#also I think his legs are paler than his face/hands which is. sad :(

[toastedclownery]

Wait I have thoughts about the Shrike shot now. No idea where or when this is but I wanna point something out

So we can see that all of his ink-fueled equipment is empty

AND the stuff that he usually keeps in his glasshole is out.

The glasshole that is also cyan. The color of ink-powered stuff

Did... Did his glasshole stop working too??

It glows like the rest of his stuff...

[thelov3lybookworm]

My Fault (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Starting over.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: Lol i just know half of you all gonna hate me for this, but this is the only way i could think of that would be good. I dont think making her end up with someone ese would have helped, so if you dont want her to end up with cass, then please dont read this.

also, why does sarah not tell us how people who cant winnow travel??? 😭😭😭

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Nina's excitement was palpable as Y/n slowly inserted the key into the front door of the home she shared with her husband, trying not to make too much noise in case he was in there, probably sleeping.

It was no use though, Y/n found out once she entered and ran up to her bedroom. Nina had just plopped down unceremoniously on the couch, telling Y/n to hurry up.

The moment Y/n pushed open the closed door to her and Cassian's bedroom -which she was sure was open when she left- she was hit with the strong scent of her husband.

Y/n froze on the threshold, staring wide eyed at her husband, who was on his knees in the middle of the room, fat tears rolling down his face.

He looked up, his eyes containing a world of pain and sadness and guilt and too may emotions that Y/n could not categorise them all.

"Cass?" Y/n mumbled, daring to take a step towards him. He released an anguished cry and launched forward, a dull thud echoing in his wake.

Cassian wrapped himself around Y/n's legs, sobbing into her abdomen. Y/n stared at the top of his head with furrowed brows, then rose her eyes to where he had been kneeling previously.

There, she found a worn diary lying on the wooden floor, left haphazardly. Y/n's blood chilled.

It was her diary.

Y/n usually hid it in her drawer, but she had been writing in it before she left to get coffee with Nina and everything went south.

Cassian had been gone more and more in the recent months, and to cope with all the sadness and need, Y/n began jotting down all that she felt in her empty diary.

And now he had read it all.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Y/n was still frozen when she realised that her blouse was sticking to her skin because of his tears. "Tell you what?"

"Everything. Why did you not tell me how much you'd been hurting? Why did you not tell me that I'd been a shitty husband?"

Y/n watched his shoulder shake with every violent sob that ripped out of his chest, numbness spreading through her. "You were never around long enough for me to say anything."

He sobbed harder at that, and Y/n couldn't take it anymore. She let her hand drift to the top of his head, gently caressing his soft hair.

"My love, why are you crying?" Y/n reached down, cupping his jaw and tilting his head back. She ran her thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that never stopped, her other hand still resting in his hair.

More tears flowed from his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but right at that moment, Nina spoke up from behind Y/n. Y/n hadn't even heard Nina walk up the stairs, so busy was she getting lost in her lover's eyes.

"Get away from her you bastard."

Y/n turned halfway, Cassian's death grip on her lessening just a little as he too peered from around Y/n. Y/n absently noted that Nina had left her bag down in the living room.

"Nina, please-"

"Y/n, don't. You just told me you wanted to leave, heal. What happened now? Are you having second thoughts?"

Y/n felt Cassian freeze, and she sighed, glaring at Nina. "You... you are leaving?"

"Thank you so much Nina, just what I needed." Y/n bit out, turning her back to her friend and glancing down at her kneeling husband. His skin was pale, paler than Y/n had ever seen him.

"What! I just helped you out! You had to tell him anyways!"

"Yes Nina, but I would have been more gentle!"

Nina huffed as Y/n grabbed Cassian's forearms and tugged. He complied, climbing to his feet as new tears gathered in his eyes. Y/n ignored her friend and grabbed Cassian's face tenderly in her hands.

"Cass? I... I need to leave."

"Why?" He whispered.

"I don't think I can handle letting your family walk all over me anymore. I need to stand up for myself. I'm sorry Cass, but I need to do this. Even if it kills me, I need to leave."

"I- they're your family too." His voice was quiet and uncertain, as though he knew Y/n would not believe him.

Y/n gave him a small, pained smile. "I don't think they feel that way."

"Please don't go Y/n. Rhys is feeling guilty for what he did. I'm sure everyone else is too. Maybe they're on their way here to apologise."

"Never seen anyone more delusional." Nina murmured from behind Y/n.

"Cass-"

Before Y/n could even get a word out, Nina piped up.

"If you really want to be with her, you can come with us. Leave this hell court."

Cassian ignored Nina again.

"Y/n, please don't go. I need you. We can all start over again. I promise they will realise how wrong they were."

"It's too late now. Give us a straight answer. If you love her, leave this place and come with us. If not, stay here and rot."

"Come on, Y/n. I can't leave them. They're my family."

"And she is not? You should not feel obligated to love someone because they're your family or whatever."

Cassian glared at Nina, then mumbled to Y/n. "Are you not going to defend me from her?"

"Like you defended her from your asshole family?"

Y/n could see Cassian trying to hold back a snarl at that, and she sighed, pinching her nose bridge between her forefinger and thumb. "Y/n. We need to talk. Alone."

Y/n nodded, glancing at her friend, who rolled her eyes. "I will be standing outside. Call for me when you're done."

She looked like she wanted to slam the door shut as she left, but she simply pulled it until it made a soft click.

Y/n turned to Cassian, offering him a tentative smile.

"Yes?"

Cassian took a step back. "I- I'll start from the beginning."

Y/n nodded uncertainly, wondering what he wanted to tell her. He grabbed Y/n's hand, gently tugging her to the end of the bed and sitting her down onto it.

"I... I don't know how to explain, but I'll try." Cassian took a deep breath as he settled into a kneeling position in front of Y/n. "First of all, I need you to know that I only ever kissed Nesta, and that was when I was drunk out of my mind."

He released a breath before continuing, clutching Y/n's hands as if they were his lifeline. "I... I know that isn't an excuse for what I did, and I never should have been at Rita's that night, but it happened, and I don't think anything I do or say will justify it.

"It started that day a year ago. When Rhys wanted to send me on a month long mission. Asshole, now that I think of it. I just now realise it for the plot it was." Cassian shook his head in disbelief. "He told me no one else could do it and that only I could do it. That should have alerted me, but alas, I now know that I'm very thick skulled."

A small giggle left Y/n, and Cassian's eyes rose to her lips, a little of life returning to the dull hazel. He smiled softly as his eyes met Y/n's, and her breath hitched. It had been far too long since the two of them had time like this.

"I remember you cried that day. That was the first time I'd seen you cry. I was so stressed because I did not want to leave you. That would have been the first time that I would be away from you for longer than a day. You told me you would write to me everyday."

Y/n could remember it very vividly. The way she had sobbed into Cassian's chest just as he was about to leave, the way she had stared up at him as his tears fell too. It had been a nightmare, to put it nicely.

"But you never did-"

Y/n interrupted him. "What do you mean I never did?"

Cassian glanced up at Y/n from where he was playing with her fingers, meeting her eyes with furrowed brows. "You never wrote to me? I never received any letters."

Y/n's lips parted in confusion. "I- I wrote to you everyday Cass. Sometime even multiple times a day."

Cassian stared at her in disbelief, and Y/n could see the gears in his brain churning. His mouth opened a few times, wanting to speak but no words coming out before realisation set in his features.

"Rhysand."

Y/n searched Cassian's eyes as anger and betrayal entered them, coming to the same realisation.

"Oh Cass." Y/n mumbled, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Fucker." Cassian said under his breath, his wings flaring slightly.

After a moment of Cassian cursing Rhys and his entire family line, he continued. "I never received those letters, so I was a little upset because I was looking forward to writing you. When I returned, I decided that it would be best to give Rhys all the information I had before coming home so I could spend some days with you, locked away with no one interrupting us.

"But when I arrived, Rhysand said things about you that riled me up. He told me that he had asked you multiple times if you had to send any letters and that each time you told him to, basically, fuck off. I did not believe him, but it kept happening every time I was gone, to the point where I was starting to wonder if you liked me at all."

Cassian rested his head on their joined hands, releasing a deep breath. "I never should have believed that bastard, never should have doubted you. And I will forever regret that. Rhys also kept up with his manipulating to get me away from you, I see that now. I should have stopped him the first time he said things about you, but I guess I didn't want to upset him after everything he's done for me."

"He is your family, isn't he? He would not have expected anything of you." Y/n told him, making him nod.

"I know. Recently, after Feyre and her sister's arrival, Rhys started to gaslight me into thinking I liked Nesta. He made me spend more time with her, train her. He got so much out of it. For one, he could get me away from you, whatever his reasons. By assigning me to Nesta, he could keep her busy and out of the way.

"He... he really fucked up my mind. He is a daemati after all. Yesterday at Rita's, I realised something was wrong. That I couldn't put up my shields properly. Then the next thing I knew, I was kissing Nesta. I left soon after, not wanting to be near any longer."

He sucked in a tired breath, his hold tightening on Y/n's hands. She gave him a gentle squeeze and he continued. "Today, when I was about to come home, Rhys convinced me to stay till dinner. And I just... somehow couldn't say no. It was like- like..."

Cassian trailed off, his wide eyes meeting his wife's.

"Oh Cassian." Y/n slid onto his lap, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry he did that to you. I wish I had known what was happening sooner so I could stop it from ever happening."

Cassian shook his head, staring at the wall behind Y/n's head, his features distant.

"Not your fault. You could not have stopped it from happening."

Y/n knew that, but that didn't stop her from wanting to rip off Cassian's brother's head. Hell, she wished at least she's gotten a little bit of power from her parents so she could do anything to stop what Rhys had been doing to Cassian.

She could not even winnow, so what was she even worth? At least this Nesta was powerful enough to be mated to Cassian.

"I just- I just don't understand why he wanted you to be with Nesta."

Without moving his eyes, still that far off look on his face, Cassian mumbled. "She is my mate, and the mother pairs people who can produce the strongest offspring." Finally, Cassian met Y/n's gaze, his eyes haunted. "He wanted me to produce as strong as an offspring I could."

Y/n's heart broke for her husband. She knew how much the high lord mattered to him, and the betrayal she felt would probably not even compare to what he was feeling.

Cassian opened his mouth on a gasp, about to say something when knock drew their attention, stopping Cassian from speaking.

"Are you done yet?" Nina's voice called out. Y/n looked from the door to Cassian. He stared at the door like it had caused him some personal offence. "The caravan will not wait up for us, and only an hour is left-"

"Caravan?" Cassian questioned Y/n, turning to look at her as his hands fell to her waist. Y/n nodded.

"Neither of us can winnow, so Nina had to contact a friend who knew of an agent. He technically transports people from one court to another on horse and carriages."

Understanding entered his eyes. "You- you really were going to leave."

Y/n nodded, making to pull away from him so she could start packing up. His hold on her tightened.

"Please don't go. I need you. I will make it up to you, I promise. I will wait forever if that's what it takes to earn your forgiveness." His eyes were again filled with tears, making it harder for Y/n to turn away.

"Cass... I won't forgive you. Not anytime soon at least. But... maybe I can give you one last chance."

The tears overflowed from his eyes even as a huge grin split his face. "Thank you. Thank you so much my heart. I will not let you down again."

Y/n studied him for a moment, smiling when he started laughing softly while wiping at his tear stained cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. Y/n gently pushed back some stray strands of hair from his face, placing a kiss on his forehead.

"Maybe we can start all over again. Like we never knew each other."

Cassian nodded. "Even though what good times we had together are precious to me, I don't think we can mend this. We need to start over."

Y/n smiled wide for the first time in what felt like months, genuine joy singing through her blood. "Let's get ready then."

•○🌑○•

Nina's pov.

It was around ten minutes after that the door opened, and Nina nearly fell to her knees and thanked the mother for it. She was getting bored standing out here all by herself.

And in the next moment Nina wondered if she was dreaming.

Y/n stood in the doorway, a huge smile and blush on her face. That was not what shocked Nina, though it played a part in it.

No, it was Cassian, who stood behind Y/n, holding two duffel bags over his shoulder, a quiet joy on his face.

Nina rose a brow at the couple, who only grinned. Releasing a disbelieving sigh, Nina pushed away from the wall she was leaning against.

"I had booked an extra seat just in case. Thank the mother I did."

Y/n grabbed Nina in a quick hug, and her happiness brought a small smile to Nina's lips as well.

Y/n turned and practically skipped down the stairs, happy to leave. Cassian moved to follow, but Nina caught his arm. He looked down at her, his brows raised high.

"Don't you dare hurt her now. Or I will fucking carve your wings from your back. Understood?" If possible, his eyebrows rose higher, almost disappearing into his hairline. Obviously, Nina wished Y/n never forgive him, but Nina also knew how happy the brute made her best friend, and that was all Nina could ask for.

He studied her for a moment, then nodded, pulling his arm away from her. "Hmm. Good."

With that, both of them followed Y/n, ready to start all over again, make a new life.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @awkwardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @blogforficslol @fasoaurore @fanboyluvr @darling006 @sonics-atelier @saltedcoffeescotch @lees-chaotic-brain @leeknows-wife

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts

[igotanidea]

Morpheus reading his fanfiction pt 2

Here;s the next part of fanfiction reading. Part 1 can be found here

WARNING: I can't believe it <facepalm> SMUT

-Keep your voice down, Dream! Do you want the whole Realm to hear you?

He looked at me with angry pout but did lower his voice

-What do you mean smut section? What even is that?

-Oh, Dream, for an eternal, endless being you can be so oblivious at times. You know smut are the stories when you meet a girl and fall for her.

-I don’t . …

-And God! You are paired with so many different races…..

-Stop it. – he warned

-Humans, witches, fairies, goddesses – y/n rolls her eyes as she’s chanting - I’m pretty sure I even saw a fallen star story somewhere. Not to mention a fan fiction when you got Hob’s daughter pregnant.

-I… I did what? That is outrageous. Not to mention the fact Hob does not have a daughter.

-Are you sure? – I smirked – besides, aren’t you the most tender lover who praises the one who captures his heart – I narrowed my eyes at him playfully – and all the descriptions –I blew a raspberry – I mean.. wow!

-That is enough! – Dream abruptly stood from his chair almost tripping it over. He took a few steps towards me, and got me surprised by the course of action. Damn it! His miscomprehension of personal space making my breath hitch.

-Is it? I thought you wanted to know all about it. It’s still a story and you always said you like a good story.

-Than shall I make you describe it in details? – he asked grabbing my chin forcing me to look at him. Shit! Abort! – I thought to myself knowing well enough my pose was crumbling and I was giving myself away. This wet emo of a cat knew exactly the game he was playing at that moment. There was no way he didn’t notice my blushed cheeks and my heart race fastening.

-Well, wouldn’t you like that? – two can play this game, but it takes a lot of me to stop my legs from trembling and keep my voice cool. As I leaned closer, our faces were merely inches apart, my breath on his face. Just a second that seemed like an eternity before he pulled away and sat back on his chair. That left me with a mix of opposed feelings - satisfaction that I did not break but also some sort of… disappointment. He backed out so easily.

-Talk – Morpheus waved his hand around pretending that he didn’t care anymore. Liar.

-Well – I taped my chin with index finger and started circling the room like a predator hunting a prey – there’s this one particular memorable story. You met a girl, obviously. A female you utterly fell for. But, oh, how sad she did not reciprocate –I was now standing behind his chair pouting in fake sadness. – And what does the Dream Lord do when someone defies him? – I leaned so now I was devilishly whispering in his ear – I think someone may have an opinion on that…..

-y/n … - Dream warned but did not turn or took any action to really stop me

-Thankfully, the author of this story was merciful. So, you, I mean, Lord of Dreams, gave the girl so much love and affection and was simply so caring and gentle that she finally, finally – I emphasized the words- fell for him too. And, god, what a sensual fall it was. It took all night and some part of the day as well, if I remember correctly. After all, an Endeless have much more stamina than any human man. 

-This is your last warning.- I may be delusional, but I believe Morpheus’ breath was slightly fastened, eyes glistening with something I could not decipher.

-But you wanted me to describe it – I tilted my head innocently, now standing right in front of him – I’m just following your order. So shall I characterize more? That may be actually hard since from then there were not much words in this story. More like… sounds – I looked at him with smugness all over my face but started laughing immediately.

Dream just sat in his chair with blank, emotionless face, his eyes fixed on some undetermined point in space, emptiness behind them. His arms just fallen by his side. He was even paler than usual, which I did not think possible and did not move for a while which made me chuckle even more.

Oh my god – I thought – I broke him – another giggle escaped my mouth – I literally blew his mind.

It took a couple of minutes of this stillness to actually made me worried. What if I really did broke the Dream Lord? Maybe that was a bit too much teasing for him.

-Dream? – I crouched next to him – Morpheus? Are you ok? – I tried to look into his eyes, my hand resting on his thigh.

No answer.

-Do you want me to tell you another story? – I continued

Nothing. Again.

At this point I started to slightly panic. Should I call Lucienne or Matthew or….?

-Don’t even think about it – he finally hissed, his vision sharpening as he knew exactly that I was considering calling the reinforcement.

-Oh, thank god, I thought you were gone for good.

-Were you worried? – he looks at me teasingly..

-You wish – I scoffed – I wouldn’t want to have a vegetable of a Dream Lord on my hands. Did you manage to wrap your head around this story I was telling? – I asked - Well, that was just the begging, so….

-I think that’s enough – Dream said with shaking voice ­ - please

-Did you just …  - I looked at him confused, not believing the word he used – Oh, Dream…  - I shook my head at the sight of the mighty Lord of Dreams with watery, sad eyes looking at the floor – Hey, I’m sorry, but you wanted to know.

Silence.

-Why are you acting like this? There’s nothing wrong in those stories. At least not in this kind of smut. The dark, however… - I smirked again, but seeing Morpheus sad face did not finish the sentence.

-I have my own share of sad love stories. It never ends well. So hearing about the ones that actually works….. – he shook his head.

-Come on’ Dream. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You are an eternal being of a thousands of years… you can have your happy ending. Just not while looking like a sad wet cat.

-Mention this once again and I shall not be so understanding – he stopped sulking and looked at me with anger .

-Ok, hey, hold the fire! – I raised my hands in surrender – It brought the effect of knocking you out of your misery, after all. Now come on, I’m sure everyone is looking for their King. And … if I were you.. I would make sure that this section of library is restricted area

-How about I only make it possible for us two to enter here. I might need some sort of further explanation in the future. – he whispered to my ear standing right behind me. Close behind me.

-Explanation, my king? – I asked softly tiling my head just a tad towards him – I don’t think I understand what you mean by that….

-Oh you know perfectly. Is it not what you wanted after all, love?- he lowered his voice and I shivered involuntarily.  

Shit.  I fell into my own trap. By the way it’s unbelievable how erratic he can be in his behavior. A second ago he was almost crying and now he’s trying to be the man? Shit. Shit.   

-So, what do you say? – his hands were now on my waist and I freezed completely. –Hmm? Why so quiet now?

-I… I … - I stuttered but quickly spun around in his arms gathering myself and placing my hands on his neck – from what I know, you like being dominant so why don’t you show me if that’s true, my King.

-I hate you – he hissed and the next thing I knew was his lips on mine. Contrary to what I said to him before he was not rough or dominant at all. There was some particular gentleness and care in all of his action. Almost like I was some delicate, porcelain doll he was afraid to brake. Of course, it was still a kiss full of passion that he was hiding underneath, covering it from the world afraid of letting his guard down. And damn, I was always the one who thought myself unable to be taken by cliché romantics but I was melting under his touch.

-I apologize – he pulled away after a while that seemed both like eternity and a second, for sure not enough. His eyes were shining and he was definitely not sorry for what he did, more like awaiting my reaction. And that was good, because shit I did wanted more.

-Come back here – I whispered pulling him back to me by the lapels of his coat and pressing all my body against him, tangling my hands in his silky hair.

He was quick to reciprocate as he grabbed me tighter than it seemed physically possible. His hands was roaming at my sides playing with the hem of my shirt trying to touch every inch of bare skin he could. Feeling him get rid of the hidden tension I  slid my palm underneath his shirt tracing his sculpted muscles. Oh, shit! This is gonna be the end of me – I thought when I felt his soft lips moving towards my neck reaching the soft spot between the collarbone and the shoulder and making me moan.

-There you are – he smirked.

-Don’t you have enough of this? – I groaned impatiently. My most sensitive part was already pumping and aching feeling and well, hoping for what was coming.   

-No – he muttered against my skin moving lower and lower and…. – you had your fair share of teasing so why shouldn’t I?

-Morpheus! – I grabbed his hair so I could look him in the eyes – do not test my patience, now.

-Tell me what you want then. Tell me exactly what you want. – God, his eyes, his voice, his lips…... What was he doing to me? It was like my whole rational thinking just flew out of the window. It was only him and me.  

-I want you to touch me. I want to feel you whole. I want to know you want me as bad as I want you now.

-I do – he moved back to my lips whispering between kissed – I want you. I want to worship you like a goddess you are.

-Less talking, more action – I whispered back.

He smirked and without taking a single step, in the blink of an eye, we were in private chambers. Well, calling it a chamber may be a bit much since the only furniture there was really the king sized bed. Truly, the only necessary one. Without breaking the kiss which was becoming more and more heated Morpheus was walking me backwards towards it, holding me flush against him to prevent me from falling. Laying me down on the soft cushions and silky sheets may have been the most intimate moment I’ve ever experienced and we were only starting.

-Morpheus – I gasped when he climbed on top of me, slowly pulling my shirt up

-I love it when you say my name – he whispered freeing me of my bra and starting unbuttoning my pants along with underwear – say it again – he kissed my inner thigh which did not stop his hands from massaging my breast causing heat waves to roll through my body

-Morpheus – I moaned unable to control myself. - this is not fair - I tugged at his coat trying to slid it of him. With a single thought he made the clothes disappear and the view made me shiver again.

-You are divine. – he slowly moved towards the place when I needed him most. I can’t believe I needed some stories to actually make a move – he started working on my clit and it send me over the edge. No coherent phrase in my mind, almost like my brain just shut off leaving the place only for the senses and the overwhelming pleasure.

-Please – I begged him – please, get to the point.

-You are so impatient, my love – Dream left my soft spot and started moving up, leaving a trail of kissed on my stomach, breast, neck and finally capturing my lips again. It was just a couple of minutes and I’ve already missed their feeling on mine.

-Don’t tell me I’m the only one – I smirked, eyes closed feeling him hardened at my entrance.

-Impatient and cheeky. Open your eyes, I want to see your emotions. Each of your perfect features. Tell me, does it feel good? – he slightly moved forward preparing me for entering.

-Oh, shit, this is … this is…

-Tell me – he attacked my neck again sucking the delicate skin and leaving marks there and I immediately tangled my fingers in his hair pulling a little and making him groan.

-Overwhelming.

-Good – he muttered and with one thrust entered me.

-Oh, fuck! – I screamed but he was quick to shut my mouth with his own,  picking up on the pace. I started to writhe and wince underneath him fully at his mercy.

-Does it make you hurt, love?  - he asked with concern seeing my expression.

-No! no, just move faster, please. I’m so… close. Give me all, please. Please.

-I will. You shall have it all.

-Oh, God, Dream, I’m yours, please don’t stop. Please, I …. – I gasped when I finally reached my high. Stars exploded, worlds collided and I could not care less if anyone heard me when I came and screamed his name at the top of my lungs. Dream followed me soon after exploding inside, fulfilled. We both got what we wanted even if it was in the most unexpected way.  I was lying on my back desperately trying to catch my breath when I felt Morpheus’ arms sneak around me pulling me close to his chest.

-Shh. Shh, my love. I’m here. I;m yours now as you are mine –he was gently stroking my messy hair bringing me down to earth - How are you feeling? Was it good? – he kissed my temple rubbing my back.

-I feel …. happy – I simply said – cherished. Satisfied.

-Loved? – he whispered causing me to prop myself on the elbow to look at him carefully. Was he serious?

-I though you didn’t need love?

-I never said that.

-But…

-I only mentioned that my love stories never ended well.

-Quite a moment to reminiscent on that. – I muttered pouting

-Apologies. – he pulled me in again – My imprisonment changed me and I really am hoping I could turn the fate around. Hopefully, you will be there to help me. I do not intend on letting you go. The question is – will you have me?

-I will – I whispered – like Hell I will. – I promised

-Thank you. – he rubbed his nose against mine – I think I was holding back what I feel for you for too long

Who knew that fanfiction would be the spark you needed. – I smiled as he pulled me closer and we just stayed like that enjoying the moment of intimacy. This was a beginning of something that was yet to be determined.

[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Angst fic with Damiano David

prompt: a angsty about reader being sad (dami bff) 'cause damiano doesn't feel the same way romantically. ps. there's a lot of victoria de angelis being a angel in this fic, and it's basically about reader going through it.

warnings: none? it's just a bit sad and longer than usual.

 All the soft touches still tingled all over your body. His scent was until now stuck to you, you never thought you’d feel happy to have woody essence along with cigarette smoke on you. 

 Folding the sleeve of his sweater, you put your tea in one of the cups you always use when you were there. His cotton piece was comfortable, making you didn't regret wearing it in the morning; it was cold and wearing your tank top from the night before didn't feel right. The shorts from yesterday, that were making your legs freeze were enough trouble for you to handle. The remnants of your clothes and belongings were collected from the floor of his room and placed carefully on his headboard, you made sure you were being quiet. Damiano has always been a heavy sleeper, but your counscious prevented you from risking disturbing him when he looks so peaceful. You had already spent much time at his place so you memorized where every thing in his kitchen - and others rooms - was; baking eggs and making tea wasn’t a mystery for you. You had even separated a Tylenol tablet for Damiano, so he could have it with his tea when he woke up with a wicked hangover. He wasn't the type to get drunk and forget what he did, nor were you. Since when you were teenagers, you have gone out and been drunk together a lot of times, and although your feelings were already present, nothing never happened. This time, however, alcohol helped injecting a dose of courage on him. Being honest with yourself, you didn't remember who started it; but the kiss in the midst of the loud music, his hand on the back of your neck, the exchanging glances while dancing and the moment he took you home, they were pretty vividly in your mind. You still felt relaxed, as if his sweaty body was still over yours. Minutes with your eyes closed was enough to feel his eyes roaming your body all over again.

“Hi,” he said in a slurred voice, cutting off your line of thoughts. You jumped, briefly scared but soon turned your attention to reality; a tired Damiano scratching his eyes in front of you.

He was dressed, wearing sweatpants and sweatshirt, duly comfortable according to the weather. 

 “Headache?” You knew he was. He was always a good drinker, he put up with it a lot, but he was never one to get rid of the effects of alcohol on the next day. You, on the other hand, got on better with this issue; fortunately from the night before, only the good moments remained with you.

“Yeah, a bit,” he giggled. “What a night, I’d say.” He added, in a lower tone. What was acceptable, you also felt a bit weird to be in front of him.

“I got you some pills,” you pointed it out to him on the counter, trying to maintain a normal behavior; with no shacking voice or sweaty hands. Quite impossible. “I made tea too.”

“Dear God, you’re a life saver!” He smiled at you, eyes crinkled and all of his perfect teeth on display. Contagious.

You grinned, feeling your body getting lighter. “No worries. I’m glad to help.”

“Y’know, when I woke up and saw that you weren't there I thought you were gone. You know? Friendship destroyed and that whole thing. I’m happy to see you; relieved.” He took a sip of his tea, and maybe a bit of your heart with it. You were an explosion of feeling when it comes to him, you always have been. “That sweater looks good on you, you can keep it if you want. You know that’s my fave one.” And, yeah, you knew.

The tension on you was no longer intense, comforting you to let out the breath you were holding. “It’s good to hear that,” Your genuine smile managed to say many things, you wished Damiano had noticed you earlier on other occasions. “Do you remember that one time, when we were younger, that you were a bit crazy about a girl; Alice was his name.” You stopped; in need of air - nervous - and watched Dami's attentive face. “She was the first person to whom you dedicated a song, you played it to her at school break. The cutest thing I had ever seen. I think it was there that I realized, a little jealous—“

“Y/N,” his voice had been almost inaudible, causing no effect. Had he really tried?

“How in love I was with you.”

His face was paler than usual, he was paralyzed; speechless. You had never seen Damiano like this, the men was always all over the place in a sweet talkative mess.

It took a few minutes for you to be able to read his expressions and realize how fucked up you were. The dose of happiness in your blood had been able to manipulate you to believe in what you most wanted to happen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” your blood had gone up to your ears, all you could pay attention to was the pressure in your head. How had you thought that after one specific night he would suddenly decide that he was in love with you? After all of this time that you were just a good friend for him? “I’m truly sorry but I’m don’t—“

“Feel the same way?” You finished. He nodded, apprehensively. You have never felt so stupid. It was a mixture of shame, fear and insecurity. You were unable to look directly at him, you knew that there was no change in following a friendship after what you just said, much less after the night before. You had never been so screwed.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing, I shouldn’t have said a thing.” You whispered, realizing that the lump in your throat had turned into tears that you didn't even know were running down your face.

“Come here,” he opened his arms, walking towards your emotionless frame. You allowed yourself to melt in his grip. 

 Your tears fell freely; you could even try to hold it back but there was no strength left for you to think about it. Your crying was silent, as was the kitchen room. Your head was full of questions and cursing at yourself. Suddenly you wished Damiano had yelled at you, asked you to get out of there or said he wouldn't never speak to you again. It seemed easier to deal with it in this alternative way than to have him comforting you for loving him. “Shh, it’ll alright. I could never be mad at you.”

He talked about your friendship, but you knew that nothing would end up well. Maybe for him. But for you? It’d not be that easy. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have known better, you were so loving with me last night that I thought— Fuck, we slept together. Which I know isn’t your fault because I don’t even remember who—“

“Stop, Y/N. Look at me,” He was being careful. You were making a person like Damiano calculate his words, that made you feel like pure shit. You stopped talking, looking at him was still difficult. He understood that you wouldn’t be doing so. “That’s fine. I don’t feel bad about you liking me in that way, you’re wonderful. I don't regret anything, last night was great, but I just... don't feel the same. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I can't even imagine how hard it’s being for you right now.” His words sounded sweet and sincere. He had tears in his eyes as well. His ability to be so empathetic to everyone was something you loved the most about him. He was probably killing himself on the inside for breaking you.

You nodded, leaning on the counter. You wanted to ask him if he remembered that he was your first kiss at the age of seven or all the times he sent you vinyl records with some message - that he had written himself - inside the cover. How did he not feel the same, shouldn't you be everything he wanted?

“Dami?” You sighed. Your eyes were red, your face probably swollen. You then looked straight at him; that surprisingly wasn’t much better than you. “Have you ever looked at me and seen me in another way? Something more than just your best friend?”

He didn’t say a thing, just look at you standing there. You get it.

“I think I should go,” You broke the silence that had been formed. You thought about taking his sweater off, but since you weren't wearing anything underneath, you thought it was better not; you’d have to go to his room to change, and then pick up your things only to delay your leaving.

“I can drive you home,” he said in a hush, looking for his car keys.

“It’s okay, a walk will be fine.”

“It’s fucking freezing outside, I can't let you walk over there like that.”

You ignored what he said, walking around the house to the front exit. He tried to grab your arm just for you to step back.

“I know you're just trying to help, but I need to be alone right now, without you near me.” You tried to say it in the most normal way possible, you didn't want to be mean, you only wanted to be fair to yourself.

“Sure.” It was the last thing you heard him say before you left, feeling the cold wind on your body. You didn't know if he had entered his house again or if he was watching you hug yourself as walking slowly to somewhere. You wouldn't dare to look back.

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

“C’mon girl, get up here,” Upon hearing the husky, strong voice, you were relieved. 

 Victoria wasn’t wearing her usual jewelry and looked like she had just been woken up by force. You weren’t as close to her as you were with the other boys, however, you had never been so happy to see her.

You got in her car. “Thank you,”

“God, you look terrible. You’re fine?” You looked at your reflection in the rearview mirror and well, fine was definitely something you didn't look like.

“Dami asked you to come and get me?” Your throat was scratching, it was difficult to speak.

“Yeah,” she looked at you quickly, but due to your discomfort she backed off. More tears would come. “He didn't say why though, he just said he needed someone to come to you before you froze to death.” She said it in a way that made you laugh, even with your eyes filled with tears. “Did the two of you have a disagreement? You don't have to answer me if you don't want to.”

“Something similar.” You said shakily; due to your crying and chilly. Inside the car was heated, but your body was so cold that it didn't seem to be enough. You tried to snuggle in the passenger seat, letting your head rest against the window like in a sad film. Maybe that’d help.

“Here,” she handed you a coat, without hesitation you took it. “I brought it to you in case you needed it.”

You nodded slowly. “Thank you, Victoria,”

“You can call me Vic, just like everyone else,” she laughed.

You gave her a half smile. “Okay then, thank you very much, Vic,”

The rest of the day would be crying while you curled up in your bed, you’d let yourself feel at your worst; promising that you would try and change that the next day.

———----------------------------------------------

You expected the first few days to be the hardest, but it seemed to get worse with each passing day. Damiano had tried to call you a few times and in all of them you responded dryly, using short words, pretending it’d be okay. You truly tried, but you needed time to process what happened. You told him that, and then time he gave you.

After completing a month of the incident, you noticed how 'dependent' you had become on him. He was always around since you were kids, any problem you had you would look for him to talk to, now you felt like you had nothing. Your friends were friends of his, too, more of his friends than yours. You missed having Thomas failing on teaching you how to play guitar on your couch and besides you thought about calling him - just to distract yourself - you remembered that he was more a friend of Damiano than yours. It’d be weird. None of them contacted you at that time, not even Thomas. You couldn't figure it out if Dami had told them what happened and they decided to give you space or if they just didn't care about you when you wasn’t around Damiano.

Basically, where Dami was you would be and vice versa. It had always been like that.

When you saw that just time wasn’t solving anything, you programmed yourself to live in a way that you were busy all the time. Your routine became work, home and most of the time taking the work to be done also in your home. You didn't feel energized to make new friends, and going out on dates could help momentarily but it wouldn't be fair to go out with someone in the ‘mood’ you were in; then these ideas were soon discarded. Sleeping was impossible, you spent hours rolling over in bed; both for the flashbacks that plagued your mind, but also for the fact that you missed him. The nights were worse when you visit your mother or when she called and said, "Dami never came to see me again." or something like. “Are you still talking to each other? We don't let someone like Damiano leave our lives.”

Deep down, you knew there was no way you could be in love with him forever and that no matter how much it hurt at that moment it would pass. You started to repeat it to yourself as much as you could, so when the boys got in touch with you again you didn't hesitate to answer. Nothing bad would happen, you just need to pretend to be fine. The first to send you a message was Thomas, with simple questions, he acted like nothing had happened, you liked it. Even though it was obvious that Thomas, as one of his boys, would know this in more detail than you did (which was a lie, but at least he knew how Damiano was feeling about it, which you wouldn't know). He updated you about Dami, who was great as always, and you said you were doing well when he asked. You answering him made Ethan talk to you too, although they were all polite and delicate, they seemed more to be sorry than to miss you. Pity wasn’t something you were expecting.

After five months, you still felt like crap. You had tried to stop counting the days that had passed since you last saw Damiano, but it was almost impossible. You could still remember that night vividly, but you were still trying your best to move on; leave it behind. Mysteriously, you wanted to see him, see how he was doing and find out if he had anything else to say but you were afraid to see him, go back to your place as his best friend just to realize that your feelings for him had not abated at all.

“...I haven't seen you in a while. I wonder if you're alright,” you heard when answering your phone. Your head hurt, your eyes stung. You had slept on spreadsheets that you brought home from your work.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Shit,” she murmured.

You looked at the phone screen. “Sorry Vic, I just woke up I'm still trying to copy.” You laughed to calm her down.

“I thought I didn't have my number,” her voice became softer, as if she was relieved that you had saved it. “I didn't want to wake you up, I'm sorry about that. I just wanted to know how you‘re doing, since I used to see you almost every day, y’know?”

You thought about saying that you saved her number the day Dami called to pick him up at a bar since his phone battery was dead and he was in no condition to drive, but Victoria clearly knew that. “Is Dami with you?”

“No,” her tone matched yours; Dami had told her, now she was being careful with her words. “I saved your number the day Dami needed to call you, in case I needed to call you again.”

“That’s alright, thanks for checking on me then.”

“But he would love to talk to you. He always asks the boys about you or comments on you so that someone can bring you up to the convo. He seems a bit lost when you not ‘round to be honest.”

Somehow hearing that made you happy. Still, the image of discomfort whenever you thought of talking to him scared you. The phone line was filled with silence, until Victoria's husky voice filled the line.

“Anyway, I didn't call you to talk about Damiano. We finally finished the album and decided to have a small celebration at my house,” you giggle at the formality. “We thought you should go, since you were present in more than half of the process. I‘d like you to come. We’d all like you to come.”

———

Your heart accelerated with each step you took as you entered Victoria's house. The rooms had a glow of being calm and the music that was playing helped to make the place cozy. The instrumental of the band reminded you of Fleetwood Mac, and for the little that you knew Vic you would say that the type of sound reminded you of her. 

 Her house wasn’t crowded, there were only a few people around; some you’ve seen before, some you haven’t. You thundered your fingers over some vinyl that were arranged in a corner, pretending to read them. You were looking for familiar faces, honestly even for Damiano, but for some unknown reason you didn't want to make that obvious. Your eyes captured Thomas talking to some girls, and soon you felt relieved to be dressed according to the occasion; or at least according to the girls who were close to Thomas. It didn't take long until he noticed you standing there, you waved and he came to you. He looked surprised, still he didn't wait for you to say anything else, just wrapped you in his arms so tight you had to ask him to let go in between muffled laughter.

“Vic working miracles! Come, I'll take you to the others.” He said in his cute form, holding your hand as guiding you through the house. “So, how's our best girl?”

Your lips parted in a smile. “I’m alright, pretty much the same to be honest,” there was no time for him to ask another question because you soon spotted Ethan and Victoria with their beers in hands. They seemed to be shocked to see you as well; and it was starting to irritate you for reasons you couldn't explain. Thomas put you behind him, hiding you from the two of them as if they hadn't seen you already. He was being such a sweetheart that he had even managed to soften the anxious butterflies in your stomach; but not enough to keep your mind free of worries and Damiano David. Thomas made a funny noise with his hands as Ethan ignored his attempt to be amusing, pulling you into a hug. Who would have thought you would have missed them so much.

“How long without seeing you, I force you not to do that again. Without you we are just another disorganized mess.” You laughed at his nonsense. Your smile was sincere, like it hadn't been for months, still you were forcing yourself a bit more to appear to be actually 'fine'. You’d like to know if they noticed, even though you were appreciating that they didn’t.

“No worries, I‘m not planning on leaving you guys alone.”

 Ethan and Thomas started to discuss about something, Ethan was already under the effect of alcohol, and from time to time they asked for your opinion on how Victoria had been strangely quiet. Atypical of her, but she didn't seem to be out of place or uncomfortable, just quiet.

“Did a cat eat the tongue of my newest attractive friend?”

“Not this time,” she showed you her tongue, and then smirked. Her eyes shone in differently way under your gaze and her make up was making her look more mature. “Are you feelin’ good? Thank you for coming.” Victoria was happy to see you, you could feel that. She might be curious, but pity wasn’t something possible to see in her; different from the other boys. “You must be tired of hearing that question, I'm sorry. It‘ll no longer be asked.”

Her voice was soft, comfortable to hear. “I appreciate that. I really have heard a lot of that, but despite everything, I feel good ‘bout bein’ here.”

“I feel even happier that you came then,” she put her hand gently on your waist. The other two didn't even remember you and Vic were there. “Let's get you something to drink, we bought that red drink Damiano always says you love.”

“No way, it’s bishop cocktail?” You looked at her, a big grin on your face, even though you remembered that this was the drink you were drinking when the universe decided it would be a good idea for you and Dami to have a one-night stand. Just a lovely reminder. “Have you mixed everything up? like the rum with the red wine? or with red drink you just want to say you bought wine?” You asked, ignoring your internal conflicts. Everything would be fine, you ket repeating to yourself.

“In fact, I remember once hearing you comment you didn't mind it being mixed up in a random bottle.”

She pulled a glass bottle out of a bucket full of ice and you couldn't believe she remembered that; given that you could count on your fingers the times that you had actually spoken to her. You didn’t avoid each other, just didn’t have much of the opportunities.

“Oh my god, that’s so fuckin’ lovely.” You whispered. She was quick to pick up a glass and hand it to you, filling it with the so well remembered liquid. You took a sip, and the taste - or alcohol - made your butterflies calmer. “Thanks for that, tastes like heaven.” She took a glass for herself, by her expression she thought it was a waste of rum. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“If you think so, who am I to deny.”

“Don’t be a bummer,” you bumped your shoulder with hers, eliciting a cute sound from her that made you laugh as well.

You wish that sensation had lasted longer, even so when a random girl approached you to ask something, you felt heavy; like a sign. Her hair was golden in perfect waves and her face was angelic in an almost divine way. You might have been overreacting, but she was the type to catch all the attention to herself.

“You’re Y/N, right? I was startin’ to think that I’d never get to know you.” She hugged you tight and you wondered if she really didn't know you. When she released you, you felt your heart breaking right there in front of her. She was wearing Dami's sweater; the same one from that night, the same one that you wore. You wanted to be wrong, but you’d know that sweater from a distance even after years. “He talks so much about you. Can you believe we never met?” She asked, alternating her gaze between you and Victoria. She had been silent, you had forgotten that she was still there. Your head was miles away in thoughts, making you dizzy.

“Hi, Bella,” Victoria said. You remembered that name. Damiano talked about her on a few occasions, anyways he didn't seem to be in love - or you just didn’t want to see that. Maybe you haven’t been able to read him due to your stupid passion. “How’s everything?”

She started talking to Victoria and you couldn't concentrate on listening; all the alcohol in the world would not ease what you were feeling. How long have they been together? What was so special about her that Damiano gives her his favorite sweater? Were they together when you slept together? How did she end up with the same sweater you slept in that day?

She held the cup that was in your hands and handed it to Victoria. “Are you okay, hon’? You look a lil’ unwell. Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No need, I’m alright,” she patted your arm, and then checked your temperature. She was being nice, yet you couldn't pretend to be interested in being there anymore.

Thankfully, Victoria put an arm around your shoulders, asking if you want to join her to have a smoke. “It’ll be good, fresh air will do good to you.”

You agreed. Bella was worried and you felt bad about having to run away from her. She looked like an incredible person, sure Damiano was lucky to have her, that was just too much for you.

“Do this, you will feel better. We can talk later and so you can tell me everything about you and Dami, I’d love to hear you, since you’ve known each other for so long.” You looked for some irony in her voice, but you didn't found it. She was interested in you; after all, you were her boyfriend's best friend. It made sense.

Victoria guided you to the balcony, or at least halfway to it. Midway, someone stopped to talk to her, she tried to dismiss the person, however, as it was a thing related to the album, she would have no way out. “Victoria, it’s fine, I need some time alone.” You whispered to her, patting on her arm. She looked at you reluctantly, but understand. There wouldn't be much she could do for you.

Entering the balcony you felt an absurd urge to cry, your eyes itched and your legs were trembling. Was being in love meant to hurt this much, or was it just a game of chance?

You tried to take a deep breath, ease your heartbeats, telling yourself it was okay. You just needed to calm down. You leaned your body against the wall and watched the place. The plants near the fence - which you didn't know how Victoria had time to take care of them - the streets, and then the sky. Starry and moist, made for good memories that wouldn't come to you. When you felt ready enough to go out and face the party again, you ran into the one you were trying to avoid, Dami. Minutes ago you were anxious with the possibility to see him to know how he was, now you just wanted to run away and wipe these last months out of your mind.

“Y/N,” his body collided with yours while his arms wrapped around you, it was supposed to be a good thing, that you‘d feel safe as the same way you used to feel, except that was uncomfortable now. You couldn't even respond to his hug, for a second you thought you would escape without having to see him. He noticed and gave you space. “I swore that you wouldn't come. My god, it's so good to see you.” He ran his hands through his hair and you remained paralyzed in front of him.

You tried to focus on your breathing so that your voice came out without too many complications. “Yeah... It's good to see you, you look great.” It didn't work, your voice was shaky making your lie sound even worse. He looks great, you didn't lie, he seemed even happier and well rested. You wondered if it was because the album was ready or because now he had Bella.

You forced a smile, but unlike the others, Damiano knew you were acting. He didn’t judge or question, his face became tense, apprehensive. He knew that nothing was right.

“I thought about callin’ you more, goin’ to see you or something. The boys convinced me that it‘d be better not, that it could be even hard for you. I wonder if I shouldn't have done something different to help you because I know I fucked up too.” His hands were undecided between running through his hair and staying inside his pockets. He was nervous, at the same relieved to have spoken to you.

“It wasn't your fault, I’d never blame you for that,” you sighed, smiling slightly. It felt terrible to make him feel that way about it, but there wasn't much you could do. “I'm glad you gave me space when I asked, it's still hard to see you or think about talkin’ to you. It is as if everything that is tormenting me comes all at once.” It was good to say that to him. He nodded and you looked at each other for a while. It wasn't as uncomfortable as you thought it would be.

He was a few feet away from you while you were admiring the night, with your back against the wall. You wanted to leave, maybe go cry in your bed until you fell asleep, still you wanted things to work out with Dami, you wanted that tension and fear of seeing him to get out of your head. Despite that, if it was necessary to suffer in that process, it would not be worth it.

“She’s amazing,” it hurt to say that, but it was the truth. “Bella’s amazing, lucky girl.” You smiled sadly. Saying her name and seeing Dami smiling at that made you thank God for not seeing the two of them together, hugging or kissing. He‘d probably put his hand on her waist while she was talking to one of his friends or giving lightly kisses to her temple, just because he felt like it. Damiano was the cute type, you've seen it before.

“She is, an amazing person. She was all happy to have spoken to you. I told her all about our teenage years and how you always supported the band,” He had told her about you, would he have told her about you being in love with him? You thought to ask, soon giving up. It’d be shameful if so. “If I knew you would be here I’d not have come with her.” It made you think that he had told her.

“What would you do? Would you hide me from her for the rest of your life?” You sighed. it was supposed to sound like a joke, regrettably your voice sounded too cruel for that.

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “I was just tryin’ to think of you and—“

“I think I need to go Dami, it’s being too much. I’m sorry.” You needed to get out of there, you couldn't stop the tears anymore and you knew it was a bad idea to talk about her with him.

You took a few steps back just for Damiano to grab at your arm, without putting strength, just like a few months ago, to stop you in front of him. You turned your face away from looking at his eyes, feeling as the tears run down your cheek. You'd never be able to face him, this situation was only proving that to you even more.

“Please, Y/N. Just tell me what I need to do. I will do anything for you to talk to me again. I need you, you know that. The past few weeks have been a mess without you around. Even little my mom misses you. I’d do anything to have you back like before.” He was about to cry, his eyes shone with tears and it was painful to watch. He could do anything for you to stay; except what would make you stay. Unfortunately, it didn't depend only on his good will.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” you said in a lack of air, signaling the space around you with your finger. “But this, this is too much. It kills me to have to be close to you or to be close to things or people that remind me of you, seeing someone else with you doesn't help at all. I still think about the fact that we slept together... I can’t just forget it ‘cause it meant so much to me and to you, to you? it was nothing.” You were out of breath, you just wanted to cry in peace, put everything out until there was nothing left. 

 He released his hands of you, his face red and damp. It wasn't going to be easy for either of you. Time wouldn't matter; it wouldn’t change a thing because whenever you looked at him you’d wonder about how things could have been like if he had chosen you.

He whispered one more time that he was sorry, then let you go. He could have stopped you, but it's not like he knew what to do anymore. 

He watched as you walk out without even looking back.

——-

You went through the party walking fast, avoiding acquaintances and questions about why you were like that. Your body was heavy as well as your conscience. Outside the house the street was empty, the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk and along with the silence of the street you felt invited to sit there. You brought your knees close to your body, trying to breathe calmly. Pulling the air in, and then releasing it in a normal way. Your heart was beating so fast that your whole body was agitated. You tried to stay still. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy when you saw someone walk out the front door of the house. You dropped your knees, trying to look decent, but gave up as soon as the person came closer to you and you saw that it was Victoria. She sat next to you, pulling you into a hug. You were happy that she went to you.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, hugging her waist and hiding your face in the fabric of her shirt.

“Stop saying that you’re fine when you’re far from being fine, I won’t judge you sweetheart,” she comforted you, giving you a extra squeezing. You were far from being alright, but it helped, having someone there helped.

She placed her chin on top of your head, soothing you until your crying softened. She rubbed your back and whispered that it’d be okay.

“Did Damiano send you here?”

“No, darlin’. He said that you had talked, and then you had to leave, he didn't look well, I thought you wouldn't be either.”

“And then you decided to look out for me?” You laughed, still tucked in her warm arms.

“Yep, sounds like you need me, don’t you think?” She laughed too, causing the vibration of her chest next to yours make you feel taken in.

“Why’s love so painful?”

Victoria didn't answer, she was thoughtful for a few minutes, and then she stood up, holding out her hand for you.

“What?”

“I won’t be taking no as an answer, you’ll get in the car with me and we will do something, anything, drink milk shakes, fill up our bellies with pizza ‘til we can't take it anymore, or even rob a bank.” She held you by the waist, lifting you up for her. “Please,”

You didn't see why not to accept. There was nothing worse that could get even worse at the moment, maybe going somewhere would do you good. “Even rob a bank?” She nodded, pointing to where her car was.

A smile spreading across her lovely face as you realized you’d go anywhere she wanted with her. “Yes, even robbing a bank.”

[blueseasfanfics]

Some Affection

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Description: Loki calls you into his room after your work as his maid has ended. He's acting weird, and ends up wanting your company and some affection. You find out, he's way more affectionate than he lets on. So gentle, lots of fluff.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm feeling much better today. Managed to bake and everything. Here's another Loki fic set in Asgard, where you're working for him. I'm still open for requests too! You can see my full list of fandoms in my bio. And for longer, personalized commissions, at the link below. Hope you have a good day!

Want to support me for only $3 or commission a personal fic from me? Incredibly personalized and great prices! Check out my ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/starryeyedalien

-------

Loki had called you from your rooms by terrifying a courier boy into doing it.

It’s after your bedtime, your working day is all over. You’re in a nightgown, for Odin’s sake.

The child came to your door, shivering.

“M-master said he wishes to see you at once.”

You and Loki had an...odd relationship. One that would have been looked down upon by the court, being as you were his servant and him a Prince and all. It wasn’t even that romantic, but it was closer than it should be.

You shouldn’t be calling him just Loki for example. Even in your head.

You both still had to put up appearances.

But making a child like this cry was out of the question.

“Hush, I’ll be there in a moment. Come in and sit, have some hot chocolate.” You say sweetly to the child, beckoning them inside your tiny quarters and giving them a cup you had made for yourself.

“Stay here until you feel better.” You smile and they nod, smiling back, and you leave.

On your long walk to Loki, you stewed. He didn’t need to yell at all, considering it was the boys job to courier messages. And the fact the boy was ten.

Your footsteps are loud against the tile flooring, the sound echoing against the empty walls.

Hel. He could have come to get you himself. It’s not like anyone else dares to be near him, no one would have seen.

You come upon his door, a huge wooden thing that reached up to the ceiling. Carved into it were his various exploits. You find a new one every time you come to his door. You don’t have the patience to find the new one this time however, and you knock sharply on the wood.

It opens at the first knock, and Loki is on the other side. He’s mildly bedraggled, face paler than usual and hair out of it’s usual neat setting.

“You have a lot of nerve-'' You start to hiss but he just walks away from the door, leaving it open for you. In a huff you come in, closing it gently behind you, before whirling around to yell at him.

Instead, you find him sitting in a large armchair facing the window on the opposite wall.

He had never outright ignored you before.

You come up slowly behind him, looking out the window with him. It shows half of Asgard, the bustling city and people, and half is of the sea. Tranquil and blue. The sun is just now setting on the horizon.

“Sir?” You say, worried about what kind of mood he was in.

“You were getting ready to yell at me earlier. I thought I should have a nice view when you do.”

“Are you alright?”

“What are you angry at me about?”

“You made the boy cry.”

“Not my intention.”

“Sort of hard to make a child cry without reason.”

“He wouldn’t go get you. Said you went to bed for the day. I may have gotten a bit nasty.”

“And?”

“And I will apologize to him in the morning.”

“Good.” You say slowly, confused. He never just laid back like this, let you dictate what he was going to do. He loves to bicker. To talk in general, really. But he was incredibly quiet, and it was unnerving.

“Why did you-”

“Get me a drink, will you?” He waves a finger over to his liquor cabinet, and you take little time in pulling out his favorite and pouring him a glass. You pour it tall, and when you bring it to him and he takes the first drink, he deeply sighs.

“Thank you.”

“Is that-”

“Come in front of me.”

After a bit of hesitation, you stand in front of him. You feel awkward blocking the window, but he simply drinks and looks at you. His legs are splayed, and he’s half slumped in the chair. He isn’t as princely, poised, as he usually is.

His eyes are missing the spark they usually have. He’s looking at you but he’s almost looking through you, and at some point he just closes his eyes and rubs a temple with a long finger.

“Loki?” You say softly.

“Mm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Not exactly.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

He stays silent for a moment more, then drops his hand to the arm of the chair and looks at you again.

“Get on my lap.”

“What?! You cannot possibly expect-”

“Gods, no, not that. You have such an impure mind. Just...touch me. I need…”

“Affection?”

“How emotive of you. Yes. Affection.” His voice is soft, and when you hesitate again he holds out his hand to you.

You take it and he tugs you easily onto his lap. You try to climb on it as elegantly as you can, straddling him while also keeping some distance from him.

Even closer to him, you see the exhaustion and sadness etched in his face. The sun behind you has descended into a deep orange, plunging the room into deeper and deeper darkness.

He takes another sip from his glass, then looks back at you. Even being inches from his face, you don’t feel nervous at all. You reach out and touch his cheek, and he nestles his hand in your palm and closes his eyes.

This is a side to Loki you’ve never seen before. You don’t think anyone’s ever seen it before.

Completely and utterly vulnerable. You wrap your arms around his neck.

Bringing yourself up against his chest, his free hand wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close to him. You lay your head on his shoulder as he does the same to you, his face in your neck.

He sets the drink down on the table next to him, and his other arm wraps around your waist too.

You think of saying something to break the silence, but he seems so tranquil just holding you that you don’t want to disturb him.

Plus, you find this incredibly calming as well. He smells like mint and mountain air, and the warmth from his embrace is lulling you to sleep.

He must have noticed because he pulls away from you slightly.

“You seem tired.” He murmurs, and you shake your head.

“I’m here for you, I’m awake.” You say, but then you yawn.

“Ah yes, yawning because you’re fully awake.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

He studies you from just a few inches away, then pushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re an odd one.” He murmurs.

“Should I take that as an insult?”

“Some would say it as an insult. I say it out of kindness.”

“Oh, a compliment from Sir Loki. My favorite thing in the world.” You say sarcastically.

“I thought your favorite thing in the world was a horse.”

“Same difference.”

“Are you calling me a horse?”

“As a compliment.”

He chuckles, and you smile. He seems ever so slightly back to his normal self.

“Loki, are you alright?”

“I just had a long day. I needed a drink and some company.”

“How about some sleep?”

He thinks for a moment, looking into your half-lidded eyes. He nods, standing up easily with you still in his arms.

You tighten your grip on his neck out of surprise, which makes him chuckle again.

“I won’t drop you.” He murmurs into your ear as he brings you to his bed, letting you down slowly. You quickly get comfortable under his blankets and he slides in next to you after taking off his shirt.

He faces away from you, and you look at his back. Still littered in scars you couldn’t identify nor want to.

Hesitantly, you slide your hand around his waist, pressing yourself against his back. He lets out a deep breath, and you close your eyes.

You fall asleep to the smell of mint and the sound of his steady heartbeat.

You wake up alone in bed, with the ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

[holykillercake]

One Year

pairing: Zoro x Reader

word count: 2k

summary: No summary this time. I´ll just say this ��Bartholomew Kuma and Sabaody¨. Read at your own risk. Seriously, ¨KUMA AND SABAODY¨, do you understand?

highlight: ¨Everyone did their best, but no one could have done better.¨

warnings: angst with happy ending; Sabaody Archipelago spoilers (?)

notes: Hey guys! This was a request from @roronoatrash​ in which ¨Zoro who has 0 sense of direction seemed to always find his way back to is s/o, and his s/o only.¨. I really hope you like it!💚 This is also the first time I write a Devil Fruit user, so I'm considering a sequel to develop the character and add more humor.

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

It was a cloudy and melancholic day in the New World. The men on board were leisurely enjoying their afternoon; some drinking, some napping, some eating. The air was humid and cold, and the tides were strangely calm. No one seemed to care. After all, that was the New World. 

¨Boss!¨ the lookout shouted from the crow's nest ¨Something is falling from the sky! It´s going to land on deck!¨

All men tilted their heads to look at the sky, watching a tiny black spot become bigger and more recognizable.

¨Is that what I think it is?¨ the captain asked himself, not believing his eyes.

¨Boss, is that a girl?¨

¨Yep, I think so.¨

They stood still watching what they suspected was a girl fall from the skies. The red-haired took a quick glimpse at his first-mate and officers, and since no one moved, he felt safe to assume that that was not a threat. Mainly because whatever was falling towards the ship looked dead already. 

The body fell through the main deck and went straight to the lower level of the ship. The captain and his officers stood around the hole on the wooden floor, observing the unconscious and injured body of a girl. 

¨I´ve seen some crazy things rain around here... but this is new.¨ he spoke.

They were ready to have someone dispose of the dead body when the girl opened her eyes, putting herself on her shaky legs. Blood dripped from her eyebrows and nose, and she had bruises all over. Her eyes wandered around as if she was looking for something.

¨Z-Zoro...¨ she spoke when her teary eyes met the captain´s ¨I-I need to find Zoro.¨ 

That was all she said before falling on her knees and collapsing. 

                                                             </>

Almost a year has passed since the tragedy in Sabaody Archipelago. A year passed since you were defeated in the fight against the marine force. Your gashes closed, and your bruises healed, but there was a wound that would not go away, even after one year. 

So much had happened since that day. Luffy had broken into Impel Down, fought in the Paramount War, and lost his brother, Ace. A few days later you received the hidden message he had left you, saying that you were no longer going to meet in Sabaody in three days but in two years.

It took you a while to understand the situation you and the rest of the Strawhats were in, and it took you even more to let go of your selfishness and trust them. The guilt for not being strong enough to protect yourself and your comrades ate you alive during the first weeks, but then you considered how they must be feeling too. No one could have done better. 

Everyone did their best, but no one could have done better. 

For one year, whenever a News Coo flew by to deliver a newspaper, you would run and grab it before anyone did, hoping to see another message from your friends. But the status of your captain was the only one you knew so far. You knew he was training with Rayleigh-san, and this whole two years thing should have been his idea. 

When Bartholomeu Kuma used his Devil Fruit powers on you, you ended up landing on the ship of the Red Hair Pirates. They would always tell you how you rained on their Red Force and broke the deck floor. They said you were looking for someone, and during your stay in the infirmary, you would always call for the same person. 

For months nightmares had you waking up in the middle of the night panting and crying. The same one, torturing you in an infinite and merciless loop. 

Every detail, color, and noise. Everything was so precise and clear in your head. 

When he fought still injured from the last encounter with the Shichibukai; when he stood up and faced the Warlord fearlessly. Even with the damages caused by Kizaru and the Pacifistas, he stood up. 

And maybe your eyes fooled you, maybe your exhausted body played a sick trick on you because he was there until he wasn´t.

 Right in front of your eyes.

 His cropped green hair and tanned skin, the vibrant red and white striped shirt, the scar across his chest, the haramaki, and the swords. Gone, simple as that. 

But after all the training that you had with the Red Hair Pirates, you seemed more in peace with yourself. After one year, the nightmares would bother you only every once in a while. You were not prepared for the New World before, maybe still aren´t, but you will get there. 

And they made everything easier. It was no mystery why Luffy liked them so much. Whenever you were not engaged in a fight or some other Emperor crap, those guys were incredibly light-spirited. And the moment they realized you were part of Luffy´s crew they treated your wounds and welcomed you onboard. 

Shanks agreed to have his men training you, but he made very clear that no one would babysit you, so it was ¨keep up or keep out.¨. You spent most of your time with Yassop, Benn, or Roux, for they were the best in the abilities you exercised. 

Inside the Strawhats you were a stealth agent, mostly because of your Devil Fruit, the Nagi Nagi no Mi, once possessed by a Marine Commander. Another Supernova, the Surgeon of Death Trafalgar Law had told you that before shit broke in Sabaody. 

You used that combined with your fighting skills to breach the enemy´s first line of defense before they saw you coming. Usually, Usopp would assist you with the sniper training, trade he ¨learned from a friend¨, Sogeking. 

His father was an extraordinary sniper, and he used the same kind of firearms as you, differently than Usopp´s slingshot. Benn´s combat skills were remarkable, and Roux was exceptionally fast for a man his size. You haven´t had a lot of opportunities to fight the Red Hair himself, though you had a strong will, his Haki was something you have never seen before. 

¨We´re going to a bar, kid. You´re coming?¨ Benn asked you with his cigarette on his lips. 

You pondered a little over his invitation but decided to decline it. ¨Thanks, Benn, but I´m keeping a low profile tonight.¨ He nodded and smiled, turning to follow his crewmates ¨Don´t drink too much, we have training tomorrow!¨ 

The first mate laughed shortly and spoke without looking at you ¨Roger that, kid.¨ 

You walked the opposite way, wandering between the vegetables and gimmicks tents, feeling the kind sunset kiss your skin. There was some music playing, kids running around with ice cream in their hands, laughing loudly and happily. Marketers were announcing their prices, housewives were thinking about delicious recipes to prepare for their families, and couples would sit together around the font, swearing love to each other.

Every day was like that. The citizens would wish their neighbors ¨good morning¨ from their windows; bakers would open the doors early, letting the delightful smell of fresh bread wake up those who slept in.  

How could you, in the middle of all that happiness, feel so sad and lost?

You sighed and made a route change. Maybe you needed a little bit of booze. 

The island where Shanks had decided to dock was in the Grand Line, a place where they were known and welcomed. So you knew where they were, and it would be a short walk to get there.

¨Y/N?¨ 

You turned automatically, thinking that a crew member had gotten lost and was looking for his captain - or boss, how he likes to be called.

 But when you saw the man standing in front of you, everything stopped. The music, the kids, and the love promises. 

At some point, you started to cry and hyperventilate, believing you were in another nightmare, and you would have to go through that day all over again. Your lover carried pain in his eyes as well, like his fears were the same as yours. 

Those minutes you stared at each other felt like hours while you kept every detail of him in your memory. His hair was slightly longer, and his complexion was paler, even with the sunset painting his skin. 

¨Z-Zoro...¨ you whispered shakily.

He gave a step forward ¨Y/N... it´s you...¨ 

You ran in his direction as soon as your name fell out of his mouth. Your arms embraced his neck, and your legs gave up when he held you tight against his body, whispering comforting words as you broke into tears. 

¨I...¨ nothing but sobs came out.

¨I know... me too.¨ he fondled your hair and hid his face in the curve of your neck. And there stood the both of you, not wanting to let the other go. 

                                                          </>

¨How did you know I was here?¨ you asked and he blushed a little.

¨I didn´t... I had to buy stuff for the castle, and I got lost.¨ a loud laugh came out of your mouth. It was so obvious, how didn´t you guess that?

¨They didn´t give you a log pose?¨

¨They did, but I took a nap and when I woke up, I was here.¨

You spent the rest of the day cuddling on the beach sand. Zoro was laying on his back, and you were resting on his chest. You had one year worth of conversation to catch up on, and neither of you rushed to do so. He told you about Mihawk, the creepy island in which the only native habitants were copycat human drills, the boat he destroyed, and even how he begged the Warlord to train him.

The sun had started to hide behind the sea, and the warm sand was cooling down. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore together with the salty breeze made you question if you had died at some point, and that was heaven.

¨You´re paler.¨ he chuckled.

¨It´s not very sunny where I´m living.¨ 

¨Hm...¨ you hummed ¨And how long did you take to figure out Luffy´s message?¨ 

¨Oh...¨ he thought for a second ¨ I knew right away.¨ you giggled and doodled on his chest with your finger. 

You felt his chest go up and down as he let out a sigh. 

¨I missed you, Y/N.¨ he hugged you tighter. 

¨I missed you too.¨ you stayed in silence for a few minutes ¨Anyway, when are you setting sail again?¨ You asked him softly, and he tensed up. ¨I know... ¨ your lips began to tremble ¨ I don´t want to go either, but what happened in Sabaody... I don´t want that to happen ever again.¨ you bit your lip as tears started to roll on your cheeks. 

He wiped the tears with his fingers and pulled you closer. None of you wanted to part ways again, but not only those were your captain´s order that was your future. If something like that happens again in the New World, a two-year separation would be the best scenario possible. 

¨It won´t. I promise.¨

When the night came, you decided to stay on the beach and talked until you fell asleep under the stars. The best sleep you´ve had in a long time. No nightmares, no agony, and no pain. Just the warmth and peace you missed so much.

On the following morning, you helped him get the provisions for Mihawk´s castle. You toured around the city holding hands and joking, kinda like the couples sitting by the font, enjoying every second you had before he left. 

If he didn´t get lost trying to go back to Kuraigana Island, it would be a quick trip. You assisted him with the bags and walked him to his boat. Your heart ached to say goodbye to him, but you had to. The circumstances were bigger than the two of you.

¨I love you, Zoro.¨ you hugged him and tried not to cry again.

¨I love you more, Y/N.¨

¨Careful with the naps, ok?¨ he chuckled and nodded ¨One year. We´ll meet again in one year.¨ 

¨Wait for me. I´ll go get you, and we´ll return to Sabaody together.¨ 

¨But how will you know where I will be?¨

¨It doesn´t matter where you´ll be. I´ll always find you.¨

[bioodorange]

||How I See The Pastas||

© @frozensriracha, for some help with visuals!!

This was originally supposed to be how they looked but I decided to go for mental aspect and explain why as well PLEASE like, reblog and share your thoughts on this in the comments or inbox

Below the desciptions are images i’ve compiled and some art (if you know the creator please tell me so i can credit them) for a visual

dont forget to like reblog and share your thoughts with me, I spent a few days on this so i’d appreciate this

Jeff the Killer

So lets start with the obvious- jeffs pasty white toothpaste lookin skin

But realistically he wouldn’t be completely covered in scars

It would be blotchy, with pink fleshy patches among the burns

He most likely has contracture scars, third degree burns that turn the skin a pale white and tighten the skin

This explains his gaunt features and skin color

Now we have to take into account the vodka that was splashed on him, he’d probably have worse burns there with exposed flesh and damaged nerves

This would result in gnarly exposed skin, a damaged scalp and maybe damage to his teeth and eyes

Realistically, Jeff wouldnt have burned off his eyelids that alone would have resulted in blindness and death

Than his smile, his signatuure mark would probably be more of a gangly bloody scar mess

Pastas heal faster and aren’t really human, he’d have to recut his smile pretty frequently making it pretty jacket up because ltes be honest hes far from clean

ANd than his hait being chard black is very unlikely because as nasty as he is he s h o w e r s

not very frequnetly given his living situation and untreated burns but people can figure out how to wash hait and not much else

also i think its funny he’d shower with a plastic bag on his face to avoid getting soap in his nasty infected scars-

His hair would probably be dry and cut unevenly, more of a dark brown color with blonde undertones

Not to mention his burned scalp, hair probably wouldn’t grow there so he’d have a cool unintentional side shave

Jeff would also be a tall individual, he cant really eat, snacking on things from his victims homes giving him a more skeletal build

His personality and mindest is about as pretty as his face- but he most likely has a very screwed up headspace

Lacking in self care, maturity and sanity its fair to say he’d be a brash and violent person

Fun Fact: While researching this I learned that some versions of the joker had facial scars in the shape of a smile

Ticci Toby

So tobys age, unlike a lot of pastas, is pretty well agreed on, 19

So unlike when he was first a proxy toby most likely has stronger facial features and facial hair

Because shaving and hygiene isn’t first priority for pastas (gross-)

He stands around 5′7 and has grayish skin

Toby i feel is picky about foods, not only is it hard for him to eat its hard for him to keep food down

He’s malnourished explaining his thin figure and grayish skin

His hait is dark brown and a curlish mess, unkempt but short so it doesn’t get in his way

I’ve always seen him with a small gap in his teeth, because I can

And since toby can’t feel shit I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to eat rocks simply because he fuckin could

So some chipped teeth that are a bit uneven

Along with his CIPA and not eating enough Toby would bruise easily and have lots of scars, from things like cutting his finger on accident or getting mauled by a racoon

I wouldn’t be surpised if some of his joints were a bit screwed up, because whenever theyd beak or fracture he wouldn’t notice, this would probably happen a lot causing them to not heal correctly

One of tobys habits is nailbiting but he cant te;; when too far is too far

His fingers may be abit odd looking, knobby and discolored nails because of how exetreme his habit is

Would most likely have bandages around his fingers frequently to prevent the habit

So theres a lot of debate about tobys cheek was it the CIPA or the car accident, I beileve the accident because his other cheek is completely fine, theres damage from the OUTSIDE to inside and considering his sister died in the accident its unlikely he survived unscathed

Fun Fact: only a small handful of people have ever been diagnosed with CIPA, less than 500 (documented) cases around the world

Bloody Painter

So Helen is often seen as quiet emo painter boy 

but uh no <3

Personaly i beileve he suffers from narcisistic personality disorder, exetreme importance and that he is always victorious and gets what he wants

This sporuts from the constant heavy invalidation from classmates, toxic friends and neglect from his parents

He doesn’t hang out with people because he doesn’’t lie them its because they never let him in the past and he beileves he’s better than them

But this also links to deep rooted insecurity and social anxiety/being inept completely

Him being nice is basically so you like him, he wants validation amd admiration not love

Unlike the other pastas he’d be a more clean well kept one a helthy figure and some tattoos bevause he can

I beileve he lives in socity, finding hus victims in girls and men alike who fall for his charm

he uses hhis skill and ordinary appearance to blend in on the streets

From his behavior helen most likely keeps his hair a bit shorter and clean

He always looks his best

Has chapped, and picked at lips because of his anxieties

Aswell as his breakdowns- his identity is completely in his head, he is very unsure of who he is and takes the delusions in his mind as reality

Unrelated but paino fingers-

And finally in order for his art to be as perfect and amazing as him, he has to be apart of it

Thus using his own blood in his pieces and the body parts of those he admires

Covers his scars with clean bandgaes

But his paintings turn brown and dry out, he’s always in need of a new medium

Is most likely anemic from all the blood he looses and has a paler skintone

Clockwork

ahh yes finally someone who knows what self care is-

helen, i love you buddy but you need to stop 

But anyway natalie has a stronger, athletic build

She often chases her victims and gets in altercations, relying on strength most  of the time

on that same note, this would defintelty cause many scars on natalie

Wether it was a bite mark or scars from a kitchen knife, shes got lots of scars

A few even on her face

Now, for the clock in her eye that thing is like holding her skull together at this point, realistically

She is probably delicate and cares for it becaise 1) it hurts 2) if it gets screwed up that could cause a lot of problems

natalie would be a smart person, I wouldn’t be surprused if she had a few other stray stitches or bandgaes wrapped around a fresh wound

For more visual-ish things uh m u l l e t (credit: @cum-looking-sock-mf in a chat like 4 months ago)

She has one, fight me on it

but also thick and curlish hair so I also riase you

Undershave

just y e s

I can also see her getting tattoos over certain scars on her arm, just to make them look not so ugly

I feel like clockwork wishes things worked out better

Wishes for another chance but knows she’ll never get one

Thus her taking goof care of herself

Natalie throws herseld into her “work”, keeping her body in shape and killing people

Its a way to avoid her life and that it is- a huge, sad mess

Shes an outgoing impulsive individual, confident but questions her actions

She’s also unstable- protective and loyal but explosive and strong 

Jane the Killer

Jane is the final one, im sorry I couldn’t do more theres a photo limit and I wanna bash my head into the wall

Now a main different between her and jeff is she had surgery and lie treatment

Janes skin is still greatly scarred but it is greatly healed

She takes care of it and had skin grafts

Her face is disfigured, a scarred smile and burns around

But unlike Jeff she doesn’t recarve the cut so its a cleaner line and a lot healthier

Janes hair took a rather long time to grow back, but it did! 

She has a slightly long pixie cut a bit choppy but she doesn’t mind

Her wife definetely cuts it for her and you can fight me over that

I can see Jane having a lot of facial trauma, scars around her nose and cheeks

She was young when she started killing and went for the over the person, pin them down kill which didn’t work out

She switched to a silenced pistol after awhile, you know like a smart person

Janes arms and legs are in alright condition where most of the burn trauma is on her back

She has a leaner but healthy figure but like boobs-

Like clockwork and Helen she takes care of herself

She doesn’t kill as frequently, going after a few of jeffs victims before him and is of course, actively hunting him down

Her eyes are a pale green and she wears makeip to fill in her eyebrows because those bitches take a long time to grow back

fun fact: jeff has no eyebrows, fight me

[queerbrujas]

then it vanished away from my hands (part three)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro rating: T word count: 4k (10.1k total so far) warnings: angst (with no happy ending, though there’s a lot of comfort in this chapter). discussions about mortality and loss of agency. murphy trauma and flashbacks.

After discovering the reason why she can't turn, Eva tries (and fails) to come to terms with it.

part one | part two | read on ao3

this fic was originally meant to have three parts, but uh, that didn’t happen. current plan is to have it be four or five, depending on how the writing goes.

—

part three: my sense of self I lost somewhere

Eva’s eyes squeeze shut.

She’s all out of tears.

How long has she been sitting here?

This is—this is not working.

She can't be alone right now.

She can't be here right now, in this place that was once home to her and where there is nothing left that is familiar or comforting. Nothing but void, a shell filled with what’s left of the covered furniture she couldn’t get rid of.

The only thing here is—

is—

fuck.

The only thing here that seems alive and vivid is the image playing behind her eyelids of the apartment flooded with bright red smoke, the sounds of crashing and breaking, of Rebecca telling her to run, of Nate—

And a cold, cold voice that rings in her head, louder than every other sound.

She’s back outside in the rain. It soaks her to the bone, makes her shiver.

You are rather special, after all, Detective Navarro.

Why, why the hell did she think of coming here, of all places?

I do so prefer the quiet ones.

There isn’t enough air, she’s not getting enough air. She tries to gasp for it, to take deep breaths, but it’s not enough. When she opens her eyes the white walls of the apartment are closing in and her vision is blurred, hazy (not smoke, it’s not smoke, it’s not). A trapped scream tries to fight its way up her throat.

She wants to let it out. Scream. Thrash.

Tear her skin apart and climb out of her body.

This is not working.

This is not working—this won’t work.

She’s not going to be able to make it out of here on her own. Not out of the apartment, not off of the goddamn floor.

The sudden moment of clarity, tenuous and brittle as it is, spurs her into action.

Her phone. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jacket: her hands are still shaking, and it takes her at least three attempts to get hold of it. Once she has it, it slips between her fingers and clatters to the floor.

She flinches at the noise. She’s going to start sobbing again.

She flexes her fingers. Breathe. Breathe.

Eventually, she manages it.

For just a split second, she considers calling, then decides against it. That won’t do. She doesn’t trust herself to speak without bursting into tears again.

I'm at my old apartment. Can you come over?, she writes, hits send. Then a second text: Please.

The reply comes before she’s had time to lock her phone again: there in 2 seconds.

She loses track of time again after that, closes her eyes and would not be able to say, later, how long she spent like this. What is left of her rational brain tells her not more than a few minutes can have passed before Farah is already there in a whirlwind.

Alarm is evident in the way her eyes shoot wide open as soon as she sees her, in the way she's kneeling down by Eva's side faster than her (human, human) eyes can register.

“Hey, hey.” The words tumble out of her quickly, blurring together. “Eva, what happened?”

Farah has seen her cry before, she’s seen her desperate and distressed and upset, but she’s never seen her like this.

She examines her, the way she’s sitting on the floor with her knees held to her chest, the sorry state of her—clearly looking for signs of physical injury. When she seems satisfied she’s found none, she takes a breath: the alarm fades, but the concern deepens.

“What’s wrong? Did something—” Farah interrupts herself, purses her lips and waits for Eva to answer.

Eva’s throat feels raw; her thoughts scrambled, paper-thin. Connecting them, stringing them into something so complicated as language seems a monumental, almost impossible task. Just the thought of it makes her throat start to close up again.

She shakes her head. “Don't want to talk about it.” Speaking hurts, physically—even more than she thought it would.

Farah nods, as though having been expecting it.

She knows her well, after all.

They all do.

Farah reaches out, slowly, and lets her hand hover just over Eva’s knee. She doesn't touch her, knows better than to touch her, but it's close enough that Eva feels the warmth through her clothes.

“Do you want me to just sit here with you for a while? We don't have to go back home yet.”

Eva barely manages to choke back a dry sob at the mention of home, but unexpected relief washes over her all the same. Relief and gratefulness to Farah for putting into words what she certainly wouldn't have been able to think of. Not now.

She gives a quick nod. “Please,” she croaks.

Farah attempts a smile that manages to be warm despite the evident strain in it. She moves then, with a grace that Eva has envied before and which makes something in her chest constrict now, to settle more comfortably on the floor, legs crossed under her, facing Eva.

“Then we’re not going anywhere until you say so,” she says.

Soothing. Calming. Farah always knows how to be comforting.

“Thank you,” Eva sighs. Farah hums her assent.

With her here, real and solid in front of Eva, the red smoke and the crashing sounds and the voices seem to fade little by little into what they are: a distant memory, years old by now. Not real. Not something that can hurt her now.

(Except it lives under her skin, the consequence of it, the result of it, she’ll never be free of it—

Stop.

Stop, stop, stop.

Stop that thought dead in its tracks.)

A while later, Eva’s breathing still hasn’t gone back to normal. It’s still quick and ragged, shallow.

“Hey,” Farah speaks quietly, a low whisper that barely breaks the silence.

She waits for Eva to open her eyes—when had she closed them? How long has it been?—before speaking again.

“Give me your hands?” She says it as one would a question, extending her own, palms facing up.

Eva hesitates for a second—but only for a second.

The hesitation is instinctive, but the action is conscious. She places her hands in Farah’s, and Farah smiles at her.

With the warmth of the touch she’s reminded of the few times she’s done this before, in other circumstances.

Farah taking her hands and teaching her to dance, despite her initial, half-hearted protests.

Farah dragging her to celebrate her birthday because it was on the same day as hers and of course they needed a celebration; no, sneaking away with Nate to the library did not count, what part of it’s our birthday and we should have a party did she not understand?

Farah helping her stand up after a bad injury she’d sustained during a mission, the fear in her eyes eclipsed by the quick resolve to get her away.

She’s reminded of this, of all this. Of Farah’s liveliness and warmth but also of the way she always seems to understand how she feels, long before words are spoken.

Eva doesn’t quite manage to return Farah’s smile, but her lips twitch a little.

“Good,” Farah says. Her thumbs rub circles on the palms of Eva’s hands, and something soft in her eyes seems to make them glow golden, brighter than their usual amber. Something soft and sad and old, because as young as Farah seems, Eva is all too acutely aware (especially now, especially here, with a sting that doesn’t seem to go away) that she is still close to three times her age.

“Breathe with me?” Farah asks, before Eva’s thoughts can spiral too far in that direction.

Eva nods.

Farah breathes. Eva breathes.

It’s a deeper breath than any she’s taken since she got here.

They spend a while like this, until exhaustion finally settles in, weary and bone-deep. Until she’s staying here out of pure stubbornness, and when Farah quietly asks “home?” Eva does nothing but squeeze her hand and nod.

��

She tries then, she tries to adjust to the new information.

To move forward.

It’s what she’s always done. It’s the only thing that can be done.

She lets the rest of Unit Bravo know about the results (thinks for half a second about not saying anything, but she could never hide anything like this from them) and then refuses to discuss them at all.

It is what it is. If there is nothing that can be done to change it—and it has been made very clear to her that there is nothing that can be done, not about this—then there is no point in wasting time and energy thinking about it.

Because if she starts thinking about it, she’s not sure what she will do.

If she starts thinking about it, it’ll be back to the apartment, back to the rain, back to that other warehouse.

And if she starts thinking about it, she’s going to have to think about how all the reasons she had for wanting to turn in the first place are still there. They have not gone anywhere, except that now she has no way to deal with them.

She’s not sure if she feels numb or if she only wishes she did.

She thinks about it, anyway, whenever her gaze falls on the faint, jagged marks on her wrist, paler than the light brown of her skin.

For years she’d almost forget the scar was there, the memories associated with it pushed back to the deep corners of her mind. Now it seems to exert a gravitational pull of its own, drawing her sight to it without her permission.

She thinks about it whenever she remembers—and she remembers it often these days, can’t seem to pull the thought from her mind—that the blood in her veins is not her own. The whole of her body has been made into a foreign object; unrecognizable, enactor of violence upon itself.

The nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been.

—

It takes three days for Nate to bring it up: he’d been waiting for her to do it first.

He does it as gently as ever, as softly as ever. With a kiss to her forehead and hands seeking her skin, brushing down her arms. Perhaps hoping his touch would soothe the sting.

He seems almost apologetic, as though she could break at any moment.

Who’s to say she won’t?

“Joonam,” he whispers. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?”

(Joonam, he calls her.

He calls her many things in many different languages, but this is the one he always, always comes back to.

Mi vida, she calls him.

Not as often as he does—she was never one for pet names—but often enough.

The thought forms before she can crush it: it seems almost cruel, now, that they’ve dug so deep to call each other my life when he will outlive her by an infinite amount.)

And the look in his eyes makes her want to cry all over again. He’s pleading with her, keeping the emotion from his voice but it’s clear in the way he looks at her.

Fuck, this won’t work.

She can’t keep doing this. She can’t do what she always does, not with this.

Because being with Nate has never been easy.

It has been many things—it has been love and passion and comfort and truth, but it has never been easy or painless. It has never been natural or effortless or uncomplicated.

They don’t fit together like that.

What it has been is a choice, constant and conscious. A choice to go against her instincts—her instincts that tell her to hide, to never stop moving, to raze what’s left and never look back—and open herself up in ways that leave her raw and exposed but so vibrantly, painfully alive.

(A choice that she’d been willing to make for the rest of eternity, even if it never got easier.

A choice that he makes for her, too.)

Poke around in the wound to dig the bullet out.

Her instincts tell her to pull back, and there are words on the tip of her tongue that she swallows down.

Slowly, she takes one of his hands in hers, brings it to her mouth to brush a delicate kiss against his knuckles.

“I will,” she says, eyes closed. If she opens them the words might not come out. “We’ll talk about it, I promise. Just—give me a little time, please. Just a little time.”

Nate breathes out a sigh that sounds like relief drowned in concern.

“Of course,” he says. “Anything you need.”

—

The water in the bathtub has cooled around them; the steam dissipated long ago.

Even in the cooling air, they have not moved in a while: Eva leans back against Nate’s chest with her eyes closed, his arms wrapped loosely around her as he presses sweet, barely-there kisses to the birthmarks on her shoulders. He follows paths he has mapped and memorized countless times before, ones that feel familiar on her skin.

Ones that should be soothing.

As slowly as ever, Nate lets his kisses trail up the side of her neck. They are soft, featherlight; his lips ghost over the multiple marks that have accumulated there before lavishing her with an attention that makes her shiver.

For the longest time, this was something he would not allow himself.

For the longest time, he would shy away from Eva’s neck as though burnt, and the first time he let her see the fear in his eyes as his fingertips traced the line of her throat is a moment that remains imprinted on her mind.

(She took his hand and pressed it more firmly against the side of her neck, against the beating pulse there. Gentle, almost as gentle as he always was with her—and always offering him the choice to draw back. He almost stopped breathing, but his eyes never left hers, and that single instant stretched out into moments, into something she still struggles to name.)

A lifetime seems to have passed since then.

He does not shy away from it now. Not now.

“I wish we could stay like this,” Eva murmurs.

Just this, right here.

A single moment, endless. One where nothing else matters or even exists. One where the thoughts that have been plaguing her have no power or importance.

“We can,” Nate whispers in return. His breath is warm, still close to her skin, and he follows it with another kiss directly over her pulse. “As long as you want to.”

She lets out a sigh. It would be so easy.

God, so easy.

So easy it’s terrifying.

The temptation to never talk about it again hasn’t gone away.

But thoughts become corrosive. They seep into every last piece of her sanity that she’s tried to keep safe. Into every dream and every waking moment until nothing, nothing remains untainted.

The way she flinches when she sees the scar, when she barely paid attention to it before. The way she looks at herself in the mirror and finds flaws she hadn’t noticed, the way she sometimes wants nothing more than to open her skin and drain out the blood to get it all out. Maybe that would help.

No, it would not be that easy.

“Not that long,” she forces herself to say. The words are always stuck in her throat, and they will not come out on their own. “Not forever.”

Nate’s kisses stop, and the briefest moment of tension tightens his embrace—something Eva might not have noticed if she didn’t know him like she does. But he speaks into the crook of her neck, tenderness the only thing in the softness of his voice. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

It has only been a few days since he’d mentioned it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to talk about it,” Eva admits. “But I have to stop acting like it’s something we don’t have to talk about.”

She sighs again, sinking further against him. Her own hands come to rest on his arms, wrapping them more tightly around her. “I just don’t know what to do. Where do we go from here?”

Nate hums, a soft sound she’s come to recognize as a contradictory mix of subtle exasperation and patience, tempered by love and concern. She’s been on the receiving end of it more than a few times. “We’ll get to that part. Let’s take it one thing at a time.”

Unspoken: For now, just tell me how you feel.

Also unspoken (because it has been spoken too many times): You don’t have to solve everything by yourself. You don’t have to solve everything right away.

He knows her too well.

It makes her want to cry, that he knows her this well.

“I just never thought about this.” Didn’t think it wouldn’t work. “I didn’t even consider it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Small. So fucking defeated.

Because if she can’t do anything—

“None of us did,” Nate says, and that cuts deep, too.

He does not have defeat in his voice like she does, but the barely concealed pain is enough to make her eyes sting.

The fact that he’s trying to conceal it at all.

For her sake.

Dammit, Nate.

Because if she can’t do anything, then what’s left?

(“Nate, I don't get to have a normal life.” She’d been trying not to raise her voice, to rein in the tremor in her words. Trying, and failing. “Not with this blood, not with these scars. Not with everything that's happened to me already. Do you think anyone can be normal after that?”

One of the many times they’d argued about this. He had tried, wanted to show her value in humanity that she could never see.

He’d turn back, he’d choose to be human, to be mortal, if only he could.

“Even if I could have that,” she’d added, more quietly. “I don’t want it. If this all went away, what do you think would be left of me?”)

She shifts in his arms, turns around until she can face him.

“I wanted this, Nate.” She lifts a hand to close her fingers around the pendant that hangs from her neck, the one she never takes off, the one he gave her. She closes them so tightly her nails dig into her palm. “I wanted us, like this, forever. I wanted it so much I don’t know how to be anything else anymore. Nothing else makes sense even if I try.”

Nate covers her hand with his own, both closed around the pendant. He hesitates before speaking, examining her with eyes that betray the depth of feeling in them, but eventually, he does. “I know nothing can dull the pain of having the choice taken from you,” he says, careful, too careful. He’s been through this. “I know that. I would give everything I have to spare you that hurt.”

“But I’m—” A soft breath escapes his lips, something that is not intentional, something that is far less controlled. “I’m not going anywhere. I will make that promise a thousand times over. It will still be… it can still be forever, for you. You still have us. You still have me.”

“And you’ll just watch? You’ll watch me get older, weaker, god knows what else? You’ll be okay with that? With watching me die?”

The questions leave her mouth like bullets, one after the other.

Harsh. Too raw. The things neither of them wants to hear.

She’s the one panicking, now.

She’s said this before.

And Nate flinches, flinches at the bluntness of it—she wants to take it back at that, even when she knows it has to be said—but it does not make his voice waver when he speaks. “I love you,” he says, as though that answers all her questions. “Nothing can change that. Every second you’ve chosen to give me has been something precious, something I have treasured, and it will continue to be, no matter what.”

One of his hands moves to tangle in the wet locks of her hair. To hold her in place, staring into the depth of his brown eyes, eyes that reflect back the same hurt she feels even if he will not say it.

“Before we talked about this, before you decided to turn, I—I knew I might not have you forever. I didn’t dare to hope I would, didn’t dare to think of it. But loving you is worth any pain that might come from it.”

Her throat constricts, and the emotion in Nate’s voice dulls the edge she’d imparted to her words. Of course Nate would say this. Of course he would think this, would feel this.

He would break himself to keep her.

He would break himself for her, without even a hint of hesitation.

(I won’t do that to you. She’d said that.)

She looks away, blinking to get rid of the tears that prickle at her eyes. She fixes her stare on the edge of the bathtub: gleaming, burnished copper misted over with condensation.

Instead of following that line of thought—she doesn’t trust herself to—she grasps at something else. Something that stabs with equal force at her chest.

It sounds like someone else speaking when she says, “I don’t want to be less than you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way he frowns.

“Being human doesn't make you less, Eva.” Nate is resolute, his voice firm even in its warmth, echoes of a recurring argument neither of them had ever won.

“But it does,” she counters, voice cracking and desperate, turning her face back to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see it? It does, and it will always feel that way. I already have to try so hard just to keep up. What happens when I can’t anymore? What happens when my body gives up, when I'm too slow, too weak to go on missions?”

Why won’t he see it?

She has tried. Tried to make up for her lack of abilities, for her humanity. She has tried to attenuate it, to make sure it does not become a burden.

She has learned combat from Morgan and Adam, spent hours upon hours in the training room with them until she can barely stand, until Adam smiles at her after a well-placed hit, until Morgan throws a towel for her to catch and there’s nothing but pride in the look she gives her.

She has studied the supernatural world in every way she can; submerged herself in it, let it coat every cell of her body and every neuron in her brain.

It is what she breathes.

And she’s been forced out of it.

“That still wouldn’t make you less, nothing could.” The affection, the love in his voice burns. “There is so much more to you than what you can do.”

She shakes her head.

“I swore I wouldn’t be a burden to this team. And you know how I am, Nate, I couldn’t bear—I don’t want to get left behind. And I will. You’ll keep on being who you are and I… won’t.”

The tears aren’t pricking at her eyes anymore. They are falling.

The words aren’t stuck in her throat anymore.

“Everything I told you I didn’t want, all of it, that’s going to happen and there’s nothing I can do about it. And I have this thing inside me that’s making it all happen and my body isn’t mine anymore. I don’t get a say in any of it.”

She leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his touch even when it won’t, it can’t be enough. Not for this.

She is instantly enveloped in his arms, drawing her closer against him.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” she whispers against his skin. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he answers, quiet, almost too quiet, into her hair.

And there is a thought.

Because if there is nothing she can do—

But this is one she refuses to even entertain. To acknowledge.

I won’t do that to you.

She’d said that.

[aprilsrant]

Cariad | Young!Remus Lupin x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) absolutely hates when professors make their students work in pairs, but the outcome of this particular project may not be so bad.

WORD COUNT: 2,971, more or less.

REQUEST: can i request another half-blood slytherin reader x remus where she tries to learn welsh for him and i hope you can include smth with the lovespoon! 

This was requested by @cantstopmebitch Thank you so much for requesting something, I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: a kiss? And nothing else I think.

A/N: Please remember English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes, let me know! In this fic, I’ve used some Welsh words, which I didn’t know a single thing about so I did some research but it may be wrong, so sorry if these are not correct! 

Masterlist.

You can always reblog to help me or request something you’ll like. 

TRANSLATIONS: the title, cariad, means “love, affection, lover, darling”; the phrase fy annwyl un means “my dear one”; and the last one, fy nghariad aur  means “my golden darling”.

Advanced Arithmancy Studies, or simply Arithmancy, was not the most interesting subject Hogwarts offered as an elective course for sixth and seventh years, hence why there weren’t many people taking it, but (Y/N) seemed to be a natural — according to the professor’s opinion — and she loved being good at things without trying too much or else she would lose any interest immediately.  

Sitting down on one of the desks at the back of the classroom, she left her brown leather satchel on the cobblestone floor. (Y/N) watched as the students took their usual seats and started to chat with their partner, but all conversations were shut down by the loud voice of the professor, an old and strict woman who didn’t seem to have control of her voice’s volume as she was always screaming and someone who didn’t have any consideration with those who forgot to do her assignments. 

The minute the woman’s body was an inch inside the classroom, she began to give directions about a project expected for next week and how they would have to work in pairs, (Y/N)’s eyes rolling to the back of her head upon hearing the news. She absolutely detested working with other people for two reasons: the first one being that, if they happen to be from a different House, they would judge her for being a Slytherin; and the second, because she was always the one ending up doing it all on her own, but that was mostly her fault. She wanted to be in control all the time if it was something related to school. 

Once again, (Y/N) was observing how some of her classmates changed desks so they could work with whoever they wanted. No one took the empty seat beside her. She never minded being alone in this class (none of her close friends capable of dealing with the intensity of it or not being too interested in numbers), she was not going to start now. It was better anyways, not having a partner meant less headaches. 

But, apparently, the odds were not in her favor.

A diveleshed looking Remus Lupin crossed the entrance door with his arms full of books, parchments and quills; uniform poorly accommodated and a sad dog look on his eyes, definitely trying to avoid the professor’s rage for being late. His lips curved into a hesitant smile, that to (Y/N)’s opinion came out more as a grimace, and when she thought they all were about to hear a pathetic and improvised excuse from Perfect Remus, the old witch shook her hand into a dismissive gesture and signalised the wooden chair next to the Slytherin girl while she informed him about the task. 

Now that Lupin was beside her, shoulders almost touching, she took a closer look at him. (Y/N) had the impression he was sick because of the dark circles below his dull brown eyes, his skin a lot more paler than usual, and the small noise that left his mouth once he sat down, like his chest hurted. She had also noticed scratches and scars on his neck and cheeks, but kept quiet about them too. It wasn’t her place to ask. 

The first ten minutes passed slowly, neither of them uttering a word, and listening to the expectations the professor had for the project. Well, more like (Y/N) was the one actually listening, because Remus was busy running through his things while leaving them scattered all around their shared desk and muttering curses under his breath. She watched him with a weirded out expression on her face, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing with her mouth pressed on a thin line, while he read the first lines of a parchment and then, obviously not being what he was looking for, leaving it on her side. 

“You forgot the essay, didn’t you?,” she leaned closer to him and whispered in the boy’s ear. He turned around to look at her, but it wasn’t necessary for him to confirm it, (Y/N) already knew she was right. 

Picking her satchel from the floor, she took her own assignment, grabbed one piece of empty parchment and, making sure the professor wasn’t looking in their direction, she muttered a spell under her breath. Instantly, the black paragraphs on her paper copied and travelled to the empty one. With another flick of her wand, some of the words transformed, other changed places and a few of them even disappeared. Grabbing one of Lupin’s parchment that had his calligraphy, and corroborating once more the old witch had her back turned to them, (Y/N) copied his writing style to transfer it to the parchment she had just enchanted. With a proud smile on her face, she handed it to him. 

Lupin’s face was now a little brighter, of course he still had those horrendous bags, but it was an improvement. His eyes wide and shining with interest, his face less tired and his mouth opened in surprise. 

“How did you do that?”

“One of my cousins taught me. Him and his friends had been perfectioning this spell for a long time now,” she mumbled, trying not to catch the other’s attention, while she shrugged her shoulders. 

“That was amazing,” an astonish sound accompanying his words, “thank you, by the way, for helping me.”

“Oh no, I don’t accept thank you’s.” (Y/N) sat straighter on her chair, beaming at him while she crossed one of her legs on top of the other. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she spoke again. ”I did you a favor, now you owe me one.”

And after that particular conversation, Remus’s and (Y/N)’s destinies were sealed in an unbreakable and everlasting bond.

That following week was spent in the safety of the Room of Requirement, the place where none of their friends would bother them if they happened to see them together, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, working together. (Y/N) believed it was stupid at first, not going to the library because someone may or may not catch them in such a forbiden act, but it was all forgotten when the idea that she could become the next target for one of their pranks popped in her head. She had seen what they’ve done to other housemates and she never wanted to be in the receiving end of one. 

The way the Room looked was another major point in why they continued to meet there. (Y/N) had never visited but she had heard about it and how it changed according to your needs. Right now, the chamber resembled a greenhouse, more beautiful than the ones where they had Herbology with Professor Sprout. All kinds of plants covered the walls (not one was the same as the next), coloured carpets underneath old white marble statues and high columns of the same material, reminding her of all the times she’d read a book about Ancient Greece and it’s Gods. In the middle of the Room were two dark red divans, contrasting against the green on the rest of the place, surrounded by piles of books — (Y/N) had the feeling they were all about Arithmancy and Numerology — and, in the centre, a small coffee table made of wood. 

Not even after hours of working in the assignment they were able to finish it in that afternoon. Both of them were perfectionists, ending up in some small arguments about how they should approach certain topics but had also pushed them in coming up with better and more interesting ideas. No one could deny the pair worked marvelously, complementing each other.

To (Y/N)’s astonishment, Remus Lupin didn’t fit the ideal her mind had set a long time ago for Gryffindors. All the ones she’d encountered were boisterous, incredibly annoying, short-tempered and just general prats. The boy with whom she had spent a whole afternoon was utterly the opposite and (Y/N) would’ve discovered that earlier if she’d hadn’t been so prejudiced.  

The day the assignment was due to, arrived quickly than expected and with it came a sudden and small pang of sadness that startled her. 

When she sat down beside Remus, he had made sure of arriving extra early to compensate the professor for the week before, the boy perceived something was off — his superpower according to his three best friends, he was always capable of reading a person perfectly, even if they hadn’t known each other for too long — because of how she was acting, trying too hard to show an unbothered facade but not hard enough for him to not notice.

The truth was (Y/N) didn’t want this class to start since once it was over so would the partnership with Remus. She had enjoyed his calm and warm company, sometimes a little crazy, in the Room Requirement while they worked on the project. And she was one hundred percent sure she would miss the moments when they both agreed on taking a break after many hours of reading and began to talk about nothing and everything, all at once. Was she supposed to forget that he always carried one chocolate inside his bag, and that he’d started to bring one more after their first afternoon studying together? Was (Y/N) expected to ignore the fact Remus wanted to become a professor because he liked the idea of being there for young people in case they needed someone? Was this girl meant to fail to remember about how this boy had asked his mum to teach him Welsh so they, mother and son, could have one more thing in common? 

When the professor dismissed them, not without praising (Y/N)’s and Remus’s essay first, he noticed the girl next to him hadn’t even smiled at the mention of how perfect they’d worked. Now he knew for sure something was wrong with her and Remus Lupin was not the kind of person who saw his friends feeling down and did nothing about it. 

Following her across the corridor, he tried to catch her attention but she was either not listening or down right ignoring him. Finally being able to reach her, Remus grabbed her arm softly and called her name in a whisper. She turned around, head low and eyes fixated on her jet black loafers, not looking at him. 

“Are you alright? Because if something happened, you can talk to me,” Remus asked in a faint voice, almost swallowed by the noise the other students in the hallway were making, moving his hand towards her shoulder and rubbing tenderly the fabric of her grey sweater that covered her skin, “I know we hadn’t been friends for too long, but you can come to me for anything you may need.”

(Y/N) raised her head after hearing the last part.

“We are?” An incredulous look appearing on her face. “We are friends?”

“Of course we are, (Y/N),” Remus announced while letting out a snicker, as if the thought of the two of them not being friends sounded ridiculous in his mind, “I wouldn’t have shared my chocolate with you if we weren’t. And as a half blood… you are one of the few people who actually understands my movie or book references from the muggle world.”

Her mood better now that she knew Remus considered her a friend and for once since she initiated her education at Hogwarts, she was glad the Arithmancy professor had made them work in pairs.

|||

Weeks and months passed by, and with each one of them the friendship between Remus and (Y/N) grew stronger. There were still several things the Gryffindor was not ready to discuss, like him being a werewolf, his other friends becoming animagi to help him during the nights of a full moon; the creation of the Marauder’s Map and how much he wanted to kiss her whenever she began to ramble about a subject she was really passionate about. He kept quiet, and for several months he came up with excuses, not only for the scars and the nights on the Infirmary, but for the random loss of concentration every time she was too closed to him, cracking up a joke or cursing at the professors for thinking they couldn’t have five minutes without being buried in assignments and deadlines. 

His feelings, unknown to him, were not one sided. 

(Y/N) wasn’t one to go for the boys she liked, she was used to just admiring them from afar, never making the effort to start a conversation and she was fine with it. But Remus was a whole other story. She knew him, and his fears, and the books he would read over and over again, and how much of a good friend and amazing person he was. And all of that made it even harder for her to take that quick but impossible last step. Her friends had been trying to make her pursue him since the moment the Firewhisky in her system led her to overshare. They’d said he felt the same and for a moment she believed it, but long nights of overthinking convinced her that Remus was just being kind to her, his specialty.

She tried to push her feelings away, to calm her heart that couldn’t stop jumping whenever she saw him smiling, to control the sweat on her hands every time he whispered something funny in her ear; to put a stop to the flips her stomach suffered the moment he said her name; to even her breathing on the occasions he would utter random Welsh words — one of the reason why she started to learn the language four months after their friendship began —  to see her confused expression. 

One night after a long and stressful day in the midst of their seventh and last year at Hogwarts, while the last quarter moon shined down from above them and illuminated her features, Remus Lupin decided he would honor the reason he was supposed to be in Gryffindor.

Taking a small object from the pocket of his trousers and releasing a shaky breath, he took (Y/N)’s hand to catch her attention. She turned around, looking away momentarily from the moon and the stars, the things she admired the most, grinning softly at him with such alluring eyes.

“I don’t know how to say this and what I’m doing is barely planned, and so many things could wrong but…,” Remus started, taking a large gulp of air before talking again, “I can’t help myself with you sitting there like that.”

She didn’t respond, understanding there was something bugging him and that it was crying out for someone to just let it out.

“I like you and not as a friend, I mean, yes, I do like you as a friend but I also like you as much more than that,” he confessed briskly, shortly after closing his eyes and chewing his bottom lip, “and I did this for you.”

(Y/N) took the tiny object silently, not knowing what to say, and held it up towards the sky so the moon would cast a light upon it. 

The minute she realised what it was, she confirmed that Remus’s feelings were the same as hers. With a large smile on her face, she traced her fingers delicately across the wooden figure. It had an intricate design, with two hearts in the middle and two fine lines lacing with each other, reminding her of a simple braid. On top of the heart, were three threads forming a knot.

“It’s a lovespoon, isn’t it?,” she mumbled just to be sure this was all truly happening. Remus nodded, still not knowing if she liked him too, “It’s gorgeous, Rem.” 

Locking eyes with her, he didn’t need her to say she liked him back because he already knew the answer. (Y/N)’s eyes were brimming with a few tears, holding such intense emotions and staring at him the way his mum did whenever his dad was in front of her. 

“I like you too, fy annwyl un,” she confessed back. A laugh escaped his mouth while he shook his head.

“Since when do you know Welsh, fy nghariad aur?”

“I learned it to impress someone.”

Remus leaned his body closer towards her, putting his hand over her cheek and running his thumb gracefully across it. Both of them shift their weight at the same time to be nearer each other. 

(Y/N)’s heart shaking violently in her chest, anticipating what was going to be her first kiss. 

“Remember that favor you owe me since last year?,” she reminded him. Their warm breaths mixing, lips so close and yet so far away. Remus nodded slightly as his hand descended from her cheek to caress cautiously one of her bottom lip’s corners. His other hand travelled to the back of her head, intertwining slowly with her hair, “well, I’m asking for it now.”

He smiled while their lips brushed against one another. Taking the lead, Remus finally pressed their mouths together. And it was everything and so much more than she had ever imagined. Eyes closed but still capable of seeing a mixture of red bright fireworks and shining stars.

One of her hands, the one clutching the lovespoon tightly, stayed put on his arm, while the other moved towards his neck, not knowing where else to leave it. Instantly, Remus dropped his hand from her cheeks to her waist, pulling her closer and almost sitting her on top of his lap. He moved her head slightly backwards, making (Y/N) to open his lips more and allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue. 

None of them cared about what the rest of the school would think when they entered the Great Hall, hand in hand, a dark brown lovespoon decorating (Y/N)’s satchel.

Under the moonlight, no one else had felt more alive than them.

[veryreallyfuckinbad]

FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 5

TW: Strong language, implied abusive relationships.

Days passed quickly at the farm. Your schedule was filled with hunting, scavenging, killing any walkers that wandered too close, taking watch. You fell into a pleasant routine- one that was rare in a world full of nothing but surprises. You were busy every day, but once the sky darkened and cheerful conversations faded into faint whispers around a crackling campfire, you felt the same freedom that accompanied you when you were on your own. You loved every single member of your new family- maybe besides Shane, who was an asshole to everyone who didn’t agree with him. You became close with Maggie, she was like an older sister that you’ve never had. Daryl was still very much an enigma, but you felt most comfortable in his company. He began cracking small, dry jokes from time to time and never complained when you ran your mouth or tried to lift the mood with a stupid joke. Once his patience ran out, he would eventually kick you out and send you back to your tent, but you didn’t mind. You knew the man by now and were grateful for the smallest of talks with him. Despite enjoying the “mundane” life on the farm, you were like a wild animal- you couldn’t stay in for too long, eventually beginning to pace around your cage in a haze. The cage opened once the sun set. You enjoyed running around the dark, empty fields and rolling in the grass with Jake and telling him every Greek myth you could remember his namesake telling you. You knew he couldn’t understand you, but somehow hoped he could. The grass under your body felt cold and cooled you down, the blades ticking your legs and hands. Tonight was one of those nights.

Your hands traced circles in the grass that you and Jake were laying on. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you took a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jake was lying beside you, you haven’t seen him this relaxed since you were alone in the forest with him. The stars were shining bright above you, moonlight giving everything a dreamy glow. You closed your eyes and took in the moment, basking in the cold light of the moon. The grass smelled fresh, and made you feel more awake- more alive. Your eyes shot open when you heard the familiar crackling of a campfire. Once you sat up, your eyes were met with a familiar orange glow. Daryl was sitting by the campfire, his face illuminated by flames. You stood up and carefully made your way over to him, making sure to stay out of sight and not make any noise. Once you got closer, you could see the man clearly.

His face was partially covered with loose strands of hair, but his eyes were filled with disappointment, anger and sadness. He was exhausted- a single look at him proved it. Dark circles outlined his cold eyes and he looked paler than usual.

“Daryl?” your voice was nothing more than a whisper, but he still jolted up, startled. He eyed you and sighed, dipping his head.

“What the hell, woman?” He spoke roughly but quietly, no louder than you. “Ya watchin’ me?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, taking a step out of the shadows with Jake carefully following you. Daryl was selfless, brave and tough but awful at speaking to people. Bad with people, in general.

“Funny coming from you, Dixon” you heard him scoff as you motioned for him to scoot over so you could take a seat next to him. He complied with a slight grunt and made space for you.

Daryl was tense, more so than usual. You wondered whether he was hurting- physically or emotionally. Whatever it was, something wasn’t right and instead of prying, you decided to do everything you could to cheer him up.

“Wanna talk about it?” you looked at him and for a brief moment, your eyes met. He was surprised- you caught him off guard.

“What d’ya mean?” he asked, turning his head to look at you properly.

“I’ll take that as a no, then” you shot him a tiny smile and turned your gaze to Jake, who sat by your legs. You looked down at him and as your eyes met with his, you decided to stand up and take a seat on the cold, wet grass and rested your back on the log you previously sat on with a sigh. You closed your eyes and began running your fingers along the fox’s fur, whose eyes also shut.

Daryl watched you in pure disbelief. He had so many questions that he didn’t know which one he should ask first. He’s seen you rip walkers apart with your bare hands, throw knives, hunt, yell at the undead to come out already so she can kill them and sleep (which, that one time it was Daryl, not a walker). She was dangerous, but not because she would hurt him. She was dangerous because (Y/N) occupied his thoughts more often than she should, he spent a lot of time thinking about how brutal, violent and fearless she could be, just to come back to camp and ask him how his day was or tell him about things he didn’t care about, like the TV shows she liked back when television was a thing. She could be violent, covered in blood, but she always turned into a gentle, caring and understanding person during every conversation she had with him. Moments like these made him reflect on himself and his friendship with her. Her previously blood-stained hands were now ever so gently running along her fox’s fur. He would never admit it, but he admired how she didn’t treat him like a pet, like so many people would. Both her and her fox were nothing but wild, with two sides to them.

“What d’ya like to draw?” the question left his mouth without him even realizing it, he was so lost in thought that the words slipped out on their own.

“People, animals, sometimes places I like” you answered truthfully, with a smile, enjoying knowing he was curious. He might’ve asked it for the sake of being polite, but you knew that wasn’t something Daryl Dixon would do. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stood up and looked him in the eyes. “Hold on” you jogged to your tent and after shuffling around for a couple minutes, you came back and trotted to the spot where you were previously sat. You handed him something you’d never willingly show someone else- your sketchbook.

He examined it and opened it gently, as if afraid of tearing your most prized possession apart. He flipped through the pages and stopped to look at a sketch of Jake, then at a halfway-finished picture of Rick, Carl and Lori, sketches of Glenn and Maggie. He flipped over to the last filled page- the very campfire you were sitting by. He looked at that particular sketch longer than at the others. Daryl examined the picture and with every glance, he found new details he hasn’t noticed before. The fire was in the center, the logs you sat around it, some out of view. He noticed your tents in the background and smiled when he saw his crossbow laying in the grass. His fingers brushed against the paper with a tenderness you’ve not yet seen in him.

“It’s not the best, I know, but I-“ You began, but before you could say anything else, Daryl’s voice sounded over yours.

“Nah, I love it” he sounded genuine, a spark appearing in his eyes for a brief moment. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

“It’s yours!” you offered him a big grin and affectionately patted his knee. He didn’t flinch away like he usually would, simply looking at you and back at the drawing. You nodded and took the sketchbook from his hands, your hand brushing against his. You carefully tugged on the paper and ripped the page out, about to hand it to him before your eyes widened and you retracted your arm. Daryl didn’t say anything and watched in silence as you grabbed a stray piece of charcoal from your campfire and used it to write something on the back of the page. Finally, you handed it to him and once again leaned against the log.

“That’s the first gift I e’er got.” He almost whispered as you felt your stomach turn. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You looked him deep in the eyes and shot him a confused look, hoping he would elaborate. To your surprise, he did.

“Shit childhood. No Christmas, no nothin’.” He looked away, his cold gaze turning to Jake. You had to physically hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around him. Daryl tensed, frustrated with himself for opening up to you for no reason. He didn’t know you cared or that you appreciated him sharing at least a tidbit about his past. His eyes were still fixed on your fox companion, you weren’t completely sure of his intentions but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt him, so you relaxed slightly. Daryl began chewing on his thumb, something you noticed he did as a nervous tic. You knew he hated pity but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Daryl, I’m so sorry” despite being at a loss for words, you went on, “You didn’t deserve that.”.

As soon as the words left your mouth, he turned his head to look in your eyes, but it felt like he was staring right into your soul, your heart. Nobody has ever told him that. Still, despite being grateful, he refused to believe you said it just to be polite, or because you didn’t know what else to say. There was still a part of him that believed you meant it and it made him more confused than ever.

“I didn’t have the best life, either” you began without even thinking about your words, all you wanted was talking to him, “You know, even before shit hit the fan. My love life was about as pretty as one of them undead assholes” you joked in order to lighten the mood, trying to make light of your very unpleasant, even horrifying relationships- the kind that left bruises on your body and moss on your heart. Daryl didn’t even flinch. Not even a scoff of disapproval, so you continued, “Then, after it all began, I met a group- no, my family. They saved my life and taught me everything I know.” Daryl was convinced you were finished sharing and opened his mouth to speak, but you went on, not caring whether he would see you as weak if you cried when recalling your previous group. “The man that kept me alive, he was like a second father to me, his name was Jake.” Your eyes welled up with tears as you pressed the fox sitting beside you close to your chest. He climbed onto your lap and snuggled into your touch, comforting you the best he could. “He gave me my knife, he gave me a second chance, he gave me all the skills I have, but when our camp was attacked I just-“ your whimpers, which turned to full sobs by the middle of your confession, were interrupted with Daryl’s voice, sounding more tender than usual.

“That’s enough.” He sounded concerned, but comforting. “What matters is yer okay now. Yer here an’ yer alive.” By now, tears were streaming down your face and dripping off your lips and nose. “Besides” he began again, not sure if he should say what he wanted to say, but one hopeful, curious glance of your glossy eyes pushed him to speak. “Ya still have Jake”

You couldn’t help it, you stood up and stared at him, whimpering from time to time. You opened your arms slightly and looked him deep in the eyes. “Can I?” You desperately needed his comfort, no human has comforted you in your moments of weakness since the days of your old group. Daryl simply nodded in response and grunted as you inched forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his neck. He didn’t hug you back, but you didn’t mind. The man avoided physical contact with everybody in his group, so you were grateful he even let you get so close to him. “Thank you”

Jake’s whimpering caused you to pull away and look at him with confusion, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Daryl chuckled and smirked lightly, shaking his head at the fox.

“Didn’t take him for the jealous type” he motioned towards Jake with his head and smiled. “I like him” he said, causing you to giggle. You felt much better, all thanks to him. The whole night, you caught him staring at your companion, he was clearly intrigued. You decided to take your shot.

You placed your hand on Jake’s fur and stroked it gently with your palm. Once you felt him relax, you reached your free hand out to Daryl, who was watching you with curiosity in his pale blue eyes. “Give me your hand” you instructed and hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions. Thankfully, he obliged but flinched slightly when your hand touched his. You guided his hand to Jake’s snout as gently as you possibly could, not wanting to scare either of your rather wild friends. You brought his rough, ragged hand to the fox’s nose. Jake looked up at you. You were never very religious, but in that very moment praying seemed like a great idea. You were all but horrified that he would take a bite of Daryl’s fingers, ruining the chance for mutual trust between him and the animal.

You sighed with relief and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Jake sniffed Daryl’s hand and didn’t move, simply licking his snout afterwards. The archer’s hand felt less tense now, as if he wasn’t bracing himself for the animal’s teeth in his hand at any second. You took his hand once more and you could swear you could hear a breath hitch in his throat, but he didn’t flinch or pull away. You placed your own hand on the soft fur of Jake’s scruff and grabbed his, pulling it closer carefully, until it was laying on top of yours. His hand was much bigger than yours, covering it whole. Your hand began sliding from beneath his, and soon, his hand was laid on top of Jake’s soft fur. You looked at Daryl and gave him a big grin. Happiness completely overtook you, allowing you to completely forget about the tears you shed just moments ago. Daryl gave you a huge smile, bigger than you’ve ever gotten from him. It was genuine, you could see the pure joy in his eyes- almost like a child petting a stray dog for the first time. His hand travelled through the flame-colored fur, making sure to be as gentle as possible.

“Holy shit” he breathed out and looked at you with the same smile he gave you earlier, his eyes lit up. He looked at Jake with emotions you weren’t sure he could feel until then- joy, awe, love. Daryl was completely invested with brushing the animal’s soft pelt and hardly noticed you chuckle.

“I never realized you were such a softie” you jabbed playfully, somehow knowing he wouldn’t take it personally.

“Shut up”

Once you convinced the hunter to try and get some shut eye, you kept watch with Jake and scratched him behind his ears. Pride filled you, as if you managed to tame two wild beasts at once. The quiet crackling of the flames caused you to get lost in thought, almost putting you in a trance. Daryl’s words echoed through your head, like a lost voice bouncing against walls in your brain. He was so gentle with both you and Jake, allowing you to open up and finally feel completely comfortable around him. You chuckled to yourself when the image of Daryl’s hands shaking slightly when touching the fox ever so gently, as if he was afraid that he could break him into pieces with one wrong move. A strange feeling fluttered in your heart- and stomach. One that you haven’t felt this strongly yet, you were unsure what it meant, but you didn’t want to dwell on it and hoped the answer would just present itself someday.

You’ve already guessed that Daryl’s childhood wasn’t stellar but you never expected it to be quite that horrible. He was sweet, in his own Daryl-Dixon-tough-asshole way. In your eyes, he deserved nothing but gratitude and-

And idea popped into your mind. You remembered the way his eyes lit up and how you felt the walls he built around himself crumble a bit when you gave him your drawing. You smiled and gave Jake a pat on the head while reaching over to retrieve your sketchbook and grabbing a piece of charcoal from the sizzling fire. You got to sketching, beginning with a two circles and some simple shapes, and before long, the shapes turned into two beautifully rendered figures- Daryl and Jake sitting next to each other by a fading out campfire. Daryl was smiling softly while Jake was leaning into his hand, which was placed upon the fox’s head, between his ears. The picture was incredibly tranquil, you could almost hear the hushed chirping of crickets in the grass behind them. Content with your work, you stood up and tiptoed to Daryl’s tent, careful not to wake him up and slipped the drawing in the opening of the tent. It was halfway inside, halfway outside of the tent, like a letter delivered by a lazy postman. You shot his tent a smile and decided to get some sleep yourself.

Daryl turned over and sat up as soon as he heard you zip your tent up. Once he was sure you were inside, he grabbed the piece of paper you slipped through the crack of his tent opening and examined it. A smile appeared on his face as soon as he realized he was in the center, petting (Y/N)’s beloved companion. He felt grateful and incredibly happy, but he also felt something else- a foreign feeling which made him wonder. That woman really was dangerous, she could occupy his thoughts for hours without him even realizing it. Despite his confusion about the new, strange emotion, his smile never wavered. He crouched and dug inside the bag that laid right next to where he slept and finally, pulled out a handful of colorful drawing pins. With a quiet grunt, he pinned the drawing to the wall of his tent in a spot where he could easily look at it while laying down. Staring at the gift, he remembered the other picture you gave him, and the note on the back that he didn’t read yet. He retrieved the now bent in half piece of paper and turned it over. He choked on his own breath when he read the message written on the back.

“I guess it took the apocalypse for you to get a gift, but you better get used to it now. You deserve it, Dixon.

-(Y/N)”

_______

taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

[mrslittletall]

11 for Postman and Louise from Nier Reolicant please ^^

Title: Fleeting Rest Fandom: Nier Replicant Characters: The Postman, Louise Word-Count: 1.596 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33815986

Summary: Hans, the postman, isn't feeling very well, but he's the only one looking after Louise, the girl from the shipwreck. He can't make her wait any longer for food despite his poor condition.

(Author's note: I don't think that the postman would think of himself as the postman, so I looked up his name and it's Hans, so the postman is referred to as Hans. This is my first fic for Nier Replicant for characters I didn't even expect to get, but I am satisfied with how it turned out.

This is completely based on the story in the game, not on the story “The Mermaid Princess”. I am not too sure if the postman having the black scrawl is canon or a headcanon, but I went with it.)

Prompt: Bed Rest @sicktember

Even though Hans had been feeling ill for the last few days, he couldn’t postpone visiting Louise anymore. The last time he had brought her food had been more than three days ago and the way she was scarfing down any food he brought here… he couldn’t let her suffer like this again. Who knows how long she had stayed on this ship, floating through sea, before it wrecked on the Seafront shore? He had to get some food for her and see how she was doing.

His leg was hurting a lot when he left the post office. He knew it was the beginning stage of the black scrawl. He knew that his days were numbered, but he would make the most out of them. He only wished that Louise had taken up his offer on coming with him; having a daughter in the post office would make his days so much brighter. Maybe she would change her mind once she got used to seeing light again.

He limped to the tavern to get some fresh bread. When the tavern owner saw him, he expressed quite some concern.

“You know I would be glad to deliver your food to you. The post office has done so much for the town. It is only fair that we give something back.”, he said.

Hans only shook his head as he paid for the bread. “I appreciate it, but this food isn’t for me. I… have to get it to someone else.”

The tavern keeper gave him a questioning look. He probably assumed that it would be the lighthouse lady, but she had been dead for a while now. Luckily, he didn’t ask any further questions and handed Hans the package.

“Whoever you are helping out this time, I am sure they cherish it.”, he said and waved him goodbye. Hans reciprocated the greeting and limped outside, heading for the shipwreck.

Even on good days the way to the shipwreck wasn’t easy with his bad leg. It was why he so often wasn’t able to deliver the mail and was more than glad when the young man with the white hair appeared and helped him out. Still, walking to the shipwreck was a lot easier than going all the way to Popola’s village, fearing that the shades on the way would tear him apart.

He was bathed in sweat once he arrived at the shipwreck, the bag with the bread clutched to his chest. Now he only needed to enter the shipwreck and find Louise, who probably was staying in as deep as possible as always. She really was afraid of blinding herself by the daylight. It didn’t surprise the postman, he also would be reluctant to step into the daylight when he would have lived in the dark for who knows how long.

As he entered the shipwreck and made his way to Louise, Hans noticed how much worse the smell had gotten in that place. He really should talk Louise into getting used to the daylight soon, when this place was rotting from the inside, there was no guarantee it would hold up for years. Still, the smell hadn’t been that bad three days ago… could the shipwreck really rot that easily?

Whatever it was, Hans had a different thing to be concerned about. The symptoms of his illness were rapidly getting worse the longer he was up and out of bed. The bad smell didn’t help at all and soon he was coughing on his way, having to drag his bed leg behind him. He probably wouldn’t be able to stay around long and spend some time with Louise today…

In the meantime, Louise had stayed in the ship and tried to practice her writing. It was so difficult. He had shown her how to form letters to build words, which would allow her to communicate with him. Because she was a shade, he couldn’t understand her words… she wanted to speak the same language as him. Louise wished so much that she could be human to be with him. He had looked so sad when she declined his offer to come with him… if only she could walk under the sun…

She already feared that he had left her alone. He hadn’t been here for days. He used to come daily… why wasn’t he here? Had he figured out that she wasn’t human… Louise feared nothing more than being left alone again. Everyone always left her alone when they saw her real body…

“Louise? Where are you?”

It was his voice! She shot up from her chair and hurried to him, she was so glad to see him again. Her joy turned into deep concern though when she heard a heavy sound, like if something or someone had hit the ground and to downright horror when she saw him lying there, clutching a bag with food (for her, he always brought food for her), and he didn’t move or react to her at all.

He looked so ill and weak. There were sweat beads in front of his face and he was so pale, even paler than usual. She knew that he had trouble walking, he always would limp, but she didn’t know it was that bad.

Had he dragged himself here just to see her? Louise instantly had a weird feeling welling inside up her chest… how could she have thought that he abandoned her? He never would do that. He was the first one who was ever kind to her! How could she ever have doubted him?

Though, right now he needed her help… humans normally would rest in bed when they were feeling ill, right? Louise walked over to him, hesitating when she reached the light of the sun that filtered through the holes of the shipwreck.

She could take it. The sun would hurt her, yes, but she could easily heal the damage. Besides, with him being unconscious, he wouldn’t notice the true nature of her body. As Louise stepped into the light of the sun, a low hiss escaped her when her body started to burn. She walked over to him and tried to lift him up.

She couldn’t do it. This body that she was inhabiting… it was too weak. He was so much larger and heavier than that body… she despised having to do it, but…

Louise let part of her shade form take over, her arms turning into tentacles, having to pinch her eyes when the unfiltered light of the sun hit them, making the burn so much worse. Though her pain was nothing against the pain he must be in, he had come only to see her, even though he was feeling unwell. She would endure every pain for him.

With her tentacle arms, it was a piece of cake to lift him up and carry him into the sole bed she spent her time at when she didn’t have anything better to do. She sighed when she stepped back into the shadows, grateful that the burning pain of the sun wouldn’t affect her anymore. She gently lowered him down and tucked him in, stroking over his hood with one of her tentacles, before looking at it in disgust and hiding it in the shadows.

When Hans opened his eyes, he was lying down. Apparently, he also was lying somewhere soft, as opposed to the hard floor he had felt when his consciousness had left him. When he looked to the left, he could see Louise standing there, her face obscured by the shadows, like always, but that long black hair and the bow he had brought her, it was unmistakably her.

“Louise…?”, he said and pulled himself up, only to get hit with a cloud of dust which prompted another coughing fit. As he was busy coughing his lungs out of his body, he felt how Louise gently but firmly pushed him back into bed.

“Oh woah, you are pretty strong…”, Hans murmured. She looked so frail and small. How had she even been able to carry him here? As he looked at her with questioning eyes, she took a step back and began to cower away from him. She always did that when he talked about something she was afraid of.

“Hey it’s okay, I… won’t ask…”, he said. “Thank you for taking care of me, Louise. I am afraid I was a bit weaker than I thought… I should head home and rest…”

As he pulled himself up again, ready to get out of bed and limp back home, he got pushed back into bed a lot more firmly this time, with Louise stepping back into the shadows right away after he had been forced to lie back down.

“You won’t let me, hm?”, he said, a faint smile on his lips. “Alright, you won, I guess I'll rest here until I feel well enough to go back to the post office.”

Louise stayed in the shadows for a while longer. Hans already wanted to stop looking at her and close his eyes to rest up, when she stepped closer… and began singing. The tune he had hummed to her. The lighthouse lady’s tune.

She was singing in her rough, broken voice, likely from a throat too damaged to form more coherent words, but for him, it was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

He smiled as he let his eyes close and lull himself back to sleep, murmuring: “Your singing has gotten better, Louise…” (Author's note: And this was the fourth of the sicktember prompts. It was surprisingly fun to write the monster in hiding. Louise is a character that certainly should get explained more.

I have the feeling I made the replicants a bit too nice, because in canon almost all of them are kind of shitheads, but hey, canon is painful enough, let us have a little bit of kindness in fanfiction.)

[nancywheelxr]

For Sokka/Zuko prompt (2/?): Sokka saving Zuko after miscalculation how long he can hold his breath during the North Pole Siege

anon, like i said before, you are an angel and I hope you like this

*

Sokka is going to kill Aang.

No, seriously, he means it, the next time he sees the kid, he’s going to murder him because this is all his fault. It has to be, because there is no other explanation for this except Aang beginning to rub off on him. There really, really isn’t.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he murmurs, dragging Zuko out of the freezing water and away from the cracking ice. Honestly, the guy is heavier than he looks and Sokka bets it must be the crushing weight of all those issues. “Should’ve let you drown, asshole.”

And you know what? He stands by that. The little voice at the back of his head that sounds annoyingly like Aang be damned, Sokka should have taken one look at the jerk, incandescent hands slamming against the thick ice, too cold in the freezing water to properly melt the frozen floor, wide eyes blinking sluggishly, and, and– okay, fine. Maybe Sokka couldn’t look the other way and pretend he didn’t see him.

Still. He resents Aang for not being there to convince him to save the guy and let Sokka advocate for the drowning. You know, for argument’s sake, just ‘cause Zuko’s the freaking Fire Nation prince that’s been chasing them all the way since the South Pole and they should at least make an effort to look like they’re doing this under duress.

“Come on, we can’t stay here, wake up, jerk,” well. Sokka can’t stay here, he has a duty and also, the place will be crawling with soldiers soon, but if he leaves Zuko here, there’s no telling if he’ll make it. Do Firebenders get hypothermia? The guy looks hypothermic enough, at least.

Something explodes nearby.

Staying here any longer would be crazy. Sokka eyes Zuko consideringly. “I did my best,” he says, frowning because it sounds weak even to himself and he already knows what he’s going to do, “truly, it’s tragic. I dragged him out of the water, but there was nothing I could do. Too many Fire Nation soldiers around,” he grumbles, heaving one of Zuko’s arms around his shoulder and getting only a faint mumbling in response, “I had to leave him there.”

Just to be clear, though, Sokka is only doing this– he’s only dragging Zuko across the town in the middle of a Fire Nation invasion because he’s gone through all this trouble already to keep the asshole alive, it would be a waste to leave him for dead now. Hey, he didn’t spend five minutes slamming at the ice with his boomerang for nothing, okay?

“What were you thinking anyway?” He asks him, because the only thing worse than be dragging your nemesis around is to be dragging your nemesis around in silence. “Stupid firebender swimming around. At night! Were you trying to die?”

Another mumble. At least that’s better than the wheezing sound from when he first came out of the water, he figures.

“And I mean, it’s pretty clear this whole thing isn’t your doing,” he continues, ducking under a bridge to avoid the worst of the fight, “it’s way too organized, and honestly? Last time we checked, you didn’t have an entire fleet with you.”

And, not the Sokka would say it aloud, but it just doesn’t seem like something Zuko would do. From what they’ve seen of the guy so far, he’s less about conquering and invading, and more like capture the Avatar, restore my honor, blah, blah, blah. Which makes bringing him straight to Aang probably a very stupid thing. 

Damn.

He groans. What’s he supposed to do now? Zuko’s a dead weight at his side and he has no idea where Yue and the others went, even though he’s supposed to be protecting Yue. And Katara. And Aang. 

Instead, here he is, shuffling into another alley. “This is all your fault,” he glares at the still unconscious moron prince. “Yours and Aang’s. There’s a blizzard outside, did you know?! What, you were just going to get Aang and walk out on the snowstorm?!”

Zuko still doesn’t answer him. He does begin to shiver, though, so that’s something? Better than hypothermia, that’s for sure. Still, Zuko’s shivering and looking sad in his wet clothes, and this is something, at least, that Sokka can help. He can take his own fur coat and drape across him.

“Yeah, you didn’t really think this one through, did you?” He sighs, letting his head thump lightly against the wall behind him. “Me neither, buddy. I’m supposed to be looking after the princess, but I’ve got no idea where they went. I guess I’m looking after you instead, huh? I’m not happy about it either, trust me.”

If only he had some sort of rope– Sokka groans. How does he keep getting in these situations? He levels Zuko with a resentful look. “Why is it always you?” Looking at Zuko now, though, it’s pretty hard to muster much anger. He doesn’t look very intimidating like this– his hair is falling out of his ponytail and his face is paler than usual, his scar stark against the white. Actually, he looks a lot younger like this. Aang had called him a teenager when they met him, but Sokka thinks this might be the first time he’s ever thought of him like that. It’s pretty messed up. Zuko can’t be much older than Sokka– a year? Maybe less? Oddly, it makes him wonder how did he end up here, like this, hunting Aang in a banged up warship and only his Uncle along. Shouldn’t a prince have like, more back up?

Not that Sokka is complaining, it could be a lot worse than Zuko, it could’ve been someone like freaking Zhao. He doesn’t think Zhao would have kept his promise not to destroy his village back in the South Pole. Actually, the guy would’ve probably started with the destroying and left the questions for later.

A hoarse shout shakes off that line of thinking pretty quick.

Zuko wakes up all at once– one second he’s lying motionless on the ice, chest rising and falling steadily faint, pale and pitiful wrapped in Sokka’s furs, and the next he’s fumbling with the cloth, tangling himself further with frantic movements. His eye zeroes in on Sokka, widening as far as they go for a split moment, and managing only a flickering flame with his trembling hands, probably too busy heating up to do any proper firebending.

“Oh, goody, you’re alive,” Sokka says, choosing to let the sarcasm bleed on his voice and quietly grip his boomerang a little tighter, just in case. 

“What,” Zuko coughs up, and the shivering is back, and Sokka doesn’t think he means to be furrowing further into the coat like that. “Where– you. What have you done to me?”

Yeah, Sokka should probably have seen that one coming. Still, “hey! I saved your life! You did all the drowning yourself, buddy!”

 Zuko frowns. Hysterically, Sokka kind of wants to smooth that out, go back to the young look from before. The frown is a very angsty one, though, and full of suspicion, which is fair, all things considered, but he still takes offense. They’re the good guys, after all, they’re not the ones doing the invading.

Spirits, the invasion. Sokka doesn’t have time for this, he needs to find Katara and Aang, he needs to find Yue, he needs– 

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why what?”

“You said you saved me,” Zuko is still sounding worse for wear, rough and cracking at the edges, but there’s some color returning to his cheeks, the shivering finally dying down.

And isn’t that the question? Well, not really. It’s what Aang would have done and that’s usually a pretty good moral compass. Sokka shrugs, “it was the right thing to do. You’re a jerk, but even you didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Zuko doesn’t seem to know what to do with that information, faint steam wafting off his now dry clothes, and Sokka has half a mind to ask for his coat back, a weird tightness on his chest the only thing holding him back– the same odd feeling that sort of made the Aang excuse taste a tiny bit like a lie.

No time to dwell on that, though. Before Zuko could brood some more or throw any other wild accusation, a shadow falls over the both of them, Zuko’s weird uncle pausing at the start of the alley and taking in the scene. His face kind of does a complicated thing where he looks like he wants to bundle Zuko on his arms in the tightest hug in the country but knows Zuko would probably like, throw a fit and then die of dramatic indignation, and Sokka feels like maybe he shouldn’t be witnessing this, especially because the angry jerk is looking like he maybe wouldn’t go so far as dying if hugs were to be involved.

“Nephew,” the old man says, and the relief is his voice is palpable, “you are alive– I feared–”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Zuko cuts in, getting up in wobbly legs and giving Sokka a wide berth as he inches his way along the wall.

“I owe you a great debt, young man,” he continues, now turning to Sokka with such a grateful face, it’s really hard to remember he’d been doing some chasing the Avatar just weeks ago. He looks so normal. “You saved him when most would not and for that, I can never thank you enough.”

“Uncle!”

“Erm, you’re welcome?” Sokka clears his throat, loosening his rip on the boomerang, suddenly awkward.

“Have you thanked him yet, Prince Zuko?”

“I–”

Iroh– well, Sokka thinks that his name, at least– doesn’t glare, but his eyebrows do a very disappointed move and Zuko seems to cave like a sullen teenager. It’s kind of great. And very surreal, honestly, Sokka is kinda just rolling with it at this point. “Thank you,” Zuko bows, making a very fire nation-y sign with his hands, adds softer, “Sokka.”

“Huh, you do know my name.”

A loud explosion interrupts whatever retort Zuko had been planning, and Iroh grimaces. “I’m afraid we are running out of time,” the grave expression seems foreign in his face and Sokka feels a terrible dread in the pit of his stomach, “Zhao plans on doing the unthinkable– he is going to kill the moon spirit.”

Well, it’s official, then. Zuko’s just been demoted from the worst to pass on the title to Zhao. “Is that even– I mean, how?”

“The Avatar,” Zuko says, but it’s a weak complaint, even he knows stopping the murder of an ancient spirit ranks a bit higher, like immediate catastrophe higher. “Fine,” he snaps, hands curling into fists, “but Zhao is mine.”

Okay, because that sounds like it’s not going to blow up on their faces at all. Not that it matters, because Sokka knows that it’s a done deal now. There’s something urgent in the air, pressing down on them, almost buzzing with the expectations of a tragedy. They’ll need all the help they can get if they mean to stop Zhao’s idiotic plan.

Sokka looks at Iroh, at Zuko. He’s still wearing the fur coat, stretched across his shoulders, sleeves too short at his wrists. 

“You guys,” he feels the need to say, “are the worst. But we should probably hurry up, then.”

[male-reader-requests]

Light Night Love

Requested by: Me

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x M!Reader

Word Count: 1785 words

Warnings: It's soft, implies some sexual stuff but it's never stated. There's basically no dialogue so sorry, and I haven't slept in like 48 hours so sorry if it's bad. Also grown up characters!

-

Shoto sighed as he turned over in bed, looking at the bright digital numbers next to him. It was bordering on 3 in the morning, this was supposed to be his day off, but he couldn't sleep which meant no sleeping in.

He knew why of course. He knew why he was tossing and turning in bed, why he had gotten up more times than he was proud to admit to use the bathroom before getting back in bed with a lightly depressed sigh. 

Turning over again he looked at the light trickling in from his partly open door, a vain attempt to draw his husband into laying down for a while. (M/N) had been working himself to the bone lately, and Shoto understood why, truly he did, but he missed him. 

(M/N) worked as a first response coordinator for a few different agencies but he was also Shoto's manager and secretary. Unfortunately, this meant that they'd been hit with a lot of ridicule when it came to light that they'd been since their first year in high school and married for 5 of the years out. People didn't think they'd be able to stay professional but was a bit impossible not to be when they only saw each other at home.

And now the two of them were home, were going to be for the next 72 hours or so, and (M/N) was still working.

With a sigh that rivaled his old homeroom teacher the half and half male forced himself out of bed to pull on a pair of sweat pants before wandering out to look in the kitchen. (M/N) was a man of habit, doing the same thing pretty much every day, which meant that he was either already in the kitchen or would be soon to get a cup of coffee.

The first time Shoto had spent a prolonged period of time with (M/N) he'd gotten concerned over the amount of caffeine he'd put in his system, but it was to be expected with a quirk like his.

(M/N)'s quirk was generally called "Sleepless". He didn't sleep, he didn't need it, in fact, he couldn't sleep. He could fall unconscious, he could pass out, he could faint, but he couldn't sleep. The issue about this though was that while he didn't need to sleep he still needed rest, needed to stay calm for a period of time so his muscled could relax and his mind could settle. He hadn't done that in a few days. 

True to habits though when Shoto found his way to the kitchen (M/N) was already there. He looked like hell to be kind about it, and the sight made him sad. (M/N) was dressed in a long sleeve shirt that was probably Shoto's, a pair of sleep shorts that had probably been marketed to women more than men, and mismatched socks. His skin was paler than normal, unhealthy and his eyes looked sunken in, the large bags under them not helping and his hair was a greasy, tangled mess pushed back by a pair of bulky headphones.

He seemed happy though, Shoto noted. He was swaying, dancing with slight jerky movements that screamed of exhaustion to whatever was blaring through his headphones. This meant that he was done, or at least almost done, but since he was pouring coffee into a cup Shoto would guess it would be a few more hours at least.

Leaning against the wall behind him Shoto watched as the smaller male moved around the kitchen, pulling creamer out of the fridge along with a bag of grapes. He ate a few while he stirred in sugar and creamer before putting all of it away. He then grabbed a plum, ate that, then another, and Shoto realized he was getting to the end of his rope.

The longer (M/N) went without giving his body rest the more stuff he needed to keep functioning. The longer he stayed up the more water he had to drink, the more food he needed to eat, the more caffeine he needed to keep his mind in the game. With the way he was puttering around the kitchen Shoto knew he'd been working for more than 72 hours straight then, so he'd started long before he'd even gotten home from work.

A light huff made it from the taller male before he made his way actually into the kitchen. He got close to (M/N), close enough that normally he would have noticed, but he hadn't so when he went to step back he ran into Shoto, tearing a less than dignified yelp from his throat.

Immediately Shoto wrapped his arms around (M/N), one hand gripping the opposite shoulder while the other sunk under his shirt, rubbing at the smaller male's stomach. No matter how much he drank (M/N)'s body didn't like caffeine, it generally gave him a stomach ache, so with how the shorter male practically slumped in his hold, he decided to call it a day.

With gentle fingers, Shoto took the coffee cup and set it on the kitchen island, burying his face is messy hair as he held smaller hands in his own. (M/N) made a light sound of displeasure when the coffee was taken away but Shoto knew it would be fine. He wasn't worried about it being on the counter for long, considering (M/N) would drink day-old coffee without a care in the world when he was busy.

He pulled (M/N) phone out of his pocket, pausing the music he was listening to before setting it next to the coffee and next came the headphones. Large (E/C) eyes blinked up at him, squinting in confusion and Shoto melted on the spot. A light smile found its way to his face as he took (S/K) cheeks into his hands, placing chaste kisses along (M/N)'s hairline, over his eyebrows and eyes, over his nose and cheekbones, and his chin. His face was heating up under his hands, embarrassment and sleep deprivation making him pliable enough that Shoto could pick him up without much complaint.

(M/N) had his legs wrapped loosely around Shoto's waist, hands under his thighs to keep him from falling while his own were digging into the half and half males back in embarrassment. Shoto, feeling pinpricks in his skin finally realized that he was dumb and had forgotten to put a shirt on, which was probably why (M/N) was so embarrassed.

Despite that they'd been together for years now, married for part of it for Christ's sake, (M/N) was always too easy to embarrassed. If anything Shoto would chalk it up to the fact that the (H/C) haired male didn't leave the house very much so he got overwhelmed easily, but that was alright. To him as long as (M/N) was happy he was fine with it.

When they'd gotten back to the bedroom Shoto dropped (M/N) on the bed without much thought before moving to shuck off his sweats again. This is how nights normally went, (M/N) would either already be in bed or Shoto would have to track him down, the smaller putting pajamas on before getting in bed and waiting. Shoto would strip down to just his underwear, he was in excellent control over his quirk but sometimes he still overheated, set an alarm if they needed it before just... laying on top of (M/N), pulling the covers over both of them.

The two of them had found out early that in a relationship where only one of them needed to sleep there was going to be some odd things. Shoto, despite the nightmares of his early childhood, tended to sleep as much as possible, and (M/N) didn't need sleep at all. This had lead to the discovery that if they were to sleep together they needed to figure something out for (M/N) or else he'd get out of bed, and Shoto, asleep or awake, didn't like that at all.

So they'd found out that if Shoto laid on (M/N), like on top of him as in all his weight pushing the other male into the mattress, he'd stay and be calm. This was the closes (M/N) would ever get to actual sleep, it was relaxation and just pure affection thrown into a human weighted blanket.

Shoto had his hands under (M/N) back, rubbing his fingers into his greasy hair without a care in the world. Very early into their relationship Shoto had gotten over the greasy hair thing. Yeah, it was kinda gross, but he didn't mind, it made (M/N) calm down so it was worth the gross residue.

They laid like this for who knows how long, Shoto altering between rubbing at (M/N) scalp and lightly scratching it with blunt nails. His arms were starting to fall asleep though, the entirety of both his and (M/N)'s weight starting to cut off his circulation. He wouldn't move though, he'd been through worse. He was willing to sacrifice a bit of his comfort for (M/N)'s happiness.

After a while though (M/N)'s hand found their way to Shoto's hair, tangling into the two-toned locks, and Shoto let out a breath he'd basically been holding the entire time.

It took (M/N) a long time to calm down, his brain didn't shut off so it was hard for him to relax, but the second those fingers found his hair he knew he'd done his job right. His lips found their way to (S/C) skin on (M/N)'s neck, soft and gentle and he knew it wouldn't lead anywhere, (M/N)'s body was too tired to do anything let alone have sex.

So Shoto laid there, his lips brushing against skin as he whispered into the night.

"I love you," (M/N) said, the first thing Shoto had heard him say probably 2 days. (M/N) was pressing kisses to his shoulder, sleepy and slow despite that their owner wouldn't be able to fall asleep.

"I love you too", Shoto whispered, as he was right next to (M/N)'s ear, and he finally let himself start to drift off, his dreams a black void except for the warmth he felt below him.

[i-cant-type-help]

One hand One heart

(Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Summary: Draco and Y/N recite their vows whilst they still have the chance. Based off of ‘One hand One heart’ from West Side Story

Warnings: Angst, death, reference to love making hehe

Word Count: 2600

A/N: I am a theatre major, a musical fic was bound to come eventually. I was listening to west side story and I noticed how sad this song was and how well it would work with a character dying in their loves arms and bam this came. I proof read this at 4 in the morning so if there is an error you know why.

Draco ran through the destroyed halls of Hogwarts, calling your name frantically. He dodged oncoming spells and waded his way through the debris that was collapsing around him. All he could focus on was finding you, he didn't have time to look at the dead bodies at his feet or the people fighting around him.

He was becoming panicked now, finding it hard to breath as his chest tightened continuously. Draco called out your name again, screaming it so desperately that his throat burned. When you didn't reply once again, he broke down into sobs, clutching desperately at his chest in defeat.

"Draco." A female voice said softly behind him. Draco didn't have the energy to look up, "I think I saw her on the third floor."

"Don't talk to him, Hermione, we need to go." Another voice said, full of panic and a slither of disgust.

Draco stood up immediately and ran to the third floor, feeling adrenaline rush through him as he anxiously awaited seeing you again after so long. He prayed to Merlin that you were okay, that he would get there to see you healthy with bruises or grazes at the very most. After that he would be able to protect you, he would make sure you didn't get hurt and when this was all over he would make sure that he would never leave you again in his life, not like he had before this.

But of course, when Draco saw you lying there, your face scrunched up in pain, he knew he had been much too optimistic. It seemed you had been caught up in the destruction of one of the walls, as your legs were trapped under piles of debris. He also noticed there was blood gushing violently out of your right leg as there was a large piece of glass wedged into the skin.

You weren't even crying. You just lay there, face pale and growing paler by the second and body covered in dust. You barley moved except from the little rise and fall of your chest as you took in harsh and faltering breaths. Draco froze for the first few moments, his mind unable to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. He noticed his hands were shaking slightly first and then his whole body began to shake, rapidly. His heart plummeted through his stomach and his body moved to your side automatically.

You didn't notice him until he let out a painful whimper of your name, "Y/N". You snapped your head to the side quickly in disbelief, causing your body to twist violently. Instantly you cried out in pain, causing Draco to drop down to his knees and pull your body onto his bended knees.

"Draco" You gasped, gazing up at his face lovingly. It had been so long. Too long. But you were so glad he had found you. You scanned his face a few times, taking it in his stunning features that you had missed. You stared into his eyes, watching as small tears fell from them.

"Stop frowning, baby. You know you'll get wrinkles" You breathed with a small smile on your face. You lifted your hand to his face and stroked his cheek softly with your thumb. Draco sighed and nuzzled himself into your hand for a few moments of content before panic set into his eyes again.

"Y/N.W-What happened?" He stuttered, cupping your face into his hands and caressing your cheekbones, "I-I don't know what to do. I lost my mother's wand and I can't lift the rubble by myself I- "

You shushed Draco by lifting a finger to his lips, "Don't say anything, Draco. Please, just hold me. I've missed you so much". You nuzzled yourself closer to him to provoke him. Draco responded to this the way you wanted as he used his arms to scoop your upper body and pull you close to him in a cradle position. You rested your lower back on his legs and pressed your head on his chest.

The pain was unbearable, but with Draco holding you tight and the both of you looking intently into each other's eyes, you knew it was okay. As long as he was there.

"Y/N" He sighed, "What am I going to do now?". More tears slipped from his eyes and you raised your arm to stroke them away, but a sudden rush of pain hit you and your body convulsed in response. Draco felt you move in his arms and he squeezed you tighter, watching helplessly as you breathed through the pain.

"Do you remember what the last thing you said to me was?" You smiled, gazing up at him through hazy eyes. Draco thought for a few moments, his brows creasing in concentration before realisation hit him. He laughed for a few seconds before he began to cry again, sobs falling from his mouth as he remembered the last time he saw you. You looked so good, so beautiful, so healthy. And here you were now, quivering and bleeding out in his arms.

You frowned at his reaction and used your energy to stroke his hair for a few seconds whilst he cried. You arm soon became too heavy though and you lowered it back down again before speaking, "You said to me, 'I'm going to marry you someday'". You paused and Draco looked down to see you were lying in his arms with your eyes closed with content.

"Tell me what it would have been like, Draco" You whispered.

Draco paused for a few seconds before speaking, "What it is going to be like, Y/N. I am going to marry one day". You simply hummed in response before Draco let out a shaky breath, continuing on.

"It's going to be amazing, Y/N." Draco breathed, his voice gentle, "We'll get married in Paris, because I know you've wanted to visit since you were seven and I'll buy you whatever dress you want, I won't care about the cost. And then you'll probably shout at me for not caring about the cost but that won't matter on the day. What will matter is when I first see you walking down the isle with your dad, and I'll just know that I am the luckiest man alive. And I'll know that I love you so much, just like I do now and will forever. And then we'll be married, finally. Then I will make love to you of course" He said the last part with a laugh which you returned.

"I trust there will be lots of love making from that point on?" You giggled.

"Why, of course." He grinned, stroking your arm as he continued, "Then that will lead to lots of mini Dracos and Y/Ns with my hair, obviously. We both know I have the best hair out of the two of us, although yours is a strong contender. And we'll spend every single moment together, I'll never leave you alone again. I'll take you everywhere you've ever wanted and spoil you like a princess. And it still won't even come close to what you deserve".

"I can't wait, Draco" You cooed, staring into his pale eyes. He smiled for a few more moments before his face dropped again. He looked down your body and his body froze when he saw how much more blood you had lost since he had found you. You quickly turned his head towards you again with your palm and gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'm dying, Draco" You muttered sadly, although a smile still rested on your lips.

"Don't say that Y/N, please" Draco begged, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you closer into his chest and stroked your hair lightly.

"I want you to do something for me" You questioned.

"Anything for you, doll, anything" He nodded frantically.

"You remember those vows, right? The ones in that book from when we were younger" You asked, and Draco smiled sadly in response. Of course he remembered, reading was his favourite part of the day when he was younger, he got to spend it with you.

"Do them with me" You choked, tears starting to fall down your face now as the pain became worse; almost unbearable and Draco's face was becoming paler by the minute. He breathed in for a few seconds and closed his eyes. This was gruelling for Draco. His love was bleeding out in his arms and all she wanted was to hear the wedding vows that she would never get the chance to live out. It was too much to bear for him, his emotions were mumbled, and his brain felt dead, all he could think about was you and how surreal this was to him. But he had to do this, for you. So, with a shaky voice, he began.

"I, Draco, take thee, Y/N." You smiled at his response and he sent you a forced smile in response, stroking the top of your head.

"I, Y/N, take thee, Draco" You continued as one of Draco's tears damp tears fell onto the creases in your forehead.

"For richer, for poorer"

"In sickness and in health"

"To love and to honour "

"To hold and to keep"

"From each sun to each moon"

"From tomorrow to tomorrow"

"From now to forever"

You paused, a hesitant breath leaving your mouth to steady yourself.

"Till death do us part" You said finally, a shiver running through you. Draco gulped a dry lump in his throat and  slipped his ring off of his finger with a struggle, before sliding it down your finger. You smiled at the sight of his family ring on your shaking hand. It was much too big enough for you and it rested loosely on your finger but you didn't much care, you couldn't think of a better wedding ring.

"With this ring, I thee wed" Draco gently, bringing you closer to his chest and placing a small kiss on your head.

"With this ring, I thee wed" You finished, a warm swelling feeling growing in you. You had married your best friend, your love, your Draco. It wasn't what either of you had dreamed, but it was more than enough for the two of you. You began to take off Draco's ring, moving to place it back onto his hand, but Draco stopped you. He gently pulled your right hand away and slid the ring back down onto your finger. He then lifted your hand to his mouth and lovingly pressed slow kisses along your knuckles and traced his lips along your fingertips.

Draco clasped your hand around his own and interlaced your fingers together, relishing the feeling of your soft skin stroking his hand. You shivering hand relaxed in his as you felt his thumb stroke your palm.

"Make of our hands one hand" Draco breathed, continuing to recite the story. You squeezed his hand and watched intently as he continued to speak lovingly to you, your eyes never breaking contact. "Make of our heart one heart. Make of our vows one last vow."

He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and gazing into your watery but still beautiful eyes, "Only death will part us now". His voice cracked, and his shoulders began to shake again.

"Make of our lives one life" You whispered caringly, hoping to ease his mind again with the story, "Day after day, one life".

"Now it begins, now it starts" You beamed confidently, your voice becoming louder as you became more excited with the idea of a life shared between the two of you, "One hand one heart". A sudden sharp pain shot through your body and immediately your voice faltered once again and your back arched to help the pain.

Draco opted to drop your hand and instead wrapped his spare arm around your front, holding you down making sure you didn't hurt yourself in further as he shushed you quietly. He watched with panicked eyes as your hissing stopped and you slumped back into his cradling arms. You noticed the worried look on his face and caressed his hair for a few seconds before it became too tiresome.

"Even death won't part us now" You said reassuringly, correcting his phrase from earlier.

"I love you" Draco puled.

"I love you" You whimpered back, lifting your head to place a light kiss onto his lips. Draco pressed his hand to the back of your neck for support, before pulling you back in for a longer kiss.

You savoured it all, the way his hand stroked the back of your head, the way his lips felt against your own; they were warm and soft and moulded perfectly to yours and the way he twisted his head slightly to deepen the kiss when he let out a low groan. But, most importantly, you savoured him. How it felt to have him hold you, touch you, kiss you so gently and carefully. The way little little gusts of air hit your face as he breathed through his nose and the way his hair tickled your forehead when he shifted slightly. Merlin, you would miss it so much.

You pulled away eventually, feeling heavier and weaker than when you had first started kissing. You kept your head lifted for a few more seconds to allow Draco to press loving kisses along your jawline, before finally slumping your head against his chest once again.

You spoke the last part in unison, both of you holding each other tightly for the last time and running your eyes over each other's flush faces whilst you still could, "Make of our lives one life. Day after day, one life".

"Now it begins, now we start" You both smiled weakly, but your voice was becoming a lot quieter and your eyes began to flutter closed every few seconds as you felt yourself grow heavier. Draco felt it too, as he shook you lightly and pressed you even closer to him. He carried on to speak the words loudly, encouraging you to do the same.  

"One hand, one heart" Draco spoke quietly, feeling his heart skip and fresh tears spring to his eyes as he watched you only mouth along, not having the energy to speak anymore. You instead focused your energy on lifting your head up slowly and inching your face towards his own. Draco watched helplessly as your face met his and your lips ghosted his lips, you were so close to kissing him goodnight. You moved inwards slightly, your lips touching for less than a second before you slumped back into his arms and your breath stopped. You lay dead in Draco's arms.

Draco shook you for a few seconds before letting out a pained scream of desperation, bringing your slumped body completely into his chest and clawing at you for help. He let out a few more wails, overcome with mourning and anger. He wept over your body for a time, he couldn't say how long. Draco refused to leave you, he had made that mistake before and he wouldn't do it again. He knew his family would be looking for him and he knew there was a war happening a few miles away from him but he couldn't care about anything but you. He would gladly get killed in the raging war around him if it meant he got to stay with your body.  

After a while, he bowed his head and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. Draco leaned down to your ear and whispered through his tears,

"Even death won't part us now"

[harrysweasleys]

Legacy

Summary: Slytherin Reader is married to Fred and the two have a daughter. When she goes off to Hogwarts and gets sorted into Slytherin, it’s a tough pill for Fred to swallow. 

Warnings: angst, language

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: So I really enjoyed writing this one. It starts off a little slow but it picks up, I promise!! I’m just soft for dad Fred. he deserved better. 

-

The pairing of Fred Weasley and Y/N Y/L/N was unlikely to say the least. The two, who had been in the same year, didn’t find themselves in each others’ company during their time at Hogwarts. But, Y/N, who was loyal to the school, had saved him from a terrible fate during the Battle of Hogwarts, and the two found their way together after that. 

She had known of the Gryffindor prankster, he was not exactly subtle in their years together at Hogwarts. On multiple occasions, the tall ginger twin had set of Dungbombs and Fireworks in their classrooms. Y/N never admitted it, but she always found the twins’ pranks quite amusing. She would silently laugh behind her hand as McGonagall or Flitwick, or sometimes even Snape would glare at them and remove points from Gryffindor. But, that never dampened the spirits of the brothers, who always found a way to keep people on their toes. 

Y/N, on the other hand, tried not to bring too much attention to herself in her time at the school. She was placed in Slytherin, much to her parents’ utter thrill, and kept her circle of friends small. She only really had two friends — a dark-haired boy named Stellan and a blonde girl named Alice. The two had been her go-to companions practically the whole time she was there. They had been some of the only non-pureblood-fanatics she had met. Sure, she prided herself in being a pureblood with well-respected parents, but found no understanding in why some people in her house — particularly Draco Malfoy — found pleasure in bringing down those who weren’t. 

After graduating, Y/N took time off and debated coming back to Hogwarts as a professor — the late Professor Snape always told her she had a talent for Potions — but with the looming threat of the Dark Lord’s return, she decided to stay on the down-low and get a job in Diagon Alley at Quality Quidditch Supplies. 

She spent five years being a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, she really did love the sport. She also found herself wandering into Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes during her breaks, admiring the new products on the shelf and having a laugh at those who tried some of their infamous sweets. How the twins managed to keep people smiling in such a dark time, she had no idea. 

When the Battle of Hogwarts came to be, Y/N found herself on the frontline, ready to defend the school that her heart belonged to. Which is how she found Fred, cornered in by a Death Eater, who looked ready to kill. She had sent him a curse — ‘levicorpus!’ — and Fred knew right there in that moment that she was the one. 

The two found each other one day in Diagon Alley, and they were both done for. Falling in love didn’t come hard for these two. Five years later, they were married, and two years after that, their first child — a daughter — was born. 

Ariella Weasley took after her father. She had long, curly ginger hair and freckles scattered across her pale cheeks. The older she got, the more she resembled him. She also did take after her mother, though, because she had Fred wrapped around her little finger. She also had her mother’s pale Y/E/C eyes and her honest smile.

“I’d die for the two of you, y’know?” Fred mumbled to Y/N one night as the two put their baby girl to sleep. Y/N knew, she’d die for the both of them too. They were her entire world.

As Ariella grew older, she started to have fun pranking her cousins with her dad. The two were like partners in crime, and Y/N felt like the luckiest woman alive to be surrounded by two of the liveliest people in the universe.

When Ariella was 11, her Hogwarts letter came in the mail. 

“Now, Ari, you’ve got a reputation to live up to. A legacy if you will,” Fred told her, sitting her on the couch, “Uncle Georgie and I really left our mark on Hogwarts, yeah? So keep in mind that you’ve got to live up to it.”

Arielle looked to her mum, eyes wide.

“He’s kidding, love,” Y/N rubbed her back soothingly, “Your dad had a reputation of getting into trouble. If you chose not to go down that same path, you won’t hear me complaining.”

Fred rolled his eyes at his wife, “You know that I made sure things were never boring. Life is supposed to be fun!”

“Fun, yes,” Y/N chuckled, “But education is also important, especially for a young witch. Your dad caused many distractions.” Ariella looked between her two parents and shot them both a toothy grin.

“Trouble and learning go well together!”

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face as well. 

Fred grinned at the two of them, “That’s my girl! When you get sorted into Gryffindor, tell McGonagall I say hi.”

“If she gets sorted into Gryffindor,” Y/N reminded him, “Any house is fine, darling. They’ve all got their strengths.”

Fred was proud of his time in the scarlet and gold house, and he made sure people knew. Everyone in the Weasley family had been placed there and they had each been treated with respect every time they stepped foot back in the school. Ginny, Ron, Fred and George had been on the Quidditch team, Bill and Percy had been Head Boy — there was no shortage of love for the Gryffindor house in the Weasley family. 

“But what if she gets placed in Slytherin?” Fred grimaced, “Goodness.”

Y/N thought he was joking, so she shrugged him off and faced her daughter, “I was a Slytherin, and I think I turned out fine.”

“You did, not everyone did. I mean, most Death Eaters came out of there,” Fred pressed on, arms crossed. Ariella looked between her parents, trying to figure out what she’d do if she wasn’t in Gryffindor. 

“There are no more Death Eaters, Freddie,” Y/N was a little more stern, “Besides, I knew loads of people in Slytherin who didn’t end up working for the Dark Lord. You just gotta pick your battles.”

Fred dropped the subject and continued telling his daughter about all the things she has to look forward to in her upcoming years. 

---

The day Y/N and Fred dropped her off at Platform Nine and Three Quarters was sad day indeed. Y/N shed a few tears, and Fred felt his heart crack slightly as he watched the red steam engine barrel out of sight. 

The two made their way back, stopping by to have tea in London before taking their sweet time coming home, and when they got through the front doors a little after sunset, Fred threw his body down on the couch and dragged Y/N down with him. He wrapped her up in his arms and nuzzled his head into her neck. 

“What are we gonna do with all this alone time, huh?” he smirked against her neck, placing a light kiss before abruptly pulling away, “Pillow fight!” 

He caught her completely off guard and smacked a couch pillow across her face. She held back a gasp, grabbing the one behind her and smacking him right back. 

The two battled it out until they were red in the face and panting, both slightly sore from toppling over furniture to avoid getting hit in the face. 

“What should we do for dinner, love?” Fred wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her cheek, “First dinner without Ariella in a long time.”

“I know,” Y/N replied, the hollow feeling in her chest growing as she missed her daughter, “It’s weird. But I know she’s off to go have the best seven years of her life.”

“Yeah,” Fred responded, “Maybe she can even bring home the House Cup!”

“Maybe she can,” Y/N twirled around, placing a light kiss to her husband’s lips and trailing off into the kitchen.

---

The next morning, Y/N and Fred Weasley were awoken by a large owl knocking at their window, a letter attached to its scrawny leg. 

“Oh, it’s from Hogwarts,” Y/N grinned as she opened the window, plucking the letter off of the owl, tipping it with a quick snack, and letting it fly back to where it came from. 

She opened the letter and read it aloud;

‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,

We are thrilled to inform you that as of last night at 7:03pm, your daughter Ariella Weasley has been sorted into Slytherin House. Headmistress McGonagall would like to send her well-wishes and hopes this letter finds you well. 

Forms will be going out next month to students who wish to come home for the Christmas and New Year holidays.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’

Y/N placed the letter down with a smile, her heart thumping loudly, “Hey, she takes after her mother after all! She’s in Slytherin!”

“What?” Fred muttered, his face paler than usual. His hands gripped the bedsheets, “She’s in Slytherin?”

Y/N clutched the letter in her hand and made her way over to the bed, sitting next to him with a smile on her face, oblivious to his lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s great, I’m happy for her. I wonder if I should tell her about the secret passageway next to the fireplace—”

“She’s in Slytherin? Why?” Fred placed his head in his hands as if searching his brain for the answer. Y/N dropped the letter and held onto his wrists, forcing him to look up at her.

“What’s the issue? Why are you so upset she’s in Slytherin?” she tried to hide the hurt in her voice at how lowly he thought of her house. Yes, Slytherin had a reputation, but that was in the past. Y/N had a lot of emerald pride. 

“Because — Slytherin, Y/N,” he shook his head, “I mean, come on. Voldemort was Slytherin, Malfoy, Snape, Crabbe and Goyle—”

“So was I,” she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, “First off, Voldemort was fifty years before us. Snape’s dead, may he rest in peace, so are Crabbe and Goyle. They made mistakes and paid for them. Not everyone in the house ended up being awful. Every house in Hogwarts has had their share of... troubled wizards. Slytherin happens to have had more, sure, but that’s not the house’s fault. It’s the wizard’s fault.”

Fred didn’t seem calmed by her words, not bothering to hide his distaste for Salazar Slytherin’s house. 

“But they’re wicked. They’d cheat at Quidditch, they’d taunt first years, they’d always think they were better than everyone else.”

Y/N didn’t stop glaring at him, “Fred, you can’t be serious. I was a Slytherin and I saved your ass. Alice was Slytherin and she’s now an Auror, Stellan owns a store in Diagon Alley — which may I remind you, you do too.”

“That’s different,” he muttered, turning to face away from her and getting out of bed, “You were good. You’ve always been good. You should have been in Ravenclaw or something.”

“What?” she got up as well, forgetting about the letter on the bed, “What is your problem? Just suck it up and accept the fact that two of the women in your life are Slytherins.”

Without another word, she stormed out of the room and down the stairs, anger fuming from her ears. She knew Fred still held distaste for her house, but she thought that after all these years, he’d be way over it. 

She stormed into the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea and grabbing the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been delivered at their doorstep that morning, sitting down at the table and sipping her tea. She looked over the announcements from the Ministry, seeing a few familiar names, and didn’t bother looking up from the newspaper when she noticed Fred begrudgingly walking down the stairs, his feet dragging across the floor as he sat across from her at the dining table. 

“Love, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying to look at her over the newspaper, “I shouldn’t have said what I did, I was just shocked, I guess.”

“Shocked? Is that what you call shock? Sounds like a grudge, if you ask me,” she replied cooly, still not looking at him. 

He sighed, “I overreacted, I know. I don’t know why, I just can’t help but think of them the same way that I did when I was in school.”

“Freddie, you can’t do that,” she finally lowered the paper and placed it aside, “Firstly, it hurts me. Secondly, it’ll hurt Ari as well if you start dissing Slytherin. She was really nervous, she doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reached across the table and held her hands gently, “And I don’t want Ari to think I’m disappointed in her. I just — I’ll get over it, I promise.”

---

Over the next few months, Ariella wrote to the two of them, expressing how excited she was to be making friends. She also ranted on for two pages about her love for Transfigurations and Herbology. Her Professor, Neville Longbottom, had been a friend of Fred’s when he was at school. 

Fred had grown more used to the fact that his daughter was a Slytherin, and the conversations involving her house were usually pretty short between him and Y/N. 

As the Christmas holidays rolled around, Fred and Y/N had decorated the house in preparation to finally have their daughter home. Although they never really lost contact, it had been a long few months for her parents.

“The train’s arriving at two o’clock, Fred! You need to get going!” Y/N whisked him out the door, placing a quick kiss on his lips before returning to the kitchen and continuing the cookies she had been making. It was rare she did them the muggle way, but she had time to spare and thought baking would be fun. 

Within the hour, Fred and Ariella arrived through the door, both grinning and red-nosed. Y/N rushed over to her daughter, scooping her up in her arms and squeezing her. 

“Mum, ouch,” Ariella giggled, “At least let me take my shoes off.”

Y/N placed her daughter down and started removing her apron, rushing into the kitchen to place the fresh batch of cookies in front of them both. Fred grinned, shoving three of them in his mouth and smiling at Y/N, crumbs falling all over the table.

Ariella grabbed her trunk that Fred brought in and excused herself, rushing upstairs to her room to put it away.

“These are good, they taste like Christmas,” Fred spoke through another mouthful of cookie.

“Fred, don’t eat them all,” Y/N chuckled, moving the plate out of his reach with a smirk, “I haven’t got all holiday to keep making more.”

He sagged his shoulders and sighed dramatically, “Fiiiine.” He walked around the table, pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Ariella came tumbling down the stairs in a mess of green.

“You good?” Y/N asked her daughter, holding back a laugh as Ariella stood up, brushing herself off as if no one noticed her fall.

“Yep, totally,” she walked it off, placing a mess of fabric down on the table, “Anyways, I wanted to show you guys my stuff! Here’s my Slytherin scarf, I usually only wear it to Quidditch games — oh, we beat Hufflepuff real good — and here’s my tie. Getting used to it was weird but I quite like it now. And here’s my sweater that a girl in my house gave to me as a Christmas gift.”

She lifted up the bulky green sweater, showing off the giant Slytherin house crest on the front, “It’ll be my new go-to during matches in the springtime. Slughorn — he’s head of my house — says I’ve got unmatched Slytherin pride! He also says hi, mum.”

Y/N smiled, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “This is all lovely, darling. I’m glad you’re so proud of your house. And tell Professor Slughorn I say hi back.”

Ariella grinned, picking up the scarf and wrapping it around her neck, tossing her ginger hair over her shoulder and posing, “Doesn’t green just suit me?”

“Of course —”

“We get it, you like Slytherin,” Fred snapped from next to the fridge. He was leaning against it, arms crossed as he watched his daughter flaunt her Slytherin clothing items, a proud grin on her face. 

“Fred...” Y/N dropped her head, taking her hand off of her daughter’s shoulder, “Come on, we’ve been over this.”

“Over what?” Ariella piped up, slowly removing her scarf as if she was offending him, “Dad... were you... ashamed that I was placed in Slytherin?”

Fred sighed, avoiding eye contact with her and looking out the window at the slow snowfall. Ariella seemed to take this as a yes, and she dropped the scarf on the table with a defeated sigh. 

“Ari, honey, it’s not —”

“It’s fine, I get it,” she scoffed, taking off upstairs with loud footsteps. Y/N flinched as the door slammed shut loudly, rattling the walls of the house. She picked up the scarf on the table, remembering how proud she was when she brought all of her stuff home to show her parents for the first time as well.

“Fred, you need to let this go,” Y/N said softly, not taking her eyes off of the scarf, “You can’t keep denying that she’s not in Gryffindor. I get it, every Weasley has been in that house, but she’s not just a Weasley. She’s a part of me too, and she’s taken after you in every other aspect — her hair, her attitude, her freckles, her laugh — why can’t you accept the fact that for once, she’s taken after me for something?” 

Fred seemed to ponder her words. He had never thought about it that way. People always told him about how much she resembled him in every aspect, but it wasn’t often that people said that to Y/N. And now, she watched with pride as her daughter was placed in her old house. It was almost like she could finally see herself in her. 

“You’re right,” Fred mumbled, “You’re completely right. Merlin’s beard, I’ve been an idiot.” He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her into him, hugging her as if his action was louder than his words. 

“You have to go tell her that, she’s the one who thinks you’re ashamed.”

Fred pulled away and sighed, running his hand down his face and nodding, “You’re... you’re right. I need to go talk to her. She needs to know that I am proud of her. I always will be. And... that her mum was the most badass Slytherin ever. She’ll take after you there.”

Y/N giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Go tell her that, Freddie.”

“Can you come with me?” his voice was barely above a whisper and Y/N nearly swooned at how desperate he was. Ariella was, no doubt, a daddy’s girl, so having her dad come around and reassure her would mean the world her.

“Of course, love,” Y/N placed a kiss on his cheek and the two of them walked upstairs. She knocked slowly on her door and once a quite ‘come in’ was heard, she opened it and looked down at her daughter. Ariella was sitting on her bed, reading ‘Hogwarts: A History.’

When she saw her parents walk in, both looking apologetic, she placed the book down and sat crosslegged, turning to face them.

“Your dad has something he wants to say,” Y/N nudged Fred forwards. He gave her a grateful nod and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and placing his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry if you thought I was ashamed,” he started, “I was shocked when we got the letter saying you were in Slytherin, I won’t deny it. When I was at school, the Slytherin students were always cunning, mean, rushing around the halls looking for any reason to torment the people they saw. They cheated, they lied, and eventually, a lot of them ended up working for the Dark Lord. I guess that now, twenty years after my time, I’m still thinking about that side of Slytherin. But then, after I left school, I met your mum. And she changed my opinion completely.”

Y/N sat there in awe, listening to what he had to say.

“She was caring, smart, loyal, funny — everything I wouldn’t expect from a Slytherin. I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though you take after me in every aspect of your physical appearance, I’m glad that your heart is like your mother’s. I’m proud of you.”

Ariella was close to tears, and so was Y/N. She watcher her daughter flail her arms around her dad’s neck and hug him like her life depended on it. Y/N sat by the door, her hand over her heart, and a loving smile on her lips.

She watched the smile spread across Fred’s face as he hugged his daughter back, relieved she wasn’t mad at him. 

--

Later that evening, after Ariella had gone to sleep, Y/N and Fred sat on the couch, wrapped in blankets and watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. Her head was leaning against his shoulder, and his head leaning against hers. His hand was on her thigh, rubbing slow circles. 

“I love you,” he muttered quietly, “I’m so sorry for everything. I’ve really been an idiot.”

“You have, but it’s fine,” she giggled, leaning up to face him, “I still love you.”

And she really did, with all her heart. 

Who knew these two were so perfect for each other?