#I almost tried to colour the scarf a bit more but that was terrible to do so

[alchemypanda]

Ashley Zukerman as Keith in City on Fire 1x03

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe: First Kiss HCs

I tend to make things gender neutral by not putting in pronouns and just using “you” but you can definitely read this as female^^ But I completely agree, I love this boy so much. He’s my favourite character to play (im so sorry razor) until Xiao comes out. I literally have a genshin team named “waiting for xiao” and it’s just Childe and Zhongli haha. 

---

Today’s appreciation post goes to childes-starconch. Fitting that this is a Childe fic but ty for your support^^ I always notice you pop up as soon as I post a fic and I really enjoy seeing you. Hopefully you read this since tumblr won’t let me tag people, for whatever reason I don’t know anymore, but just saying hey, I see you 💕💕

---

I’m just gonna piggy back off my last Childe fic. I’m sorry. 

Semi Part 1:  Fiance HCs [honestly, one of my favourites haha] 

Xiao Ver:  First Kiss HCs

Venti & Kaeya: Mistletoe HCs

Venti, Xingqiu, and Razor: Kissing HCs

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​@youaskedfurret​ @snowy224 

@youaskedfurret​ @diaxfeliz​ @wintergreen-aix​ @dandelily​ @thegayrubberducky​ @lovelykittycatmeow​ @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos​ @strwbrry-lia    @tigerpriestess 

For some reason I can’t @ certain people. I’m talking to tumblr about it. 

---

Childe: First Kiss HCs

Childe was never one to shy away from affection, be it holding your hand in his or wrapping an arm around you, he was always happy to be close to you. He was always a bit territorial which lead to some embarrassing situations for you but it was from a good place in his heart. But when it came to public kisses, he preferred to keep it between you two. It felt too private of a moment that he didn’t want to broadcast to the rest of the Fatui, especially to the other Harbingers. That is to say, if he actually kissed you in the first place. For all the two braincells Childe had, one was fighting and the other was protecting his loved ones, just imagining kissing you was too much for him and he needed to go find some poor recruit and beat his inner problems out. The Fatui recruitment process would always dwindled down during his inner turmoil sessions that Scaramouche himself, had to throw his goddamn hat at Tartaglia, and yell at him to hurry up and fix his problem. It was clogging up the air. 

When he tried to think about it, it shouldn’t be this hard to simply lean in for a kiss. But it was his first and while Childe might run into whatever danger or prospect of a fight without a second thought, he didn’t want to ruin it. What if he accidently bonked his forehead with yours? He should remove his mask then right? Just in case? He’s only given forehead and cheek kisses to his younger siblings so it should be the same right? Yeah he could do this, this was just another battle for Tartaglia to conquer! 

But whenever he would see you or you would both sit and bask in each other’s presences. He couldn’t bring himself to initiate something or heck, even looking at your face made him a bit hot under the collar in sub-zero temperatures. He can almost hear Scaramouche and Signora laughing maniacally at him behind their hands. He’s the youngest of the Harbingers, he should get a “get out of jail for free” card that all youngest children have whenever they get into trouble. But in this case it’s murder. He quickly slaps his cheeks to get his mind off fighting for one second which startles you beside him. 

The first time you’ve seen Childe shy was when he first confessed to you, stuttering that he liked you and just really badly wanted to hold your hand without using the frost of Sneznaya as an excuse. You flushed pink but nodded that you returned his feeling and slipped your hand in his. Whatever shyness Childe had was quickly wiped off his face and he cheered and brought you in for an eskimo kiss. Rubbing your nose with his as he laughed in joy, the tips of his ears and cheeks still coloured pink. You always hold that memory dear to your heart because not only was it the start of your relationship, it was the first time you felt you were staring at Ajax. Not Childe. Not Tartaglia. Just Ajax. 

But now, you’re not to sure what to call this. Lately he seemed to be out of it, always staring off into space or frowning at some poor poor snowmen that did not deserve that much pressure.  Was being a harbinger starting to take it’s toll on him? Did something terrible happen to his family or was the Tsaritsa being too hard on him? You were beginning to get concerned because you’ve never seen this much mental turmoil in him. This never really happened before and he usually bounced back pretty fast. Would it be better if you left him be and he sorted it out himself? Would it be better if you asked? 

Childe is startled out of his thoughts of possible committed murder because he’s too scared to ask his own partner if kissing was something they could do, when he felt your hand slowly nudge his. No matter how many times he holds your hand, you’re always warm. It could be snow storming outside and the only heater he would need would be you. He offers a small but warm smile as he laces his fingers with yours. He remembers when you first started going out he was so scared about boundaries and what was okay. Brushing your fingers together and overall, not doing a good job at saying he wanted to hold hands that even he cringes slightly at his younger self - even though it wasn’t that long ago and he’s doing it again just with kisses - but now he borderline clings to you like some overgrown animal. Scaramouche’s words, not his. 

It’s still evening in Snezhnaya and the Tsaritsa herself seems to be taking a vacation because there’s only a light snow falling down between the two of you. You’re both sitting outside his house while his family is inside, warm and having fun playing games. He breathes in, closes his eyes, and let’s the world fade away just a second. He slowly brings his other hand to cup your cheek, his hands are always numb and the tiny pin pricks are dancing on his fingers again before they fade away too, and guides you towards him so he can place a small kiss on your fore head. Then tilts your face to the side so he can kiss your cheek. Brings his nose near yours to nuzzle against. Then hesitates when his lips hover above yours. 

“Ajax is there something bothering you?” you ask softly, you’re so close to each other that all you can see is him. The small puffs of breathe you both take bounce off each other’s face before evaporating into the air. You never really took the time to appreciate Ajax’s bright blue eyes. His pupil from this distance seems to be slitted too. 

“Hm? Ah no, of course not. Where did you get that idea?” he tries to laugh it off and tries to move back before you quickly bring your hand to the back of his head and nudge him forward so he stays in place. It wasn’t like him to run away from something, it was really starting to bother you what could get Ajax of all people to retreat from something. 

“You know if there’s anything that’s bothering you, you can talk to me right?” you asked as you brought both your hands to cup his face as you softly rubbed circles just under his ear. He closed his eyes and hmmed happily at your actions and nuzzled further into your hand before turning his head inward to kiss your palm. Before relaxing and parting his eyelids half way as he seemed to be back in concentration mode. Before awkwardly saying what was troubling him these past few days. 

“So wait, you mean to tell me that this entire time I was worried about you. How out of it you were and how many fights you’ve been getting into. Was because you wanted a kiss?” you asked dumfounded as he pouted but nodded. You sighed but bonked your foreheads together softly, “You’re such an idiot....C’mere.” 

“Wha-” 

You grab the scarf on his harbinger uniform and tug him forward as your lips slot over his. You kiss him hard and for a few seconds as Ajax just stares at you as his brain tries to catch up, before his eyes seem to dilate and he kisses you back just as hard. All his past worries are quickly thrown out the window as slowly pushes you on your back, cushioned by the soft snow, as he basks in the feeling. It’s a bit sloppy given this is both your first kisses but that’s what adds to the charm. You both have to separate at some point for oxygen but Childe looks like he’s ready to dive in again. 

“One more,” he pants as he goes in for another but you quickly place your hand in the way so he ends up kissing your palm. He whines but you chuckle at him, place a small kiss on the back of your palm of where his lips would be, and push him off you. You’re both still outside his families home and you aren’t in the mood to be caught in this kind of position. Especially not in front of his younger siblings. He rests his cheek on your shoulder and looks at you, trying to make his eyes bigger and look like a kicked puppy. You sigh as you give a small pet on his head, running your fingers through your hair. What a troublesome partner you’ve gotten. 

“Alright, one more.” 

---

My entire taglist was just made for the  “Enemies” to “Lovers” post and I still haven’t started hehe. Trust me, it’s coming. I’ve got requests for it and we’re slowly getting there. The entire time I’m writing this I’m just thinking “honey..no, that’s not how this works.” God you’re so dumb. I hate you. You’re my favourite character. Pour one out for Xiao, I was going to make this a crack fic too but ended up making it somewhat serious. 

So yeah, xiao is a cat and childe is a fox. In other news, water is wet. But I did actually google fox behaviors just for this shitpost. ALRIGHT TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF “WILL TUMBLR BE NICE TO ME?” OR DO I NEED TO DOUBLE REPOST AGAIN. 

[gemma-collins-ily]

It’s my birthday today and I was wondering if you could do Jesper celebrating the reader’s birthday?

Jesper Celebrating the Reader's Birthday

a/n - keep in mind, fics don't normally come out this quickly, but I saw this and wanted to release it on your special day! This may be a little uncoordinated but I hope you enjoy and have a brilliant day! Also, just to let everyone know, requests are closed for a few days, just so I can catch up on requests xoxo 💞

Warnings: nothing?

Tagged: @mrs-brekker15 @i-am-the-1930s @inthegistoftime

it is guaranteed

you hear me?

guaranteed

that he will try to plan you a party

it's Jesper, he has to

so he'll set up streamers and a huge poster displaying your age

for all who enter the Slat to see

he'll get Nina to distract you, taking you out for waffles probably

his words would probably be exactly like this:

"I don't know Neens, just take them away from the Slat and don't come back till, like ummm seven."

she'd look at the half hung decorations and many more still in boxes disapprovingly and ask:

"You didn't plan this out did you?"

"Are you accusing me, the Jesper Fahey, himself, of being disorganised?"

She grabbed her coat and you, covering your eyes as she went, very clearly conveying something was happening, then left without a word more.

so, by now, you knew something was happening

or at least suspected it

but would go along with it for Jesper

trailing after Nina until your feet were sore

finally having enough and asking if you could stop and sit on a bench

she agreed with a groan

so, she was obviously tired too

"How long do we need to stay out?"

"I really do not know what you're talking about, (Y/N)."

"Come on, I know there's a surprise back at the Slat, I just need to know how long I have to wait to go home."

she'd continue to blatantly refuse the very idea of a surprise until she randomly gave in

and you'd smirk, happy to get the answer

as soon as it neared seven, she'd try to drag you back to the Slat but you'd tell her they wouldn't be ready yet

Nina would not listen and take you firmly by the wrist, marching back to the Slat

when you got there you were right

of course

bestie, can you predict the future?

no, actually

you just know how frazzled your boyfriend can get

but you were surprised to see even Kaz was helping

it did not look like he wanted to be there voluntarily

but still

you take what you can get

it was an effort so you appreciated it

when Nina would let out a dramatic gasp at the sight of Kaz Brekker hanging up decor, Jes would notice you

yelling at Nina to take you out again or to your room

just go over and peck him on the lips, tell him you don't really care about the streamers and he'll relax

even if he wanted it to be perfect

you have all the calming techniques down bestie

Kaz will sigh exaggeratingly and drop the colourful swirly thing he was eyeing with disgust

it would be between his forefinger and thumb as he did so

and this meant it was twice as funny to you

oops you may have laughed

you received a glare in return

aww such a nice present

everyone say thank you Kaz

anyway

there's probably a table with gifts on it

kaz got you a new book

but left it anonymously

no message on the tag even if you know it's him

you thank him and he pretends he has no clue who gave it to you

"Awwww, thanks Kaz."

"I didn't get you a gift, (Y/N). It's obviously from someone else."

Inej would get you some sort of herbal tea I think

if you don't like tea then it's probably also a book

wow what a match for those two

thinking the same thoughts

Nina may have forgotten to get a present and would promise waffles instead

or she'd have tried to sneakily get a board game while you were out earlier

you acted like you did not notice

it's a grammy award for you

Matthias could have either gotten you some kruge because he wasn't sure what you wanted

or a new scarf, coat ect.

he has a pretty good taste in fashion

now, Jesper would either wait till later to give you his gifts

because aww, sentimentality

or he'd give you them with everyone else's to make you blush publicly

at that point, you wouldn't care

either way, he'd keep at least one spare to give to you in private

I think his gifts would be a little something like this:

a type of jewelry, whether it be a necklace or an anklet, it would have a J on it

he probably bought a matching one for him with your initial on it too

a necklace feels a little more personal but could be taken advantage of by enemies

like in finding out you were together

not like it was oBVIOUS or anything

but an anklet would ultimately be sturdier and less likely to be taken as a means of affection from a loved one

so anklet it is

chocolates that are actually quite rich in flavour and are rare in Ketterdam

he saved up some money for those

if you like to play with his rings

he'll have bought you one

again, it may be a little blander to avoid it being interpreted as a gift of love by enemies

you didn't mind it being a little more hidden

Jesper was happy with you and you with Jesper

so you felt no need to show off to the world

you would probably take it off if you had to do any good old fashioned fist fighting

pocketing it quickly

he'd also give you a nail makeover the next day

but you would have to paint on his nails in return because if he tried, he would probably mess up while using his non-dominant hand to paint the other

you could match because #couplegoals

he'd bring you breakfast in bed the day after your birthday

being so busy planning the day before, he didn't get you any

I hate to disappoint but it would not be made by him

he would burn everything

so Matthias' second present to you is the breakfast

delivered by Jesper

he'd probably be sat at the counter making snarky remarks about Matthias' cooking

until he got whacked with a tea towel

if you're an early bird

Jes would be given the task of distracting you and stopping you from walking downstairs

or getting out of bed at all

this could be easily done with the persuasion of cuddles

then Matthias would yell for him and he'd have to leave to get the tray

when he brings it up he'll sit you between his legs, leaning your back against his chest and resting the tray on your knees

may feed you bites that sOMEHOW end up like a lady and the tramp scene

even if it's a slice of french toast, he'll manage

would tactfully steal little bits off your plate

and you couldn't really be mad at him because he would just smile charmingly

(maybe with half a piece of bacon sticking out of the side of his mouth)

but charming none the less

he might have a gift hidden in the corner of a chest of drawers somewhere you find one day and he remembers he was supposed to wrap that up and give it to you

if it's almost a year later and near your next birthday

just leave it on his dresser

no words need to be exchanged

the only difference is now one of your presents is less of a surprise

oh cards

kaz would write in his a simple,

'Inej made me write this. Have a good day. You are one year closer to being dead. Congratulations.

-Signed sincerely, Kaz Brekker'

Nina and Matthias share a card

meaning she wrote it and he signed his name with an extra

'I hope you have a lovely day, (Y/N).'

Nina's message/ the main one in the card would be:

'I can't believe we're all growing so old now! Anyway, we love you, hope you enjoy the presents and your birthday. You deserve it! Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Nina'

Inej's would have a very sincere message:

'(Y/N),

You are truly a wonderful friend and person, helping everyone with anything they may need. I feel so lucky to have you as my friend and I hope you will continue to be for years to come. You deserve a fantastic day and I hope you get one, I know Jes will try to make it perfect!

-From, Inej x

p.s - I tried to get Kaz to sign a card, but he was smirking and wouldn't let me see it before he put it in the envelope, so I'm terribly sorry if it's rude.'

now to Jesper's

'Love,

I adore you with all my heart and wish you a truly happy birthday. I hope you like the gifts I bought, I wanted to symbolise my love for you through each. I know one or two presents are a little bland but I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me. You are the most amazing partner I could ever dream of having, and every time you do something, I never expect it.

You are unpredictable, my love, and I can honestly say I do not mind it. In fact, it is one of the many factors that made me fall in love with you. Have a happy birthday!

-Love from Jesper, xxx

p.s - Kaz looked terrifyingly happy when he finished signing your card so be careful, he probably pulled something.

you might have cried

yes

you, a Crow, feared on the streets sniffled over even Kaz's message

knowing if he didn't actually want to, there was no way he would have signed that card

all in all, you have a great birthday and Jesper (and everyone else) makes you feel really special

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 29

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: smut (18+, underage DNI)

A/N: its angst season again!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky held the old phone against his ear as he waited for Natasha to pass the line onto Steve, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Once again, there were no news coming from them. There’s not enough evidence for us to even make a guess, he’d tell him every time he called the super soldier. It did not matter how many hours he spent on the phone, a team of synthesoids, witches, spies and super soldiers couldn’t bring upon themselves to figure out who was threatening his girlfriend. His mind couldn’t stop going to the worse places. If he didn’t figure it out, who would?

   - Buck, we can go through the record off people who got into her building but do we even know if it’s the same person? 

   - It has to be, Steve. Go through the records, check for anyone who isn’t from the building.

   - Have you asked Y/N who she thinks might be? 

   - No, I didn’t tell her. - he gulped. - I promised her she’d be safe. I’m not gonna tell her. 

   - That is a ter ... - the line broke down and before he could call out for Steve’s name again, he heard Y/N’s voice right behind him. 

   - When were you gonna tell me? - she held up the letter in front of his face and he swore all the colour drained from his face. - Bucky, when were you gonna tell me? How long have you known? Where did this come from?

Bucky dropped the phone to the holder, visibly gulping at the sight of his girlfriend holding the letter he had sworn not to let her see. However, except of seeing the fear she had displayed the first time it happened, she was upset, mad even with that hidden type of serene look which he was sure would scare any army. She put the letter on the table, crossing her arms at him. 

    - It came yesterday. I don’t know if it actually arrived yesterday but that’s when I got it from the post box.

    - Why didn’t you tell me? - she sighed looking down at her feet, one hand holding her weight on the table. Bucky’s jaw locked, eyes moving from side to side before he wrapped his hand around her forearm and led her into the bedroom. Last thing he needed was for her whole family to know not only was he terrible at his job, he was also terrible at being her boyfriend. First fight in her parents’ home ... you can’t fuck up any further Barnes. - James, I’m not toying around.

     - I thought it wasn’t important. - he lied. 

     - They found my family home, James. It is important and you hid it from me. Why did you even open my mail? 

     - I hoped to be able to find who did it before I told you. I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas. - he put his hands in his pocket. She narrowed her eyes at him, arms crossed over her chest. 

     - Is that why you don’t wanna kiss me or touch me? You ... Do you ... You agree with they called me? - she frowned, her own anger replaced by her own insecurities. Bucky blinked slowly as if he was processing what she had said, not believing the words which had came out of her mouth. - I ... I didn’t mean to be too forward, I jus ...

     - No. No, no, no, no ... - he walked so fast he was almost running, holding her by her arms. - No. I don’t agree with them, I would never agree with it.

   - Then ... are you really not in the mood and I just made a complete idiot of myself?

   - I don’t, no, I just feel like I failed you, failed my job. - he cupped her face in his hands, trying to find her gaze but she refused to look at him. - I don’t want to fail you, everyone but you. I’m sorry I kept it from you, I thought that you’d feel safer if you didn’t know.

    - So you thought keeping me in my own delusion was the best thing to do?

    - I’m sorry. - he leaned his forehead against hers. She looked up, into his baby blue eyes as her hand hoovered over his arm. - I didn’t want ... I didn’t mean to delude you. 

    - You didn’t fail me. - she brought his hand up to her lips, kissing the back of it before leaning her face against it. - It is not your fault that letter came in.

    - But I should know who it was ... or at least Steve should. He’s proving himself to be quite useless ... - he grumbled on, which made her hold in her laughter by biting the inside of her lip. - I’m sorry, dollface. I really am.

     - If you ever kiss my head when I’m trying to kiss you ever again, we will have severe problems. - she pointed her finger jokingly at him. 

     - Heard it loud and clear, princess. - he pulled her arm so she was chest to chest with him as if they were about to dance. - Just so we’re clear, I do not agree with those letters. 

      - Please don’t hide things from me. - her ring finger traced his cheekbone softly. - I can’t stand it from everyone but I personally can’t stand it coming from you. You’re the only one in my corner.

     - I’ll always be in your corner but I will want to protect you and I will sometimes do something stupid. 

      - Why do something stupid when you could do me? - she looked at him with that little shy grin which was just always so endearing to him. Bucky chuckled, leaning down to kiss her. It was a short kiss, broken by him merely to look at her pout.

     - You’re getting frisky, princess? 

     - Well, you did lose your chance to see what’s under my robe. - her fingers slightly rose the hem of her robe to show a bit of her lace garter before dropping it to grab her dress. - But I do need to grab some takeaway.

    - I’m going with you. - he followed into her own ensuite bathroom, but she stopped him, holding the door edge in her hand. - You were going to show it to me anyway. 

     - Next time don’t hide stuff from me. - she smiled before locking the door leaving him alone while she got dressed in a jumper like dress. Bucky leaned his forehead against the door, his mind going haywire as the minute she was gone he immediately started thinking of how he hadn’t found who was sending those letters. How come no one had figured it out? Surely whoever had done it couldn’t be that  good at covering their tracks unless they were a professional. Y/N exited the bathroom in her jumper dress and put her hands on the nape of his neck. Bucky took that opportunity to rise up the hem of her dress, watching the soft white stocking reach its end where it connected to her garter. - No, Bucky. No. 

     - When did you have this? I’ve never seen you wear it before. - he tried to pull it upwards a bit more but she stopped him by merely wrapping her hand around his wrist. - Did you buy it for me, princess?

    - Oh no, I wore this when I was 20. In front a 150 people audience. 

    - What? - he looked as confused as the day someone explained what the internet was to him. - Someone else has seen it? Why can’t I see it?

    - Because you’re not in the mood. - she walked away to grab her coat and her scarf. - Are you coming?

    - Oh, in more ways then one, princess. - he too grabbed his jacket, following her down the stairs.

He held her hand as they stepped outside, going into a mode he wasn’t used to going into very often. Everything and everyone was suspicious to him and at any moment, he felt like he was ready to kill someone with only a snap of his fingers. Bucky wanted that and at the same time he didn’t want it. It was a hard duality, that of wanting to defend her at all costs and ensure she was the happiest and that of wanting to just bask into how it felt to be hers, because, god, did it felt god to be hers. It was like waking up in spring mornings and all his mistakes seemed to fade whenever she smiled, the way her nose scrunched up and she hide her mouth with her hands, saying her smile was much to ugly for him to see it. Of course she was lying, her smile was the cutest thing. Yet, he wanted her safe, he wanted her to be endlessly happy. He could never get rid of his demons, of what they had done to him, but he could make sure no one hurt her, no one treated her like a commodity because she was everything but that. 

    - Claire said Aunt Petunia corned you about babies. - she spoke out as they waited on the line. - I’m sorry, I keep telling her not to but I think she’s in competition with her friend about it. 

     - It’s okay. - he chuckled. - Do you want one?

     - Baby?

     - Yeah, do you want a kid someday?

     - I do but only one. I think my mum and dad lost a pound of hair each time me and my siblings bickered. Besides, Colin almost made me believe you were cheating on me.

    - What?

    - Yeah. I was desperate, I called Chuck for help. Chuck. Also, I think he’s dating.

    - Circling back to the baby question ... would you consider a baby, maybe you and me have one, someday?

    - You want to have a baby with me? - she peered up from looking at her shoes to look at him. Bucky immediately regretted the question, she was young and probably not thinking about kids. - Buck?

    - Forget it.

    - No, Bucky. I didn’t mean it like that ... I just thought you wouldn’t want to have kids. 

    - I don’t know. - he scratched the back of his neck. - I mean, I don’t really have much family left and I’d like to think, maybe someday, we could have our own.

    - Bucky ...

    - I’m freaking you out.

    - No. I’ve thought about it too, buying a house, having a baby, but ... everything I do is controlled and scheduled and tight lipped so I tend not to day dream about it. 

    - Hey ... - he hooked his arm under her waist, pulling her close to him. - You still have agency and besides, I’m really good at going undercover if you need to. 

    - You always know what to say. 

    - That’s because you’re predictable, princess.

    - I am not. - she retorted, pouting as she crossed her arms. 

    - Yes, you are, princess.

    - Really? - she cocked an eyebrow at him, before standing on her tip toes to whisper against his hear. - I’m not wearing any underwear. 

    - What? - he blushed as Y/N smiled before stepping forward to collect the takeaway bags from the customer assistant. Bucky cleared his throat as the two of them walked outside. - I thought you had something to show me.

    - I did but then I realised it is really uncomfortable to be in that lingerie, so I took it off.

Bucky felt most of his blood travelled south as he looked up and down her body. Damn it, suddenly her home felt so far away from the restaurant. He couldn’t help but stare at her body as  they  walked down the street, the way her dress draped over what he now knew was her naked body. Part of him felt jealous that she was in such a state in front of everyone else but the other part, the most overwhelming one, wanted to push her into an alley and take her right there and then and maybe he would’ve done so if he hadn’t seen a few paparazzi trying to appear invisible. He put himself on her left, mostly covering her, wrapping his hand around hers as he picked up the pace to get to her place. Once again he stood behind her as she opened her door, so close her could smell her daisy perfume and if he were a bit younger and lacked self control, he would’ve drowned her neck in hickeys. However, he thought seeing himself display some strong PDA with his girlfriend on the next morning’s paper. She took her jacket off, hanging it on the hooks by the door.

   - We’re going. - he whispered against her ear as she placed the takeaway bags on the kitchen. She opened her mouth to protest, wanting to defend her right to have the yummy food she had just bought but Bucky gave her no chance to do so, instead holstering her upon his shoulder and climbing up the stairs.

Y/N waved at her younger brother who stopped in his tracks as Bucky passed through him and straight into her bedroom. Before she could protest once more, he laid her on her own bedroom, climbing on top of her and started to kiss her neck which replaced the half done protests with small moans. His hand slide up her left to her tight, rising the dress in the process and sure enough, she had not been lying about not wearing any underwear. Other than the garter which held up the sheer white stockings, she was a bare as the day she was born. Bucky took a moment to appreciate it, the bare woman laid on the bed under him, looking at him as if he were the only man in the world.

   - I must say, princess. Whatever you had to show me can’t be better than this.

   - Maybe my food downstairs is better. 

   - You’re not walking down any stairs anytime soon, after I’m done with you. - he leaned down to kiss her, a harsh full of need kiss as if he hadn’t seen her in decades.

She smiled through the kiss, hands held over his neck as he placed kisses and sucked her skin in places she was sure to get a hickey the next day, but it didn’t matter. In all honesty, nothing really mattered when he kissed her. Y/N held her hands up as he took off the dress and basked in her nakedness. Screw all the women he had ever slept with, no one compared to her. It didn’t have to do with beauty or even seduction. She was just her, just herself in her own naked glory standing under him, eyes shining with a naive like lust as she awaited his next movement. Bucky should’ve done something else but he decided just to kiss her, fingers caressing the soft skin of her face.

    - What is it? - she asked as he interrupted the kiss once more.

    - You are the most wonderful thing in my life, Y/N. - he kissed her once more, one hand coming to remove his own trousers. 

Her lips stretched into a small smile as she rose her forehead to press it against his. She mumbled a small I love you, kissing the side of his lips as he pushed his cock into her. Her lips stretched into a gasp as he grunted once he shed himself completely inside her, eyes closed as he let the feeling of being inside of her take complete hold of him. She continued mid gasp, not a single thought forming inside her mind rather than how good he felt, how full she was. 

Bucky opened his eyes, baby blues almost navy coloured as his hand pushed some of her hair away from her face, kissing her to silence her little gaps and moans which came out in such meek tones, it made him even hard just from listening to them. The kiss was forceful, his lips  swallowing all her sounds as he slowly circled his hips against hers, one hand holding the side of her hips with a vice like grip. He pushed his hips back, removing himself from her only to thrust back into her, establishing a slow and delayed pace, grip strong enough to leave a bruise the next day. She whined, nails dug into the fabric of the sleeveless tank top he had not taken off. 

   - Bucky, please ... - she pleaded, tears pooling in her eyes. - Faster.

   - No, princess. You’ve been so bad lately ... what should I do with you? - he stopped moving, stilling inside of her.

   - Move? Please?

   - Giving me handjobs in a plane, pouting when you don’t get attention, walking around without underwear. That’s not good girl behaviour.  

   - Bucky ... - she tried to rock her hips against his but he stopped her, hand firmly pressing her against the mattress. - Bucky, please.

   - I don’t know, princess. - he leaned into the crook of her neck, playfully bitting her  sensitive skin, before kissing it and doing it again. - You look so pretty when you’re begging for my cock. I almost want to see it more. Maybe leave you like this all night, what about that?

   - Please, Bucky. Please. - a tears rolled down her cheek as she tried once again to rock her hips against his into a pointless effort. - Please, please, I need it.

   -  I know. You got so upset when I didn’t fuck you last night, dollface. - he moved out and into her in a long, slow motion, earning more moans from her. - You’re just becoming so needy for me, princess. 

   - Please. - she pouted, raising up to kiss him, her hands moving up to try and take off his shirt but he refused, shutting her actions by starting to relentlessly thrust in and out of her as if he had been possessed by mere lust. Y/N threw her head back as his hand grabbed her breast harshly and he continued to relentlessly fuck her.

Her  legs trembled as he went back to paying attention to her neck and jaw, the mix of all the emotions chasing her high. She whined, trying to deal with all she was feeling from his lips against her neck, his hand massaging her breast and flicking her nipple every once in a while as well as his cock veins against the walls of her channel.  She managed to open her eyes for a few seconds and swore she could cum merely at the sight of him as he moved away from her neck to thrust faster into her, head thrown back, pink reddish lips opened in a circle, sweat forming in hairline. She had done that, she had gotten him to look so lost in pleasure and that was as stimulating as something could get. 

His hand left her breast to start circling her clit, slowly and painful, a harsh contrast with the fast pace. Her own hand replaced the place that had once been occupied by his hand on her breast, biting her lip as he continued with his motions. Bucky did not stop until she reached her orgasm, the tight feeling in her lower stomach exploding into a particular high pitch moan which he silenced by kissing her, reminding her her parents were still downstairs after all. He didn’t take long to reach his own orgasm either, continuing to thrust quickly into her until ropes and ropes of cum painted her walls. The orgasm weakened his hold over her for a few seconds, leading to him collapsing to her side, pushing her along with him. Bucky slipped out of her, reaching up to kiss her lips followed by a small kiss to her nose. 

   - Hi. - she said shyly,  cuddling against his chest as he pushed a cover over her body. - No more secrets, promise me.  

   - I can’t promise that. I can promise that whatever I do, I do it because I love you and I want you safe. 

   - Buck.

   - I will try. - he kissed her forehead. - Good?

   - Good.

She remained in his arms, cuddling against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beat softly against his ribcage. It felt good, it felt good to feel loved, to hear the heartbeat of someone who loved her, someone who existed, someone who she had only dreamed about and now existed in real life and loved her. The two watched the old clock on her table turn to midnight. Christmas day. She looked up to him, extending to give him a quick kiss.

   - Merry Christmas, love.

   - Merry Christmas, princess. - he kissed her nose. 

   - I thought we could trade presents between us. Make it special. 

   - Me first. - he said and before she could ever argue, he was rolling out of bed with a small blanket covering his nudity to grab a present wrapped in festive wrapping paper with her name written on it. He sat on the bed, next to her, pushing the duvet to cover her so she wouldn’t be cold. - I hope you like it.

   - I’m sure I will. - Y/N smiled at him before proceeding to unwrap her present. It was a book and one she recognised very well from seeing pictures on Google whenever she looked around jokingly for first editions on Ebay. - Buck, it’s too much. I can’t.

   - It’s mine. Well, it used to be mine but now it’s yours. 

   - How do you even know I like the Hobbit?

   - Chuck told me.

   - You and Chuck talk? - she giggled, unable to picture her best friend having a conversation with Bucky who was always brooding.

   - We don’t but whenever we’re on set, he just keeps talking. He said you liked it, so I thought it would be fun if you had the one I read when I was what? About your age?

   - Oh okay, grampa. - she poked his chest jokingly before handing him his present.

Bucky kissed the side of her temple, opening the package to see an album like photo with his name written in gold. He gave her a confused look but she merely nodded her head, telling him to open the book. Once he did, he saw “All the times Bucky Barnes was a hero” written in her handwriting followed by pages and pages of articles calling him a hero, the saviour of the day and other words he did not equalise with himself. 

   - I know you don’t believe you’re a good man but I do and it’s not just me who thinks it. There has been darkness in your  life but the way you continued onwards, doing good to the world which hurt you ... that’s noble. - he heard her voice almost in a echo like fashion as he moved page after page. It did not only ranged from his time in the Howling Commandos but even til now, with recent missions and facts. Everything was there, different journal cut outs, different testimonies. Everything. 

Bucky looked to his side, looked at her who was smiling at the book in his hand which she had put together and he knew. He just knew.

   - Y/N?

   - Hm?

   - Marry me. 

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @bbabysbaby @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche​ @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites​ @bluevxnus​ @that-girl-named-alex​ @captnrogers​ @nsfwsebbie​ @sarge-barnes-sir​

[amysteriousmessenger]

Hey im kinda late, but... Do you mind writing snowball fight with reader + rfa + V and saeran? If that's too much to ask, then its okay love! Oh, its kinda late but merry holiday, or christmas if you celebrate it! May your holidays be blessed and filled with only happiness and love 😽😽. Here, take all your loves you deserve!

AAAAA this is so kind of you, thank so much and a happy holidays to you too!! <3 You’re always so lovely to me! I’m sorry that I’m posting this on Boxing Day, but I hope it’s still okay for you!

RFA and Reader Snowball Fight Headcanons

Yoosung Kim Snowball Fight Headcanons 

You would have been visiting Yoosung at his university over Christmas, it has already started to heavily snow whilst you were on your way so by the time you actually got there, the snow had fallen to several inches. 

Yoosung was so excited about the snow, it reminds him of when he was young and would make snowmen in the garden with his Rika and his sister. He’d look a little crestfallen thinking about it, and you offered to build a snowman outside on campus with him. 

The two of you built the snowman together, dressing it in a scarf and sending silly pictures of the three of you to the RFA chat. It was then, as Yoosung was trying to take his own selfie with it, that you launched a snowball right into the back of his head and he caught it on camera. 

He feels so betrayed, pouting as he looked at you with big puppy eyes. 

He won’t retaliate until you laugh and begin scrambling to craft another snowball, at which point Yoosung with try to hide behind the snowman as a shield. He has to fight back, his time on LOLOL has trained him for this. 

He throws a few snowballs out from behind the snowman, and then gets hit with one in the face when he peeks around to see if any made contact with you. 

He’s laughing and having fun as you throw the snow, and it continues for a few minutes until you’ve tired yourselves out and return to his dorm for a hot shower and warm hot chocolate.

Zen/Hyun Ryu Snowball Fight Headcanons 

The two of you would be on a winter date in the park. Zen was marvelling at how the pure white snow compliments his air, and makes the red of his eyes stand out against the crisp background and how th- Bam. You hit him on the side of the head with a snowball, instantly silencing his handsome spiel. 

‘Jagiya! How could you do that to m-’ Bam, another one hitting him in the shoulder. He watched as you giggled, scrambling to gather enough snow for another attack and his heart just melted, he can’t stay mad at you. But, he also can’t lose: his ego would not allow it. 

He grabs a fistful of snow and starts chasing you through the thick snow, his trousers are getting a little wet but he doesn’t mind, you’re having fun. You turn back mid-run to throw another snowball at him, but miss. Zen takes this opportunity to throw his own snowball at you, hitting you on the ass and earning a smirk from him. 

You try to throw more, but Zen runs for fun, there’s no way that you could overtake him. You manage to get a few more snowballs thrown in his general direction but the majority of them miss and you somehow strumble and fall backwards into the snow as he got close.

Zen tried to stop himself falling, he really did, but the snow was heavy on his feet and he ended up falling on top of you, caging your body with his own.

After the initial moment of distress, he couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with the snowflakes falling into your hair and on your eyelashes. He leaned in and planted a kiss onto the corner of your mouth, his lips slightly cold from the weather. 

The two of you smiled, and then you scooped up a handful of loose snow and threw the dusting into his face. 

Jaehee Kang Snowball Fight Headcanons 

You were hard-pushed to get Jaehee to go out in the cold weather, she was too busy and didn’t particularly fancy getting her clothes wet. After enough pleading, she finally relented and agreed to make a snowman with you as long as it didn’t take too long. 

The two of you made a small snowman together, and gave it a small ponytail. You sent a picture of it to the RFA chat with the simple caption ‘Snowzen’.

She would be getting ready to go back inside to make coffee when you hit her in the back of her shoulder with a snowball.

After a brief moment of disbelief followed by a sigh, Jaehee would wait until you weren’t looking to quickly grab some snow and throw it at you. Obviously, she missed. 

But that still instigated a war. You grinned.

You both started gathering snow and throwing it at one another: yours in attack, Jaehee’s in defense. It wasn’t often that she got to loosen up, so you were happy to see her laughing on this rare occasion. 

Snowzen got beheaded in the fight. 

Saeyoung Choi in a snowball fight Headcanons 

Firstly, it’s not a snowball fight, it’s war. 

Seven would have been working into the early hours of the morning when he realised it was snowing and had an absolutely awful idea for a prank.

He went out into his garden, calmly grabbed a fistful of snow, took his time on his way back inside to smooth it into a perfectly spherical ball, prayed, and then launched it into your sleeping face from across the room and fucking bolted.

He knew he was a deadman. You sent in a text demanding that he meet you outside in twenty minutes to settle the score like men. 

Once the smug bastard comes out, you immediately throw a snowball into his face but he ducked, so your snowball missed the target. You forgot he had physical training from the agency and realised this was going to be a lot more difficult than you originally thought.

You weren’t even sure how he manages to make so many snowballs in such a small amount of time  but in the time it takes it you to craft three, he’s got twice as many done and he’s beginning to propel them at you. 

There were about twenty minutes of all-out warfare, with Seven doing dramatic leaps behind bushes and rolls to escape your attacks, all whilst managing to hit you with practically every snowball he threw. 

You were so happy to see him having such fun, knowing that he never got to do this as a child.

It was safe to say he won the snowball fight, and had to give you pouty kisses afterwards to make up for his prank. 

Jumin Han Snowball Fight Headcanons

Jumin had never been in a snowball fight before and isn’t entirely sure what he’s supposed to be doing, so he sends you a wary look when you threw a snowball at him, hitting him in the chest. He had come outside onto the rooftop terrace to admire the scenic snow on the city with you, and you assault him? He is offended.

‘____, what are you doing? You’re going to get my suit wet an-’ You threw another one into his leg followed up with the sweetest, most innocent look you could muster. He sighed. He resigned himself to humouring you, since it would clearly make you happy and he was always one to indulge you.

You explained to him what he was supposed to do and he asked for a practice shot, which you were unwilling to give him. 

Jumin’s aim was absolutely terrible and he mentions making a note to practice such things as this imperfection should be ironed out and- you threw another one at him. He smirked and gave you a look, before attempting to throw more of the snowballs he had delicately crafted at you and even managed to hit a few on your thighs and stomach.

Despite not particularly caring for such activities himself, he enjoyed seeing this playful side of you, even if it was a bit cheeky.

Jihyun Kim/V Snowball Fight Headcanons

The two of you would be out early in the morning so V could take pictures of the sunrise hitting the untouched snow, reflecting the beautiful colours of the scenery. 

V also decided that he wanted some pictures of you in the same setting, with your long flowing dressing gown settled softly atop the snow. Of course, you indulged him.

After a few minutes of him taking your picture, you noticed he had smiled and was satisfied with his images for today. He turned to put his camera down on the table and take a sip of his coffee when something cold and wet exploded on the back of his head. It was a snowball.

It’s a little difficult for him to imagine himself in a snowball fight since he can’t see brilliantly and he feels like his aim will be off, but he’s more than willing to try since you wanted to play. 

You run over to help him down the steps and into the large garden before you retreated back to your original position. You kept it fair though and stayed in his field of vision.

V wasn’t usually one to let off steam in such a way, so he seemed a little tense at first and didn’t throw the snowballs too hard in fear of accidentally hurting you. He missed more than he landed, so you were definitely winning the snowball fight.

He didn’t mind though, he was far more invested in the sight he saw before him: the adorning smile on your face, the red flush of your cheeks from the cold, snowflakes clinging to your hair and your dressing gown flowing against the breeze behind you as you ran. He could never capture such beauty if he tried.

Saeran Choi Snowball Fight Headcanons

Saeran doesn’t really enjoy the cold weather, it chills him straight to the bones so he either needs to wrap up in a bundle of layers otherwise he can’t stay out in it for very long. 

However, the boy must go and buy his ice-cream from the convenience store since his ‘idiot brother’ ate the last of it without ordering more. You offered to go for him, since you were worried about him slipping and hurting himself, but he didn’t know which flavour he wanted, so you decided to accompany him instead. 

The both of you were almost back at Seven’s when you got the idea to start a snowball fight, so you suddenly grabbed some snow and threw it at Saeran, hitting him in the shoulder. 

He turned around and was both confused and annoyed, demanding to know why you hit him. You were also confused at his annoyance, but it quickly dawned on you that he didn’t know what a snowball fight was. He’d never had the chance to do it. He was never allowed out when he was a child and even if he had, he would have been too sickly to go out playing in the snow anyway. 

You explained it to him and his expression softened when he realised it was a playful activity, and that he should try making up for the lost time. Saeran awkwardly knelt down, collected some snow and stiffly threw it back at you in the hip. He seemed nervous to make sure he was doing it correctly and looked at you for affirmation. You smiled and laughed, encouraging him to do it again as you collected more snow. 

It was a very small, soft start for him.

Bonus: When the two of you got back to Seven’s house, his brother came to the door to plead Saeran’s forgiveness and asked if you got him any snacks from the shop, and was immediately met with a snowball to the face from Saeran. 

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

What true love feels like - final part | Tom Felton imagine

I’M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE! Just kidding, I’m sobbing like a kid who’s candy was taken away. Excuse me for the grammar mistakes, I could barely see through my tears, writing this. But here it is, the final part for the mini series. I really hope you guys liked it. Thank you so much for the support! 

Word count: 4275

Pairing: Tom Felton x Reader

Note: For the best readen experience, I suggest you to listen the song Everyday I love you by Boyzone (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QQQKJJBJOY) I’ll let you know when to start playing it!

Tag list:  @abrunettefangirlnerd ; @youknowiloveyou-so; @the-girl-who-drew; @thescaletknight2014; @lil5sosbetch; @pipppaaaaalouisee; @mysticskeletonfireherring

You can find the previous chapters right here:

Part 1      Part 2      Part 3      Part 4

*Tom’s POV*

Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that made me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheet blind love, but it definitely made me believe in something. And it was true love.

I spent the last two weeks with sitting by my phone, waiting for her to call or text me. I even went to see her at the lake house, but I could never make myself to get out of my car and knock on the door. I knew her better than that. She had to be alone and away from everyone and everything. So, even if it literally killed me, not hearing from her, I was more than willing to mop around my house and wait. Why? Because I deep down in my heart I knew that I was waiting for something great.

So when I opened my door in the middle of the night, and saw her standing there, I knew it was worth it. She was there. Smiling slightly and shyly at me, like it was the first time we met each other. And in a way it was the first time. The first time before a new chapter. A whole new adventure.

If it were up to me, I’d have married her right there. I’d have started my life with her. We’d have gone out and buy that piece of land I wanted so badly, built our dream house. We’d have had sex, cuddled by the fireplace and eat breakfast together in the morning. Go to work, and rush to get home just we could see each other. Eventually have a dozen of babies, and fight over whose parents we were naming them after. Buy another dog, so Willow wouldn’t feel alone. Celebrate our 10 years anniversary. Get in those bad fights, but make up after a day or so. Continue to surprise each other, watch the sunset from our front porch every now and then. Watch out babies graduate and start their lives. Retire. Meet our grandchildren. Hold each other every night and never forget the love that started this all. If it were up to me, I would have started that adventure with her right then.

I couldn’t say a word. I just kept looking and her beautiful face. Admiring how amazingly good she looked without any makeup on. She was a woman who wasn’t afraid to show her imperfections. And I loved that fact that I could be by her side through that long and painful journey. The journey where she learnt to finally love herself. Truly.

“So you chose me?” I finally asked the dumbest question ever. She was standing right in front of me. But I had to hear her saying it. I needed to.

“Yeah, you. It will always be you, don’t you get it? If I had the choice between you and a million things I’ve always wanted, I would choose you every single time” she said slowly, so I could fully understand her. And in that moment, I was the happiest man on Earth.

There’s a moment between a glance and a kiss. Where the world stops for the briefest of times. And the only thing between us is anticipation of her lips on mine. A moment so intense it hands in the air as it pulls us closer. A moment, so perfect that when it comes to and end we realize it’s only just the beginning. So I grabbed her by the neck and kissed her. Just kissed her so deep she forgot whose air she was breathing. Her kissed melted me like no one else ever had and I just wanted her to know how much I loved her.

“Come on in” I smiled at her after our lips finally parted “I wasn’t the only one who missed you”

I took her hand in mine and pulled her in the house. Willow was already sitting by the bottom of the stairs, patiently waiting to finally be able to see our guest. When I stepped out of her way and she saw Y/N kneeling down and calling out her name, she wasted to time and ran into her arms.

“Hey, girl” Y/N tried to keep Willow away from her face, but my doggie was too happy to finally see her again. She licked her face and hands and jumped on her. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to keep kissing and hugging her. But I knew she needed to talk to me, so I made my way to the kitchen and started to prepare our cups of tea, and gave them time to enjoy each other company for a while.

“I see you kept that terrible painting” she said from behind me. I look at her above my shoulders to see her pointing to the honestly terrible painting on the wall. I chuckled at the memory of her being blindfolded, sitting in front of the canvas and holding the brush in her hand, waiting for me to give her the instructions. We painted it on our little weekend getaway in Rome. Aaron was away for almost a month, so we could do anything we wanted. I remember how stressed she had been because of her final thesis, so after she turned it in, I surprised her with that little trip.

“Tom, wait” she laughed behind me as she tried to catch up. We just had a romantic candle light dinner at the small local restaurant. Beside us, there was only two other couple, enjoying the delicious Italian pasta with a bottle of amazing wine next to the scented candles and the red and white tablecloth. We already had a bottle of wine, but we drank one more after dessert as well. After we paid, I had a great idea, I was just hoping I could find the right shop still open to buy the equipment.

“Hurry up, baby” I called after her “We don’t have much time and I’m sure it’s going to be raining in a couple of minutes”

I told her to wait for me outside of the shop and quickly bought everything I need for my plan. I had always wanted to do this with someone, but never had the chance to do it. I wanted to do it with someone who I knew was going to enjoy it. And I knew for sure Y/N was type who liked the most unexpected and cliché things.

I grabbed her hand and basically dragged her with me. I was full with energy and the night was still young. There were a lot of things in my mind. Like my little plan, maybe another bottle of wine, and sweet love making with her in the candle lit living room.

“Alright, Felton” she stopped in front of me when we entered our rented flat “Tell me what you have in mind!”

“Go and put on a shirt you don’t mind ruining” I smiled at her and put down the bag on the kitchen counter. She just shook her head and turned around to go and get changed. I couldn’t keep my hand to myself, so softly and teasingly slapped her ass. I respected her. I loved her. But I was a man and she was the most beautiful and the hottest woman I had ever met. So there were times when I couldn’t control the wide caveman in me. But she knew me better, so these things were never offensive in her eyes.

She came back a couple of minutes later in one of my old shirts she had stolen from me like a month ago. She liked to hang out in it, play with Willow in it. I didn’t mind, it was an old shirt and I barley wore it anymore. But it looked amazing in her.

“So?” she wrapped her arms around my waist and stood on her tiptoes to kiss my lips shortly.

“Sit down, darling” I nodded to the chair and picked up her scarf from her bag “Do you trust me?”

“Of course” she said without hesitation. She sat down and waited. I carefully blindfolded her and poured paint on the palette for her “Why is it if you have something in mind, it always comes with something messy?”

“I just love to make a mess” I laughed and placed a brush in her hand “Believe me, you’re going to love this”

I stood behind her and bend down a little so my mouth was the same level as her ears. I kissed the soft skin behind her ear, and I could hear her breathing quickening. This was amazing.

“Take the brush and dug it in paint” I whispered slowly, letting my breath tickling her skin. She slowly breathed out and obeyed my command. She held the brush, ready to paint, only waiting for my next instruction “Good girl”

“Now, touch the canvas with it gently and paint a straight line from down to up” I put one of my hands on her bare thigh and squeezed it gently. She did as she was asked.

“Hmmm” I stroked her skin “Now, dug in the paint again” my fingers were dancing on her inner thigh “And paint dots on the rhythm of my fingers on your skin”

“And now, paint a circle” I told her. She almost dropped the brush when I started kissing her neck. A smirked to myself, knowing very well that she was close to lose it and turn around to kiss me. She almost did, but I stopped her “Ah no no no, baby girl. Where’s the circle?”

“Tom” she moaned as my fingers went further up on her thigh. I bit on her neck to show her who was in control “Fuck” she whispered my painted the circle nonetheless.

It went like this for a bit more. Me, teasing her and giving her the instructions, and her, trying her very best to not show everything of the table and push me against it.

“It’s terrible” I said when I looked at the final picture. There was no concept at all. Just random colours and random lines, dots and circles. But we made it. I put a little paint on my finger and left my fingerprint at the bottom right corner. I took Y/N’s finger and did the same, right next to mine.

“Do you want to take a look, baby girl?” I whispered in her ear, and that was the last straw. She tore the scarf and throw it away, not giving a damn if it landed in paint or not. She turned around and crashed her lips on mine. This kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was wild, eager and passionate. When she finally looked me in the eye after the kiss, I could tell we were thinking about the same thing. Her eyes were dark from lust, and there was the dangerous flame in them that I loved so much. She only glanced at the painting for a brief moment.

“It really is terrible” she said and stood in front of me “But now, take me to the bedroom”

“You don’t have to ask me twice” I smiled at her and picked up. Her legs were wrapped around me, and I was sure she could feel everything. We made love for the first time that night. And it was the most amazing night. Little did I know, it was the first out of a lot more.

“It happens that I like it a tiny bit” I winked at her and handed her a cup of tea “I reckon you��d like to talk about a few things, right?”

“Yeah, I think we should” she nodded and went to the living room, Willow following her right away. Y/N sat down, and she immediately laid down by her feet. I joined my girls on the sofa and waited.

“I had a lot of time to think. And I talked to my brother a lot about these feelings that were building up in me” she started and never broke eye contact “I told him everything. About you and me…”

I took a sharp breath. Definitely not how I wanted to be introduced to her family.

“He took it quite well. All he wanted to know if you made me happy and treated my right” she smiled at me “When I assured him that you were literally treating me like a princess, he wished us nothing bet the best. Also, he said something very thoughtful. When I was telling him about how long I had been searching for someone who loved him, and someone I could love, he told me that love is not something you go out and look for. Love finds you, and when it does, ready or not, it’ll be the best thing to ever happen to you”

It was true. The best love is unexpected. You don’t just pick someone and cross your fingers it’ll work. You meet them by fate and it’s an instant connection, and the chemistry share is way above your head. You just talk and notice the way their lips curve when they smile or the colour of their eyes and all at once you know you’re either lucky or screwed. In our case, we were both. We met at the wrong time, but still. We made it work. Not in the most respectful and fair way, but we didn’t let go.

“But you’re still scared” I took her shaking hand in my and squeezed it to calm her down. She didn’t have anything to be afraid it. It was me, who she was talking to, after all “It’s okay. I’m scared too, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m scared because you mean more to me than any other person. You are everything I think about, everything I need and everything I want.”

“So, what now?” she scooted closer to me, and rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. I wanted her to know I wasn’t going anywhere. I was there for the long run.

“I think it’s finally our time” I tilted her head up by her chin and kissed her slowly. Yes, it was our time. And I was going to make every second of it worth it.

 < 3 years later >

*Y/N’s POV*

When I was a little kid, I loved going to weddings. God knows how many times I was asked to be a flower girl or a bridesmaid. All the decoration, the music, the spirit of true love mesmerized me, and I often find myself imagining my own wedding. I still remember the beautiful white and blush pink decoration with the fairy lights and roses all around the huge mansion. The beautiful ball gown wedding dress, made for me. But this time, everything was different. The huge, modern chalet which we rented for the reception was decorated with deep dark green and silver decoration, and the candles in the black wrought iron holders give and edgy but romantic feeling to the whole decoration.

From the room, which was assigned to be the dressing room for my flower girls, bridesmaids and I had the best view at the backyard. The chairs were covered with silver chair skirts, tied around with a beautiful, dark green ribbon. The trees were so colourful, due to the season, and fairy lights decorated them. Candles were already lit, and followed the way from the back porch’s staircase to the wedding arch, which was made out of evergreens and fairy lights. Everything was perfect.

“How are you feeling, darling?” my Mum asked me from the armchair. I looked at myself in the mirror, and admired the dress I was wearing. It was a simple bright white satin wedding dress, which hugged my body like a waterfall. The straps were made of small diamond-like crystals and fall down on my back, like they were the back of my dress. It was simple, but I felt like I was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

“Like I want to run down the aisle and finally marry him” I smiled at her. This time, there were no bad feelings, I was shaking from fear. I was sure I was about to make the best decision. I played with my silver bracelet. The single teardrop shaped pearl wasn’t lonely anymore. There were other charms from the places we visited in the last couple of years.

“I’ll go and get your Dad than” Mum kissed my cheek and left me to find my Dad.

I took a deep breath and looked outside again. Family and friends were already sitting, and my flower girls and bridesmaid were waiting by the aisle to walk down before me. I could see a familiar dirty blond hair, talking with his best man and friends near the altar. For so long I thought marriage wasn’t for me. Even when I was with Aaron. But I realized it was for me. And it was with that man, with the most mesmerizing blue eyes and bright smile. With that man, who was the most beautiful person I had even met in my entire life. Sometimes I just looked at him and thought how lucky I was that he was mine.

“Let’s get you married” my Dad said as he entered the room with the biggest smile on his face “No cold feet?”

“No cold feel” I answered and laced my hand with his.

*start the song now*

The first accords started to play when the musicians saw me and Dad arriving. Suddenly, all eyes were on me, and I could feel myself getting emotional, tears blurring my vision. The sun was just setting, and the lights of the trees and the little path made out of candles made the whole scene look magical.

But the most magical part was the man who was waiting for me at the end of the aisle. We were looking at each other, not caring about our families and friends around us. I only see him. He, in his pitch black suit with the silver tie witch complemented his bright blue eyes. He had the most beautiful smile on his face, and I had to stop myself from running up to him and kiss him. Nothing was stopping us now.

We were halfway down when I could see it. He was crying and smiling at the same time. Damn, I was the luckiest girl in the world.

“Take care of my little girl” I tried so hard to stop myself from crying, but when my Dad placed my hand in my soon to be husband’s, I could help but let a few tears escape.

The ceremony was beautiful. The speech the registrar said was true, emotional and a little bit funny, but the whole time I was lost in the most beautiful eyes. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. I was looking at my future.

“Ladies and gentleman” the registrar spoke “It’s time for this two beautiful and in love people to take their vows.

Tom’s niece stepped closer and handed him my ring, which he almost dropped because his hand was shaking so much. I chuckled and whispered a tiny ‘I love you’ to calm him down. He cleared his throat and looked back at me. We immediately get lost in each other’s eyes.

“I, Thomas Andrew, take you, Y/N Y/M/N to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, and in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and stay with you, for all eternity” he smiled at me “I’d love nothing more than to stumble through life with you”

He slowly slipped the ring on my finger and gently kissed my hand, before wiping away a few of his tears. I took his ring from our niece and kissed the top of her head before she returned to her father’s side with a huge smile.

“I, Y/N Y/M, take you Thomas Andrew, to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish out union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.” I winked at him and said the last line of my vow “I’d love nothing more than to stumble through life with you”

I slipped the ring on his finger and from that moment, that wasn’t power on Earth that could have stopped me from crying. I didn’t care how ugly I looked crying or if my makeup was a mess. I was his wife. And he was my husband.

“Y/N and Tom” the registrar smiled at us “You came here today to affirm your love for one another and formally acknowledge that which your hearts already knew…”

Tom and I both chuckled, thinking about how our love started.

“That your lives are meant to be shared as one, that you are stronger together than you are apart, and that, for all your days yet to come, you wish to share together all life’s joys and challenges, committed one to the other”

She took a breath and with true joy in his voice he continued.

“I now pronounce you Husband and Wife! You can now kiss the bride”

He didn’t waste a second. Tom picked me up and kissed me passionately. He didn’t have to say anything. Everything was in our first kiss as husband and wife. And it was the sweetest kiss we had ever shared.

***

We were standing on the porch, watching our friends and now shared family having the time of their lives. Drinking, eating, dancing, bonding and laughing. It was perfect. Just the way we imagined our wedding. We spent almost a year planning it, Tom helping with everything, sometimes being even more excited than me. He never skipped a meeting with our wedding planner. He was really there for me. And he was the one who planned our honeymoon. No matter how many times I asked, or how I tried to trick him to tell me where we were going, he kept it as a secret. Always saying it was a gift.

“You’re still not telling me, right?” I looked up at him. We had been standing there for quite a while now, just hugging each other, staring into each other’s eyes and sharing sweet kisses as a married couple.

“Nope” he kissed my forehead and pulled me even closer. I could feel and hear his heart beating against his chest.

“I have a gift for you too” I pulled away and stepped into to house to grab the little silver envelope from my bag. My hands were shaking and I was terrified to give it to him. But also, I was excited “There’s one thing you have been wanting for so long. And I’ve been holding this is my dresser for a few weeks now, so excuse me for not giving you the latest one, but I really hope you’re going to love it.”

He took the envelope from me and opened it gently. He slowly pulled out the small, black and white picture with a red hear shaped sticker on the middle of it, framing the bean sized dot.

“Is that…?” his blue eyes were filled with tears “Are you? Are we having a…?

“A baby?” I asked with tears in my eyes too “Yeah, we are. I’m pregnant”

“I’m going to be a Dad” he yelled and picked me up for the second time today. He twirled around with me and showered my face with kisses. I was sobbing like a little baby. He was so happy. I knew how badly he wanted to be a father, and his dream was finally coming true.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d find someone so utterly and completely perfect, someone who would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be. Someone that would touch my life so profoundly and just give me a whole new reason to breathe. But then I found you and realized that everything I anticipated you to be doesn’t even compare who you are.” he held my face in his hands. The amount of love I felt for that man was almost unbearable. I smiled at him and kissed him softly. I knew that no matter what was waiting for us, we were going to be okay because we had each other. He taught me so many things. He helped me to love myself. But most importantly, with him by my side, I could finally tell what true love felt like.

[secretshinigami]

Don't mess with an annoyed L

Author: @skaelds

For: @lightsturtleneck

Pairings/Characters: Light/L

Rating/Warnings: K/K+

Prompt: Domestic Lawlight

Author’s notes: Heyy ! This was very fun to write, i hope it’s qualified as a Domestic Lawlight, and i hope it will please you :D L’s Pov here you go <3

- - - - - - - - - - – - - - - - - - - - – - - - - - - - - - 

L Lawliet prided himself on being a patient person. It was something he had to learn over the years, to know how to calm his ardour in order to achieve his goal at the right moment, to know how to bide his time. The methods of The Anger Trap: Free Yourself had taught him how to temper his frustration, how to lower his tension and how to avoid anger-related symptoms such as chest tightness or tachycardia.

He remembered several times when waiting had been the key to his success, when victory meant hours spent crouching behind a screen watching the slightest change in attitude. A treacherous whisper of his mind whispered the name of Light Yagami. L promptly ignored it.

A patient person, thus.

Therefore, not very quick to lose control over his nerves.

That is why his smile didn’t tighten on his lips, his eyelids didn’t twitch and he didn’t take a breath intended to bring down his tension. None of that. No. And anyone who would say otherwise would be an odious liar.

“I thought Light-kun had given up his idea of murdering me in cold blood. I note this betrayal with real disappointment. When you confessed to me that you had changed and no longer wanted to crush the hearts of criminals between your chips-covered fingers, I thought your madness was over. Sadly, I realise that this is not the case. I am on the verge of death, Light-kun, and my death will be blamed on you. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“Shut up and chop.”

“Your coldness hurts me.”

“No, that’s just the impact of the weather. And the current temperature of -10 degrees. And probably the fact that you’re not wearing gloves when I insisted for twenty minutes that you put them on.”

“The analogy is completely unfounded. There is no correlation between the temperature and the state of my heart. Who is hurt, I emphasize. Broken into a thousand shards of glass. Crumbled. Set on fire.”

“Oh damn it, L, it is you I’m going to set on fire if you don’t stop complaining!”

Light straightened up suddenly, throwing his axe vigorously into the snow - ruffled hair, long caramel-coloured strands sticking to the soaked face, reddened by irritation and effort. Two eyes that shot him with force - even made him check to see if he had not just taken two bullets. The tip of his nose was reddened by the cold, gleaming on his face. L was taken by a sudden urge to cross the few steps that separated them and to kiss this angry face, to make the frown that was spoiling the beauty of the face disappear.

Who did he think he was fooling? As if the beauty of the other could be spoiled by something as trivial as irritation. On the contrary, seeing irises inflamed with anger aroused a tingling in his stomach that he refused to identify.

L crossed his arms on his chest, his own axe falling to the ground.

“The muscles of my upper body are less developed than those of my lower body, Light-kun. It’s a torture” he complained, sulking expression on his face. “And I’m not the one who decreed that it was imperative to chop down our own tree. Watari was quite willing to give us one. With all the characteristics you were looking for.”

Light rolled her eyes. Passed a hand through his hair, dislodging some snow dust.

“It’s a tradition,” he insisted. “You can understand, you’re the one who insisted on coming to spend Christmas at the Wammy House. Saying that it was an obligation and that you wouldn’t neglect it.”

“The Wammy has a perfectly satisfactory tree.”

“L !”

“I love you too.”

Pushed sigh with a mixture of exasperation and affection. He shook his head, caused flakes to rain down. The cold crept up his neck, down his sleeves, over his ankles - came to lay his frozen hand on him and mark his territory. Even though his hands were in his pockets and a heavy scarf was wrapped around his neck as if to strangle him, he felt the icy air pressing his lips to his skin. He shivered - they might have to amputate his toes. Terrible notion, how could he slide them over Light’s warm skin at night? He deliberately omitted the fact that this act was always followed by a yelp from Light, a startled awakening and usually a punch that would make him fall out of bed.

Light was particularly susceptible.

“But I am cold.” A real complaint, camouflaged in a childish mumble. Annoyed. He had followed Light willy-nilly in the winter cold, had rushed into the forest with him, but they had been sawing the tree trunk down for more than forty minutes - or almost - without the damn tree ever collapsing. L would have almost scribbled Abies balsamea in the Death Note by pure spirit of revenge. “I’m about to lose my fingers.”

“That’s a shame.”

“ Be careful, Light-kun forgot what empathy is all about again.”

Light shook his head once more - shaking in a canine manner - before taking a few steps forward, axe forsaken, and a slight, almost amused grin on his lips. He almost retreated backwards by reflex, preferred to take his hands out of his pockets and hold them out to Light, and was immediately assaulted by a warm and perhaps at least a bit empathetic mass.

Lips pressed against the icy skin on his neck - he shivered upon the contact, tightened his grip around Light. Light smiled against his neck, put another kiss on it, his own hands wrapped around L’s waist. “So you’re looking for a cure against the frost?”

Ecstatic nod, ready to close his eyes and-

PAF!

The universe fell under a cloud of white, an icy envelope wrapped around him like a predator, leaving him in shock. A snow avalanche, creeping into his neck, waist, ears, wrists, ankles - even swallowing a handful of it, his eyelashes covered with frosted crystals. Time froze for a moment, leaving him lying on the ground, too shocked to reflect on Light’s betrayal - the only indication of his survival testified by the regular blinking of his eyelids.

A simply awful laugh tore his eardrums. Those that came from the back of the throat, resounded like thirty bulls charging towards him, reflecting all the petty amusement and cunning of his host. L felt betrayed.

What seemed like an eternity later, he stood up slowly, one elbow leaning against the snow.

Threw an absolutely polar glance at Light.

“Did anyone ever told you you had a goat’s laugh?”

The hiccups of laughter redoubled.

L touched the snow next to him, leaned a second elbow to stand up. “I hope you know that I never leave a blow unanswered, Light-kun, you’ve just signed your death warrant.”

Tears were now streaming down Light’s face. Tears of laughter, for sure, which would soon turn into tears of suffering if he was allowed to give his opinion. He stood up on his legs hesitantly - shaking himself to make the snow fall, making it slide further down his neck. L restrained a relatively virile yelp, stood there for a few seconds - a perfect representation of a forest gremlin. Or the Yeti. Covered with snow as he was, the resemblance must have been striking.

His resolution taken, he bent down, gathered the snow into a compact ball and rushed towards Light - taking him by surprise. The other stumbled back, tripped over the handle of L’s axe, flapped his hands like a chick thrown from the nest before tipping over on his backside. In a second, L was on top of him - drove the snowball into his coat’s neckline.

Light shrieked - grabbing L’s hands to stop him from continuing. L pulled to get out of the grip, lost his balance for a few seconds-

Collapsed next to Light.

A few seconds passed in total silence, only the sound of their breaths breaking the silence before they exchanged a glance - L felt his lips stretch in spite of himself, resisted valiantly before giving in and joining Light in his burst of laughter. Breathless, they tried to catch their breath, each new glance at the other finishing them off again.

Light eventually cut himself as best he could, stretching out one arm to wrap it around L.

“I may have a goat’s laughter but I can still stand on my feet. Do you want a cane, old man?”

Slap addressed with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. L was covered in snow, infiltrated down to every pore of his skin, had just tried to cut down a pine tree for a good forty minutes and had just been tackled like a feverish rugby player on the ground. In short, he was soaked, exhausted and probably in hypoglycemia

From an objective point of view, therefore, he was absolutely not responsible for his own actions.

That is why he smiled slightly at Light Yagami, interlaced their fingers with his left hand - the one where Light was wearing his wedding ring - and quickly kissed him on the cheek. Slipped his other hand through the melted caramel-coloured hair - and it reminded him of the caramel-filled cookies waiting for them in their kitchen, what a wonderful idea - by tightening his fingers on the strands.

And slammed Light Yagami’s head roughly into the snow.

Justice was always delivering its judgment.

Later, when they returned to the Wammy House, the fire crackling in the fireplace and their hands wrapped around a nice hot chocolate, L put his cup on the table and climbed up to sit next to Light.

“The children told me that they love the tree initiative. They have even started to decorate it” grinned Light with a satisfied smirk. That of the cat who had devoured the canary and had just blamed the dog.

L gave him one of his own smiles.

“Maybe I could make it up to you in some special way…”

“Perhaps you could…”

He leaned over to Light- interrupted suddenly by a shrill ringing of the telephone. Annoyed grimace, device grabbed with fingertips to refuse the call, turning off the object and throwing it across the raised eyebrow of Light, who split into a new smile before putting down his cup and swinging L onto the couch.

Ah. A thought crossed his mind as Light’s lips rested on his skin-

Maybe he wasn’t that patient in the end.

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 20/?)

In which Callum and Ezran finally confront an awful truth.

(Chapter length: 15k. Ao3 link)

Preword: this chapter begins immediately after the end of the Callum, Ezran, and Rayla scene of chapter 19, and builds on mood and context cues from it. If you’ve not reread that scene recently I’d recommend at least scanning its tail end before reading this chapter.

Warnings: Grief, heaviness of mood and theme, general sadness.

---

‘Something’s wrong’, Ezran had said, and: ’Something’s been wrong a while’. And for all that it was true, Callum couldn’t bring himself to think about what that surely meant. He couldn’t bring himself to talk. So he didn’t. Ezran didn’t, either.

They lingered wordless for all the time that Rayla was gone. It would have been silent if not for the shriek and violence of the winds. Callum stared out into the blizzard and felt strangely dizzy as he watched the snow, tracking the twists and spirals of its motion until the brightness of its white burned behind his eyes.

It was less bright now than it had been. Evening was coming, and the sun was starting to go down. His gut twisted as he thought of that, thought of Rayla, out in the storm and the ever-encroaching cold. For once, he didn’t try to tamp down on the worry. He didn’t even try to soothe the anxiety quivering in his fingers. It was better than the alternative.

Ezran was too quiet. Not in a dragon-dazed way – not anymore. He was too alert for that, even clutching the egg to his chest. His eyes were hooded, brows drawn together into a tight furrow. He looked thoughtful, but not in any sort of happy way. His fingers were tight on the shining eggshell of the Dragon Prince, and they trembled.

Callum was aware of the tension building bit-by-bit in his brother’s frame. He knew the signs of Ezran getting worked up about something, getting upset by something. He should have asked. He should have asked, but – he couldn’t. It was like a vice clamped around his throat whenever he so much as considered it. So he sat there in ever-more painful silence, not asking, and not thinking.

He didn’t think about the flags lowered on their posts atop Verdorn, surrounded by the flickering of countless ceremonial flames. He didn’t think about what Rayla had said, before she left. He just considered the state of the fire, and tersely added a few sticks to it, and deliberately did nothing more than worry about how long she’d take to return.

He didn’t ask, and he didn’t speak, and he tried not to think. But even that wasn’t enough, in the end.

Eventually, Ezran’s head jerked up towards the storm, uncanny-bright eyes fixed unerringly in the direction of the ledge. Callum’s stomach churned, torn between relief and unease at the sign, and he stared as well. He stared for a good few minutes before Rayla appeared, a shadow darkening upon the face of the blizzard, cloak and scarves whipping behind her in formless silhouettes of grey. And then she was close enough, stepping away from the ledge, that he saw her in full: shoulders dusted with snow, face wreathed in cloth, and shivering.

He was on his feet and scrambling out of the covers in a second, heart beating shallowly in his throat. His pulse felt thin and thready as he approached her, fearful in some way he didn’t want to put thought to. Instead he rushed to her, tugging on her cloak, leading her stumbling into the conjoined lights of the fire and the egg. “You’re back,” he murmured to her, instead of thinking about what had put the tremor into his fingers, or the look of dread into her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the words wouldn’t come. It was all too senseless.

“…I’m back.” She repeated, and her voice was very quiet. She wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Her shoulders, when he went to lift the snow-strewn cloak from them, were hunched and tense. Whatever she’d hoped to escape with her reckless trip out had evidently followed her back. Callum swallowed, and set the cloak aside by the fire, and reached out to pull the scarf down from her face, to tug the wood-harness from her shoulder, to busy himself with anything and everything he could…

Ezran hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t greeted her, or stood, or done anything but stare at her silently, hands still bracketed around a stolen Prince’s egg. That silence was a chill, like an encroaching frost at Callum’s back. The hairs at the back of his neck rose, but he ignored that too. His fingers shook as he put the new firewood aside, and the snow-sodden outer scarf, and then, then-

“Callum,” Rayla murmured to him, still quiet. It was almost chiding, in a gentle way. An admonishment. As though she knew as well as he did that he was prevaricating. As though she knew exactly what he wasn’t thinking of, and was too tired to do the same.

She looked tired. She looked defeated. Slowly, with a cold and breathless dread, Callum let his hands fall away from her scarf, hanging uselessly by his sides. He looked at her, and saw the way she looked back at him. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything. Without quite meaning to, he stepped away, fingers trembling on empty air.

It was only then, in that fraught silence and space, that Ezran finally moved. He straightened – not all at once, but slowly, like it was something he had to work himself up to. When he finally looked up at her, there was something frighteningly decisive about it. Something irrevocable. Looking at him then was like watching the thud of a coffin set down upon its pyre, with nothing left but to wait for the flame. His eyes settled upon her with such a weight that she flinched as though struck.

She met Ezran’s gaze, just for a second. Then she looked away. Her eyes closed, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. When she glanced across at his brother again, there was a resignation to her expression. Dread, too, and a guilt grievous enough it made his breath freeze just to look at her. “Ez?” She voiced, finally, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.

“Rayla.” His voice trembled around her name. Callum watched, frozen in place, as his brother stared up at her, taking in a long shaky breath as though to brace himself. Finally, unsteadily, he said “I – I’m pretty sure – I think you’ve got something you need to say. Something you’ve needed to say for – maybe a long time.” His eyes, too blue, fixed on hers. He almost seemed to be daring her to deny it. Pleading, even. “Don’t you?”

Her breath shuddered, and he was close enough to hear it. She looked stricken, and couldn’t quite seem to manage to speak. Instead, she nodded, expression tight.

A thread of panic wove its way into Callum’s heart, just enough to thaw his tongue. “I – shouldn’t you be resting?” He asked, a little desperately. It sounded like a plea, even to his own ears. “You just – you just got in from the blizzard. You should sit down, warm up-“

Her hand settled on his shoulder, and his words froze on his breath. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him, but that was enough. He went still again, and the pain in her eyes became just that little bit more terrible. “I’m sorry,” she said, lowly, face drawn like the words hurt her. “I…I kept trying, but…”

Ezran stared up at them, jaw set, skin tinted blue and pale in the dragonlight, the colour making him look starkly ill. It put an unsettling cast on his expression now, wan and full of dread. His eyes were too wide. “I’m right, aren’t I.” He said, and it wasn’t a question. Rayla watched him, painfully resigned, and Callum was still frozen. “You’ve been hiding something. Something important. I just – I keep feeling it, all the time, like you’re guilty, and it’s-“ he stopped, and swallowed, and took a fortifying breath. “You keep feeling like you’re doing something wrong. And what you were saying, earlier-“

“Ez,” Rayla started, but Ezran was talking now, his amassed tension and fear bubbling out of him, like he was afraid to stop now that he’d started. Callum’s eyes flickered unwillingly between them, heart beating sick and fearful, knowing he had to stop them somehow; but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, like some dark shade had stolen his voice again.

“You keep feeling guilty,” His breath hitched, half way through the words. “A-and – and I’ve been trying not to think about it, but – it’s always, always whenever – it’s about dad,” She flinched, stricken, and he gestured at her as if she’d made some very telling point- “See? It’s – whenever we talk about him, or – or you see him in Callum's book, or anything – you flinch, or you go quiet, and – and you feel so horrible and guilty and I’ve been trying not to think about it but-“

“Ez,” Callum croaked out, finally, almost desperate to – to stop him talking, to make him stop, to take that awful expression off of Rayla’s face and the shaking from his brother’s shoulders and the tight, terrible pit of certainty from his belly.

Ezran trembled, but he didn’t stop. There were tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he looked straight ahead at Rayla and- “I’ve been trying not to think about it,” he repeated, slower, and halting, the words thick with half-shed tears. “But it keeps – and you're not saying anything,  and I know you’re hiding something from us, and earlier you said ‘my parents might be dead’, just like that, like ours are - are –“ He trembled, white-lipped. “…And while you were gone I just kept thinking, and – I. I just…" he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and looked at her. Finally, waveringly, he asked “Rayla? What happened to your other wrist binding?”

She went still. Her eyes closed, almost in time with the harsh rasp of Callum’s breath as he inhaled, because – he remembered that she’d had two at first, of course he did, he didn’t forget details like that. But he hadn’t thought of it, not since he learned what the bindings meant, and that – that was a little too much. Too much to avoid, too much for him to push down with all the other things he’d been trying so hard to ignore, just – too much.

He found himself staring at her, heart in his throat, utterly desperate for any sign, anything, anything at all that would put this horrible thought away, anything that would mean he wouldn’t have to think about it, it wouldn’t be happening, it wouldn’t be real…

Instead, she opened her eyes, and as she looked at them, he saw that they were bright with tears. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, voice choked, and – he was shaking his head, slowly, as if it would change anything- “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” he said, unbidden, the word slipping numbly from his lips as Ezran's expression crumpled. “No, no, Rayla, you can’t – you’re not saying-"

His brother’s arms closed so tightly around the egg that his hands overlapped each other, fingers curling into his sleeves tight and shaking. “Rayla,” his voice was barely a whisper, until it wasn’t. His face contorted with despair. “Just say it. Tell me!”

Her breath shuddered out. When her mouth opened, Callum felt some abortive impulse to stop her, to halt her, but- “I’m sorry.” She said again, utterly miserable and utterly defeated. “He – King Harrow-"

“You can't, “ he repeated, numbly, and her shoulders shook.

“He’s dead.” She forced out, all at once, and then there was no taking the words back. Callum froze, motionless, as Ezran went still with him. For that first, terrible second, it was like the world had halted around them. And then-

Ezran hunched over the egg and wailed. The sound of it was terrible, thin and choked with anguish, and it spun around and around and around in Callum’s head until he was dizzy with it, until his heart was pounding and his vision swimming – he stumbled backwards, and fell, and wasn’t nearly coherent enough to be thankful he’d missed the fire. He just fell, and it was the tears stuttering loose on impact that made him realise he was crying.

“Callum-“ Rayla was saying, voice choked, but he could barely hear her, and his eyes were too full of tears to see much of anything.

He didn’t mean to do it; there suddenly wasn’t enough room in his mind for anything so coherent as intention. But he did it anyway: he pulled himself unsteadily to the side, over the cold stone, reaching out blindly until his fingers hooked in the fabric of his brother’s jacket and pulled him close. Ezran was crying, and Callum had never heard him sob like that, not once, not ever.

A second later, he processed what he’d done, and tugged all the tighter. It returned some sense to his head, if only a little, to blink until his eyes were clear enough to see, to pull his brother closer until the two of them were braced and shaking around the shape of the dragon egg between them. Its light was flickering and stuttering now in time with Ezran’s sobs, as if it was crying with him. Maybe it was, with that connection it had to him. The unborn dragon whose mother had – had ordered it, and he might be crying too.

It hit him then, really hit him, staring through wet eyelashes at the egg of the Dragon Prince. A thin, wounded sound rose and shuddered from his throat, and he hardly noticed Ezran shifting to bury his face in his chest. He was too busy lifting a hand to his face, trembling horribly, and trying to wipe away enough tears that the world might make sense again. He’s dead, Callum thought to himself, numbly. There was no chasing that thought away now. No denying it. If there’d been any hope of denying it, it had passed as soon as he remembered the binding that wasn’t there.

Remembering the binding made him remember Rayla, just enough for him to lift his head, to start noticing things outside himself and his brother and the sobs that passed between them. She’d fallen to her knees, crumpled in on herself, and she was saying something. It was hard to focus past the numb shock, but a few seconds later, he managed: she was saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

Callum wiped his eyes, but a moment later they were full of tears again. He couldn’t seem to stop it. His shoulders hitched and his breath shuddered, and there weren’t any words in the world fit to respond to that senseless apology. What was she saying sorry for? He couldn’t find any sense in it. Through the haze of his thoughts, it seemed more like noise than speech, as meaningless as the ceaseless shriek of the gale.

He stared dully at the blurry ground, feeling his shoulders hitch with his uneven breaths. Ezran curled into his side, and Callum clutched back almost reflexively, mind spinning around half-coherent thoughts. I didn’t want it to be true, he thought, a little senselessly, a little despairingly. He’d thought about the chilling skill of Moonshadow elves at Full Moon, hadn’t he? When she told him about Viatori, and how an entire team had slipped seamlessly through one of the greatest strongholds in the kingdom, he’d thought about it.

The memories just kept chasing themselves around in his head. When he’d tried to reach – reach his dad, when Viren had stolen his voice, the assassins were already there. Too powerful, too ruthless. The Crownguard were supposed to be the most elite warriors the Kingdom had to offer. The Crownguard had foiled countless assassination attempts in the past. The Crownguard were supposed to protect them.

The Crownguard’s bodies had littered the tower floor.

Even then. Even before Callum fled, they’d been strewn everywhere, crumpled and lifeless, right outside the final sanctum of King Harrow. Even without seeing the memorial flames, or the flags lowered for a kingdom’s grief…that had been enough. That had been enough, deep down, for Callum to know how that night had ended. He’d just…

He hadn’t wanted to believe it.

His fingers tightened around Ezran’s shoulder, crumpling the fabric. He could feel the wet of tears where his brother’s face was pressed into his chest, beginning to soak through all the layers of cloth. “…How did it happen?” He found himself asking, hollowly, the words not even feeling like his own. Rayla’s head lifted, though, so he supposed he must have spoken them. She was curled in on herself, miserable, looking so guilty he didn’t know how to respond to it. Emotion churned and twisted in his chest, thick and choking. “…Do you know?” He wondered, then, the taste of the words unbearably bitter. “Do you know how it happened?”

Her mouth opened and closed once, helplessly. Ezran’s head lifted just enough to regard her out of one bleary eye, watching. Listening. “…I,” she tried, and then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t – I wasn’t there. I just…” She clutched around her right wrist, fingers visibly trembling. “We were just out of the city, when this…”

“It came off.” He guessed, dully, and her chin jerked down in an aborted nod. “And you knew. Right from the start, you knew.”

She looked away. “I kept trying to find a way to tell you.” Her voice was quiet. “I just…couldn’t.”

There was another twist in his gut, then. It felt almost angry. What gave her the right to be so miserable, when it wasn’t her dad? What business did she have being so guilty, when it wasn’t even her fault? The bitterness of it rose in his throat, sharp and acidic, and for a second – for a second, he wanted to be furious with her for being – for not – he wasn’t sure. But…it didn’t happen. Not really. Something burned acrid in his chest, but it wasn’t quite anger. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“…Why not?” Ezran asked, in the first words he’d spoken since – since she’d said it. There was an edge to them. Like he, maybe, had managed a little more anger than Callum had.

“I-“ She hesitated, so miserable, and shook her head again. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know.’” Ezran repeated, quiet and bitter. “It’s been over a week, Rayla. There were so many times you could have said something.“

“I know.” Her expression crumpled.

“You could have told us. You should have told us!” Ezran’s shoulders heaved with the weight of the breath that shuddered through him, close enough that Callum felt every second of it.

Again, with a choking edge of shame: “I know.”

Ezran’s breath hitched then. “He’s our dad, Rayla,” He said, and his eyes were welling up again with tears. “And he’s dead. Don’t – didn’t we deserve to know that?”

She shook as if every word were an actual physical blow, and – Callum could see, just looking at her, how much she was castigating herself. How much self-loathing she was tearing at herself with. He understood her too deeply to bear, and had to look away. He clutched tightly at his brother and said nothing. “You did,” She managed, and he could hear the sickening guilt in her voice. He shuddered. “I’m sorry. You deserved to know the truth. But…”

“But what, Rayla?” Ezran demanded, with a little more of that anger, and Callum couldn’t help but see the tears falling thickly down his face.

She didn’t try to defend herself. Just hunched in miserably, and…and that, he thought, was enough of that.

“Ez.” Callum murmured, close above his brother’s head, and felt the shudder under his hands. It hadn’t quite been a chide, just…a reminder, maybe. Of what, he wasn’t entirely sure. But it quieted him anyway, and he turned his face away from Rayla again.

“He’s dead, Callum.” Ezran mumbled brokenly, straight into the wool of Callum’s sweater. “Dad’s dead.”

It hurt to hear. It hurt so much. It probably always would. Thinking about mom had never really stopped hurting, after all. And – that was what had happened, wasn’t it? It had happened again. He’d lost another parent. He’d lost another beloved part of his increasingly broken family. Callum closed his eyes, and leaned forwards to press his face into his brother’s hair. The pain in his chest was sharp-edged and cutting, like breathing around broken glass.

He exhaled a shaky, shuddering breath there, feeling Ez tremble against him, and when he looked up again he saw that Rayla had a hand half-lifted towards them, as if she wanted to reach out, but didn’t know if she could. Part of him, very quietly, wanted to be angry with her. The rest of him recognised that there was no point, and just felt tired instead. It wasn’t her fault in any way that mattered, and she was already mad enough at herself for all three of them.

He regarded her wearily for a second, then jerked his chin in a vague sort of ‘come here’ gesture, uncertain he had the energy for anything more. She met his eyes, uncertain until he nodded at her again, and then she crept hesitantly forward. She was reaching out to Ezran’s shoulder when he lifted his head to look at her, as if he’d seen her coming even with his eyes covered.

Ezran looked at her, bleary-eyed through tears, and for a second looked wary and closed-off. Like he didn’t want her to touch him, and might push her away. But then he sighed, and shifted very slightly towards her, and she put her hand down on his shoulder.

That very instant, his expression crumpled. He sobbed, breath hitching into it alarmingly fast. Rayla flinched and seemed about to pull back when Ez turned and hooked the fingers of one hand into her sleeve, tugging at it until she stumbled closer. “Ezran-“ She tried, but he was shaking his head, tears welling so thickly in his eyes that their faint glow refracted through the water, bright and glittering and pale.

“I know,” The words tumbled from his lips, like he couldn’t help it, like he was answering some desperate plea she’d never spoken. “I know, I know why you couldn’t tell us, I – I knew even before you – I just…” He pulled at her sleeve, again, until she shifted closely enough to press a little against his side. A little against Callum’s, too. “It’s not your fault. I’m just…” He shuddered, and then turned fully away from Callum to embrace her this time. “I’m just…it really hurts.”

Her expression as she looked down at Ez had gone so open and vulnerable it hurt to look at. “Ez…” Her voice was thick, and the next time she blinked, it shook tears loose. One of them ran so closely along the outward edge of her pigment it seemed almost to frame it.

“You didn’t want to hurt us.” Ezran mumbled into her shoulder, and a strange spasm of emotion shook over her as Callum watched. Her expression wavered. “You knew it would. You knew it’d have to happen sometime. But…you just – you couldn’t.”

Her shoulders trembled. “You deserved to know.” She said, quiet, still with that edge of shame. “I should have told you.”

“You didn’t want to hurt us.” Callum repeated his brother’s words, quiet, and her head jerked up to look at him. That open, terrible vulnerability was hard to see on her. She always tried so hard to stay composed, and now… “I…understand that.”

He did understand, was the thing. He understood too well. He understood that she cared about them, and knew this would hurt them, and hadn’t been able to bear being the one to hurt them like that. Not until it had been too long, and too late, to avoid any longer. He’d been avoiding it too, after all. Of course he understood.

“I should have told you,” she said again, like she couldn’t get away from it, and he shook his head slowly.

“We already knew.” He admitted aloud, for the first time. “We just…didn’t want to face it, any more than you did.” How many times had he avoided asking? How many times had he deliberately not thought about it? How many times had Ezran deliberately not thought about it, after catching that spark of guilt through Rayla’s skin?

She closed her eyes for a moment, displacing more tears. “I’m sorry.” She said then, instead of I should have told you. “I’m so, so sorry…” Ez burrowed a little more tightly into her sweater, and said nothing.

Callum looked at her, expression so full of shame, the tear-trails on her cheeks glittering in the dragonlight, and his chest hurt somehow even more than it already did. It felt like it would choke him, it hurt so much. He leaned against her, breath trembling, and felt the silent hitch and shake of her shoulders against him. “For what?” He asked quietly, helplessly, when he could finally muster the words. “Rayla, none of this was your fault.”

“I should have told you.” She said, yet again, and when he shook his head at her, “I should have done something.”

That lifted his head further, to look at her better. To see the guilt in her eyes as she averted them from him. “Done what?” For a moment, he had no idea what she could be talking about. But then-

“I should have stopped it.” Her voice was quiet, and it trembled.

…Oh.

Callum looked away, down at the egg bracketed now between all three of them. “You tried.” He said in the end, very softly. “You tried, Rayla.”

She shook her head, violently. “I didn’t-“

“We were there. You tried.” The last word caught in his throat, and then he was crying again, the tears hot on his cheeks in the moment before the storm chilled them. “On that roof, you tried – you told him to stop, to call off the mission. We told him about Zym, but he just…” He shook his head as if in an echo of hers, more slowly. That had been ‘Runaan’, right? Someone who was basically family to her? And she’d fought him. “He didn’t listen.”

Rayla was silent, then. When he looked at her, she seemed struck, eyes wide. She was so pale as to look a little ill.

“He didn’t listen.” Callum repeated, heart hurting. “You had to fight him, Rayla, so he wouldn’t come after us. You tried. You really, really tried, and-“ She was shaking her head again, as if she wanted to interrupt him, as if she wanted to deny it, so he spoke a little louder and a little faster- “And you said! You offered, when I came back from the tower, to – go up there with me, and try again, but-“ He shook, distress making him dizzy, making his throat tighten with nausea. “I said no.”

Maybe he’d already known then that it was too late. After seeing the fallen Crownguard strewn across the stone, after seeing the assault at the tower’s innermost sanctum…maybe he’d known there was no sense in going back. No matter how much he wanted to. But most of all…

“I said no.” He repeated, quiet, and looked down at the egg. Rayla seemed shocked silent, watching him as he spoke, and Ezran had lifted his head to stare across as well. “I said – I don’t remember what I said. But Zym was what mattered the most, and I knew it, and you knew it, and-“ His voice broke. “-And I said no.”

She flinched at that, as if he’d found some way to take the pain of that knowledge and cut her with it, as if she were like Ezran, and could feel it keen as a knife through her skin. As though he’d heard the thought, his brother shifted, blinking miserably up at him. He reached out, and the fingers of one hand hooked into Callum’s sleeve.

“You were right.” He said, quiet and unhappy. Another tear slipped from the corner of his eye. “If we get Zym home, we – we could stop this, for everyone. But…”

Callum reached back, clasping his brother’s hand. “Ez…”

“I wish it hadn’t happened. I wish it – didn’t have to be like this.” His voice twisted into something thick and tearstained, and Callum had a moment to feel ever-more terrible at the sight of the misery on Ezran’s face before he turned his face back into Rayla’s sweater. She hardly seemed to know what to do about it, which would have maybe been funny under literally any other circumstance. Eventually, after some hovering, she curled one arm around his brother’s shoulders, squeezing gently. Her right hand; bereft of any and all assassins’ binds.

“Me too.” She said to him, very quietly, eyes shadowed with pain. He wondered if she was maybe thinking about her parents, too. How they might be dead after all, and in such a terrible way, with no way of her knowing for certain what had become of them. The only way to find out now would be to tear the words from Lord Viren himself, and that-

Callum’s throat tightened, and he shuddered. Discomfort and unease joined the churn of emotion in his stomach, and he felt ill.

He couldn’t help but remember some of the things that Harrow – dad – had said to him, in that last meeting. I’ve done terrible things, and I am responsible for some of those wrongs, and what’s done cannot be undone.

Dad had died full of regret, but determined to face the consequences for the choices he’d made. He’d been so convinced that his death was the only way forwards. He hadn’t even tried to leave, despite knowing full well that the assassins were coming for him. He hadn’t even tried.

Callum had tried. He’d tried to convince him. Tried to reach him, to tell him the truth about the egg so maybe that would change his mind. But it hadn’t been enough, with Viren in the way. And he’d said no when Rayla offered to go with him back into the tower. And now…Harrow was dead.

What else was it he’d said? Take care of your brother? Callum sniffed, and shuffled closer until he could hug Ezran too, squashed against Rayla’s side and the shell of the dragon egg.

“I wonder if he knew.” Ezran said, then, very quietly. The words were still muffled by fabric.

Startled out of his thoughts, Callum looked down at him. “…What?” He asked, bewildered.

“I wonder if dad knew,” Ezran clarified, head lifting a little. The rims of his eyes were ruddy from crying. “About Zym’s egg.”

‘What makes you think he doesn’t already know?’ He remembered, and felt the taste of bile rising in his throat. He shook his head, violently. “He couldn’t.” Callum denied, helplessly. He wanted to say that Harrow wouldn’t have let that happen, but – at the very least, he’d thought Viren had killed the Dragon Prince, right? And he’d let that happen. Throat tight, he went on “If he’d known, he would have – he’d have done something. He could have stopped the attack.”

Ezran didn’t say anything, just blinked at him, slow and unhappy. Eventually: “I hope you’re right.”

He wished he could just ask him, find out the truth – but that was one of the terrible things about this, wasn’t it? He couldn’t, because Harrow was dead. There’d never be any talking to him again. There’d never be any words, or answers, or anything from him again.

Callum’s breath hitched, and then – a second later, he felt a memory hit so hard it was almost like a body-blow. On reflex, he scrambled to check his belt, even knowing there was no sense in it at all, not ten days and however-many changes of clothing too late. A small, wounded noise emerged from his throat, high and upset.

They were looking at him immediately, both reflexively concerned. “Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, and he squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming fast with distress.

“I – I had a letter,” He managed, throat so tight he was surprised he could breathe at all. He could feel tears rising in his eyes again, hot and stinging, a pit of anguish taking root in the middle of his chest. “I had a letter, from him, he gave it to me before – the last time I saw him. I was – he said to read it, when he was-“ He stopped, and couldn’t finish, a sound like a gasp choking its way out of him. ‘You’ll know when', he remembered, and – it hurt like a hand had clasped around his heart and twisted-

Ezran’s voice was tentative. “…A letter?”

“It was important.” He recalled, heartbroken, breaths coming too-fast. “It was important, it was – it was supposed to be his last letter to me, but I – I must have dropped it, I don’t-“ He stopped, and tried to think. He’d not had it when they left the castle, or surely they’d have noticed it when they were taking stock of what they had. So, sometime before that… “I must have lost it in the castle.” He recognised, numbly. “When we were running from Claudia, or-“ His eyes flickered across at Rayla.

“Or when you were running from me.” She recognised, with a flash of regret over her face.

He buried his face in his hands, the fabric of the gloves too scratchy on his salt-scoured skin. “I can’t believe it.” He muttered brokenly. “I lost it. His last letter, and – and I lost it.”

Ezran couldn’t seem to find the words to respond to that; there was nothing from his direction but silence. Rayla, though – “I’m sorry, Callum.” She said quietly, and he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. “That’s awful.”

He lowered his hands, just enough to look at her. “I lost it.” He repeated, quieter, and…abruptly, felt so overdrawn with misery that something in him crumpled into silence. His tears stopped, as though some deep well within him had suddenly, finally run dry.

“Maybe someone picked it up.” Ezran said, then, but his voice was very distant. Callum looked at him, and found him blank-faced and numb. Hollow-eyed, like this had been the last straw for him too. One final tragedy, to make things just that little bit too terrible to bear. “Maybe one day we’ll be able to read it.” Despite the words, there was no hint of optimism or hope in his voice. It rang too hollow for that.

Callum shook his head, just a little, and didn’t speak. It was possible, he supposed, but…not terribly likely. And after everything…

He didn’t say anything, the hollowness in his chest expanding until it seemed to steal the voice from him. Ezran didn’t speak either, and didn’t move, still pressed half-into Rayla’s side. She abided by their empty silence, and sat with them, shoulder-to-shoulder, while the fire crackled and the egg’s light flickered and the storm tore around the mountainside. The quiet that held between them was heavy with a bleak, oppressive sort of lethargy.

Eventually, Ezran drew back away from Rayla, and back from Callum as well, until he was sitting up with their hands still trailing back from his shoulders. He hefted the egg fully into his lap again, fingers tightening around the bright shell. His eyelids fluttered, in that familiar way, and his expression twisted as though listening to something painful.

Callum looked at him, and managed to find the energy to speak. “…Is he alright?”

Ez exhaled quietly. “He’s upset.” He admitted. “Because we’re all upset, and I can’t…I can’t stop it from going through me to him. I’m feeling me being unhappy, and you two being unhappy, so he’s feeling it too. He’s so young. He doesn’t know what to do with it all.”

His chest hurt, thinking of Ez having to deal with the grief and turmoil of two other people on top of his own. It wasn’t fair. But he wasn’t sure there was anything to do about it.

“I don’t even know what to do now.” Ezran voiced, soft. “What are we supposed to do, Callum?”

He looked at the egg. “Well,” He started, then trailed off. He shook his head. “I…guess nothing has really changed.” His voice sounded empty even to his own ears. “We’ve got to stop the war. We’ve got to get the Dragon Prince home.” Home, to the Dragon Queen who’d ordered Harrow and Ezran be killed.

Ezran’s eyes returned to the eggshell, reflecting its searing light. “…Yeah.” He said, in the end. “I guess so.”

If he thought anything else, he didn’t say it. Just pulled the egg closer, and leaned in against Callum’s side. He looked exhausted. Drawn-out and weary, like the day and its toil and its grief had taken too heavy a toll on him. It wasn’t a surprise, really. There’d been the storm, and the sheer turmoil of the overburdened dragon egg, and then the talk about Rayla’s parents, and then this. Of course he was tired. Of course he was at the end of his rope. Callum didn’t feel much better off; he could feel the stress and exhaustion burning behind his eyes, until he felt a hair’s breadth from new tears at any given second. He thought he’d still be crying, if he wasn’t so tired.

As if to corroborate Callum’s thoughts, Ez settled in, and his eyes slipped half-closed. “I’m really tired, Callum.” He murmured, shuttered eyes as blank and distant as Callum’s own. “I just want this to stop.”

He didn’t elaborate on what exactly he meant by ‘this’, but he didn’t really need to. Callum exhaled, heavy and slow, and wound an arm around Ezran’s middle to tuck him closer in to his side. “I think we all just need a rest, now.” He said, quiet. “Maybe things will seem better later. Or…at least maybe a bit less terrible.”

Ezran blinked up at him, so slow as to seem lethargic. “Did it get better, before?” He asked, and for a moment, Callum didn’t know what he was talking about. But then- “After mom died?”

Pain stole his breath away. The next moment, he inhaled again, seeing by the minute flinch of his brother’s face that his grief had been marked. “…In a way.” He answered, in the end, and felt all-too-exhausted at the thought of doing it again. Of passing days, and weeks, and months, and enduring the ache of loss until it no longer clawed so incessantly at the insides of his chest. “It does get better. It just...it takes time.”

Ez sighed, as if he’d expected that answer. His eyes, already half-shut, closed all the way. “…I’m glad you’re here, Callum.” He said eventually, head leaning into his shoulder. After that, he didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, a silent huddled form, illuminated by the shine of the egg he still held.

Rayla’s shoulder shuddered briefly against his own. When he looked at her, she seemed to be fighting a losing battle with some nameless agitation. Her expression when she looked at Ezran was pained, and – when he looked across at her, she flinched when he met her eyes. Still guilty, maybe. She opened her mouth as if to speak, hesitated, and after another glance at Ezran shook her head and closed it. In the end she stared over into the fire, shoulders tense and hunched.

He wondered what was wrong with her. What was bothering her now. The intention rose in his chest to ask, but it couldn’t seem to make it all the way. He was abruptly too tired.

The quiet that settled among them then wasn’t a comfortable one. Callum stared into the fire and felt numb, as if the cold of the blizzard were seeping into his ribcage and clutching at his heart. He remembered being out there in the snow, until the chill stole into his limbs and made it harder and harder to move. He felt like that now, even despite the heat of the fire so close by. Like the chill was in his flesh, in his bones, and he’d never move again. If there was any mercy to that cold, it was that it numbed his thoughts too, until his mind ran slow and heavy with apathy.

After a while, though… “Is he asleep?” Rayla’s voice sounded beside him, quiet and just a little surprised. Callum lifted his head to look at her, and then at his brother, whose eyes were closed. His expression remained tight, brows drawn, but there was something about the looseness of his posture and the rhythm of his breathing that Callum recognised.

After a moment, he managed to speak. “Think so.” All things considered, if Ezran had managed to fall asleep now, it would probably be a challenge to wake him up again. Callum nudged him, just a little, and produced no wakeful response whatsoever. “…I guess he crashed.” He reflected on how tired Ez had been even before the day’s troubles got started in earnest. He’d barely slept, hadn’t he? “After everything, I’m really not surprised.”

When he looked over at her, Rayla’s eyes were on Ez, shaded with regret. “I am, a little.” She admitted, still keeping her voice low. “I couldn’t imagine sleeping after all this.”

Slowly, Callum lifted a hand and smoothed it over the back of Ezran’s neck. “He’s just a kid.” His voice came out softer than he expected. “He’s ten. He hardly slept at all last night, and then…” He shook his head, rather than attempt to sum up the day aloud. “He was bound to fall asleep like this at some point. Kids are like that, you know. They keep going and going and then, suddenly…” He nodded demonstratively at his brother.

The face Rayla made conveyed, quite expressively, ‘I’ll take your word for it’. What she actually said was “Makes sense, I suppose.” She watched Ezran’s sleeping face for a few more moments, before her eyes flicked up to his. “Think he’ll wake up if we move him?”

Callum assessed him. “Nah. He’s out.” He eyed Rayla, the barest flicker of interest pushing through the shroud of exhaustion that had settled on him. “What were you thinking?”

“Get him tucked into the covers, with the egg?” She suggested. “Make sure he’s comfy.”

He hummed, and nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” He had to work his way up to it. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. But, after some effort, he made himself move, shifting around to support Ezran under his arms. Rayla shuffled over to help, keeping the egg from falling out of his lap as they moved him. In the end they got him tucked into the tent-covers close to the fire with only minor shifts and murmurs on Ezran’s part, the egg’s shine half-blocked by the thick fabric.

Even in sleep, though, Ezran didn’t look relaxed. There was still that fraught tension furrowing his brow, as though heartbreak had followed him into unconsciousness. It hurt to see, but there was nothing Callum could do about it. So he lifted the covers to let Bait go in as well, and then sat back down by the campfire. It felt more like collapsing, really; his body felt so heavy.

Rayla took the opportunity to throw some branches into the fire before she followed suit, shooting him a few hesitant looks before she spoke, as if she wasn’t sure she should be saying anything. “…How’re you feeling?” She asked, looking as though she regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Sure enough, she shook her head quickly, and muttered “Stupid question, I guess. You don’t have to answer that.”

He lifted his head to look at her, and…despite everything, for whatever reason, he appreciated that she’d asked. It settled something bereft in him; some part of him that was hurting, and lonely, and desperate for comfort. “…Well, I’ve been better.” He said, finally, voice sounding worn even to his own ears.

She glanced side-long at him, looking uncomfortable, and fed another stick into the crackling flames.

Callum watched the fire part and spit around the new fuel, his thoughts flickering in and out of sight like the embers in the ash. “I feel kind of stupid, for how long I was ignoring this.” He said, softly. “There were so many signs. I just…” He sighed, and wiped a hand over his face as if it would help anything. It didn’t, of course. He felt as unhappy and lethargic as before. “I really wish this didn’t have to be real.” He murmured it to himself more than to her, but saw her flinch anyway.

She fidgeted in place, shoulders tense, and then tenser yet when she stole a glance at him. There was an agitated jitter to her fingers when she broke a branch in half, crack, and cast both parts into the flame. He was starting to work his way up to asking her what was wrong, or what was bothering her, when- “I should go.” She muttered tersely, eyes flicking out to the ledge, and he froze.

“What?” He managed, a second later, voice croaking. His heart thudded dully in his chest, too exhausted for any true panic, but awake enough for reflexive fear to move it.

“I should just…go. Give you some space.” She was saying, not even looking at him, leaning back from the fire with the intention of movement written in her every limb, like she was about to spring up at any moment, like she was about to get up and leave. “I shouldn’t – you deserve to have some time alone, right now. And more firewood is always a good thing.”

Terror stuttered into his bloodstream, choking his heart with thorns. “Rayla-“

“I’ll just pop out for a bit. I won’t be long.” Still avoiding his eyes, she pushed herself up, rising to her feet, and…

Callum wasn’t surprised. Not really. Now that he was looking at her, he recognised the tension she was wearing; she wanted to get away. There seemed to be some reflex in her that drove her to hide away whenever she felt vulnerable, or upset, or – any number of things. It was her that wanted to get some space, and maybe she thought he wanted that too, but-

But he didn’t. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want her to leave him alone. He never wanted to be alone at times like this. But, sometimes, it happened anyway.

He still remembered the day he’d learnt his mom was dead. Remembered waiting for Harrow in the throne room he’d been led to, uneasy, certain that something was wrong. He remembered every word of what Harrow had told him, like it was burned into his mind by the weight of its pain. He remembered, too, how Harrow had behaved afterwards. Hesitant, and halting, like he wanted to stay but didn’t feel it was his right. He’d comforted Callum for a while, and then left. To allow him some ‘space’.

He hadn’t wanted space. He’d wanted Harrow to stay with him. But he’d not been able to find the words for it then, and so he’d been left alone.

The breath shuddered thickly in his throat, and his hand was trembling horribly when he reached out and clasped it around Rayla’s wrist. “Please,” He managed, the word half-choked with emotion. “Don’t leave.” Then, when she didn’t move: “Please”, again, more desperately.

She stared back at him, looking almost bewildered. A second later, her expression trembled, and for a second, it looked like she might cry. And then-

She sat back down.

She didn’t leave.

The relief was so powerful he could hardly breathe through it. Instead of speaking he closed his eyes, and trembled, and felt his fingers move around Rayla’s wrist as she settled beside him. He could almost feel her hesitance in how she wavered there, shoulder barely brushing his. Uncertain of her welcome, maybe, or uncertain of why he’d been so desperate for her to stay. He wasn’t sure until he opened his eyes and looked at her, and…then, seeing her expression, he thought it was probably both.

“…Thank you.” He mumbled to her, the words sounding almost embarrassingly heartfelt. Her eyes looked just a little wide, as if she was startled.

She studied him uncertainly for a few long seconds, like she had no idea why he’d be thanking her. Like she had no idea why he’d wanted her to stay. He…thought he should feel guilty, for not letting her leave and get some space to clear her own head, even if going into the storm would have been a fairly bad idea. The relief turned a little sour as he thought of that, gut twisting unpleasantly.

“…Sorry.” He offered, eventually, when she hadn’t seemed to manage to find anything to say. Anxiety prickled at the back of his neck as he remembered that – really, they hadn’t known each other that long, it was maybe a bit weird to have begged her not to leave like that, especially when she’d wanted to get away- “I just…really don’t want to be alone, right now.” He excused lamely, feeling abruptly very stupid and very tired. He let go of her wrist and wrung his fingers together, shoulders hunching just a little.

He’d looked away from her, not wanting to see her expression; so the touch at his hand surprised him. He glanced down, startled. She’d reached out, however hesitantly, to put her hand over his own. When he looked up…there wasn’t any of the closed-in tension he’d feared. Instead, she just seemed sad, and there was nothing closed about it. He looked at her and, within moments, felt the anxious twist in his gut ease. “’S alright.” She said, and he was almost too disorientated by emotion to hear her. “Don’t you worry.” Her voice quieted, then. Went gentler, and a little more solemn. “I’ll stay.”

A shudder ran over his shoulders, utterly involuntary. He couldn’t help the depth of the gratitude that shook through him at the words. She was here. She cared. She wasn’t leaving.

Tentatively, and stealing glances at her all the while, he shifted his hand to clasp the one she’d laid upon it. When she made no objection, he settled his fingers solidly between hers and nearly shook with the relief of the contact. Even with the layers of gloves in the way, the solidity of her hand in his own was unimaginably reassuring. “…Thanks.” He mumbled again, and thought he’d have been more self-conscious if he wasn’t so tired. As it was…

The exhausted, numb shroud hadn’t left him. Misery hung over the edges of everything like a stain, and everything left around the borders of the apathy ached with grief. He wasn’t sure that was going to go away any time soon. But even so – it helped, to have her here. It really, really helped.

Her ears were back a bit, as if she were abashed. He wondered, very distantly, when he’d started to understand what elf ear movements meant. Whatever she was feeling, though, the gentle caring in the way she looked at him hadn’t changed. She squeezed his fingers, even, as if to reassure him. “Least I can do.” Her voice was quiet, and maybe just a little guilty.

He didn’t think he had it in him to address that guilt right now, so he just…exhaled, very slowly, and shifted his hand more comfortably around hers. She hadn’t minded the hands, so he thought she wouldn’t mind him leaning on her either. So he did, settling a little against her side, and felt some nameless tension in the back of his head ease a little. He stared into the fire and breathed a little easier.

She didn’t make any move to shift or get up for a long time. She just sat with him. It helped.

It did help. But in the end, it helped in a way that thawed the edges off of some of the numbness, some of the shock. A few times, he found himself trembling as the grief moved through him like melt-water under a glacier. Once, his breath shuddered and his eyes welled with tears again, as if finding new reservoirs to weep from.

Rayla made concerned murmurs at him until he shook his head. “I’m okay. It’s just…” He looked down at their hands. It was her right hand he was holding; the hand that had never been bound long enough to hurt.

Her expression softened into now-familiar sorrow, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, Callum.” She said it in the tones of I’m sorry for your loss, of I’m sorry this happened, and that honest sympathy was what set him off into a true bout of crying again.

His shoulders shook, and his breath hitched, and tears did fall, but it all felt so much more subdued than before. Quiet, even. It was a resigned sort of grief, he thought. Defeated, maybe. As though he’d burned through the powerful, convulsive sobs of before and left only this behind. Whatever it was, it blurred his eyes with tears, and every time he trembled he felt Rayla close by his side.

She didn’t try to stop him, though seeing him cry plainly made her feel awful. She didn’t try to talk to him, either. Maybe she recognised that this was just…crying. Just grief, and it had to spill out somehow. After a few moments of watching him, she shuffled a little closer until she was more solidly braced against his side, and then slipped an arm around his back, pulling him into a silent embrace. He shuddered and let his face fall onto her shoulder, appreciating it more than he could say. She didn’t try to move him, even when he must have been getting her sweater damp, and just…stayed there.

After a while, he pulled back, and just leaned against her side, tiredly displacing a new tear from his eyes every minute or so when he blinked. Those tears stopped eventually, too. In their aftermath he felt even more tired and drained than before. After a long interval of silence, Rayla started glancing between him and the fire. Eventually, she asked “You alright if I go over and tend the fire a bit?”

It shook him out of his exhausted stupor, a little. He glanced at her, and their hands, and though he regretted it even as he spoke, he nodded and said “Yeah, sure.”

She squeezed his hand once more, then let it go. In a second she’d moved away and to the fireside, leaving the space beside him empty. He watched her work to settle that feeling of absence, blinking slowly as she fed twigs and bits of branch into the flames. She got up to get the pot and fill it with the snow piling thickly at the less-sheltered part of their alcove, and he watched the winds pull at her hair and scarf upon the storm’s edge. He watched as she set the pot on the fire, and waited for such a time that she might come and sit beside him again.

“Think Ez is waking up any time soon?” She asked, when the snow had gotten around to melting, and he glanced back at the tent layers. They were still glowing, cyan light filtering out around the seams, and Ezran’s face only partially-visible where he’d burrowed into the covers.

“He’ll either be sleeping another couple hours or another eight.” He answered, after a moment. “There’s not really any in-between with him, once he crashes like that.”

Rayla hummed at that, just a little rueful. “Well, suppose it means he’ll be fresh and ready for if he needs to take a watch shift tonight.”

Abruptly, Callum remembered the concept of fire-watch. Of camp-things, like food and drink and taking care of the fire that kept them alive. Of the fact that it was evening now, and…technically, it was approaching bedtime. After all this, after everything…some things were still the same.

It was a little jarring. It was a little reassuring in a way, too. The thought of routine, as new as that routine might be, was just enough comfort to be worth the effort of following it. Plus, well – some of it just plain needed doing, no matter how exhausted and threadbare and grieving he was. “Need to change your bandages.” He recognised, tiredly, and his eyes slid to her left arm. “Do your hand, too.”

She glanced back at him. “We can leave it tonight, if you’re not up for it.” She offered, quietly. “I can probably manage myself.”

Despite everything, he managed a flicker of indignation. “No need for that.” He muttered at her, annoyed at the thought of her trying to sort her bandages alone, one-handed, because she thought he might be too haggard and downtrodden to help her. “I’ll do it. Just – whenever’s good.”

The barest, faintest hint of a smile twitched at the edges of her lips. “Well. I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule.” She said, plainly too tired to make the words sound dry, but the sentiment was there. He sighed quietly, his lips offering the same tiny reciprocal twitch, too tired and too unhappy for humour, but appreciating the gesture nonetheless.

“Once you’re done with that water, then.” He decided, and she glanced at him for a moment before inclining her head. The water was bubbling gently by now; she took the pot from the fire with her hands comprehensively gloved, then refilled all of their jars with it. She left him with a smaller jar while she went and rummaged in the bags – after a minute or so of watching her, he realised she was fetching the scissors and bandages and disinfectant. He wanted to protest that he could get those, but…by then, there wasn’t any point. He was too tired anyway.

The water was warm, and felt good to drink. The heat of it spread through his body from the inside-out, unexpectedly lulling after the day’s trials. When he was done he set the jar aside, pulled his gloves off, shuffled over to where Rayla was waiting, and wordlessly reached to help her out of her layers.

There were quite a few. He’d lost track of how many extra layers they’d all been throwing on in the midst of the storm, and it took a while to get them off without hurting her. Drawing each sleeve over her injured arm required a delicacy and focus that he’d thought was beyond him, in this depth of exhaustion…but somehow, he managed it, and piled each article one-by-one beside the fire. She shuddered as the sweaters came off, and started hunching her shoulders when her arms were finally bared, goosebumps raising over her skin. Even directly beside the fire, it was so cold that she was shivering in earnest by the time he peeled the bandages off.

It was growing dark enough now that he mostly had to depend on the firelight to check on the savage wounds over her upper arm. If there was any mercy, it was that he was still too emotionally exhausted to feel as terrible as he usually did when he looked at them.

Silent, he pressed carefully around the edges, trying to feel at the state of the developing scabs. “Better.” He said at last, quiet, and reached for the disinfectant to wash the area. “Feels more solid now. These probably won’t open up again if you’re careful.”

“Mm.” She watched him, still shivering, as he re-bandaged her arm and then carefully pulled back her collar to check on the shoulder wound. It had never been as bad as the rest, and was doing fine. He replaced the bandage pad that they’d tied onto it, and then sighed.

“Alright, we can get your layers back on now.” He attempted a smile, tired, as she exhaled with relief.

“Oh good.” She grumbled, already snatching at the first item of clothing he’d left by the fire. “I don’t have the energy to be shivering like this. It’s too bloody cold.”

He wondered, for a brief dizzy second, how terrible the cold would be without the fire. With night nearly upon them, and their mountain almost in the middle of the storm…well, there was a reason they’d needed a fire-watch, wasn’t there? Without the fire…they’d probably be dead by now. He reflected on this almost emotionlessly, then moved to help Rayla with her clothes.

A few careful minutes later she was bundled up again, clad in so many layers that her torso seemed a solid mass of cable-knit sweater. Her neck disappeared behind the scarves, and then when her hat returned, her ears mostly vanished too.

He stopped her before she went to re-glove her hands, though, reaching out to touch gingerly at the back of her wrist. “This still needs doing.” He reminded her, exhausted enough that his voice sounded strange and flat to his ears. She glanced at him, frowning.

“…Normally I’d say to leave it, today.” She said, eventually. “But…”

“Ez and Zym loosened your binding a lot earlier.” He guessed, and she nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s…probably the most important time for it.” Briefly, exhaustedly, he closed his eyes. It was more effort to speak than it should have been. “Make sure it…recirculates right, or whatever.” He glanced at her bare hand, now almost entirely a normal colour, and blinked at it tiredly. “At least it should hurt less now.”

She flexed the fingers carefully, and then shifted a little to offer the hand to him. “Feels okay, yeah. Cold, kind of numb. Stiff, but…not really sore.” She offered quietly as his hands settled around hers. Despite everything, her hand actually felt a little warmer than his at the moment – he’d taken his gloves off to help her with her clothes and bandages, and that much time in the open air had chilled them considerably. He hesitated, then shuffled them closer to the heat of the fire.

He checked the bandage around her binding, first. The binding itself was surprisingly loose; while some magical force seemed to prevent it from being moved from its exact spot on her wrist, there was enough room in it now that he thought he could actually slip a finger under it if he tried. It wasn’t visibly squeezing at her wrist at all, and the bruise-dark hue it had left on her hand and arm was gone like it had never existed. The scabs of the sores were healing well. They were still hard and thick-feeling, but he could see the hints of new pink skin starting to grow in from their edges. “I…think you can go without bandages on here, now.” He decided, slowly, and set the bandage aside. “Just be careful not to catch the scabs on anything, I guess.”

She made a face at her wrist, like she found it offensive to look at, and – after a moment, Callum found himself staring too. His eyes fixed unerringly on the strange clasp, and then the silver of the ribbon itself, all-too-aware of what it represented. His breath stuttered for a second, and he closed his eyes, suddenly struggling to breathe around the sharp-edged pain in his chest.

He panted a few times in distress, eyes tightly closed, and didn’t quite manage to move until Rayla’s hand twitched between his own, fingers squeezing gently at his. He exhaled slowly, blinked his eyes open, then turned to wipe his face on his scarf. “Sorry.” He muttered, disoriented by grief, and couldn’t make himself meet her eyes. He was sure of the way she’d be looking at him – guilty, and pained, and sad – and didn’t know if he could handle that right now.

She seemed to hesitate. “Callum…”

“It’s fine.” He said, softly, and repositioned her hand in his, turning it palm-up for him to work. “I’ll just…get this done, and then…” He closed his eyes again, very briefly. “Then, I guess we…wait out the night. Rest, maybe. Somehow.”

It was strange; he was tired enough that the task ahead seemed more exhausting a prospect than it ever had. He wished he could leave it, and just rest. But…at the same time, he was dreading what would come once there was nothing left to do. At least now he had some distraction. Afterwards...there’d be nothing but his grief, and his thoughts, and the bleak prospect of the monumental journey ahead of them. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

“…Somehow.” She echoed lowly, like she felt the impossibility of that as much as he did. She fell quiet, watching with shuttered eyes as he finally started pressing his fingers into her palm. Together, they sat in a silence swallowed by the howl of the wind, and did not speak again.

 ---

 Rayla sat wordless and unmoving for all the time it took Callum to massage some circulation back into her bound hand. It took longer than usual, and she could practically feel the exhaustion dragging at his every motion. She kept wanting to suggest that he stop, and let her handle it, but…somehow, she thought he wouldn’t appreciate that now. So she stayed silent, and watched him, and felt guilt drag its claws viciously through the insides of her chest.

The flesh of her hand ached a bit where he pressed at it. There was a low-level sear to it, a gentle burning soreness, like someone had planted the suggestion of acid within her blood. Compared to the pulsing agony of her upper arm, it was almost pleasant. Finally, he finished, and remanded her hand back to her, and then…shuddered, a little, as he drew his own hands back to his lap and huddled down beside the fire, staring bleakly into its flickering light. He didn’t say anything.

She watched him through the corners of her eyes, heart hurting, throat choked with shame.

Again, as earlier, she felt the urge to – get away, somehow. To go out into the storm again, and give him some room to breathe. But that wasn’t an option, not with the fatal chill of a night-time blizzard waiting for her beyond their shelter. And, besides…

Rayla glanced at him, uneasily, and completed the thought: if earlier had been any indication, he didn’t want that room to breathe. He didn’t want to be left alone. He didn’t want her to leave.

She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Any Moonshadow elf would have wanted the solitude. Pain was a private thing; something to be held close and hidden away. Wanting someone with you during a time this terrible…that was shockingly personal. And for all that she knew he was a human, and had different cultural attitudes surrounding this sort of thing…she couldn’t help but feel bewildered, and strangely touched, by the memory of him pleading for her to stay.

She shifted in place, uncomfortable, but held that memory in place to force herself still. He’d asked her to stay, so she would. She owed it to him. It wasn’t as if there was anywhere to go anyway. But…

She had no idea what to do.

Rayla looked at him again, huddling by the fire with his knees up to his chest, eyes downcast, face oddly blank. It hurt, to see him like this. Hurt more to remember her role in doing this to him. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, and suppressed the agitated reflex in her body that wanted to send her to her feet, to turn her face away, to escape this space full of guilt and shame and other people’s grief.  

Silently, she reflected on that impulse, exhaling almost silently. The sound of the wind drowned it out, and she had no doubt that Callum heard nothing. She opened her eyes and stared at the fire, and acknowledged to herself what was really motivating this ongoing desire to flee: it hurt to be here. It hurt to see him hurt, and to deal with her own shame. Leaving would be easier – if not for the storm – but it would also be cowardice. She’d done enough to hurt him already. Leaving when he’d begged her to stay would be too cruel.

But she didn’t know what to do.

There’d been times in the past where Runaan or Ethari had been having a hard time with something, but they always helped each other through that in private. It had been the same with her parents, though she’d been much younger then. She’d never been the person anyone turned to for comfort before. She’d certainly never had to help anyone through something like this, and – what was she supposed to do? How could she possibly make something like this better?

He wasn’t crying now, maybe, but this almost seemed worse. He was just…silent, and small-looking, and empty-eyed. It was terrible to look at. She wanted to help, but…what could she do? Talking wouldn’t solve this. He’d lost his dad.

Rayla hesitated, gut churning, and reached for one of the jars of water to take a sip while she thought. Callum’s silent form lingered in her peripheral vision, looking painfully lonely in the firelight. She wished she could reach out to him. A second later, startled, she wondered why she thought she couldn’t.

He felt…off-limits, in a way, in the grips of grief like this. It felt private, like something she shouldn’t be seeing, shouldn’t be witness to. It seemed an imposition to so much as be here, let alone reach for him when he’d not asked.

But he had asked for her to stay, hadn’t he? He’d reached for her then. He wasn’t reaching now, but maybe that didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want contact, or that it wouldn’t help, or…oh, stars, she didn’t know. She exhaled into the warm water of her jar, then set it down. Finally, tentative, she shuffled a short way around the fireside towards him.

Callum’s head jerked up, just a little, at the sight of her approach. It was a faltering motion, as though he were struggling against some terrible weight to so much as move. Hesitantly, she reached out for his shoulder. Slowly, but – he watched her hand with that same blank, exhausted expression, up until it actually touched him, and then something in his face seemed to crumple. He shook all-over, and made a tiny miserable noise, and reached up to clutch at her hand so tightly it almost hurt.

Carefully, she tugged on it, a wordless offer to come closer if he wanted. Expression still trembling like he was somewhere on the verge of tears, he did shuffle over, huddling into her side closely enough he inadvertently elbowed her in the bands of bruising around her waist. She suppressed a wince, shifting to accommodate him more easily, and he took the opportunity to turn his face into her shoulder. His shoulders trembled.

He didn’t make any sound, but she could hear the way his breath was stuttering. He seemed a half-step from crying; too exhausted for actual tears, but upset enough that the motions of sobbing kept moving him anyway. A little awkwardly, she patted him on the shoulder with the hand that wasn’t still gripped in his, feeling very stupid for not realising earlier that this was what she should have been doing all along.

“…Sorry.” He mumbled thickly, and she wondered what he felt he had to keep apologising for. She was the one who should be apologising, but…

“Shush.” She told him, quiet and firm despite the aching of her heart. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

He shuddered again, and huddled a little closer. Tentatively, she put her arm around his back.

Callum spent the better part of the next ten minutes like that, breath hitching unevenly and his shoulders shaking. He never got quite as far as actual crying, but seemed gripped by its surrogate motions anyway. Steadily the shudders grew slower, and weaker, as if he was losing the energy for even that. After a while, he seemed to remember himself, and lifted his head for a moment. In his eyes she saw a faint, tired inkling of self-consciousness as he glanced between her face and her shoulder. “…’S okay?” He questioned.

Slowly, she reached out and smoothed her hand down the hair at the back of his neck. “It’s fine.” She murmured, and he took her at her word. His head lowered.

He still shook against her in stops and starts. It was slow, and faltering, and almost entirely soundless. He looked so terribly exhausted then, shadows dark beneath his eyes, that she thought it was more the tiredness than anything else that finally let him stop. He gradually went still, blinking blearily at the fire, and sighed quietly. Slowly, his eyelids began to flutter closed.

Ten minutes later, Rayla was almost completely certain he’d fallen asleep on her, somehow. It had to be the exhaustion to blame. She couldn’t imagine him managing it otherwise. Heart hurting for him, she made no attempt to move or dislodge him, and sat watching the fire for a long while.

She managed to avoid waking him for the next hour or so, even when taking a drink or tossing sticks into the flames. It felt like it was maybe eight at night by the time she heard movement from the direction of Ezran in the tent-layers, and turned her head to look over her shoulder.

The covers shifted. A low, unhappy sound emanated from within, followed shortly by quiet, broken whimpering. Crying in his sleep, Rayla guessed, and felt choked again with the weight of the guilt.

And then-

Callum, who’d not shifted or woken through a half-dozen incidents of her moving about, blinked his eyes open and lifted his head from her shoulder. “Ez?” He murmured, plainly disorientated, and in his uncoordinated attempt to look around ended up smacking his face straight into the scarves piled around her neck. “Mmph,” He expressed, surprised, and then he straightened up properly and squinted at her. “Rayla?” He questioned, plainly not really awake enough to have his wits about him.

“…You kind of fell asleep on me, for a bit.” She told him, voice quiet a low, her ear twitching in the direction of Ezran and his restless sleep. “Think you only woke up because-“ She hesitated, and glanced over.

“Ezran.” Callum processed, aloud, and struggled and stumbled his way through trying to get to his feet. “Yeah, I – I always wake up if he has bad dreams, I-“ He shook his head, and cut off the words. “I need to go to him.” He said instead, and finally managed to stand up. He’d taken a few wavering steps towards the covers when Ezran surprised them both by shooting upright, breath uneven, a few stray tears bright at the corners of his wide eyes. He stared uncomprehendingly ahead, too recently awoken at first to see them, and then finally his eyes seemed to focus on the shapes by the fire.

“…Callum?” He mumbled, voice strangely shaky. “Rayla? What…” He blinked at them, and then again more slowly as Callum lowered himself down at his side. He looked between her and his brother with a look of slow, terrible understanding. His eyes shuttered, and he lifted his hands up to his face.

“You sounded like you were having a bad dream.” Callum said, tentative, shifting over until he and his brother were side-by-side, pressed close against each other. “…Are you okay?”

Ezran didn’t answer for a long moment. His shoulders hunched and then shook, and he exhaled a thick-sounding breath. “I was dreaming.” He said in the end, almost listlessly, and lowered his hands from his face. “And then…I just…remembered, in the dream, that dad was dead. And it felt like a nightmare, so – I tried to wake up, but-“ He sniffed, and wiped his face on his sleeve. His breath shuddered again, his shoulders heaved…but then, instead of crying, he took a deep breath and seemed to force himself to steadiness. Finally, quiet, he finished the sentence: “But I woke up, and…it’s still real.”

Callum inhaled, a sort of pained breathy gasp, a flinch stuttering over his face. He breathed out shakily, then reached out to his brother on what seemed like reflex, pulling him close.

Ezran didn’t protest, but he did shudder at the contact, turning his face into Callum’s chest and sighing. “This is awful.” He said, very quietly. “I…don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I’m supposed to…I don’t know. I don’t know. I just..” His eyes slipped closed, and most of his face disappeared into his brother’s sweater. His next words were muffled in the fabric. “I’m so tired.”

“…You could go back to sleep?” Callum suggested, soft and unhappy, like he knew how inadequate a comfort that was for something like this. Ezran lifted his head, just enough to look up. Rayla saw the glitter of his eyes brightly in the gloom, too bright by far for how tired they were.

“So could you.” Ez said, plainly. His voice was strangely emotionless. “Would it make anything better?”

Callum flinched again. “…It might.” He said at last, after a long silence. “Sometimes, when things are awful…if you go to sleep, it can feel a bit less terrible in the morning.” Rayla looked at him, and remembered all over again that he’d already gone through something like this before. Years ago he’d lost his mother, and somehow had to live through the pain of that to a time where it started to get better. He’d had to suffer through that, just like he had to suffer through this now.

Rayla shivered, and thought of her own parents, and wondered if she’d have to do the same. She wondered if she, like them, was an orphan of this terrible war. She wondered if she should be mourning.

Ezran glanced out at the sky, dark and snow-torn, and then at the fire. “Morning’s a long way off.” He pointed out, in that same empty voice. “And there’s the fire-watch too.”

“You don’t need to be on the first watch, though.” Callum told him, leaning forwards just enough to rest his chin into his brother’s hair. “You could sleep a good while longer.”

Rayla expected him to shake his head, or disagree, or something. Instead he just blinked, tired and empty-eyed, and said “Okay.”

There was something horribly painful about that acquiescence. Callum seemed to feel it too. He closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss into Ezran’s hair.

Ezran didn’t move or speak as he was lowered back down and tucked into the makeshift bedding. He did reach for the egg, and Bait, pulling both of them against his chest. He laid open-eyed on his side for a minute or so, blinking slowly, then finally let his eyelids shut.

It was a while before he actually fell asleep. Fifteen minutes or more. Rayla sat silent, throat tight, and tended to the fire between glances back at them. Callum stayed beside his brother the whole time, near but not touching, a quiet weary presence in the dark beyond the fire. He was shivering a little by the time he returned, having waited long enough past Ezran’s sleeping that the air had chilled him through. He huddled by the fire and stared empty-eyed at the flames.

Rayla eyed him, and couldn’t think of anything to say. She didn’t think there was anything to say. So instead, she drew on her experience from earlier, and just…shuffled over to him, pressing in until their shoulders butted together. He glanced at her, exhaling slowly, and leaned back. He didn’t speak.

Time passed like that, with little interruption or change. She murmured to him at one point to suggest he go join his brother and sleep, but he just shook his head. So they remained there in silence and watched the fire together through the opening hours of the night. She warmed water periodically and got him to drink, and presented him with pieces of meat, and after a while even went to get some more to cook. It was something to do, after all.

A few times, Callum dozed off on her shoulder again. Never for long, but when she eventually did the same it was another matter entirely. She neither stirred nor dreamed, and woke a long while later to find herself covered in her cloak and curled beside the fire, a bag propped under her head as a pillow. Her body ached terribly as she finally moved, numb with cold and heavy with the pain of her bruises. Disoriented, she pulled on her sense of the Moon to figure out how long it had been. A little more than five hours, apparently.

She sat up, the cloak falling from her shoulders, and found Callum and Ezran sat together by the fire, very close by, the layers of the tent laid over their laps like unusually stiff blankets. They glanced over at her as she blinked at them, frowning. “I…fell asleep?” She concluded, bewildered that she’d not woken. They – or at least Callum – must have laid her down close to the heat of the flames, and put the cloak over her, and fed the fire through those hours…but she’d not stirred. It was unlike her.

“A good while back, yeah.” Callum agreed, voice a low hush, like he was still trying to avoid waking her. He nodded to the now-bare part of their shelter that had previously held the tent-layers. “It’s too cold back there now, so…I thought it’d be better to just let you rest here.”

“It’s too cold anywhere except right next to the fire.” Ezran said, and she saw that the egg was in his lap. That disconcerted her, but she supposed if Callum hadn’t complained it probably wasn’t affecting him too badly. “It woke me up. It was just…too cold to sleep. And then once I was here, Zym was too awake for me to sleep through.”

“You could try again now, though.” Callum pointed out, and received a very level stare for his troubles.

“No.” He said, very simply, like it was so irrefutable a decision it didn’t need to be reinforced with further words. There was that same blank apathy from before in his eyes, but with a little more animus now. He seemed vaguely unimpressed with his brother. “But you should.” He glanced sidelong at Rayla suddenly, and addressed her, saying “He’s not going to sleep, because he doesn’t want me to be awake alone. But you’re awake now. You can tell him to rest, finally.” There was a hint of asperity there, like he’d been trying for hours to change Callum’s mind without success.

She blinked several times to clear her eyes, then pushed herself all the way up, staring across at Callum, who was sat close enough that the bag she’d been sleeping on was against his side. He stared tiredly back, looking appallingly exhausted, with a resigned sort of expression that suggested he knew exactly how this was going to go. “Go to sleep, you dummy.” She told him, exasperated. “The idea of a watch is everyone gets some sleep, you know.”

He sighed. “I’m not sorry.” He said, a little indistinct, like he was exhausted enough to slur the words a little. “Wasn’t gonna leave Ez alone like that. Wouldn’t be right.”

Privately, she agreed with him. Leaving Ez awake alone would have been terrible, so she understood perfectly. But now… “I’ll take care of him.” She promised, phrasing it a little more directly than she might have if she’d been more awake. “So you can sleep. It’s fine.”

He blinked at her, looking painfully relieved. “…Good.” He mumbled, and slid his eyes sideways to the tent-layers, and then the fire. “Should I…?”

She nudged him aside and then pulled the cloak over. Ezran helpfully shoved the tent layers towards her, so she arranged those by the fire and then prodded Callum into place. “Down,” she ordered, and looking a little bewildered, he went. Soon he was curled by the fire in the spot she’d vacated, and she put her own cloak over him. He stared up at her with bleary eyes as she nudged the bag under his head. “Comfy?”

Somehow, he managed something close to a smile, face drawn and wan with exhaustion. “Mm. Very.” He sighed, eyelids fluttering closed. Then, by all appearances, he passed out within a few seconds.

“…He was so stubborn.” Ezran said, into the quiet left by Callum’s abrupt exit from consciousness. “I kept trying to get him to sleep, but he just…wouldn’t.”

Rayla glanced his way, then picked her way over to sit herself by his side. “Apparently you’re not the only one who can be stubborn when you want to be.” She said, a little dryly. She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to tease him now, after – after he’d learned the truth she’d been hiding, and been hit by the grief of it, but…

He eyed her a little grumpily, but didn’t seem particularly bothered. “I guess.” He looked over at his sleeping brother, and his gaze gentled into something softer. Sadder, too. “…He didn’t have to do that, though. I was fine.”

Her brow furrowed. Slowly, she shook her head. “No, Ez.” She said at last. “It was the right thing to do. You…shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Ezran looked startled at that, eyes flying quickly back to her. He didn’t seem to know what to say for a few seconds, but then…quietly, he reached out to her, waiting until she consented to take his hand. He sighed, looking at their joined hands for a moment. She wondered what he was picking up from her now. Then, finally, his eyes slid up to hers again. “…You’re gonna take care of me, huh.” He said, subdued.

For a second, she didn’t know what he meant – then she remembered what she’d just said to Callum. Her shoulders stiffened a little, uncertainty gripping at her gut. She didn’t know what he thought of her now. Didn’t know what he’d accept from her. But… “Reckon I will, yeah.” She agreed, quietly. “If that’s okay.”

He watched her, silent and almost expressionless, then exhaled minutely. He shuffled into her side and looked away. “You said you’d be my sister, before.” He said finally, and let half-lidded eyes settle on the fire. “So I guess that’s fine.”

The words hurt in a way she somehow hadn’t anticipated. It felt like a stab through her chest; she inhaled sharply around it, touched and guilty and thankful at once. If Ezran felt any echo of it, he didn’t react. He just sighed, huddling against her, and watched the flames.

Full of enough nameless emotion that she couldn’t speak around it, that it choked her, Rayla stayed silent as well. The trust felt like more than she deserved. First Callum, and now Ezran – both of them had, despite everything, reached out to her for comfort. Like they wanted her. Like they needed her, somehow. Even knowing what she’d kept from them, and the role she’d played in their pain, they trusted her like this. It was…humbling. It made her heart clench with shame.

Deliberately – because she didn’t know how much of that Ez would pick up on, and he didn’t need that right now – she turned her thoughts aside and looked out at the storm.

As if reacting to her attention, the clouds flashed in the dark. The thunder that followed was faraway, five seconds removed from the light; the rumble was quiet. Already the storm was passing by. For all its noise and vicious cold, she didn’t think it’d hold them too much longer. Sometime soon, they’d have to leave this place, and deal with whatever waited beyond the blizzard. It was a relief, in a way. This was a place of grief and pain, and she wanted to be free of it. But, at the same time…they had so far to go. The mere thought was wearying.

Rayla closed her eyes for a moment, drawing on what resolve she could muster. It would be fine. Somehow. Within a day they’d have left here…and however long the journey to come really was, they’d take it one step at a time. It wouldn’t always feel like this. It would be okay.

Clinging to that thought, she wound an arm around Ezran’s back, drawing him closer in to her side. He went gladly, turning his face into the knit of her jumper and sighing softly.

Beyond their shelter, the thunder echoed further and further away, but the wind was as harsh a shriek as it had ever been. Its howl followed their vigil through the rest of the night.

 ---

End chapter.

Chapter Notes: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1fjPSeB8RRkc_DOw9sxaN5xgY5LwddRV4?usp=sharing

Link to PIAJ chapter notes folder (Google Drive folder including worldbuilding, commentary, medical notes, research notes, and misc notes for all applicable chapters within this section)

This chapter's notes cover: No new worldbuilding notes this chapter. However, there are author’s notes on this chapter’s characterisation, development, and some of the work that went into it.

Timeline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/107eD8zmLAAFBWSOgsLyl8g4pAdQF4EgMh4rpN_m91U4/edit?usp=sharing Link to PIAJ Timeline Google doc ( to be updated as story progresses)

PIAJ Masterpage: https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/piaj Link to PIAJ Masterpage on tumblr (containing links to chapters, meta, art, Q&As, and resources) (Link may not work properly on mobile/app)

Author Notes: 

Happy 2021 everyone. We’ve not had the best start to the year, but with luck it’ll be less atrocious than 2020 overall.

Long chapter break again, as you may have noticed. If you don’t check my tumblr and therefore haven’t seen my various personal updates on there – since the last update, I started playing a new instrument, broke several personal writing records, and took around a 15ish day break from writing before Christmas. I had an extremely powerful writing hyperfocus across a good portion of October and November, and churned out a Large Quantity of writing in a different rayllum fanfiction that will not be published.

Personal records broken

Most written in one day: Previously 8200 words, now 9150 Fastest 50k: Previously 11 days, now 9 days

Fastest 100k: Previously unknown*, now 23 days Most written in one month: Previously 88k, now 120k

*The previous record for fastest 100k would have been when I first started writing this story, but I wasn’t keeping detailed records at the time so I’m not sure of the exact date I started writing. I’m relatively certain 23 days breaks it though.

This chapter was kind of a lot of emotional effort to write, not to mention representing the execution of some seriously painful story arrangement logistics, so comments are very much appreciated.

[joa-quin-phoe-nix-fan]

Just A Simple Unrequited Love-Part 1-Abbé de Coulmier X reader FF

Just A Simple Unrequited Love-Part 1

You had noticed that the Abbé had been working awfully hard recently. No one knew why, but this week was the week that all the patients unintentionally and unanimously decided to all be the most difficult.

When normally a patient playing with, eating or throwing their own feces was only really a thing that happened once a week if even at all, this week there were 2-4 cases of this happening every day! This meant that the Abbé not only had to clean whole rooms and patients (with help of course but not many handmaids really wanted to do that and the Abbé didn’t really want them doing it either so he would try to just dismiss them early) but he also had to calm down these patients, volatile, rude, violent, and terrifying. He would get hit, kicked, spat on, and even have feces thrown on him, but he was always patient and kind, smiling nicely at them and comforting them.

Another thing that happened was that a group of patients were found fornicating in the chapel. Although anyone close enough to the Abbé knew that he was furious at this, but again, he was calm and patient, scolding the patients kindly and fairly before going into the chapel with all the handmaids and cleaned the entire chapel from top to bottom, then cleansed it with incense and chanting.

Then it turned out that the Marquis was releasing his novels again, embarrassing the Abbé and shaming Charenton. The Abbé had to have a talk with the Marquis that almost turned violent, but Abbé reminded the Marquis that he could very easily make it so he could never write again and the Marquis withdrew from the argument.

In between these events were many other smaller issues such as some of the torches in the great hall falling and a small carpet catching on fire, having to round up all the pyromaniacs, the library becoming infested with rats and silverfish, two patients getting in a fist fight, patients being kept up at night with terrible nightmares, and the cafeteria food being rumoured of being poisoned by a rather paranoid patient.

Needless to say, the Abbé was extremely tired, but no matter how tired he was, he kept going, kept helping, kept getting more and more tired. At a certain point, he sort of just drifted around Charenton, smiling tiredly and sadly at everyone with giant bags under his eyes, looking like a skeleton since he hadn’t had time to have a full meal for days, still having to help any way he could. He would feel destroyed if anything bad happened at Charenton and he hadn’t helped. He would feel like he had failed his cause and not know what to do with himself. This fear pushed him further and further until in that week alone, he had only had about 3 hours of sleep.

You had noticed this, like all the other handmaids, you were all worried about him and if there was work to do you would all beg him to stop and get to sleep, but he was as stubborn as he was dedicated. Every night, when you went to sleep, you sobbed at the knowledge that the Abbé was still up and still deteriorating in health and that there was nothing that you could do. You loved him so much and couldn’t stand to see him like that every day, but if you didn’t, you would feel just as sad. He was the whole reason you had become a handmaid at Charenton, you had seen him in the streets, wearing his cassock, looking at everyone with a look of comforting love and respect, this was rather uncommon in your town so it stood out like a sore thumb. This is what made you fall for him instantly, in fact, some might say that it was love at first sight. That’s when you joined the handmaidens at Charenton and as each day passed, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him. After you had noticed what was happening to the Abbé you instantly knew that what you needed to do was to stay by his side as much as possible, no matter what you witnessed or had to clean, and that’s what you did. You caught the things that slipped through his hands due to his weakness, you made sure that you cleaned much more than half of the room so he would have less to clean, you helped him reach the things that he couldn’t reach, and you helped calm down as many patients as you could, but most of them just wanted the Abbé.

One day, you were taking down the sheets off of the lines together, a morbid silence suffocating you both. You had just turned away from him for a second to pull down a sheet that had gotten stuck when you heard a loud thud and the wooden springing sound of the basket held by the Abbé bouncing on the grass. You turned to see what happened and found the Abbé on the ground, the basket by his side, looking like a mountain next to the now frail man. You ran to him, checking his pulse and his breath, he was just sleeping. You sighed with relief, sitting next to him and stroking his hair, this woke him up and his eyes shot open as he breathed in sharply. He tried to jump up to get back to work but you held his hand tightly. “Don’t do this.” he breathed “I need to make sure everything is okay” you slowly pulled him down, with him finally complying for the first time in a week. “Everything is not okay as long as you aren’t okay.” you whispered, stroking his face and patting your lap, “you need sleep, come here and rest, the other handmaids will do what needs to be done.” He tried desperately to say no, to jump up, tell you that he was perfectly fine and run off to his tasks, but he couldn’t. He knew he was in bad shape and needed sleep, your lap suddenly looked incredibly comfortable and he could no longer resist. He flopped down onto your lap, surprising you at first but you were still very happy, he was finally resting. You smiled down at him and stroked his black hair, noting that despite his young age, he was already developing grey hairs.

Eventually the other handmaids noticed the Abbé’s absence and came looking for him. At that point you had sat there with him for at least 1 hour. The Abbé was deep in sleep and would not wake up to anything. The handmaids and you carried him to his bed carefully, them then recommending that you stay with him. They knew exactly how much you loved him and they never told you this but they were all pretty certain that he loved you too. In fact, they had been trying to play Cupid for a while before the Abbé's slow descent. They all loved him too but none among them could bring themselves to say that they thought that you two wouldn’t be a lovely couple. There had always been a lovely sense of sorority between all the handmaids, this would only change much later when two new handmaidens arrived in Charenton; Madelaine and Charlotte.

You sat on the bed, with the Abbés head on your lap, he was lightly snoring, which was adorable and you had to be careful of your heartbeat, scared that it was becoming so loud that he would surely hear it and wake up with a start. As time passed, you started to study the form of his face, beautiful black hair that curled at the ends, but he never grew it out long enough for you to see if it was curly or wavy, you wondered how he would react to seeing the few grey hairs on his head and giggled. His eyes, green as the brightest emerald when open, now shut with his long eyelashes fluttering like a stirring butterfly every few minutes. His lips, not thick but not terribly thin, decorated with a thin line on the left of his philtrum, these were the perfect lips for smiling, luckily that was something he loved to do, smiling at everyone that passed him. “I smile at everyone Y/N, because I happen to know that a scowl can ruin one’s appetite, but a smile can better one’s day.” This was his only explanation, but he didn’t need one, you loved that he just did it and anything just to be nice. His lips were not ones that you couldn’t even imagine yelling, you also hoped you would never see that. His hands, worn from work, looked a little bit older than the rest of his body, but that only showed how dedicated he was to the work he did at Charenton.

After quite a while of just looking at him lovingly, you decided that you should try to occupy yourself in any way possible. You picked up your knitting needles, wool and the list of sizes and colour preferences of all the patients. You started at it, pink socks for Olivier, orange gloves for Lucille, a gold scarf for the Marquis and a blue hat for Gwenaëlle. As you knitted, you wondered if the Abbé had enough warm things for the winter, and what his favourite colour was. All you had ever seen him in was his black cassock. Once you had finished the pink socks and blue hat, you started knitting a red scarf for the Abbé. You had no clue if he even liked that colour, but you thought that it would look perfect on him. You knit and knit and knit, the scarf was probably at about your height when you finally stopped. This was when you realized that your legs had fallen asleep, from his head cutting off circulation to them. You decided that this was probably your cue to change position. You squirmed out from underneath him and adjusted him better on his bed, with his head fully on the pillow. Then you decided to sit next to the bed with your arms and head resting on it. Slowly, your eyes started to shut and you felt yourself doze off...

The Abbés eyes fluttered open slowly, when did he fall asleep? How did he get into his bed? He looked around sleepily, trying to figure out what happened when he saw Y/N, his favourite handmaid. The one he loved...her head laying on the bed next to him, she was fast asleep. There were 3 beautifully knitted things sitting nicely and folded around her. The one that caught his eye though, was a beautiful, long red scarf sitting directly to the left of her. He loved the colour red, it was the colour of roses, the colour of beautiful chili peppers, the colour of apples and jam. A thought passed through his head, what if she made it for him? Had he even told her his favourite colour? My Lord, she looked beautiful, so innocent and pure, dreaming softly right next to him. He reached over and stroked the ball of hair in front of him, her hair dancing between his fingers like water. He chuckled slightly, she was just so cute. He suddenly stopped, what was he doing? Did this count as lust? Or was it just shameful because he was so deeply in love with a simple handmaid? He shook it off. It was just a simple unrequited love, that’s it. He could keep control of his heart until it eventually passed.

[normiewrites]

i used to knit when i was younger and this fic was inspired by the haikyuu discord and a friend of mine!

just pretend that u can knit, thanks

thanks to @kingtamakimurder for beta reading this!!

other tags: admin z from @bnhaclaimedmysoul @mci-writing​ @burnedbyshoto​

Warning(s): angst, shouto being a meanie

Interwoven - Todoroki Shouto x (g/n)Reader

It started with a small pink woollen blob that sat on Shouto’s table. It was supposed to be a strawberry and it didn’t fail to confuse Shouto as he looked around to see who was trying to get him. You were too slow to realize that his eyes caught yours staring at him and the fluffy ball in his hands, and you knew that you were in a bit of a mess right as Shouto cornered you after school was over. You couldn’t help but blush and stutter as you tried to explain to him how you observed he liked strawberries and that you wanted to knit one for him, but of course you left out the truth about how you adored everything about him and how you could feel your heart pounding against your chest whenever you felt his presence. Despite wanting to close your eyes from embarrassment, you were happy that you didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have caught the small smile on his lips as he thanked you, pocketing the item before walking away. That’s what started your relationship with the shy boy.

The next day you saw it attached to his bag and that’s how you got the confidence to knit more items for him. After the UA sports festival, Todoroki was surprised to see a singular white mitten on his desk. When he asked you why, you nervously played with the tips of your fingers as you explained how cold his right side seemed after using his ice quirk for too long. Instead of rejecting your gift politely like you had expected him to, he put it on his hand and wiggled his fingers bowing his head and thanking you, commenting it about how it fit his hand perfectly. You both knew it wasn’t practical for his quirk at all, but the fact that you had taken out your time to knit him something like this really twisted his heart in the right ways. Needless to say, he was always looking forward to the next item that he would get from you. He would always wonder what type of item it would be and what colours you would choose, but no matter what he could think of, you always ended up surprising him. Once you even managed to knit a strawberry milk carton for him. It was difficult but worth it, because from seeing how beautiful it looked and how much you were smiling as you gave it to him, nothing held him back any longer as he asked you out on a date.

Ever since then, as Shouto’s dorm room got filled with all sorts of knitted goods, your love for knitting and the boy himself grew too. You always found yourself smiling as you knitted, not caring about how long or painful the task was, because you knew Shouto would love it in the end. The way that you weaved each thread between the self-made loops and how it looked like a mess in the beginning but always turned out making sense in the end was almost like a metaphor for yours and Shouto’s relationship. There might have been a few ups and downs, especially with how terrible Shouto’s childhood was and how you both were new to this concept of love, but it always made sense in the end and each bump in the road was always paved over to make a better road for your futures. However, this time you truly didn’t know what the newly knitted scarf had in store for you.

You smiled triumphantly through the sweat at the red and white cross stitched scarf, the end of the while side adorned with ice blue snowflakes and the red side with orange flames. The scarf had taken you more than 3 months to knit and you were sure you pulled a few muscles along the way. But the excitement of seeing Shouto’s reaction overpowered how tired you felt as you hopped out of your room, on your way to your boyfriend’s room. You didn’t even care to put back the materials, too pumped up to show it to the love of your life. The halls were empty as it was late in the evening but your heart was contrastingly full with love as you clutched the warm garment close to you, knocking on the cold wooden door as you sweetly called out for Shouto.

You couldn’t help but keep jumping lightly on your toes, your cheeks aching from smiling as you couldn’t contain yourself from showing Shouto what you had made for him, clutching the scarf tighter and tighter each passing moment. But once you clutched onto it as tight as you could, you realised with a slump of your shoulders that the door hadn’t opened and that you hadn’t seen the browns and blues of your boyfriend yet, despite the light coming from under the door.

Shrugging it off softly as he must have not heard or might be studying, you latched onto the cold metal knob before turning it and entering, the light of his room evading your senses.

“Sho-chan, look what I made for you!! It took me three months but because our anniversary is coming up, so it was worth it! I know that our anniversary is next week, but I was too excited to show you, so you can just pretend that you didn’t see this, okay?” you rambled on, stretching out the scarf by the ends as you held it in front of you with a gleaming smile on your face.

Instead of hearing praises and questions from Shouto, all you heard was silence as he stared at you with a crease in his eyebrows from his chair at his study desk. It sent chills all over you and it made you wonder who needed the scarf the most right now as goosebumps rose up on your skin.

“Do you like it?” you asked, lowering your voice a bit as you approached Shouto, taking small steps as the wooden floor felt cold against your skin.

Again you were greeted with silence, but this time it was disrupted with a sigh. It was a frustrated sigh and once Shouto started talking, you wished that you were basked in the silence instead.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to study here? We have a test tomorrow and you want to disturb me with some stupid arts and crafts project?” he asked, getting up from his desk and walking towards you, your scarf now pressing against his chest.

A stupid arts and crafts project? What was he talking about? Shouto always loved your creations, no matter how disformed they turned out in the end, so why was he saying that?

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I was too exci-“

“Endeavour was right, you’re just pulling me back, purposely. Why else would you be disturbing me when you know I study at this time?” Shouto sneered at you, his words piercing your brain.

What?

You?

Purposely pulling back Shouto?

Instead of confusion, you were filled with anger now and you could feel yourself heating up. You had always supported Shouto and sometimes even put his shit before yours. But before you could react, he grabbed the scarf from your hands, chuckling as he looked down at it. The way that his eyes looked so cold as they surveyed the piece made you feel too scared for your own liking, but it worsened once his left side started to light up.

You started breathing a bit heavily, the hours of exhaustion that went into the scarf finally creeping up onto you as questions filled your head. Shouto always made sure that you knew that he loved you and he always rambled on about how he was so excited for your next mystery item, but now he was burning the anticipated item up. It was a punch to your heart as you stepped back from the person that you didn’t seem to know. You felt yourself burning up further, but it wasn’t from the heat that the boy emitted.

“What’s the fucking point of this? I have a fire quirk that I can use to heat myself up instead of this stupid shit. I guess I’ll have to demonstrate it for a dumbass like you to understand” he growled before the scarf fully caught on fire.

You opened your mouth in a silent gasp, your limbs going numb as the tears on the edges of your eyes blurred the image of the scarf disappearing within the flames, not even daring yourself to look up at Shouto. You were too confused and scared to know what he looked like right now. Would he be regretful? Confused? Crying? Or would his eyes only know hate for you?

“Why don’t you use this time for studies or something useful instead? Fucking hell, you’re just so pathetic” he yelled, throwing the flaming cloth aside before eyeing his bag that rested on his bed, not caring for how close the scarf has landed to the curtains.

He snatched something from it, and even without looking, you knew what it was. But it didn’t hurt any less when he hung the pink blob of a strawberry in the view of your lowered head. You couldn’t believe what was happening and you quietly pinched yourself to wake up, but nothing worked as your throat choked up, seeing the woollen strawberry go up in flames. That’s what finally brought you back to your senses.

Knowing that that was the first thing that you ever made for him gave you enough strength to snatch it out of his hands, yelping as you felt the hot flames seep through your skin. You knew it was stupid to try to extinguish something with your bare hands but to you it was worth it. After screaming out from the pain that raced up your skin, you immediately felt a cold hand ontop of yours, the burns now steaming as a worried Shouto looked at you with his own tears now, his expression devoid of any anger now.

“S-stop, Shouto, you’ll scar m-me!” you screamed, yanking your hands out of his, letting his body slump to the floor as he spaced out, his eyes never leaving your hand.

Sobs left your weakened body as the hot and the cold sensations shot up your arm, the strawberry extinguished as you kept tightly clutching onto it.

What happened to Shouto? What happened to the boy whose eyes lit up when they found yours? What happened to the smile that he always had when he heard your voice? Where did he go? Did Endeavour finally break him? Was he this weak all along or did he just realise that he deserves more than you? The questions plagued your mind as you kept crying, your throat too constricted to make any sounds as you let the pain engulf your body.

You felt so weak and lost, you wanted to be safe in his arms, but the damaged nerves on your hand reminded you that that was not an option anymore. And as you looked down at the kneeling boy, all you saw was the same Shout before the UA sports festival. The one that disregarded everyone and hated himself. It hurt seeing him like that more than what he physically did to you, but you were out of tears and love at this point.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry” you heard from the quiet boy as the sprinklers went off now, alarms blaring as you held your scarred hand against your chest, a salty liquid permeating your tongue.

You couldn’t deny the reality now. Shouto had burnt you just as his mother did, but he left even deeper scars on your heart. You didn’t know what to do, or why this happened, but you knew you didn’t want to see his particular red and white hair anymore. Before hearing anything more you ran out of the room, pushing past your concerned classmates and out of the building, not caring for the twigs and stones that pinched your feet as you kept running from the place that you used to call home.

[badbhye]

silly kitty

pairing: hybrid!yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, hybrid au

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none really except drinking

A/N: this is super rusty and i thought of this when i was literally going through immense amounts of uni stress also .........this is super rusty but here’s a cute kitty!yoongi drabble anyway

“Yoongi I’m sorry!” you huff, scurrying after him as he storms into your old bedroom.

“Yoongi,” you try again when he doesn’t acknowledge you. “Yoongi she was just trying to be nice, don’t take it too harshly.”

“Don’t take it too harshly, ___?” Yoongi seethes ringing out the cat toy in his hand before he’s tossed it on the floor. “She should’ve just slapped a collar on my neck,” he huffs, ears pushed back aggressively.

“Yoongi she doesn’t know better,” you try to calm him down but it doesn’t help like you hoped it would. 

“Yeah… she’s ancient, it’s impossible for her to even fathom the thought that I’m not just some pet.”

“Yoongi!” You angrily raise your voice. “Yes she made a mistake but she’s still my grandmother.”

The look alone has him pouting regretfully but he doesn’t respond, turning his back to you, shoulders hunched down. Something, you’ve come to realize, he did when he’s trying to be apologetic.

“Just,” you pause, sighing when he doesn’t move to look at you but notice his ears rise attentively. “Rest up… it was a long drive.”

You don’t wait for him to respond and leave to make your way to your living room.

“Nana,” you huff, moving to sit down next to her, resting your cheek on her shoulder tiredly.

“Do you think Yoongi would like this colour?” She asks, showing you a roll of bright blue wool. “He would look so adorable,” she hums, quickly grabbing her knitting needles from the basket next to her. You snort, picturing an angry Yoongi dressed in a certified Grandma Sweater with hair to match.

“He’ll love it,” you respond, more for your own enjoyment rather than his because you’re certain that Yoongi’s wardrobe ranges from black to grey.

You silently watch her knit, in awe of how her movements are so methodical and trained that she doesn’t even have to keep an eye on the wool, it’s like she knows. She chuckles at the soap opera playing on the television, her movements not pausing even a bit and you’re reminded of the time she tried teaching you the art of knitting only to have you make one corner of a scarf before it all unraveled. 

“I don’t think I made a good impression,” she says after a while. “I thought since Jiminie loves it so much, he would too…” 

“It’s not your fault, Nana,” you instantly reassure her. “He’s just more in tune to his human side is all.”

“I just don’t want to make a bad impression, it’s not every day you bring home a boyfriend.”

Her words have you stumbling back and almost comically slip down the sofa. “Nana Yoongi isn’t my boyfriend he’s my housemate. I told you this on the phone when I said he was coming with me.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” she hums, going back to her knitting. “I’m serious, Nana, don’t joke about it when he can hear!” you grumble, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Why else would he come here?” she raises an eyebrow at you, thick frames hanging low on her nose.

“I told you… I had to drag him here so he wouldn’t rot away and stink up the house,” you sniff, leaning back onto the old sofa and moving your attention to the television.

“Oh please, even Jiminie told me he was your boyfriend.” she hushes you, “I have to say, I thought you would tell me since we talk every week… but I forgive you because you brought him here.”

“When his Jimin coming home so I can firmly explain to the both of you that I’m not dating Yoongi,” you force a smile, words coming out too sweetly and your grandmother gives you a look that has you grumbling, eyes back to the show playing in front of you.

“He’s with Taehyungie,” she answers you after a while. “I told him to come home by dinner… but we’ll see when the time comes, that boy’s never been punctual.”

“I’m coming home after five months and he’s still ditching me for Taehyung,” you grumble, picking at a loose thread on your sweater. 

“Don’t pull that,” Nana slaps your hand, “And of course he should do that… Taehyungie is his boyfriend after all.”

“When did you get so snarky Nana?” You jab, “Have you been watching soap operas with Taehyung again?”

She lets out a hearty laugh and moves back to her knitting. You smile, happy that even though you’re not here a lot anymore, she’s not alone. She has Jimin and Taehyung, and occasionally Seokjin stops by to have tea and gossip. You’re glad to see traces of all these different people around the house, littered with pictures of Thanksgiving and Easter. You’re especially keen on that one Halloween Nana handmade costumes for Jimin and Taehyung and had them do a photo shoot in her garden.

You’re almost dozing off, surrounded by the comfort of familiarity when Jimin makes his way inside.

“I’m home!” he calls out loudly, his tail swishing behind him.

“___!” He jumps to the sofa where you’re laying, alone now since Nana was busy preparing dinner.

“I missed you!” he nuzzles your cheek, quickly moving to your neck.

“Missed me enough to ditch Taehyung?” you raise a brow, giggling when his breath tickles your skin.

“Why didn’t he come for dinner?” You ask, leaning back to your original position of laying across the whole sofa. Jimin is quick to settle on top of you, something you’ve grown quite used to, you smile when he begins to lightly purr when you card your fingers through his hair. Chuckling quietly when you had done it to Yoongi once when he fell asleep on the couch next to you, only to be hissed at.

Jimin’s ears flutter a little before he’s smiling at you again, “Taehyungie has an early morning… and you know how Nana is, she’ll have him watching her shows with him until morning.”

You laugh in agreement. Nana loved Taehyung so much you’re certain the reason she lets Jimin and Taehyung do whatever is so they’d get married and he’d move into her house.

Jimin’s purring gets louder and breathing a little deeper as he snuggles closer to you, tail wrapping itself around your thigh.

You’re sure he’s fallen asleep, it’s common for Jimin to just curl up and fall asleep just about anywhere. He took his naps very seriously, but ever since he and Taehyung started dating, he would get random bursts of energy, especially after spending time around him so much. So it’s not that surprising to see his ears twitch a little before he’s beaming up at you excitedly again. 

“I hear someone,” he smiles, turning to the staircase where you find a disgruntled Yoongi standing idle.

His hair’s a little unkempt and he’s squinting at the two of you. “You’re loud,” is the only thing he says to Jimin before he’s taking a seat on the adjacent chair, warily eyeing the way Jimin’s tail uncurls from your thigh.

“So this is the Yoongi I’ve heard so much about!” Jimin grins, sitting up. “Wow, ___, he’s cute!”

You notice Yoongi flush before he’s looking away, grumbling to himself.

“He is, isn’t he?” you coo, shooting Yoongi a smile and he’s shooting up, tail swishing nervously behind him before he’s making his way to the kitchen, mumbling about how your grandmother probably needs some help.

 “So…” Jimin looks at you once he’s sure Yoongi’s out of earshot. “It must be serious since you’ve brought him home.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” you deadpan, tired of having to hear this again.

“Okay… but you want him to be,” Jimin singsongs, “and he wants to be too.”

“You met him for a total of five minutes… are you using some sort of advanced hybrid senses?”

“No, dumbass, it’s called being intuitive… plus why else would he come here?”

“I dragged him here by his tail,” you repeat, “plus, I don’t really think he’s having a good time.”

“How good of a time can you have at someone’s grandmother’s house… unless you guys are kinky, I can put on headphones if you want me to, or if you’re not, Taehyung has a spare room in his apartment…”

“Not like that!” You shout, pushing Jimin off from you, cheeks flushed completely. “Yoongi’s sleeping in your room,” you explain, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Alright… I guess I can share with you,” Jimin laments, tilting his head - a habit he picked up from Taehyung.

“Your grandmother wanted me to tell you that dinner’s ready,” Yoongi says from the doorway, frowning a little at the way Jimin’s leaning closely into your personal space. You don’t notice though, too distracted by the frilly apron he’s adorning.

“What did I tell you?” You hear your grandma yell from the kitchen. “Call me Nana, boy!”

“Nana says dinner’s ready,” he corrects himself, cheeks matching the colour of his apron.

“Nana’s been planning this one for weeks… since you were bringing a guest,” Jimin explains, hurrying to the table.

“So I’m not the guest?” you laugh, moving past Yoongi who closely follows you.

“No… but you know she’ll take any excuse to cook fancy.”

Nana loved cooking, and she would go all out often, calling Seokjin or Taehyung over for dinner weekly so she could dish about the goings-on in the neighborhood. It was extremely nostalgic to come back to the sight on the table. And you’re terribly reminded of the fact that two minute ramen is not real food and what you’ve been missing out on for so long.

“Maybe I should move back here,” you say, sitting down, eyeing the food.

“What… do you not like my cooking?” Yoongi asks, taking a seat beside you.

“I don’t think making fry-ables is considered cooking, Yoongi,” you scrunch your nose before piling some food onto your plate.

“Don’t be rude to your guest, ___,” Nana says from behind you, taking your plate before you can as much as have a taste before placing it in front of Yoongi. “Here you go, sweetie, I hope you enjoy.”

Yoongi flushes once more, mumbling a meek thank you before he’s taking a tentative bite. His demeanor immediately changes once he’s had a taste of Nana’s cooking, tail swishing happily behind him.

“Here, ___, try this,” Jimin leans over the table to give you a spoon full of rice and gravy and you gladly accept, humming out appreciatively once you’ve swallowed down.

Yoongi’s rather silent for most of the dinner, except when he’s asked a question, and he only gives rather short answers. Nana doesn’t prod too much, shifting the focus on you.

“So, ___,” she begins. “When will I get to see you with a lucky fella… I’m not getting any younger…”

You groan, shoveling some more food into your mouth and notice Yoongi inquisitively looking at you as if he’s waiting for a response.

Dinner after that is least to say, quiet, everyone busy trying to finish their food. It’s when Nana brings out a bottle of wine do you know your night isn’t over yet.

“I bought this for the occasion,” she singsongs, placing four glasses in front of you.

“You’re not a very good influence, Nana,” you tease, already grabbing a hold of the glass she pours for you.

“It’s to digest your dinner,” Jimin helpfully puts in, already downing the wine in his glass in one go.

 When you’ve all moved to the living room, mindlessly watching a movie on TV, Nana is quick to retire, mumbling about how wine makes her sleepy. The wine bottle is almost gone, drunk mostly by Jimin who’s leaning on you from the left. To your right, however, sits a very rigid Yoongi, who’s trying desperately not to fall asleep, even though you catch his head lolling around a little before he’s sitting up straight once more.

It’s when he loses the battle and his head falls to your shoulder does Jimin peer over at you two.

“He’s all bark and no bite,” Jimin puts in, smiling at the way Yoongi’s cheeks squish against your shoulder.

You hum in agreement, “Yoongi’s really sweet, he comes off as very closed off and cold, but I’ve known him for a long time, and I think he’s the one person who’s helped me survive living on my own for this long.”

“How so?” Jimin asks, and you don’t have to mull it over to have an answer.

“When he figured out that Hoseok and I broke up, he was the one to remind me to eat all the time… he would leave snacks outside my door at night so I’d find them on my way to the bathroom. He even watered my plants for me so they wouldn’t die.”

“He’s whipped,” Jimin chuckles.

“He’s just a really good friend, even though Hoseok’s the one who introduced us in the first place, which led me to move in with him… he still looked out for me after,” you continue, feeling his soft snores brushing against your arm.

“I’m glad you have someone like him with you,” Jimin smiles softly, remembering how terrible he felt for not being there with you physically when you broke up with Hoseok.

“Yeah,” you agree, looking towards the blue fluff resting on your right and you don’t realize it until a loud purr leaves his lips that you’ve woven your fingers against his hair. Yoongi grumbles a bit before he’s snuggling even more against your arm. It’s when you scratch against his ears do his eyes open and he’s jumping back.

“Oh,” you say, a little startled, “you’re up.”

“...Yeah,” he mumbles, cheeks pinking up again before he’s clearing his throat.

“Maybe you should go to bed,” you pipe up, “that wine really does have a kick to it.”

“N-no… I’m fine, I’m up,” Yoongi says, even though his eyes begin to droop once more.

“You’re not,” you laugh, getting off the couch with Yoongi’s arm in tow. “Come on, I’ll take you to Jimin’s room.”

You’re moving up the stairs, Yoongi letting you drag him behind you until you reach your bedroom door.

“Yoongi?” you look over when he doesn’t move, eyes glued to your bedroom.

“Sleep with me,” he says quietly.

“What?” You know he doesn’t mean it like that but it’s still a shock to hear those words to come out of Min Yoongi’s lips.

“Sleep next to me,” Yoongi clarifies, “Not with him.”

You give him a knowing smile that has him glaring at you for a second before he’s pouting with his eyes downcast, cheeks flushed pink but you’re not sure if it’s from the wine or because he’s shy.

“Goodnight then,” Jimin grins, weaving his way between the two of you before he’s shut his bedroom door.

“Okay…” you say, making your way into your own bedroom. Yoongi sleepily drags himself towards your bed and is quick to burrow under the covers, you don’t even have the heart to tell him that he’s sleeping on your side of the bed. You gingerly get under the covers and Yoongi shuffles closer to you. It must be the wine, you didn’t think Yoongi had such a low tolerance but Nana always had an eccentric taste in alcohol.

It’s definitely the wine, you think when Yoongi nuzzles against your neck, grumbling a little until he moves back. “That’s better,” he mumbles before he’s settled back down, hand slowly snaking its way to hold your own.

“‘M cold,” he clarifies with one eye open. You know he’s lying when his hand is warmer than your own but you don’t mention it.

Yoongi’s quick to fall asleep after that, managing to slowly move closer to you until his arm is wrapped around your middle and you can hear his soft snores. It’s comfortable. You glance at him, noticing the way the moonlight makes his hair look black, reminding of the time you first met him. He’d never been one to change his hair until you came home with hair dye and bleach for when you and Hoseok were going to do each other’s hair. You’d broken up before you could get around to doing it so Yoongi did it with you instead. Yours had grown out back to your natural colour and you’d cut off the frayed parts, but Yoongi periodically came home with different colours and had you dye it in the sink. It reminded you of how much Yoongi had done for you, for how long he’d been there for you and how much he’d opened up to you. It was a slow process but it was one you were willing to go through.

Yoongi huffs before he’s grumbling in his sleep, moving until he’s comfortable again, his tail loosely winding itself around your leg. You smile at his movements, shifting a little so your fingers ghost the tip of his ears, making them flutter.

You smile, a realization you’d known for a while now, but slowly were beginning to accept. Maybe you did want him to be your boyfriend. And maybe he wanted to be yours too.

[sadienita]

As Sure As Fate - Part 2

Han Dong x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Contents: slight fluff, angst, death, reincarnation

Note: @flyingsculptures okay I’m so sorry I swear this was gonna be cute and this it got angsty I promise the whole serious ends happy but there are some sad bits to get to the happy. Also happy very belated birthday part 2

998 - Constantinople

The second time we met, the ripple could barely be felt. Only a light pull, a small feeling brought us closer. Something familiar in a smile, in the twinkle of an eye, in the lithe sound of a giggle. So quiet you might miss it.

You didn’t usually visit the markets or converse with the merchants unless you needed to. More of your time was busy weaving and making silk, or attempting to. It was never as good as you wanted it to be and thus you were wandering amongst the merchants, looking for silk to buy. It was faster to buy it than make it anyway.

You spotted a merchant stand with some of the most beautiful silk you’d ever seen. The colours fluttering in the light breeze caught your eye and drew you towards the stand. You barely noticed the figure, a scarf wrapped around their head, until you were feeling the smooth silk between your fingers.

“Do you like it?”

Your breath hitched as your eyes met the woman’s. Something about her making your heart beat faster as you regarded her. No doubt her beauty, she was stunning as she smiled at you softly. Your tongue seemed caught as you searched for words.

“I- Y-Yes- It’s- I-It’s beautiful,” you managed. There was something so comforting about the light giggle she let out.

“I’m glad you think so,” she hummed, coming to stand next to you.

“It’s- ah, much better than anything I’ve made.”

Her smile was almost coy as she met your gaze. “I’ll be in town a few days, if you need some pointers.”

“Please.”

Something about you was simply enchanting. Something about you felt just a little bit familiar. Like the scent of spring, like the touch of a light breeze, like the warmth of sun on skin.

Han Dong was certainly better at making silk than you were. You liked being around her. It was quiet but comfortable and she brought your heart to life in a way you couldn’t describe. The way her fingers guided yours as you worked, much more delicate movements than you had used before as you sat comfortably in the back of your family’s shop to work.

“I wonder how long it will take me to learn how to make something halfway decent,” you mumbled.

“It takes practice,” she hummed, slowing your movements again in a silent reminder to take your time. “I suspect by the time I come back you’ll be much more proficient.”

“How often do you travel through Constantinople?” you asked, a slight nervous edge to your tone.

“It’s not on a schedule,” she responded, her tone slightly subdued. “It can be a few months… or many…”

There was a moment of silence as you processed that. You enjoyed her company while you worked. Something in you was very saddened knowing you wouldn’t see her again for perhaps a long while. Not that you wouldn’t be able to survive, but there was something about the way she understood you.

“I will be sure to come back,” she caught your gaze, sincerity in her own as she spoke.

“I believe you,” the words poured from your lips before you had really thought them over but you didn’t deny them. You did believe she would come back, that you would see her again at some point.

“I’m glad,” she smiled.

A whisper of you was left around me when you were gone, waiting for you to return. A lingering thought in the back of my mind. Maybe my heart had learned patience without me even knowing it. My heart could have waited forever for you.

You never expected too much. Months had passed and no sign of Han Dong. A part of you was eager to show her your work, to tell her what had been happening in your life, and to ask about her travels. So each trip to the merchants you kept your eyes open, trying not to get your hopes too high.

Was it foolish to think she would come back, or that she would go out of her way to see you? It had been months and perhaps she had forgotten. Perhaps she would never be able to make it back. You didn’t really know but you wanted to believe she would come back like she said she would.

Something about her hung around your mind. You found yourself wanting to be closer to her, yearning for her company. You had only known her for a few days and yet it somehow seemed longer.

Still, she wasn’t in the market and by the end of your trip you made your way home. Wrapped up in your thoughts and not allowing the disappointment to really sink in the way it wanted to. You didn’t notice the woman standing outside the door of your family’s shop until you heard your name being called.

Your gaze snapped up to see Han Dong, smiling at you sweetly.

You nearly dropped your shopping as you broke into a run, letting out a joyous laugh. Han Dong opened her arms and you wrapped her in a hug, both of you in a fit of laughter and smiles, stumbling back into the storefront.

“You’re back in town!” you cried, excitement filling your voice.

“Yes, for a little while longer this time,” she smiled. “I thought I might surprise you.”

“You did,” you laughed, ushering her into the back of the shop. “You need to see the progress I’ve made.”

Then again I didn’t want to wait forever. Couldn’t I have you now?

“It sounds so exciting,” you sighed.

Han Dong had spent the last few days regaling you with tales of her travels. It was a much more interesting life than living and working in your family’s shop. It was much more free. You could see the image before you, travelling through the hot, arid deserts or beyond mountains that touched the sky.

“It’s dangerous,” she hummed, fingers moving lightly as she made the silk. She was still better than you, even if you had improved.

“You’ve come back each time,” you pointed out.

A smile tugged at Han Dong’s lips. “I’ve just been lucky. I suppose I can be smart.”

“I’d say so,” you chuckled. “Even if it is dangerous, I’d love to go.”

“You have a life here.”

“It can wait.”

“Doesn’t your family want you to get married?” she questioned.

“Doesn’t yours?” you replied playfully.

She chuckled. “Point taken.”

“They’re getting impatient,” you sighed. “But I’d rather not.”

“You’d rather work here?”

You bite back the words that tried to roll off your tongue and replaced them. “I’d rather lead my own life.”

Han Dong’s fingers paused and a thoughtful expression came over her face. “This trip will be difficult, but the next will be short.”

“I’m glad at least one will be easier.”

She shook her head, smiling. “No, that’s not what I mean. Do you want to join us for the shorter voyage?”

“Are you serious?!” you gasped.

“Oh course, I-” You cut Han Dong off, throwing your arms around her in a hug.

“I’d love to!”

But I felt it…

The day was cool as you moved through the market, pulling your wrap tighter around yourself. Something about the air chilled you. Something seemed so dreary, though the overcast sky definitely didn’t help.

You felt aimless as you wandered through the market. You knew it would still be a few months before you saw Han Dong. You missed her terribly but there was nothing you could do.

Still, each piece of silk, each hanging scarf, reminded you of her. Each one tugged at your heart strings and you were missing her even more today than you usually did. None of them looked as nice as her silk, none of them quite as fine or as pretty. None of them created by her hand.

A dull pain grew in your chest. Was it heartbreak? You weren’t sure. She seemed so untouchable in the moment as you watched the slik moving in the gentle breeze. You brought a hand up to your chest, rolling your shoulders back as you tried to shake off the feeling of sadness coming over you.

You thought you ought to return home and lie down.

… when I lost you again.

A silk scarf caught your eye as you walked through the market. The spring sun warmed your skin and your step took a lightness to it as you made your way towards the scarf. It was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. It reminded you so much of Han Dong and as much as you missed her you knew she had to be back soon. This looked like it was made by her hand, so lovingly done. You couldn’t help the complex feelings filling your heart.

“She said you would like it.”

You jumped, looking around and locking eyes with a man standing at the booth, one you recognized as one of Han Dong’s brothers. A smile tugged at your lips, though none did at his.

“I should have known,” you hummed. “It’s too beautiful not to be.”

“She wanted you to have it,” he said quietly.

“She…” you glanced around. “Where is she? Trading elsewhere in the market?”

His gaze dropped and yours travelled to the others at the booth, none of them able to meet your eyes. Your stomach started to drop as your fingers curled around the silk.

“Where is she? Where is Han Dong?”

“There was a snake,” her youngest brother spoke. “In the desert. We couldn’t…”

Ice shot through your veins and pain through your chest. “She’s dead?”

“I’m so sorry. I know you two were close.” He stepped towards you but you moved back, out of his touch, clutching the silk scarf to your chest, as if it would somehow fix the ache of your heart breaking. As if it would stop the world crumbling around you.

“I have to go,” your voice came out choked as you turned on your heel.

“I wish…”

“Me too.” Your arms wrapped tightly around the scarf as you left the place quickly, legs carrying you faster and faster until you were running over the stone underfoot, vision stained with tears and a hole left where your heart should be.

An ache so much stronger than the first, you slipped beyond my reach before I could truly grasp you. Like sand running through my fingers. You were gone again.

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You Ch. 22

Read on Ao3

Chat Noir was exhausted, but cautiously optimistic. 

The city was near-silent beneath him as he cut a path towards the Eiffel Tower, as though every Parisian were holding their breath. The clock on his baton told him he had just under half an hour to make it there, but he wasn’t worried. Even if he was a few minutes late, Felix and Chloe wouldn’t be facing Hawkmoth alone.

He glanced behind him, searching the shadows, but they remained empty. Maybe, he thought, she just wasn’t coming.

Marinette’s balcony had been his final stop that night. The light had been on, but the room had been empty. He’d been disappointed, but hope had urged him to leave the mouse Miraculous and the pink rose on her desk. It wasn’t half the apology he’d wanted to give her, but it would have to do until he had an opportunity to talk with her. He hoped it would be enough for the time being.

But for now, he needed to focus. He hadn’t let himself dwell on the situation beyond what he’d told the others because it was too overwhelming, and none of it was guaranteed, but… if it went right, if they were successful, then everything would change. The world would come a little bit back into balance.

Adrenaline burst through Chat Noir’s system as the Eiffel Tower came into view. Though devoid of any activity, very light on it was lit, as though to give them their best advantage. 

He stopped short of the Tower itself, angling instead for the Trocadero Gardens across the Seine. He landed silently on the steps where Felix had instructed they meet, and was hardly surprised when his cousin grabbed him roughly by the arm, yanking him into a deep shadow.

“Where have you been?” Felix demanded, releasing him with a little shove. 

“I’ve been running recruitment,” Chat Noir said with a grin. “And speaking of, I’m going to need Trixx.”

“Trixx?” Felix unconsciously wrapped a hand around the pendent at his throat. “Adrien, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, but you can’t seriously mean - ”

“Nothing like that,” Chat Noir cut his cousin off. “He just belongs with someone else - but I’m not leaving you defenceless by any means.” Chat Noir reached into the bag at his hip, pulling out the Miraculous from the box. 

Felix hesitated, staring at the little box in Chat Noir’s palm.

“You’re really giving me one?” he asked. Despite everything, Chat Noir realized his cousin really expected to, at the very least, punish him for his previous stunt.

“I really am,” Chat Noir said. “You did good here, Felix. No one’s perfect; you deserve the same chance Chloé got. Will you take it?”

For once, Felix actually smiled. “Trixx, let’s rest.”

The kwami spiralled out of the necklace, coming to rest in Felix’s palm. He seized on the snap peas Felix had produced and scarfed them down. He continued to eat even as Felix removed the necklace and picked up the new box.

“Hey, Trixx,” Chat Noir said, accepting the necklace. “Ready to play with an old friend?”

“You found her then?” Trixx asked, drifting towards his Miraculous.

Chat Noir hid a wince. “Not yet. It’s still work in progress. Hopefully after tonight it’ll be safe enough to try.”

They both winced at the burst of yellow light as Felix opened the lid of the new box.

“Greetings, my King!” Pollen rose gracefully out of their box, executing a bow as they went. “I’m Pollen of the Bee Miraculous; I grant the power of subjugation. To activate the Miraculous, simply say ‘Buzz on’.”

“This is going to raise a lot of questions,” Felix muttered as he slid the comb into his hair, “But…thank you.”

“You’ve earned it,” Chat Noir said simply. “Remember the time limit.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “How could I forget? Alright, get going. Remember to wait for the signal.”

“Got it,” Chat Noir said. “Rena Rouge will take care of your illusion. See you out there.”

Chat Noir left, heading for the second meeting spot he’d arranged that night as a yellow flash briefly lit the shadows of the Trocadero. 

“Carapace?”

A voice drifted from the shadows. “Over her, du - Chat Noir.”

Chat Noir could make out a dozen forms among the dark struts of the Eiffel Tower, all talking quietly. The multitude of colours were muted in the night, but what they were was unmistakable.

“Alya?” he asked, stopping beside his friend.

“Right here,” she said, stepping up beside Carapace.

Chat Noir held out the box. “Ready?”

“So ready,” she said quietly. He’d never seen her quiet before, but he didn’t think he was imagining the glistening of her eyes as she took the Miraculous. “I never thought I’d ever get to do this again.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Chat Noir warned. “But tonight we need all hands on deck.”

“I understand,” Alya said quickly. “I just…I didn’t know last time would be the last time. Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t have anyone else with me,” Chat Noir said. He meant it, too. His Lady had chosen these people - well, most of them. They all loved her almost as much as he did. Even though she wasn’t there, it was almost like having her unbreakable spirit with them. 

“I see the gang’s all here,” Red said, dropping in beside him.

“Almost,” Chat Noir admitted. He couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder, as though she might still show up. 

“It’s interesting,” Red mused, glancing over their team mates. “Almost the entirety of Mme. Bustier’s class from Francois Dupont High School - with two notable exceptions.”

Chat Noir stiffened. No. No way. “Marinette might show up yet,” he said as his heart began to pound.

“She’s not who I’m interested in,” Red said, leaning in. “It’s you - Adrien.”

Chat Noir stifled a frustrated sigh. “This is unbelievable.”

Red actually scoffed. “It’s hardly rocket science. You haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“You of all people know you can’t give a Miraculous away to just any one,” he said. “They’re too dangerous.”

Her wince was barely noticeably. “You just better hope no one else notices the pattern, Adrichat,” she whispered. 

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, deciding it was best to move on to other topics.

“Yeah,” Red said after a moment. She turned to look out over the city, crossing her arms against an invisible chill she never could have felt through the suit. “I am, but…it doesn’t feel right to do this without her.”

A hint of pain and regret twisted through Chat Noir’s gut, but he couldn’t let it hurt him, not here, not now. “I know,” he agreed. “But it’s the only way to get her back.”

“You know how to restore her memory then?” she asked. She glanced back at him but he avoided her gaze.

“I have a few theories,” Chat Noir said, but he didn’t elaborate. “Let’s get through tonight first.”

“I’ll help you, you know,” Red said. “I… everyone knows how Chat Noir feels about Ladybug. I know you must be missing her. Besides,” she grinned, “I’ve gotta get rid of this kwami; she won’t eat anything but the best pastries in Paris. And I thought I was fussy.”

Beneath them, one of the lamps surrounding the plaza abruptly flickered out. Chat Noir felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stiffen.

“It’s time.”

Red nodded. “See you on the other side.”

Chat Noir saluted her and made his way to the darkest shadow in the structure where Rena Rouge was waiting for him. It deepened as another lamp went out. He felt more than he saw her shudder as he landed.

“I’ve dreamed of punching Hawkmoth right in the face,” she whispered, “But this…”

“It feels like a trap,” Chat Noir admitted. 

“Yeah.”

“It may be.” He stifled his frustration. “We have no way of knowing. Improvisation’s always been my stronger suit.” Even so, he’d done all he could to prepare.

Nothing, however, could prepare him for what he saw seconds later in the plaza.

It was the most stunningly beautiful, horrific akuma he’d ever seen in his life. Worse, he knew her.

“…Marinette?”

He recognized the gown, and in a terrible blinding flash, he realized it hadn’t been on the mannequin when he’d dropped by her place. Now he knew why. 

It wasn’t the project she’d been building over the past past couple of weeks; instead of black, the fabric had turned a brilliant, violent red. Black edging lined the silhouette. The hem, which had once flared out into a dramatic train, was in ashy tatters. Her hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders, longer and darker than he’d ever seen it before. The top half had been pulled back into a bun, the only ornamentation a hair stick decorated in midnight black flowers. Her skin was so pale she looked like a spectre. Her eyes had gone completely black.

All Chat noir could do was stare. “How…did this…how…”

“Oh, Marinette.”

He whipped to Rena Rouge. She, too, was staring at the figure in the plaza, sadness etched in her features.

“I tried to warn her,” she said. “Anyone can be akumatized.”

Nothing made sense. He couldn’t make it make sense. Rena Rouge wasn’t <em>wrong</em>, but Marinette was the strongest person he knew. Sure, she could get upset like anyone, but she always seemed to be able to quickly get her emotions under control.

“Warn her?” he managed. His gaze had wandered back to the akuma. He couldn’t look away. It was like seeing a ghost. “Why did she need warning?”

“I don’t really know,” Rena Rouge said as another light flickered out. “A few months ago we were talking on the phone. She was really freaked out. She said there were these…gaps? She couldn’t remember anything about Hawkmoth, or you and Ladybug. It was so weird, but after we talked about it, she seemed to forget that she forgot. She never brought it up again. Maybe I should have.”

Chat Noir couldn’t breathe. As he stared at the girl in the plaza, a thousand little puzzle pieces fell into place.

<em> ‘You love that girl’.</em>

Plagg’s words were like a bullet to the chest. His kwami had tried to tell him in the only way he could. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it.

<em> ‘I think something’s wrong…I’m having trouble…’</em> Remembering.

That was what she was going to tell him all those months ago. It had always been her, right in front of him this whole time. The reason she’d been so sure of her plan. His Lady…Marinette…the reason he’d been so confused about his feelings for both of them was because…

“Marinette is Ladybug.”

Beside him, Rena Rouge stiffened, and then sighed a little laugh. “Of course. Of course she is. Do I even want to ask how we ended up here?”

“No,” Chat Noir whispered through cold lips. “No, you really don’t.”

“But…then this means you’re going to have to fight her.”

“No,” Chat Noir said as fury finally ignited, burning away everything else. “I’m going to have to save her.” Adrenaline made his eyes fairly glow. “And then I’m going to make Hawkmoth pay for what he’s done to her.” 

For everything they’d sacrificed. For every sleepless night and broken heart and stolen kiss. For everything they might never get back. 

Felix was right; Hawkmoth had never played by the rules. This time, he’d crossed a line.

And Chat Noir was ready to get his claws dirty. 

[randomoranges]

more self indulgent teacher au. if only i had an edward to comfort me.  i wish the incidents weren’t watered down events i lived through.

Teacher AU

Bad Day

Being a specialist teacher can be a lonely job, Étienne finds, but there are pros, just like there are cons. One of the pros is that he doesn’t have recess supervision. At least, at the school he works at, the specialists do not cover recess, seeing as each teacher does their own. One of the cons is that he has no excuse to go out and get some fresh air; he’s stuck between the four walls of the school for the entire day, caught up in his work and never ending prepping. He doesn’t mind so much when it’s winter and it’s cold out and usually, when the weather’s decent, he’s good about sitting outside for lunch, when he’s not swamped with preparations for his classes. It’s easier when he and Edward make a point of sitting out together – get away from the chaos and the demand of their job, even if only for a few minutes. Edward’s good at pushing him away from the cutting board and paint rack and getting him to eat something and take a break.

 There’s a park near the school they like to go to, where they bring a picnic blanket and sit under a shaded tree. It doesn’t change anything from the packed lunch, but even if they don’t talk much, simply enjoying the quiet breeze of the shifting leaves in the trees, is nice.

 Today is not one of those days.

 It’s grey and cold out and he’s miserable already, but he shoves his hands deep inside his pockets and walks aimlessly through the playground. He hunkers down in his coat and scarf and regrets not putting on his hat.

 “Étienne? This is a surprise,” Edward says when he sees him. His boyfriend approaches him and Étienne reads the layers of concern that play across Edward’s face as he gently tells some of the students who follow him like little ducklings to go play elsewhere, since he needs to discuss something with M Étienne.

 “Yeah; needed some air,” He says it in that dismissive air of his he’s convinced has everyone fooled, but Edward knows him better and his frown only deepens.

 “Are you okay?”

 There’s a reason Étienne is out during morning recess. He knows Edward’s recess coincides with the end part of his break and he likes to tell himself that he only needs a little break – only needs to see a familiar face, before he can go back in and face the madness that waits for him. One more period and then lunch, two more periods and then the day is over. Three hours and he can go home. Three and a half hours before he can curl up in his bed and sleep this day off if he so desires. (But there’s prep and grading and emails to send and respond to. Dinner needs to be made, lunches need to be packed. He needs to shower, there’s accumulating laundry and the dishwasher might need to be emptied out – again! He’d like to sit and curl by Edward’s side, watch TV with him and unwind for twenty minutes before they call it a day and go to bed; bone tired, exhausted, burning from both ends. He knows he’ll do only the first part of his long list of things that need to be done – he’ll get to dinner and the rest will be a gamble.)

 “Yeah – I’m fine. Fresh air and all. Can’t stay cooped up all the time!” He offers Edward a smile that’s too bright and doesn’t reach his eyes. It cracks over his face like the ice that crunches under their feet. Edward pulls Étienne behind a tree where there are less kids playing and the concern writes itself all over his face.

 “Étienne – what happened?” His tone is a little more firm this time and maybe it’s what makes Étienne’s charade break and crack enough for a sliver of truth to come out.

 “It’s – it’s no big deal. It was a bad morning. It’s not my first bad morning. Forget it, I didn’t mean to bother you with this. I have to go back in anyways. I have class in a bit.” He tries to step out of Edward’s hold, but Edward tightens his grip on his arm.

 “You wouldn’t have come to find me if it was nothing.” Edward looks at his watch and curses under his breath. It looks like recess is over as he takes out his whistle. “We’re not done. I’ll come and see you at lunch and we’ll talk about it.”

 “No – it’s fine. You have science club at lunch today. Forget it, okay? It’s fine.” This is why he internalises his issues, he thinks. He hates bothering Edward with his problems; especially when Edward drops everything to make sure he’s okay. Edward has his own shit to deal with; his own twenty-eight students and their moods and fancies.

 “I’ll move it to tomorrow. Look – whatever it is, we’re talking about it and it’ll be okay, okay? I will have lunch with you and we will talk about it.” He gives Étienne’s arm a gentle squeeze this time and then steps out from behind the tree. He whistles, calls his group over, and starts heading back towards the double doors. Étienne catches his gaze and he reads everything he knows Edward would have told him if he could.

 Étienne sighs and trudges back inside, greeting a few students who call out to him on the way in.

 --

 Somehow or other, he makes it through to lunch and for as much as he wants to sit in the quiet of his room with Edward, he’d also want to be left alone to wallow. Instead, right on time, the door to the room opens; Edward walks in, locks it behind him, and comes to take his usual seat on the couch at the back of the room.

 The couch, according to most students, is probably one of the coolest bits about the room and Étienne lets his students hang out by it at the end of class if they’re done with their work. The couch was Edward’s, but when they moved in together, a few years back now, they’d gotten a new one, since Edward’s was old and ancient. Still, with a cover over it, it looks almost new and it’s a perfect place to have lunch when one is overwhelmed.

 Edward finds him on the couch and sits beside him. He makes no comment about the red of his eyes or the faraway look on his face, but he opens up their lunch and hands Étienne a sandwich wedge, glad it was sandwich day and not something more elaborate that required utensils and microwaves.

 Edward forces him to take a bite of the sandwich and a sip or two of water, before he breeches the conversation Étienne has been running away from since recess. “Can you tell me what happened? Please? I know something happened; I see it in your face...”

 Étienne plays with the wrapper of the sandwich. He does that thing where he fusses with the cuffs of his sleeves and twists and turns the material around his thumbs. Soon, he’ll start fidgeting, from his feet that’ll twirl around his ankles, to the shifts in his shoes, until he’ll crumble on himself in a mess.

 “It’s – it’s nothing now. I’m just tired. It’s been a shit morning. I’m exhausted and I just – it’s fine. The day’s almost over, let’s just have lunch, okay?”

 Now that they’re behind closed doors, Edward can reach for his boyfriend’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He can pull him in close and rub his back and Étienne can bury his face in Edward’s chest and allow himself to safely come apart. Edward knows to wait. Edward knows to hold Étienne close as his shoulders start shaking and trembling and soon the deluge of what happened finally comes through.

 “I hate it. I hate this. I keep trying and nothing ever works. I had my two terrible groups this morning. Back to back. And I told myself it would be fine. I tried to be calm and patient. I really did. But I just – I’m not clicking with them and it’s hard. I give them consequences and they just – they don’t care. It’s like they’re laughing in my face. The first group – I sent them to paint, and then half of them are running around, another’s painting the fucking table and then two fucked up all my paints because they mixed the colours in the jars. Then, when it was time to pick up, it’s even worse. I had to send three kids out, but of course then they start fucking off in the corridor, even though two were supposed to go see the VP, but instead they were bothering the other kid and then of course, being noisy. Meanwhile, I have twenty-nine others in class! And of those, I ask them to pick up, but it’s like social time for them, so they’re just chit chatting and meanwhile I have another group coming in eight minutes.

 The classroom was a mess. There was paint on the tables. Water all over the floor. I nearly tripped. And then I lost it. I snapped. I yelled at them. And – I hate yelling – I never want to yell at them, but they just – they got to me. I’ve talked to them, I’ve talked to the TES, to the teacher, to the principal and everything I try is garbage. I’ve written to the parents, I’ve called the parents and nothing ever changes. I’m already tired and it gets worse. From period to period. Mondays feel like never ending Thursdays and it’s only the start of the week.

 And then it got worse. I had my second group. And they’re an okay group, except for three kids. One in particular. And she – you know, they tell you to call in the TES, and so I did, because she was running around in class, yelling, screaming, disturbing everyone else, and I tried – to go up to her gently, to ask her to stop, to help me, to whatever, but she just – fucking walked away every time and then she – was jumping up on the chairs and then – she – she kicked another kid’s chair, who fell, who hurt her head, so I called the TES and – you would think they’d send someone, given the circumstance, and I get they’re busy; it’s a big school – but no one came. I had to deal with her, the others, the other two who were disorganising themselves, conduct the lesson, get the others on task and – I can’t. I feel like a piece of shit every time I have these groups. I’m tired. I’m so tired and drained and empty. This isn’t teaching. This isn’t what it’s supposed to be. This isn’t what I signed up for. To be treated like garbage. To have to deal with this every fucking day.”

 It comes out in a long stream of worries and feelings of helplessness and unfortunately, Edward has heard these tales far too often. Unfortunately, he has similar tales of his own. It’s the reality of the job, they say, but why must it be this way? Why is it that at the end of one day of work they get home exhausted and drained? Why is it that they get paid for thirty-hours of work when in reality they do double the hours for the same pay? It’s only November and it already feels like they’ve been in this marathon for longer and he wonders when will it end? How much will they be able to give and how much will be taken from them?

 There isn’t much he can do, but he does hold Étienne tighter and kiss the top of his head. He lets Étienne express everything it is that he’s kept inside, let’s him go off on tangents related to their work conditions and lends him an ear and a safe place to come apart and gather himself. If it were up to him, he’d call it a day and pack up. Pack up and head home, shut the lights and curl up in bed, but since they can’t, he comforts Étienne as best he can and hopes that the afternoon will be better.

 Hopes that they’ll find the courage, will, and energy to keep going. To make it through the next period and then the next day. The next week and the next month, until they start all over again.

 FIN

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @ccboomer, @aubsenroute, @somebodyswatson

Chapter Two In Memoriam

“So do you live in London?” Sirius asked, unsure what to say.

The man on the other side of the table shook his head. He wore a silk scarf that was brightly coloured. It was such a stark contrast with the black jacket and dark jeans that Sirius had initially thought that the man was a Wizard masquerading as a Muggle.

“Just here on holiday,” he said jovially, and took a sip of his bottled drink. He had called it an “alcopop” and that was when Sirius had decided that he was not a wizard after all. Sirius was just too out of touch with Muggle trends.

“I’m glad you got home alright last night,” the man said. “To be honest, I didn’t actually see you go into your place. It was like you were there on the pavement, then suddenly you were gone.”

“Maybe you were as drunk as I was,” Sirius said.

It had been a few weeks since Dumbledore’s death, a few weeks since Tonks and Remus had finally formalised their relationship, and exactly twenty-two hours since Sirius, James, and Lily had talked them out of eloping. Sirius wanted to be happy for Remus and Tonks — and sometimes he was — but last night he had made the selfish and reckless decision to abandon the Potters and slip out to London and disappear into a drink.

Or, more accurately, several drinks.

“Thanks again for your help getting me home,” Sirius said. If he had tried to Apparate in his state, he would have splinched himself terribly.

“It was no trouble. Well, there was a cab fare, but,” he tipped his drink to Sirius and smiled gratefully. “Though I gotta say, who names a park like that Grim-Old Place?”

Sirius gave him a wry smile, wondering how likely it was that the Black family had founded that area and named it themselves, back when the founders of Hogwarts had only just conceived the idea of a magical school. But that wasn’t a joke he could make with this man. He wondered how you joked with people you didn’t know. Sirius had been friends with James, Remus, and Lily for so long, he couldn’t remember what it was like to meet someone new. Even Regulus, who he could only just recently count as a friend, had enough shared history with Sirius that there was a foundation. What did you say to some guy you met in Soho, who helped your wasted ass home and slipped his number into your back pocket?

“A good question,” Sirius said, and fidgeted with the handle of his mug. “Probably some creepy old family with more money than they knew what to do with.”

The man in the scarf laughed, and Sirius felt a little more confident.

“Well, at least they’re long gone, eh?”

Sirius’ discomfort must have been obvious because the man across the table raised his eyebrows. “Christ, they’re not the people you still pay rent to, are they?”

Sirius noted the distinctly Muggle interjection. “Actually, it’s my place now.”

He didn’t say that it was the home he had grown up in, run away from, and come back to so he could protect his brother who had broken out of prison. He didn’t say that he had only agreed to live there again with the promise that Remus would stay with him for part of the week to make it bearable. He definitely didn’t say that he never should have gone back there last night, nor that he was lucky to have survived the night, drunken stupor aside, since Snape could easily have betrayed Grimmauld Place’s secrecy to Voldemort.

“Oh!” The man’s smile widened. “You own your own place? In London? That’s great.”

Sirius snorted. “My brother still has the castle.” Though Sirius wondered if it wasn’t actually Andromeda’s. He had not been around for the inheritance battle over Uncle Alphard’s will. He had taken his money and run. “Anyway, I don’t stay in London often,” he added. “Mostly I live with friends.”

The man leaned in closer when Sirius mentioned the castle. “And these friends let you drink alone in London? Seem like poor friends if you ask me.”

“I just needed to be alone for a bit, you know?”

“You didn’t act like you wanted to be alone last night. You kept saying you wanted to invite me in, but you were worried about getting caught. I assumed you had a very strict landlady — or a wife.”

“Did I?” Sirius hardly remembered stumbling into Grimmauld Place. He did remember the vision of Dumbledore rising out of the floor. He had drunkenly stammered out that it wasn’t his fault and had cursed himself for returning to Grimmauld Place at all. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs, but he had woken up in his own bedroom, found the phone number in his pocket, and staggered down to a payphone. He hadn’t meant to get a date out of it, but here they were.

“I’d have taken you back to my hotel if you weren’t so thoroughly trashed.”

Sirius knew by the grin on the man’s face just what that meant, and he thought that if he needed a few more drinks to agree, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He was trying to be better at good ideas, rather than impulsively throwing himself into bad ones. Last night had been a bit of a backslide on that front.

“Thanks,” he said. “But — sorry, I don’t mean… It’s just that my friend’s getting married tomorrow.”

Understanding settled into the man’s face. “You don’t mean your ‘friend’, do you?”

Sirius hesitated, but he had never been one to lie. “I’m happy for him — really — but… I don’t know. They’ve known each other a while, but they’ve only been seeing each other properly for a few weeks.”

“Is she pregnant?”

Sirius choked on his drink, surprised by the bluntness of the question and queasy at the thought of Tonks — his baby cousin — being pregnant.

“Sorry — I didn’t mean —”

Sirius shook his head and grasped for any other line of conversation. “So what do you do for work?”

It was a risky question, since he didn’t have an answer himself. He may not have dated since just after the first war, when he had been certain that his friendship with Remus was over, but Sirius was still fairly confident that “disinherited layabout who relies on his best friend’s money to get by” was not an attractive answer, and he couldn’t exactly say he was too busy fighting in a magical war to stop and look for a job.

“Oh, I don’t work,” the man said, and relief washed over Sirius — temporarily. “I’m a student at the Uni of Manchester.”

He continued with something about where his folks lived, and about staying with them before going back to university, but Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He tried to wet his suddenly dry palate with a sip of his drink, but it didn’t work. When whatever-his-name-was had finished talking about his parents’ house, Sirius asked, “How old are you?”

“Er — nineteen.”

Merlin, he was hardly older than Harry. He looked older, with his crisp jacket and dark jeans. His shoes were even well-polished. Though Sirius was a bit out of touch with Muggle fashion, he would have at least put his date in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked so well put together. Sirius had been a complete mess at nineteen — not that he was much better now.

“How old are you?” the boy asked suspiciously. Boy, because Sirius could not see him as anything else any longer.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and wished the ringing in his ears would slow down just a little so he could think properly. “Thirty-nine.” Merlin, he was almost forty. He had no business being out with a student. He got to his feet.

“I don’t mind,” the boy said. “Really.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re hardly older than my godson. Sorry, you seem like a nice kid —” the boy flinched, “— but I couldn’t.”

“At least take me to this wedding. Let this guy see what he’s missing out on —”

“It’s not like that.” Sirius knew there was no explaining to this kid what his relationship with Remus truly was. “Sorry, really. I hope you enjoy your holiday. Thanks again.”

“Come on, I didn’t even get your name.”

Sirius shrugged. “I didn’t get yours.” And he left, half-finished drink still on the table, berating himself as he did.

He knew that he should’ve been with James and Lily last night, even if it had been full of wedding planning. He should’ve been with the people who understood what he was going through, not a stranger in London. Sirius was too old to drink himself to distraction.

He ducked into an alley not far from the pub and Apparated onto the pathway just outside that low, crumbling stone wall that marked the edge of the Potter’s property. The change in scenery was obvious not just in his surroundings, but in the very air he breathed. Sirius had always preferred the fresh countryside to the stifling atmosphere of London. It had been foolish of him to leave the Potters’ in the first place.

In the grass just beyond the wall were the lines that appeared every summer, marking the old building where Linfred of Stinchcombe had once sold potions on the roadside to Wizard and Muggle alike. Of course, magic hadn’t been a secret in those days. Sirius’ family had probably been parading their magic in front of nobles and courtiers, while James’ had been helping people recover from illnesses in a time when magic was the only available cure.

The sun was already low in the sky as Sirius began his walk to the Potters’ house. He was always impressed by how fast the day could slip away when he spent half of it nursing a hangover. Unfortunately, it made his walk across the property incredibly hot. He pulled off his leather jacket, but he would put it back on once in sight of the house. James had always loved to tease him about wearing it in the summer, and he would not deny him the chance.

Despite the heat, the walk was pleasant. It helped to clear his head, to focus on being happy for Remus rather than sorry for himself. Besides, there was enough going on around the wedding that Sirius would need a clear head for. He couldn’t spend the next two days half-sloshed. There was far too much at stake.

Sirius put his jacket back on as he reached the house, and walked in through the kitchen door. The kitchen was empty, which Sirius thought odd. Usually Picksie would have cooked something up by now. He checked his wristwatch to confirm that it was indeed after dinner time. His own stomach growled, and he realised that he hadn’t put anything in it since the heavy, greasy plate of sausage and potatoes he’d had around noon to quell the nausea left by his drinking binge.

He had just opened a cabinet to scrounge for a snack when Lily appeared in the doorway, wand drawn.

Sirius was not ready for a conversation with Lily today. They’d been at each other’s throats more often than not since Dumbledore’s passing. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; the two of them had each received the nail in the coffin for one of their deepest friendships at the same time. Her feelings for Snape were probably more complex than his feelings for Remus, even. At least he had a name for his feelings for Remus. He couldn’t begin to describe how Lily felt about Snape, and he didn’t know if she could either.

So instead of waiting for her to ask some inane, obscure question only he could answer, one he would inevitably respond to inappropriately, Sirius decided to avoid the whole interaction and shifted into a dog.

She put her wand away and rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your bender?”

He barked.

“You reek of booze. Get some water and sit.”

He sat on the floor, a perfectly behaved Irish Wolfhound, and a poorly behaved friend.

Lily drew her mouth into a tight line and sat down stiffly at the kitchen table. When she spoke again, she had managed to smooth out the harsher tone in her voice.

“Please,” she tried, and gestured to a chair.

Sirius recalled his plan to be better at good ideas, and shifted back into himself. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, and did his best to look like a mature adult rather than a scolded child.

Lily flicked her wand and slid a full glass of water his way. She drummed her fingers against the table, and Sirius braced himself for an apology for her behaviour these last four weeks. He even started scripting his own apology.

But Lily did not apologise. Instead, she finally said, “Mellie passed away this morning.”

All the fight in Sirius vanished in a moment and was replaced by guilt. Lily bit down on the inside of her cheek reached her hand out to his.

He and Lily had always been equally terrible at hiding their feelings.

“It’s not your fault for not being here,” she said. “James knows it, and I know it. You’re allowed to grieve what you’re losing, too.”

Her tenderness did not help. He drank the water, wishing it were something stronger, and wondered if growing old really was just one set of bad news after another.

With a great deal of effort, Sirius reached past his own emotions of grief, guilt, and anger in search of something kinder. “How’s Picksie?” he asked.

Lily bit down on her lower lip. “Er — she and James are… well, they’re not fighting, exactly. It’s more of a passive-aggressive thing.”

“What?”

“Picksie thinks Mellie should be buried in her favourite part of the garden. James thinks Mellie deserves to be buried in the Potter family plot.”

“In Godric’s Hollow?” Sirius shook his head. “Christ, James, how does he even think we’ll all get out there? And safely?”

“He isn’t thinking,” Lily said, “but he won’t listen to me, and Remus isn’t — well, he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“You need me to talk him round?”

“Harry’s trying. I don’t know how well it’s going. And since when do you use Muggle exclamations?”

Sirius shrugged. “I thought I would try something new.”

Lily stared at him, and he wondered if she was trying to use Legilimency to see where he’d been. “And how did trying something new go?” she asked carefully.

“He was too new.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nice Muggle bloke, but definitely too new.”

Lily did not pick up that it was a reference to the boy’s age, and Sirius was glad. He didn’t need Lily scolding him for going out with someone nearly Harry’s age. He’d tell James later, maybe in a few years, when they could all laugh about it safely.

“Which Auror is here?” Sirius asked.

“Robards himself,” Lily said. “He’s had the decency to stay out of the way, at least.”

Sirius frowned. “Head of the Auror Department doesn’t have better things to do? Do you think they suspect?”

Lily shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything about it, not even a hint, and you know how much Robards likes to talk.”

Sirius downed the rest of the water and left the glass in the sink. “Guess we’d better rescue Harry, then?”

“Are you alright? I know you knew Mellie as a boy —”

“I’ll be okay.” Sirius had been fond of Mellie, though it had taken him a while to grow accustomed to a house-elf that didn’t hate him even when she complained.

He still remembered the very first night he had stayed at the Potters’ at the age of twelve, and he’d overheard her grumbling about boys being allowed to stay out past reasonable bedtimes. Though it had bothered Sirius, James had laughed it off. Eventually, as the years had passed and his summer stays with the Potters had grown longer, Sirius had learned that Mellie’s complaints were just one of the many ways she showed she cared.

“I mean, I miss her, but we’ve known this has been coming… Besides, I think James needs us most.”

Lily nodded.

For James, it must be like losing his parents all over again.

They made their way into the sitting room, and Sirius was surprised to see James unrolling a large piece of parchment onto the low table. Harry and Picksie sat opposite him, and Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Department, had squeezed his very full figure into one of the armchairs by the empty fireplace, clearly giving the family space, but maintaining his duty to the Ministry.

Harry used a couple of well-placed books to keep the parchment flat as he, James, and Picksie all bowed their heads over it. For a moment, Sirius thought it was the Marauders’ Map, but quickly realised that he was not looking at the floorplan of Hogwarts at all; it was a map of Styncon Garden.

James looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. “Hey — did Lily —?”

Sirius slid into the seat beside his best friend and wrapped his arm around James’ shoulder. “I’m all caught up and sober to boot. What’s this for?”

“Harry’s brokered a compromise,” James said, as Lily sat on the other side of him and laced their fingers together. “We’re giving Picksie her own plot of land and the space to establish her own family cemetery.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow and looked at Harry. “Can… house-elves own property?”

“Then what do you suggest?” James said. “I can’t bury Mellie in the garden like the family cat —”

“Alright, alright.” Sirius backed down quickly; it was so rarely James who snapped at him. “I think it’s a great idea, I just didn’t know if it was possible.”

“It’s brilliant,” Lily said, and smiled at Harry. “If the Ministry wants to make a fuss, let them.”

Robards snorted from his chair, but said nothing. None of the Potters spared him a glance.

Picksie sniffled loudly and wiped her large purple eyes with a handkerchief. “Misters Harry and James is too kind to Picksie and Mama…”

“It’s only decent,” Harry said. “What about by the lake? Didn’t Mellie like that story about my great-grandfather hiding all that stuff from his cousin?”

“Mama was always very fond of Mister Henry and Mistress Dorothy.” Picksie sniffled again. “B-but Picksie cannot take the lake from the Potters. Picksie cannot —”

“You’re not taking anything,” James said gently. “You’re part of this family, you always have been, and it’s time we all acted like it properly. We should probably give some of it to Sirius, too.”

“I’ve got enough property to my name,” Sirius said. “Maybe if you’d ever gotten your act together and built that Quidditch practice pitch you spent years going on about —”

“Oh, shove it.”

Sirius smiled. “What about this?” He pointed to a spot on the map labeled, “Fairy Garden.” It sounded like a fitting place for a house-elf to start her own home.

“That used to be where Mum hosted teas,” James said, “and her summer garden parties. It’s recently been converted into Lily’s personal garden.”

“Ah.” Sirius resisted the urge to glance at Robards. “Lily’s personal garden” meant it was where they grew wolfsbane and other dangerous — and illegal — potion ingredients. Not a fitting place for a house-elf to start her own home after all.

“There’s the rose garden on the west side,” Lily suggested. “That would be a lovely place to build a home.”

Picksie blew her unusually small nose in her handkerchief. “Yes, the roses are lovely.”

James frowned. “Picksie, if you have an idea, tell us. You’re not being selfish.”

Picksie wrung her handkerchief in her hands and looked nervously between James and the map laid out on the table. “Mama was always liking the willow tree.” She pointed to space on the north side of the map. “Could —” She paused to sniffle again. “Could Picksie make a home by the willow tree?”

“Of course you can,” James said.

Picksie could have Apparated them all to the willow tree, but James wanted to walk. Sirius didn’t blame him. Sirius thought that if Robards hadn’t been there, he would have walked down to the tree as Padfoot. It would have been easier to sort through all his feelings as a dog.

It had been a long time since Sirius had attended two funerals in such a short window. There had been that terrible week when Dorcas Meadows, Benjy Fenwick, and Hector Jones had all gone missing or turned up dead at once, and that had hurt, to lose good friends so suddenly, but it wasn’t this.

The pain of losing Dumbledore was compounded with so many things for Sirius. Everyone, of course, knew that Dumbledore’s death was a huge loss for the Wizarding world at large, and a win for the Death Eaters. That came with fear and grief. Then those in the Order had lost Snape as well. That came with anger and grief. And for Sirius, he had lost Remus that night, too. Not for good, and not completely, but it was a loss nonetheless.

To come home after wrestling with Remus’ wedding announcement only to lose Mellie was just one more drop in a bucket already overwhelmed with sorrow. He wondered if it was possible to become numb to losing people.

At least she had gone peacefully. At least she had been with people who had cared about her. At least she had been with her family.

Lily hastily packed a picnic before they left. She carried the basket in one hand and held onto Picksie’s hand with the other. James carried Mellie, wrapped in a thick blanket, and Robards maintained a respectful distance of a few feet back, wand drawn and eyes alert. Harry fell into step beside Sirius.

“Are you alright?”

Sirius looked at Harry in surprise. He opened his mouth to say he was fine, but the lie died in his throat. “In what way?” he finally managed.

Harry shrugged. “You practically lived here even before you ran away from home, right? Mellie’s important to you, too.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. He was the spitting image of James, right down to the worry line that creased his forehead. “And you disappeared once Mum and Dad started making wedding plans…”

Sirius stuffed his hands into his pockets. Though his grief for Mellie was perhaps the easier line of conversation, he asked, “What did they decide on?”

“They’ll have it in the garden just outside the kitchen. Dad fought for the rose garden, but Mum said the heat’s too much there in the evening.”

“She’s right,” Sirius agreed. “There’ll be shade on the back side of the house at least.”

Harry nodded. “Mum and Dad are in charge of decorating, Picksie said she’d make the cake, the Weasleys are bringing food and seating, and Moody’s officiating.”

He snorted. “I’m sure the photos will come out wonderfully with Mad-Eye standing behind them at the altar.”

“Dad wants you to make sure Remus is ready.”

Sirius pressed his lips together. It was certainly the thing he was most suited for. He remembered the morning before James’ wedding, when he, Remus, and Peter had wrestled with hangovers and a ridiculous number of buttons and laces to get James into his dress robes. That had been as stressful but full of laughter as any of their shenanigans had been.

Getting Remus ready meant they would have time alone together. They would have to talk properly, which they hadn’t done since Christmas. That was Sirius’ fault, more than anything else.

Guilt started to nibble at Sirius’ heartache. He had pushed Remus away just as much as Remus had pushed him. Was it his fault that after Dumbledore’s death, Remus had run to Tonks instead? If Tonks had not been a question, would Remus have come to Sirius in his grief?

And even if he had, would Sirius have really let anything change between them?

Sirius let out a slow breath. “I think I can manage getting Remus ready. But I’m also going to be in charge of music. I don’t trust anyone else with that, especially not Tonks or you.”

Harry did not smile. His mother’s stubbornness and compassion was painfully obvious in that measured gaze. Against Sirius’ better judgement, it riled his temper. He felt heat prickle on the back of his neck and his hands tightened inside his jacket.

Sirius couldn’t explain why compassion and affection so often felt like a threat, no more than he could resist lashing out at Harry as he had against Lily all summer.

“What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “That I’m terribly unhappy and I wish the wedding wasn’t happening at all?”

Harry, unlike Lily, did not rise to the bait. His voice was cool and even as he said, “No one else disappeared for an entire day and came back smelling like The Hog’s Head.”

“That place smells like a goat’s ass,” Sirius countered. “I don’t smell like a bloody goat.”

Harry, it seemed, had learned his parents’ patience, too, and said nothing.

“Fine,” Sirius muttered. “I’m not happy. At least — some of the time I’m not happy. Sometimes I’m actually really happy. Tonks is family, and Remus is pack, and I want them to be happy. But sometimes… sometimes I think I might drown under the weight of how much I miss him. It comes and goes.”

Harry finally pulled his gaze away from Sirius and looked at the willow tree on the horizon. He frowned, thoughtfully, and ran a hand through his hair again. “Like grief,” he finally offered.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “It’s a bit like grief.”

When they reached the willow tree, James and Sirius dug out a small space beneath the tree for Mellie to rest in while Picksie ran her fingers along the bark of the tree and carved Mellie’s name into it. Robards maintained a respectful distance, outside the willow tree’s low-hanging branches. Sirius thought perhaps they were lucky it was Robards on watch today. They could have had Longfellow, who probably would have tried to make them all a pie to be helpful, not realising that they would prefer to have space.

Harry helped Lily set out a hastily packed picnic. Sirius stomach rumbled as she unpacked sandwiches and it was all he could do not to run over and snatch one out of her hands. Instead, he waited while James set Mellie into the ground. The goodbyes were short, but sweet, and all of them worked together to fill the ground back in.

“I wish Remus was here,” James said, as he cleaned his hands and sat down on the picnic blanket beside Lily.

Lily took his hand and kissed the back of it. “I know. I wish we didn’t feel like we had to rush this.”

“Mama would be happy,” Picksie sobbed. “to know there’s something worth celebrating tomorrow.”

“No she wouldn’t,” Sirius said. “She’d be annoyed and tell us the food and decor were all wrong, and get mad when we wouldn’t let her change it. And she’d be furious when tomorrow night —”

Lily elbowed him and cast a meaningful eye at Robards, outside the low hanging branches of the willow tree.

“Oh, what, like he’s got a pair of Extendable Ears tucked in that thick waistband of his?” Sirius snorted.

It was a solemn but pleasant picnic. James and Sirius swapped different stories about Mellie, everything from her patching up some of James’ worst Quidditch injuries to berating Sirius for leaving muddy pawprints in the kitchen. Picksie contributed some, but mostly she was quiet. She sat by James, holding a sandwich in her hands, though she never took a bite of it. Sirius wondered if she had eaten at all today. He didn’t blame her if she hadn’t.

Grief was not a new feeling for Sirius. He had grieved the deaths of friends, had grieved betrayals of friends, and had even grieved the loss of things he had never truly known, like what it was like to have a family who loved him. It wasn’t until he had met Euphemia and Fleamont that he had even understood that it was possible to have parents who cared, and he had spent years reevaluating what defined a family. His conclusion was that family was made of people who supported you and cared about you, even when you made monumental mistakes.

The Potters, Picksie, and Mellie had given him a home when he had none. James and Remus had stayed by him, even when he had betrayed Remus’ greatest secret to Snape. His Uncle Alphard had given him what he needed to strike out on his own, even when Sirius had already abandoned his family. Then Andromeda and Tonks had stayed by him, even when they had nothing to support him with. Lily had fought with him more than anyone in his life, even his mother, but he knew she would never leave him. She would never banish him from her life, no matter how much he frustrated her.

And when Harry had come along, Sirius was more than happy to add such a small, wonderful child to his family.

Regulus was a more complicated issue, but even as difficult as it had been to have him back, Sirius was glad of it. It was like reattaching a limb he had forgotten was lost.

Remus and Tonks’ wedding was a new monster of grief. Sirius didn’t want to feel abandoned — as he had pointed out to Harry, Tonks was family and Remus was pack. Nothing was changing, but it felt like everything was coming undone. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it, other than antagonise Lily for a distraction. Eventually, though, even that would grow dull, and the ache of losing Remus would remain. There wasn’t anyone he could really talk to about it, either. None of them would quite understand his grief — none of them except maybe Tonks and Remus.

Lily had packed a bottle of Firewhiskey, which James indulged in freely. Sirius abstained, though he would have appreciated something to take off the edges of his grief. He wondered if he would have this kind of self-control tomorrow, at Remus’ wedding. He hoped so. The last thing that they would need tomorrow night was a drunk duelist.

“You know,” James said, taking another sip of Firewhiskey, “I think she did it on purpose.”

Lily frowed. “What?”

“I think she didn’t want to say goodbye to this place again.”

“I think Mister James is right,” Picksie said quietly. “Picksie is not wanting to say goodbye either.”

“This will always be your home,” James said. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to, but it’s not going to be safe to stay.”

“Picksie will go where the Potters go,” she said. “Picksie will stay with her family, and when the Potters come home, Picksie will come home and build her house.”

“We’ll all help,” Lily said.

Sirius wanted to agree, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he took a sip of his water. The thought in his head was not appropriate to share, not here, not at Mellie’s grave. He had antagonised Lily enough these last few weeks. As much as he craved creating chaos to distract him from his grief, he refrained.

But though he kept his mouth shut, Sirius could not shake the thought that Lily’s words were a rather bold promise to make in the middle of a war when any one of them might die tomorrow.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

The Best Present - Ryan Seaman x Reader

Summary: The reader had a terrible Christmas Day in company of her family, but luckily her best friend Ryan drops by to save the day. Reader: female Word count: 4 549 A/N: My Christmas was not very good this year, and pretty close to how I’ve described it here, but instead of annoying relatives I have a bad cough now. So if the proof reading failed even harder than usually, it’s bc I’m sick.

“Fuck.”

Slamming the door to your room shut behind you, you leant your back against it, your head falling into your neck, and bumping a little bit too forcefully against the dark wood.

It was Christmas Day, usually a day of cheer and happiness all around, at least if you would believe all the TV movies, and the commercials, the shops, and your friends’ social media posts. But this year your reality was far from it.

You liked Christmas, always had, even though your family was not religious. For you it was less about religion than about the opportunity to meet with everyone, sit down over presents that acknowledged how much you appreciated each other, and have delicious food. It was a tradition, but not a religious one. And as childish as it sounded, you were always excited for the Christmas Days. Even as an adult you usually did not mind the stress it brought along. It was fun to think about what you wanted to get for who, you enjoyed writing Christmas cards, and you loved decorating and backing, and even had fun with helping your parents cook the Christmas Dinner.

But this year everything was different. You had gotten ill in the beginning of December, ruining the first week already, which left not as much time to do things like present shopping, and writing cards. Additionally to that your Christmas decoration had fallen victim to a flooded basement in spring, and since you did not want to spend all your savings on new decoration, there had been only very little of it in your flat this year.

Secretly you had hoped your mother might have found the time to do some baking, but that too had not happened, since your mother had gotten the flu, and had been sick for almost a month, now being just barely fine enough to not sleep the whole day. And that also explained the state of your parents’ house. Since your father did not care much for Christmas, and your mother had been very sick, there were only very few decorations here as well. The Christmas tree was the benjamin fig, a few plastic baubles, and a Christmas light trying to make it look at least a little festive.

All that would have been not all too upsetting. Also the fact that neither of your parents had made the effort to get you anything but money was okay to live with. Sure, you would have been happier about an ugly scarf, or some colourful socks, but you knew your parents had had enough trouble, and it had been easiest just to give the money to you so you could spend it on the stuff you liked. Not even the lack of festive food this year would have ruined anything for you, but all these things combined with the mood your parents were in, the constant bickering of your relatives, and the over the day increasing social anxiety finally managed to ruin this Christmas for you completely.

Of course it could have been worse; your parents telling you one of them had cancer, the house burning down, the relatives dying in a car crash- but just because it could have come worse did not mean you had no right to be upset. Up to a certain point you could understand why your mother was stressing about how the house was not freshly cleaned, and the shelves not dusted; your grandparents really were a pain in the ass when it came to cleaning. But she stressed herself so much that she almost started crying in the kitchen while the family had sat in the living room, having tea and not-Christmas-biscuits.

Your father was generally just annoyed with everyone and everything, and whenever you tried to help you did everything wrong, not to mention the debate about politics he started with your mother’s brother in law, which made you want to puke on the table.

And then there were your noisy grandparents, uncle, and aunt. They proudly told everyone about their kids, your grandparents letting you more or less directly know that they expected you to have kids soon too, until your aunt condescendingly stated that there had to be more than one reason that you were still single, and that it probably would not ever change.

While she was right about the reasons of you still being single, they were much different to what she was implying. For years you had been, in the beginning less, but recently more and more, in love with your best friend Ryan. And that was the first reason you were single. There was no way you were possibly ruining your friendship with him just to tell him what he meant to you. And the second reason was that, unlike your cousin, you did not throw yourself at people just to have sex with them, accidently get pregnant, and then having to marry out of social pressure.

So as soon as the whole “sitting together, pretending to be in a good mood”- situation was over, you had escaped to your old room under the roof.

Pressing your eyes closed, the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to talk to Ryan now. He was a drummer, the band, which he was currently a member in, on a steady rise to fame. Just the week before Christmas he had played shows away from home, so you had not gotten the opportunity to meet before Christmas, and you desperately missed him. Not only because it had been so long, but also because right now he was the only person who would be able to cheer you up.

Getting up from the floor, you walked over to your bed, where your mobile phone was charging. There had been a strict no-mobile-policy at the table today, not that your uncle had cared much about that, so you had left your mobile in your room. The second before your pressed the button to turn on the screen, you found yourself hoping that there would be at least a couple of messages from friends, but the only notification you had gotten was one of your co-worker’s Instagram, because she had posted a sickly sweet selfie of herself and her fiancé under the Christmas tree. Angrily you closed the app, and pulled up your phonebook.

You wanted to be happy too, you wanted to take sickly sweet selfies with your boyfriend, preferably Ryan, too, you wanted to go to Christmas markets with friends, wanted to put silly decorations up on your Christmas tree, wanted to have one of these picture book Christmas Days that everyone else pretended to have. Clenching your jaw, in order not to cry, you pressed Ryan’s name, patiently waiting for the lines to connect. There was some rustling on the other end, when he picked up.

“I can’t talk right now, I’m driving, I’ll call you back (y/n).”

And then he hung up.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on your bed. You knew it was right that Ryan did not want to talk while driving; he had no hands-free-kit. But your best friend not being able to talk to you when you needed him so much, fit so perfectly into this stupid day.

Downstairs people were talking. Your mother and grandmothers had disappeared into the kitchen, and your dad had wanted to show your uncle the newest external hard discs he had acquired, so you had taken the opportunity to get a moment for yourself, but now they had seemed to notice that you were missing. Knowing your quiet seconds were running out, you took a deep breath, and tried to think of anything that was not Christmas, your family, or Ryan.

Outside a car drove up the street, and you wondered if their Christmas had been as shitty as yours. But then the car slowed down, and you realised that, while you only recognised the sound of a single car in this world, this car had just stopped outside your house. Quickly you got up, and ran to your window, just to be sure, but of course it was Ryan’s car, that had pulled to the side of the street, right in front of your garden.

Forgetting that just a moment ago you had been all sad and close to tears, you ran out of your room, and almost bumped into your mother, who was on her way up the stairs.

“There you are,” she noticed, out of breath from still not having recovered from her flu.

“Here I am,” you agreed, and slipped past her, but you were not quick enough to reach the ground floor before the doorbell rang. Your uncle opened up, and even from one floor above, you could feel his judging glare at your best friend.

“Hello?” Your uncle asked, and you sped up your steps even more, desperate to save Ryan from getting any weird comments thrown at him.

“Hi, merry Christmas!” Ryan’s voice was as cheerful as ever, as if he had not noticed the hostility in your uncle’s voice.

“Who are you,” you uncle asked, and you knew he was close to throwing the door shut again.

“Oh, I’m a friend of- (y/n)!”

Almost falling over your own feet you finally reached the hallway, and came to a stop next to your uncle.

“Ryan! What are you doing here,” you asked, out of breath from running across the whole house.

“I’m here to wish you a merry Christmas! I brought cookies.”

Grinning brightly, he held out a tin box for you.

“We already had tea,” you uncle stated, and already reached for the door to close it into Ryan’s face, but you were quicker.

“Thank you so much, please come in.”

Ryan grinned and handed you the box, before he took off his shoes, and stepped into the warm house.

What followed was a long introduction to your whole family, your uncle and aunt being terribly displeased as to why someone who was not family dared coming over on Christmas Day, your grandparents not really caring, and your mother being delighted to see Ryan again; she had always liked him.

Luckily none of your family members seemed too keen on the company of the band shirt, leather jacket, skinny ripped jeans wearing musician, so you soon excused yourself to your room.

While Ryan had been over at your parents’ house a couple of times, he had never been to your old room, so you were not surprised to find him looking around curiously. You walked over to your bed and turned on the fairy lights that were wrapped around the head board, and lit the candle that stood in the window. When you turned back to Ryan, he awkwardly stood in the middle of the room.

“Come on, take your jacket off, sit down,” you encouraged, and walked over to your bed, sitting down yourself, patting the spot next to you.

Ryan shrugged off his jacket, and crawled on the bed, sitting crossed legged next to you.

“This is comfy,” he laughed, running his fingers over your soft day blanket.

“Thanks,” you laughed, “That’s why I own it.”

“Oh really! I thought it was because you knew the colour would make such a perfect addition to my clothes today,” Ryan joked and pulled the edge of the blanked over his legs as if he was posing for a camera.

“Idiot,” you grinned, and gently hit his leg, making him laugh even more, before he let himself fall to his back, his head resting on your pillow, his dark hair spreading around his head like a little halo. He looked so beautiful like that, you caught yourself thinking, and you wished you would get to see that every day.

“So your Christmas-” Ryan turned his head to look at you, “seems to be going well?”

You groaned and lay down next to him.

“Absolutely fantastic, as you probably already could tell from my uncle welcoming you so warmly,” you mumbled.

“I already guessed that much when you said your whole family was coming over,” he admitted, “is that why you called?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t take it anymore. Down there I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s- it’s like I’m completely out of place. Everyone is so proud of my cousin for getting that promotion, and for getting married, and she’s gonna have a baby, and they were so cute at the wedding, and oh my god!” You mockingly imitated your aunt’s fake high pitched voice. “But that she only got pregnant because she doesn’t know what a fucking condom is, and that the father was some poor random guy in a club who thought he could have a one-night stand with some chick, and then got forced into marrying her by my family, that’s what nobody mentions.” Annoyed you huffed. “Instead they are being portrayed as if they were the absolute dream couple now, and I’m expected to be just as brilliant as them.”

You couldn’t help the ramble, but it felt good venting to someone. Of course Ryan had already known the whole story, but he also knew that since the wedding in autumn, your family, especially your grandparents, had started to ask stupid questions, and you were almost certain downstairs was a big debate going on about what kind of relationship you had with Ryan.

“But you’re not, you’re more brilliant,” Ryan nudged your shoulder gently, a soft smile on his lips as you turned your head to look at him.

“Ha, that’s nice,” you responded, and you were not sure if you were being sarcastic or sincere.

“No, but seriously, you’re doing great too, in your own way! Hey, have you even told them that you’re going to be our official photographer from next year on?”

You smiled too, remembering how the label had, admittedly with a little encouragement from Ryan, who had gently nudged them into the right direction, asked you if you were interested in being iDKHOW’s photographer, and had offered you a contract, which you had gladly taken. The main problem about mentioning something like that to your extended family already started with your job itself. To them photography was no real job, since “everybody can take pictures”. And then telling them you would travel around the country with a band would probably start a civil war in your parents’ living room.

“Not yet, I thought about telling my parents over the weekend,” you explained, “if I break the news while my uncle and my grandparents are still here, we’ll have to call the cops or something because they’ll start bashing each other’s heads in.”

Ryan nodded, and for a while you were laying on the bed quietly, both thinking about your own problems. Or rather, Ryan was thinking about your problems with your family, and you were thinking about Ryan.

“Oh wait,” suddenly he sat up again, “I got you something.”

Jumping off the bed, he walked over to the door where he had put up his jacket on a hanger. Remembering you also had gotten him a tiny Christmas present, you lay on your stomach to reach over to the bed side table, from which you pulled the small bag with his gift.

Quicker than you expected, he was back on the bed next to you, tickling your sides, making you laugh until you were out of breath.

When he finally let you go, you sat up; hair dishevelled, and face red from laughing so hard.

“Here.” Grinning you stretched out your hand, offering him the small, velvet bag.

“No, you first,” he insisted, handing you a small box.

It was black, made from thick paper, and had a golden embossing, displaying the name of a jeweller’s shop. Carefully you opened the box, and found a thin, silver necklace. The links were so tiny that you wondered how it was even possible to craft something so delicate. The pendant was equally small and fragile, but you immediately recognized the round shape as a cymbal from a drum set, even the black logo of the Meinl company was realistically carved into the silver.

“That’s like giving me a necklace that says ‘this person belongs to Ryan Seaman’,“ you laughed, knowing that Ryan only played with cymbals from the Meinl company.

Ryan just grinned and shrugged with a smile, as he watched your take out the necklace.

“What’s that date?”

You had turned around the pendant, and found a date edged into the back of it.

“That’s when we first met,” Ryan confessed, “at that concert, remember?”

Of course you remembered. A friend had asked you to accompany her to a concert, and you had agreed, even though you had not known the band, but you had taken the liberty to practice your photographing skills a little. After the show you had bumped into Ryan at the bar, and recognised him as the drummer. You probably would not have payed too much attention to him on stage had your friend not pointed out that he was just jumping in for the regular drummer who had gotten terribly ill. Somehow your friend had timed her comment exactly to a moment in which Ryan was playing especially passionately, and you had been unable to tear your eyes off of him for the rest of the show. When you and your friend recognised him, she insisted on talking to him, and that’s how you had gotten to know each other.

“Has it really been this long,” you wondered, running your fingertips over the date of several years ago.

“Crazy, right,” Ryan nodded, watching you as you marvelled at the jewellery.

“Can you help me?” Holding out the necklace to him, you turned around a little.

He scooted closer, and took it out of your hands.

“Can you pull your hair aside,” he asked quietly, and you did as he asked, before he opened the clasp, and carefully put the fragile necklace around your neck. Trying to close the clasp again he struggled slightly, and it took a moment. His fingers were warm as they slightly brushed against the skin of your nape, and the tiny touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Done,” he eventually noted, “this clasp is seriously tiny.”

You smiled and turned back to him, your fingers automatically moving to the small pendant that was now resting on your pullover.

“Thank you so much, this is perfect,” you beamed.

“I’m glad you like it.”

For a long while you just looked at each other. It felt like you were getting lost in his dark brown eyes, a soft expression on his face as he took you in.

Suddenly there was a crash downstairs, followed by howling laughter, which tore you back into reality.

“Oh, I got you something too,” you finally remembered.

Once more you held out the small, velvet bag for Ryan to take, and this time he did.

Slowly he pulled open the two strings that had held the bag closed, and shook out a bracelet, made from cold shining steel. Between the links, exactly in the middle of the bracelet, was a plate, with an engraving.

“World’s Best Drummer,” Ryan read out loud, and laughed, “Seriously?”

“Well, I’m biased, but yeah,” you grinned, feeling yourself blush.

Honestly, you had debated for a long time whether you really should give Ryan the bracelet, but in the end it could either be funny or romantic, and as long as he would not explicitly ask, he would never know which of those two you had intended.

“This year is really drums centred, ey,” he joked, “help me?”

He held both his hand with the bracelet, and the other wrist out to you, so you scooted closer and took the metal out of his hand, and even though you had tried not to touch him, your fingertips brushed over his, the sensation shooting through your nervous system like a lightning bolt. The jewellery was heavy in your hand, and with skilled fingers you opened the clasp like Ryan had done with your necklace earlier.

He already held out his left hand for you, so you quickly wrapped the small chain around his wrist, and tried to close the clasp, but like him, you lost grip on the fine mechanics, and the one end of the bracelet slipped away. Nervously you looked at Ryan, but he was completely focused on your hands, watching how you tried to close the small carabiner hook. Quickly you focused back on the task, your fingers shaking slightly, which did not help. Finally, after almost half a dozen tries, you caught the eyelet, and were able to let go of the metal. Intending to pull back, you released an internal sigh, but suddenly, before you were able to move away too far, Ryan’s hands closed around yours, gently taking hold of them.

“Your hands are cold,” he noted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You just nodded. His hands were way bigger than yours, warm, and dry, steady, and somehow so familiar, even though he had never held your hands like this. A part of your mind was trying to panic, trying to make your heart race in your chest, trying to make you blush, but a bigger part suddenly felt very calm. Ryan’s presence alone always made you happier and calmer, and now that he was holding your hands, you felt completely at peace.

You knew he was watching your face, but you kept your eyes fixed on your hands, on the way his fingers wrapped around yours, and how he drew small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

After a while you grew aware of how close you were actually sitting; both facing each other, crossed legged, so close that your knees bumped against each other, your hands hanging between your bodies while Ryan played with your fingers, which you still had not averted your gaze from. Over time both of you had lent in, so that your foreheads were almost resting against each other, but only almost.

Downstairs voices were laughing too loudly; probably your mother had pulled out the egg nog, hoping to dissolve the tension. But this time neither Ryan nor you cared. You just looked at how his long, elegant fingers were brushing over yours again and again, an invisible pattern to an inaudible rhythm.

Somehow it filled you with sadness, thinking that this might be the only time you would hold hands with Ryan, and as if he had heard your thoughts, he tightened his grip around your hands, making you look up at him.

His face was a lot closer than you had expected, so close that you could feel the warm air of every single of his exhales on your skin. Everything about Ryan seemed to be warm, warm and safe and soft and inviting. Even his eyes held warmth as they scanned your face. The crinkles he had when he was smiling were gone, but there was softness in his gaze that you had never seen like this before. His skin was even and smooth, except for the jaw and around his lips, where he was not cleanly shaven.

You wonder if you had ever seen him shaven cleanly. Probably not. Your eyes wandered over his lips, which looked so kissable right now, or rather: always. When your gaze had wandered back to his eyes, you found he had been watching you the whole time. Curiously he tilted his head, just a tiny bit, and a smile pulled on his lips. And there they were, the crinkles, immediately playing around his eyes again, making you smile just as softly. You held his gaze, the strange feeling of him being able to look into your soul overcoming you all of a sudden.

Slowly your smiles faded, the expression of both of your faces just as loving as before. For a moment Ryan’s eyes flickered down to your lips, but when he looked back at your eyes, and you did not move to pull away, he took the courage and leant in, gently pressing his lips to yours in a hesitant kiss.

Even though you had seen it coming, your breath hitched, and your heart skipped a beat. His lips were soft, chapped, but soft, and just as warm as you had always imagined. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you shivered slightly when he let go of one of your hands, placing it at the side of your face, carefully holding you in place. For a good while the kiss stayed shy, timid, but as if suddenly something had snapped in Ryan, he unfolded his knees, and pushed you over, so you were on your back, never breaking the kiss, and instead deepening it. Since he had let go of your hands now, using the second to hold himself up over you so you were not crushed by his weight, you finally had the opportunity to use your hands too, one of them immediately traveling to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, while you gripped into his shirt with the other.

You had started to feel lightheaded a while ago, as if you were drifting away from the ground, and holding onto Ryan gave you the feeling to stay on the floor, until you realised your light-headedness originated in the lack of oxygen. But you could not care any less about that, not right now. Ryan was kissing you so desperately and so sweetly, that nothing else mattered. It was felt he was pouring all of the emotions he had ever felt about you into that kiss, wave after wave, not leaving a speck of doubt that he might not feel the same for you as you felt for him. Later you would learn that he had almost immediately fallen in love with you, from the first moment on, and that’s how he had remembered the date you had first met. But in that moment, in which he kissed you, that was just a distant suspicion, and did not matter, because your mind was too occupied trying to convey your own emotions as well as taking in all the feelings you were getting from him.

The peaceful moment was rudely interrupted by a heavy knock on the door, which made Ryan and you pull apart.

“(y/n), uncle and aunt are leaving, and they want you to say good bye,” you mother spoke through the door.

Quietly you sighed, and opened your eyes. Ryan’s face was closely hovering over yours, his cheeks pinks, his lips red and swollen, an annoyed but also slightly amused expression on his face.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” you answered your mother, loud enough for her to hear through the closed door.

When you heard her steps moving away from your room, you sighed again, this time a little louder.

“Merry Christmas,” you shook your head, clearly being sarcastic.

Ryan moved so you could sit up, and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, a grin plastered on his face as he felt you lean into his touch.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered softly, and kissed you again.

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @justawriterinprogress @robinruns @jayloverthe3rd @lookalivefrosty @butterfly-writes​ @angelevansfalls​ @rene-royale​ @500240​