his mind.

Seven missed calls and five text messages. All from Y/n.

H, please tell me you’re awake. I need you.

I ended it with Alfie.

I don’t have anywhere to go and you’re the only person I want to see right now. Can you meet me at the coffee shop? I really need to talk to you.

Please wake up.

Harry sits himself up in a state of panic, his eyes jumping between the time she had messaged him last and the time it is now. And he springs himself out of bed when he realizes that he hasn’t missed out on her yet, planning to get to her as fast as he can as he throws yesterday’s outfit, not at all caring about how it makes him look.

She ended it with Alfie.

He’s the only person she wants to see right now.

She needs him.

That’s all he can process as he scurries down the street, thinking of everything he has left to tell her to try and win her heart again. He knows he’s undeserving of it, and she does too, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her the way that he does.

His life is meaningless without her, so dry and bleak and depressing he can’t live another day like it. He can’t and he won’t because he’s going to fix this. He has to fix this.

And it doesn’t take him long to find her because there she is, sitting at their usual outdoor table, a large hot tea held between her hands, her leg shaking, her eyes distant. It's such a heartbreaking sight, and he suddenly wonders if she ever sat there after their breakup, waiting for him, hoping he’d do the very same.

The thought makes his head twitch to the side and fingers twist with guilt because no, he never did. He never went back to that coffee shop since the goodbye. It would have hurt too much, it would have reminded him of everything he’d ever done wrong and he couldn’t bear to face the person he once made of himself.

That person died along with her.

She stands from her seat when she sees him walking toward her, exhausted mentally and physically enough to nearly fall from her feet in the process. But her heart is racing a million miles an hour, her stomach fluttering as he grows nearer, her senses of anything but the love she has for him disappearing to nothing, as if it were just the two of them.

And she just needs to know if it feels that way for him, too.

“Y/n —”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry hesitates then, stopping in his tracks, his head tilting at her in curiosity but his features are softer, sadder, as if the question somehow broke him down further than before.

She doesn’t need to elaborate because he already understands what she’s asking. It was his mistakes and his selfishness that led her to question all his intentions, to doubt every sentiment he’s ever given to her, to wonder what was real and what was pretend.

But he doesn’t know what to start with, he doesn’t know what she needs to hear from him to be satisfied with his answer, or know if what he doesn’t say is what breaks this relationship.

“I need you to look at me and tell me that you meant it.” Y/n demands when he fails to answer her, tears flooding yet her face pressed and hard, committed to hearing every last bit of truth he has left. “Because I gave up everything I had for just the smallest possibility that you did. And that may make me weak, that may make me pathetic, and I may hate myself for the rest of my life knowing I made that decision but I can’t help feeling the way I feel for you.”

This is his last chance.

The window of opportunity is open and he is more than willing to dive head first out of it, but he can’t get ahead of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong anything and he will have to endure an eternity of misery without her.

So he gives her more than she demands.

He grabs her face between his two hands, gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze set on hers so that she can see how deeply he feels for her and how desperate he is for her forgiveness.

“I meant it.” He breathes out, his lips so painfully close to hers, she can feel his breath as he talks and it makes her legs shake from beneath her. “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.” He leans in closer, ever so slightly, just so the ghost of her lips can meet the ghost of his. “There’s never been anybody but you. Just you. Only you.”

Her breath stammers, quivering and cracking as she flutters her eyes shut at his words, unforgiving tears pouring down her cheeks. And she doesn’t know why she’s reacting this way — the love of her life is giving her everything she’s ever asked for and yet all she can manage to do is break down from everything she’d been keeping inside for so long.

He knees buckle as a particularly violent sob nearly takes her down, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s strong hold on her, she’s sure she would have collapsed to the floor.

Her tears, his shirt, his hands, her back.

This is the closest they’ve been to each other in so long, his heart nearly shatters along with hers. He missed this more than he missed anything else in this world.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Harry shushes her, his lips settling on the top of her head as he presses chaste kisses on it, his fingers combing through her unbrushed hair. “I’m with you, okay? I’m never leaving you again.”

And he holds her for a while, tying her together as she falls apart in his arms, vowing to her over and over again that this is all over. All the pain is over. Everything will be different now.

And it was.

It felt different when Y/n and Harry spent the rest of the morning sitting in their favorite coffee shop, at their favorite table, drinking their favorite lattes. It felt different when Harry reached his hand over to hold hers, this time with no ulterior motive.

It felt different when she held his hand back, and when she smiled down at where they were intertwined, as if they were an extension of each other.

And unlike the last time they were there together, he doesn’t have to let go.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #IM EARLY I KNOW IM SORRY BUT I FINISHED SOONER THAN EXPECTED #WHOOP WHOOP #LOVE YALL

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Fic were both JZX and Jiang Yanli are trans? I imagine the engagement would get complicated.

The More Things Change - ao3

“My lady,” the midwife said. “Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

Madame Jin shook her head. “I need a son,” she said.

“My lady –”

“I’m not doing that again,” Madame Jin said, her voice getting stronger. “I need a son.”

“But –”

She looked at her loyal maid, who inclined her head.

A knife flashed.

“Congratulations, my lady,” her maid said, pushing aside the midwife’s body with her foot. “You have a son.”

Madame Jin smiled.

“I’m glad you survived the birth of your child,” Madame Yu said to her old childhood friend, wondering why she’d been invited over to visit Lanling City quite so quickly – it hadn’t even been a month. “Were you thinking –”

“I have a son,” her friend said.

“Congratulations.”

“You don’t understand,” her friend said. “There’s a problem.”

“A-Li,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said in a strange tone. “Do you like wearing dresses?”

“Uh-huh,” Jiang Yanli said, trying to see if she could stick her fist into her mouth. She’d always worn frocks, the way all children her age did, but at some point soon her mother had been warning her that she’d need to switch over to wearing proper robes for boys. Jiang Yanli had burst into tears, saying she didn’t want to be a boy at all – that she didn’t want to leave her mother’s side, that she didn’t want to join the world of men, she didn’t, she didn’t.

“And you really don’t want to go be a boy? Really, you’re sure?”

Jiang Yanli nodded.

“What if I said you didn’t have to be? You could be a girl, just the way you like.”

“Really?”

“Mm. But you’d have to be a girl forever.”

“Okay,” Jiang Yanli said happily. “I wanna be a girl forever.”

“Good,” her mother said, and picked her up. “Just keep saying that.”

“What do you think we are,” Jiang Fengmian asked his wife blankly. “Qinghe Nie?”

His wife glared daggers at him.

“Attempt the impossible,” she said stiffly. “A-Li has been claiming to be a girl consistently for a year. Would you deny her the chance to follow her dreams?”

Well, when she put it that way…

Jiang Fengmian hesitated.

“It does create a problem,” his wife said, and he looked at her. She smiled faintly and leaned forward, showing her curves to their best advantage. “If she’s a girl, she’ll marry out, won’t she? We need a boy.”

Jiang Fengmian swallowed. A boy sounded – nice, he thought vaguely, eyes caught on what he was being offered. A little boy, lively and bright, with a happy smile always on his face…yes, that sounded rather nice.

Wei Changze’s letter upstairs said that his wife had announced that they had conceived, and that she had divined that it would be a son – it was frightfully early to make such predictions, less than a month in, but apparently disciples of the immortal mountain were able to determine such things early. A boy like that, who could be friends with their boy, a reason for them to come to visit and maybe even to stay…

Yes, he thought. That sounded rather good.

“All right,” he said. “A-Li can be a girl, I guess.”

Madame Yu and Madame Jin let news of the engagement seep out as rumor for months before telling their husbands. When they did, they took different approaches: Madame Jin pointed out the strategic benefits of an alliance with Yunmeng Jiang and the unlikelihood of Jin Guangshan finding a match for their son that would give him so much more influence in the cultivation world, which had made her husband stop his grumbling and look upon the match with a favorable eye.

Madame Yu stared at her husband, for whom she had just born a son three weeks premature and very nearly died in the process, and said, “What’s your problem?”

“A-Li can’t marry the Jin sect heir! She’s not –” He waved his hands. “The possibility of children –”

“I would have thought that would be a selling point,” Madame Yu said, and he blinked at her. “He’s Guangshan’s son. There will be children enough.”

After some further arguing, Jiang Fengmian begrudgingly backed down.

Madame Yu smiled to herself, and thought of grandchildren.

Everyone said that Jin Zixuan was a spoiled brat and incredibly lucky, but he didn’t think he was. Sure, he was rich and legitimate; his father valued him, while his mother loved him and would defend him against any challengers to his position as heir, but privately…

“Why do I have to work so hard?” Jin Zixuan asked, panting. “I’m already cultivating, and my teachers say I’m not bad with the sword –”

“Not bad isn’t good enough,” his mother said sharply. “You have to keep up with all the rest of them, and that means getting ahead now.”

“The rest of who?” he asked. “Do you mean…”

He hesitated, not knowing if he was also included in his mother’s taboo against mentioning the results of his father’s philandering.

“All of the cultivation world’s young gentlemen,” she said, to his surprise. “You have to keep up with them. No, you need to exceed them. You must!”

“But – why?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. She was clutching a book in her hands. “Mother, can we talk?”

Her mother frowned at her, looking disapproving – and then she saw the book.

Jiang Yanli thought she would yell at her, but she didn’t; her mother only gestured for her to come into her room, ordering her maids to close the doors and windows.

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. “Mother, the book –”

“How did you get a spring book?” her mother asked. She looked tired. “Surely you’re still too young?”

Jiang Yanli bowed her head.

It was true, she was too young. And yet…

“Mother, the pictures in the book…”

“I know.” Her mother sighed. “All right. Let me explain.”

Jin Zixuan stared at his mother. He felt sick.

“But,” he said, and swallowed. “But what about…?”

“I’ve handled it,” she said harshly. “But that is why you must not allow your father to take you to a brothel. Is that understood?”

“Who do you think is the best girl? Zixuan-xiong?”

“Oh, don’t ask him! He has a fiancée, so his answer will be her!”

“A fiancée? Really? What sect is she from? She must be extremely talented!”

“Forget it,” Jin Zixuan said.

“What do you mean by that?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, and suddenly he was getting into his face. “Say that again if you dare!”

Jin Zixuan opened his mouth, hating him – hating the whole situation, being stuck not making any decisions for himself, his whole life mapped out for him by others – but then hesitated.

Jiang Yanli is the only one fit for you, his mother said. Do you understand? The only one.

“I haven’t met her since I was five,” he said instead of what he wanted, rolling his eyes. “So how could I dare to boast about her in your presence? You all want to know about her, ask Jiang-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, the wind suddenly taken out of his sails.

Jin Zixuan escaped.

He felt like shit, thought. She was his fiancée, and he didn’t know anything about her – he didn’t want to hear about her, think about her. And yet…

The only one.

He went back to his room and wrote her a letter. It was a mess, the worst thing he’d ever written, nothing at all like the polite and careful phrasing, elegant and beautiful, that he’d been trying to put together, something worthy of his name.

He sent it before he could think better of it.

Jiang Yanli held the letter to her chest and smiled.

They’d exchanged a few dozen letters. Jin Zixuan knew that his intended was smart and witty, empathetic and kind, observant and well-meaning, but he didn’t know that she was beautiful until after they escaped from the indoctrination camp and the cave with the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

He’d just accompanied Jiang Cheng for the entire seven days it took to get to the Lotus Pier, collapsing right alongside him, and while Jiang Cheng had – somehow – gotten back on his feet and immediately led his father and mother out the door to go rescue Wei Wuxian, he’d stayed down on the floor until someone knelt down in front of him and smiled.

“Can I get you something to eat, Jin-gongzi?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, and turned bright red. He could sure think of some things he’d like to eat – living as his father’s son had certainly given him an education (however theoretical) about that.

“Food,” Jiang Yanli clarified, giggling into her sleeve. “Let me get you some food.”

This was probably a bad idea, Jiang Yanli thought, looking down at the head tucked against her chest. I probably should’ve just stuck to food. What if he gets with child? What will we do then?

She couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it, though.

“A-Xuan,” she whispered, and Jin Ziuxan stirred a little. “Can we do it again?”

“You’re insatiable.”

That wasn’t a refusal.

“A-Li!” Jin Zixuan shouted, rushing forward. “A-Li, A-Li…!”

She collapsed into his arms.

He looked at the retainers from Meishan Yu, stubborn but pale. “It’s all right,” he said. “She’s my fiancée. I can take care of her.”

“The Jin sect walks in the center path,” one of the retainers said. “Never quite committing to the Sunshot Campaign. How do we know this isn’t a trick to get into the Wen sect’s good books?”

Jin Zixuan bit his lip. He’d pushed his father time and time again, and even that had only gotten them to participate half-heartedly in the fight against the Wen sect. What could he say? What worth was his word?

“It’s all right,” Jiang Yanli said. “I trust him.”

“You could do so much better, you know,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s not too late!”

Jiang Yanli smiled down at her wedding outfit, but thinking instead of the panicked expression on Jin Zixuan’s face a week before when he’d unexpectedly thrown up in the morning when he was supposed to be preparing for the Phoenix Mountain hunt.

“Oh, it’s too late,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “On that note, you pick the name.”

“The name…?”

“For our upcoming nephew.”

“Shijie! You didn’t!”

Jiang Yanli’s grin widened.

“Wei Wuxian has committed a crime in attacking our camp and taking the Wen remnants,” Jin Zixuan’s father announced. “We should –”

“Let it go, Father.”

“…what?!”

“I’m getting married, and he’s A-Li’s shidi,” Jin Zixuan reminded his father. “It would be inauspicious to start a marriage by breaking such a relationship.”

His father looked like he was planning on ignoring that, so Jin Zixuan used his trump card.

“We can’t afford anything inauspicious right now,” he said. “Not when there’s a child on the way.”

His mother dropped her cup.

“I have to go,” Jin Zixuan said. “You don’t understand. I have to.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed his hair. “You’re supposed to be in seclusion,” she reminded him. “As am I.”

“I’ve been throwing up every morning for two months, A-Li,” Jin Zixuan pleaded. “I can order them to clear the kitchen. No one would know we were there!”

Jiang Yanli laughed a little. “The craving’s that bad, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, all right. We’ll give it a shot…”

It would have worked, too, if Jin Guangyao hadn’t noticed that too many people were in the wrong place and taken it upon himself to investigate.

“…Jiang-guniang?” He stared at her flat waist, then turned his eyes slowly towards the roundness at Jin Zixuan’s. “Jin-gongzi…?!”

“It’s all right, it’s A-Yao,” Jin Zixuan said to Jiang Yanli. “He won’t tell anyone. Right?”

Jin Guangyao shook his head mutely.

“Seclusion,” he muttered. “No wonder…everyone said it was bad timing that you went into seclusion right before Mistress Jiang announced her pregnancy. But it wasn’t, was it..?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

“We’re in your debt,” Jin Zixuan said, and thought Jin Guangyao’s eyes upon him were softer than they’d ever been before. “You’ll be a good uncle.”

Jin Guangyao smiled. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “One question, if I may. Who’s the father?”

Jiang Yanli wrapped an arm around Jin Zixuan’s shoulders and beamed.

Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped again.

“Your son needs you,” Jiang Yanli said to Madame Jin. “Go.”

“Jin Ling,” Madame Jin said, looking down at the baby in her arms. A son, her grandson…a miracle. “Well. You’re – not what I expected.”

If her husband ever found out…

Well.

She’d just have to make sure he wouldn’t, now, wouldn’t she?

#mdzs #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #madame jin #yu ziyuan #my fic #my fics #the more things change #misaligned

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 119: Hope

Harry was always alone.

It sounded a bit dramatic, a little pitiable, and more than a little untrue.

Because he was always out with friends. He had pub nights with large groups of people, he went and took those wine and paint classes with Luna and Ginny every other week, and a cooking class with Ron and Pansy on the off week. He met George, Ron, and Seamus for lunch on Thursday afternoons. Hermione dragged him to a book club with Draco once a month. He met Hermione for breakfast on Tuesdays and had dinner with Ron and Hermione every Monday (and often Fridays, too). Neville invited him for tea every Sunday and there was always someone different there with them.

Still, there was something that always separated him from his friends. All of his friends were buying houses, getting married, having babies, getting pets (or in Neville’s case carnivorous plants). And he was just... stuck.

“Well, well,” a smooth baritone voice said behind him, interrupting his sulk at the bar of the Leaky, and a smile tilted up the corner of Harry’s mouth against his will. “If it isn’t the savior himself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you going to sit down?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other man.

Silver eyes gleamed in amusement, “that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re going to buy me dinner. It has been a long day.”

(Read more below the cut)

“Oh?” Harry said, nudging the chair next to him back with his toe. “Well it’s a good thing I ordered the shepherd’s pie, then. You and I both know that’s always big enough for two.”

“Were you expecting me then?” Draco asked with a pleased grin as he plopped down in the chair next to him.

“Nope,” Harry said. Strictly speaking, this was true, he’d been hoping the other man might show up but not expecting him to. “I just like to have leftovers.”

Draco laughed at Harry as the bartender slid an old fashioned across the counter to him, “thank you,” Draco said, nodding to the man who all but ignored him.

Harry inhaled to say something about the man’s rudeness (an action he knew was futile since he’d done it several times) but Draco put a hand on his arm and took a sip of his drink. “Not worth it,” he said.

Harry sighed at him, “Tell me about work.”

Draco grinned, it was a sort of grin that Harry used to hate when they were younger. It was a grin that meant Draco had been particularly vicious in the courtroom today. With relish he began telling Harry about the woman and her child whom he had defended against a powerful, abusive husband. How he’d eviscerated the man on the stand and freed the two of them from his grasp.

“It was brilliant,” he finished with a sigh.

“Sounds like it,” Harry replied, resting his cheek in his hand.

Draco gave him a little smile. It had taken a long time to get here, even a year ago Draco would have been looking at him, trying to work out if Harry had meant it sincerely. “Tell me about your day,” he said.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sitting around in board meetings, trying to make sure that the people who actually know something get heard. Watching people who only want what’s best for themselves trying to make people believe they want what’s best for everyone.”

He laughed and took a sip of his drink, “I don’t understand how or why you do it.”

“Well someone’s got to, don’t they?” he asked. “Might as well use my fame to some advantage. Help people. You know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder and picking at the label on his beer.

“Come away with me,” Draco said suddenly.

“Sorry?”

The other man grinned at him, “I’m going on vacation. I’m leaving tomorrow for a week on the beach on an island. Come with me.”

“What? Why?”

The smile that had been so bright a moment ago started to dim, “Nevermind. It’s a stupid idea. Forget I said anyth-”

“Draco,” Harry said, realizing he’d misunderstood. He put his hand on his forearm. “I’d love to. Seriously, I would love nothing more than to go and spend a week on the beach with you. I just,” he trailed off, “why would you want me to?”

“Because you’re always moping. And you’re always doing things for everyone else. And you’re bloody lonely.” He shook his head, “And no one sees it.”

“Except you, apparently,” Harry huffed.

The corner of Draco’s mouth tipped up, “Except me. Come on,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Potter. Fucking seriously.”

----------------------------

The beach was fantastic.

Harry had never been to the beach for a vacation and he enjoyed every sun soaked minute.

Draco watched him with an expression that Harry couldn't entirely parse out. It was amused, and fond, and exasperated, and something else entirely all at once. "I don't get you," Draco said eventually, after they'd spent half the day by the ocean; lounging, swimming, drinking, and laughing.

"What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged and took a sip of his sangria before he continued, "You're wealthy, you have time, you obviously enjoy it here; why haven't you done this before?"

He frowned, "Well who wants to go on a vacation alone?"

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I'd planned to go alone. I have actually taken several vacations alone."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Draco waved him off, "It's fine. I'm not offended I just," he shrugged helplessly, "I find you fascinating."

"You find me fascinating?" he asked incredulously.

"Haven't I always?" he replied wryly.

He huffed but couldn't argue considering that he'd been equally obsessed with the other man for most of their lives at this point.

"You could have done anything," Draco said, "There's nothing that the wizarding world wouldn't have given you. If you'd wanted to go on vacation and not be alone you could have had your pick of witches or wizards who would have gladly gone with you. If you wanted to be married with half a dozen children all you would have needed to do was pick the person." He shook his head, "You could have done anything you wanted, been anything you wanted, had anything you wanted but you've chosen a career that makes you miserable and you've chosen to be alone which makes you miserable." He shook his head again, "I don't get it."

"But how can I know if I'm actually good enough?" Harry asked. "How can I know if I'm good at my job or if it was just given to me because I'm Harry Potter? How can I know if the person who agrees to marry me is with me because I'm me or because I'm Harry Potter?"

"All this time I thought that you weren't on to me," he teased.

He rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"You know what I think?" Draco asked as he leaned back in his beach chair and slipped his sunglasses back in place.

"I couldn't possibly guess," he replied.

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I think you're just scared."

He frowned at the other man even though Draco wasn't looking at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me perfectly," he replied, "You're scared."

"Of what?" he asked incredulously.

"Of being loved," he said simply. "Afraid that if you let someone love you, you'll have to let them in. You'll have to let them see all the dark, broken, twisty bits because it's not love if it's not honest."

"Oh and I suppose you're so much better at that," he snapped.

Draco snorted, "Hardly. I'm just willing to live my life until I've found someone who I'll be able to share those jagged pieces with."

He glared at the leg of the other man's chair, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Alright," Draco replied agreeably.

"I'm going for a walk."

He nodded and yawned, "I think I'm going to take a nap, the sun feels nice."

Harry got up and trudged away without another word, trying to decide if Draco Malfoy was full of shit or if he might just know what he was talking about.

The longer he walked and the more he turned what Draco had said over and over in his head, the more he knew that the only person whom he would trust to see his dark bits was Draco Malfoy.

----------------------

When he got back from his walk Draco was reading a book.

"You might be right," Harry said.

He hummed, "Not to brag but I usually make a point of being right."

Harry collapsed into the sand and stared out at the waves rolling in. "Can I ask you something?"

"Nothing has stopped you so far."

He huffed, "Have you ever been in love."

"Yes," the other man replied.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

Draco hummed thoughtfully, "I woke up one day and realized that I loved his imperfections more than I loved the perfect image I'd created of him," he said. "I realized that I'm happiest when I'm with him, that he makes me feel brave in my fear and strong in my vulnerability."

"He sounds pretty great," Harry said, swallowing down the bitterness.

"He's also completely oblivious," Draco added. "And normally that would irritate me but his humility is part of his charm."

His heart beat a little quicker, "Is that so?"

Draco grinned, "Yes. And he's not too bad on the eyes, either," he added. "He's got a lovely complexion, fantastic long, dark hair. And his eyes," he let out a low whistle, "A bloke could get lost in those eyes and he wouldn't mind staying in the lovely green of summer."

Harry's mouth went dry and he couldn't quite find any words or summon any courage. Hope blossomed dangerously inside of his chest, expanding and expanding until Harry feared there wasn't room for a shred of doubt.

"He's rather fit, too," Draco continued, giving Harry a once over that even he wasn't oblivious enough to have missed. "And you wouldn't believe his arse," he added, "exquisite."

Harry laughed at that, "You're ridiculous," he said as he bent toward the other man. "I like you, too," he whispered.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Draco teased.

He reached up and pulled Draco's sunglasses off his face, "I'm going to kiss you," he murmured.

"Took you long enough," he repeated before reaching up to cup Harry's cheek in his palm and draw Harry in.

With a sigh, Harry happily gave himself over to the kiss, over to Draco; knowing that his heart was finally in good hands.

-------------

Day 118: Glass | Day 120: Tough

#100 drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #fluff #love confessions #friends to lovers #vacation #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #thanks for the prompt

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chocolatecakecas · 3 years

Text

Yeah, Should Have Seen That Coming: Saileen Bachelor Party Ficlet

Congrats to the soon to be Mrs. and Mr. Leahy💚💍!!!

Sam had the brilliant idea to have their bachelorette/bachelor parties on the same night. Two separate parties, at least a week before the wedding to avoid any last minute mishaps (learning from the mistakes of Dean and Cas' party last month). They had thought of everything, Sam even remembered to invite Adam this time. They were each going to have a perfect party with no unforseen issues, because they both deserved a night of fun.

Dean was granted the privilege of being Eileen's best man maid of honor, so he shut down his bar that night, and threw her an absolute rager. He even dragged the stripper pole back out at Eileen's request (though Dean thinks it was a shame Cas wasn't going to be there to use it) and set up a mechanical bull. So of course Cas was chosen to be Sam's best man, and for his party, Sam just wanted a normal, quiet night. Just board games, beer and burgers at the bunker (Crowley was pissed he got stuck at Sam's instead of Eileen's, but Garth was thrilled about the prospect of playing Monopoly). So that's exactly what Cas planned to give him. He makes sure he's got Sam's favorite beer, burgers from the place that makes his favorite vegan burgers, he's taken care of everything. And all Sam has to do is grab the board games from one of the storage rooms.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, considering Sam and Cas are involved?

Everything.

(read the rest under the cut)

They ended up on a hunt before the party even began. Sam had accidentally bumped into a shelf in the storage room, knocking over a cursed object, and then picked it up without thinking("Sam why did y- "It just looked like a piece of wood!" "It's not, its cursed it's called t-" "Well that doesn't help me now, Cas!"). And so it turned out, they unleashed an ancient curse that if they didn't break by midnight, the world would be "shroud in 5 billion years of darkness". But Sam won't let anyone call Eileen or Dean ("I just don't want to ruin her party!" "Sam the world could en-" "Yeah, but that happens all the time. How often do you get to have a bachelorette party?")

So it was up to Sam, Cas, Jack, Crowley, Garth, and Adam (Kevin was already halfway up the steps and on his way to Dean's bar before Sam even finished explaining what happened).

And a lot can go wrong over a few hours, especially if the threat of the end of world is looming over you.

In the past three hours, they managed to successfully tear apart the entire archives looking for lore, had Jack fly them to three different states to wake up three experts on the subject, fought and killed one of Crowley's old nemesis who had an ingredient they needed for a spell, were briefly transported to a different dimension, twice (Jack was able to get them home, but they had to go back because Garth forgot his phone). Then of course they summoned the wrong ancient god, then had to figure out how to kill them, before they eventually summoned the right one needed to break the curse.

At that point, after some encouragement (yelling) from everyone, Sam finally gave in and tried to facetime and text Eileen, finally allowing Cas to call Dean too.

But neither of them answered because Eileen was currently in the middle of an intense drinking contest between Rowena, Mary and Kevin (who arrived 2 hours ago and mentioned nothing about the curse), while Dean (totally sober mind you) learned he was amazing on the stripper pole, as Charlie, Kaia and Claire cheered him on, and Jo along with some of Eileen's hunter friends were trying out the mechanical bull.

So they were on their own, and quickly running out of time.

But unfortunately for them, the three hours of chaos was a complete waste, since they discovered a bit too late that lore was wrong. Because the weapon that was supposed to kill the God was clearly not working since it seemed to be chasing them around just fine, with a giant stake in it's neck. So they hurriedly decided splitting up would be the best course of action, and they scattered in all directions as they ran into the woods(where they had landed when Jack zapped them back) trying to confuse the God.

Which had been a complete mistake ("It can clone itself!" "Yes, thank you Sam, I hadn't noticed").

And currently, Crowley and Garth were both knocked out by some of the God's clones, and Jack was nowhere to be seen, leaving just Sam and Cas to fight with what they had (2 guns, an angel blade, and half a flask of holy water, so nothing)

Now there was only five minutes until midnight and the God had them surrounded, as it threw their useless guns and blades halfway across the forrest.

And only one thought rang through Sam's mind.

"Eileen is gonna kill me if the world ends before the wedding"

"Well if you hadn't touched th-"Cas started

"Thanks Cas, you really know how to make a guy feel better" Sam yelled back, swiflty cutting him off.

He glanced back up to see the God (who's name Sam had already forgotten) inching closer, holding them in place as they were readying themselves to smite them.

Sam took one last look at Cas and the reality of the situation finally set in. This was it.

All Sam wanted was one normal night, but now the world's ending again and he doesn't even know the name of the God ending it.

They were screwed. Now he'll never see Eileen again and they'll nev-

Suddenly a wooden stake was shoved through the back of the God's neck with a crunch, sending them crumbling to the ground. It burst into black flames, disappearing.

And standing above them in a, 6 inch heels, covered in glow stick bracelets, and a bride sash, was a very tipsy Eileen.

She and Dean helped pull them to their feet, and Sam could cry at the sight of her (and he did).

As soon as he was standing, Sam frantically began rambling and signing trying to explain and apologize all in one breath. But Eileen simply took hold of his hands, stopping him in his tracks.

"You were supposed to use sheep's blood, idiot" Eileen signed with a smirk.

Then she grabbed by the shoulders, yanking him down into a deep kiss.

"Wait how did-where did yo-"Sam started as he broke away. He quickly takes in his surroundings spotting Claire and Kaia helping Garth to his feet, Rowena trying to wake Crowley, and Charlie and Jo who are probably trying to convince Adam not to leave. He finds Dean, Cas and Jack off to the side huddled close together, while Dean probably tells his husband how much of a dumbass he is.

"Jack flew to the bar, and we read through your's and Cas' texts. We were able to piece it together from there, and apparently you guys can't read. Maybe leave the hunting to the pros?" Eileen teased, swaying slightly (okay maybe she was a little more than tipsy). Sam tightly wrapped his arms around her, keeping her steady, as a smile grew on his face.

"I don't deserve you" Sam sighs, cupping her cheek.

"Yeah, you don't" Eileen shrugged with a smirk growing on her lips.

"She's right, you really don't" Dean's voice cuts through as he, Cas and Jack make their way over. Cas punches him in the arm with a fond smile.

"Well, that certainly didn't go as I had planned" Cas huffed.

"Yeah, understatement of the year buddy. But when does it ever?" Sam laughs, feeling a bit of relief.

Then Sam has another brilliant idea, smiling as he turns back to Eileen.

"So my party....was ruined by an ancient God. Mind if we crash your's?"

And an hour later, Cas (much to Dean's delight) is now spinning around on the pole while Dean, Charlie and Jo cheers him on. Crowley, Rowena, Garth and Jack (with a shirley temple of course) are seated at the bar, talking about god knows what. Claire, Kaia, Kevin and surprisingly Adam have just returned from the parking lot, giggling a bit too much. And Sam is now seven shots in, messily making out with Eileen in one of the booths. Eventually they pull away, just sitting in a drunken daze as they stare at each other.

God he can't believe she's gonna marry him. He really is the luckiest man in the world.

And before Sam can relay this sentiment, Eileen downs her glass, signs "watch this", and runs to take a turn on the stripper pole to the thrumming bass.

With a laugh he surveys the bar, watching his family drink and laugh without a care in the world. He spots Eileen and Dean by the pole in the center of the room, heads thrown back in laughter, as Cas and Jack cheers them on. So Sam quickly slides out of the booth and makes his way over, plopping down inbetween Jack and Cas, watching his fiancé and brother dance to the beat like idiots. Heart swelling at the sight of his family.

And yeah maybe this isn't the night they had planned, but it was certainly a night they'd never forget.

(Especially since Cas had shirts made that said, "I survived Sam Winchester's bachelor party")

Tag list:

(Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!!!💛)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @organicpurplepants @writtendevastation @tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog

@rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @shadowywerewolfqueen @the-cookie-navy @thelahatiel @thefantasyfiend @castielle-deanna @aestheticflyer26 @multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs

@multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs @dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @slipper007 @rainbowsam @winchester-novak

#this is just crack literally its crack i had this little idea and it ran away from me #literally its just crack theres not much substance and its not funny but here you go anyway!!!#i have never written saileen before and like ive said in the past dialogue is NOT my forte so im sorry in advance if this bad #ITS TIME FOR A FUCKING WEDDING #THEYRE SO CUTE AND THEYRE GETTING MARRIED #cas IS sam's best man you literally cannot convince me otherwise #dean would literally go ALL out for eileen's party like literally anything she wanted because THEY are best friends #i just needed a sam and cas chaotic adventure bachelor party so here #the world almost ended because they were idiots and they dont even care asfhjadjagsg #saileen wedding #certified safe sam content #eileen leahy #sammy #saileen #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #saileen ficlet #bec writes #ficlet

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed.

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins.

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze.

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars.

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window.

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him.

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night.

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry.

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength.

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain.

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness.

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look.

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night.

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her.

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together.

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most.

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back.

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek.

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

-----------------------------------------------------

I worked so hard on this 😩 Please let me know your thoughts.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman reader insert #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth & reader #batman fic #batman universe #dc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne angst #batman angst

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

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PART 2

The first days of Harry staying at your house were overshadowed by Maeve’s 5th grade spelling bee victory. The fake gold medal was a mainstay around her neck for a new nights at the dinner table until she eventually forgot about it.

Luckily enough, neither of your daughters seemed to be thrown too off kilter by his presence. Maeve was just young enough to not know much about who Harry was or the band he’d been in--though she was ready and willing to brag about having a celebrity around.

CeCe--in true sibling rivalry fashion--decided to draw her own medal with crayons and ask you to cut it out so she could wear it around the house. If Maeve gets one, so do I.

With potholders on and the oven door open, you apologized. “I can’t right now, honey--give mommy a few minutes and I’ll help you.”

Harry materialized at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised when he said: “What do you need, CeCe?”

“I have to cut this out!” She said excitedly, running over to the drawer where the scissors were kept. She whipped them out and turned around quickly, Harry’s eyes bulging out of his head when he hurried over to grab them from her.

“I’ll cut, you watch,” he laughed, exchanging a look with you when CeCe climbed up to sit at the island. She hummed in agreement, handed over the paper and watched as he lined it up to start snipping.

“CeCe,” he said her name inquisitively. “Is CeCe short for anything?”

“Cecilia Rose L/N,” she smiled. “Pretty, right?”

“Very pretty,” he smiled. “Same last name as your mum.”

The last part of his sentence was a statement, a quick glance in your direction when you turned off the oven and shouted towards the stairs. “Maeve! Dinner’s ready!”

Your call went unanswered into the big house--you had no clue where she was or if she’d heard you. When Harry finished cutting out the paper medal, he handed it to CeCe who beamed with pride and put it around her neck.

Hands on your hips, “CeCe, will you please find your sister and tell her dinner is ready?”

She took one big breath and then screamed, “MAEVE!”

Both you and Harry flinched at the noise but laughed. She held onto Harry’s arm when she hopped down from the stool, shaking her head in disappointment. “Good god that girl,” she huffed, heading to climb the stairs when she yelled again: Maeve!!!! Dinner!!!!

“She’s a handful tonight,” you said, almost feeling guilty as her footsteps stomped on the floor overhead. “Thank you for that, though,” you said, motioning to the scissors in his hand. “Want a glass of wine?”

“S’not against the rules?” He teased.

When you shot him a look, he smirked and let out a laugh. “I’ll gladly take one. It’s fine, though. She was ready to stab someone flinging the scissors around like that.”

“They just had scissor safety in art class not too long ago.” You told him, pulling the cork from an already open bottle of red. “Sometimes I think she barely listens to anyone--she just does her own thing.”

“Not the worst way to be,” he smiled, picked up the glass when you slid it over on the granite. An awkward beat when he took a sip, smiled in your direction when you did the same. You could hear Maeve and CeCe fighting upstairs, offered him another guilty smile, but then he asked: “do you plan on changing your name?”

“My last name?”

“Yeah--L/N is your married name, right?”

It felt a bit nosy, a bit intrusive for the fourth night he was sleeping under your roof. You shrugged your shoulders casually, unsure how to answer. “Just haven’t gotten to it.”

He’d been quiet so far, out most of the day once the girls were gone for school and he’d return before dinner. Kept to himself--or at least out of the way--and was always helpful when he could be. Bringing groceries in? He carried a few. Needed a hand with clearing plates after dinner? He would gladly help.

Maeve and CeCe came rushing downstairs and were more willing to do the gratitude thing than they usually were, forks in hand when Maeve turned to you. “Oh, by the way, Auntie Shelli is taking us out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“She is?” You smiled at Maeve. “I haven’t heard about that.”

“She promised last week, she said Friday.”

“Okay, well I can check with her.”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Maeve asked.

“Not a thing,” you said, shaking your head. You’d been looking forward to it all week--maybe a bath and a glass of wine, maybe even a movie if you were feeling adventurous. Zoey was typically after you to do something: dinner, come hold Benny for an hour while she took a shower. You were totally up for helping a friend, but it’d been a minute since you had some me-time and if Jeff’s mom had already offered to babysit, you weren’t going to say no.

CeCe turned to Harry excitedly. “What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you coming to dinner?”

He smiled in her direction but shook his head. “I’m actually going over to a friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

“CeCe,” you laughed, embarrassed by her prying. “He doesn’t have to run everything by you, you know.”

“I know,” she said simply as she shrugged her shoulders innocently. “Just thought maybe it was one of my friends. I don’t know if we have the same friends.”

Harry laughed at this and smiled when you rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you know her.”

You watched Harry for a second, wondered if it was a girlfriend or something of the sort--Jeff hadn’t mentioned anything like that. Why couldn’t he stay there, with that friend?

“Well you should come with us and Auntie Shelli one day,” Maeve said. “We usually get ice cream and she lets us get a bunch of toppings and she doesn’t even care if we’ve had dinner yet.”

You let out a short laugh, the details of their time with family members always slipped out when you least expected it. “He’s busy, girls, remember?”

Harry shrugged, “we could get ice cream soon.”

You looked up at him, forked into a bite of dinner and said quietly: you don’t have to.

He didn’t--Harry didn’t owe you or your daughters anything except common decency and kindness. Helping you clean up after dinner or bring in the groceries was enough of a repayment for a guest room and his own bathroom.

“Maybe next week?” He ignored your comment and smiled at the girls.

“Next week!” CeCe chirped back, brushing her hair out of her face with a grin.

You figured they’d forget--swept up by the excitement of something else by the time next week rolled around and Harry would be off the hook. You smiled in his direction, apologetically and pleading, but it wasn’t until the next night that you realized he was serious.

Jeff’s mom had picked Maeve and CeCe up, you had just poured a glass of wine and went to sit in your office to go over any unread emails when he knocked on the door.

“Hey,” he offered a smile, leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” you turned to see him, unsure what he wanted or why he was popping in. “What’s up?”

“Uh, just wanted to let you know that my plans fell through--so, I’m just gonna be home--here I mean.”

His correction was quick, a subtle misstep through words.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, nodded slowly as you took in the information. He’d be here--in your house and just hanging out. While you had planned for a quiet night, having one other person somewhere in the house wouldn’t kill you, right? Maybe he’d lock himself away in his room and leave you to your emails, then you’d slip upstairs and end the night with a bath before your children returned with a sugar high and stories for days.

“Okay,” you said. A pause when he nodded, looked at you and then down to the floor.

“Do you want to have a drink?”

“I’ve got one,” you lifted your glass and then faltered. “Oh, together--sure, yeah.”

He held back a laugh, motioned for you to lead the way once you stood up from your desk. He trailed you back through the living room and into the kitchen, got himself a wine glass when you found the bottle you’d already started on the counter.

Was this weird? You couldn’t tell. The house was quiet and for a moment it felt like neither of you knew what to say when the only sound was the cork coming out of the bottle.

“I can venmo you for groceries, too, since m’drinking your wine.” He lifted it and poured, you watched the liquid rise in the glass until he looked up at you, waiting for a reply.

“No, it’s fine.”

“M’eating your food, drinking your wine, sleeping in your house,” he let out a laugh but put the stopper back in. “I feel like I could at least pay you back for some--” he looked down at the bottle and studied the label, “cabernet.”

You pulled out a barstool and sat, a sigh when you waved him off. “S’fine--I’m still making my way through the sorry your dad died and sorry your husband left you bottles.”

His lips pulled up at the side when yours did too. “Where do they make those grapes?”

“Somewhere far away from here,” you nodded, a long sip from your own glass when he moved to sit beside you.

“So how much did Jeff have to beg you to let me stay here?”

You looked over at him, hesitant to admit your own reluctance. You knew he and Jeff were close--you’d long been hearing stories about their nights out or big wins as a team. You’d even been invited to the release party for Harry’s first solo album, but you couldn’t find a babysitter and back then your ex couldn’t be bothered.

“I got a few pleading text messages after he first brought it up,” you smiled.

He laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s a big help. My house is over in Malibu but s’not ready yet--the only guestroom in Jeff’s house shares a wall with the master and something about that felt...weird.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You didn’t want to hear Jeff and random women hooking up?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shook his head and bit back a smile. “Figured I’d stay with his parents for a bit but then Irv and Shelli told me they loved me but their rules are strict: their children, grandchildren, and your children. Those are their only guests.”

You nodded, it wasn’t news to you. “One time my dad stayed over after a party and Irv almost hit him with a golf club in the morning because he’d forgotten who was on the couch.”

“Yeah, so, sounds like a good idea that I’m here.” Quiet again when he moved the glass around, then he said: “you know, I would be happy to take them to ice cream or something one night--give you a minute to yourself.”

You smiled, the offer was sweet and apparently he had no idea that he’d just ruined your one chance this week to have that. “You really don’t have to--I’m sorry that they’re so...fascinated by you.”

“No, they’re great, very sweet. Maybe I can tag along when Jeff watches them next and learn the ropes.”

You nodded, reassured by his understanding that watching them would take skill. “There’s a lot to learn, they can be quite the handful sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head. “Tell me more about them.”

The way he looked at you stirred a feeling in your chest that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the fact that he seemed interested enough to ask about them, he already seemed more invested than their father had been over the last year. You also would never turn down an opportunity to humble-brag about the tiny humans you'd created.

“Well, Maeve is pretty straight-edge. She’s always cared a lot about school and she likes it--which is weird, cause she didn’t get that from me and she definitely didn’t get it from my ex-husband. Like, she actually gets excited to come home and do her homework.”

He laughed, sipped from his glass and said: “Right, I’m sure she didn’t get her drive and determination from her mother who started her own successful business.”

You brushed off the compliment with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. “The weird preteen-angst thing is new, though. I have no idea if that’s because of losing my dad or losing hers,” you picked at a thread on your sleeve.

He was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to that.

“And CeCe,” you saved him the trouble, “she’s a fireball. She is so strong-willed it actually makes me nervous about when she’s a teenager. She might actually drive to Vegas and get married or something. It’s just her world and we’re living in it.”

His dimples appeared on his cheeks when you shrugged. “Well, you’ve clearly done something right with them. Jeff's always loved being an uncle."

“I appreciate that,” you said honestly, a pause before you admitted: “My ex was never that hands on.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Is that why things ended?”

You let out a short laugh, again unsure if you were sharing too much. Would you wake up and regret the fact that you'd poured a glass of wine, and apparently your deepest secrets, all out on display?

“That, along with the fact that he was cheating on me for a good 18 months, I think.”

“Wow,” he nodded slowly, his lips pushed out in thought when he dropped your gaze. “What a dick.”

“Yeah, better I found out now than later on, I guess.”

“So that and losing your dad this year--”

“Yeah it’s been shitty,” you cut him off, another sip of your wine to avoid having to say more. He looked at your glass, now nearing empty, and reached for the bottle.

“Then you definitely deserve another one of these,” he laughed, fingers pulling the cork out again. “No wonder you got so many sympathy wine bottles.”

He poured himself another too, eventually he followed you into your dad’s old office when he asked what hid behind the mystery door on the first floor.

It was the only room you hadn’t redone yet, something about keeping his records on the book shelves and his papers on the desk felt like it kept him here. He’d chosen the green for the walls and you apologized when Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the sight.

“Great man,” you nodded, turning on a light switch, “terrible decorating taste.”

Harry nodded slowly, wine glass still in hand and a smirk fighting it’s way onto his face. “S’a bright color, yeah.”

He let out a laugh when he made eye contact with you, a disapproving look on your face when you walked over to the desk. “All these strewn about--probably some important information about you over here somewhere.”

He came over and lifted a paper. “Harry Styles is one of the most thoughtful, caring, and funny people I know.”

“Really?” You tugged at his arm to get a better view of the paper. Your dad’s handwriting was almost illegible, a date scribbled on top and another few words halfway down the small notebook page, nothing about Harry and nothing that seemed all that important.

“I hope that’s what he thought of me,” Harry smiled, his eyes flickered to where you still had a grip around his wrist. “Your nails are digging into me.”

“Sorry,” you pulled back immediately. “Sometimes I have to grab CeCe like that in the store or she runs off.”

He kept your gaze for a second, but it felt uncomfortable and made you nervous, so you cleared your throat. “Feel free to come in here and use this stuff,” you motioned over to the piano and the guitars he had in stands. “No one uses it, so--it’d be good for it to get played.”

“You don’t play anything?”

You shook your head. “No--he’d started to teach me guitar when I was young but then my mom died, just never picked it up again.”

You were thirteen when it happened, a car accident on the 405 and you didn’t go to school for weeks. Your dad had always been your main support--they divorced when you were ten--but after that you grew even closer, which is why losing him was so hard. He’d been a friend and a parent and the best grandfather who helped pick up the pieces when things with Luke started to crumble.

Harry was quiet, a simple nod when he went over to the piano and sat. You felt the need to shift the topic of conversation to something less depressing than the unfortunate events of your life.

“Are you writing a lot for the album still?”

“Yeah--we’ve got a few things written that might end up on it, but, mostly just experimenting with some new sounds.”

He pressed a chord down on the piano and looked up at you. “How do Maeve and CeCe seem to be handling it all?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

You shrugged. “They’ve asked a lot about where their father is and why he hasn’t visited. And they understand that their grandpa is gone, but they’re sad, I think. CeCe’s had more nightmares than usual.”

He smiled a little. “And how are you doing with all of it?”

You let out a tiny laugh, mostly out of discomfort with the sudden seriousness in his voice and the way he already pulled more out of you than you’d planned. “I’m fine.”

He lifted his brows but played another progression of chords. “Wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”

You took a sip of the cabernet and watched as he hummed along to whatever he played. When he looked up at you and waited for a reply, you smiled. “Some days I want to pull my hair out and others I need a good glass of wine. I kind of oscillate between those two lately.”

“Well, I’m always happy to split a bottle with you.”

You nodded, tried to fight the smile on your face when he laughed but then gave in. “Good.”

You woke up the next morning with a bit of a headache from the third and unexpected glass of wine. The girls were home by 9pm and unfortunately for you, the weekend was busy with play dates and birthday parties and grocery shopping.

Monday had you back in the office and recounting the first week to Tristan over an iced latte and a breakfast sandwich you’d grabbed after school drop off. Now it was cold and you were approaching the mid-day slump you were all too familiar with.

“I just can’t believe you’re alive still, to be honest. You know--seeing as you thought he’d be a serial killer or something.”

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think he was a serial killer.”

“Just a pedophile?”

“Alright,” you waved him off. “I can admit that it’s been fine--good, even. It’s only been a week, though.”

“Right,” he shrugged. “Halfway there. Maybe week two is when he goes crazy.”

You ignored the teasing from your friend and looked back to your computer. “Do you know if Kailee ordered the new bottles for the matcha face mask?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” he nodded. “And we also got the labels in for them as well. They ship off to the packaging plant on Tuesday.”

“Good, and numbers are up from last quarter which is really good. The meeting with the investors should go well.”

“Yeah, I mean, our entire profit has doubled since this time last year,” he smiled in your direction, a subtle reminder that the late night emails on top of the worst year ever had already proven to be worth it. “You should be very proud.”

“I am,” you admitted. “Of us. All of us.”

“Yes, what kind of boss would you be if you took all of the credit?” He teased.

“A bad one, but I’m also the type of boss that leaves at lunch time to go home and change since I have a meeting this afternoon that I forgot all about.”

He looked you up and down when you stood.

“It’s with people from Anthropologie about carrying some of our products in store--so I don’t think I can wear athleisure.”

He laughed and kept typing. “Fair enough. See you at 2pm, though, for the website meeting?”

“Yes,” you promised as you grabbed your keys. “Please don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone.”

“Might throw the match myself,” he waved you off, a laugh at his own joke when you headed for the elevator.

You were proud of the company you’d built and the office you’d been able to purchase two years back, but you were more proud of the energy that buzzed through the halls and the people who made work feel less like work and more like the adventure of a lifetime. You tried to be the cool boss who brought enough coffee for everyone, gave good time off but still expected hard work and drive to be the core of the business.

It took a while to settle into the role, though. At first you were sure you’d be seen as a spoiled rich kid who got a loan from her father to start a company--but it only took one year to repay him when you started getting placements in health food markets across LA. When Kourtney Kardashian posted something about your raspberry toner, the rest was history.

You’d always been passionate about making people feel good about themselves and focused your entire brand on building people up, not tearing them down. The world had enough of that as a mother of two daughters, you hoped it’d be something that would change that narrative, at least for them.

The drive home was quick and the sun was shining, which put a pep in your step as you hopped out of the car in the driveway and headed for the side door.

Harry’s car was still here--you’d left earlier than usual but didn’t expect him to be home. If anything, you figured he’d left shortly after you and planned on staying late in the studio. Jeff had mentioned something about laying down new tracks.

“Hello?” You called into the kitchen and looked around, he wasn’t in the living room or out by the pool. You found a laundry basket at the top of the second floor and figured that maybe someone had picked him up, but the sound of muffled singing pulled you down the hall and closer to his guest room.

The door was cracked only a bit, the sun streamed in from the windows and you could hear the running water of the shower. It was wrong, maybe, but you pushed the door open and stepped inside, smiled to yourself at the fact that he was singing a Carole King song that your dad used to play on repeat when you were a kid.

The room was clean--you hadn’t been in it since you’d pointed out the linen closet in the bathroom and showed him how to use the TV remote. His bed was made--maybe not the way you would have made it but the throw pillows were arranged in a way that showed he tried.

A buzzing on the dresser pulled your attention away from the bed. His phone, a message from someone named Bria Whitmore. Another message, then a third. You took a step closer--who on earth was texting him this much without a reply? A girlfriend? Someone he probably slept with or something of the sort.

“Hi,” his voice pulled your head around quickly and sent your heartbeat through the roof.

“Jesus, hi--sorry--I was just--”

He was in a towel, the fabric wrapped loosely around his waist and hair was slicked back from the water. You looked away from the tattoos that littered his skin and looked down at the laundry basket.

“I was just seeing if you had any laundry you needed me to do?”

It was clean, but he didn’t need to know that.

“M’good,” he smiled like he didn’t believe you. “Why are you home?”

“Had to change--forgot about a meeting,” you let out a laugh and tried to slow your pulse. “Figured the pilates mom look wasn’t the right vibe.”

He nodded, moved around you in the center of the room to pull out a t-shirt from a drawer. You saw him look down at the cell phone you’d been eyeing.

“Your phone went off,” you admitted, the laundry basket still pressed up against your hip.

“Yeah?” He smirked over his shoulder.

“I was just making sure it wasn’t an emergency--I wasn’t, like, snooping.”

A dimple appeared on his left cheek again, he tugged the fabric over his head and then shook out his hair.

“S’not an emergency,” he said. “Just a friend.”

You didn’t know if that was code. Were twenty-somethings calling their booty-calls friends now? You figured you’d ask Tristan later.

“Why are you home?” You tossed the question back at him.

“Schedule changed--went for a run after breakfast and now just, showering, y’know,” he looked down at the towel that separated you from an even more awkward moment.

“Right, sorry, I...am leaving,” you pointed to the door. “Changing, back to the office, home tonight.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Figured I could make dinner, if you wanted. I make a mean chicken taco.”

You took a few steps backwards to the door. “You cook?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Hard to believe?”

“No,” you shook your head. “That would be great--if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“I’d love to,” he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“With more clothes,” you smiled, immediately regretting the bad joke and the attention it drew to the stuffy air and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Definitely more clothes.”

You made a face at yourself once the door was shut, idiot. At least you hadn’t accidentally seen a picture of someone’s boobs. You were sure he got plenty of those.

You pushed the thought out of your head and thankfully Harry didn’t smirk at you too much when Jeff came to pick up the girls for ice cream the next afternoon. They hadn’t forgotten, but luckily Jeff had offered to take them out one night and it seemed like the perfect opportunity for Harry to tag along. That way he could stay true to his word and the girls would stop pestering him every time he popped down to the kitchen.

Zoey had been begging to bring the baby over to get out of the house, and now she was sitting in the other room with Benny on a play mat on the floor. Maeve, CeCe, Jeff and Harry stood in a line, eagerly awaiting the green light to pile into Jeff’s car.

“Okay, so Uncle Jeff can text me if you need anything, see you around 7pm?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeff said, a salute in your direction that pulled a giggle from both of your daughters.

They’d been fighting more lately, CeCe tried to take the medal from Maeve’s room one night over the weekend and suddenly it was like world war three. You were shocked that they’d gotten it together enough to spend some time in each other's presence, even with Uncle Jeff chaperoning, but you were eager for the quiet and hopeful the screaming matches wouldn’t return once the ice cream and dinner date was finished.

“Love you, be nice to each other, okay?” You leaned down and used both hands to hold CeCe’s head in place when you planted a kiss on her forehead, then Maeve. A hug for Jeff, “only one ice cream cone this time.”

He laughed but obliged, you moved down the line to Harry, an awkward nod in his direction when you realized that whatever type of acquaintanceship had slowly started to bloom between the two of you was hardly grounds for a kiss on the forehead or even a hug.

He apparently sensed this too, a playful smile on his face when he lifted his brows. “No farewell for me?”

Jeff let out a quick laugh but Maeve and CeCe took off for the car, racing to see who could get out the front door fastest. “Alright, don’t kill each other,” you reminded again, waved them all off with an embarrassed smirk and then watched as Harry helped CeCe buckle into her booster seat.

“So,” Zoey appeared beside you, Benny in her arms as she looked out the window. “Seems like things are going well.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged casually. “He’s been nice.”

“He seems friendly,” she wiggled her brows when she met your gaze. “Flirty friendly.”

“Just friendly,” you laughed and headed for the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. It might have only been Tuesday, but the week promised to be a busy one. You wiped up a runaway drip of wine on the rim, fully aware the words about to leave your mouth would push Zoey into gear. “But I did see him shirtless yesterday.”

“That sounds amazing,” she shifted Benny in her arms, eagerness in her voice. “How was it?”

“I mean--he also caught me snooping in his room, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You tried to downplay it. “I came home from work in the middle of the day to change and I heard him in the shower--which is weird cause I didn’t think he’d be home.”

“So you went in there?”

“Not the bathroom--I just peeked into his room and noticed it was really clean. Which is weird, right? He’s a kid!”

“He’s not a kid,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Your kids are kids. He’s twenty-four. I looked it up.”

Your eyes were wide when you turned to head for the couch. “You looked it up?”

“I was curious! He’s a celebrity living in your house and he’s very attractive and you have been harping on his age.”

“Because it felt weird at first.”

“And it doesn’t now?” Her tone was hopeful when she laid Benny back on his play mat and kneeled beside him.

You took a gulp from your wine glass. “Less weird, but only because he’s mature. He’s helpful around the house--he cooked dinner the other night--and he’s good with the girls.”

The corner of her mouth pulled towards the ceiling, arched eyebrows when she clarified. “He’s good with the girls?”

“He’s just nice to them--I was worried that they’d annoy him. I mean, I doubt that he was excited to hear that two of his roommates were six and ten.”

“Okay--but why did you see him shirtless?”

Right--she’d gotten you off track. “Because...I went in his room and then saw his phone buzzing and then he came out and caught me looking at his phone.”

“You were looking through his phone?!”

“No! Not the actual texts, just to see who was blowing it up. I only looked at the lock screen.”

“Was he annoyed?”

“No,” you shrugged, shame laced through your voice. “He was casual. But then he put his shirt on and I left him alone and went back to work.”

“So there’s sexual tension,” she shimmied her shoulders and pulled a laugh from you, she nuzzled down into Benny’s face but then gave him a pacifier.

“No.”

This brought her gaze back to you, more serious now. “Y/N, you are not a creep if you admit that you find him attractive.”

“I can admit that he’s handsome,” you chose a new word that felt more detached. “But who cares? He’s literally just a house guest. A friend of a friend.”

“Right, but he was just flirting with you like there’s no tomorrow.”

“No he wasn’t,” you denied her accusation. When she stared at you expectantly, you took a loud sip and let the obnoxious noise ring through the now empty house as if it would preclude you from saying any more.

“You truly, seriously, one-hundred percent haven’t noticed any type of flirting?”

You averted your eyes for a second, ready to dismiss her question and tell her she was crazy. There was nothing going on between the two of you.

But then you thought on it, thought about the way he asked about Maeve and CeCe and remembered the way your stomach seemed to twist itself in knots when he smirked at you and when the dimples appeared on his cheeks.

“The look on your face is enough of an answer,” Zoey teased, bouncing side to side when Benny made a noise. “Isn’t that right, Benny Boo? Someone has a crush.”

“There’s no crush here--he’s just,” a shrug of your shoulders when you didn’t know what words to use. You didn’t want to add fuel to her fire and you certainly didn’t want to give her any more of a reason to keep bringing this topic up.

“Dreamy? Beautiful? The perfect rebound post-divorce?”

A flutter of your eyelids in annoyance when you stood to head for the kitchen. “No,” you said, making a face in her direction. “He’s just cute.”

“So cute!” She followed behind and egged you on. “A crush is perfectly harmless, a little bedtime rendezvous is totally not a big deal.”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, here, okay?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t already thought about if he’s good in bed?”

She came to sit next to you at the island, folding her legs beneath her. When you sipped at your wine and tried to hide a smirk, her face lit up. “I knew it, I knew it! I don’t blame you, at all, by the way. He’s gorgeous.”

“I’m just horny, number one,” you admitted, leaning forward to rest your elbow on the granite counter. “And seeing a man actually be good with kids is a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, Luke didn’t set the bar high with that one.”

“Absolutely not.”

A pause of silence when evening air blew through the open doors to the patio. There was music audible through the trees, wafting in from the backyard of your neighbors.

“I think you should fuck him.”

“What?!” You turned towards her quickly, your voice quieter when she smirked and looked over at you. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You have a ridiculously attractive man living in your house and he hangs out with your kids and now he’s starting to cook? It’s like a lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have sex with him!”

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

You were quiet for a second, kept her gaze but then rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I’ve had a bad year,” you made an excuse for the pulsing in your veins whenever you were alone with him. Nothing more, nothing less.

“When does he leave again?”

“I don’t know--at the end of the week, I guess. It’s not happening, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Alright,” she seemed to relent, “You do you. I just think you deserve a little feel good time.”

“That sounds gross,” you wrinkled your nose, pulling a laugh out of her.

She was able to change the topic, told you all about the way Benny was getting better at lifting his own head and he was screaming a lot less when she put him down for some tummy time. Your phone dinged, though, signalling a new text just when you were about to pull out leftovers and heat them up.

She watched when you opened it, got excited when you smirked at the screen.

“Who is it?”

You almost didn’t want to show her, but you knew she’d pry it out of your hands with force if you didn’t share. You flipped it around, watched as a smile spread across her face.

A picture of Harry and CeCe, both with sunglasses on as they ate their ice cream. Maeve and Jeff were in the background, the line at the ice cream shop down the street wasn’t too long. You were kind of surprised he was willing to go with them, wouldn't it create a buzz in the headlines?

Zoey gave you a knowing look.

“It’s just sweet.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled a little at first, but the happiness faded from your face when you pulled yourself back to reality. “I feel stupid thinking that he’s flirting with me. He could be with a supermodel if he wanted to. One with perky boobs and who’s, like, twenty. Not someone who’s old enough to be his mom.”

“You are seven years older than him,” she made a disgusted face. “You could have been, like, his babysitter, not his mom.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

“You’re being stupid about this!”

You paused with tupperware in your hands, turned around slowly. “I am not being dumb about not having casual sex with the popstar boyband kid living under my roof. I think not having sex with him is objectively the responsible thing to do here.”

“Why do you always have to be so responsible, though? You have been doing that forever, okay? You’re the business owner mom who’s always been incredibly family-oriented.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not in the slightest! But you’re more than just a mom.”

You bit at your cheek and dropped her gaze, put the tupperware down from exhaustion. “I just want my children to have a normal life. I only had one parent and I thought they were going to have two and now that ship has sailed.”

She nodded sympathetically. “But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong! You never relaxing and having a good time will only teach them bad work-life balance.”

You rolled your eyes at her comment, tried to fight the smile when she waited for you to fold. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to get laid or have a drink or let your hair down once in a while.”

You held up the wine in her face. “Already halfway there.”

She reached for the bottle of wine and shoved it towards you with skeptical eyes. “Try harder.”

You let out a laugh and took another sip once it was refilled, pushed plates into the microwave and sat there with her until Jeff’s car pulled back into the driveway and the girls came tumbling back into the house.

“Mom, Harry said he could teach me how to play guitar,” Maeve grinned up at you, an affectionate hug caught you by surprise, but so did her words.

“He did, did he?” You eyed Harry as he walked in with Jeff by his side, sunglasses still on his face despite the sun lingering just above the horizon.

“We’ll start a band,” Harry nodded in her direction, kept his eyes shielded as CeCe ran into the backyard with a noise of excitement.

“And Uncle Jeff said he’ll sing.”

“You’ll definitely get far, then,” you teased, pulling an offended look from your childhood friend. “He’s obviously the best singer in the house.”

Harry nodded in playful agreement. “Could put me out of a job any day.”

“Maeve!” CeCe called suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention to the backyard. “Come play squishball!”

Harry looked down at Maeve and she looked up at him, you were unaware of whatever unspoken communication was transpiring between them. “Should we?” He asked.

“Definitely,” she giggled, hands on her hips.

Zoey was also confused, but she watched as Maeve and Harry headed for the patio. Harry finally took his sunglasses off, handed them to your older daughter before he spoke. “CeCe, we need to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She asked, she groaned in disappointment but walked back towards the house, bat dragging on the grass behind her. Jeff laughed and folded his arms over his chest, unaware of whatever deal had already been struck between them.

“You two are both really great at squishball,” Harry admitted, his voice suddenly more serious than before. “But I think we need to up the stakes.”

“Up the stakes?” You could tell by the look on CeCe’s face that she had no clue what that meant.

“Winner of this game gets the medal I won from the spelling bee,” Maeve explained.

You were about to protest, head outside and discourage any type of betting or gambling or whatever the backyard made up game was leading towards, but Harry went on to explain the rules. “CeCe gets a head start running bases, just because of her tiny legs.”

Maeve nodded, “and she gets a free home run to start off.”

CeCe smiled wide and put her hands on her hips, pulling a laugh from Harry as she copied her older sister. “I like the sound of that,” she said. A sure-fire way to make her win, you realized. But what was in that for Maeve? How had your previously grumpy pre-teen become a team player in a matter of hours?

It wasn’t long before Zoey gathered up her things and put Benny in the backseat, giggling and excited yells floated in from the backyard when you hugged her goodbye. Jeff stayed past sunset and offered an excited high five when CeCe won, completely unaware at how easy they’d made it for her.

But he soon left, too, you climbed the stairs behind your two little athletes, got them washed up and in bed before it was 9pm--not bad for a weeknight. You were sure Harry would have retreated to his room, too, but he was sat by the fire pit on the patio, a near empty glass of wine in his hand when you came back out.

“Care to explain?” you leaned against the doorframe and smiled. He adjusted in his seat but shrugged his shoulders when you admitted: “I never thought I would hear the end of it with that stupid medal.”

There was a confident look on his face when he met your eyes in the glow of the fire pit. “Figured I can teach her a few chords on guitar and that would take her mind off of taunting CeCe.”

It was smart, you nodded slowly and watched him. Give Maeve something that would get her really excited, but only if she’d give up something else. Bargaining--a classic parenting trick. You eyed Harry with a level of skepticism.

“How are you so good with them?”

He smiled at that, apparently flattered by the compliment. “They’re good kids,” he said simply.

“I’m aware,” you laughed, “but you don’t have to spend so much time with them.”

“I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be around a family, you know?”

The words pulled emotion to your chest. Did you really look like a family to him? No husband, no grandfather, two irreplaceable roles and now you were trying to fill all of them just to keep your kids afloat.

“And besides,” he stood from his chair and grabbed the now empty glass before he came closer to you. “Something about being here just feels right.”

You looked up at him, felt the same rush of heat to your cheeks but hoped you were safe in the cover of night. He smirked, like he knew what he was doing to you but was too much of a gentleman to call you out. Hesitation when you felt some type of magnetic force between you, the distance simultaneously felt like inches and miles.

You smiled softly, embarrassed by the way your pulse picked up and the thoughts that flew through your head. What would happen if I, does he ever think about, am I crazy if I want to?

He brushed past you and walked to the sink, placing the wine glass down quietly before he turned to face you once more. “Is it as bad as you thought?”

Confusion, you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “Sorry?”

“Having me here,” he motioned around, the dimple on his left cheek was visible even in the dim light. You rolled your eyes, dropped his gaze for a second when he let out a quiet laugh. “I hope that it’s only as miserable as you thought--m’just aiming for not worse than expected at this point.”

You turned to face him and put your hands on the granite, thankful for the fact that the island was now between you, the ticking of a clock on the wall kept time when you tried to piece your words together carefully.

Was he flirting with you? A similar to question to that he'd asked only a few nights earlier, this time with more of a smirk on his face and a lilt in his voice that made sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s better,” you admitted with a nod and a teasing smile. “But don’t tell Jeff that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, held your gaze and then nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence for a second, you almost offered to pour him another glass of wine but then he said: “Only a few more days, though.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, the fantasy shattered on the floor between you. “How’s the house coming?”

He winced, a quiet laugh when he shook his head. “Everything’s been pushed out a few weeks, actually. But--it’s fine, I’m probably just going to stay with a friend or something, you know, don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You brought your lips into a thin line, unsure if what you were about to offer was appropriate or weird or just plain awkward.

“Oh...well, I mean, if you want to stay here longer, you can.”

His mouth pulled up on the side, he brought his gaze back to you and shifted his weight on his feet. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

You shrugged, again hoping to play it cool or not come off too eager. “If that would be helpful,” you trailed off.

“Yeah, very helpful.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he nodded, pulling another smirk from you.

A few more weeks, tops.

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

Text

The Lady of the Autumn Court: what the fuck is happening in Autumn (part 2)

As I said in my Eris Vanserra post, it seems that the Lady of the Autumn Court is a bigger piece to the Eris and Lucien puzzles.

We don't know what the fuck has been happening in the Forest House but we do the following:

The Lady of the Autumn Court is/was extremely powerful

Lucien (and to some extent Eris) are mama's boys (even though Lucien has been exiled for centuries)

The Lady met Helion before she was married to Beron

At least one of the seven brothers - Lucien - is Helion's child, but Helion saved the Lady after she had already had some kids (so Eris probably isn't his, even though they both have amber eyes)

The Lady chose to stay with Beron

Beron is aware of the affair between Helion and the Lady

Beron is physically abusive towards the Lady and had tortured Eris

Helion does not know Lucien is his heir, but Eris seems to know Lucien isn't Beron's son

Things that aren't mentioned below the cut, but are interesting:

Eris is the ringleader of the brothers, the commander of Beron's forces, and is Beron's most trusted son (the other three don't even have names)

In ACOWAR, Eris says has never denied Beron anything - except to save Lucien - but is angling for the throne and betraying him in ACOFAS and ACOSF (this reminds me of Lorcan betraying Maeve for her own good in TOG)

Beron wanted to kill Lucien for wanting to leave Autumn and marry Jesminda (this doesn't seem like a good reason if he isn't in line for the throne - or isn't part of their bloodline, but I guess Beron doesn't need a reason to be cruel)

Helion alludes to having trouble at home in ACOSF

The remaining unnamed brothers are all angling for the throne (this reminds me of the Khaganate in TOG and the Cruel Prince)

I got a little carried away with the color coding, but here's every major scene involving and discussing the Lady of the Autumn Court (and some breadcrumbs because I'm convinced SJM is purposeful in her writing)

Rhysand uses the Lady of the Autumn Court taunt Lucien in ACOTAR:

Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” Rhysand ran an eye over me. “I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned. Lucien was trembling—with rage or fear or sorrow, I couldn’t tell. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

The Lady of the Autumn Court also helps Feyre with one of her tasks:

A door clicked open somewhere down the hall, and I shot to my feet. An auburn head peered at me. I sagged with relief. Lucien— Not Lucien. The face that turned toward me was female—and unmasked. She looked perhaps a bit older than Amarantha, but her porcelain skin was exquisitely colored, graced with the faintest blush of rose along her cheeks. Had the red hair not been indication enough, when her russet eyes met mine, I knew who she was. I bowed my head to the Lady of the Autumn Court, and she inclined her chin slightly. I supposed that was honor enough. “For giving her your name in place of my son’s life,” she said, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed apples. She must have been in the crowd that day. She pointed at the bucket with a long, slender hand. “My debt is paid.” She disappeared through the door she’d opened, and I could have sworn I smelled roasting chestnuts and crackling fires in her wake.

Rhys (while wearing the mask of hte High Lord) uses her to taunt Lucien again in ACOMAF:

“Little Lucien,” Rhys purred. “Didn’t the Lady of the Autumn Court ever tell you that when a woman says no, she means it?”

“Prick,” Lucien snarled, storming past his sentinels, but not daring to touch his weapons. “You filthy, whoring prick.”

Lucien explaining how he was treated since Beron may suspect he's Helion's heir and as we know from Tamlin: future high lords have physical markers:

His jaw tightened. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

This may not relate to the Lady of the Autumn Court's relationship with Helion, but I'm gathering all the crumbs (why does Eris hesitate before calling his brothers brothers?)

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

Eris has no love for Beron (he literally asks Rhys to kill him), but he does seem to protect the Lady during the High Lord's Meeting:

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

Helion and Lady of Autumn lock eyes:

The violence simmering off my friends was enough to boil the pool at our toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him, his wife—Lucien’s mother—at his side. Her russet eyes scanned the room, as if looking for that missing son.

They settled instead on Helion, who gave her a mocking incline of his dark head. She quickly averted her gaze.

The High Lords discuss the past war:

(also reminder: Eris has Amber Eyes like Helion)

Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”

Beron’s lip curled. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”

“Right,” Viviane said, “because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”

Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.”

“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counted coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”

Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiled a bit. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.” Helion was watching Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.

The Lady of the Autumn Court kept her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drained from her face. Dagdan and Brannagh flashed through my mind—along with the corpses of those humans. What they’d done to them before and after they’d died

After Nesta makes her speech:

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

After Azriel attacks Eris:

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier of my own. I lifted my gaze to the High Lord of Autumn. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Helion laughed

---

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

Thesan rubbed his temples. “This does not bode well.”

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”

Feyre loses her shit:

Beron shielded barely fast enough to block me, but the wake singed Eris’s arm—right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.

---

The Lady of Autumn was clutching her arm, angry red splattered along the moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. I said to her as I reclaimed my seat, “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes lifted toward mine, round as saucers.

Beron spat, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”

Helion tells the story of the Affair:

Helion tapped a finger against the carved arm of his couch. “He played games in the War and it cost him—dearly. His people still remember those choices—those losses. His own damn wife remembers.”

Helion had looked at the Lady of Autumn repeatedly during the meeting. I asked, carefully and casually, “What do you mean?”

Helion’s jaw clenched. “The Lady of the Autumn Court was sent to stay with her sisters, her younger children packed off to other relatives. To spread out the bloodline.” He dragged a hand through his sable hair. “Hybern attacked their estate. Her sisters bought her time to run. Not because she was married to Beron, but because they loved each other. Fiercely. She tried to stay, but they convinced her to go. So she did—she ran and ran, but Hybern’s beasts were still faster. Stronger. They cornered her at a ravine, where she became trapped atop a ledge, the beasts snapping at her feet

Helion didn’t so much as shift in his chair. “She was still young—though she’d been married to that delightful male for nearly two decades. Married too young, the marriage arranged when she was twenty.”

---

But it was Mor who said coolly, “I heard a rumor once, Helion, that she waited before agreeing to that marriage. For a certain someone who had met her by chance at an equinox ball the year before.”

I tried not to blink, not to let any of my rising interest surface.

The fire banked to embers and Helion threw a half smile in Mor’s direction. “Interesting. I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didn’t give her a choice before they sold her to Beron.”

“How long did the affair last?” I asked. That withdrawn female … I couldn’t imagine it.

Helion snorted. “Is that a polite question for a High Lady to be asking?”

But the way he spoke, that smile … I only waited, using silence to push him instead.

Helion shrugged. “On and off for decades. Until Beron found out. They say the lady was all brightness and smiles before that. And after Beron was through with her … You saw what she is.”

“What did he do to her?”

“The same things he does now.” Helion waved a hand. “Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them.”

I clenched my teeth. “If you were her lover, why didn’t you stop it?” The wrong thing to say. Utterly wrong, by the dark fury that rippled across Helion’s face.

“Beron is a High Lord, and she is his wife, mother of his brood. She chose to stay. Chose. And with the protocols and rules, Lady, you will find that most situations like the one you were in do not end well for those who interfere.

I didn’t back down, didn’t apologize. “You barely even looked at her today.”

“We have more important matters at hand.”

“Beron never called you out for it?”

“To publicly do so would be to admit that his possession made a fool of him. So we continue our little dance, these centuries later.” I somehow doubted that beneath that roguish charm and irreverence, Helion felt it was a dance at all.

But if it had ended centuries ago, and she’d never seen him again, had let Beron treat her so abominably …

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

Beron must have discovered the affair when she was pregnant with Lucien.

He likely suspected, but there was no way to prove it—not if she was sharing his bed, too. Rhys’s disgust was a tang in my mouth. I have no doubt Beron debated killing her for the betrayal, and even afterward. When Lucien could be passable as his own of spring—just enough to make him doubt who had sired his last son.

I wrapped my head around it. Lucien not Beron’s son, but Helion’s. His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him.

His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

You never suspected?

Not once. I’m mortified I didn’t even consider it.

What does this mean, though?

Nothing—ultimately nothing. Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir

#LONG post #lady of autumn #lucien vanserra #autumn court #beron vanserra #eris vanserra #helion spell cleaver #acotar #lady of the autumn court #forest house #a court of wings and ruin #high lord's meeting #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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timelesslords · 3 years

Text

baby, just say yes

Read on Ao3

Summary:

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

Annabeth never appreciated New Rome as much as she did on Sunday mornings.

They didn’t have class, homework could wait until later, there was no chance of a monster attack, and, best of all, Annabeth didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to slip out of the Poseidon cabin before anyone noticed she had spent the night. She and Percy could just lounge around together and be lazy for half the day, before one of them finally got up and made breakfast.

It was starting to get a little late, but Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. It was comfortable and Percy was there. Plus, they were deep into a discussion about the architecture of the city, which only made Annabeth happier and more unwilling to move.

There was one temple in particular that Annabeth had only seen photos of, but it looked incredible. It was Juno’s, which was unfortunate, because Annabeth would really love to sketch the ceilings for her design class.

“We should go see it,” Percy said, “It sounds amazing.”

“I wish,” Annabeth sighed, “But Juno loves to torture me. Nobody can go in unless they’re married.”

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

“Are you being serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” Annabeth said sarcastically, starting to count out reasons on her fingers, “We’re barely 21, we’re not even done with college, we’ve barely even lived together—”

“We’ve known each other since we were 12, college is dumb, and we’ve made it two months living together and we’ve barely had any problems, so—” Percy said, folding each of Annabeth’s fingers down with each rebuttal.

“College is not dumb.” Annabeth countered. It was his weakest argument, but unfortunately it was also her lamest reason.

“Okay, fine, college isn’t dumb,” Percy said, waving his hand dismissively, “but waiting to get married because we’re still in college is dumb. It’s not like we haven’t experienced the real world or whatever, we’ve been doing that since we were kids.”

“Yeah, but that real world is different than like, being an adult, with a real job and a real apartment and bills and—”

“How could that be harder than fighting in two wars and literally crawling through hell?” Percy asked, only he was grinning now, because he knew he had her. She hit him with a pillow in retaliation, and he laughed.

“You’re impossible,” she said, trying to sound mad, but it wouldn’t quite come out angry.

“You just don’t like that I’m out-logicing you,” Percy said, a little smug.

“You are not out-logicing me,” Annabeth huffed.

“Okay, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married, then,” he said. That dead-serious look was back on his face. Annabeth would have preferred him to be smug.

“Well, first of all, you don’t have a ring. What kind of lame proposal is that?” Annabeth said, knowing she was just stalling for time.

“Who says I don’t have a ring?” Percy asked, straight-faced. The look on Annabeth’s face must have been extraordinarily panicked, because he sighed, looking defeated.

“I don’t actually have a ring ‘Beth. You can put off your heart attack.”

“Oh thank gods,” Annabeth sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. That really would have been too much too soon.

“But I can get you a ring, so that’s really a non-issue,” Percy continued, undeterred, “Next reason.”

“Everyone’ll think I’m pregnant,” Annabeth grumbled, hands still over her eyes. That made Percy laugh.

“They’ll just assume that we’re crazy for each other and also madly in love,” Percy said.

“And also that you knocked me up,” Annabeth added, moving her hands to her forehead and looking over at Percy.

“In which case it would be my fault, and we would share the embarrassment equally,” Percy said easily, grinning.

“That’s not even how it works,” Annabeth complained, “It would be way more embarrassing for me. Even though it's not true.”

“We can print ‘Annabeth is not pregnant’ on the wedding invitations,” Percy said, because it was his turn to make her laugh.

“Yeah, that’ll shut up the rumors,” Annabeth said, trying to ignore how the thought of wedding invitations made her stomach turn.

“Okay, I concede that pregnancy rumors are at least half-way a valid reason. But I’m going to need at least one more,” Percy said.

“At least?” Annabeth protested, “Is my potential humiliation not enough for you?”

“Mm. Not quite. I’m sharing at least 25% of the embarrassment, so it cancels out a bit.”

Annabeth wanted to argue that 25% was too high a percent, but he had chosen the number well. It was, to Annabeth’s calculations, fairly accurate.

“Why can’t we just wait?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out as seriously as they did, but she saw Percy’s expression shift from joking to sincere anyways.

“If you want to wait, we can wait. Forget I brought it up”

She knew he meant it, and she was really tempted to take up his offer and forget about it. They had talked about marriage before, in an abstract way, and Annabeth hadn’t exactly been opposed, but he’d never asked straight up either. She had been clear that she wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives, but they’d never discussed a timeline for when they wanted to do things.

But it had slipped out so easily, and so sincerely. He really did want this. The least Annabeth could do was talk about it with him.

“But you don’t want to wait,” Annabeth said, rolling onto her side to face him more directly. Percy shrugged with one shoulder.

“I love you. I want to be with you forever. Why wait?”

“If you want to be with me forever, why do it at all?” Annabeth asked. Percy frowned, little lines appearing between his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

Annabeth hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings to words. Marriage had always given her a kind of weird feeling, nervous and a little repulsed. She was sure a psychologist would have a field day digging up why, but she didn’t really care to know. It was only the prospect of doing it with Percy specifically that made it tolerable to her at all.

“I love you,” she started, slowly, “And I want to be with you forever. But why do we have to put this weird stipulation on it? Why can’t we just be with each other?”

“We could. I’ll be with you however you want to be with me,” Percy said, reaching out, and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. Annabeth tried not to sink too much into his touch. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

“But you want to get married,” Annabeth protested.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

To Annabeth’s relief, he didn’t look at her like it was a weird question. It would have been fair, it was a weird question. But he could tell what she was asking, what she was really asking.

“I dunno, I can’t really explain it,” Percy admitted, “I guess I just want to make that promise to you, that I’ll always love you and always be there for you, sick or healthy and rich or poor, or whatever the words are.”

Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh a little at the end of his statement, and his own lips turned up in a smile.

“You’ve already promised me all that, though,” Annabeth said.

“Yeah, but this time it’s official. Something bigger than just you and me,” Percy said.

And maybe that was it; the wrinkle that wouldn’t let her just dive in and say yes and get married at 21 like every other lovesick young adult. Promises. Because a promise made was just a potential promise broken and the more official it became, whether in a prophecy and a knife or a ceremony in front of all their friends, the worse the fallout would be.

“What’s wrong with just promising it to ourselves?” Annabeth asked.

“Nothing at all.”

“But you really want this,” Annabeth sighed.

“Don’t say you’ll do it just because I want to do it,” Percy said.

“But you really want it?” Annabeth asked. Percy took a second to answer, biting his lower lip the way he did when he was really nervous.

“Yeah. I really want it,” he admitted.

Annabeth studied his face, every earnest line marking his expression, right up to the crinkles in the corners of his sea-green eyes.

She tried to imagine being married to him, really tried. Not just in an abstract sense, but what it would look like, what it would feel like. To her surprise, it didn’t seem that different from what they had now. Maybe even better, in some ways.

They were already so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend, they had been for a long while. Soulmates was a cheesy word, but she did honestly and truly believe Percy was hers. And while the thought of actually getting married was a little horrifying still, the thought of being married to him was a little exciting. Having people understand, at least a little bit, what they meant to each other made her feel warm inside.

And he wouldn’t break his promises to her. He was the only one who had kept every single one, and a stupid piece of paper at city hall wasn’t going to change that.

“Okay,” Annabeth sighed, finally.

“Okay?” he asked, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face.

“Okay, I’ll marry you, you dumb idiot,” she said, unable to keep a smile off her face either.

Before she could continue, he leaned over and kissed her. She could feel how happy he was through his lips, and it was supremely difficult to break away, but she knew she had to or she would get lost and her stipulations would slip out of her mind, never to be seen again.

“I have demands, though,” Annabeth said, finally pulling back. Percy laughed, loud and earnest.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I don’t want a big wedding. Actually, I don’t want a wedding at all,” Annabeth said, trying to suppress the shudder that crept up on her at the thought.

“Easy. We can elope. Next,” Percy said.

“Really?” Annabeth asked. She had thought that might be a bigger deal to him, but he just shrugged.

“I want to be married to you, it doesn’t matter to me how we do it.”

“Even if I say I wanna go to Vegas and get it done with an Elvis impersonator?” Annabeth asked, only half joking.

“Can we really?” Percy asked, his eyes flashing with excitement.

“Maybe? If we— okay, no, I have more demands, put a pin in the Elvis thing.”

“I’ve pinned it,” Percy promised.

“Okay. I don’t want a stupid gaudy ring, it's not practical, and diamonds are unethical anyways,” Annabeth continued. Percy nodded.

“No diamonds, got it.”

“I want to keep my last name, or hyphenate or something. And if I do change it I want to wait until we’re done with school.” Annabeth said. She was a little nervous about this one, but it didn’t seem to bother Percy.

“We could both hyphenate,” Percy suggested, “Jackson-Chase has a nice ring to it.”

“Chase-Jackson sounds better, but we can deal with the details of that later,” Annabeth said, waving her hand.

“Okay, I’m putting a pin in hyphenation order. Next.”

“I don’t want to send announcements or anything. People can find out when they find out,” Annabeth said.

“Okay, but we have to at least call my mom and Paul,” Percy said. Honestly it was impressive he had gotten so far without even a small amendment to her asks. “And Piper is going to be really pissed if you keep it a secret from her.”

“We can call your parents,” Annabeth promised.

“And Piper?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. But the thought of telling her best friend besides Percy was getting less cringe-inducing by the minute. Annabeth actually felt herself getting excited about Piper’s potential reaction. She would absolutely freak out in the best way possible.

“She can be our witness. If you’re cool with that,” Annabeth said. Percy grinned.

“That sounds great.”

“Even if I ask her to make it as irreverent as possible?” Annabeth asked.

“We’re getting married in front of Elvis, I’m not sure how it gets more irreverent than that.” Percy said.

“We put a pin in Elvis,” Annabeth corrected, “But I’m positive Piper can somehow make it even more irreverent if she puts her mind to it.”

“Never thought I’d know an Aphrodite kid so willing to ruin a wedding,” Percy said fondly. Then an excited look flashed across his face.

“Plus, she won’t be able to stop herself from talking about it, and then we won’t have to tell anyone.” he added. He sounded so triumphant Annabeth had to laugh.

“You’re right, that’s perfect. So, when are we doing this?”

The smile on Percy’s face faltered slightly.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we really really don’t have to.”

Annabeth hesitated slightly. In truth the idea still scared her a little, even with Percy’s promises that they could do it in the most goofy, non-traditional way possible. But his insistence that he would stand by her with or without getting married was the thing convincing her. If she asked him to drop it now, he would, and he wouldn’t bring it up again, even though it was a big deal to him.

And really, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to Annabeth as long as they didn’t make it feel so official. Breaking a promise you made in front of an Elvis impersonator felt much less disastrous than breaking a promise you made at city hall. But it didn’t even matter, because Percy would never break that promise anyways, no matter where he made it.

“I want to be with you. And you want to be with me,” Annabeth said, “It’s a little weird for me, but if you want to do it, I’m down.”

“Okay. Cool,” Percy said, letting himself smile again. It was so radiant it just about chased away every last shred of lingering doubt Annabeth had. Not to mention the few added advantages to being married that had popped into her mind in the last few minutes.

“Plus, we’ll get a better tax refund,” Annabeth added, and Percy collapsed into laughter.

“I love you so much, I don’t even care that you’re marrying me for the tax benefits,” Percy said, rolling over and kissing her again. Annabeth let this one last longer, let herself sink into it.

“We’re getting married,” Annabeth said breathlessly, when they finally separated.

“We’re getting married,” Percy agreed, grinning.

So, maybe the institution of marriage was weird and a little sexist in origin and reminded Annabeth of old prophecies and old promises. But that was in the past. Percy was the future, her future, and wanted to have every single moment possible with him.

They were going to go to Vegas, and hire a random guy dressed as a 50s rockstar off the street and have Piper make the whole thing as ridiculous as possible. And then they were going to live the rest of their lives together, maybe as the Jackson-Chases, (or if she had her way the Chase-Jacksons), and she would finally have a word to describe Percy besides “boyfriend” which had been woefully inadequate for years.

Plus, her rebate next year was going to be awesome.

Annabeth grinned. Maybe marriage wasn’t so bad after all.

#trying a new posting format just for funsies #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth oneshot #Annabeth chase #percy jackson #percy x annabeth #percabeth fluff #annabeth x percy #proposal fic #if Annabeth seems OOC it's because I'm ✨projecting✨#i wrote this completely forgetting about her something permanent thing i was just focusing on the abandonment issues lmao #i think this is a reasonable interpretation though? idk lol #my fic

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

His’n

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: A Hanella Twitter prompt, of sorts. Hank introducing Stella as his wife. https://twitter.com/hole4gillian/status/1411255101990203392?s=21

The whole Zoom appearance thing was getting to be old hat, so when Hank was asked to appear live and in person at the reopening of an independent book store he frequented, he jumped at the opportunity. He missed reading to people that actually existed and weren’t just little boxes on a screen. He missed that instant feedback and energy that only a live audience could provide. He missed being the center of attention.

The appearance was on a Tuesday evening. He asked Stella to go, but she had a late class that night. He asked Becca to come, but Ziggy had a puppy training session. He wasn’t terribly disappointed. It was a rare occurrence to have any of his family at an event and he was fine with it.

Hank was greeted by the owner and manager of Read This, a man named Philip, who he considered to be a step above an acquaintance, but not quite a friend. They had a relationship built upon reciprocity. Hank was a regular customer, even name dropped the store a few times in interviews to give it a boost, and Philip always stocked his books and made sure signed copies were on display.

The event space in the store was just a small stage at the back, barely large enough to fit two chairs comfortably, and an assortment of mismatched folding chairs scattered in front of it. The bookstacks were at angles, pointed towards the stage in a vee formation like an arrow down the aisle. Hank had done a few signings there in the past and they always felt more like intimate gatherings than events.

Philip kicked off the appearance with a short speech thanking everyone for coming out and for supporting the store over the years. He kept it short and simple and then gave Hank the floor to a round of applause. Hank stepped up onto the stage and gave Philip a quick hug before he sat down. All the seats out in the audience were full - all fifteen or twenty of them. He took a passing glance at the crowd as he unfolded the pages he’d brought with him that had been tucked into his back pocket.

“Any of you motherfuckers blog about this later and call me an old man for what I’m about to do, fuck you in advance,” he said, taking out the reading glasses he had hooked to the collar of his shirt that had recently become a necessity.

Everyone laughed. Someone woo-hooed from the audience and Hank dropped his chin to look over the rim of his glasses.

“Philip said I could read whatever the hell I wanted,” Hank said. “So I’m going to read an excerpt from a new novel I’ve got coming out in a few months called Alone Together. A couple things you should know going in, the novel follows the story of Miranda and Scott, a married couple who are on the verge of calling it quits after fifteen years when the pandemic hits and forces them hunker down together when they’d really rather be anywhere else. This bit I’m about to read is about half-way in, when Scott is starting to reflect on what exactly went wrong and when.”

Hank paused to smooth his pages again. When he looked up, he straightened his shoulders in surprise. He saw Stella, leaning against one of the bookstacks with a mild smile on her face. She was in her work clothes, a white silk blouse and fawn colored pencil skirt and tan heels. She had a tan blazer over her arm and her briefcase in hand as well. He took a subtle glance at his watch as he adjusted his pages. Her night class should have only started a half an hour ago.

“Uh,” Hank started and then hid a grin behind his fist as he cleared his throat. “Scott watched his wife at her computer from across the room. She had her headset on and she was laughing. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d heard her laugh. It occurred to him that he’d forgotten what it sounded like.”

It took about fifteen minutes for Hank to read the full excerpt. He was momentarily distracted when he saw Becca walking down the aisle. She went straight to Stella, gave her a hug, and then turned towards the stage with Stella’s arm across her shoulders. The surprise of having both his wife and daughter there for him almost made him cry.

When he finished, the audience clapped, and Philip came back onto the stage to moderate audience questions. All the questions were the same variations of questions he had been asked his entire career. He could answer them in his sleep. While he was droning on about his routine and writing habits, he saw Becca tip her head back, whisper something in Stella’s ear, and then duck out from under her arm and walk away. He hoped she wasn’t leaving without saying goodbye.

“Gentleman in the green shirt,” Philip said.

“You said earlier that you were inspired by the pandemic, so I have to ask, how much is fiction and how much is reality?”

“Are you asking me if I based it off my own life?” Hank asked. “Well, first of all, I want to make a broad statement about writing in general. That whole ‘write what you know’ garbage that people, mainly professors, let’s be honest, try to instill into you, is bullshit. Do you think Bram Stoker was a vampire? Do you think Thoms Harris was a cannibal? And believe me, I’m not saying that writers don’t cull from their real life when they’re putting words to paper, but there always seems to be this assumption that if you’re writing a modern story, set in a modern world, that somehow that must be your life and your voice.

“Unlike Scott, I am happily married to the most beautiful, intelligent, way out of my league woman and I would never forget, not even for a hot second, that I am the luckiest bastard alive. We started off the pandemic in very close quarters and when I was trying to think about what I might be interested in writing next, it occurred to me that I could very well be in a miserable position if my life was different. But, it’s not my life that I was imagining when I finally sat down to write. It was two people who were at odds with each other and how would they respond to this?

“I’ll say this, though, and then I’ll get off my high horse on the subject. There is one thing in the story that I gave to Scott that belongs to me. I even read from that passage tonight, and I’ll read it again.”

Hank put his glasses back on and flipped through his pages until he found the paragraph he wanted. He glanced up and out to where Stella was before he re-read the lines.

“He could recall in stunning detail the moment he knew he was in love with her. It wasn’t a romantic moment. They weren’t out on a date. It wasn’t during or after sex, when he was naturally euphoric. It was on a hot summer morning in August when the air conditioner had gone out overnight and they’d both slept poorly and were pissed off at the world. He watched her angrily brushing her teeth with her pink cheeks and dark circles under her eyes and in his exhaustion and anger he wished for a moment that she wasn’t there, but then he had a flash of his life without her and suddenly he felt a swelling in his chest that stole his breath. He never wanted to envision a life without her again, not for a minute.”

Hank stared at the page for a few beats before he finally took off his glasses again and looked up. He first looked for the man that had asked the question and then he turned his gaze to Stella.

“The fictional situation was different,” he said. “But, the feeling was the same.”

Stella gave him a subtle smile and her lips puckered very briefly. His own lips twitched in response and he finally cut his eyes away. He took a few more questions and then Philip thanked him for his time and invited anyone that wanted to stay to have a book signed to wait for a few minutes as they set up the table.

As people began to talk amongst themselves, Hank left the stage to go to Stella. She was chatting with Becca, who had returned with two cups of coffee from the cafe next door.

“Hey,” Hank said, sliding his arm around Stella’s waist and squeezing her hip.

Stella put a hand on Hank’s face and her thumb briefly circled his mouth. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes held his in a warm gaze. She tilted her chin up at him and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Daughter,” he said, turning to Becca while still holding onto Stella. He put his hand on the top of her head and kissed the part in her hair.

“Father.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“We thought we would take you to dinner,” Stella said. “When you’re finished.”

“I would love that.”

Philip came up from behind Hank and said his name. “We’re ready for you,” Philip said.

“Philip, this is my wife, Stella Gibson. And my daughter, Rebecca Moody.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Philip said to Stella and then nodded to Becca. “We sold out of the hardcover of your last book. Please, let me know if you’d ever like to do a signing.”

“Sure,” Becca said.

“You’d have to put twice as many chairs out,” Hank said. He could tell Becca wanted to roll her eyes at him so bad.

“Go do your thing,” Stella said, putting her hand over Hank’s on her hip. She rubbed her thumb over his and he captured it and pinned it down for a moment. He nodded and then kissed her cheek again.

“Love you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I see what you mean,” Philip said, walking Hank back to the stage where a folding table was set up. “She is out of your league.”

“Right?” Hank said with a laugh. “And she married me. Unfuckingbelievable.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #hank moody #stella gibson #marrieds #the fall #californication

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wolfstarflowerpottstarchaser · 3 years

Text

Romione - The Beginning of Dating

The Battle of Hogwarts was on Saturday, 2 May 1998

They helped to rebuild Hogwarts over a couple of weeks (even with magic, it was a large property that took a lot of work)

Then the Weasleys went back to the Burrow along with Harry - who wasn’t keen to get back to Privet Drive - and Hermione who had no home to go back to

Hermione was a huge help to have around those few weeks. Molly hardly left her bed, distraught from Fred’s death, so Hermione helped around the house and brought her tea

But she was especially a comfort to Ron

They never wanted to leave each other after the war, so they shared Ron’s room

Hermione insisted Ron didn’t have to give up his bed while Ron insisted she take it until Hermione suggested they just share it

It was innocent. Not that other things didn’t cross their mind after years of pining, but it was the last thing they thought of after the casualties and deaths they’d witnessed

But they would hold each other. Some nights they’d talk until the sun came up about the war or sometimes they’d just talk about nothing in particular

Other nights they would just embrace each other in silence, neither wanting to talk but not wanting to be alone

Hermione would talk about her parents and one night, she asked Ron if he would go with her to get them, to bring back their memories

"You want me to come to Australia?"

"You don’t have to. Oh, of course you don’t want to leave home now. Forget I said anything, it’s-"

"Hermione, of course I’ll come. I want to come."

When they found them, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say the charm because she was crying too much, so Ron did it himself

He was a little nervous as Hermione was better at such things, but he tried really hard for her sake and it worked

There was a tearful reunion and Ron felt a bit silly standing around until finally Mrs Granger looked at him, then up at his red hair, and she beamed

"Oh, my goodness! Ronald!" she gave him a large hug as if they were the best of friends. "We haven’t seen you since you were - what was it, dear? - 12 or 13! Of course, the amount Hermione spoke about you, it felt like we saw you every time she was home-"

"Mum!"

"Don’t be embarrassed, Hermione. He’s a lovely looking boy!"

While Mr Weasley loved Ron, he was not keen for him to share a room with Hermione so he took the sofa while Hermione took the spare room

It was difficult to fall asleep at first because they’d gotten so used to the other’s presence at night

The room felt so quiet to Hermione without Ron’s snoring, and to Ron without Hermione humming symphonies in her sleep

Both thought of the other

But eventually they did fall asleep and Ron was the first to wake up when he heard Mrs Granger tiptoeing around the kitchen, trying to make tea silently and failing

"I’m sorry, Ron, did I wake you?"

"No! No, I’m always up at... 5 in the morning."

"Oh, good! I’ll make you some tea. How many sugars do you take? Do you watch Friends? I’ve got a few episodes recorded we can watch on telly!"

Ron is his father’s son and Mrs Granger is delighted by his interest in the television, but doesn’t make him feel silly and answers all his questions

She offered to make him breakfast, but he declined, rather waiting until everyone was eating so he wasn’t a burden even though he was, in fact, starving

When Hermione ran down later that morning, she spluttered with laughter at Ron who was sat on the sofa with her mother, gawping at the screen

"Did he just say Rachel?" Ron gasped. "But isn’t that one Rachel? The bride was called Emily! Ross! Ross, her name is Emily! Why can’t he hear me?"

"They can’t hear you, Ron, it’s pre-recorded"

Ron was crestfallen. "So you just have to watch and do nothing? You can’t help? Blimey."

Ron expected some sort of speech from Mr Granger, but he seemed too fascinated with Ron to think about being an overprotective father

Hermione had avoided the gory details, but she told them enough for them to be hugely impressed and proud of their daughter and her new boyfriend, the war heroes

But, as parents, they were also worried by the whole deal. Even if Hermione didn’t tell them everything, war was war and there was a small tremor in their daughter’s hand that hadn’t been there before

Sometimes a car would backfire on the street or a neighbour would shout and they would see Ron and Hermione tense up, gripping each other’s hands tighter

Mr Granger changed his mind about Ron and Hermione sleeping in separate rooms because he could see they needed it

"We can’t avoid it anymore," said Hermione. "We need to talk about Hogwarts. You’re not coming back for our final year, are you?"

"No," said Ron. "No, I’m not. Are you?"

"Yes," she said. "I am."

Ron went with Mr and Mrs Granger to see Hermione off at King’s Cross for the final time, and they met up with Harry and the Weasley parents so they could see off Ginny, too

Harry and Ron watched as Ginny and Hermione waved from the departing train

"Merlin, I love her," Ron said

"What?" Harry smiled teasingly. "What was that?"

Ron’s cheeks were red as he realised what he had said out in front of his parents and Hermione’s

But suddenly all he could say was, "I didn’t tell her! I won’t tell her for months!"

Arthur clapped his son’s back. "You know, the train hasn’t completely gone yet.”

Without much thought, Ron ran to catch up with her window and shouted, “Hermione!"

He window opened and her head popped out

"I LOVE YOU!" he bellowed

She smiled so brightly as she called, "I love you, too"

And then the Hogwarts Express disappeared

Hermione flopped back into her seat, a dazed look on her face and Ginny grinned at her

The same grin Harry was giving Ron

Ron was barely listening when his parents invited the Grangers over for tea

Harry joked that he hadn’t looked like that since he accidentally had a love potion in sixth year and asked, "Hermione never slipped you anything this morning, did she?"

Hermione and Ron did their separate things. Hermione took over Hogwarts as Head Girl - naturally - and was treated like a celebrity along with Ginny, Luna and Neville. Ron went with Harry and started his trading as an auror

They wrote each other several times a week about all the updates of their lives, and both saved every letter

Ron kept his letters from Hermione in an old shoe box which he kept under his bunk to look through on particularly difficult training days

Hermione kept hers together with red ribbon tied in a neat bow in her bedside table to read when she missed him most

Ron told her how busy training was and how he couldn’t get away on Halloween to meet her at Hogsmeade

She was upset, but decided to get some of his favourites from Honeydukes to send to him

When she and Ginny went in, though, they found Harry and Ron waiting for them

Ginny and Harry kissed, Ron and Hermione embraced each other and he swung her around

"You’re meant to be at training!"

"We wanted to surprise you!"

"But you said you couldn’t come!"

"Hence the surprise!"

They all hung out together for the most part, but separated for the final hour for some alone time as couples

(So Hermione and Ron could make out out of public view - naturally, it ended up in The Daily Prophet)

"Have you seen the photo they used of us? Ron, it’s pornograhic!"

"I don’t know, I like it”

That Christmas, the Grangers and Harry stayed with the Weasleys as no one wanted to miss another Christmas with their children

Harry waited until Hermione, Ginny and the Grangers were gone to round up the 8 Weasleys

"The thing is," he said. "Well, I know I’m meant to just ask you, Mr Weasley, but, well, you’re all so important to Ginny and to me, so- I- I want to-"

"You want to marry Ginny?" smiled Molly

"If that’s okay with you, yes."

Ron was Harry’s best man while Luna and Hermione shared the role of Maid of Honour

Hermione spoke with Dudley who Harry was now on better terms with, and made him feel a bit more comfortable as she was more used to talking to muggles than some of the wizards who seemed to scare him

She even danced with him as Ron danced with Luna

Luna said, "you have so much love for her in your eyes, perhaps it will be your wedding we’ll be dancing at next"

"Nah, no way, too soon," said Ron, but suddenly he was feeling a bit giddy

As Ginny threw the bouquet, he muttered something and flicked his wand discreetly and the flowers landed in Hermione’s hand

She looked at them in amazement, then to Ron who was watching her lovingly and she waved the flowers at him while she laughed

"What do you say, Ron?" asked Harry. "Are there more wedding bells in the future?"

And as he watched Hermione laughing with Ginny about the flowers, he smiled and said, "I hope so"

#Romione #romione headcanon #head canon #Harry Potter #hinny #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter #ronald weasley #ron weasley #headcanon #my version of…

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

Text

Enough - George Weasley

Title: Enough Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader Summary: Losing the girl of his dreams was never in George’s plan, and watching her marry someone else certainly wasn’t either. He can only hope that it’s not too late to make things right. Warning: mentions of vomiting, alcohol abuse and comments that can be references to child abuse, but nothing is specifically mentioned. A/N: I combined two different requests for this one because they were pretty similar! So this is for the anons who wanted George crashing the wedding off the woman he loves! Feedback is always welcome!! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27 @thefifthweasley

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“There’s my girl,” George greets happily as Y/N skips towards him out of the Arithmancy classroom. He’s still slightly out of breath from running there from Herbology, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and lifting her up slightly.

“George!” Y/N giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck when he finally puts her back on the ground. “You can’t have missed me that much,” she teases, before pulling him down into a brief kiss. “You could have just waited for me in Transfiguration.”

George kisses Y/N again briefly before he grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers. They head towards McGonagall’s classroom slowly as the hall starts to fill with students heading towards the last lesson of the day. “I could have waited for you. But I wanted to walk you to class. I’m a gentleman after all, Y/N.”

“Mhm, sure you are,” Y/N teases, a pink flush on her cheeks.

George truly is her prince charming come to life. Despite the fact that they’ve been together for over three years, George is still finding ways to surprise Y/N and make her feel special. Every evening before a big test there’s a red rose and a bar of her favorite chocolate on her pillow, whenever she gets ready to leave school for a holiday break one of George’s jumpers ends up folded neatly in her trunk and most days George runs across the castle to make sure he can walk Y/N to class, even if it makes him late for his own.

“You break my heart, Y/N,” he jokes, using his grip on her hand to twirl her in a circle. He watches as a smile spreads across her cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest.

From the moment he first talked to Y/N his heart has beat for her and only her. George often feels like he gets lost in a sea of Weasleys, like he’s the one everyone glazes over. To George it seems like all of his siblings stand out in some way, Bill is the oldest, Charlie has his cool job with the dragons, Percy is the smart one, Fred is the loud charming one, Ron is the goofball who’s friends with Harry Potter and of course Ginny is the strong willed younger sister, while he’s just kind of there. He’s always felt like an extension of Fred, he’s George of Fred and George. And he loves being half of the dynamic duo that they are, he loves causing mischief and chaos with his brother. But sometimes he wants to be just George.

Y/N was the first person to just see him. He remembers the day it happened like it was yesterday. It was dinner time, and most of the people at the Gryffindor table were watching Fred recount their great escape from Filch after they charmed his broom to fly away every time he tried to grab it. Everyone seemed to be entranced by him, except for Y/N. She was sitting on George’s other side, completely oblivious to Fred’s antics. She had nudged him and asked what he thought of the transfiguration quiz they’d had the day before. Despite the fact that they were in the same year, George had never spoken to Y/N. She was pretty quiet and kept to herself, far away from the chaos George and Fred created.

But that night she had sought George out, and it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he enjoyed it all the same. They had sat there and talked about which transfiguration spells they found most useful until dinner was over, and they had to head back to the common room. From then on just the sight of Y/N increased George’s heart rate and made butterflies appear in his stomach. Every time he felt himself getting lost in Fred’s shadow Y/N was there, usually with some kind of thought provoking question that would distract him.

When he finally got the courage to ask her on a date they had sat in the Three Broomsticks for hours, sharing shy glances and talking about anything that came to mind. George had asked Y/N how she knew transfiguration was his favorite class, and she revealed that she often watched him in the common room, and it was the only book he ever seemed to open. George had kissed her right there in the middle of the pub, his heart feeling like it was about to pound out of his chest. Y/N had seen him. Just him. And it made George feel like the most special person in the world. From that day on George didn’t care that most people only saw him as that Weasley boy. Or that he was only known to the masses as George of Fred and George. Because Y/N saw him as just George, and that was enough for him.

They reach the Transfiguration classroom then, and George pulls Y/N in for another brief kiss. “You’re my everything,” he breathes, holding her face in his hands.

“Everything okay, George?” Y/N asks, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. While it’s normal for George to be affectionate, he usually saves such sentiments for when they’re alone and away from prying ears. Mostly Fred’s ears, but it’s unlike him to say something so meaningful while there’s students swirling around them.

Before George has a chance to answer McGonagall is sticking her head out of the classroom door and ushering them inside so class can begin.

“Next week? What do you mean we’re leaving next week?” George asks Fred incredulously.

Fred shushes George and looks to make sure no one heard before leaning in closer to his brother. “Yes, next week. I’m tired of dealing with mega bitch Umbridge and everything else is ready to go. The sooner we get into the space in Diagon Alley the sooner we can open up business and start taking over the world.”

George sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I thought we would have more time. Leave closer to the end of the school year.”

“You’re not chickening out on me, are you, Georgie?” Fred jokes. When George doesn’t say anything Fred’s face drops. “Are you?” he asks again, his tone more serious.

“I wouldn’t say chickening out,” George mumbles.

Fred slams his fist down on the table, causing George to jump. “We’ve talked about this, George. We’ve dreamed about this, for years. I can’t do it without you, you know that. How can you just abandon me?”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen,” George responds with an eyeroll. “I’m all in, of course I am.” He bites his lip. “It’s Y/N that I’m worried about.”

“You’re such a fucking sap George, honestly,” Fred teases, ruffling George’s hair. “So, you’re dipping out of school a few months early? What’s the big deal? She’ll graduate, you guys will get married and make a fuck ton of ginger babies. You think she’s going to stop loving you because you don’t finish school or something?”

The thought of his future with Y/N spikes George’s heart rate, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “I don’t know. Something like that. What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her anymore? Or she forgets about me or something?”

“Now you’re being an idiot. Y/N is crazy in love with you, George. Like you’re the center of her universe sort of love. Mum and Dad kind of love.” Fred watches George for a moment, frowning when his brother refuses to meet his gaze. “Invite her to come with us if you’re so torn up about it, Georgie,” he suggests softly.

“What?” George asks, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Fred usually loves to tease George about how Y/N has him wrapped around her finger, and usually his remarks are accompanied by him pretending to crack a whip. George knows that it’s his way of showing his approval of their relationship, so it doesn’t bother him too much. But it doesn’t make it any less weird to hear Fred be so blatantly supportive of George and Y/N.

“Invite her along. Having an extra set of hands while we start everything up wouldn’t hurt, and Y/N is the perfect candidate. She’s way smarter than the two of us combined and she’s the perfect balance to all of our chaos. She’ll keep us grounded.” Fred rolls his eyes when George still doesn’t seem satisfied. “Okay, spill it. You clearly have been worrying about this for a while. What’s going on in that big ‘ol head of yours?”

George leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His and Fred’s grand exit from school and how Y/N fits in to all of it has been weighing on his mind for weeks. The thought of bringing Y/N along crossed his mind ages ago, and as much as he wishes it was a viable option it’s not. For one, Y/N has always dreamed of being an Arithmancer. Arithmancy fascinates her to no end, and George has spent endless hours admiring her as she pours over different books, always making sure to listen to everything she tells him. He doesn’t want to take that away from her. She’ll need her NEWTS in order to work in the field, and if she comes to work at the joke shop now she’ll never be able to.

But mostly, he’s completely and utterly terrified of the joke shop failing. He and Fred have found success with their products within Hogwarts walls, but taking them out to the world at large is a huge risk. They’ve put every ounce of energy and what little money they have into it, and if it fails they’ll have nothing to fall back on. And George can’t subject Y/N to that. She deserves to have the world handed to her on a platter and even though George’s love for her reaches the end of the universe, that’s not enough to give her the life she deserves. They’ve talked about what they hope their future holds, and George wants to give Y/N everything her heart desires. But he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to do that, and his worst nightmare is letting her down.

“There’s a lot going on,” he admits honestly, choosing to ignore Fred’s tease. “I think I know what I have to do about Y/N and I’ve just been trying to deny it. But it’s the only option.”

“What’s that, George?” Fred asks, but he fears he might already know the answer.

George looks at Fred, a sullen look on his face. “I have to break up with her.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Georgie. Please,” Y/N asks quietly, looking up at George.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and they’re laying together on George’s bed. It’s a Hogsmeade day, so they’re completely alone, just enjoying being together. George is laying on his back with Y/N cuddled on top of him, one of his hands is under her shirt, pressed against the small of her back while the other is holding one of her hands in his. He and Fred are leaving Monday afternoon, and George is trying to enjoy his last fleeting moments with Y/N.

“It’s nothing, baby. Just thinking about stuff,” he responds, his eyes refusing to leave the ceiling and meet hers.

Y/N presses a kiss to George’s bare chest before nuzzling the soft skin. “Thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other?” Ever since the day George walked with her to Transfiguration Y/N has been able to tell that something is off with him. Usually she can read him like an open book, and the fact that she can’t tell what’s going on in his head scares her.

George digs his fingers into the skin of Y/N’s back. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest, and he’s sure she can hear how loudly his heart is pounding in his. “Baby,” George coos, finally looking down at her. “Look at me, please.” When Y/N finally looks up at him George can see tears pooling in her eyes and it breaks his heart. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in this world. You know that, right?”

“George,” Y/N breathes, squeezing his hand tightly. Normally George confessing his love for Y/N makes her feel dizzy, and makes her heart beat out of her chest. But this feels different to her. Like it’s the last time he’s ever going to say those things to her. “Don’t do this, George. Please.”

George swallow thickly. “I can’t be with you anymore, Y/N. I’m not. I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you and I never have. You deserve the universe and try as I might I’m not the person who can give that to you. I’ve been telling myself I am, but I’m just not, Y/N.”

Tears stream down both of their faces and when Y/N surges forward to kiss George she can feel his tears mixing with hers on her cheeks. She kisses him hard, desperately trying to get him to return it. “Georgie please. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything before.”

“I know you do,” George says sadly. “But I don’t deserve your love. I’m sorry, Y/N. But it’s over between us.” George watches as Y/N scrambles out of his bed before turning on his side so he doesn’t have to see the woman he loves walk out of his life for good. The sound of the door slamming shut behind Y/N punches a crater in George’s chest, and he finally lets himself sob into his pillow.

“Turn that frown upside down,” Y/N’s mother tuts as she enters Y/N’s bedroom. “Today is supposed to be a day to celebrate. You should be happy.”

Y/N is sitting in front of the vanity in her bedroom, and she locks eyes with her mother in the mirror. Today is her graduation party, a day Y/N had been looking forward to since her parents started planning it at the beginning of the school year. But then George Weasley shattered her heart to pieces two months ago and she’s failed to find the joy in anything since. Y/N is surprised that she even managed to make it through the rest of the school year. The last thing she wants to do is pretend to be hopeful about her future in front of a room full of people when the future she’s spent the last 3 years dreaming about no longer has any possibility of becoming a reality.

“I don’t want to be happy,” Y/N responds lamely. “And I don’t want to pretend to be happy either.”

Y/N’s mother’s expression turns cold. “Your father and I have put up with your dramatics long enough, Y/N and we will not tolerate you embarrassing us today. So get yourself together, get dressed and put a damn smile on your face. This party is happening whether you want it or not.”

“Ugh!” Y/N huffs once her mother is gone, knocking her brush off of her vanity. Of course, today isn’t about her. It’s about her parents showing her off to all of their pureblood friends. Not only had George been the love of Y/N’s life, but he’d been her salvation, her savior from the horrid life her parents had been grooming her for. Y/N’s parents had raised her traditionally, and from a young age it was clear to her that she was going to marry a pureblood boy whether she loved him or not. And even though the Weasley family doesn’t prescribe to many of the pureblood traditions Y/N’s family does, their blood is as pure as can be and her parents reluctantly approved of their relationship.

Y/N and George had talked about what their future would look like, and they both easily came to the conclusion that it would include getting as far away from Y/N’s family as possible. Y/N sparred George from the more intimate details of her childhood but told him enough to make it clear she didn’t want anything to do with her parents once she was an adult. They decided on a large house on a hill in the country, near where George grew up. So their kids could run around barefoot and free, causing all the chaos they want. As graduation had neared, Y/N figured along with it would come a ring on her finger. George had promised to whisk her away from her family as soon as he could, he promised that he would be her new family and it was all they would need. But George had also promised to love Y/N forever. And now all she has left of him are his broken promises to match her broken heart.

Of course, Y/N’s parents had been thrilled when she returned home from Hogwarts with the news that she and George had broken up. All they’ve ever wanted was for Y/N to marry a pureblood boy that would take care of her and give them perfect pureblood grandchildren to spoil. Y/N is their only child, and therefore the only hope of their family legacy continuing on. They had been okay with Y/N marrying George not because they wanted her to be happy, but because they thought giving her what she wanted would give them the opportunity to instill their values in her children, so their traditions could carry on. But now that Y/N and George are no longer together, her possible mates are endless, and they’ve spent much of the past week discussing which son of their friends is best suited to marry her.

Not wanting to face her mother’s wrath, Y/N complies with her wishes. She fixes her hair just right, and puts on enough makeup to accentuate her features, before she changes out of her pajamas and into the expensive silk ballgown her mother had custom made. Y/N is sure it costs more than what most wizards make in a month, and the feeling of the smooth fabric against her skin makes Y/N want to throw up.

“There’s my princess,” Y/N’s father greets as she comes down the stairs.

Every click of her heels against the marble floor makes her stomach lurch, and Y/N can see her hand shake as she reaches out to take the arm her father has offered her. Guests have started to arrive, so she plasters her best fake smile onto her face. “Hi Daddy,” she greets, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Y/N lets her father guide her around the room, shaking the hand of every person they meet and pretending to be interested in what they have to say to her. Y/N is great at pretending, she’s spent her whole life watching her parents pretend to love each other. They had been paired together in an arranged marriage and while they love to put on a show as the perfect couple for their friends, Y/N knows that they sleep in separate bedrooms and her father has had a string of mistress’ her whole life. Everything they do is for the sake of appearances. They don’t care about genuine happiness or pure love, as long as they give off the illusion that they hold those things. George had made Y/N feel both of those things, and now she’s not sure if she’ll ever get to experience them again.

After taking Y/N around the room to greet everyone, her father gets distracted in a conversation with Lucius Malfoy and Y/N takes the opportunity to get away. Her mother has strategically placed a few of their house elves near the staircase so Y/N can’t sneak back up to her room. Instead she finds an empty table as far away from everyone as possible and sulks over to it, sinking down in one of the chairs.

“Why the long face?” a familiar voice asks as they approach Y/N.

Y/N looks up, mustering up the best fake smile she can. “Oh, Adrian! How nice to see you!”

Adrian rolls his eyes as he takes a seat next to Y/N. “You don’t have to pull that crap with me. You know that, Y/N.”

Y/N sighs in relief, and lets her sullen expression take over again. Adrian grew up in the estate next door to Y/N, so Y/N spent a lot of time with him growing up. She spent time with the children of her parent’s other friends as well, but Adrian is the only one she truly considered a friend. He found many of the things his parents taught him utterly ridiculous as well, and it allowed them to grow closer. Their friendship had ultimately faded when they arrived at Hogwarts and Adrian was sorted into Slytherin and Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, but Y/N still considers him a friend.

“Thanks. I think if I have to pretend to smile one more time my face will actually freeze that way,” she jokes.

“Yeah, I heard about that. About George. I’m sorry.” Adrian reaches out to give Y/N a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure the whole fucking world has heard about it at this point. You should have seen how happy my parents were when they found out. Pretty sure it was the only time either of them has felt genuine joy.”

“Yeah, I heard your dad talking about it with mine the night after we got back from school,” Adrian says. “I see he went out and bought you that diamond bracelet,” he comments, gesturing towards the piece of jewelry on her wrist.

Y/N snorts in laughter. “Graduation present my fucking ass. Only my parents would give me a present to celebrate my heart getting stomped on. Fucking pricks.”

Adrian reaches out and puts his hand on top of Y/N’s, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “I really am sorry, you know. I could tell how much you loved him.”

“He was my everything,” Y/N admits sadly. As weird as it sounds, it feels good to be talking about this with Adrian. Her parents clearly think one week is a sufficient amount of time to get over a three-year long relationship and she’s been dying to talk about her feelings with someone. “We had plans, you know? Turns out he had plans of his own.”

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has been the front-page story of the Daily Prophet since it’s opening last month. The store has been breaking records left and right and people can’t seem to get enough of it. The store was packed with people when Y/N went to Diagon Alley with her mother for a dress fitting earlier in the week and the sight of the store alone made her want to cry.

“You didn’t know? About the store?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I knew he and Fred wanted to start one. He had talked about it loads, it always made him so excited. I just didn’t know how close they were to making it a reality. Though I suppose that was on purpose, since he dumped me right before opening. I guess the future we talked about starting wasn’t good enough for him.”

“He’s a dick, Y/N. You’re amazing. He should have been on his knees praising you everywhere you went. Any guy would be tripping over themselves to give you anything and everything you could ever want,” Adrian comforts, squeezing her hand again.

Y/N smiles her first genuine smile in months, completely unaware that her mother is watching her intensely, a plan forming in her head.

Y/N wakes up the next morning to a soft knock at her door. She lets out a yawn and stretches before muttering a soft ‘come in.’ She figures it’s one of the house elves, so when Y/N’s mother enters her room with her father trailing behind her stomach lurches and she sits up. “What’s going on? Did Nan die?”

“Oh of course not, it’s nothing like that Y/N,” her mother assures with a laugh, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“We just have something to talk to you about,” her father says from his spot in the doorway.

Y/N sighs a breath of relief. Ever since her grandfather passed away Y/N’s Nan has become much more vocal about her distaste for some pureblood traditions and she’s the only family member Y/N can even remotely tolerate. “Thank God. What do we need to talk about then?”

“Your father and I have been talking a lot since your graduation about the next steps in your life,” her mother starts. “Marriage, children, things like that.”

“And we know that you thought that Weasley boy was going to marry you but it’s time to be realistic about things,” her father says firmly.

Y/N rolls her eyes to keep from crying. “Do we really need to talk about this right now? I just woke up.”

“Yes, we do. Because I saw the way you were talking with Adrian Pucey yesterday, and told your father all about it so he could have a conversation with his father.”

Y/N’s stomach drops, and her chest starts to tighten. “No. No you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” The tears she’d tried to avoid a moment ago start to form in her eyes.

“I did,” her father confirms. “He agrees that you and Adrian would be a perfect match. Adrian already has a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry making good money, and his father has agreed to pay for your estate if your mother and I pay for the wedding.”

“No,” Y/N cries softly, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Adrian isn’t a bad person, but Y/N always hoped she’d marry for love, not for connections.

“Oh quit the dramatics, Y/N. Adrian comes from a good family, you should be happy,” Y/N’s mother squeezes her leg a little too tightly to be comforting as she stands up. “Now get out of bed and get yourself ready. Adrian will be by with his family this afternoon to formally propose so that the announcement can be printed in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.”

Once her parents have disappeared Y/N collapses back into bed and sobs.

“Will you at least act like you’ve touched a woman before, Adrian!” Adrian’s mother scolds from somewhere behind the camera.

Adrian sighs and gives Y/N an apologetic look before placing his hand on the small of her back. They’ve been trying to get the perfect photo to include with their engagement announcement for the past 20 minutes, and Y/N feels like a doll being played with. Her and Adrian are standing facing each other, and per her mother’s demands Y/N has her left hand on his bicep to show off the fat diamond sitting on her finger while her right hand rests on Adrian’s shoulder. One of Adrian’s hands is cupping her cheek, while the other rests on the small of her back. At least now it does, Adrian has spent the last five photos with it just hovering over her body.

“Okay, now look at each other like you’re in love,” Y/N’s mother demands. Y/N looks into Adrian’s eyes and plasters her best fake smile onto her face and she can hear her mother make a satisfied noise. “Now as the picture is taken Adrian I want you to lean in and kiss Y/N’s forehead.”

Adrian opens his mouth to protest, but Y/N gives him a look. “Just do it,” she murmurs between gritted teeth as she continues to smile. “I just wanna get this shit over with.”

When the photographer tells them to move they do, and the flash of the camera nearly blinds Y/N as Adrian kisses her on the forehead to complete the photo. Thankfully the photo seems to satisfy both their mothers, and Adrian and Y/N can finally break apart as they head into the other room with the photographer to write the announcement.

“I’m really sorry about all of this,” Adrian apologizes.

Y/N collapses onto the couch with a sigh. “It’s not your fault our parents are the way they are.”

“I know,” Adrian responds, sitting down next to her. “But you’re very obviously still in love with George. This can’t be easy.”

“It really fucking sucks,” Y/N admits with a sad laugh. “I always thought we’d skip all of this bullshit stuff and just get married in his parent’s backyard or something. I don’t care about all of this traditional crap. I mean who even reads those stupid engagement announcements? Why do people care who’s getting married?”

Adrian laughs. “I’m sure no one we know does. It’s just for them to show off to all of their friends. Your mum can show the picture off and brag about how big that stupid diamond is, and my dad can show it off and brag about how hot of a wife he found me.”

“Ew,” Y/N grimaces, a shiver running down her spine. “I really hope no one we know sees it. Not because you’re a bad person or anything, but just because of how embarrassing that photo is gonna be.” In reality, Y/N hopes that no one in George’s family ever sees that picture.

“Nice of you to finally join the living,” Fred comments as he watches George shuffle out of his bedroom. It’s Saturday, so the shop opens a bit later than usual and George has decided to take full advantage and sleep in. Fred puts the Daily Prophet down and pours his brother a cup of coffee as George sits across from him.

“Very funny,” he groans, grabbing the cup and taking a large gulp.

George should feel like he’s on top of the world. Their shop is a huge success, he and Fred are living on their own and they’re finally making some real money. But in reality he feels like shit. He hasn’t felt the same since he broke up with Y/N. His chest feels empty and hollow without her in his life, and he spends all day at the store pretending to be his usual jovial self only to lock himself in his room with a bottle of firewhiskey every night. He knows drinking is not the way to solve his problems, but the firewhiskey burns his throat as it goes down, and it’s the only time of day where he truly feels alive.

“You reek, George. How much did you drink last night?” Fred asks, his voice full of concern. Over the past two months Fred has watched George slowly become a shell of the person he once was. He fakes it quite well for everyone else, but Fred can see through all the bullshit. He feels absolutely helpless as he watches George destroy himself, and Fred’s starting to get desperate.

George shrugs, taking another sip. “I don’t know. Half a bottle, maybe more. Who cares?”

“I do,” Fred insists. “You can’t keep living like this George. I’m worried about you.” Fred pauses. “I know you still care about Y/N-“

“Don’t,“ George says harshly, cutting Fred off. “Don’t talk about her, don’t even say her name. She’s all I can fucking think about and it hurts too much to hear you say it.”

“Okay,” Fred says softly, picking the paper back up. He starts to flick through the pages mindlessly, just trying to seem occupied to give George some space. Fred wants to help him, but he also doesn’t want to push him deeper into his depression. He’s just turned the page to the engagement announcements when George clears his throat.

“You get to the engagement announcements yet?” George asks. When Fred looks up at him confused George rolls his eyes. “Lee and I have a bet going, to see how long it takes for someone from our class to show up in them. You know how those traditionalists are, they pair their kids off before the ink on their diplomas starts to dry.”

Fred laughs, and let’s his eyes scan the page for a moment. He’s about to hand the paper to George when his eye catches a rather large photo. He gasps and immediately crushes the paper up. “Nope. No one from our class yet.”

“You’re full of shit,” George chides, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, give it here. If there’s an announcement in there I win 10 galleons.”

Fred holds the paper just out of George’s reach. “I told you there’s nothing in there. No Galleons for you. Now drink your coffee and get ready so we can head down into the shop.”

George gets up as if he’s going to head towards the bathroom, but he ends up charging at Fred and grabbing the paper from him. “I don’t know what your problem is, did Lee promise you part of his winnings or something?” George opens the paper, letting his eyes scan the announcements. He’s not really paying attention to the photos, just trying to find a name that sounds familiar. “Ha! There it is! Adrian Pucey, who would have thought.” But as George continues to read the announcement bile comes up his throat and he throws the paper down so he can run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet.

Y/N strolls through Diagon Alley slowly, basking in the freedom. Ever since the engagement announcement appeared in the Daily Prophet her house has become wedding central. Gifts and cards from distant family members and acquaintances arrive in droves every day, and Y/N’s mother is driving her crazy with the plans. Every day from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to bed is filled with wedding decisions that she truly doesn’t give a shit about. She doesn’t care about the seating chart or the color scheme. The only thing she cares about is that she’s not marrying George Weasley, and no matter how many plans they make that fact will never change.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Y/N apologizes. She’d been so lost in thought she ran right into someone. She looks up at the man she bumped into and her heart stops beating when she looks into a pair of familiar brown eyes and spots a shock of fiery red hair. But a moment later she realizes it’s not who she thinks it is. “Oh. Fred.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Fred sneers, suddenly filling with rage. He knows what happened between Y/N and George is not her fault, but his resentment towards her has started to grow since the engagement announcement. George has stopped leaving his room at all, and the sound of his drunken sobs keep Fred up at night. It kills Fred to see his brother hurting, and he can’t help but blame Y/N for all of it.

“You saw it then?” Y/N asks, hanging her head in shame.

“Even if I didn’t that god-awful gaudy diamond on your hand is a dead giveaway.” Fred clears his throat. “George did too.”

Y/N’s head snaps up and she can feel tears forming in her eyes. “No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Is he okay? How’s he doing?” Y/N watches as Fred’s jaw clenches. “Please, Fred. I need to know.”

“Why do you care?” he practically shouts. “So you can go and laugh about it with Adrian? I can’t believe you, Y/N. George gave you his all. You were his entire world. You were apart what? Two months? And now you’re about to get married to some other fuck head. Why? Because he has money? Because his family has a better status?”

Y/N wipes away some of the tears that have started to fall down her cheeks. “Fuck you, Fred. I don’t care about any of that, you know that. And do I need to remind you that George is the one who broke up with me? I trusted him with my heart, and he crushed it. All I ever wanted was George, all I still want is George.”

Fred takes a deep breath, needing to calm himself down. “Then why the hell are you marrying Adrian? George is beside himself. He doesn’t even come out of his room anymore.”

“You think I have a choice?” Y/N asks, her voice cracking under the weight of the emotions she’s feeling. “I’m not marrying Adrian because I love him, I’m marrying Adrian because my parents arranged it to be that way. My parents are vile, Fred. They don’t see me as their daughter, I’m a pawn for them to play with. It’s either submit or be punished and I’m not going to stand here and let you make me feel even worse than I already do.”

Fred grabs Y/N’s wrist as she turns to walk away, and he pulls her into a tight hug. “Y/N, I had no idea. George said your parents were traditionalists, but he never mentioned anything like that.”

“Because I never told him,” Y/N admits as she pulls away from Fred. She wipes away a few of the lingering tears as she looks up at him. “George is too innocent, too pure to know about the shit they put me through growing up. George is the only person who ever truly made me feel loved and without him I feel like I’m in a horrible nightmare that I can never wake up from.”

“You can’t marry Adrian, Y/N. You and George, you guys are soulmates,” Fred says quietly. “You have to be together.”

Y/N scoffs. “Tell your brother that, he’s the one who dumped me out of nowhere. Clearly he doesn’t feel the same away about me as I do him.”

“You can’t seriously believe that, Y/N. George is going crazy without you. He barely eats, he barely sleeps.” Fred swallows thickly. “He’s been drinking. A lot. Way more than anyone should. It’s scary. Every time I try and talk to him he shuts me out. He’s lost without you.”

The ache Y/N has felt in her chest since the day George ended things intensifies with Fred’s every word. It kills her to know that George is hurting just as much as she is. “I still love him, Fred. With every fiber of my being. But I don’t know if that’s enough anymore. Everything’s gotten so complicated.”

“Just promise me one thing. Promise me that you won’t walk down that aisle and marry Adrian until you talk to George.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Fred puts his hand up to stop her. “I’ll take care of George. I’ll Stupefy him and drag him to you if I have to. Just promise me you won’t marry him until you see George.”

“I promise, Fred. The wedding is next week on Friday. I’ll wait for George until the moment I have to walk down the aisle. But if he doesn’t make it.” Y/N shakes her head. “It’ll be too late.”

When Fred gets back to their flat after his conversation with Y/N he’s filled with determination. George is the person he cares most about in the world and he’ll be damned if he lets him ruin is life. He goes straight to George’s bedroom door, using his wand to unlock it. He throws it open, flipping on the light switch.

“What do you want you fucking prick?” George groans, rolling over in his bed.

Fred carefully moves around the firewhiskey bottles strewn about on the floor and heads over to the window. He throws the curtains open, letting the sunlight shine on George for the first time in weeks. “Get your ass out of bed. You’re done wallowing in self-pity.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles, opening his eyes to glare at Fred. “What’s the point in doing anything anymore? I ruined my chance with the only girl I’ve ever wanted. She’s supposed to marry me, Fred. Not that fucking moron Adrian. He doesn’t love her like I do, and he never will. But she doesn’t deserve me. Not anymore anyway.”

Fred sighs and sits down on the edge of George’s bed. “You’re right, he doesn’t love her like you do. And she doesn’t love him either.”

“Nice try, Fred. But I’m not getting out of this bed no matter how many lies you tell me,” George sighs, before turning over in bed.

“Her parents are making her marry Adrian, George,” Fred says firmly.

George turns back to face Fred and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I ran into Y/N, when I was down in Diagon Alley. I really let her have it, Georgie. I told her off for getting with Adrian so soon after you ended it with her, and she just broke down crying.” Fred reaches out and puts a comforting hand on George’s knee. “She’s in love with you, George. Not him. Her parents arranged their marriage, she doesn’t have a choice.”

George puts his head in his hands, letting Fred’s words sink in. Of course, it all makes sense to him now. Y/N had once briefly mentioned that her parents never loved each other, George had brushed it off at the time, but it’s all becoming clear. Arranged marriages between pureblood families is pretty commonplace, and he feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Freddie,” George groans, looking up at his brother. “I never should have even dumped her in the first place. What the fuck was I thinking? I was scared of disappointing her when in reality I was being a big fat idiot.”

“Big fat idiot is right,” Fred teases, trying to get George to smile. “But the important part is that it’s not too late. I made her promise not to marry him until she talks to you again.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” George asks, finally cracking a smile. “So what’s the plan then?”

Fred grins at George, his eyes alight with mischief. “We’ve got a wedding to crash.”

Y/N fidgets as she stands in the middle of her room, unable to keep herself from glancing at the clock. She’s standing there in her wedding dress, thirty minutes away from walking down the aisle and she’s yet to see George or hear from Fred. The possibility that George doesn’t want to see her ever again makes her want to throw up, but she has to hold out hope that he’s going to show up. She knows now more than ever that George is the person she’s supposed to end up with, and she prays that Fred made him realize that too.

“There’s my girl.”

At the sound of George’s voice Y/N turns around a smile spreading on her face. “George,” she greets. In the blink of an eye George is across the room and wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling Y/N into his chest. Y/N wraps her arms around George’s neck and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“I love you,” George murmurs as they pull apart. “I have always loved you Y/N. Breaking up with you was the worst decision I made in my entire life.”

Y/N can feel the tears falling down her face, and she presses their foreheads together. “Why did you do it, George? You mean everything to me. I would walk to the ends of the earth to be with you. You have to know that.”

“I do baby, I do,” George whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I was scared of letting you down. You are a Goddess, Y/N. You deserve to have the world handed to you on a silver platter and I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to give that to you. You deserve the future we dreamed of having, and it killed me to think you’d never get that with me.”

“I don’t care about having any of that. All I care about is having you,” Y/N admits, kissing George briefly. “You made me feel safe, and happy and loved, and that’s all I need, George.”

George kisses Y/N again, needing to feel her lips on his. “I know that now. And I really hope it’s not too late to give that all to you, Y/N. You are the only person who has ever made me feel special, the only person who’s ever bothered to look at me. And if you let me I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you feel special too.”

“I love you, George. It’s always been you. It will always be you.” Y/N breathes in deeply as George kisses her again, finally feeling like she’s home.

“I love you so much and as much as I would love to stand here and kiss you forever we gotta go. Fred should be almost done setting things up by now. Get changed and grab some stuff, okay?”

Y/N nods and gets undressed, throwing on whatever clothes her hands reach first. She throws a few of her favorite things into her school trunk, which is still packed with her things from the end of the school year. “Good riddance,” Y/N mumbles as she yanks off her engagement ring and throws it onto her dresser.

“Ready to go?” George asks, grabbing Y/N’s trunk.

Just as her hand closes around her wand explosions start to go off and people downstairs start screaming. “What the hell is that?” she asks, hooking an arm around George’s.

George grins down at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A new line of whizbangs we’re testing out. A little goodbye present for your parents and Adrian.”

“Well would you look at that,” George chuckles as he reads the paper.

Y/N presses a kiss to the side of his head as she sets his coffee down on the table, letting George pull her into his lap. “What’s that, love?”

George puts the paper down so he can rest one of his hands on Y/N’s ever-growing baby bump and the other can cup her cheek and pull their lips together. No matter how many years they’ve been together, kissing Y/N makes him just as giddy as the first time. “Adrian’s getting married.”

Y/N laughs and rests her hand on top of the one George has on her belly, intertwining their fingers. “Think we’ll get invited?”

“Considering the way we ruined his first wedding? Not a chance in hell.” George teases with a smile, pulling Y/N in for another kiss.

They might not have as much money as Adrian, or a big rolling estate to show off. But Y/N and George have each other and their growing family – and that’s enough for them.

#George weasley #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley x reader #gw #golden

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